A War

by Comma Typer

Train of Thought

Ms. Harshwhinny sped out of the train station, leaped on to the chariot—catching the two pegasi drivers off their guard as they hooked themselves to the vehicle and took off.

Soon, they were high up in the air, back with the clouds.

"Will you report to Princess Celestia, ma'am?" one of the guards inquired over the breeze's din, still flapping his wings along with his fellow pegasus.

"Most definitely," she said, that smile remaining. "It is not the most ideal outcome, but it is an assuring one nonetheless."

"Did they finally break out of their shell or what?" another guard asked in half-jest.

"Quiet!" the first guard snapped. "What if their queen wants to overhear all of our conversations? Equestria will be at war with two kingdoms all because of you!"

"Oh, come on, Depth Defense!" the other guard said, still having a bit of that jest in his voice. "It's not like she can send spies that hide in the clouds—"

"Shush!" Depth Defense yelled. "You want to get us imprisoned?! You can't talk about our spying efforts even when it looks like nopony's watching! You won't even be living up to your name!"

"Look, if my name is 'Securus,' then how could I possibly mess up national security?" He pointed to himself smugly, still pulling the chariot alongside Depth Defense.

"Princess Luna can be awake in the day and nopony does anything about it. Do you understand what you're—"

"If the both of you don't stop your quarreling," Ms. Harshwhinny interrupted, "you're going to crash on some mountain!"

The two guards gulped, looked ahead, and flew even faster—prompting the mare to hold on tight to the chariot.

---

In the sky over Ponyville, one could see that chariot zooming by, descending as it neared the not-so-far city of Canterlot that could be seen in the distance.

The clock tower rang on the hill.

It was seven o' clock sharp.

Two white unicorns left Canterlot Boutique: Rarity, wearing a posh chapeau, and Sweetie Belle, her younger sister of curlier mane. The latter looked grumpy.

"Now, now, Sweetie," Rarity said, looking at her as they walked on the street, "the only reason why I have to accompany you to school is because I can't risk an ambush taking you away from all of us. For all we know, the enemy might be hidden in the crowds—you know how eye contacts have developed the past decade or two!"

"But, Rarity!" Sweetie Belle whined.

"But, Sweetie!" Rarity whined back, mimicking her sister's voice.

"It's only a five minute walk from here!" Sweetie told. "Are you telling me that you stopped thinking that I could handle even going to school on my own?"

"Dearie, I haven't!" She adjusted her hat a bit, though her gaze was still upon her sister. "These are desperate times, Sweetie, and desperate times call for desperate measures."

Sweetie groaned.

"Remember that this is for your own good," Rarity added. "I am not completely accepting of this, either, since it takes away precious time from the three jobs I have at hoof. Rest is uncommon for such a lady as me—and we're both sacrificing our comforts so that we can live in a safer Ponyville."

The two did not talk for the rest of the trip.

---

The Ponyville Schoolhouse was a quaint little schoolhouse. It was elaborate with its etchings and its details—heart shapes on the windows, hearts on the roofs, hearts on the bell tower; curling lines and other fancy shapes made it stand out from the rest of the structures in Ponyville. The schoolhouse was mostly red, with white and yellow and pink highlights. A sign stood in front of the white fence on both sides of the dirt path splitting off to it; it showed the symbol of Ponyville—two silhouetted ponies holding a heart—over an open book. A flagpole waved its large red flag—it was very windy. A short tree had its leaves cut so that it looked like a pony wearing a graduate's cap. The playground was over at the schoolhouse's side; standard playground equipment such as see-saws, swing sets, and merry-go-rounds were there. On all but the schoolhouse's front were open fields where colts and fillies could run about and chase each other and play other kinds of games with their noisy yet innocent shouts and screams.

And they were doing that now.

"Farewell, Sweetie Belle!" Rarity said as she headed back, waving. "I'll pick you up before you know it!"

"Thanks and bye, Rarity!" Sweetie yelled, waving, too.

And then, Rarity was out of sight.

Not minding her active classmates outside, she walked into the schoolhouse.

The floor, though made up of wood, was covered everywhere in hay. Stools and desks in neat rows and columns—heart shapes etched, too—stood in front of the teacher's desk which was decidedly more polished than the other tables there. A stack of books and an apple was on it. The chalkboard behind it displayed a few planetary equations on the side; the rest of it was covered in white smudges, the faint outlines of names, dates, words, numbers, illustrations—they were there.

Some ponies were reading their textbooks at their desks.

But, Sweetie did not join them.

Instead, she went back outside.

She rounded a corner and saw a hatch door attached to the building.

Sweetie opened it and went down the dark stairway.

At the end of it, she was in the schoolhouse's basement.

