//------------------------------// // Chapter 1010: The Never-Ending Sequel [Dave Bryant] // Story: Ponemurdered 2 // by The Gentlecolt //------------------------------// . . . And it was all a dream. “There. Done.” Twilight Sparkle stared at the neat lines of text for a long moment before face-planting on the sturdy desktop. Snowdrifts of cheap wood-pulp paper nearly hid the varnished wood surface from view; the impact of alicorn and forehead sent a few of the more precariously balanced sheets drifting quietly down to join creased or crumpled fellows already cluttering the floor. “No, that’ll never work.” Her muffled voice was somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “What was I thinking?” After another pause, she muttered, “What, was I thinking?” With a sigh she raised her head again and looked around the disaster area of a room, bleary-eyed. Still-wet black ink, lifted from the penned page, spotted her bangs and nose unnoticed. She’d sent her friends away hours ago. Her excuse had been that she already had taken too much of their time, which was true enough to serve, but the real reason was frustration over their unhelpful suggestions and contributions. Rainbow Dash’s completely nonsensical and self-centered proposals, her utter dismissal of thinking mare’s fiction in favor of mindlessly thrilling action—and nothing but—had been the last straw. Slowly Twilight rose to her feet, then stretched methodically, one extremity at a time and finally her back and neck. She needed to take a break from this whole thing and think it over. She couldn't even remember how and why they all decided to do it in the first place! A soft violet nimbus enveloped her alicorn before extending itself bit by bit to the haphazard sheafs surrounding her. Once she was sure she had all of the script, false starts, and other scribblings, she wandered over to the small fireplace and began settling the leaves into heaps on the outer hearth. A smaller pile wafted over the andirons to land on the grate behind and between them. A deft strike of a long fireplace match later, they were touched with bright sparks of flame. Twilight stared into the small but cheery fire as she fed it pages in a steady stream. She felt a pang over destroying what at least started as a shared experience with her circle of friends, but the cathartic element was undeniable as well. Her mind wandered, lulled by the rote exercise. Where to go from here? The problem wasn’t new, she gradually realized. Time and again the young mares’ varied personalities and proclivities, much as she might cherish them, led to chaotic results. When they failed, it often was because they galloped off in all directions, figuratively or literally. When they succeeded, it was because they united their disparate talents and abilities to reach a goal. Maybe she’d been going about this the wrong way. This wasn't a picnic or a romp, which could go awry with no consequences more serious than giggles and maybe a food fight. At the same time, treating it as a world-shaking struggle was over the top even by her standards. This was an in-between case—she wanted her friends to be a part of it, but without direction, they went everywhere, which in the end meant they went nowhere, and dragged her along. The results were wasted time, wasted bits, and bruised feelings. A frown of concentration knotted her brow. She knew what kind of story she wanted. She’d started with a mystery, full of intrigue and, yes Rainbow, even some adventure—a dash of Daring Do, a sliver of Shadow Spade, but different from them and all the other favorite stories she and her friends loved in ways only their own exploits could bring. All right, then. An outline. That’s what she needed. With a wry half-smile she recalled all the teasing she got for her love of checklists, but—well, that was one of the things she was good at, organizing, right? So she needed to organize this story. Once she did that, then she could unleash her friends to put their own stamps on it. She just needed to make sure there was room for each to do just that. In a way it was like one of Spike’s or her brother’s Ogres & Oubliettes games, only with less die-rolling and numbers involved, and a wider potential for each friend to work with multiple characters and scenes. She let her mind drift, pondering and considering. When at last the paper ran out, she turned away from the guttering embers and returned with new determination to the writing table. She wouldn’t need reams of paper for the immediate task. Time enough on the morrow to take Spike with her to buy new ones. Twilight Sparkle began to write, hesitantly at first but with increasing confidence, scrawling without regard to tidiness. It didn’t matter how messy the first draft was; it was more important just to get the words down. Whole lines were scratched out. Interpolations were squeezed in. Notes to herself about which friend was likely to want what wouldn’t make it to the final version she’d show the others. Over the last few years she’d gone from friendless, oblivious bookworm to princess. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe the twists and turns her life had taken, and doubtless there were more in store for them all. They looked to her for leadership—her of all ponies! Surely she could provide a little of it for this modest project. Eventually she peered down at a small stack of pages, each filled with two columns of neatly copied text. It was rough, she admitted to herself, but perhaps that was for the best. Everypony would have a guide for the story’s path, but it shouldn't be so rigid they couldn’t do interesting and unexpected things with it—maybe even change it, but in controlled ways so it didn’t wander off into the weeds. She yawned cavernously. The morning was soon enough to show it to her friends and get their first thoughts. Right now, though, it was much too late at night, and she desperately needed some sleep.