The Search in Winsome Falls

by Comma Typer

Talk

The three ponies walked up the narrow flight of stairs. No words, hushed steps, and a weighty time.

They reached the top floor and Watts's bedroom.

"Shh."

There he was, sitting on the chair in front of the table, reading a letter, faced away.

Wakey gulped—shuddering, frowning.

"Uh, don't you remember us, Onion?" Isobar asked—upbeat, uneasy; the awkward grin on his face.

Dally levitated the piece of paper and placed it inside her saddlebag.

Onion turned around, surprised. "Oh! Sorry—I wanted to see what I could do by acting all sad and serious. But, I felt bad about it because, well, I don't want to make you sad when I don't have to." He grinned as he showed the letter to them. "And, I have news for you! I've reached my hundredth letter from my fans."

"You're calling them 'fans,' now?" Dally spoke.

"Shh!"

Dally took heed of Wakey's stern order—and gulped.

"Why wouldn't I call them 'fans'?" Onion countered, spreading his forehooves as if asking it in a mean way. "They send me lots of good stuff, they send me these letters"—raising the letter into conspicuous view—"and they have lots of thanks to give me. Somepony even offered to build me a sign!"

"A sign?" Isobar repeated in perplexion.

"Yeah! A sign!" Onion exclaimed, rising up from his chair and gesturing around with his forehooves, making an imaginary rectangle with it. "A sign that he will build right in front of the one for Ambling. And, I never forget this!"

He pulled out the royal medal from his table and showed it to them.

"I stil have it and I still bring it out in case ponies want to see it," Onion continued. "My favorite, really. It's nothing to scoff at. Who would?"

"Somepony who wanted to steal it?" Isobar said in a light-hearted manner, smiling and eyes wide open.

"Yeah, but that somepony has to realize that he's going to have to get through me first!" His voice was now fierce with a rush of emotion—bravery. "He has to realize that I'm the pony who told Flim and Flam to stand down—and they did!"

"We were there, you know," Isobar quipped.

"Yeah, yeah," Onion said. "I'm not taking the credit from you or anything. No." He emphasized that word with a sweep of a hoof. "I always tell them that I couldn't have done what I did without you, so you don't have to worry about me."

A pause.

"So, what do you want?" Onion said, regaining that joyous attitude of his. "I'm up for another celebratory dinner! This time, I'll pay for it! We can, uh, go to the sandwich place in Manehattan!" He stepped toward the stairs. "I'll ask permission from mom and dad first!"

"It's not about that," Isobar said, stopping him with an extended wing. "Also, you have to be careful! You could've slipped and stumbled over those stairs!"

Wakey and Dally glanced at each other with stressed faces.

"Ah! Thanks, Isobar!" Onion said, shaking that extended wing, causing his friend to look at him oddly. "I certainly don't want to be too injured to meet my fans; won't it be disappointing?"

"You could, uh, just send them up here to your bedroom?" Isobar suggested.

"Good idea!" Onion exclaimed, raising a hoof and brisk walking around on the wooden floor. He pulled his friend closer. "I should be getting your advice more often, huh? That way, everypony will get the best experience—they won't have to suffer so much waiting for me to recover!"

"Hey, remember what I said?" Isobar said as he led his friend to the stairs—slowly, gently, and carefully with slow steps. "'Don't let it get into your head'?"

"I'm not going to instruct everypony to give me free food!" Onion shot back in a cheerful voice—perhaps a joking one, too.

"Yeah. I'm sure you won't. Now, how about that permission to Manehattan, huh?"

Onion stopped—his irises shrunk and the smile on his face disappeared.

Wakey and Dally glanced at each other with surprised faces.

"We're really going to Manehattan?" Onion whispered.

Isobar nodded. "And, I'll pay for it. I have an idea as to what the prices are and I have the money to match them."

And then, Onion hugged Isobar.

"Woah, careful!" Isobar yelled. "You almost threw us over the stairs!"

"You're a pegasus, right?"

Isobar sighed.

---

Manehattan was a pretty sight. It was an imposing city—a sprawling metropolis of towering high-rise structures, of dizzying networks of streets and roads, of isolated surroundings as could be seen in the wide open ocean around it, of busy carriages and hurrying ponies. Since it was nighttime, the beauty of the city was its plenty of lights—the tall buildings shone against the night sky with its moon and its stars, brightening the roads; the streetlights brought light to the residences—the apartments, the thin houses, and the small hotels; the carriage headlights lit up the road ahead, giving the traveler an added feature to the grand adventure in the asphalt city.

