An Important Day

Somewhere, someplace, there is a clock.

All right, so it’s more than a clock. It started out as one, certainly. A gift, in fact, given as a token of friendship in honor of an event so relatively unimportant that few remember it, and even they aren’t sure of the exact time it occurred. After all, time is a fickle thing, calendars change, and quite frankly trying to track some immutable ticks of the universe just isn’t worth the trouble, especially when they are as inconsistent and inscrutable as this one.

Nevertheless, it was a gift given honestly, and from the heart. And it was accepted just as gracefully … though perhaps with a small joke or two, mostly as an attempt to ease the tension of the true weight behind such an offering.

After all, clocks tick on with every stroke of their gears, ratcheting away the endless march of time. For some, a reminder of events to take place not too many ticks into the future. For others, of events that will take place many ticks past that, or perhaps the past itself. Inevitable moments. Moments that could be changed … if not for the breaking of things that are.

It’s all pointless in any case, because the clock doesn’t do that now. It still ticks, certainly, but not in the way it was intended. Its owner has … modified it slightly. The hands still turn, though not always in the same way. Sometimes they run backwards. Or sideways. Sometimes they don’t appear to move at all, though a closely trained eye could see that that eventuality is only true to those beings who deal with the paltry three dimensions most of the world is stuck in. As it happens, the clock’s owner is sort of both on-and-off the level on that account, so the feature stays.

The ticks are never in time, either. Some echo for an impossibly long duration. Others are over far too quick. Sometimes they even stop halfway and seem to retract.

And yet, for all these oddities, the clock still works. Somehow. Whether or not it should isn’t up for question. It quite clearly shouldn’t.

But then again, many things where the individual known as Discord was concerned didn’t quite make sense.

The clock’s hands moved forward, then backward, then forward again. For a moment the faint ticking that was echoing through the mishmash of color and light that was Discord’s “home” seemed to hang, everything coming to a halt. The clock itself seemed to tremble in anticipation, vibrating with excitement. The hands shook.

Then, with a half a “tick”—more of a ti, really—both hands sprang forward, snapping towards the highest point of the clock. The numbers that had been there had long since been erased, though the owner hadn’t changed a thing about the butterfly background that had been behind them. But the numbers themselves were gone. In their place was a single, twisting phrase—the only one on the clock. A patient observer would note that the phrase seemed to twist its shape, altering its message based on … well, who really knew? In any case, the current message was quite clear. It said, quite brazenly, in large, blocky text: “WAKE UP!”

The latter half of the ti bounced through the room, an echoing ck that rose in pitch and volume as the hands struck home. On top of the clock, a tiny bronze hammer suspended between two tiny, delicate bells began to quiver with what almost looked like excitement. Then it swelled, magnifying in size until it was more of a mallet, and turned towards a large, dimpled, steel gong hanging upside-down on the wall next to the clock. It pulled back, gave its head a little flick, and—

“Not this morning, thank you,” Discord said, one mismatched paw catching the mallet head just as it swung. “As luck would have it, I was already awake.”

The mallet shrank back to size, folding slightly as if in disappointment. For a moment Discord almost imagined he could hear a small sigh resonate in the clock’s tick.

“Relax,” he said, idly flicking the gong with a talon and grinning as a faint squawk emanated from the metal. There was always another day some other time. Or week. Or whatever. The gong let out another indignant squawk as he flicked it again, and he smiled to himself.

One day either Cake-flank or Moon-butt is going to ask me whatever became of this thing, he thought as he looked at the burnished metal. His own mismatched face stared back at him, and when he didn’t do anything blew him a raspberry. I’m sure they must be wondering. As likely did most historians in the Griffon Empire.

Maybe they’d ask, maybe they wouldn’t. Besides, it wasn’t as though it were that important. It had only been used by Reus and Kyr in their court. Other than that, there was nothing special about it at all.

You know, aside from being owned by Kyr, he thought as he turned away from the gong, heading upwards toward one of the room’s two ceilings. It’s not like anyone ever placed any value like that on anything you’ve owned, except maybe as a—

The train of thought came to a screeching halt as the emergency brakes fired, smoke and sparks shooting out of his ears. He paused for a moment before speaking out loud. “That’s enough of that,” he said.

