Summer thunder rumbled and crackled while brilliant flashes of blue-green lightning illuminated the rain that fell with a sideways slant. The garage door was open so that Nut might enjoy the cool breeze as he worked. He was tired, but not sleepy, though he had been awake for quite some time. Work had to be done, work needed to be done, because he needed this time to sort his head out. The ruined wagons would not fix themselves.
While he laboured to remove the shattered, splintered wheel, he could not help but wonder what Pod might say about his coupling. A part of him wanted her to know; it would be a relief for her to know that he’d moved on. That they were still connected in meaningful ways that mattered, but that both of them had successfully moved on. She had Taffy, a pony that Nut felt was a much better fit for Pod than himself, and he had Black Maple—also a better fit. To be an adult about these things, it was hard, so hard to do.
He could not deny that he was an adult now, for he had made adult decisions. It wasn’t the act of consummating his relationship with Black Maple; far from it, for foals could also engage in such acts, and sometimes made more foals when doing so. It was accepting Black Maple’s shortcomings and embracing her strengths that made him an adult. In return, he hoped that she would do the same, for surely he had his own flaws.
Was it love?
It might be.
Might not be.
He spun the wrench in a smooth circular motion to remove the bolt. The wagon stank of the sea, of fish, of filth, of sewage, and pollution. This would not be the sort of smell customers would want to encounter, should they come here in search of services. This gave him pause, the wrench ceased to turn, and Nut knew what must be done.
Surely his laundry spell would also clean the wagons.
What would it hurt to try?
Earlier this night, he’d drank a prodigious amount of booze, both ale and rye. This was helpful to him as a unicorn, because now he had a surplus of calories to work with, and he could afford this downright excessive magical expenditure. His laundry spell had gained strength with his maturity, and now, at the age of nineteen, he could cleanse a truly horrifying amount of filth if the situation demanded.
Not but an hour ago, before departing for the night, he’d laundered Black Maple’s bedding.
It was a good warm up for what came next. Squinting at the filthy, seaweed strewn wagons, he thought about bubbles and suds. Like foamy ale, but soapy. As far as he knew, the spell had no name; it was just a spell, something he’d picked up in school, found he had a knack for, and then had modified it to suit his needs. Was he drunk? Not quite, but he was a little tipsy perhaps. Laundering Black Maple’s bedding had sobered him up considerably, and he wondered if his casting now might kill his buzz completely.
Bubbles, bubbles… he thought about toils and troubles. Yes, he expected to toil through the night, and he might have some trouble come morning. He’d need some sleep sometime. Why was the night so invigourating? Had Princess Luna done something to him? Altered him in some way that she had not yet confessed?
Distracted, he redouble-bubbled his efforts. Suds. Froth. Foam. Spume. There was filth all around him, and filth was bad for business. Something had to be done. He was a manager now, and he was responsible for customer satisfaction. If he was a customer, and he walked in the door, and was then assaulted by this stench, he’d walk right back out.
Deep within Nut’s psyche, the Disgustang opened one hoary eye and turned its cold stare upon all the offensive filth. It coated the floor, permeated the air, there were stains beneath the wagons where they had dripped. Dried gooey seaweed festooned the wagons like gross party streamers. A putrid party that celebrated putrefacient putrescence. Without realising it, Nut channeled his revulsion into his magic and in doing so, suffered an explosive breaking point.
This had never happened before; magic surges happened to other unicorns, not himself. He was seized by the sheer magnitude that flowed through his body, his eyes lost all colour and turned a luminescent white. His horn ached and his guts churned. Cleanliness was next to Celestial goodness. When sharp, stabbing pains went lancing through his throat and lungs, he let out a feeble cry.
A second later, the world exploded and turned white, tinged with oily rainbows that gleamed with iridescence. For a moment, he was afraid that he might smother, but then he realised that he was surrounded, buried by bubbles. A sea of bubbles. The soap that he’d somehow conjured burned his eyes, stung his nose, and tasted terrible as it somehow crept betwixt his lips. Everything was hot and wet; not quite scalding, but uncomfortable, as if he held himself over a column of steam.
Overcome with magic, Nut spoke with a voice that wasn’t entirely his own.
“I am become bubbles, destroyer of filth!”
