A War

by Comma Typer

Vanhoover

Dashed to them.

Uppercut, swipe to the left.

Punched back.

Kicked back.

Thrown somepony to the fireplace.

Thrown another out the door.

Incoming hoof.

Dodged.

Leaped to a spear.

Held the remaining back.

Poked them at the helmet.

Lunged.

Threw them out.

Punch, kick, a few more kicks.

Knocked her glasses off.

She growled.

Threw herself at him.

Punch, kick, kick, more punches, more kicks.

All down.

All unconscious.

Yearling heaved a sigh, picked up her glasses and wiped the sweat off of her brows.

In front of her lay the near-unmoving bodies of the Crystal ponies—helmets and masks still intact, eyes still glowing.

"This is dangerous."

---

Vanhoover, not that far away from Yearling's house, was a thriving city, a metropolis to rival Manehattan. Whereas Manehattan was known as "The City That's Always Awake", Vanhoover was known as "The City That Prospers in Everything"—and it shows.

From the mountainous borders of the urban area, one could already see some of its characteristic features: developed lines that supported both steam and "new-fangled" electric trains (no chimneys, no coal, no smoke; of a rounder, more minimalistic design); series of dams spewing out continuous foams of water down regulated rivers; skyscrapers mingled in glass and metal as they reached to the sky; a harmony of pony-made structures and pony-preserved parks with well-trimmed grass and well-cared trees to boot; bridges over the multiple creeks and rivers, spanning huge distances with carriages and ponies riding and walking over; and, finally, at the end of the land, the ports and docks where all kinds of boats and ships—from the humble tugboat to the massive passenger liners (with a few yachts here and there).

And, since it was night, everything was lit up in a dancing display of lights—the sky clear so that the moon and the stars joined in the party—all of them illuminating Vanhoover, busy and bustling Vanhoover.

However, a bit far away from the sprawling centers of activity, at a train station between a convenience store with glaring lights and a brick and mortar diner, Yearling pulled a wagon to the side and stopped in front of a few ponies in police uniform.

They stood in the diner's small parking lot, under some streetlights and parking lights.

"What did you say you have there again?" one of the police ponies said; he wore shades and his cutie mark was a pair of hoofcuffs.

"Some soldiers of the Crystal Empire," Yearling repeated. "I don't know why they wanted to get me. I fear, however, that if they were at my house, then an invading force is not that far away from here."

Another police pony held up a walkie-talkie to her mouth and pressed the button. "This is Officer Gendarmareie. We may have confirmation of impending attack—awaiting further information. Copy."

Yearling raised an eyebrow. "A fresh rookie?"

"Yeah," the first police pony said. "Walkie-talkie 'slang' needs some improvement. But, she's an eager learner." Then, returning to a neutral face, he continued: "Well, show me the bodies."

Yearling uncovered the wagon, throwing the cloth away.

The police flinched at the sight of the unconscious ponies.

The stallion walked forward, held up a flashlight, and examined the ponies and their armor.

"I trust that you'll take care of this?" Yearling asked.

"Leave it to us, ma'am," the stallion said while not looking away, more of his officers gathering around him and the wagon of ponies. "We thank you for your continued service to Vanhoover."

Yearling smiled as she left and walked to the sidewalk.

Bumped into a pony.

The two fell to the pavement.

Yearling got up first and helped the other mare up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, miss!" that other mare said. "I'm sorry! I apologize for being so distracted! I should've watched where I was going!"

Yearling smiled again. "That's alright! It's my fault, too. I was in a hurry myself."

But the mare flew away.

"Wow. Wonder where she's going."

---

Fluttershy was a yellow pegasus with long pink hair; her tail even touched the ground whenever she walked, even while hovering sometimes. Her cutie mark was three pink butterflies.

Now, she was in the middle of a lonely road. The train station and its nearby buildings were far behind.

Then, a pair of lights and rough hoofsteps.

She gasped and raised her hoof. "Taxi!"

The rider skidded to a halt.

Shuddering and shivering, she walked to the carriage.

"Where ya' goin'?" the rider asked, wearing a white cap.

"Take me to the hockey place," she said, raising her voice only a bit above normal.

The rider reared and galloped.

Taxi was at full speed and Fluttershy cowered in the back, holding on to her seat and closing her eyes.

---

When she got to the hockey place, she paid the rider some bits and alighted.

The hockey place's actual name was spelled out in big glowing letters: "Vanhoover Hockey Place". It was a stadium or an enclosed arena; a dome of sorts was connected to the facade structure where lines of ponies held their tickets by hoof, wing, or magic. The closed doors at the back could not muffle out the noises—cheering, screaming—that came from inside.

She looked at her surroundings.

It turned out that she found herself in front of many imposing skyscrapers, although the suburban districts were close at hoof; their brick houses with their many trees and plants could be seen past the fences. There were main roads everywhere—avenues, highways, all but the biggest of roads were here. Traffic was heavy; in some places, it was gridlock as arrays of taxis were at a standstill as police ponies stood at intersections holding up red and green signs, directing the flow of the carriages.

She hurried to the side, not getting smashed by an incoming crowd of excited tourists as they flocked past the line and screamed their way to the actual stadium.

"Must be important," she said.

Positioning herself right at the ledge that separated sidewalk from road, she then planted a sign on the concrete, placed some pictures of animals, and opened a saddle bag of hers.

A rabbit and a duck appeared and stood at her side.

The sign said: "Animal expert. Salary to be talked over kindly."

And many ponies passed by, only giving her a passing glance.

Carriages came and went, ponies alighted and entered.

After five minutes, none took her offer despite her plenty (though quiet) appeals.

Then, a voice above the hockey commotion: "Hey!"

Fluttershy looked at the mare who said that. Her eyes brightened, her smile widened, her once despondent ears livened up. "Yes? Would you like to consider my services, ma'am?"

The mare walked into clearer view. Like Fluttershy, she had a yellow coat. The mare was an Earth pony, had orange hair, and wore a pith helmet. "Can you tame an orthros?"

She gasped, hoof at her mouth. "An orthros?"

"That's what I just said."

Fluttershy nodded fast. "Yes, ma'am. Those are not common creatures. Where did you get such a pet?"

"Not important. I got it from a trade and now I need somepony to keep it under control."

"Oh, don't say that!" Fluttershy said—hurt. "You don't keep your pets 'under control'. You understand them. Know what they want and don't want, know what they desire and don't desire."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." She brushed that off with a hoof. "Can you tame it?"

"Why, yes!" Fluttershy nodded fast again. "Where shall we start?"

"At my apartment over downtown," she said. "It's gettin' late. At least he's good at sleeping without disturbing anypony."

And, Fluttershy packed her things and followed the mare away from the hockey place.

---

And then, Fluttershy was lying down on her bed in the apartment.

There was a glass door with a small balcony overlooking a wide avenue. It was closed so the hoofsteps and the words could not reach her.

On a separate bigger bed slept Teddie Safari, the orthros owner. She snored.

It was a small apartment. Without walls, the kitchen, the dining area, the living room, and the study were together. Counters, refrigerators, bookshelves, tables—even a radio was there.

And, sleeping inside a large doghouse was the orthros, an otherwise normal dog of brown fur if it were not for the two heads it had, one from a different line.

She sighed as she got out of bed and walked to the glass door—never opening it.

Looked at the clock.

It was past one.

"Friday," she muttered. "If Day. If only I knew sooner before I got here."

Comments

[Sir Budginton]

Looks like we've got fluttershy making an appearance