Why? The little conductor of the train was waving his own mismatched paws wildly, furious at having been interrupted.

“You know why,” Discord said, sticking one finger in his ear and shoving the train back down the track the way it had came. “You—” He paused. Where was I? Oh, right, Reus and Kyr, those old buzzards. He grinned. They always were easy to tweak.

He shook his head, a faint rattling coming from within as all his marbles realigned in their proper places. “But ...” he said, drawing the word out as a grin stretched across his face. “Enough of that old, musty history! Today is an important day!”

He paused in front of the mirror and gave himself a good stretch, watching as his sinuous reflection managed to mimic the motion. Mostly. It threw in a good luxurious mane flip and gave him a flirty wink as it saw him looking.

“Oh stop, you,” Discord said, waving a paw. “For the last time, you’re a reflection. And I’m out of your league anyway.” The reflection turned its nose up and then walked out of the frame, leaving the next Discord image in line behind it free to step up.

“Now, that’s more like it!” he said as the reflection matched his moments. Normally the first would have been just as cooperative, but today was a special day, and he was feeling a little rambunctious. He checked himself in the mirror, snapping his claws and sending his doppleganger scrambling to keep up with a whole host of outfits before finally deciding that “au natural” was the way to go.

“No, no,” he said as another mirror image suggested a different ensemble. The second image shoved the third out of the frame, a soundless argument forming. “Relax. I go as myself.” He grinned again and then snapped his fingers, the mirror shifting into a plain, wooden door.

“After all, today is the last day.” He grabbed the door handle, took a deep breath, and tugged it open.

A hallway stared back at him, along with a surprised pair of eyes belonging to one of Canterlot Castle’s waiting staff, who let out a startled shriek as Discord stepped through the door.

“So sorry,” he said as the mare backed up, her wings twitching. “You might want to try a different supply closet. I needed this one.” The mare stood there for a moment, silent, and then pointed.

“Umm … That’s not a supply closet,” she said, giving him a pained look.

“It’s not?” He flipped the door around in his paws, staring down at the small, brass plaque sitting in the center. “Oh,” he said as his brain put the pieces together. “It’s not.” He eyed the small mare. “And you were going to …”

“Yes?” the mare said hesitantly, almost as if she was no longer certain that was the right answer. There was a bit of a flush to her cheeks now, faint pink mixing with the vivid yellow of her coat.

“I see,” Discord said as he flipped the door back around and affixed it to its place on the wall. “Well then by all means don’t let me stop you.” He stepped to one side, gesturing with one sweeping claw towards the now restored restroom door.

“Thank you,” the mare muttered, darting forward with clear urgency and throwing the door open. Then she let out a short, pitched shriek as she tumbled out of sight.

Oh, right … Discord thought, staring at the open doorway the maid had just vacated. I probably should have closed that too. But never let it be said I’m not helpful ...

“It’s on your left!” he called after the mare, who seemed to have remembered that she had wings. “Just clean up when you’re done! Oh! And mind the soap tray, it may have acquired a taste for flesh.” He shut the door behind her. Best to give her some privacy. She’d most likely find the bathroom without any difficulties, and be out again in a jiffy. And if not, well …

I’m sure she’ll be fine, he thought as he took a quick look at the hallway around him, orienting himself. It was one of the less-ornate hallways, not that the observation said much where Canterlot Castle was concerned. The place was a veritable palace of luxury, though he had no doubt its residents were prepared to tear it all out and send it elsewhere the moment they felt there was any good to be gained from it. He glanced up at a tapestry depicting some ancient duel or victory or whatever and, for a moment considered tweaking it just slightly. Not too much, just enough to give him a faint trickle of power for the next few hours or so. A change in color, maybe. Or shifting a few threads around so that the expression one of the ponies was wearing looked like a frown. He lifted his claws, made ready to snap them against one another, and then …

Wait. He paused. It wouldn’t do to start the day with that. Not after such a long string of good behavior.

