//------------------------------// // First Case - Diagnosis // Story: On the Corner of Straight and Narrow // by Tatsurou //------------------------------// As the trio headed back towards where they left the unconscious Whizzer, Trixie noticed a graffiti drawing of Brady Culture on the side of their building. She frowned as she stared at it. "If anyone's face should grace our building, it should be the Great and Powerful Trixie's!" she proclaimed. Levitating a few cans of spray paint left nearby, she rapidly painted over the face, leaving her own - somewhat enhanced based on her own perception of herself. She even turned Brady Culture's huge hair into a halo around her drawn face. She stood back to admire her work. At that moment, another Soda Popper - this one wearing glasses - zipped up in front of her. "Hey!" he complained. "You messed it up! Aw, now I've got to fix it, Brain Freeze!" He turned, pulling out his own spray paint. Trixie was furious. Not only had this fool insulted her, but now he was going to deface her masterpiece? "Don't touch the Great and Powerful Trixie's art!" she commanded, lunging forward to get between him and her work. The diminutive humanoid spun to face her. "Huh?" he demanded, just before his altered position caused her to slam into him, knocking the back of his head into the wall. He fell to the ground, limp. Sam and Max paused as they stared at what had just happened. "So...is that three for three on her first case?" Sam asked. "Two and a half," Max corrected. "I punched out Peepers after she tear gassed him." "Still, a good performance for her first case," Sam pointed out. Trixie ducked her head, a pleased blush on her face. "Well, let's break this one's hypnotism." "Are we sure he was hypnotized?" Max asked. "I mean, he was just painting pictures of a rival former child star who's suspected of a hypnosis conspiracy after having checked into his mental institution. There could be a perfectly rational explanation for that." "Alright," Sam replied. "Name one." "He's crazy," Max countered. "Fair enough," Sam conceded. "But let's check anyway." He cleared his throat. "Regain control of your mind, destroy the intruder in your dreams." "Snap out of it you big baby!" Max added, just before the former star regained his senses. "Ugh...what hit me?" he asked. "Trixie," the filly declared proudly. "Quick, cluck like a chicken!" Max commanded eagerly. "No, baa like a sheep!" Trixie proclaimed. "No, tell us where Brady Culture's Home for Former Child Stars is!" Sam demanded firmly. "The Home?" the young man asked. "It's at 227...something. Whizzer would remember the street. He always does the driving." "Can you take us there?" Sam asked. "Are you kidding? I have hours and hours of ironing to do!" With that enlightening statement, he zipped off. "Well, that was helpful," Max pointed out blandly. "Time to wake Mr. Pee Pee then," Trixie sighed. "Wish we didn't have to. He stinks!" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Chuckling at Trixie's pointed commentary, Sam led them back to Bosco's Inconvenience. To their surprise, except for Whizzer's body remaining where it had fallen at the entrance, the store was exactly as it normally was, despite the magical fire fight that had wrecked it before. "How'd you clean up so fast, Bosco?" Sam asked, intrigued. "That's for me to know, and you not to," Bosco replied. "Don't you mean 'and for you to find out'?" Max asked. "Nope!" Bosco affirmed. "By the way, you just gonna leave this guy here?" he asked, gesturing to Whizzer. "Actually, we've come to break him out of his hypnosis," Sam replied, stepping over the recumbent form before clearing his throat. "Take control of your mind! Destroy the invader in your dreams!" As Whizzer slowly woke, Max spoke up. "Nicely done Sam," Max complimented. "You're a natural." "Wh...where am I?" Whizzer asked. "Who are you?" "Don't worry," Sam reassured. "We're Freelance Police." "Police! Oh no!" With that, Whizzer was rushing off into the street. The delivery truck outside could be heard starting. "After him!" Trixie proclaimed. The three rapidly ran to the Desoto. After a rather short chase down the road - Trixie sending the boxes that fell out of the back of the truck flying with her magic made catching up to it extremely easy - a bullet to the truck's tire forced Whizzer to pull over for questioning. "Don't shoot!" Whizzer begged. "Aside from the fact that we just plugged your truck, why would you think we'd shoot you?" Sam asked. "Except for the obvious sport value, of course," Max pointed out. "He wouldn't make a very good trophy," Trixie pointed out. "Not with his bladder issues." "It's just..." Whizzer began. "You always see cops on the news beating up some guy just because he's a former child star." "How come we don't watch that channel?" Trixie asked. "Good question," Max agreed. "We