Horse-words writer believing in the Savior and Lord Jesus Christ, creatively crafting stories in imitation of a creatively crafting God. Consider this: Are you sure you're going to Heaven?
Screwball, far from home in place and time, took on the thankless job of bringing ponies through the chaos of Discord's Equestria.
She is still sane. She is still okay.
Just one more pony to keep safe on her travels, then she'll head home.
Thanks to Venerable Ro (initial brainstorming from years ago), Casketbase77 (recent brainstorming), FanOfMostEverything (pre-reading), and Logarithmicon (pre-reading).
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A sentence that is twofold in its goodness. First, it immediately establishes the story’s goalpost. We are at Point A. We must reach Point B. It’s bluntly stated as exposition, but if we keep Screwball’s pov in mind, bluntness is something to hold onto. It’s her version of “the panna cotta is the message”, “there is no spoon,” or “the city must survive.” It contrasts well with Moondancer’s unfocused and emotional thoughts, jumbling about past regrets and uncertain futures.
Cells. Interlinked. Cells within cells within cells… “You’re not even close to baseline.”
And far from baseline Screwball is, as the very next paragraph has her go on an italicized schizoid ramble. I know ahead of time how this story ends, but it's still heartbreaking to see her sanity fraying so early on. Baseball is clearly established as her anchor, since her boat is covered in sporting decals as if they’re warding runes. Baseball is her Cutie Mark, and her Cutie Mark is her connection to Harmony. The true ward against Chaos.
Not a long term solution though, as the conversation shifts to Quills And Sofas passing his own breaking point despite his own attempt at Cutie Mark anchorage. Ditto for Sandbar a few paragraphs later.
This fic is dense and doomy. Even your signature flair for describing food feels like a hostile distraction on par with the corrupted duo whose arrow eyes point in misleading directions. A trope I appreciate in epic journeys is when the first encounter is a previous traveler who didn't make it. Cormac McCarthy’s The Road begins at the curbside body of a woman who offed herself rather than brave the trek. Game Breakers’s Furi starts your escape by brawling with a fellow prisoner who has gone feral from isolation. The narrator even says outright: “We’re getting out of here. That’s why our story doesn’t end like hers.” So it is with Screwball and Moondancer pushing forward, down the path the arrow eyes don’t point.
The foggy filter thickens through our first action scene. Screwball’s perception strains description of danger already blurred and mutated by Discord’s magic. However, despite Cause And Effect being abstract at best, we still get an all important “if X happens, Y will follow.” To conquer the animated statue, Moon Dancer must “shout at it or something.” Fittingly, this info comes from Screwball, our designated guide through the wilds. And frighteningly, Moon Dancer fails this first (and presumably easiest) obstacle. Screwball spends her already low sanity reserves like currency, and the reader wonders how many times she’s had to do this before.
Discord’s entrance was satisfying. I’d been wondering whether he’d show up to play the role of shoulder devil, or if instead the story would keep him non grata, just letting the ripple effects of his reality pollution speak for themselves. His presence is not wasted, and he’s (pun intended) pitch perfect with his demonic allure. Screwball fails to punch him, fails to argue against him, and even her voice fails to form any insults when he lays her low. And yet,due to her defiance, his snap fails. I’m reminded very much of a Christian truism:
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I can’t say much beyond this summary of plot points because the rest of this chapter is pure character building. Relentless reiterations of Screwball’s weakening psyche, mostly. The closing sentence snaps focus back to “moon awash in the fallout,” either metaphorically or literally having her reune with Moon Dancer. Her own strength exhausted, Screwball has to rely on her patron. This of course builds tension for their inevitable parting of ways when they reach their destination.
Ah, the Friend Or Idol decision. On one side of Moon Dancer, the portal to safety. On the other, Screwball lost to delusion after a traumatic encounter with Discord. Here the narrative abstracts to near incomprehensibility, but key character beats can be gleaned:
Deciphering this chapter was strenuous. If that was the intention, kudos. The baseball malaphors were wildly mangled and I don’t think there was a single action verb that linked directly to its corresponding subject or direct object. I remember awhile back when I depicted my own protagonist (EqG Cozy) having a mental breakdown, you left an editor’s note tutting that the sequence was too coherent. Here I see you rolling up your sleeves and showing your counter-example. The remaining three chapters are short. Hopefully they’re cooldowns. An extended denouement after a literally nightmarish climax.
This chapter could be a vignette unto itself. Its brief, but depictions of supernatural torture are best in short bursts. It's similar to the old poem Tomino’s Hell, in that there’s lots of junk details, logic that is internally consistent but utterly alien, and cries for help spread throughout the flood of raw data. The most effective of the latter are the specters of Davenport and Sandbar. Fellow lost souls? Or just constructs of their memory echoing through Screwball’s mind? It ultimately doesn’t matter. The gap between endless innings are just long enough to allow Screwball some lucidity and mourning for her sorry fate. It prompted me to tab out to a meaningful song from a similarly harrowing movie full of similar desperate grindings highs and exhausted lows.
The Discord encounter in chapter two left it ambiguous whether Screwball was his daughter in this continuity or not. As such, this chapter’s grotesque crowning pageantry can be interpreted two ways: if she is his progeny, her rebelliousness has been officially crushed. If she isn’t, she’s been broken down and remolded to the loss of her original identity. Both are depressing in their own way, but the outcome is the same.
The main strength of fanfiction is adding weight to innocuous canon imagery. Lyra donning a hoodie. Pinkie Pie baking cupcakes. And now, a screenshot from the Season Five finale.
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The perversion of the closing lyric ties it all together. This whole sequence was exactly what I envisioned during your pitch for this ending. Excellent work.
Combining the feedback for chapter 4 with this one, since they're functionally one scene, intercut by Screwball's languishing in Hell.
After spending so much time in the surrealist wilds, a nominally normal Equestrian camp is surreal unto itself. Per your rough outline for the follow-up fic that takes place in the Tirek timeline, I know that you plan to have pony holdouts in each apocalyptic reality. This is our first proper exposure to one though, which makes Moon Dancer's urging to return to the wilds even more impressive. A cliffhanger conclusion is appropriate, since the reader is thoroughly emotionally tapped out after the last chapter. Plus, the final Ashland entry needs to tie everything together, right? There's a real possibility that Moon Dancer's O n' O shield will be her undoing, same as Davenport's quills and sofas, same as Sandbar's beach, and same as Screwball's love of the ball game. But she must try. In a final ironic twist, Twilight's abandonment of this timeline's Moon Dancer is what motivates the latter to take up the mantle of hero. Somepony must carry on the ideals of Harmony. Somepony must step up.
Carry on, tabletop horse. If the rest of the anthology pans out, There Will Come Soft Rains.
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