Work Text:
SYMPTOMS INCLUDE:
Written by
MUSHROOM
9/14/2023
CAST LIST
RUMBLE: Pegasus. Early- to mid-twenties. A blank flank. Immature. Generally skeptical and pessimistic.
THUNDERLANE: Pegasus. Early thirties. A Wonderbolt. Mature and confident in himself.
GALE: Pegasus. Father of RUMBLE and THUNDERLANE. Unstable. Demonstrates tendency towards self-harm. Delusional. Particularly concerned with a greater force controlling his life.
SCOOTALOO: Pegasus. Early- to mid-twenties. Teacher at the School of Friendship. A bit rough around the edges, but generally has her life together. Friend of RUMBLE.
WAITRESS: Open casting.
LUSTER DAWN: Unicorn. Late teens. Librarian at the Crystal Library. Still learning the ropes of friendship. A bit too eager to help.
THERAPIST: Open casting.
DIAMOND TIARA: Earth Pony. Early- to mid-twenties. Mayor of Ponyville.
SET LIST
INTERIORS
PONYVILLE HOME - ATTIC
PONYVILLE HOME - KITCHEN
PONYVILLE HOME - LIVING ROOM
PONYVILLE DINER
CRYSTAL LIBRARY
SNOWSTORM
RUMBLE’S APARTMENT
EXTERIORS
PONYVILLE HOME
INT. PONYVILLE HOME - DISUSED ATTIC - LATE AFTERNOON
WE OPEN on a CARDBOARD BOX lit by fractured sunlight. The only hint that this is not a still image of a box is the slow motion of dust motes through sunbeams. The box is labeled “GALE”.
A SHAPE moves between us and the box. The sound of hoofsteps follows - THUNDERLANE is bustling through the ATTIC.
THUNDERLANE (V.O.)
I found it!
UNKNOWN
(distant)
Huh? You say something?
QUICK PAN. THUNDERLANE
A pegasus stallion, early thirties. He is hoisting a BOX onto his back. He is slightly breathless from exertion. He looks tired, but not unhappy. He fills the frame with confidence.
THUNDERLANE
(breathless)
I-I’ve got the -
INTERCUT - INT. PONYVILLE HOME - KITCHEN
THUNDERLANE
(cont., muffled)
photo albums!
At the kitchen table sits RUMBLE. A younger stallion, early- to mid-twenties. He, too, seems tired, as well as annoyed. The table is cluttered with piles of BOXES, TRINKETS, and DISHWARE. He is made to appear very small in the scene, outdone by the stacks of junk on either side of him.
RUMBLE sighs and rolls his eyes.
RUMBLE
(unenthused)
Uh-huh. Great.
He sits back in the chair, forelegs crossed, shoulders high and tense. The camera stays on him as we listen to THUNDERLANE move through the attic, then come running down the stairs.
THUNDERLANE appears at the edge of the frame, his back to the camera. He is breathing heavily. RUMBLE looks up at him. The brothers stare at one another for a beat.
THUNDERLANE
Do we need to stop for the day?
RUMBLE
No.
THUNDERLANE
It’s just - well, you seem a little -
RUMBLE
(quickly)
I’m fine.
THUNDERLANE shifts uneasily.
RUMBLE
I just wanna be done. Okay?
THUNDERLANE
(hesitatingly)
Right. We can call it for the day, then pick up again when -
RUMBLE
Like, done done. Completely.
A beat.
RUMBLE
I’m not trying to be, like, a problem. I’m just really tired. Like… like really tired.
THUNDERLANE hesitates, then steps fully into the frame. He walks to the kitchen table. The camera follows. He clears away the stack of boxes on RUMBLE’S right, replacing them with the box of photo albums from the attic. He then sits down beside RUMBLE.
THUNDERLANE
(earnest)
I’m tired too.
RUMBLE doesn’t respond.
THUNDERLANE
I know this is hard, but we need to try to do it the right way. It would be an insult to her memory if we half-assed this. Right?
RUMBLE cringes at the mention of his MOTHER.
RUMBLE
(strained)
Yeah. I guess.
THUNDERLANE
Remember what she used to say?
RUMBLE
(scoffs)
What? Clean your room?
THUNDERLANE
No, dummy. After that.
RUMBLE
(sighs)
You can do it happy or you can do it miserable -
RUMBLE/THUNDERLANE
- but it’s getting done either way.
THE BROTHERS share a look.
RUMBLE
Alright, fine. Let’s look at the stupid photo albums.
THUNDERLANE lifts the lid off of the box on the table and pulls out one photo album after another, stacking them in front of his brother. RUMBLE only watches the stack grow taller and taller. THUNDERLANE finally removes the last album from the box. He blows a cloud of dust off the cover.
THUNDERLANE
Jackpot! It’s your baby album, Rumble!
THUNDERLANE excitedly holds up the album. It’s thinner than the others with an over-the-top cover covered in lace and storks - all in baby blue.
RUMBLE
Okay, I changed my mind. I’m ready to go home now.
THUNDERLANE
Ah, c’mon! You’re way too old to be embarrassed by -
THUNDERLANE cuts himself off. He is looking down at the first picture in the photo album in stunned silence. RUMBLE leans over to look.
RUMBLE
(softly)
Is that dad?
THUNDERLANE
Yeah.
RUMBLE
Before he was sick?
THUNDERLANE sighs sharply. He turns the page.
RUMBLE
Wow. He looks so much like you.
THUNDERLANE
Ponies always said that.
RUMBLE
Was he into, like, flying and stuff? Aerobatics? Like you?
THUNDERLANE
You don’t remember?
RUMBLE
No, dude. I was, like, two years old when he… y’know.
THUNDERLANE laughs tersely.
THUNDERLANE
Dad was a weather pony - a pressure systems expert. He designed thunderstorms and blizzards and stuff. He took you up, once - you don’t remember that?
RUMBLE shoots his brother a look.
THUNDERLANE
Right, right. You were tiny. I think it was after your first Hearth’s Warming, actually - he wanted to show you a snowstorm from the inside. He strapped you into one of those mommy-and-me pouches and flew you up into one he’d made.
INTERCUT - SNOWSTORM, RUMBLE’S POV. A few quick and violent cuts from inside a snowstorm.
RUMBLE
(incredulous)
For real?
THUNDERLANE
Mom was pissed.
(beat)
It’s… probably for the best you don’t remember that, actually.
RUMBLE
No kidding.
THUNDERLANE continues to page through the album.
THUNDERLANE
That’s just how dad was. He always had that sort of… mad scientist thing going on. Which kinda makes sense in hindsight, I guess. It didn’t seem messed up to me back then. I just thought I had a… a “cool” dad.
RUMBLE
What’s that supposed to mean?
THUNDERLANE
(uncomfortable)
Well… he was completely unmedicated. I don’t even think they had a word for it back then, so I doubt he had a -
RUMBLE
A word for what?
THUNDERLANE
(more uncomfortable)
Ugh. Y’know. Future Identity Disorder.
RUMBLE doesn’t understand.
THUNDERLANE
I think they call it, uh… “Fate Dysphoria” now.
RUMBLE
(gasps softly)
Dad had that?
THUNDERLANE
Mom thought so. Not back then - just looking back on it, y’know? Hindsight and all that.
THE BROTHERS continue to page through the photo album. We see many pictures of the colts when they were very young, occasionally co-starring other family members.
RUMBLE
So then… he wasn’t actually a weather pony, was he?
THUNDERLANE
Of course he was a weather pony. He was a weather pony his entire adult life. He just didn’t, um… fully agree with it. I dunno, I remember mom saying he talked a lot about writing.
RUMBLE
Writing?
THUNDERLANE
(chuckling)
Yeah, mystery novels or something. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that! Lots of ponies have hobbies. But it wasn’t his destiny. That was the weather.
THUNDERLANE points to a picture in the photo album. We see the FATHER, in his mid-twenties, posing for a picture with baby RUMBLE. THUNDERLANE’S hoof taps on his FATHER’S flank - there’s a cutie mark of a swirling storm, as if viewed from above or on a radar scan. The photo is labeled “GALE and baby RUMBLE”.
RUMBLE
But… I thought the point of Fate Dysphoria was that your destiny wasn’t aligned with your cutie mark - wouldn’t that mean dad was a writer, it’s just that… that his cutie mark was wrong?
THUNDERLANE
(a bit snippy)
Cutie marks can’t be wrong, Rumble. C’mon - that’s foal stuff. Don’t you know that?
RUMBLE
(relenting)
I guess…
THUNDERLANE closes the album and puts it back in the box.
THUNDERLANE
Y’know, we should probably just keep all the photo albums. I dunno what I thought we would throw away.
THUNDERLANE continues to pack away the photo albums. He does so slowly and silently.
RUMBLE
So… was dad any good at being a weather pony?
THUNDERLANE
I don’t think we should talk about dad anymore.
RUMBLE
But -
THUNDERLANE
Why don’t you bring some more boxes down from the attic?
RUMBLE hesitates, watching his brother meticulously pack photo albums away. Once he’s finished with this, he moves on to packing plates.
RUMBLE realizes he isn’t going to get anywhere with his brother.
RUMBLE
Fine.
RUMBLE kicks his chair out aggressively and marches away from the table. We get a clear shot of his flank - still blank - as he walks around the table and up the stairs to the attic.
The camera lingers on THUNDERLANE, alone in the kitchen. He waits for RUMBLE’s hoofsteps to retreat completely before he reaches into an unseen pocket / container and retrieves an ORANGE PILL BOTTLE. He quickly shakes some pills into his hoof and swallows them dry.
Over this shot, the title emerges:
SYMPTOMS INCLUDE:
The screen goes dark for a beat. Then, we return to RUMBLE:
INT. PONYVILLE HOME - DISUSED ATTIC - LATE AFTERNOON
RUMBLE is standing in the attic. He seems disoriented, lost in his own childhood home. He is only standing still, breathing shallowly, and gazing at something off screen.
After an uncomfortably long shot, we see that RUMBLE is looking at the CARDBOARD BOX labeled “GALE” - his father’s name.