Armed with a hose, Nut washed away his shame. A torrent of foamy, sudsy bubbles flowed out into the street, which scoured away the years of grime left on the cobblestones. As for the garage and everything within… well, Nut was almost certain that it had never been cleaner. Of course, much of it was still inundated with bubbles. After the initial explosion, the bubbles went from floor to ceiling, and from wall to wall.
Now, everything smelled freshly laundered, and even had a pleasing floral scent.
Nut dared not ask how.
He hadn’t the faintest clue how most magic worked, and certainly not his laundry spell.
Even the tools were free of grease, gunk, and grime, with each and every one of them appearing brand-new. Aiming his hose, he blasted some bubbles and wished that they would just go away. He coughed, hacked for a bit, and then, when he belched, a stream of bubbles went cascading from out his mouth. Had he transmuted all of the alcohol in his body into soap somehow? It sure felt that way, because right now, he was stone cold sober at a time when he very much wanted to be a bit sloshed. As a unicorn, just about anything was possible, he reckoned.
“Doing a little late night cleaning?” a voice asked from the shadows outside the open garage door.
“My apologies, but we are closed,” Nut said to his as-of-yet unseen visitor.
“I didn’t come to rent a carriage.” A shadowy figure ventured partially into the light that spilled from the door, and two eyes flashed a witchfire green. “A crime was committed. I was dispatched to make some determinations.”
“Am I in need of a lawyer?” he asked.
At last, the figure moved fully into the light and revealed themselves. Herself. Her voice was distinctly female, though her physical form completely dwarfed Nut. “I am Warden Headwind. You… you are Nut, of Canterlot, son of Clove and Bulb. I understand that you are a graduate of Princess Celestia’s School for Disproportionate Responders. I know who you are, I know what you are, and I know for certain that you will not give me any trouble. The Night Lady said that you were loyal, and I don’t think you will make her a liar.”
“Hail the Night Lady,” he said while his hose gushed water.
“Praise be to the Day Maiden,” Warden Headwind said in return.
Suddenly, everything felt quite awkward. Here he was with a bat-winged night terror. A draconic nocturnal pegasus. This was a literal nightmare scenario. The strange creature seemed more reptilian than equine, even if she had a vaguely equine shape. When she blinked, he watched how her nictitating membranes glistened. Finally, he had the presence of mind to turn off the hose, and he did so. Clean up would have to wait.
“I would like your permission to peek inside your head,” she said, stating her objective.
“That strikes me as odd,” he replied. “Since when do your kind ask permission? You might already be in my head right now. Why ask at all? What if I say no?”
“Well,” she began, and her face showed amusement as she checked out the bubbles. “I am true to my namesake. We Wardens as a whole have a public relations crisis. Nopony trusts us. All of you little ponies fear us, and perhaps for good reason. We’ve done a lot to cultivate that fear. I’m trying to change things. Which is why I was exiled to Vanhoover. My elders thought that being exposed to the worst that society has to offer might toughen me up a bit and give me a few much-needed mental callouses.”
“And?” Nut waited, unsure of what to expect.
“If anything, it has given strength to my resolve. There are exactly two Wardens posted to Vanhoover. There are two of us to deal with criminality in this city, and I think we could get more done if ponies came to us. Instead, we’re forced to hunt them down and confront them. Very much like what I am doing with you.” Curls of smoke rose from the corners of her mouth when she smiled and her eyes flashed bright in the harsh overhead lights of the garage.
“What would peeking inside my head accomplish?” he asked.
“Would you say that your actions were necessary, or a disproportionate response?”
The question caused him to stiffen his posture. “A disproportionate response would have meant killing them. I could have beheaded each and every one of those fellows in mere seconds. Instead, I put a swift end to the situation, and then offered medical assistance. I have no desire to take what can’t be given back.”
Warden Headwind nodded. “And that is what I hoped to determine. I’ve already been inside their heads. Unpleasant ponies, the lot of them. A drug peddler with delusions of grandeur that’s read too many pulp crime novels and thinks of himself as some kind of syndicate kingpin. A pedophile rapist with a penchant for yearlings. One of them was a torturer of animals and was fond of drowning kittens and puppies. Just a matter of time before he progresses to something bigger and better, perhaps something that pleads for its life. As for the fourth, the fourth just wanted to be somepony important, and he chose poorly.”
“I knew none of this, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have killed them. The outcome would remain the same.”
“The life you saved was the pedophile rapist.”
