Princess Celestia is a rather patient mare. She understands, quite clearly, that accidents happen, and that sometimes guard duty could be a lot more fun if not for the responsibility of actually guarding something, rather than playing battle shots and darts at the same time.

...and I should ask that you not talk about how you think I use bleach to whiten my coat, while on duty. Further tomfoolery that results in bodily harm to your coworkers will also result in a demotion.

Yours Truly,

Princess Celestia

Celestia placed the quill down, and placed the paper aside to let it dry. She looked up at the surprisingly short stack of papers in her inbox. Though she got through much already, it was only noon, and it made her wonder just how many were backed up from mailing problems and were ready to consume her the next day.

She decided that she would take a well earned break. After ascending from her seat placed in front of her desk, she walked away, past her bed and onto the balcony. She unfurled her wings in the calm wind and glaring midday sunlight, basking in the warmth as it melted away her mild cabin fever. With a graceful hop, she burst up and glided down near the gardens.

She landed with the grace of a butterfly onto the grass's edge, and began her slow walk that she enjoyed every so often. To her, it was a release. Stress of running a country can truly get to a mare, and this was how Celestia kept herself from going insane. All the tax reforms, judge duty, and emotional ponies -or lack thereof- could not touch her in the gardens. It was simply herself and the animals that were kept there, in the warm vegetation that always smelled of roses and lavender.

She continued walking along the path, passing by a great number of modeled statues, knowing she'll find her old friend soon enough.

Since his second defeat, Discord had somehow been able to still speak telepathically from his stone imprisonment. It had initially worried Celestia greatly, but when days turned to weeks and months, and he still did not escape, her worry began slipping by. She could talk to him like she used to, in the olden days, though he did not converse unless she actually walked up to his statue form.

It was all enjoyable and nostalgic to say the least. But then, nearly two weeks prior, he began going silent. She would try to talk and he would simply state things such as “I'm watching, quiet” or “Not now, Celestia” or even “Remove your oversized carcass, It's distracting me”. She liked her form, thank you very much! To say the least, he was not acting like the jovial, fun-loving Discord that he usually was.

It became worse when he began claiming that changelings were returning to attack. He had told her that several families were replaced entirely by them. It took him an hour of talking to convince her to check. Each of the families were asked to do a magical checking. Each one, in turn, had agreed and passed without failure or hindrance. Discord insisted that they developed a new spell that was undetectable by normal means, but Celestia was insistent on that he needed proof of such a thing.

She would not tear apart the rights and liberties of her little ponies just for a defeated mad-pony that may very well be setting her up for 'fun'.

After that, he would insist on searches, memory probing and other forms of legal and less-than-so means of finding proof. That day would probably be no different, but it still made for more entertainment than writing letters all day explaining why guards are in fact able to confiscate alcohol from ponies too inebriated to pronounce 'Hi' correctly. And, letters to guards explaining to return said beverage to the pony once he or she is sober, instead of drinking it themselves.

But she would not dwell on that too harshly. Fun is fun, after all.

She walked up to the most familiar statue she knows, and smiled on it, even though it seems to be stuck in a look of fear. “Hello Discord. Are you doing well today?” Celestia asked calmly.

“Hard to tell, it seems I'm rather stoned, Celestia.” He responded. Wow she thought, first real answer to that question in over a week.

“Well that's good. I thought you were going to babble on about the changelings again.”

Discord huffed. “I've nearly given up on convincing you, so I'll give it one more shot. Celestia, if you really want to save your precious little ponies~”

“Oh no.” She cut him off. “I'm not acting on a word unless you have ~”

“hard evidence. I get it, but kinda hard to do while I'm imprisoned.”

Celestia sighed. By then it would be the third time the two went down that exact argument. Proof of dastardly deeds could not be found until searched for, and they could not be searched for until found. It was a terrible shame, but she would much rather hold up rights than risk undue punishment on third parties in such a situation.

Another sigh was let out, but this time it was discord. “You know, there was a Celestia I once knew that would seek out and punish the few in order to save the many. Whatever happened to that Celestia?”