Ponies, also her classmates, were busy at work. Over there, some were typing on their typewriters; over here, two colts were squeezing ink on to the inking machine, printing out rolls and rolls of newspapers; over there, heated discussions were ongoing between those seated; over here, a colt and a filly were presenting something to another group of colts and fillies. All of this was going on while the overly-tall chair behind the wooden desk at the far end stayed empty.

Sweetie gulped. "First day after it started and it's already this bad!"

"Heya' Sweetie Belle!" a familiar voice yelled.

She turned around and saw two fillies on a sideward table. There was Apple Bloom and an orange pegasus.

"Apple Bloom! Scootaloo!"

She hopped on to the only unoccupied chair at the table.

"So the three of us still chose to attend school, huh?" Scootaloo, the pegasus, said. "Didn't Miss Cheerilee say that we could wait 'till next week?"

"I was actu'lly on the fence about it for a while," Apple Bloom said. "We were harvesting apples for the cause. It was only last night when Applejack told me that I should go to class first thing—said that she an' Big Mac were more than enough for the work."

Scootaloo nodded. "There wasn't much to do for me, anyway, besides hanging out with you girls. So, I'm here."

Now, the two were looking at Sweetie.

"Oh, you're wondering why I'm here?" Sweetie said, a little surprised. "Well, I wasn't planning to skip school anytime soon."

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo looked at each other.

"Will Cheerilee add some...uh, emergency lessons?" Sweetie asked.

"What do you mean?" Scootaloo asked.

"Emergency lessons," she repeated. "You know: ducking under our desks, how to defend yourself, using this very basement"—moitoning a hoof toward all of the room they were in—"as shelter in case of a pegasus raid. That kind of thing."

Scootaloo shuddered. "You're right! I hope she teaches us everything on being safe."

"What about yer' scooter?" Apple Bloom asked, turning to her. "You've carried us before on that contraption. I'm sure that, if we have to escape, we could make it out in time."

"I have to carry your families as well," Scootaloo said, the concern in her voice rising. "I can't carry them all. My scooter would break under that weight!"

Sweetie then smiled. "You said you have back-up scooters, right?"

Scootaloo nodded, smiling with closed eyes.

"What about you teach us on riding those scooters?" Sweetie suggested, pointing at her. "I don't think I could carry a lot of ponies, but I've carried more than a few baggages when I traveled with Rarity to her fashion shows."

"I don't know," Scootaloo said with caution in her words, tapping her chin. "My scooter's fine, but there's a reason why I got some back-up ones."

"You don't have to worry about them!" Sweetie countered. "Train us in a safe place and everything will be OK."

Apple Bloom nodded, facing Scootaloo again. "I think it's a splendid idea!"

"Yeah," Scootaloo began, "but even if I could teach the two of you, I don't think you'll ever use them. The baddies are so far away and we have the Princesses on our side—they control the sun and the moon, remember?"

"There must be a good reason why they're not using them to their advantage," Sweetie said. "But, I have no idea what that could be." She then shrugged.

Apple Bloom sighed, fixing her mane's bow. "We're all here now, so that's that?"

Then, loud hoof falls down the stairs.

Everypony inside looked at the newcomer; he was a stocky, short gray colt.

"Miss Cheerilee's inside!"

And then everypony inside turned off whatever machines were on and headed upstairs.

---

The day went by, the foals learning more about the world they lived in, how it operated and its past events.

When the bell rang for the final time, it was sunset; the orange-pink sky with cloud streams painted over the horizon as the sun was about to touch and grace the mountains and hills once more.

A rush of colts and fillies blasted out of the narrow door, leaving Cheerilee—a dark purple Earth pony with flowers as her cutie mark—to walk slowly to Ponyville proper.

---

She noticed a long line at Sugarcube Corner, stretching to the outside.

The lights were on, illuminating the darkening streets.

Beside the line and the open door inside was a wooden sign, proclaiming in no small words: "A.K. Yearling Signing! Meet and Greet! Here is the Author of the Daring Do series!"

"Huh?" was what came out of Cheerilee's mouth.

Then, she attempted to get in, bypassing the line.

"Hey!" a pony yelled in a brash accent, wearing a checkered cap and a checkered tie. "Wanna have a book signed? Get in line!"

"Oh, no, I don't want to have a book signed," Cheerilee said, almost apologetic. "I only wanted to see what the fuss was about and grab a bite."

---

At the counter were the two Cakes: Mrs. Cake and Mr. Cake who was a thin and tall yellow pony with a strutting jaw and an apron. The two dished out desserts and refreshments on a table in white linen, constantly refilling the punch bowls and the salad bowls and the other bowls.

A few ponies—some of them disinterested in what was going on around them with half-open eyes and tired heads—ate at the tables as usual.

The main event, however, was the line that went around tables and ended on a long one in red linen. Cameras flashed at her as A.K. Yearling opened a book on the very first page and wrote down her signature in striking strokes.

She looked like a reclusive pony. A purple robe covered most of her body, although her face was a gray yellow—her hooves were, too. She wore thick red glasses and a gray bonnet with a white ribbon. What could be seen of her mane was gray.