RUMBLE opens THE BOX. He is distant and expressionless. THE BOX has very few items in it. It looks barren. RUMBLE, however, pulls out each item in turn and considers it.
The first item is a WEATHER MANUAL - standard issue to weather workers. This copy is old, faded, and beat. It was clearly used frequently for many years.
The second is a WEDDING EARRING. RUMBLE quickly places this back in the box.
The third is a PHOTOGRAPH. RUMBLE studies it carefully, but ultimately decides it is uninteresting - likely because it is badly smudged - and puts it back in the box.
The fourth and final object is a SMALL BOOK. RUMBLE pages through it quickly, pausing when he realizes that it is A DIARY - filled with his father’s hoofwriting. He opens the cover, and reads aloud the text printed on the first page:
RUMBLE
Diary of Surging Gale.
RUMBLE turns the page.
GALE (V.O.)
This diary serves as a record of my experiences as Doctor Tenderheart’s patient.
The camera shifts to RUMBLE. We watch his face as the voiceover continues:
GALE (V.O., cont.)
Doctor Tenderheart has tentatively diagnosed me with schizophrenia and depression. All I told her was that I sometimes feel like someone else is making choices for me, and I just have to do what they say. I told her there wasn’t an actual voice in my head - The Collective is more abstract - but I think she wrote it in my chart anyway. She gave me some pills, but I don’t think I’m going to take them since I’m pretty sure she’s wrong.
THUNDERLANE
(distant, muffled)
Rumble? You okay up there?
RUMBLE
(nervous, stuttering)
Yeah! Sorry, I just got distracted!
RUMBLE quickly drops the DIARY back into the BOX and folds the flaps over. He then kicks it into a dark corner of the attic, grabs another BOX, and hurries down the stairs. The camera remains on the box, now squatting in a dark corner. The music swells to an unbearable squeal before silencing entirely as we cut to black.
The OPENING CREDITS play over this blank, dark screen.
EXT. PONYVILLE HOME - NIGHT
We fade up to a still shot of the outside of RUMBLE and THUNDERLANE’S childhood home. Dialogue begins while the camera remains fixed.
THUNDERLANE (V.O.)
I gotta get home. Got practice in the morning.
RUMBLE (V.O.)
(sarcastically)
What, you don’t wanna have a sleepover? For old time’s sake?
THUNDERLANE (V.O.)
(laughs)
Not tonight. Got practice.
RUMBLE (V.O.)
Yeah, yeah…
THUNDERLANE (V.O.)
Not my fault you don’t have anywhere to be in the morning, Rumble.
RUMBLE scoffs.
THUNDERLANE (V.O.)
You could always join up, y’know. Nothing in the rulebook that says you have to have your cutie mark before you can start basic training.
RUMBLE (V.O.)
(quietly)
Nah. I’d rather know for sure.
A beat.
THUNDERLANE (V.O.)
Same time tomorrow?
RUMBLE (V.O.)
Yeah. Sure.
THUNDERLANE (V.O.)
You headed home too?
RUMBLE (V.O.)
I think I’m gonna stay over tonight. Maybe get a couple more boxes packed for HoofWill before I go to bed. Scootaloo said she’d come by in the morning to help me haul stuff out front.
THUNDERLANE (V.O.)
(laughs)
Don’t work too hard, alright?
RUMBLE doesn’t reply.
A moment later, THUNDERLANE exits the front door of the house. The camera remains stationary and does not attempt to follow him as he exits the frame. Once he exits, the camera shifts back to -
EXT. PONYVILLE HOME - MAIN ROOM - NIGHT
RUMBLE is staring at the front door, THUNDERLANE having just left. He waits a moment, then turns on his heel and scampers back up the stairs to the ATTIC.
INT. PONYVILLE HOME - DISUSED ATTIC - NIGHT
THE BOX is still shoved back into a far corner. RUMBLE runs to it and drags it back into the light of the singular lightbulb. He sits down, tears the flaps open, and retrieves THE DIARY. He continues reading:
GALE (V.O.)
My mind went fuzzy at work today, as it often does. I found myself leaning on my manual more heavily than usual. When I got sent out to redirect a squall with the on-call flight team, I clipped my wing on an eddy. I always manage to hurt myself on fuzzy days.
The overhead light in the attic flickers. RUMBLE looks up from the diary and watches the light flicker a second time. He stands, diary in hoof, and hobbles slowly to the door on three legs.
GALE (V.O., cont.)
I thought for a moment that the pills might help with the fuzziness - the Doctor said something about brain fog, which is an apt name - but The Collective seems to be pushing me towards drugs lately. I’m concerned they may have the opposite effect on me.
RUMBLE walks down the stairs, eyes still glued to the diary. He makes his way into THE LIVING ROOM and sits down on THE COUCH, still reading:
GALE (V.O., cont.)
I tried to write more of my book tonight. It felt good for a little while, but the Collective set my mind back to weather and my clipped wing. I think I will speak to the Doctor about natural remedies next time I see her.
RUMBLE pulls a blanket over himself.
GALE (V.O., cont.)
Cyclone was dismissive. I think she’s sick of hearing about this. I tried to tell her that healing is going to take time and I need her support, but she’s very tired. I’m trying not to be a burden, especially with a foal on the way.
The voiceover slowly fades as RUMBLE’s eyes flicker shut. The scene fades to black.
INT. PONYVILLE HOME - LIVING ROOM - MORNING
The scene snaps back to life with the sound of furious knocking at RUMBLE’s front door. The camera is tight on RUMBLE’s sleeping face, THE DIARY over his chest. He jerks awake at the second round of knocking.
SCOOTALOO
(shouting, muffled)
Rumble? You in there? I thought we were supposed to haul boxes this morning!
RUMBLE groans as he slowly sits up. THE DIARY falls from his chest and into his lap.
Rumble suddenly remembers all of the things he learned last night.
SCOOTALOO
(shouting, muffled)
Yo! Dude! Hello?
RUMBLE sighs.
RUMBLE
(hesitatingly)
I’m coming! Hold on…
The camera follows RUMBLE as he walks to the front door and opens it, revealing SCOOTALOO on the doorstep. She is in her early- to mid-twenties and styles herself with an intentional messiness. Her wings are severely stunted. She recoils when RUMBLE opens the door.
SCOOTALOO
Whoa. You look like crap.
RUMBLE
My mom died.
SCOOTALOO
(flustered)
Oh. Right. Well, uh -
RUMBLE
Actually, can we talk? I had a weird night last night.
SCOOTALOO
(shocked)
Sure. Whatever you need, dude.
RUMBLE turns and walks back into the house. It takes SCOOTALOO a moment to process, but she quickly follows, closing the front door behind her.
SCOOTALOO
I didn’t mean you actually look like crap, by the way. You look fine. I just meant you look kinda tired. Or… I dunno. Not right. Y’know what I mean?
RUMBLE shrugs.
RUMBLE
Yeah. I’m a bit all of the above right now.
SCOOTALOO
(winces)
That bad, huh?
RUMBLE shrugs again.
SCOOTALOO
Well… well, why don’t I make us some breakfast? What kinda stuff do you have around here? Eggs? Toast? Waffle mix?
RUMBLE
Nothing, Scoots. No one’s been in here for months.
SCOOTALOO
Right… well, why don’t we go out?
RUMBLE
(agitated)
We’re supposed to be taking a bunch of boxes to HoofWill. I wanted to be finished with this shit last night.
SCOOTALOO
(sighs)
You can’t haul crap until you’re fed, dude. Let’s go to the diner and get you something to eat, okay? And you can talk to me about last night.
The camera lingers on RUMBLE as he considers his options, then shifts with his eyes to THE DIARY on the couch.
He wants to talk here. Now. Away from prying eyes and ears.
But he should eat first.
INT. PONYVILLE DINER - MORNING
THE DINER is packed and very loud. Plates are clattering, ponies are buzzing, music is playing. It is a disquieting environment for serious conversations. The scene starts as a WAITRESS places a dish on the table in front of SCOOTALOO.
WAITRESS
There y’are, hon! One Breakfast Special.
SCOOTALOO
Thanks!
WAITRESS
And for you…
She sets another dish in front of RUMBLE.
WAITRESS
A steaming hot bowl of oatmeal. Can I get you two ponies anything else?
SCOOTALOO
No, we’re all set!
WAITRESS
(brightly)
That’s what I like to hear! I’ll be back around soon, just in case.
The WAITRESS departs. We see that her cutie mark is a cup of hot coffee. RUMBLE stares down into his oatmeal without even lifting his spoon. SCOOTALOO dives into her mountain of breakfast food: pancakes, eggs, home fries, and an assortment of fresh fruit.
SCOOTALOO
(with mouth full)
So. What exactly happened last night?
RUMBLE picks up his spoon and stirs his oatmeal slowly.
RUMBLE
I dunno, really. I got in a fight with Thunderlane.
SCOOTALOO
(swallows)
Over what?
RUMBLE
(uneasy)
My dad.
SCOOTALOO pauses cutting into her pancakes to give RUMBLE a look across the table.
SCOOTALOO
Oh. Didn’t he die when you were, like, really young?
RUMBLE nods.
SCOOTALOO
What was it about your dad, though? That you fought about?
RUMBLE
(hesitatingly)
I dunno. It’s weird. Thunderlane told me a bunch of stuff I didn’t really remember - about dad taking me up into a snowstorm and being generally a bit psycho - and then he told me he had -
SCOOTALOO
(stage whisper)
He took you up in a snowstorm?
RUMBLE
Yeah.
SCOOTALOO
Why?
RUMBLE
He was a weather pony. He wanted to show it to me, I guess.
SCOOTALOO
But -
RUMBLE
The point is, Thunderlane said he was… he was fate dysphoric.
SCOOTALOO looks over her shoulder, as if to see if anyone in the restaurant overheard. No one around them seems to react.
SCOOTALOO
Like, actually?
RUMBLE
I don’t know! I was a baby!
SCOOTALOO
Right, right… okay, so what?