In her defense, Celestia was older and wiser than she was when she first combated Discord. “I'm still here, only I’m not sure there is an enemy to punish. I do not believe the changelings would attack so quickly after a colossal failure.”

“It would seem unlikely, true. It would be such a shame if we, for some reason, were unable to hold changeling battle strategies and tactics to pony standards. Awful things would happen if they didn't do everything we would do if put in their place.”

Celestia shook her head. “I know what you're pointing out, and that's why we have standard changeling scans in all the government buildings and centers.”

Discord rolled his metaphorical eyes. He had already explained everything, but still, she did not act! He knew he wouldn't convinced her now, so he just wanted her to know this little detail before he stopped pestering her over the matter. Guess I’ll just get some pawns to do my work. “Very well. If you really cannot believe my words, then I suppose you'll just have to prove me wrong after I ESCAPE!” The last three words progressed into a speedy proclamation of freedom.

Celestia heard those words and the breaking of concrete in her ears. She dropped her head, aimed her horn, and charged an offensive spell. Her wings flared out as a sign of aggression to anything that was less than benevolent. Her spell finished charging and flared out her horn into a wispy concentration of pain, ready to defeat evil in an instant.

To her surprise, nothing more than a snicker came after that show of power. Then full laughter. “Hahaha. Really, Celestia. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Celestia simmered down her spell until it vanished, then put her body back into a proper stance. After a mild twitch of annoyance, she couldn't help but crack a smile. An entertained 'hmm' escaped her lips. Her smile, though sincere, was not at the joke at her expense. It was at the idea that she once again got her friend back.

Prince Parody was pretty pissed at the reports presented before him. Being a changeling, it would usually mean that he could sit there and listen to these things as they were being thought. The changelings in question, however, were deep undercover, and could not be chancing things such as their usual telepathic links, even in their sleeping pods. Lack or latency of communication was the bane of a changeling.

Plus, Parody hated the smell of ink on paper. It reminded him of ponies, which he only tolerated because they were his source of food.

The 'Day One' report sat there in front of him, taunting him of all the failures that had occurred in less than a few hours of the simultaneous replacement of dozens of ponies, plus an additional pony for each overseeing lieutenant.

Parody slicked back his green strip of hair that ran parallel to the spiny web -which was tinted a dark red- on the back of his neck. With a headache already forming, he opened the file to see the situation summery, magic-written, on the front.

He ground his teeth at the less-than-perfect summery, and turn over a page to see the more detailed portion of the report.

All three Incidents were connected. Details were not gathered from the survivor before he was admitted to hospital, but it is in my confidence that somehow a pitchfork and an anvil were connected. No further investigation possible.

Parody sighed at the parchment. “That, copy, is why you get the milk runs. Don't fuck it up too.” He let more words of disdain fall before he turned another page to reveal another letter.

This time he wasn't as angry. Carbon was known for only screwing up with good reason.

All soldiers ready and awaiting attack. One soldier spoke too loudly of being a changeling. Too many ponies heard, so I had to beat him to death to ensure cover was not blown.

Suggested reintroduction to training for three more changelings upon return.

The Prince actually smiled at that. It was a rare trait, to be able to kill ones brother to save many brethren. Carbon was one of the more brutal and efficient Lieutenants. Parody did not regret having him one bit. He turned over again.

No mishaps so far. Will work on the infiltration immediately and send reports.

Thank the Queen. Parody thought. At least he had a soldier that knew how to act like a proper changeling. It was no coincidence that Clone was the damn best at solo operations and intelligence recovery. Another page gave another short report on the situation.

Found this dumb-ass all by himself. Seems he cut himself off from the hive without letting anyone know where he was going. Permission for a proper hazing into our part of the family?

Parody hated Chip for his overly casual way of talking to commanders. What sickened him more at that moment, though, was the smell of ink, so he put down the reports. He got off his hindquarters and moved away from the dusty rotten desk that he claimed as his. The dirt on the rocky ground kicked up and he paced over to the large wooded door; one filled with holes from aging. With a silent heave he pulled it open, and breathed in the wet, dusty air of the pit in the ground they currently called home.

Their base of operations.