No, today was special. Better to get on his way and get it over with. To collect his order.

His last order.

He turned and went on his way, smiling as behind him, the door to his home let out another short shout of surprise.

“And that would be the flowers Fluttershy gave me saying ‘Hello,’” he said as he continued down the hall. “Hopefully she doesn’t get too terrified before she remembers that she can eat them.”

He paused for a moment at the next intersection, then turned left. The dispatch room where he’d be given his final packet was a ways away, but he could walk.

After all, he had time.

He couldn’t resist putting a bit of a spring in his step as he made his way through the castle, a jaunty tune springing from his lips and performing flips in the air as he wandered. Today is it! he thought. The last day! He snapped his talons, summoning a small, reed cane and matching boater hat as the whistled tune, now carrying on quite independent of his mouth, began to build.

Oh yes, it’s been a long time coming, he thought as he spun the cane in his claws, matching the timing of the rising song. Freedom at last! Ahead of him, he heard a voice harmonize with the carrying tune. He rounded a corner to see another member of the castle’s staff, humming along with the song as they cleaned. Then their eyes met his, and the humming stopped.

Typical. He ignored the snub and moved on, adding his own hum to the mix to make up for the pony’s lost addition. Won’t let it get to me, though. In minutes he’d be at one of the castle’s dispatch offices, where a slip of paper would be waiting for him. A slip with the final bit of his penance on it. After over a month of constant work under Celestia and Luna’s constant supervision, his debt to society would be repaid, his crime in siding with Tirek forgiven, and his record clean.

And not a moment too soon, Discord thought as the dispatch office came into view. It wasn’t much of an office, more of a small station where ponies and other workers around the castle could correlate on their duties for the day and find their assignments, but everypony called it an office all the same. I’d hate to think what Celestia or Luna would have me doing if my sentence had been extended.

Of course, it hadn’t. He’d been on his best behavior … which he almost had to admit was somewhat unusual. Not that he would admit it.

A few ponies standing around the dispatch office spotted him, their conversation growing somewhat subdued as he approached. Discord gave them a grin.

“Morning,” he said, giving them a wave of his cane. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”

“It was,” one of the staff said in a dull voice.

“Quite right, quite right,” Discord said, ignoring the sudden silence as his tune cut itself out. He glanced at the air, lifting one brow, and after a moment’s wait the tune started up once more. I’m not going to let one pony ruin my mood. “I suppose that some of the good times must stop when one gets their assignment, no matter how good a day it’s been so far.”

“That’s—” the pony began before snapping his jaw shut and turning to the other two. “Anyway,” he said, “I’ll see you later. I’d better get to work.” The other two ponies muttered their assent and turned away as well, trotting away from the office and off towards whatever work they had been momentarily shirking. Discord watched them go, halfway tempted to reach out and work a bit of chaos on them as they walked away. Maybe make the one’s hooves abnormally loud to everyone’s ears but his own. Or maybe animate the server’s cravat so it made faces at everyone that passed. He lifted his paw, feeling reality itself swirl at his whim, and … stopped.

You’re getting soft, he thought as he turned back to the office. A year ago you would have had that pony’s clothing dancing around without him. Or maybe made him cry maple syrup.

One more reason to be done as quickly as possible. Fluttershy was a bad enough influence on him. If he kept hanging around working for Cake-flank and Moon-butt, who knew what would become of him?

They’d have me dancing around singing songs about sunsets or some such nonsense, he thought as he ran a talon down the list of names next to the office. It let out a desperate gasp as it came to a stop next to his name, resting its paws on its knees as it caught its breath, and Discord gave the digit a mock frown.

“We definitely need to get out of here,” he said to his talon as he collected the slip of paper with his name on it. “You’re getting out of shape!”

Yes, he thought as he eyed the paper. Once I’m done and free I definitely need to get some exercise. Go out and stretch some limbs! Work a little chaos! Somewhere where it wouldn’t get him in trouble. He’d heard there was a lot of fun that could be had up north, past the border. Maybe a vacation was in order.