would never dream of hurting a former child star," Sam said reassuringly. "We just need to find the home where Brady Culture keeps them." "Uncle Sam," Trixie called, having turned around to examine their surroundings. "It's right there." She pointed. "Jumping elephant fleas!" Sam proclaimed. "How devilishly convenient!" Max agreed. On approaching the Home, they learned that, apparently, they only treated patients with 'Artificial Personality Disorder'. There were also entry forms that detailed the symptoms...and were required to open the locked gate to get in. Sam read off the form. "The symptoms include...obsession with fame..." Max noticed Trixie posing in a street light as if it were a spotlight. "...violent reaction to wheels-" "Wheels?" Trixie demanded, yanking the tear gas launcher out of her hat. "Where? Where?" She spun around, looking for one to shoot. Sam and Max both stared for a bit. "...and an unconscious desire to conquer one's peers," Sam finished. "We did want to have Sybil give Trixie that free psychoanalysis," Max pointed out. "Then we're off to Sybil Pandemik's office," Sam proclaimed. As they entered the office, Sybil looked up. "Hey Sam, Max, Trixie," she said happily. "How's it going, Sybil?" Sam asked. "Well, according to my research, as hard as it is to believe, it's impossible for Max to be imaginary," she admitted. "Daddy's real?" Trixie asked happily. "As unlikely as that seems," Sybil admitted. "See, according to the documentation I read - and it spells this out specifically - 'only a crazy person would deliberately make an adorable candy colored pony cry'. By that logic, any conclusions reached that make Trixie cry must also be considered crazy. And a licensed psychoanalyst cannot be crazy and do their job. Ergo, it cannot be a professional opinion of mine that Max is imaginary." She leaned back with a rueful sigh. "You're a detective Sam. So you can appreciate my conclusions; once you've eliminated the impossible - or in this case, the truly insane - what you are left with is the truth..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on Max, who was at that very moment playing the 1812 Overture by squishing his hand under his armpit...including the cannon sounds somehow. "...no matter how deranged," Sybil finished, putting her head in her hands. Sam chuckled. "By the way, you mentioned psychoanalysis when we were here last," he pointed out. "Given Trixie's...rather unusual circumstances, I was hoping you would analyze her." "Well, child psychology is a slightly different field than adult..." Sybil admitted. "But then again, not nearly as different as canine or equine psychology probably is from human. Sure, I'll give it a shot." "While you're at it," he added, passing her the application form, "can you check if she has artificial personality disorder?" Sybil examined the form. "Hmm...interesting. Well, I can certainly look into it." She turned to where Trixie was happily watching Max butcher classical music. "Trixie, would you come here please?" Trixie turned and hopped up onto the desk. "That's the Great and Powerful Trixie to you," she pointed out firmly. "Rrrright..." Sybil said slowly, her pen hovering over the 'Obsession with Fame' check as though certain she could fill it in already. "Well, your Uncle Sam is concerned about your mental health-" "He lives with Daddy and he's concerned about Trixie's health?" Trixie asked. "Are you sure you shouldn't be analyzing him?" Sybil chuckled. "A fair enough point, but he's concerned about you. Let's see if we can put his mind at ease, shall we?" "Gonna need an elephant tranquilizer for that!" Max joked, hopping up to stand on a chair next to the desk so he could tickle Trixie's cheek playfully, making her giggle. Sybil rolled her eyes. "Trixie-" Seeing Trixie's glare, she cleared her throat. "Great and Powerful Trixie, I'm going to show you some pictures, and I want you to tell me what you see." Trixie tossed her head. "This will be too easy for the Great and Powerful Trixie!" she proclaimed. "Bring on the pictures!" Sighing in resignation, Sybil lifted the first inkblot. Trixie looked at it. "Fireworks going off over the Great and Powerful Trixie's debut performance," she said without hesitation. Making a note, Sybil placed the next inkblot on the desk. Trixie examined it for a moment. "Casting agents fighting to be first to sign the Great and Powerful Trixie," she said after a while. Rolling her eyes and making another note, Sybil set out the third inkblot. Trixie didn't even blink. "The throne from which the Great and Powerful Trixie will receive worship from her adoring fans." Double checking her notes, Sybil laid out another inkblot. Trixie stared at the inkblot for a time. "...Trixie's worshipful fans," she said at last. Nodding, Sybil set out the final inkblot. "The Great and Powerful Trixie riding a motorcycle in