RUMBLE
So… so Thunderlane was weird about it.
SCOOTALOO
Weird how?
RUMBLE
Weird like he didn’t seem to believe in it. He said cutie marks can’t be wrong, and that dad was just sick and he should have been medicated.
SCOOTALOO avoids RUMBLE’s eyes. She goes back to her food - just picking at it now.
RUMBLE
No. Don’t tell me you -
SCOOTALOO
Dude, cutie marks are my whole job! They have to be right, or else I’d be… well, I dunno what I’d be.
RUMBLE
But - well, isn’t it kinda crazy to think that they’re always right, all the time? I’m not saying it happens a lot or anything, but sometimes -
SCOOTALOO
If they could be wrong, then what’s the point of them at all?
RUMBLE
(hesitatingly)
I dunno. Maybe it’s, like, a societal thing. Like maybe we shouldn’t put so much on cutie marks. Y’know?
SCOOTALOO scoffs.
RUMBLE
What?
SCOOTALOO
Nothing.
RUMBLE
No, what?
SCOOTALOO
It’s just… Rumble, you’re a blank flank. Of course you’d say that.
RUMBLE’s tail curls defensively around his flank.
RUMBLE
Hey. You said there wasn’t anything wrong with being a blank flank.
SCOOTALOO
(defensive)
There’s not! But… well, c’mon, Rumble. You’ve always been sort of against the idea of fate and destiny. Don’t you think that has something to do with all this?
RUMBLE
We’re talking about my dad, Scootaloo.
SCOOTALOO
(nervous)
I know! I know. I’m sorry, I just… I dunno. It’s… kind of scary.
RUMBLE
(dry)
What part? The idea of Fate not working for you?
SCOOTALOO hangs her head. She picks at her food, but suddenly doesn’t seem nearly as hungry.
SCOOTALOO
Uh… why don’t we start over?
RUMBLE arches an eyebrow.
SCOOTALOO
(clears her throat)
Your dad had, um…
RUMBLE
Fate dysphoria.
SCOOTALOO winces.
RUMBLE rolls his eyes.
SCOOTALOO
Sorry. Your dad had… that. Then you got in a fight with your brother. And then…?
RUMBLE squirms in his seat, forelegs folded over his chest.
He doesn’t want to tell Scootaloo anything else. She wouldn’t understand.
But he has to.
RUMBLE
Then I found his diary.
SCOOTALOO
Thunderlane’s?
RUMBLE
No, dummy. My dad’s. It was in a box in the attic with some of his other stuff.
SCOOTALOO
(gasps)
Did you read it? Did it say anything about the… you know what?
RUMBLE
They didn’t have a word for it back then. Apparently he was seeing someone, but he was misdiagnosed as schizophrenic.
SCOOTALOO
Oh. Yikes.
RUMBLE
Yeah. I read some of the diary… he mostly talked about how he felt like there was this force controlling his life. He called it “The Collective”. He said it wasn’t like voices in his head, though - it was different. He liked to write fiction, and he said it was like they were writing his future. Like it was already set in stone and he couldn’t do anything except follow the steps they’d planned for him.
SCOOTALOO doesn’t reply. She looks uncomfortable, and sets her fork down on the table.
RUMBLE
(agitated)
What now?
SCOOTALOO
(hesitatingly)
I dunno, dude… it does sorta sound like he was sick.
RUMBLE
(insistent)
He was, just not how the doctors thought he was.
SCOOTALOO
You really think there’s some group of evil masterminds puppeteering the world? Controlling who gets what cutie mark and has which future?
RUMBLE
I never said that! I think my dad was going through something he didn’t understand, and he tried to put words to it. What’s wrong with that?
SCOOTALOO says nothing. Before RUMBLE can prompt her further, the WAITRESS returns to the table.
WAITRESS
How’re we doing over here?
SCOOTALOO smiles up at her.
SCOOTALOO
We’re great.
WAITRESS
(looking to RUMBLE)
What about you, sweetheart? Oatmeal any good?
RUMBLE
(without looking up)
It’s fine.
SCOOTALOO and THE WAITRESS exchange a look. SCOOTALOO shrugs.
WAITRESS
Well… alright, then.
THE WAITRESS departs.
SCOOTALOO
Rumble, look: your dad’s been gone for a long time. Why do you care so much now? You never even knew him! Can you tell me, honestly, that you have any memories of your dad at all?
RUMBLE doesn’t respond. He pokes at his oatmeal with his spoon, but doesn’t eat.
SCOOTALOO
Maybe you should see someone. I know Apple Bloom was pretty messed up when Granny Smith died, but she went to therapy and it really helped. Maybe you could talk about your parents and… and some of this other stuff.
RUMBLE
So you think I’m sick, too?
SCOOTALOO
(sighs)
Therapy is good for everyone, Rumble. There doesn’t have to be anything wrong for you to go talk to someone about your life.
RUMBLE
But there is something wrong with me, isn’t there?
SCOOTALOO tries to respond, but swallows it at the last moment. She goes back to eating her breakfast. RUMBLE continues to poke at his oatmeal. The cacophony of the diner slowly crescendos as the camera pulls back, taking in more and more of the scene. SCOOTALOO eats robotically. RUMBLE does not eat at all. When the sound in the diner grows deafening, the scene cuts to a black screen.
INT. CRYSTAL LIBRARY - DAY
RUMBLE is waiting by the front desk of the CRYSTAL LIBRARY. It is an absurdly opulent palace, retrofitted to behave as a community library. Sound echoes badly inside, and so RUMBLE is careful not to make too much noise.
LUSTER DAWN
(from offscreen)
Rumble!
RUMBLE jolts at the sudden, loud noise and turns to look over his shoulder.
LUSTER DAWN is the current protege of Princess Twilight Sparkle. She has recently been given the task of Ponyville librarian by the princess, as part of her lessons in friendship. She is a bit younger than RUMBLE - in her late teens - and has a bit of a chip on her shoulder.
LUSTER comes to join RUMBLE at the front desk.
LUSTER
(voice echoing)
I never expected to see you in a library.
RUMBLE
(soft, annoyed)
Hey, Luster.
LUSTER
What can I help you find today, Rumble?
RUMBLE
(sighs)
No offense, but is there anyone else on staff today? I’m not really in the mood for your passive aggression.
LUSTER
Just me today. And none taken.
RUMBLE rolls his eyes.
LUSTER
Can I help you? Actually?
RUMBLE hesitates outwardly. He doesn’t seem to want to give LUSTER any more information.
But he has to.
RUMBLE
(huffs)
Fine. I’m looking for a book on -
RUMBLE pauses and thinks it over. LUSTER looks bored.
RUMBLE
Medicine.
LUSTER
Can you be more specific?
RUMBLE
Um… brain stuff?
LUSTER
Neurology? Psychology? Psychiatry? Help me out, here.
RUMBLE
(hesitatingly)
Can you… remind me what the difference is?
LUSTER
(sighs)
Whatever’s going on, your secret’s safe with me, okay? I don’t really have time to run around spreading rumors. The Princess would have my head, anyway. What is it you actually want to know?
RUMBLE looks over his shoulder to see if anyone is watching, then leans in close to whisper to LUSTER.
RUMBLE
(whispering)
Fate dysphoria?
LUSTER
(skeptical)
Really? You? Why?
RUMBLE
It’s not any of your business, Lulu.
LUSTER
(huffy)
Believe it or not, it’s my job to help you find the information you’re looking for. If you’re simply curious about the condition, I’d point you to the latest edition of the DSM - Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. If you’re looking for support and coping strategies, however, I think your best bet is -
RUMBLE
(stern)
I don’t have it. I just want to see a list of symptoms and… I dunno, that sort of thing.
LUSTER looks disappointed.
LUSTER
Alright. The DSM is probably your best bet, in that case. Do you know how to use the Starswirl Decimal System?
RUMBLE
(exasperated)
Can you just find the book for me?
LUSTER seems agitated, but obliges. She leads RUMBLE deeper into the library, past groups of studying ponies, into the medical wing. Here, she peruses the books on a lower shelf, eventually pulling out a hefty tome - THE DSM.
LUSTER
Here you go. This is a diagnostic tool - it’s meant to help doctors diagnose patients. It’s a good starting point, but it might be kinda dry. If you want something a little more personal, you might be interested in -
RUMBLE
No, thanks. Dry is fine.
LUSTER smirks at RUMBLE, sensing the unspoken thank-you.
LUSTER
(chipper)
If you need anything else, you know where to find me!
LUSTER exits, leaving RUMBLE alone again.
RUMBLE tucks the book under his wing and hunts for an open study pod - a tiny desk with dividers on either side to provide minimal privacy. Once settled, he sets THE DSM on the desk, then pulls out a second book: THE DIARY.
RUMBLE
(softly, to himself)
Alright, then. Let’s take a look.
RUMBLE starts with THE DSM, leafing through to find the entry he’s searching for. Here, he rests his hoof under the entry and reads aloud:
RUMBLE
(softly, to himself)
Fate Dysphoria is defined as a marked incongruence between one’s assigned talent (denoted by the cutie mark) and their own desires and goals for the future. Symptoms include:
Brain fog / dissociation when performing one’s assigned talent,
Anxiety related to fate, destiny, and the future,
Strong aversion to activities relating to one’s assigned talent,
Delusions relating to a controlling outside force,
Self-harm and mutilation.
RUMBLE pulls away from the page. He stares at it for an uncomfortably long period, as if processing what he’s just read. Then, without warning, he shoves THE DSM aside and turns to THE DIARY.
RUMBLE flips through THE DIARY at an alarming rate, almost certainly hunting for particular entries. Individual sequences and shots bleed into one another, implying that we only see a fraction of what he actually read. When he pauses, we hear GALE’s voice reading the text aloud:
GALE (V.O.)
Another day lost. I’m finding it harder and harder to remember the details of work as a weather pony. It seems to slip away from me all too easily. I like the work fine - it just isn’t what I’m meant to do. I find it hard to ascribe value to it as a result, and the memories just blend together.