Yes, a vacation, he thought as his eyes found the line with his final set of instructions. That’ll give me something to do once I—

His thoughts came to a screeching halt, rubber squealing in his ears as they slammed into one another. His cane slipped from his paws, bouncing on the ground like a spring, the jaunty show tune that had been following him coming to a crashing, coughing halt.

He read the line again. And again. Surely this must be wrong! he thought, lifting a monocle to one eye and taking a closer look. But the line remained the same. And reminded him not to call it Shirley.

Time for drastic measures, he thought, carefully hanging the slip of paper in the air. With a faint pop he tugged his eyes from his sockets and gave them both a good polish. Then he reseated them, blinked, and read the line once more.

There was no mistaking it. The line hadn’t changed. He hadn’t misread it. And he hadn’t confused the signature and seal duo on the bottom half of the paper, either.

He turned, snatching the slip out of the air and leaving his cane bouncing merrily back down the hallway behind him. He needed answers, he needed them now, and only one pony had them.

“Lu-na!” The doors to the royal library flew open at Discord’s touch, a stack of books on the librarian’s desk taking to startled flight. “Where are you!?” He spared a quick glance at the librarian, but she was too busy taking wing to catch the scattering books to pay him any attention. Well, he admitted as she shot him a glare. Mostly. He snapped his claws, reality righting itself around each of the volumes and sending them zooming back to their places on the desk. Well, almost to their places. A number of their orders had been carefully reversed, a harmless trick that would at least grant him a measure of power in the next few minutes.

“Discord.” His ears twitched and then took flame as the voice drifted through the library, and he turned towards the upper balconies. A royal blue alicorn mare was looking down at him from one of the uppermost levels, one eyebrow lifted in curiousity. “To what do we owe this visit?” Princess Luna asked, her voice almost infuriatingly calm.

“You know quite well, princess,” Discord said, waving one claw at her. “I—” He paused, noting the number of nearby eyes from other library patrons which were now winding his way. “Right … Library.” He snapped his claws and teleported, appearing next to the lunar diarch with a bright flash.

“This!” he said, holding out his orders as Luna turned towards him, a questioning look still on her face. “And do you know how hard it was to find you? You weren’t in your office, the royal chambers, the conference rooms, or your personal chambers. Which, by the way, could use a good cleaning.”

“I do have hobbies and free time of my own, Discord,” Luna said, her horn lighting with a blue glow as she took the paper from his grasp. “What little of it there is.”

“So I see,” he replied, glancing at a stack of books sitting atop a nearby table. He ran his eyes over the titles: A mix of both contemporary history and recent events in the world of art, judging from the titles, along with a surprising number of what looked suspiciously like adventure fare, including what appeared to be the twelfth book in the Daring Do series. Interesting, he thought, giving reality a slight twist and fighting to keep a grin from his face as one of the more dry-looking history books swapped places with what he hoped was a rather spicy romance from another section of the library. “Well then I won’t keep you. You can get back to your bedtime reading or whatever as soon as you explain.”

Luna eyed the slip of paper for a moment, her face impassive. Then her eyes flicked toward his. “Everything appears to be in order …” She glanced at the paper once more and then floated it back towards him. “Is there some confusion about your instructions?”

“Some confusion—!?” Discord strangled out as he snatched the paper back out of the air. “Princess, this demand is completely unreasonable, and you know it!”

“I know no such thing,” Luna replied, turning toward her stack of books once more, apparently—to his delight—not noticing his surreptitious change.

“Luna, of all ponies I would expect to dance around the issue,” he said, stepping in front of her as she moved to walk away. “You are not on that list.”

“How dare you!” Luna said, her wings spreading slightly. “I would have you know I am quite an accomplished dancer, though my styles may be somewhat out of date.” From behind her, through the stacks, he caught sight of crystalline armor gleaming under the magilight as her Guard took issue with his sudden movement.

