The Pillowfort of Trottingham

There was was nothing quite as disturbing to the sleepy town of Trottingham as a bored Warm Threads. The toymaker was considered to be mad by most of the populace, yet friendly enough for them to be alright with the prospect of her dealing with foals. Indeed, foals had an easier time with her as they simply didn't bother with Thread's rambling proclamations and instead focused on the emotions she displayed. The pony who did try to keep track of Thread's rants were promptly led on a strange journey of the mind and usually ended up needing to lie down.

That was why when the Toymaker announced she was going to build Equestria's biggest pillow fort, nopony asked her why. It didn't help that her announcement was forty minutes long, ten of those minutes devoted to what she had for breakfast that morning. When the more creative thinkers of Trottingham finally managed to puzzle out her intentions, she had already claimed the town hall, replacing desks with doonas and paperwork with pillows.

To make matters even worse (or better, depending on your point of view) Threads had corraled a significant amount of the foals of Trottingham to assist her with construction. The distraction from school was too tempting to resist, and now the toymaker was currently directing them in construction in her own batty, rambling way.

Vassago sat at a bench outside of the town hall, taking a break from work. He sighed from exhaustion.

"This week." He muttered. "Of all weeks. The one when I visited Trottingham."

The stallion who sat next to him peeked over his newspaper at him.

"If I knew this would be so damn hard, I would never have joined..." He continued to mutter to himself.

"Sounds like hard work." The stallion nodded.

"It is! Have you even seen the size of some of those pillows! It think somepony must have suffocated in one of the fluffier ones!"

"You don't say, Old Boy?" the stallion pursed his lips together.

"Say... do I know you?" Vassago asked He hasn't met him in any Tangents, but this stallion seemed vaguely familiar.

"I should say not, How do you do?" Seraph extended a hoof. "They call me Seraph."

"Oh, well that explains it." Vassago nodded.

Seraph tilted his head. "Explains what, My Dear?"

"Nothing." Vassago waved a hoof dismissively as he got up, "I should be getting back." The foal started to walk back to what was once the Town Hall.

"What a peculiar foal..." Seraph said aloud. He had been sent to observe. Although a immense pillow fort sounds benign, it never hurts to be prepared for anything. Seraph continued to read the newspaper.