INTERCUT - RUMBLE, reading
We see the text from THE DSM overlaid on RUMBLE’s face:
BRAIN FOG / DISSOCIATION
GALE (V.O., cont.)
My son found his destiny today. He’s going to be an aeronaut - maybe one of the best. I can already see him with the Wonderbolts insignia across his chest. I wish I could celebrate with him properly, but the way Cyclone talks about his future gives me chest pains. I had to leave his party to vomit. I hope he doesn’t hate me for it someday.
Doctor Tenderheart has prescribed me emergency anxiety medication. I haven’t taken any so far. I feel it is an overcorrection, and may possibly make me more susceptible to demands made by The Collective.
More text from THE DSM is overlaid:
ANXIETY RELATED TO FATE, DESTINY, AND THE FUTURE
GALE(V.O., cont.)
I called out of work today. Cyclone is furious, despite the written word from Doctor Tenderheart that work absences are an expected part of the healing process. She was right - I just couldn’t face it today. It chips away at me. There’s nothing wrong with it, of course. Someone’s gotta do it. But it’s just always eating at the back of my mind… The Collective is making me do this, and I don’t know to what end.
From THE DSM:
STRONG AVERSION TO ACTIVITIES RELATING TO ONE’S ASSIGNED TALENT
GALE (V.O., cont.)
The Collective’s instructions are becoming more forceful lately. I understand now that they are the ones who have laid out the strings of fate, and that it is our duty to follow them. I still don’t know what their plan is, only that following in their design leads to complacency. Those who are able to honor their assigned talent seem unwilling to question the system. I feel that I will have to take more drastic measures.
Today I got caught in a tailwind and sucked inside a storm cloud, and I found clarity for the first time in years. Maybe this is the key to seeing beyond the reach of The Collective.
INTERCUT - VIOLENT STORM WINDS. A BABY CRYING.
RUMBLE sits back in his chair. He looks over each shoulder, peering down the aisles of the study space to see if he is being watched. He sees no one, and so returns to the books.
LUSTER
(very close)
Find everything okay?
RUMBLE startles. The chair makes a loud sound as it moves across the crystal floor.
RUMBLE
(breathing hard)
For the love of - don’t sneak up on ponies like that!
LUSTER
Sorry, sorry. Did the DSM help?
RUMBLE hesitates. His eyes jump back over to THE DIARY, if only for an instant.
LUSTER
(peering over RUMBLE’s shoulder)
Whatcha got there?
RUMBLE closes THE DIARY as quickly as he can and press one hoof over the cover.
RUMBLE
None of your beeswax.
LUSTER
Oh, I get it. Who are we armchair diagnosing today: friends or family?
RUMBLE
Can’t you go bother somepony else?
LUSTER
Can I give you a piece of advice first?
RUMBLE glares at her, but doesn’t stop her.
LUSTER
(earnest)
You can’t research your way out of a personal problem. I know it’s tempting - believe me - but the only way to really get closure is to talk. Connect.
The Princess taught me that. And I sort of had to learn it first-hoof before it stuck. Which… well, I’ll be honest: it blows. But I’m sure you have someone you can talk to about this.
RUMBLE doesn’t reply. We linger on his face, uncertain, fading in SFX of an outdoor setting, until we cut to -
EXT. PONYVILLE HOME - DUSK
RUMBLE and THUNDERLANE are sitting on the front steps of their childhood home. THUNDERLANE is visibly sweaty and grinning at the result of his hard work. He is drinking a glass of lemonade. RUMBLE is looking distant and morose.
THUNDERLANE
Gotta admit, Rumble - I didn’t think you had it in you. You sure hauled a lot of stuff for such a scrawny colt.
THUNDERLANE playfully punches his brother on the shoulder. RUMBLE looks up at THUNDERLANE and gives him a polite, uncertain smile in response. He doesn’t remember very much of the moving process.
THUNDERLANE
(earnest)
Uh. Seriously, little bro. I couldn’t have done this without your help. I know it hit you pretty hard.
RUMBLE
(deadpan)
What, my mom dying? Yeah. I think you could say it’s been kinda tough.
THUNDERLANE
(carefully)
Yeah. I mean… well, we’re going through it together, right?
RUMBLE doesn’t respond.
He isn’t convinced this is something they’re weathering together at all.
THUNDERLANE (faux cheer)
I bet I know what would take your mind off things! How about we head down to the Hay Burger and get some shakes? The kind with candy in ‘em?
RUMBLE
I’m not a kid anymore, Laney.
THUNDERLANE
(defeated)
Yeah. I know.
The brothers sit together in silence. THUNDERLANE sips at his lemonade, then sets it down on the step beside him.
THUNDERLANE
(carefully)
Uh… y’know, after dad died, mom sent us to therapy. You remember that?
RUMBLE
No.
THUNDERLANE
(fondly)
Yeah. Doctor Clear Mind. She was pretty nice, far as I remember - she worked with kids, I guess, and she had this whole cool-aunt thing going on. I remember she let me try coffee. I thought that was really cool.
RUMBLE
Uh-huh. Great.
THUNDERLANE
(sighs)
Anyway. My point is - well, you probably guessed my point.
RUMBLE
(sarcastic)
No, no. By all means. Tell me I should go to therapy.
THUNDERLANE
Don’t be like that. I’m trying to help.
RUMBLE
(angry)
I never asked for help! Why is everyone treating me like I’m some bomb about to go off?
My mom died. I’m sad. And I know it was a long time ago but guess what? I’m sad about my dead dad, too. I’m a twenty-four-year-old orphaned blank flank and I don’t want to talk about it.
THUNDERLANE watches his younger brother silently. RUMBLE remains steadfast - he doesn’t cry, but he looks like he could. He doesn’t look at his brother.
THUNDERLANE
Is this about… dad?
RUMBLE
Are you listening to me at all?
THUNDERLANE
No, I mean is this about… the stuff I said about dad? About the meds and the Future Disorder stuff? Because I -
RUMBLE
No.
RUMBLE looks confused. Then pained. He isn’t sure why he said that. He certainly didn’t mean it. That’s what all of this is about - of course it is.
He should have read more of that book.
He should have checked to see if Fate Dysphoria was hereditary.
THUNDERLANE
Oh. Sorry. I just… never mind.
RUMBLE doesn’t say anything.
Rumble is starting to feel strange.
THUNDERLANE
I guess… getting back to my point, then.
Therapy is for everyone, Rumble. It helps to have someone to talk to on the outside. Everyone you know knows you, and knows your history, and it gets complicated. But going to therapy can help you to simplify some stuff.
Y’know, when dad died, I remember feeling…
THUNDERLANE’s voice slowly fades out. We can see that he is still speaking, but his mouth is moving without sound. RUMBLE is watching him. His eyes glaze over. He is looking past THUNDERLANE, now. All of his wise words about therapy and medication are falling on deaf ears.
Slowly, steadily, we zoom in on RUMBLE. Past THUNDERLANE. Tighter and tighter on his face. On his eyes.
The sounds of the snowstorm fade in. Howling wind. Rumbling thunder. His father's voice, speaking in hurried whispers.
In one sudden clap of thunder, the scene changes.
INT - SNOW STORM
GALE is hovering in what appears to be the eye of his storm. His name whips wildly about his head, but he remains stationary. Or perhaps it is simply the way the camera is locked onto him that makes him appear stationary. It is impossible to tell.
He has a papoose strapped to his chest. In it: RUMBLE, an infant. He is crying hysterically.
GALE
I'm trying to keep you safe. You have to understand that. I know you're too young, but you have to. They can't get you in here, Rumble. They can't reach you.
Spit flies from his mouth as he speaks. He takes short rests to grunt, strain, or simply glance nervously at his surroundings.
GALE
You're like me. I can tell. I can always tell. I pass kids on the street - they have this look in their eyes. They see the strings. They hear the narrator.
You hear the narrator too. I know it. I can tell.
Another clap of thunder, and we return to the scene on the stoop.
EXT. PONYVILLE HOME - DUSK
THUNDERLANE
(Tense)
You're not… mad, are ya?
RUMBLE only stares straight ahead. His eyes look right through THUNDERLANE, as if into the past.
THUNDERLANE shakes his brother's shoulder.
THUNDERLANE
Hey. Rumble. Are you mad?
RUMBLE
(dazed)
I… what?
THUNDERLANE
Look, normally I would talk to you about it first, but the last couple of times I brought it up, you just… I dunno, you didn’t hear it. I felt like I had to do it for you or you were just gonna -
RUMBLE
Do what for me?
THUNDERLANE
(sad, resigned)
Make you an appointment, dude. That’s what I’ve been saying.
RUMBLE stands.
RUMBLE
You just - you made me an appointment? Like I can’t do that myself? Like you’re my -
THUNDERLANE winces in anticipation. RUMBLE stops himself before he says something he’ll regret, but the intention is still there.
RUMBLE sits back down.
RUMBLE
Fine.
THUNDERLANE doesn’t reply.
RUMBLE
Fine. I’ll go. One stupid time.
THUNDERLANE
(earnest)
Thank you.
Fade to black.
INT - THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY
The camera is focused only on RUMBLE for the duration of this scene. THE THERAPIST is never named or shown.
RUMBLE is sitting in an armchair. The frame is deliberately very wide, capturing the room nearly in its entirety. RUMBLE is low in the frame. He appears very small and uncomfortable. The room is washed out by intense sunlight.
THERAPIST
You understand that today is a consultation, yes? A typical session lasts about an hour, but today we’ll only be speaking for fifteen minutes.
RUMBLE nods.
THERAPIST
Have you spoken with a therapist before?
RUMBLE
No. Well, yeah. But I don’t remember it.
THERAPIST
I see.
RUMBLE
(nervous)
Not because I was, like, crazy or anything. I was just really little.
THERAPIST
And what was going on in your life at that age that warranted speaking with a therapist?
RUMBLE
Uh. My dad died.
THERAPIST
I’m sorry to hear that.
RUMBLE
(confused)
It’s fine. It was a long time ago.