If one would reach the edge of the island at particular places, one would see the Mare Statue—a lime statue of a mare wearing a robe and a crown, holding a stone tablet and a torch which, at this night hour, was lit up not with actual flames but with electric lights. She stood there, overlooking the ferry boats that were shipping here and there, overlooking the streets across the water.

On a main road, as many carriages sped in their respective lanes and as many ponies walked fast on the sidewalks, there was a sandwich place—it was obvious that it was a sandwich place since there was a big billboard over the door that depicted a large sandwich.

The front walls were all made of glass—windows—so it was easy for any passer-by to see what was going on inside and what it actually looked like.

The tables were wooden and so were the chairs—and, most of them were filled with hungry ponies catching a bite from a sandwich although they were more occupied with talking to each other, telling their own personal stories or what was the latest in the news. The counter had swivel chairs in front as cashiers took the orders of both those seated there and those who waited in line. Over the counter, one could see how a typical sandwich was prepared—a chef would grab one loaf of bread, place the ingredients on that loaf, and cover it all with another loaf: a sandwich, but it was a Manehattan sandwich.

The sandwich place was almost full as Onion and his friends entered the building.

"I—I've never been to Manehattan before!" Onion expressed.

"That was the eighth time you said that," Isobar said. "You've gotta learn to control yourself."

"But...thank you again, guys!"

And Onion hugged his friends.

Isobar and Dally smiled.

Wakey had worry on her face.

They let go.

Onion took a good look at the menu overhead. "I...have no idea what to get here." He turned to Isobar. "You know?"

"What about we have Wakey order for all of us?" Isobar proposed.

"What?" Wakey exclaimed, shocked.

"You're good at making sandwiches, right, Wakey?" Isobar said.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I know how to make sandwiches like they do!" she said, pointing at the chefs behind the counter, working with their food.

"Do you have a good sense of sandwiches?" Isobar asked.

"What does 'a good sense of sandwiches' mean?!"

Isobar cleared his throat. "You know us well, you know sandwiches well—"

"Who said I knew sandwiches well?!" Wakey shouted.

Several customers looked at the mare, some giving her a rude glare.

Wakey gasped. "I'm sorry for that!" she announced to all who were present.

All those customers went back to their eating and talking, not saying a word to her—although there were hushed discussions about the inconvenience of her.

She shyed away from the common Manehattan crowd, retreating to her friends.

A budge on her shoulder. "Wakey, I know you have a good sense of sandwiches!"

"Isobar, I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Dally sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"I'll have whatever he's having," Onion said, hurling a hoof at him.

Wakey groaned before she said "OK" and walked her way to one of the lines accumulating and taking up space in front of the counter.

"Come on, Onion," Isobar said, bringing a hoof around his neck as both moved, "let's find a free table."

Dally followed the stallions past the full tables and some pairs of watchful eyes; among them was a curly-haired stallion wearing a gray cowboy hat and a gray poncho and beside him was a rubber chicken.

She paid that stallion no mind as she kept following her friends to an empty table.

---

Wakey arrived to a table that was all occupied but for one chair. She was carrying a tray of plated sandwiches; she brought it to the table.

She giggled. "I tried my best to get the sandwiches you would like the most. I'll be the one to distribute the food."

After giving the glasses of water, she gave the sandwiches.

To Dally, she gave a submarine sandwich filled with olives and bell peppers drizzled with ketchup and mustard. Steam was still being emitted from the sandwich—it had been grilled.

"That's...unconventional," Dally said, pulling the plate closer to her and then picking the sandwich up, inspecting it and turning it around with her hooves while using her magic to, once again, adjust her glasses, taking a clearer look of her food.

"But, I know you'll like it!" Wakey said as she picked up another plate.

To Isobar, she gave a stack of macaroni and cheese sandwiches—between the loaves was macaroni and cheese, as much as could be placed there. A few kinds of cheese were in those sandwiches—cheddar, mozzarella, Emmental, smoked; they were all heaped on the long tubes of pasta.

"A pegasus like you needs your daily dose of energy," Wakey said as she presented the plate to him, "so here's some carbohydrate sandwiches just for you."

"I'm going to be sleeping after this?" Isobar asked, incredulous. A grin. "Amazing!"

