A War

by Comma Typer

Up and About

Dear Sweetie Belle,
How are you doing there? You're still OK? Is Babs doing lots of activities with you and Tender Taps? I hope you're fine with these questions because it's just been so hard to do CMC things here in Ponyville without you around.

If you're wondering why Apple Bloom's not writing to you today, she's busy talking with her family about something serious and I don't know anything about it. So, it's my turn to write to you!

Ever since the other day, Rumble's been telling everypony in class about how cool his brother is. I'm sure you've seen him around. Do they do parades there? Because Rumble told me there were parades there sometimes. Whatever goes on there, I'd like to say that I kindly disagree with him, but Apple Bloom made sure we didn't fight over it.

Another thing happened the other day, too. There was the opening of Bon Bon's new candy store. Did Rarity talk to you about it? I'm not surprised if she didn't! Anyway, we ate a lot of candy and it was good. I could live there for weeks and not go hungry ever, and I won't get sick of the sugar, either! It's so tasty, and it's much better than whatever's made there. Having it all hoof-made is better!

After that, there was yesterday. We went to school and it was pretty normal. However, Mayor Mare's already prepping the town up for the Equestria Games. She tried talking with Applejack about renting some of the unused land to her for the event. She said 'No', but that didn't stop the mayor. She settled for some land just outside Ponyville. It's the one near the clock tower. If you came here now, you would see construction ponies bringing benches and logs and other construction things. It's also loud and some of us complained, but it didn't do anything.

I think that's it. There's not much else to write to you. The last few days have been slow. But, we're trying to cope without you here.

Stay awesome there, Sweetie Belle, and keep yourself safe! We miss you!
From fellow Cutie Mark Crusader,
Scootaloo
The filly placed the letter down on the desk.

The walls had been given a fresh coat of pink paint. The floor, too, had been colored white. Already, this apartment room was fancier and more fashionable than the average one. Yet, there was more.

Sewing machines with unfinished fabrics sat on the side. Shelves of fabric rolls displayed their variety in clothing material to anyone who would come in. A few bookshelves brought in some sophisticated flair. Some clocks both on the wall and on the table ticked and tocked. Cubby holes and more shelves held other sorts of fashion equipment and material.

Out the single window, one could see the big road where carriages galloped on. Two lines of military carriages, as could be seen by their wagons of soldiers, plodded past the boutique.

Sweetie Belle looked out that window and saw them all.

---

Some played hockey on the little ice rink at the school's paved front yard.

The brick school, unlike most of the other structures in Manehattan, had lots of slants in its design. It looked much more like a conventional school somewhere in the heartland than a cutting edge learning institute with straight lines and only straight lines, and, like such a conventional school, it also had some soil and grass; some trees grew, rising above the concrete and creating an interesting conflict between the natural and the artificial.

The bell rang and schoolponies flooded out the large doors and down the stairs and on to the yard. Many of them already headed out to the sidewalk, saying their goodbye's and farewell's to each other before they separated, walking the streets. Others stayed in school for a while, opting to sit on a bench or play some afterschool game of either chess or chase.

Three were already at the intersection, waiting for the line of carriages to stop as they stood in front of the pedestrian crossing.

It was sunset. Above, pegasi flew about, pushing and pulling clouds here and there.

"What are we gonna do, Cutie Mark Crusaders?" Sweetie Belle said in an electrified way. She was about to jump; her face showed it.

Tender Taps, an orange Earth pony colt, quivered in his hooves, his teeth clattering and a hoof on his cheek. "I-I have no idea!"

Sweetie then swung her head around to face Babs Seed, an orange-brown filly who was an Earth pony, too. "What about you, Babs? Anything?"

She blew her red bangs out of the way. "Maybe we could be tour guides, and I know a great place to start!"

Sweetie gasped. "Mare Statue!" She grabbed her friends by the neck and pulled them together. "Cutie Mark Crusaders on a, uh, tourist mission!"

"What?!" Tender Taps yelled. "But, we have to go on a ferry to the island! And, it's not just that! What will I say to them? What if I mess up? What if I—"

"Go with it, Taps," Babs said gruffly.

And the carriages stopped.

The pedestrian crossing was open.

---

Despite the relative ease of travel in Equestria, not a lot of ponies had taken the opportunity to get close to the famed Mare Statue. Standing on its own island, the huge and impressive work of art stayed isolated. Which was a good thing, at least when it came to popularity and attracting many tourists and travelers to Manehattan's gates.