THERAPIST
That doesn’t mean it’s no longer affecting you, Rumble.
RUMBLE only grunts.
THERAPIST
Can I ask what prompted you to make an appointment with me?
RUMBLE
(bitter)
My brother made me this appointment.
THERAPIST
And what prompted him?
RUMBLE folds his forelegs tightly across his chest.
RUMBLE
I dunno. Our mom just died, and that’s been a lot. He says I’m acting funny lately, but I honestly think I’m fine.
THERAPIST
He says you’re acting funny?
RUMBLE
Just, like, zoning out and being sorta pissed off. Isn’t that normal?
THERAPIST
Of course.
RUMBLE
So then I shouldn’t have to go to therapy.
THERAPIST
Therapy has nothing to do with normality, Rumble. It’s simply a tool we use to navigate life. We don’t have to be in an emergency situation to access this tool, just like we don’t have to be dehydrated to drink water. I also see a therapist.
RUMBLE
(snide)
And who does your therapist see?
THERAPIST
Another therapist.
RUMBLE doesn’t find that response particularly interesting. He says nothing.
THERAPIST
Were you close with your mother?
RUMBLE
(shrugs)
I mean, yeah. She was my mom.
THERAPIST
And your brother?
RUMBLE
Yeah. That was his mom.
THERAPIST
No, no. I mean, are you close with your brother?
RUMBLE
Oh. Well… yeah. We’ve always been close. Until lately, we’ve never even really fought about anything.
THERAPIST
And what have you been fighting about lately?
RUMBLE
Ugh. I don’t really wanna talk about it.
THERAPIST
That’s alright. We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, Rumble.
RUMBLE doesn’t say anything. He stares down at the floor, and the silence drags on.
THERAPIST
You mentioned you’ve been feeling angry?
RUMBLE
Huh?
THERAPIST
‘Pissed off’ was what you said, actually. What’s been making you feel that way?
RUMBLE
(sighs)
That’s sorta related to the stuff I don’t wanna talk about.
THERAPIST
I see.
RUMBLE pauses again. The room is very quiet, with hardly any identifiable ambient sound.
RUMBLE
I guess I just thought my brother and I were on the same page about most stuff. But… my mom dying brought up some things. And it turns out he’s got some opinions I don’t exactly like.
THERAPIST
I understand. Disagreements like that between family members can be complicated.
RUMBLE
Yeah. Like, I still love him and everything, but I just feel like I can’t be as honest with him as I was… y’know?
THERAPIST
And you value honesty with your brother?
RUMBLE
Yeah. Of course I do.
THERAPIST
Have you talked to him about how you’re feeling?
RUMBLE
(darkly)
No.
THERAPIST
It sounds like something he would want to know. I’d certainly want to know if my younger brother was feeling like he couldn’t be fully honest with me.
RUMBLE grunts wordlessly.
THERAPIST
You disagree?
RUMBLE
(hesitatingly)
No. But it’s not that simple.
THERAPIST
Why?
RUMBLE says nothing. He stares down at the floor. He doesn’t want to share - he wants his father’s struggles, now his own, to remain private.
And yet, another part of him wants to share.
RUMBLE
(slowly)
Have you ever had to diagnose someone with something… controversial?
THERAPIST
(pause)
Can you say more?
RUMBLE
I dunno. I’ve just been reading lately about, like, medical stuff. And there’s all these diseases and things that some ponies seem to think aren’t real. Have you ever had a patient who thought they had something like that?
THERAPIST
(sighs)
Well, I can’t give you very many details, but yes. Much of the realm of mental health was controversial at one time or another. Depression, for example, was a controversial diagnosis until quite recently. In the grand scheme of medical knowledge, of course.
RUMBLE
Hm.
THERAPIST
Do you have an interest in medical practice, Rumble?
RUMBLE
Not usually.
THERAPIST
What sparked this interest in diagnosis, then?
RUMBLE doesn’t answer.
But RUMBLE should answer.
That’s RUMBLE’s line.
RUMBLE has to say his lines.
RUMBLE
We think my dad had Fate Dysphoria.
THERAPIST
Who’s ‘we’?
RUMBLE
I dunno. My family, I guess. My mom used to say it - to my brother, though. Not to me. But my brother’s all - I dunno. He didn’t say it wasn’t real, but he might as well have.
THERAPIST
What do you think?
RUMBLE
I don’t know. I never knew my dad. All I have is his journal and… honestly? It seems like he was kinda nuts.
THERAPIST
What do you mean by that?
RUMBLE
He’s got pages and pages about other ponies controlling him. Like he wasn’t in control of his life at all - it was someone else making all his choices, and he was just doing what he was told to do.
THERAPIST
(pause)
Well, delusions relating to loss of control are very common with Fate Dysphoria. The incongruity between oneself and the destiny they were assigned can cause a pony to feel as if they have no control over their own lives. In some cases, this feeling can lead ponies to take… extreme measures to regain a sense of control.
INTERCUT - SNOWSTORM, RUMBLE’S POV. A few quick and violent cuts from inside a snowstorm.
RUMBLE
(stunned)
But… it’s real, right?
THERAPIST
Of course.
RUMBLE
Is it… hereditary?
THERAPIST
(pause)
Rumble, are you concerned about your own mental health? Because, if so, I think it’s a little early to -
RUMBLE
Is it hereditary?
THERAPIST
(pause)
Yes. In many cases, Fate Dysphoria can be passed from father to son.
RUMBLE doesn’t reply.
THERAPIST
However, I don’t think it’s anything you need to worry about just yet.
RUMBLE
(confused)
What’s that supposed to mean?
THERAPIST
(light, almost chuckling)
Well, Rumble, you don’t have your cutie mark yet. You can’t really be Fate Dysphoric when you haven’t been assigned your Fate yet.
RUMBLE
(dejected)
Oh.
THERAPIST
If you’re experiencing anxiety related to your cutie mark, I would prefer to refer you to an endocrinologist. They can discuss hormone treatments with you.
At this point in the conversation, the camera begins to push in towards RUMBLE, turning the wide open frame into a more claustrophobic space.
RUMBLE
Hormone treatments?
THERAPIST
Mm-hm. My guess is that you’re dealing with a condition known colloquially as delayed puberty. It’s actually a fairly common condition, medically speaking - about 2% of the population deals with it. It’s easily treated with the right combination of hormones.
RUMBLE
Treated?
THERAPIST
Yes.
RUMBLE
(swallows)
Meaning… what?
THERAPIST
Meaning you would get your cutie mark. Have you not spoken to a doctor about this before?
The camera is pushing in closer and closer on RUMBLE’s face. His breathing has quickened, and his eyes are starting to search the space outside the frame, searching for an escape route.
THERAPIST
Let me write down the name of…
But the therapist’s voice fades into static and ringing. RUMBLE is no longer hearing her at all. The snow storm is closing in on him again, enveloping him in flashes of thunder and wild winds. He hears his father’s incessant, manic whispers in his ear.
They want to put him on medication.
They want to control him.
They want to give him a Role and a Fate and make sure he never sways from the path the world has chosen for him.
But RUMBLE doesn’t want to do that.
RUMBLE stands.
THERAPIST
(surprised)
Oh! Our fifteen minutes aren’t quite up yet, Rumble. My timer says we have another -
“I need to leave,” RUMBLE says. “Right now.”
THERAPIST
Um. Of course! If you’d like, you can schedule a follow-up appointment with the receptionist. I don’t believe I have any openings until next month, but -
“I need to leave right now,” RUMBLE says again, urgently. This time, he doesn’t wait for a response. He is out the door before THE THERAPIST can respond at all.
RUMBLE leaves the office in a rush, his chest heaving and his head swimming. He feels at once as clear as he;s ever been in his entire life and muddied in a way that was difficult to grasp. Suddenly, everything was too bright. There was too much sun coming in the windows. The smell of the cleaner was too strong, and it was making the light even brighter. The sound of the radiator was too loud, which was making the smell worse, which was making the light brighter. He had to leave.
RUMBLE is having a panic attack.
He’d never had one before—not personally—but he had seen his friend SWEETIE BELLE through one or two. It was scary. It was scarier having one, especially because he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do to make it stop.
RUMBLE runs past the receptionist and into one of the public bathrooms near the waiting room. Here, he leans on the sink and stares at himself in the mirror. He tries to count to five.
One. His mouth tastes like blood.
Two. It smells like cigarettes in here. In THE BATHROOM.
Three. THE SINK is cold.
Four. One of THE TOILETS is still running.
Five.
RUMBLE looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are wild, but he looks tired.
INT - RUMBLE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
RUMBLE’s apartment is small and minimally decorated. It is a studio apartment - mattress, desk, and kitchen all in one shared room. We can see a sliding door to a small balcony and two doors: one leading to the hall, the other to a bathroom. Everything else is on full display.
RUMBLE is hunched over his desk, reading from THE DIARY and a few other books he’s propped open. None of them look particularly scientific.
CLOSEUP - THE DIARY
GALE (V.O.)
I’ve tried to discuss The Collective with Cyclone on a few occasions, but she isn’t as open-minded as I thought she was. As I’ve noticed in the past, those who benefit from the system are unwilling to change it. It is a disappointing discovery to say the least.
RUMBLE turns from THE DIARY to jot down notes in his own small journal. The open page is covered in writing, then overlaid in a manner of lines, circles, arrows, and other such visually overwhelming note-taking.
RUMBLE returns to THE DIARY.
GALE (V.O., cont.)
I am afraid The Collective is not happy with me. Their demands have become more narrow as I have worked my way closer and closer to the truth. I need to find space away from them - thankfully, there is a snowstorm scheduled for later this week. I will take as much time as I can bear inside the storm clouds to plan my next move.
RUMBLE flips the page.
GALE (V.O., cont.)
I have been found out. The demands are very loud now. They are drowning out my own narrator. I fear I must take drastic measures to escape their influence.
RUMBLE turns another page, but finds that there are no more entries. He flips back to the previous page and rereads the last entry. Before he can process this discovery, there is a knock at the door.
