The Celestial Midnight Ballroom and Lounge was a huge eyesore. Oh, it tried to be impressive and sophisticated, but the chintzy gold gilt was pretty flaky and the copper roof was a sickly shade of noxious green. Some of the windows were cracked, most of the shutters hung askew, and the marquee sign over the door had more broken light bulbs than whole ones. Gold and silver filigree suns were tarnished and crud-encrusted. It had seen better days, and was born during a more optimistic

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“Nut, this is Gary and Gabija, our new potential hires. Ethelred brought them in and I was just in the middle of interviewing them. Have a seat and pay attention.” Mrs. Oleander gestured at a nearby chair and then underwent a stunning transformation as all of her seeming amusement visibly dissipated. “Ethelred was quite honest and up front about the fact that you were fired from your job. Would you care to tell me why?” 

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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. 

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Done by request. Well, many requests. Like, people have come to expect this for some unknown reason. What gives?

Potato Blossom:

S: 7
P: 4
E: 7
C: 6
I: 7
A: 4
L: 6

Unknown talent: This talent gives you a distinct edge. If only you knew what it was. When activated, it raises one of your SPECIAL stats by two.

Stubborn: You're stubborn. This manifests in many ways. You will remain steadfast, no matter the trouble.

Nut:

S: 4
P: 8
E: 4

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The windows went from dry to drenched as the train collided with the rain. Nut looked up from his book, thankful to hear the reassuring, susurrant pitter-patter of rain. His eyes were strained, his vision blurry, and his face ached from all of his reading. Squinting to hold his monocle in place was less than ideal for marathon reading sessions and his farsightedness was ill-suited for studious endeavours. Perhaps it was time to pay heed to his father’s suggestion and get proper

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A cold grey drizzle fell upon the tundra city of Whinnipeg. Though overcast, there was just enough sunlight to turn the ashen remains of the vampiric rats into sparkling glittery smoke. Something about the glittering remains of the vapourised vampires offended Nut, but he couldn’t quite say what it was, or why he was offended by the sunlight-fueled sparkles. It was just wrong in some way, unnatural and unpleasant. 

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Princess Celestia: It seems as though everypony is attempting to uphold conventional morality. But not you.

Nut: What is it that you think I do different?

Princess Celestia: Time passes. Convention changes. Ponies are so focused on upholding conventional morality that they are letting the past hold back the future. But not you. Nut, you seek to define your own sense of morality. This is not an easy path. Thankfully, you don’t have to go alone.

Nut: (Loss for words)

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Lots of people ask to see scripting before it becomes horsewords. Occasionally, I do post scripts... though not often. Occasionally, people are a bit too overcritical of a script before it becomes a finished product. Of course it lacks detail; it's a script. How brilliant some people must be to observe this. Or politely letting me know that it seems unfinished, or needs work, or that it doesn't seem up to my usual standards. (Yes, people have actually done this.)

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Nut’s earth pony magic allowed him to redirect momentum and kinetic force. When fighting, say, in a large mob, if Nut is struck by someone, he can redirect the energy of the blow through his body and channel it out through his hooves or through an object held in his telekinesis. So, in a manner of speaking, a powerful kick delivered to his ribs will hurt him, but most of the energy, the force of the blow will pass through him, and if he kicks someone, he will act as a conduit in which

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This seems a fitting introduction. Sorry, it isn't even a full scene yet, just a small part of a much larger script. Eventually, this will get plumped out into a paragraph. But... as it is, all by itself, it is just brimming with potential. There is so much feeling packed into it, even in raw script form.

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Now imbued with a certain smug sense of satisfaction, Nut enjoyed a foamy mug of smoked Black Maple Ale. Some of his schoolwork was spread out before him, a way to pass the time, as the show would be starting soon. How soon was unknown, but he was certain that it would start. He was boxing clever, so he was, and goodness, this ale had never tasted better. 

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He started to say something, but suffered premature peroration. It made him feel less a stallion, as if he were diminished somehow. Premature peroration happened, his father had told him; sometimes things ended before they began. Occasionally, rousing words of courage failed, and one suffered embarrassing premature peroration. Sweating somewhat, he took a moment to adjust his choker collar while he dealt with his secret shame. 

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Eternal, enduring, everburning, the sun dared to pierce the veil of gloom, the shroud of suffocating grey rain left draped over the city of Vanhoover; so it was that sunlight, vivid, brilliant, precious sunlight, did shine upon the city streets, and there was much rejoicing from the sodden, soggy, waterlogged city-dwellers, who did revel during this moment of splendiferous respite. 

Tater Blossom pronked through puddles and Nut waited Mrs. Oleander’s harsh rebuke. 

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Leaning down, he spent a few seconds squinting at the stainless steel bed. In the cracks and unseen places, he found rust. Not much rust, and after a quick inspection, he determined that it wasn’t rust left behind by the iron assemblies, but surface rust eating at the steel itself. The passivated metal was oxidising. Defeated, he sighed. His work was now a bit more complicated and he wondered if the surface rust could be removed. If only he had a rust removal spell, but such a thing was

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The raindrops continued their suicidal plunge, abandoning the endless sky to end themselves upon soil and sea. So caught up in his own events, Nut was utterly indifferent to the plight of the falling droplets; ignorant that Susan was an abattoir for raindrops. For she was a place where individuality ended; the individual ceased to be and everything ran together before plummeting as a collective to dash themselves upon the ground below. A tragedy gone unnoticed, undetected, unlamented. 

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