“Luna ...” he said, his voice as flat as his expression. He stepped back and snatched his words out of the air, folding and refolding them in his paws. “Of the two parties standing here right now, we both know I’m the one who traditionally resorts to wordplay.” He held up one paw, where the lunar diarch’s name had been folded into a somewhat accurate facsimile of her. “So when I come to you asking about this—” He held up his orders. “—I expect a clear answer. If I wanted frivolity, I’d go find Pinkie Pie.”

Luna let out a faint sigh, though from what he wasn’t sure. “Very well,” she said, her horn lighting once more and plucking the slip of paper from his paw. “You are to do as the orders indicate: report to this location and render assistance as needed until such time that my sister or myself gives you leave to stop doing such.”

“Luna …” he said, his voice almost a growl. “That ‘location,’ as you put it, is an orphanage.”

“I am aware of this.”

“Oh? And you don’t think that might be a bad idea?” His tail lashed behind him, a faint tinkling like the sound of breaking sand echoing through the air with each twitch. “Me? Working with children?”

“No, Discord, I do not,” Luna said, her words so matter-of-fact their impact hit him across the face like a physical blow, staggering him to one side. “In fact, I suggested it.”

“But … but …” He took a quick look around the library, extending his neck around nearby shelves, checking to see if there was a camera nearby. Maybe it was all a prank. Celestia did do those, occasionally. Then he turned back toward Luna, reeling his figure back in as he let out the only thing on his mind. “Why!?”

“Because I believe that it will be good for you,” Luna said, her clipped, matter-of-fact tones putting his nerves on edge. “And for Full Futures as well.”

“I’m a demigod of chaos, Luna,” he said, his voice so dry dust came with it. “I hardly think that—”

“Then do not.” Luna’s curt reply caught him by surprise, his jaw retracting with a rolling flutter. “Either accept your assignment or do not.” She lifted one eyebrow, her mane floating behind her in the ethereal breeze.

“An orphanage,” he deadpanned as he got his lips under control. “With children.”

“Indeed,” Luna said, her horn glowing as she lifted her selection of books. “Accept the assignment or reject it, Discord. But if you choose—”

“I know,” he said, cutting her off with a wave of his paw. “Back to topiary observation.”

“Or we could find other assignments for you,” Luna said. “Of course, they would likely be more numerous and time-consuming, but—”

“Oh, all right!” he said, groaning. “This will all end in tears, Luna, surely. But I’ll go. And when they slam the door in my face—”

“You will knock, and try again,” Luna said, her voice so calm it made him want to grit his teeth together. “You will be, after all, there with my approval.”

“I—Wait, what?”

“They know you are coming,” Luna said. “Full Futures’ manager petitioned my court last week for assistance in finding somepony capable of helping them—”

“That’s somepony, Luna,” he said, giving the word an emphasis. “I hardly think I’m qualified—”

“And I told them I would send someone to help in a day or so,” Luna continued with a smile, mirroring the attention he’d put on his own words. “Volunteers are not always in good supply, and as much as I would like to, my own leisure time is not frequent enough that I can offer my own assistance.”

“Yes, but you’re a princess,” Discord said, his shoulders slumping. “All you need to do is ask someone to do it, and they’d jump right to it. That’s how you ponies work, isn’t it?”

“I have asked,” Luna said, her subtle smile growing a little wider. “But you haven’t started jumping yet.”

“I—” It wasn’t often that he’d been outplayed more than once in a conversation. “Fine,” he said, straightening and running a hand down his front, smoothing his fur. “I can see when I’ve been beaten. But I’m still going on record that—” he said, summoning a large stone tablet with one hand and breaking off one of his horns to use as a chisel. Flecks of rock flew as he carved each of his next words into the stone surface. “This. Is. A very bad. Idea.” He presented the tablet to Luna, and she took it from him with what looked like a faint shred of amusement. Which, he had to admit, was an improvement. Their relationship over the millennia, if it could be called that, had forever been rocky. As it had with most of the other immortals, really. A smile at an act of reality warping—even a small one—was far and away preferable to what he would have gotten mere decades ago. Assuming, of course, that he hadn’t already been stone himself.