RUMBLE hesitates, his attention caught between the knocking and THE DIARY. Eventually, he scampers to the door.
RUMBLE
Who’s there?
DIAMOND TIARA
It’s your old friend the mayor.
RUMBLE
(annoyed)
I’m busy right now, Di. Come back later.
DIAMOND TIARA
(faux whiny)
Aw, after I came all this way? I thought we were friends, Rumble!
RUMBLE
(growls)
It’s not a good time!
DIAMOND TIARA
(sighs)
I think Princess Twilight would say that’s the best time to have a friend come check in.
We see RUMBLE consider his options. He huffs.
RUMBLE
Fine. For one minute.
DIAMOND TIARA
Ooh, hooray!
RUMBLE undoes the chain on his apartment door and throws it open.
DIAMOND TIARA is all grown up now. She is wearing the mayoral collar and jabot, but no tiara. She holds her head high and stands with pride, though not with arrogance. She is smiling earnestly at RUMBLE.
DIAMOND TIARA
Hi! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
RUMBLE
(unenthused)
What do you want?
DIAMOND TIARA
I told you: I’m checking in. I heard about your mom.
RUMBLE looks down at the floor.
DIAMOND TIARA
I’m so sorry, Rumble. She was a very kind and talented mare. She’ll be missed by a lot of ponies.
RUMBLE scoffs.
DIAMOND TIARA
(confused)
Um… I'm sorry, did I misread something?
RUMBLE
No. It’s fine. It’s complicated. Listen, do you need something from me?
DIAMOND TIARA
What? No, no - I told you, I’m here to check in. That’s what friends do…?
RUMBLE doesn’t reply.
DIAMOND TIARA
(defeated)
I talked to Luster.
RUMBLE stomps his hoof on the floor.
RUMBLE
Great. Just great. As if all this wasn’t bad enough, now Luster is out there spreading rumors about -
DIAMOND TIARA
I have it too.
RUMBLE pauses. He and DIAMOND TIARA stare at one another. After a long moment, DIAMOND TIARA takes a step forward.
DIAMOND TIARA
Can I come in?
RUMBLE
(dazed)
Yeah. Sure.
RUMBLE makes way for DIAMOND TIARA to enter his apartment. He shuts the door behind her, then rushes to his desk to close as many books as he can and tuck them away. As he shuffles papers, DIAMOND TIARA looks around the single room. The camera focuses closely on her cutie mark, watching RUMBLE’s motions past it.
DIAMOND TIARA
You live here by yourself?
RUMBLE
Yeah. Not much space for anyone else.
DIAMOND TIARA doesn’t reply.
RUMBLE finishes hiding the evidence of his research, then comes to stand beside DIAMOND TIARA.
RUMBLE
Um… when you said you have ‘it’, you mean -
DIAMOND TIARA
Fate Dysphoria.
RUMBLE
Oh. I didn’t…
DIAMOND TIARA
(sighs)
Most ponies don’t. I’m thinking about maybe saying something. Or… doing something. Since I’m the mayor and all. I thought maybe I could raise awareness or have a parade. But… I don’t know. It’s still hard to talk about sometimes.
RUMBLE pulls the chair out from his desk, and gestures for DIAMOND TIARA to sit. She nods and takes a seat. RUMBLE sits across from her on the mattress.
DIAMOND TIARA
(hesitating, remembering)
Let’s see… I was diagnosed about six years ago now. I’d been dealing with some… stuff. Anxiety. Depression. It was hard to get myself to do anything at all, but especially hard to approach anything relating to my talent. It was awful.
RUMBLE
(softly)
That sounds awful.
DIAMOND TIARA
(somber)
It was hard. It honestly didn’t feel that awful at the time, but I think it was just because I didn’t have the energy to feel much of anything.
It was like… it was like being on a track. Like a roller coaster, sort of. I was just following exactly what I was supposed to do, but I didn’t feel any of it. It didn’t feel like everyone said it was supposed to.
RUMBLE
I think that’s how my dad felt.
DIAMOND TIARA
He had it too?
RUMBLE nods.
DIAMOND TIARA
And he’s… he passed away?
RUMBLE
(strained)
Yep.
DIAMOND TIARA
I’m sorry. I wish you could have talked to him.
RUMBLE
Me too.
There is a long pause. Both DIAMOND TIARA and RUMBLE appear to be reflecting.
RUMBLE
So… what did you do?
DIAMOND TIARA
That’s the happier part of the story, thankfully. I’m on some medication now. It’s helping quite a bit.
RUMBLE
(incredulous)
There’s medication?
DIAMOND TIARA
Of course! Modern medicine really is a miracle.
RUMBLE scowls. He peers around DIAMOND TIARA to glance at her flank: the same as always.
RUMBLE
It doesn’t change?
DIAMOND TIARA
(confused)
Excuse me?
RUMBLE
Your cutie mark. I would have thought that - well, you said you were getting treatment. It doesn’t change your cutie mark?
DIAMOND TIARA
(chuckles)
No, no. Cutie marks are permanent, Rumble. We don’t have those kinds of miracles - and, honestly, even if we did we probably shouldn’t be using them. Didn’t you ever read about Princess Twilight’s royalty exam? Ponyville nearly burned to the ground!
RUMBLE
I’m confused. I thought you said you were getting treatment. It sounds like you’re just doing exactly the same thing you always did.
DIAMOND TIARA
(scoffs)
I am, I’m just doing it happier now. I’m on antidepressants. I have an emergency anti-anxiety pill too. It’s a life-saver, honestly. They both are.
RUMBLE
(distant, emotionless)
I don’t understand.
DIAMOND TIARA
(stammering)
There’s nothing to understand. It’s - you get what Fate Dysphoria is, don’t you?
RUMBLE doesn’t reply.
DIAMOND TIARA
(calm, even)
Look. I’m just trying to tell you that there’s options. Six years ago, I was just going through the motions of local politics - but now look at me! I’m the Mayor of Ponyville!
RUMBLE
But what if you’re not?
DIAMOND TIARA
What kind of question is that?
RUMBLE stands.
RUMBLE
What if you’re not? What if you’re meant to be an artist? Or a teacher? What if Fate got it wrong? What if it’s changed?
DIAMOND TIARA
(strained)
I really think you ought to speak with a therapist, Rumble.
RUMBLE
(getting louder)
I did. Her solution was to medicate the problem away - medicate me away. That’s exactly what they did to my dad before he died!
You’re not happy with the world? Fine! We’ll pump you full of artificial happy chemicals until you feel better - nevermind trying to fix the world we live in!
DIAMOND TIARA stands.
DIAMOND TIARA
Look at me, Rumble: did they ‘medicate me away’? No! I’m standing right here! I’m successful. I’m happy!
RUMBLE
(retreating)
I don’t think you’re happy. I think you’re just not sad anymore. There’s a difference.
DIAMOND TIARA
(advancing)
You know you’re not well. You need help.
RUMBLE
(indignant)
Everyone keeps saying that! Like I’m the problem! Well, I’m not!
RUMBLE stomps his hoof on the hardwood. “It’s Fate! My dad knew it, and I know it, too!”
DIAMOND TIARA
(a bit scared)
What are you talking about?
It is RUMBLE’s turn to advance on DIAMOND TIARA. “He heard it. Whatever it is—the things that decide who does what. They lay out everyone’s path, but my dad could hear them. He was trying to explain, but they just gave him meds to shut him up.”
DIAMOND TIARA backs up against RUMBLE’s desk. She is stiff-legged and squared-jawed. Despite her calm exterior, her chest heaves with quick, hard breaths. She’s scared. She’s scared of RUMBLE.
“He called it The Collective,” RUMBLE says. “They’re the ones who laid out that track you used to see. But you don’t see it anymore, do you?”
DIAMOND TIARA
There is no track. It was in my head. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.
“Look!” RUMBLE points to the words, dry and devoid of emotion. “Don’t you see that? You’re still stuck on the track. You’re just saying your lines. The Collective wrote them for you!”
DIAMOND TIARA
Back up, Rumble.
RUMBLE pauses. He has gotten very close to DIAMOND TIARA. He didn’t even notice he was advancing on her.
RUMBLE takes a few quick steps back. “I-I’m sorry. I—”
DIAMOND TIARA
(darkly)
You need to calm down. Right now.
“I’m calm,” RUMBLE lies.
DIAMOND TIARA
You need to count to step away from me right now and count to five.
RUMBLE shakes his head. “No. I-I’m fine, I just—”
DIAMOND TIARA
One.
RUMBLE’s breath is shaking.
RUMBLE
One.
DIAMOND TIARA
Two.
RUMBLE
Two. I’m not trying to—
DIAMOND TIARA
Three.
RUMBLE
(sighs)
Three.
DIAMOND TIARA side-steps towards the door.
DIAMOND TIARA
Four.
RUMBLE
Four.
DIAMOND TIARA
Five.
RUMBLE
Five.
DIAMOND TIARA
I’m calling your brother.
RUMBLE pauses.
RUMBLE
Okay.
DIAMOND TIARA
Good.
DIAMOND TIARA reaches for the door. It opens into the hall.
DIAMOND TIARA
I want you to get better, Rumble.
RUMBLE
I want to get better too.
DIAMOND TIARA
(nods)
I know.
The door closes, leaving RUMBLE alone in his apartment.
RUMBLE goes to sit on the bed.
RUMBLE
No.
RUMBLE goes to sit on the bed.
“No,” RUMBLE repeats. “N-no. I’m going out. I need some air.”
RUMBLE looks tired.
“I’m not tired.”
RUMBLE needs to follow the script. It is very clear that it hurts RUMBLE’s friends when he doesn’t follow the script. RUMBLE is going to get himself in trouble if he doesn’t follow The Script.
“Fuck the script,” RUMBLE growls.
INT. RUMBLE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
RUMBLE blinks and the sun has gone down. At first, he thinks it was his imagination, but a pang of fear shoots into his chest like ice as realization dawns on him: The Script has ended his day for him.
There is a knock at the door. RUMBLE goes to answer it.