Nut’s mouth went dry and he found that he had no words. Oh, he tried to say something, but speech had abandoned him. Shocked into silence, he turned away from Warden Headwind and tried to reconcile with his actions. This revelation caused him to tremble and he felt sickened. Yet, in the larger sense, nothing had changed. He remained confident that he’d done right and he found his voice once more.
“That changes nothing. It is for the courts to decide what to do with him, not me. I merely dispatched him and rendered him helpless. Even if I had known of their crimes, that changes nothing. The outcome would remain the same. Why tell me these things? Why deal with intangibles and what-ifs?”
Warden Headwind smiled wide enough to reveal serrated teeth. “I’ve learned all I need to know. Thank you for your time, Nut of Canterlot.”
“But… but… but…” he sputtered, “you didn’t look inside my head.”
“There’s no need to do so.” Warden Headwind bowed her head. “A little old-fashioned detective work will suffice, methinks. You and I… we only do what is necessary, correct? Just what it takes to get the job done and no more. A disproportionate response feels unnecessary for our endeavours.”
Flummoxed into silence once more, Nut tried to process what had just happened.
“Make no mistake, we shall meet again, Nut of Canterlot. Princess Luna told me that you could be called upon should I need assistance. I might very well do that. There’s a slasher running amok, as I am sure you know. You and I might have a hunt together. Fare-thee-well, for now. Praise be to the Day Maiden.”
And then, before Nut could find his tongue, Warden Headwind was gone without a trace.
After a lot of spraying, the garage was finally rid of bubbles. It was clean, cleaner than it had ever been, perhaps. None of the stains had survived, even the really old ones, and the mildew had been purged from the bricks. It smelled pleasant as well, without even a hint of mustiness. Nut surveyed his work and was pleased. In the future, he’d have to be more careful with his laundry spell, even if the end result of a surge was absolute cleanliness.
With everything just right and just so, he sat down to begin again, determined to finish the job that he had started. Warden Headwind’s visit rattled him more than he cared to admit and he found it odd that he was bothered more by the Warden’s visit than the violence that transpired earlier. They were bad ponies, sure, but he bore them no grudge. Even with the knowledge that he now had, he had no desire for a different outcome.
Vanhoover was a huge, sprawling city that was spread out too far, too wide, and had too few constables. It was multiple cities really, all of which shared one name. Vanhoover. There were the wards and the boroughs, a vast, sprawling expanse, a large part of which could barely be called housing. There was the Upper City, which, along with the Wall District, the wards and the boroughs, had well over a million souls. Then there was Cliffside, a vertical city, one that was nine-hundred feet tall and several miles long. It crept up and down the coast, growing longer every day.
The Lower City was said to have at least one and a half million souls, give or take a few hundred thousand. It was mostly densely packed apartments, tenement towers, and an endless expanse of row houses all crammed together, in tight, serpentine lines. Houseboats were packed into ever-expanding marinas and there was no telling just how many souls lived on watercraft, because the numbers were always changing.
And then there were the islands; the archipelago.
The sheer scope and scale of it all made Nut wonder how civilisation held itself together.
He also worried about how easy it might be to tear it all apart.
Armed with a collection of tools that gleamed in the stark glow of the overhead light, he went to work once more. The wagon was spotless and no longer stank of the ocean. As he settled into his menial task, he allowed his mind to wander, because this was the time when he could do his best thinking, all of the important thoughts that mattered.
His mother was right; there was more he could be doing. His problem, as he saw it, was that he didn’t know what to do. Getting involved meant having a plan, and he’d made no such plans. Where did he begin, exactly? How could he help the city? Where did one start with such a monumental task? It was almost paralysing to even consider and Nut worried about his utter lack of experience.
Perhaps his mother was on to something though. Though he doubted he could do much for a city the size of Vanhoover, he could take on something a little more reasonable. Perhaps he could lay claim to an island. How did one do that, exactly? Stake a claim and have a chit-chat with Princess Celestia? It might actually be that simple; after all, his mother did mention that such a thing was conceivably possible. But then there was the matter of being deposed; Vanhoover had already cast out its nobles once.
For some reason, he thought of his professor, Sterling Note.
Such great cost was politics.
If for some reason Nut was to lay claim to Anvil Island—or perhaps the whole of the archipelago—who would stop him? But what came after? He would need administrators. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna would no doubt offer up a whole army of administrators if he requested them, just so long as he remained loyal to their interests.