Wakey nodded while she picked up the second-to-last plate of sandwiches.

To Onion, she gave three sandwiches of the same order: omelette, lettuces, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis, and, most important of all, onions and garlic—all in those sandwiches.

"That would be thirty-five bits for yourselves," Wakey said. "I paid for my own."

She took her sandwich up in the air, propping it up in distinction.

It was a simple lettuce sandwich.

"I'm not feeling that hungry tonight," Wakey conveyed, taking a quick bite.

Isobar placed a hoof on her plate. "You're not gonna let yourself enjoy Manehattan? We don't want you to be missing out on anything."

"The trains are free," Wakey said. "Nopony pays for a train ride to Manehattan. I'm not really missing anything out."

"But, look!" the pegasus sweeped a hoof around the whole of the room—bringing to her attention all the ponies there who were eating and drinking and talking, most wearing smiles as they enjoyed each other's presence, sharing this and that. "It's like you're saying that this is mundane and normal!"

"It is for a Manehattanite," Wakey said, crossing her forehooves and smirking at him.

"You're not saying I live here, are you?" Isobar answered, pointing a hoof at her yet smiling—trying to cover a laugh.

"That's enough shenanigans for one day," Dally interrupted, levitating a glass of water and sipping from it. "I'll be enjoying the treat." A small smile was on her face. "Thanks."

"Yeah, what she said!" Onion said right before he smacked his face with his first sandwich and gobbled it up within a short amount of time.

And everyone on the table just stared at the hungry unicorn swallowing the entire sandwich and then washing down with half a glass of water. He then wiped his mouth with tissue and let out a relieving "Ahh!" as he stretched his forehooves here and then there and finally rested them on the table and sighed.

His friends, mouth open, just blinked at what they had just witnessed.

"Did you practice for this?" Isobar said, breaking the silence. "Because, I didn't expect that from you!"

"I work a lot," Onion said. "What did you expect?"

"That you would eat...slower?"

Onion laughed. "Because you didn't expect anything else?"

"Manners," Dally quipped. "Manners, Onion. You're in the middle of one of the biggest cities in Equestria."

"Not one of the most sophisticated, if you ask me," Onion answered back.

"Still, there are rules you must follow," Dally said, giving a fast glance to Wakey.

Disheartened—her smile disappearing, now gone, eyes focused on Onion busy with happy talk.

"If I'm going to get all the nutrients I need, then I'll eat what I'll eat—when I eat, the way I eat," Onion declared, ending the sentence with a proclaiming strike to the table. "It's all in good fun and health."

"You might hurt yourself if you eat too fast, though," Dally said, levitating her saddlebag on to the table.

Isobar eyed the bag—his enthusiastic expression dampened at the sight of it.

"And, what are you gonna do?" Onion asked, still in an amusing voice. "Are you going to give my medicine?"

"I don't think you are sick yet," Dally said, adjusting her glasses again.

"Yet?" Onion repeated. "You already think I got some disease?"

"I'm just helping you prevent it," Dally said. "That's all."

She opened the bag.

Wakey wiped her dry eyes.

Onion leaned over the table, attempting to look inside the bag.

"What are you gonna get?" Onion said. "Is it another gift?"

Dally sighed, irritated. "Not really, Onion."

"What is it?" Onion asked on—stubborn fashion.

Dally's horn glowed.

A piece of paper glowed as it was levitated out of the bag and into view.

A few ponies from nearby tables were watching the act.

"Read it," Dally said.

"Uh, OK," Onion responded with restless accent as he levitated the paper, the glow on it changing from green to blue.

Wakey moved her chair a little backward, her eyes now shaky, darting.

Isobar sighed as he watched his friend read the letter.

Dally looked at him.

The sandwiches were slowly getting cold, the ponies outside the table were moving around, carrying their own sandwiches; more orders were taken, more conversations were going on, and, outside, several carriages were in flight as they brought their passengers to wherever they were going, whizzing by the sidewalk pedestrians who were trotting, bringing along bags and items of various sorts as they passed by the sandwich place.

Onion read the letter quickly.

He placed it down.

On his face, dismay.

---

Busy streets, crowded locations, rushing and shuffling through and running and galloping about as cries for Onion went about, drowned in the noise of wheels and advertisements and hoofsteps and songs and music and other shouts.

That lone stallion was going somewhere.