RUMBLE sits down hard in the chair by his desk. He ignores the knocking at the door. He wraps one foreleg around the chair to hold himself in place, as if The Script is going to pick him up by the scruff of his neck and carry him to the door.
Another knock at the door. RUMBLE goes to answer it.
“No,” RUMBLE says. “Answer your own damn door.”
THUNDERLANE
(nervous, muffled through door)
Rumble? I can hear you in there… it’s me, Laney.
RUMBLE grips the chair even tighter.
THUNDERLANE
(nervous, sad)
I’m worried about you, dude. I think we need to talk. Mayor Tiara said - well, nevermind. It doesn’t matter.
RUMBLE does not reply.
THUNDERLANE
(earnest)
I’m sorry. I just think we need to talk. I wasn’t listening the way I should have. You have some stuff going on, but I do too and… not that it matters. I think I just got lost in my own head.
RUMBLE does not reply.
THUNDERLANE
Can we try again? I wanna listen. I really do.
RUMBLE
I’m coming.
RUMBLE slaps a hoof over his mouth.
THUNDERLANE
(relieved)
Oh, good. You had me worried for a second, there.
RUMBLE goes to answer the door.
On the other side stands his brother, THUNDERLANE. Unlike the last few times we’ve seen him, he’s looking a bit haggard: he has dark circles under his eyes and some conspicuous bedhead. Everything about him is sagging, drooping. Despite it all, he perks up immediately when he sees his brother.
THUNDERLANE
Oh, thank hoofness! When Di told me about how you - well, nevermind that junk. I’m just glad to see you in one piece, dude.
THUNDERLANE lunges in to hug his brother. RUMBLE is stunned, but hugs THUNDERLANE back. It’s almost comforting, almost normal.
THUNDERLANE pulls away.
THUNDERLANE
(embarrassed)
Uh. Sorry if this is sorta dumb. I brought you a -
THUNDERLANE ducks out of frame and snatches up A CUP HOLDER. Inside the CUP HOLDER is two milkshakes in clear cups, each full of colorful candies. THUNDERLANE smiles awkwardly but expectantly.
THUNDERLANE
- milkshake? The kind you like, with the -
“The candy,” RUMBLE says.
THUNDERLANE’s smile turns genuine. He passes A MILKSHAKE to RUMBLE.
RUMBLE takes a sip of THE MILKSHAKE
RUMBLE sighs lightly, but takes THE MILKSHAKE. He can feel a tiny fraction of the tension between the two of them dissolve as he takes a sip, even while he rolls his eyes.
THUNDERLANE
(relieved)
We should do something. Something just for fun. You wanna go to an arcade? Or we could -
“N-no,” RUMBLE says. “I wanna talk to you. Like you said, I think we need to.”
THUNDERLANE
(a bit deflated)
Right. Well, can we at least do it someplace besides here? No offense, Rumble, but your apartment could use some redecorating.
THUNDERLANE gives RUMBLE a playful nudge.
“Stop deflecting,” RUMBLE says.
THUNDERLANE
(nervous)
I’m not.
“You are.” RUMBLE rests his hoof on the door, preparing to close it. “Listen, dude, if we’re not gonna talk about this—”
THUNDERLANE’s hoof shoots out and props the door open.
THUNDERLANE
Fine. Fine, yeah. Let’s talk.
THUNDERLANE pushes into the room and stalks towards the chair by the desk. It’s probably still warm from DIAMOND TIARA. But THUNDERLANE isn’t going to say anything about it.
RUMBLE closes the door and takes another long sip of his MILKSHAKE. He is hoping to feel that loosening of tension once more, but it doesn’t seem to have the same effect. It feels sticky and almost too sweet in his throat.
THUNDERLANE
(nervous, almost rushed)
I know you’re upset about dad.
“Great guess,” RUMBLE says.
THUNDERLANE
(Strained)
I wasn't trying to piss you off, okay? It's just… I remember him. Just barely, but I do. I remember talking about him with a therapist. I remember him taking me up into a snowstorm and being scared out of my little mind.
He was like that sometimes. Scary.
RUMBLE sees something flicker in his brother’s face. But he doesn't reply.
THUNDERLANE
(Slowly)
I think it's... easy. Or tempting, maybe. Or both. To pretend like Dad was just fucked up, and there wasn't anything we could have done to help him. But the truth is that I think we could have done a lot more. And it's sad that he didn't feel like he had a way out.
RUMBLE sits down on the mattress. His wings droop at his sides. His face is stoic, steady. "How did Dad die?"
THUNDERLANE
(softly)
He… killed himself.
RUMBLE had a feeling that was the case. He honestly didn’t think he was going to hear his brother say it.
THUNDERLANE
I didn’t know that for a long time, though. Obviously. I was only six. But I think the therapist knew, and she was mostly just trying to figure out if I would… y’know. Follow his lead.
“When you were six?”
THUNDERLANE
I guess. I dunno.
“How did he…” RUMBLE cannot finish the thought. “How?”
THUNDERLANE
(soft, dark)
He went up in a storm and just let it tear him apart.
He should have known better. That was his job.
The brothers are silent. The sound of the storm surrounds them, though it is muted — as if being heard through the window.
THUNDERLANE
Do you have it?
RUMBLE stiffens.
THUNDERLANE
I wanna be there for you, Rumble. I really do. I’m sorry I screwed up the first time. I’m just so scared. That’s how I lost my dad, and I’m scared that I might lose -
Can’t you give me another chance?
“I’m not sure yet,” Rumble says.
THUNDERLANE
Why?
“Because dad thought—” RUMBLE pauses. “Because I think there’s something more going on.”
THUNDERLANE
(tired)
Like what? Some conspiracy theory?
“It’s not a conspiracy theory,” RUMBLE murmurs. He takes another secretive sip of his milkshake. It doesn’t really taste how he remembers it.
THUNDERLANE
(dry)
Pretty sure it’s the definition of a conspiracy theory.
RUMBLE grits his teeth. “Fine. So what if it is?” he spits at his brother. “You’re telling me you don’t have questions? If all this Fate stuff is so perfect and infallible, how come I’m still a blankflank? Huh?”
THUNDERLANE
(hurt)
Rumble, you know it’s not that—
“How come bad things happen to good ponies?” RUMBLE persists. “How is it that ponies do the most awful, evil things in the name of their destinies, but some ponies can’t even make enough to live on?”
THUNDERLANE
(stammering)
I don’t know! I—
“Ponies like you are afraid to question it,” RUMBLE says, his voice surprisingly even. “That’s what dad said. It works for you, and so you’re afraid to wonder why. Because if you interrogate it the way ponies like me have to, your world would come crashing down around your ears.”
THUNDERLANE
What’s that supposed to mean?
“What if your destiny is wrong, Laney?” RUMBLE says. “What if you weren’t supposed to be a Wonderbolt? I know that’s what I was meant to be—but here I am, still a nobody. What if your destiny is supposed to be mine?”
THUNDERLANE is silent for a long time. He stares at RUMBLE, and RUMBLE does not break his gaze.
THUNDERLANE
Did you even go to the doctor?
“Yes,” RUMBLE says. “She didn’t wanna listen to me, either.”
THUNDERLANE
What did you tell her?
“That I’m stuck. That someone laid out all of these lines for me to follow, and I absolutely have to follow them or…” RUMBLE trails off. He realizes he isn’t sure what the consequences might be. “Dad called it The Narrator—The Collective. Diamond Tiara called it The Track. To me, it’s like… it’s like a script. I can see my lines, and most of the time I’m too tired to think of anything else to say. But lately… I dunno.”
THUNDERLANE considers this. He steals glances at his brother, but won’t look him in the eye. RUMBLE hardly blinks.
THUNDERLANE
A script?
“You have one, too,” RUMBLE says. “I can see it. I can see how you follow it. It’s because you don’t have what I have. You can’t see it.”
THUNDERLANE doesn’t say anything. He looks rattled, but distant. Almost scared. The storm is howling in his ears, and RUMBLE can see in his eyes that he’s remembering the journey into the clouds with his father.
“Wait a minute.”
THUNDERLANE stiffens.
“No, I—” RUMBLE shakes his head. “I was wrong. You’re…”
THUNDERLANE
There’s nothing wrong with me.
RUMBLE’s brows furrow. “You’re lying.”
THUNDERLANE
I’m not.
“You are,” RUMBLE insists. He flares his wings. “You’re lying to me. I know you are—I know you.”
THUNDERLANE says nothing.
RUMBLE clenches his jaw. “Laney?” he asks. THUNDERLANE bites his lip and avoids his brother’s gaze. “What happened with Doctor Clear Mind? The therapist you visited?”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” THUNDERLANE says.
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to—”
“You have it too,” RUMBLE accuses. “You do. How could you—what’s wrong with you?”
THUNDERLANE opens his mouth to reply, but he can’t get a word in edgewise.
“You saw what I was going through. You saw me confused and suffering and—” RUMBLE cuts himself off. “You said you didn’t even believe it was real!”
“No!” THUNDERLANE shoots back. “No. I said that cutie marks can’t be wrong. And they’re not. It’s me - it’s my brain.”
RUMBLE is breathing heavily now. His throat is tightening as he realizes he’s losing his brother once more.
THUNDERLANE takes a moment to steady himself. “Doctor Clear Mind saw some early warning signs of Future Identity Disorder in me when I was young. They were screening for it, since… it’s hereditary,” he explains, trying desperately to remain calm. “And they were already pretty sure that that was why dad…”
THUNDERLANE looks to his brother for guidance, reassurance, anything. RUMBLE gives him nothing at all.
“Anyway,” THUNDERLANE continues. “They gave me some antidepressants and some—”
“Some emergency anxiety medication,” RUMBLE finishes for him. “Yeah. You and everyone else.”
THUNDERLANE sighs. “What do you want me to do, Rumble? It works.”
RUMBLE scoffs. “Yeah, right. You closed your eyes. And since you can’t see the problem, it no longer exists,” he sneers. “C’mon, Laney. That’s foal stuff.”