The statue was of a robed and crowned mare holding a torch and a stone tablet. A simple yet powerful proclamation.

Many wandered about, several taking pictures at almost everything. Stalls and booths made specifically for tourists were plenty on this island, selling postcards and t-shirts among others. Beside the humongous paths were the parks with their flowering trees and bushes and grass, further embellishing the island.

And the Manehattan Cutie Mark Crusaders boarded the departing ferry boat.

Off they went, heading home.

The three stood at the guard rails, the cool wind over the sea breezing by as the sight of the statue shrank.

"Well, that was a horrible adventure!" Babs complained, raising her hooves in the air. "Couldn't even convince one to take the tour! We must've done somethin' wrong." She glared at Taps.

He pursed his lips. "Wasn't me! I did the best I could!"

"It's not our fault at all," Sweetie said. "We probably chose the wrong time to do it. Or, maybe being tour guides isn't our destiny."

Babs looked down at the rough sea.

Taps brought out a small smile. "Tomorrow again?"

"Tomorrow again," Sweetie repeated in reply.

---

Sweetie Belle opened the door and went inside the boutique.

Some customers milled about in the premises, checking out the costumes; one adored herself in front of a mirror as she adorned herself with a frilly purple dress. All the while, moving cello music played as Octavia performed on her platform with her eyes closed.

Sweetie walked on the red carpets to get to her. "Uh, do you know where my sister is?"

Without stopping the song, she opened her eyes and said, "She's upstairs."

The filly breathed a sigh.

Octavia paid attention to her, still playing the piece. "Let me guess. Another failed attempt at getting your cutie marks."

Sweetie nodded.

The celloist smiled a little, a mellow smile. "You're focused too much on that. Maybe that's why you aren't finding out your destiny. Some just gain their cutie mark out of nowhere, giving it not much of a thought until that very moment."

"But, you can't plan getting cutie marks out of nowhere, Octavia!" Sweetie said, airing her argument. "I can't set it up!"

Still moving the bow on the strings, Octavia went on: "You don't have to plan everything out. There are parts of life that merely come up, surprising you in new and interesting ways."

"I know," Sweetie whined, raising a hoof. "But, I really want a cutie mark that badly, and so do they!" She pointed at the door.

Octavia nodded. "I fully understand. The majority of your classmates already have their cutie marks, and so I can tell you feel left out. However, didn't you say it yourself that not having a cutie mark opens up so many possibilities, that you don't have to be stuck with one or two things for the rest of your life?"

"Uh, I guess...yeah."

"Then, I'm only bringing your advice back to you, Sweetie Belle. Follow it, and you'll be fine."

Octavia closed her eyes.

"OK. Thanks!"

She went to the end of the room and opened a door.

Octavia kept playing, cheering the boutique's clients who strolled about in the shop.

---

She dragged herself up the stairs, cello bag on her back.

Slumped down, unlocked the door, and turned on the lights.

It was a decked out place, a single-room residence like many apartments. Every piece of furniture was made up of refined wood, dusted and varnished to look like rich perfection. A sole music stand stood in front of a window; an open musicbook lay there. Around the room, positioned in certain spots, were other instruments: a piano, a double bass, a flute, and a clarinet. Some books were on the shelf, and a bowl of fresh salad rested on the kitchen counter.

It smelled of refurbished timber.

She locked the door, placed the cello bag on the wall.

Her eyes locked on to a paper beside the salad.

She went to it and read with her reddening eyes:
I don't know if you've noticed, but Manehattan is very close to where the Crystal ponies are right now. I suggest that you leave whatever job you have here and move to somewhere better, preferably as far away as you can. Don't even consider Ponyville. Canterlot's only ten to twenty minutes away and they're making a rush for it. You could talk to me tomorrow morning so I can help you arrange a living in Appleloosa or somewhere in the San Palomino desert—a couple of towns there do need a talented cello player like you to liven things up a bit. Whatever you do, don't be here by tomorrow night. I'm not saying that something bad will happen by then, but you're just risking yourself out here.

Don't worry. I'll find a way to talk to you other than these old boring letters when you're gone.

- Thunderlane
She placed a hoof on her cheek, her sleepy face jolted by a frown.

Octavia took a good look of her room, already furnished and ready for more years.

---

Rarity tapped her hoof impatiently as she stood at the boutique's entrance, the door swinging about as the hard wind blasted over the street. "It's already seven-thirty, beyond what could be tolerated as fashionably late for such a well-mannered mare. What could be keeping her?"