She was also smiling as she partook in the event.

Each pony in line held books that showed, in some way, that adventurous pegasus adventurer of archaeology: Daring Do. Like A.K. Yearling, her coat was a gray yellow. She also had a sort of gray hair. She wore her famous green shirt and pith hat with its many arrow holes.

"Next!" A.K. Yearling called out.

A stallion went up next—a tan stallion with a mane not unlike Daring Do's. He even wore a very similar shirt.

The writer's face grew annoyed. "Oh, it's you."

"Well, as a fan," the stallion said, placing a hoof on his shirt as he spoke, "I have the obligation to collect every single Daring Do book in existence, even if they are...uncouth to true tastes."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Quibble Pants, when will you learn?"

"I'll learn when I finally see a Daring Do book that harkens back to the good ol' days!" he said.

"We're not having this conversation again, Quibble, not in front of a crowd of eager and—if I may add—more sensible ponies."

Quibble groaned as he slammed a book on to the table. "There! My copy of 'Daring Do and the Basin's Mystery'. If it doesn't end up reviving my hope in Daring Do, it'll at least give me hundreds of bits down the line at the Traders Exchange."

Now it was Yearling who groaned. "Do you even have a shred of appreciation?"

"Some shreds," Quibble shot back.

"Next."

Quibble then walked out of the line and sat on a table, about to take a bite of his chocolate cake.

Then, not so far back in the line, a pony raised his hoof. "Uh, Miss Yearling?"

"Yes?" she asked, looking at that hoof as she signed the next book without looking.

"Uh, why is it that you and Daring Do look like twins?"

She smirked. "You're new to the books, aren't you?—Next!—Talk to a seasoned fan. You'll get your answer."

Then, the hoof lowered, disappearing in the line.

---

A.K. Yearling finally walked out of the bakery, yawning. She looked at the watch on her wrist. "It's past nine already?"

And with that, she took off, galloping as fast as she could to the train station.

She glanced at the night sky with its abundant stars and its shining moon.

Then, a whistle.

She looked to her left, standing on the platform.

---

There was a train station at the border of a thick forest. Under the night, the grass and the trees were gleaming in the moonlight. Owls hooting, crickets chirping—these could be heard and only seven birds sang under the nocturnal canopy.

Its lights were on and a sign hung from the ceiling over the platform: "Galloping Gorge Train Station (the only one)".

The train stopped there.

Loud hoofsteps in unison—the soldiers in armor were first, led by the officers, all holding dangerous weapons.

The train station's staff looked at them with awe and terror, taking steps back as they gave way to these ponies as they marched on into the forest with several pegasi flying over them.

Then, it was the civilians' turn.

Various ponies, among them A.K. Yearling, scrambled out of the carriage, pursuing the marching battalions.

And then, the writer turned back.

---

West of the Galloping Gorge was another forest—or, more appropriately, a mix between a forest and a jungle. The foliage was deep; strange and never-before-seen plants grew in colors other than green, animals that have never been recorded abounded.

Yet, the writer ignored the wonders around her as she walked on the rock path to her house.

It was a cottage. It had a hay roof that drooped down even to the door. It had two floors and a chimney. A barrel and a wheel were its exterior decorations.

After unlocking and then opening the door, she went inside.

It was a small delight. The gray green walls and plain wooden planks held an assortment of tidbits and novelties: ornate carpets, old spears, lavish oars, and some treasure chests of different designs. A few jewels and diamonds sat on the edges of a writing desk fitted with its cabinets and a heavy, decaying typewriter where an unfinished page of another novel sat, flapping in the cool breeze that entered through the open door.

She sighed at the sight of her home.

She trodded the short staircase down to the floor itself and placed some bags down on a table.

"Some rabid fans I have," she muttered before she headed to the writing table.

She sat down, typewriter in front of her.

Yearling looked at the windows.

"Well, closing the curtains won't harm anypony."

She walked over to the windows and closed the curtains. Then, she turned on the lights hanging from the ceiling.

"Ah. That's better."

She trotted her way back to the writing table.

Then, the door broke down.

Yearling turned around.

A group of ponies—except helmets and masks over their faces. Their eyes glowed green. Spikes on their masks' throat, spikes on their shoulder pads, spikes on their armor's torso. Black manes and black tails on all of them.

Not a word.

Yearling arched her eyebrows and pawed the floor—gritting her teeth.

Comments

[Pun System]

you know how eye contacts have developed the past decade or two!

Yes! Someone else noticed crystal ponies' eyes!

A stallion went up next—a tan stallion with a mane not unlike Daring Do's. He even wore a very similar shirt.

The writer's face grew annoyed. "Oh, it's you."

This is beautiful.

"Uh, why is it that you and Daring Do look like twins?"

"Because the only stories I write are self-inserts."