And then, very much like a bolt out of the blue, he knew just what to do and how to do it. All those hours in history class were not wasted, not even in the slightest. Why, the very thought of it made him grin. There was a precedent in history that might serve his needs. This was almost madness, yet there was a sort of sense to it all, a baffling logic that would surely hold the plan together.
All he had to do was lay claim to the islands, declare war against Equestria, and immediately surrender so that he might sue for peace. Then, as penance for his act of unprovoked aggression, he could offer restitution in the form of acting as a puppet governor acting in Equestria’s interests. This very thing had happened before, though with somewhat different circumstances. In fact, it happened more than once. Could it happen again?
Just what might Princess Celestia do to box his ears for this transgression?
While it was fun to think about, it was dangerous to act upon. It could conceivably be done, but it might also fail in the most spectacular of ways. Things could go wrong. Innocents might get hurt. Wars did not always go as planned. This half-baked plan of his was almost as crazy as going to the Gallopagos. Which in truth, made it feel right. Members of House Eccentrica should have crazed hare-brained schemes. His house should cause the Royal Pony Sisters to regularly facewing, or spew out vile curses. At some point, his house had become a den of conformity; a real shame, really, and something had to be done about that.
Something outlandish that would make the whole of the world hold its breath.
Smart Cookie, it was said, pestered poor Princess Celestia to the point of fits, suggesting all manner of crackpot ideas—precious few of which actually worked. Not every idea was a good idea; far from it. One had to have a multitude of terrible ideas before greatness manifested. Nut’s mother had once concocted what she believed was a brilliant idea; garlic perfume. While the idea had poor initial reception, Nut was almost certain that said perfume now served as a weapon against the rats. His father turned tulips into spying devices.
It would take a Nut to declare war against the Royal Pony Sisters.
Dreams. To be young and have such dreams. It was good to have dreams, but one had to be careful. Divide yourself too much so that one might chase after every dream one had, and one would catch none of them. Dreams were like elusive butterflies that defied capture. One had to commit and then devote all one had if one stood any small chance of success—which meant that other dreams, no matter how grand or glorious, had to be cast aside. For the Gallopagos, everything else would have to be sacrificed, no matter how dear the cost.
He committed himself to the task at hoof and settled into a fine pace…
A full moon reflected in the tenebrous ripples of an insomniac ocean that never slept. It was dark, almost midnight, and a saturating drizzle fell from purple-blue skies that reflected the light of the vast city below. In the distance, a foghorn let out a forlorn blast, and a lighthouse sent a message of hope out to sea. The pier was overcrowded and the boat stage had crates covered with slick tarpaulins that glistened when struck by stray light.
Quite a crowd had come out to say goodbye. They stood beneath umbrellas, some wore rain slickers, while some sought refuge below a canopy that wobbled in the wind. The crew laboured to load the last minute cargo into the ship’s hold, and it seemed as though the schedule would hold. What a fine ship it was, a marvel, a technological accomplishment for the history books. When the seas above proved too dangerous, it would submerge and take shelter below the storm. The largest submarine ever built—though not exactly a submarine in the traditional sense because it had a deck.
“Is everything ready?”
With a turn of his head, Nut brought his attention to bear upon the unicorn sailor.
“Good question. Is it?”
Before the sailor could respond, somepony said, “You don’t have to go.”
It was Taffy. Twilight Taffeta. The sailor forgotten, Nut turned to face the distraught mare. Taffy was not alone; just behind her was Pod, and Black Maple stood beside Pod. Gathered around the three mares were quite a few foals, most of them Black Maple’s. Nut could not recall how many off the top of his head for some reason, and try as he might, he was unable to focus upon their little faces, which remained blurry, indistinct.
“This was always the plan,” he said to Taffy in a voice left harsh by brine and hard rye liquor.
“But we made other plans.” The first hint of a scowl marred Taffy’s beautiful face. “We thought that you would stay. Haven’t we given you enough reasons to stay?”
“This was always the plan,” he said again, though this time it seemed as though his words lacked conviction. “You made your plans, and I obliged them. But we all knew it would come to this. I gave you all that I could. Everything that you have asked of me.”
“Except… you’re leaving.” Pod shook her head.
He felt the pang of hesitation. “There’s no turning back now. These plans were laid down long ago. They started as an idea, and even then, I was committed to them. I’m sorry, but I committed myself to them before I committed to any of you. You knew what you were in for when you agreed to share me.”