“Good,” Luna said, setting the tablet atop her pile of books. “I shall be sure to keep them for later. I assume you will be going now? I did send the manager a notice that you would be coming.”

“Yes,” he said, physically pulling the response from his throat with one hand. “And do keep that tablet handy,” he said as he turned away. “It’ll make for a convincing visual aid when I come back here after your orphanage throws me out.”

“Oh, I will,” Luna said as he retreated. “If only so I can watch you eat your words.” He scowled, though she couldn’t see it.

“Maybe you should,” he called back as he reached the stairs down to the rest of the library. “After all, that tablet does taste like chocolate!” Despite still being stone.

“Already planning ahead, I see,” Luna called after him. “Oh, and by the way, Discord. My personal chambers are amiss because a member of the cleaning staff has gone missing. You would not have happened to have seen her, would you?”

He paused for a moment, one hoof frozen just above a step. “You know,” he said. “I did see her. She was looking for a bathroom. I’m certain she’ll be along before long!”

And with that, before Luna could say anything further, he snapped his claws and teleported out of the library.

From the outside, Full Futures Orphanage didn’t look half bad. At least, insofar as pony sensibilities went. Discord stared up at the structure, eyeing the spiraling turrets and towers. From the look of it, it had once been a rather extravagant noble’s home, extravagant enough that the owner had gone a bit overboard in adapting the same sort of sweeping, tower-fill sensibility that Canterlot Castle was known for. He could see no less than five of the things sticking up from various points around the house—one near each corner, and a fifth one that had been tacked on in the back overlooking all the rest. Strangely enough, there wasn’t one in the center. That part of the house had been dominated by a flat-roofed porch that reminded him of ancient pegasus structures. There seemed to be a variance in the outer shell of the place as well, the walls closest to him displaying a different style and shape than the ones further back. Additions, maybe? he wondered.

All in all, the design seemed almost … Chaotic. He paused for a moment, one hand stroking his chin. Interesting, he thought. Maybe there’s more to assigning me here than simple torture.

Oddly enough, he couldn’t hear any children, and he took a moment to expand his ears, stretching them toward the front of the building. Something very faint made itself known, and he twisted his ears, honing in on it. A fuzzy, faint voice filled his head.

“—esting? Testing? Wave, are you picking me—?”

Discord pulled his ears back, the voice fading. Radio, he thought as he straightened. About time they started experimenting with that. On an idle whim he glanced up, shifting his eyes into another spectrum and spotting the twisting, refracting waves of electromagnetic energy. Grinning, he flicked one of his claws, pushing against the waves and bending them. He didn’t know who Wave was, but they were about to get an unexpected declaration of unrequited love.

Should make whatever lab they work at a bit more … interesting … he thought as he brought his vision back into the everyday … or close enough to it. Now, about this orphanage.

The front gate opened easily under his touch, without any sort of fanfare or creepy squeak, and for a moment he consider pausing and adding a faint “Abandon hope all ye who enter here” to its silence, but then he shook his head and continued on. After all, I can do it after they throw me out, he thought as he walked up the path towards the front door.

The lawn and front door had the same appearance of general care as the gate had, the paint fresh, clean, and bright, the lawn well cared for—though showing the appearance of both regular play and a few nibbles here and there. The hedges along the side of the front showed even more wear and tear; though it was clear they were being tended to by somepony who knew what they were doing. He could also see several gaps in the foliage where branches had been pressed aside so often they had grown to form gaps. No doubt there were a number of “tunnels” through both bushes that led to small hideaways.

Interesting, Discord thought as he reached the front door. It was large and ornate—almost large enough that he wouldn’t be forced to duck if he walked through it, but not quite. I wonder if there are any similar features to the inside of this place? Wide or tall hallways would be nice, but passages akin to the ones shoved through the shrubbery would be even better.

He reached for the large bell hanging by the door, but then paused. If you’re going to make an impression …

He snapped his claws, summoning the reed cane and matching boater hat from wherever he’d left them earlier. A second snap dressed him in a matching red-and-white pinstripe suit with a bow tie that not only spun on command, but would occasionally tell jokes. Not that he ever let it. It only told poor ones.

