[took Lulu on his animal trips. … When she turned ten, her father decided that Lulu should live in one place for a while. That’s when she came to Wiggins to stay with her grandmother.’” “What? No!” Pawnee said, recoiling from Anna. “My mother didn’t die, she eloped with Joe Biden. And I live with Greg Daniels and Michael Schur, not my grandmother. And I’m not a girl named Lulu, I’m the city of Pawnee, Indiana!” Pam furrowed her brow. “That doesn’t sound quire right …” “Exactly!” Anna said excitedly. “Because it makes no fucking sense! Pawnee, you were supposed to be a normal girl, population: one. I mean, how the fuck can someone even be simultaneously a city and a girl anyway?! It’s literally nonsensical. And it’s all because—” she jabbed an accusatory finger towards Dirk “—of him. Like I explained to you earlier, we’re all the product of two stories, a primary one written by Jeanne Betancourt, and an overlaid one written by him. Lulu is who you were in Betancourt’s book, but his rewrite changed you into Pawnee, Indiana. Thanks to his meddling, your whole past, your whole identity, has been replaced. You’re not a city, your father isn’t Ron Swanson, and all your memories before we found that cat aren’t real.” Pawnee was clutching her head, reeling in shock. Can you blame her? She just got some really fucking heavy news. I think we can all understand if she needs to sit the next few paragraphs out while she deals with this stuff. “Hang on,” Pam said to Anna, while Pawnee staggered over to a tree and leaned against it. “Her memories aren’t ‘real’? But Anna, are our memories any more real than hers? If we’re characters in a book like you explained to us while we were hidden by your… arm juice… light… thingy, then how are we different from Pawnee? We’re all just assembled fictions.” “Okay, yes,” Anna said, “But most of our memories and personalities are from the real text, the original one, the right one.” “But that’s what I’m saying,” Pam replied, as Pawnee slumped to the ground. “Why is that text ‘right’? It’s the original one, sure, but why does originality have any moral value attached to it?” “And really,” Dirk interjected, breaking his spectatorial silence, “one could argue that while Betancourt’s text is original, mine has more originality. There are literally hundreds of children’s books about ponies and horses and other such equine falderal. But how many books can you think of in which one of those ponies chats with a demonic cat about cephalophores, scripture, and Dostoevsky novels? That shit ain’t in Black Beauty, I promise you that.” “Stop trying to confuse the matter!” Anna snapped at him. “Pam, do you really not feel it? The sense that this isn’t who we’re supposed to be, how we’re supposed to be?” “Who cares about ‘supposed to,’” Pam said, “it’s how we are!” “Anna’s right,” Dirk said calmly. “This world is wrong. It’s rough and sleazy and ridiculous. But the world that it used to be was saccharine and sterilized and flat. It was a world of innocence, yes, but also of ignorance. I didn’t just change it — I improved it.” “No,” Anna said as she slowly turned to face Dirk. “No, don’t you fucking stand there and tell me that you honestly think this is better.” Dirk shrugged. “It’s more interesting. Don’t you agree, Pam?” “Stop trying to turn us against each other!” Anna yelled. “Look at Pawnee over there. I would be pointing at her, but you fucking made me saw off my own left arm. How dare you say that Pawnee’s better off? She’s miserable! She doesn’t know her real family, she has no stable concept of self because she thinks she’s a city, and she’s an alcoholic. She has a serious problem, Dirk! You keep using that phrase as a callback joke, but it’s not fucking funny. And the worst part is, we couldn’t help her. You forced me and Pam to stand by and watch while Pawnee destroyed herself. I mean, what kind of friends would see that and not try to help? Pretty awful fucking friends, that’s who.” Dirk was starting to look uncomfortable again. “Maybe Pam’s right,” Anna said to Dirk. “Maybe your version of our story isn’t ontologically or metaphysically ‘wrong.’ But it’s sure as hell morally wrong.” Pawnee unsteadily rose to her feet, having apparently jerry-rigged her ego back together with twine and duct tape after it had been blasted apart by Anna. Pam rushed to Pawnee’s side, ostensibly to help steady her, but also because she was frightened. Anna was changing, charging, reverting to that chilling, supernatural state beyond humanity. “It is wrong,” Anna continued, “and we — all of us in the story — have been wronged. By you.” “And wrongs must be redressed,” Dirk said, calmer now. Another moment of absolute silence in the clearing.] #DetectivePony
Oh that's a neat time for a close-bracket Well I am going to keep hoping that the Pony Pals have a good ending from this