When Worlds Collide

Nickolai was in the process of releasing his noontime contented sigh when a sight in the sky turned it into a surprised gasp. Skyfish from the Distant City were sailing graciously through the air, descending in a deceivingly peaceful manner to the city below, looking for the nearest showtime that caught their emotionless eyes. Nickolai knew at that moment that the great happiness of his homeland had ended. Apartment complexes were already starting to grow faces and put on costumes to begin their never-ending round of narrating hectic street scenes in blissful barbershop four-part harmony. Nickolai then saw the street musicians. Hoards upon hoards of countless shady-looking characters with trumpets, saxophones, clarinets, guitars, vuvuzelas or any number of instruments unidentified were setting up on the corners and began belting out their melodies in contradicting jazzy fashions, competing with each other to be the best on the block.
"The peas," Nickolai realized grimly, "The peas will come next."
And that they did, toppling cars and trampling pedestrians as they flooded the streets in the general direction of the Capital. The sheer numbers of this vegetarian coup were enough to stop any countering force in it's tracks. Squadrons of militiamen scrambled to their barracks to take up arms against the waves of invaders, but were quickly silenced by the irate beans. Nickolai was perfectly aware that this was the end of the city as he knew it. The buildings were telling him so in a pleasing do-wop.
The great city fell in a matter of minutes.