THUNDERLANE bristles. “What’s the alternative?” he asks. “Living like you? Like dad? Driving myself up a wall, writing crazy things in a crazy diary that I can pass down to my kids when I die?”
RUMBLE is too stunned to speak.
“Y’know, I’m sorry that you’re not happy with your life. I really am,” THUNDERLANE says.
“That’s not what I—”
THUNDERLANE
But it’s not my fault that you won’t do the bare minimum to make things more tolerable. I’m trying to help you, Rumble. And so is your therapist, and all of your friends. They want you to get better.
RUMBLE’s chest seizes as The Script once again takes complete hold of his brother. He was so close. He could have saved him. He could have—
THUNDERLANE
What you want? It’s not real, Rumble. No one can magically give you the destiny you want. We are who we are for a reason.
“What reason?”
THUNDERLANE
(disappointed)
C’mon, Rumble.
“No.” RUMBLE steels himself. “You have to answer. What is the reason? Who decides?”
THUNDERLANE
It’s not that simple.
“I don’t accept that.”
THUNDERLANE
You have to. We all have to - I had to.
“You did,” RUMBLE says. “But you didn’t have to. No one made you.”
THUNDERLANE
You don’t get it.
“Yes. I do.”
THUNDERLANE
You’re just a kid.
“No, I’m not.”
THUNDERLANE
(getting heated)
If you were just normal, then maybe - if you would just do what you’re told -
“What?”
THUNDERLANE
(softly)
You heard me.
RUMBLE stands. “No, no. Say it again,” he insists. “Say it again.”
THUNDERLANE is completely silent. He stares dead ahead, right through RUMBLE. He is nearly trembling with the effort to remain calm.
“Thunderlane.”
THUNDERLANE
I think you need to calm down.
“Stop saying that.”
THUNDERLANE
If you would just sit down and drink -
THUNDERLANE stops himself. A hoof flies to his mouth, but it’s too late.
RUMBLE looks at THE MILKSHAKE. It is sitting on the hardwood floor beside his mattress, a pool of condensation already gathered around it. The colorful candies are melting into it and into each other. It is turning an unappetizing shade of brown. And the taste…
RUMBLE runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth. He tastes salt where there should be sweet. Some strange aftertaste he had almost sensed, but hadn’t wanted to believe.
RUMBLE takes a sip of THE MILKSHAKE. Just to check. Just to see.
RUMBLE leaps off the mattress and scurries to the furthest point of the room, eyes glued to THE MILKSHAKE.
“What did you put in that?” RUMBLE breathes.
THUNDERLANE
N-nothing, I -
“Did you drug me?”
THUNDERLANE
No! I -
“You’re lying!” RUMBLE accuses. “I know when you’re lying!”
THUNDERLANE is afraid.
THUNDERLANE
(softly)
It’s just a little bit of the antidepressant and anxiety meds.
RUMBLE is fuming. He is panting, unable to find the words.
THUNDERLANE
I just thought that - well, shit, Rumble! We haven’t been able to have a conversation without you drifting off or flipping out! I thought that - that if you were calm, then maybe we could -
“You thought if I was On-Script I’d be easier to deal with?” RUMBLE asks.
THUNDERLANE
(on verge of tears)
There’s no script! It’s just life. And I know it’s hard to deal with sometimes, but maybe if you tried to -
RUMBLE plugs his ears with his hooves. He doesn’t want to hear The Script. He needs to keep it out.
THUNDERLANE reaches for his brother’s leg. He tears one hoof out of one ear.
THUNDERLANE
This is exactly what I’m talking about! You’re seriously not even going to listen to me now?
“Get off me!” RUMBLE protests, giving his brother a hard shove.
THUNDERLANE tumbles backwards and into THE DESK. He hits it dead-on, and it knocks the wind out of him. His eyes are huge and dilated in shock. He wasn’t expecting that - it was Off-Script.
RUMBLE
Oh no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Let’s talk. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so -
RUMBLE growls and punches the side of his head. “Shut up!” It works - The Script is jostled loose for a moment, knocked off its groove.
THUNDERLANE recovers from losing his breath and grabs THE CHAIR, placing it between RUMBLE and himself.
THUNDERLANE
(rushed, nervous)
I-if you just wait a few more minutes, the meds will kick in, and then you’ll feel -
“Are you afraid of me?” RUMBLE asks.
THUNDERLANE doesn’t know the right thing to say.
THUNDERLANE
No! No. I-I’m worried about you. You’re my brother - I love you.
It’s all lies. It’s all Scripted.
The world is closing in on RUMBLE.
His heart is pounding. He is struggling to breathe. The edges of his vision are turning dark and fuzzy. He feels sick to his stomach, but the feeling is so distant it might belong to someone else entirely. This is how it must feel to be caught in a bear trap, RUMBLE thinks. This is how it must feel to be backed into a corner with Death breathing down your neck. This is how it must feel to know that you aren’t going to survive the next few minutes.
The world is closing in. The fuzzy edges of RUMBLE’s vision are contracting.
And THUNDERLANE is at the center of it.
What happens next is difficult for RUMBLE to describe.
RUMBLE lunges at THUNDERLANE. He catches his brother by his face and drives him further backward into the desk, the hard edge of which is pressing into THUNDERLANE’s spine.
THUNDERLANE defends himself, shoving his brother backwards and lumbering away from the desk towards the door.
RUMBLE grabs his brother’s rear leg and drags him to the floor.
THUNDERLANE kicks wildly. He hits his brother’s snout, and a spray of blood flies from his mouth.
RUMBLE, seeing stars, rears up and stomps on THUNDERLANE’s left wing.
THUNDERLANE screams in pain.
Even his pain is Scripted.
And the very next thing RUMBLE knows, his hoof is buried into his brother’s brain. His skull has shattered and cut deep gashes into RUMBLE’s leg, but the pain is distant. It might as well belong to someone else.
THUNDERLANE is dead.
“There,” RUMBLE says. “There. See? I’m Off-Script now.”
RUMBLE tries to move his hoof, but the motion makes the feeling of the brain feel too close, and so he stands exactly where he is.
RUMBLE sniffles. “I did it. I’m Off-Script.”
And it feels hollow. Of course it does.
RUMBLE pulls his hoof out of his brother’s head. It feels horrible, but he puts the feeling somewhere else. Somewhere far away. All he knows is that it’s awful. He refuses details. Eschews them.
RUMBLE sits down on the mattress. It is splattered with blood. THE MILKSHAKE tipped over, and is now seeping across the hardwood.
“Um…” RUMBLE clears his throat. “I’d really like to know what… or why, maybe. I’m not sure. But I think I’ve earned it.”
The room is very quiet.
RUMBLE tries again. “Why am I… like this?” he asks. “Why was my dad like this? What… what is your goal?”
There is no reply.
“Why did you tell me brother and not me?” RUMBLE asks softly.
THE SCRIPT did not speak to THUNDERLANE. THE SCRIPT does not speak to little ponies about big things.
RUMBLE scoffs. “Yes you did. You told him to poison me. To drug me.”
THUNDERLANE chose that path for himself. It makes no difference to THE SCRIPT what little ponies do to each other in little towns.
“No,” RUMBLE says. “You’re lying. He was trying to hurt me. For the sake of The Script.”
THE SCRIPT
Was he?
“Yes.” RUMBLE screws his eyes shut. “Y-yeah. Yes. I think so.”
THE SCRIPT
To what end?
“I-I don’t know!” RUMBLE shouts. “Only you do! Can’t you just tell me?”
THE SCRIPT
You wouldn’t understand.
“But I—”
THE SCRIPT exists on the scale of eons. THE SCRIPT does not care to write lines for little ponies living in little apartments. THE SCRIPT cannot waste time on little ponies with little problems.
RUMBLE has ascribed great importance to himself.
RUMBLE shakes his head. “No,” he says, and it comes out in a whisper. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”
RUMBLE has killed to defend this importance.
“No I didn’t.”
What other reason could RUMBLE have?
“I-it isn’t about me,” RUMBLE lies.
RUMBLE has confused his delusions for clarity over and over and over again. RUMBLE has thought all along that he knows best, when RUMBLE’s friends and family have tried again and again to reach him. RUMBLE has discarded their sage advice because he thinks himself important.
RUMBLE has killed to defend the importance.
And RUMBLE will kill again.
RUMBLE runs a hoof through his mane. He spreads brain matter with it. He doesn’t seem to realize. “No.”
RUMBLE must clean up after himself. RUMBLE has made a mess of things, and RUMBLE should be punished for it.
“No! No, I…” RUMBLE bites down on the inside of his cheek. “I just screwed up. I’m just sick.”
RUMBLE is beginning to feel the effects of the medication.
RUMBLE shoots upright. “Wait! No!” he protests. “It’s not my fault! I didn’t mean to! I should have followed The Script!”
RUMBLE’s stomach lurches. The medication is working now.
RUMBLE tries to make himself vomit. But it is far too late for him.
RUMBLE
I should have followed The Script. Then I wouldn’t be sick anymore.
RUMBLE knows what he has to do.
RUMBLE bows his head and puts THE DOORKNOB in his sights. If he hits it at precisely the right angle and speed, he can get better. It will make him feel so much better.
That’s what RUMBLE wants, after all.
He wants to get better.
RUMBLE
I want to get better.
Say it like you mean it, RUMBLE.
RUMBLE
I w-w… I want to get better.
Again.
RUMBLE
I want to get better.
AGAIN.
RUMBLE
I want to get better!
Good.
RUMBLE takes a deep breath.
THE STORM is very loud, now. It feels as if it is here in the room with him. RUMBLE has always been inside this storm, ever since his father took him up when he was just an infant. Ever since his father tried and failed to save him.
RUMBLE runs.
THE STORM abruptly cuts out.
RUMBLE’s head connects with the doorknob and, in the silence left in the wake of the storm, we hear the sickening crunch of RUMBLE’s skull caving in. His body twitches once, twice, then goes slack.
We hold on this scene as the credits roll: two bodies, eerily still in the ruined apartment.
Slowly, steadily, we fade to black.