In the distance, up on the cliffside, the lighthouse continued its endless rotation.
“Nopony has ever survived the Sea of Luna’s Tears. The waters cause melancholy and madness.”
“Taffy, we’ve sampled those waters, discerned the cause of the psychosis, and we’re prepared.” Nut did his best to be reassuring, but he felt a niggle of doubt that bothered him more than he cared to admit. “The peculiar reef below releases hallucinogenic compounds that rise to the surface and disperse. With a little careful science we were able to sort out the cause and solve the mystery. A tablet taken every few hours will keep our minds sound.”
Though it pained him, he pulled away from Taffy and approached Potato Blossom, who stood apart just a few yards away. She’d grown and matured into a remarkable mare, one with confidence, poise, and compassion. What had started as a tender bloom had grown into a hardy, enduring specimen. Like all of the other mares in his life, he loved her, adored her, and treasured every moment that he was fortunate enough to have with her.
“Are you sure that you won’t come with me?” he asked. “It promises to be an adventure.”
She seemed to wrestle with her response, her face contorting unpleasantly as her cheeks drew taut. Her solid, stocky body shuddered as she inhaled, and then she shook her head from side to side. “No, I can’t go with you. You… you gave me a life here. After all your sacrifices for my sake, I’d be an ungrateful cuss if I cast them all aside to follow you.”
His ears twitched with the implication and he understood what she said without actually saying it. She was a creature of nuance, subtlety, and she had a knack with speaking whole volumes while saying hardly anything at all. He was proud of her, all of her schooling, her accomplishments, all of which he had a hoof in.
“You are the best nanny a pony could ever hope for,” he said to her.
“While your flattery is appreciated as always, it won’t get me to change my mind. What sort of nanny would I be if I said no and didn’t mean it?”
The smile that spread over his face hurt; his cheeks ached.
“You gave us all so much,” Potato Blossom said in a low voice. “Everything we asked for and so much more. With all your hard work, you gave us a life. Gave this city a life. Don’t you want to stick around and see how it all turns out?” Some of her drawl had returned, and with each word spoken, it grew thicker and slower.
“I gave you all of myself that I could,” he replied. “This was always the plan.”
“Plans can change, Nut. My whole life was planned out. I was supposed to marry young and spew foals out of my backside until my uterus quit out.” Eyes narrowed, she brought herself up to her full imposing height and stood eye-to-eye with Nut. “You showed up and the plan changed. There was a time when I might have followed you into the great unknown, Nut, but I can’t throw away everything you’ve given me.”
“Goodbye,” he said, and then retreated.
When he turned about, Black Maple was there, waiting for him. Her sides had a soft, gentle swell that filled him with longing and made him want to change his mind. Pregnancy suited her. While some mares were crabby and irritable when pregnant, Black Maple became placid and peaceful. Serene to the point of uncanniness. The only way to calm her seething hostilities was to satisfy her itch for motherhood. Perpetual pregnancy pacified the savage barbarian.
“Don’t let me hold you back,” she said. “I knew what I signed up for.” Her rain-slicked mane formed tendrils that framed her face. “You were a good mate, Nut. The best. I’m grateful for what we had. I’d go with you… you know I would… but I have obligations here. I’m a lot of things, Nut, but I’m not a bad mom.”
“You’re the best mom.” He whispered these words to her and hoped that they would not be drowned out in the ambient noise all around them. “I wish you and your ironclad uterus the very best. You’ve made me happy and all these years together were wonderful beyond compare.”
“Perhaps if you were happier, you might have stayed.” Pod’s bile was unmistakable.
Nut stared into Black Maple’s eyes and would not be distracted. Sure, there were lots of squabbles, some bickering, and sometimes even some shouting. But that was spice that made the relationship zesty, and Nut rather enjoyed it, even if he never mentioned so aloud. A little strife allowed for the air to be cleared, and then came the vigorous apologising. Oh yes, so much apologising.
How many of his offspring were the results of these vigorous, involved apologies?
“We have time for a quicky,” Black Maple suggested.
“With everypony watching?”
“Sure, why not.”
“No,” he said whilst he looked down at the flock of foals whose faces would not come into focus. Then, he gazed into Black Maple’s eyes once more. “Goodbye. I don’t know if you were my soulmate, but I don’t care. You’re my best friend.”