her first movie role." Sybil nodded as she collated her results. "Well, your results indicate an obsession with fame...and a bit of a self centered world view, but you're a kid so that's expected." She looked at the list of symptoms she was working from and, nodding discretely to Sam, put a checkmark on 'Obsession with Fame'. "Now I want to try some free association." "What's that?" Trixie asked. "I'm going to say a series of words," Sybil explained. "After each word, just say or do whatever comes into your head first when you hear that word," Sybil explained. Trixie nodded. "Trixie can do that." Nodding, Sybil prepared to take notes, glancing at her list of test words. "...tumbleweed." "The Great and Powerful Trixie," Trixie said immediately. Sybil blinked, then went to the next word. "Crown." "The Great and Powerful Trixie." "Saw that one coming," Max murmured to Sam. Sybil rolled her eyes. "Comb." "The Great and Powerful Trixie." Sybil sighed. "Magic." "The Great and Powerful Trixie." "...Cranes." "The Great and Powerful Trixie." Sybil sighed, wondering if she'd ever get a different response. "Love." "Daddy!" Trixie responded immediately and without thought, turning her head to nuzzle Max's hand. Max stared at Trixie, his eyes wide. With an uncharacteristic tenderness, he began stroking her mane, an expression of wonder on his face as though he'd never seen her before. Sybil quickly wiped her eyes before Trixie turned back, then looked back at her list. "...Wheels." "Where?" Trixie demanded, yanking out her tear gas launcher and firing a round at Sybil. Sybil managed to deflect it with her notepad. "Violent reaction! Violent reaction!" she gasped out. When the gas cleared, she marked the chart, deciding she'd had enough of free association. Trixie stuck the launcher back in her hat as though nothing had happened. "So what next?" Sybil set her notebook back down. "Next, I want you to tell me about your dreams." To Sam and Max's surprise, Trixie shuddered. "Does Trixie have to?" Sybil stared, then pulled the chart and her notepad over. "I think it would be best if you did," she said softly. "The whole point of therapy is to address those things that disturb you." Trixie nodded slowly. "A-alright," she said softly. "There's...there's only one dream I really remember..." It always starts the same way...Trixie's in a strange land, different from this one. There are lots of other ponies, and they refuse to believe that Trixie - who is an adult in her dream - is the Greatest and Most Powerful of them all. Another pony - a purple one Trixie's age - makes Trixie look like a fool. Trixie swears her revenge. Trixie finds an artifact that makes her already great power even greater, and lets her easily brush aside all that was before her! She makes the purple one look foolish, conquering her in a magical duel, and banishing her from her sight. Trixie feels really good then...but at the same time, something doesn't feel right. None of the other ponies will look Trixie in the eye. This makes Trixie angry, so she conquers them all. Then the purple one tricks Trixie into removing the artifact. Trixie feels horrible for some reason, and leaves. After a time, Trixie finds her bear, Major Ursa, who she thought lost when her moving home was broken. She...holds him close, crying... Then Trixie remembers why she is sad, why the other ponies not meeting her eyes hurts. ...Trixie was always alone. On the road, traveling, for as long as she can remember. Trixie...Trixie doesn't want to be alone anymore. Then the white hand reaches down from the heavens and grabs Trixie. Trixie clings tight to Major Ursa, not wanting to lose him again. And Trixie feels her power and her pains fading... "...that's when Trixie wakes up," Trixie finished, cuddling up to Max. "And when she wakes up, she remembers she has her Daddy, her Uncle Sam, and Major Ursa...and then Trixie feels better." The dead silence in the room was finally broken by Sam noisily blowing his nose before wiping his eyes. Sybil managed - barely - to get herself under control. "Well...I'm not sure how much this will help you..." She marked the last box on the entry form and signed it. "But you might possibly have Artificial Personality Disorder..." She wiped her own eyes. "Though that might just be the tip of the iceberg," she mumbled. Sam took the form. "So...maybe you could psychoanalyze me?" he offered as a way to lighten the mood. "No, Sam," Sybil said, shaking her head. "I'm getting out of psychoanalysis. I don't think I can emotionally distance myself enough from my patients to do well." She looked towards where Max was holding Trixie tightly as the filly buried her face in his neck. "I'm going to look into another job," she said, standing up. As she passed Sam on her way out, she tugged lightly on his sleeve. "Take care of her," she whispered. "We will," Sam promised.