“You helped me live up to my full potential,” Black Maple said to him. “Nut, you brought out the best in me. I can’t thank you enough. While it hurts to let you go, I knew this day would come and I prepared for it.”
Pod approached with hesitation visible in her every step. Nut pulled his eyes away from Black Maple and with a dreadful ache in his heart, he faced the mare that had once been his betrothed. They had something, a relationship that he could not define, a bond that could not be explained. He loved her, but not in the same way that he loved Black Maple.
“Why?” asked Pod. “Why is none of this good enough? What does it take to make you stay? You ran away from Canterlot and became a solitary, fusty Nut. Then came the change of heart. You let others reach out to you. To touch you. You finally got involved. Look at all you’ve done. All of your accomplishments. Once you chose to become involved, you became this unstoppable force, this juggernaut of change.
“All of Vanhoover owes you a debt. So many lives were changed by your efforts. There is still so much more that could be done. The job is half-finished, Nut. We can look after your legacy, but you were the mastermind. What more might you accomplish if you would only stay?”
“This was always the plan,” he said and he almost choked on the words.
“But this also was a plan,” Pod retorted.
“But this plan came first.” He felt a stabbing ache in his heart and could no longer look Pod in the eye. “This was always the plan from the beginning. My first plan. If I gave it up, I’d look foolish. This was the plan that made me the pony that I am. It became my reputation. When ponies think of Nut, they think of my plan. The Gallopagos.”
“Plans can change,” said Taffy. “We were never part of the plan, but then you changed that. It started with Potato Blossom. You were made to care for another creature that was wholly and completely dependent upon you. She made you bloom, Nut. You grew. She released your potential, and you made other plans. That earth pony was the fertile soil that you put roots into.”
“Taffy, don’t say it that way. That’s a terrible analogy. It sounds—”
“Dirty,” Potato Blossom said, and she shivered with revulsion. “Thankfully, Nut kept his root out of me, and I appreciate that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, apologising. “But the sea beckons. We must sail while the tide is high. I love you all. While this feels bad, I’m positive that all of you will find a way to carry on without me. All of you have such potential. Such greatness. Go do good things for the world. I have to follow through with my plan.”
Just as Nut finished speaking, the rather placid ocean came to life. A tentacle broke the surface, rose skyward, and assumed the shape of a curious question mark. Screams came from the faceless crowd—faceless but not eyeless—and these eyes were wide with terror. More tentacles surfaced, and while everypony reacted in some way, Nut did not.
The sea beckoned and this had always been the plan.
He didn’t even cry out when the slimy tentacle encircled him and almost crushed him. Limp, he allowed this to happen, because this was always the plan. Resigned to his fate, he embraced whatever came next, for surely it would be glorious. But Pod and Taffy resisted and together, they seized Nut in their collective magic. They pulled and tugged on his hind legs while the tentacle tried to pull him from the pier so that he could be dragged down in the briny depths.
Others grew involved; Nut could hear his parents shouting, but for some reason he couldn’t remember seeing them on the pier. Had they been there this whole time? How could he fail to notice? This—this resistance—was not part of the plan. How could his friends and loved ones betray him? Hold him back from his destiny? His greatness? After all he’d done to help them achieve their greatness, after all of his efforts for them to realise their full potential, instead of gratitude there was only betrayal. They were holding him back. All of his loved ones would not let go.
He felt himself pulled in two directions; Taffy was pulling on him as if he were taffy. The tentacle tightened around his barrel to the point where drawing breath was impossible, but that was fine. It yanked him closer to the edge of the pier, but his family, his loved ones, they pulled back with everything they had.
As the opposing forces played tug of war with his body, Nut felt himself stretch. Oh yes, he was growing longer… he was becoming noodly. His torso unfurled like an accordion, grew impossibly long, and neither side ceased their pulling. Unable to be torn in twain, Nut evolved, he adapted to his new circumstances. He heard the laughter of the damned, a cacophonous, discordant, horrisonant clamour, and as everything stretched into bedlam, he realised that the awful laughter was his own.
Why wouldn’t they let go? They were doing this to him. His noodly condition was entirely their fault. A part of him resented them, hated them. If only they would let go so that he could follow through with his plan. As he lengthened, his resentment turned inward. If only he’d left Potato Blossom behind, all of this could have been avoided. He might have gone through life with no connections, no attachments, no deadweight anchors to hold him back.
His noodlefication continued unabated.