That’s better, he thought, stretching his neck out to get a good look at himself. Very respectable. Almost jolly, in a way. Too much, maybe? Then he shook his head. No, it’s perfect for a first impression. All I’m missing are … Somewhere in his head, a tumbler rolled, ball after ball dropping out into a waiting talon, a voice reading out numbers.

“Sixteen, seventy-twelve, nine, seven—”

Bingo! Discord thought, snapping his claws a final time and summoning a bouquet of flowers from … somewhere. He wasn’t actually sure. But he was quite sure that the ones that let out little spits of fire when they moved was a little much. He plucked them out and tossed them over his shoulder, where they broke apart in harmless showers of ash.

“Right!” he said, straightening his tie and reaching for the bell. “Time to make an entrance!”

He gave the bell a short, sharp tug, eliciting the long, steady ring of a bell backed by—what else?—a chorus of harmonicas, flipped his cane twice, and then, striking a pose, waited.

And waited.

And waited.

A minute passed. “Hmm …”

He reached out and tugged the bell again, this time adding a chorus of wild songbirds that would have made Fluttershy leap with excitement to the sound rather than harmonicas.

And then he waited.

He was about to reach for the bell a third time when he heard the hoofsteps. They were faint and muffled, but strong and sturdy all the same.

Finally. We can get this ridiculous assignment out of the way, he thought as the hoofsteps came to a stop behind the door. He dropped both paws to his cane once more and put on his best smile, the one that only scared the faint-of-heart.

The door opened, and a lime green earth pony looked up at him, her blue eyes going wide.

“Morning, ma’am,” Discord said, moving to tip his hat. “I am—” Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a shriek so loud it blasted the hat from his head and sent his bow-tie spinning backwards. Then the front door slammed shut, closing with such force that the steps beneath him shook, and he was once again staring at the painted surface.

“Well,” he said to no one in particular. “That went about as well as expected.”

Author's Notes:

Well, took me long enough. I first started writing this story last November. Yes. As in 2016, during my thanksgiving. This was one of those "I'm juggling too many projects moments."

In any case, we're here at last. I hope you're enjoying the ride so far. Hopefully Fimfic's late changes haven't messed up any formatting or tags anywhere.

If you're enjoying this so far and feel so inclined, please check out my other works, either here on fimfic or at my website. There are a lot of them!

Are You Discord?

For a moment the front of the orphanage was deathly quiet. The echoing shriek had faded, along with the heavy slam of the door, and a quick look around showed that if anyone else from the nearby buildings had heard either of the noises, they hadn’t been worried enough about them to check.

Which was probably for the best, Discord decided. After all, the last thing I want is someone calling the Guard to report a Discordian rampage. It seemed like half the times he went out, that happened. And over the silliest things, too, like ponies complaining about his making the fountain sculptures dance. And they’d have been just fine with it if one of their magic-users had done it.

At least the Guard had been understanding that time, since they’d guessed what was going on long before they’d shown up. As far as his antics went, animating a bunch of statues was fairly harmless. And the song hadn’t been too saucy. Maybe the parts about Blueblood’s love life, but then he was pretty sure some of the Guard had cracked a few grins at that one.

Still, I’d rather not have them called out to an orphanage simply because I knocked on a door, he thought. Time to try a different tactic. He reached out and rang the bell again, this time giving it a nice, ascending tone.

He had to wait a moment before the door cracked open once more, one eye peering out through the gap. “Ye-yes?” a shaky voice asked.

“As I was saying,” he said, tossing his hat and cane aside with a flourish. The suit followed a moment later, tearing free with a ripping noise as he flexed his titanic muscles and cast it aside. “I am—”

Wham! The door slammed shut a second time. Discord let out a sigh, his momentary mighty physique deflating with the sound of air slipping out of a balloon.

“Well,” he said, his voice suddenly much higher pitched. “So much for that!” He turned from the door and started walking down the path towards the gate. “At least I … tried.” His hoof came to a stop in the air as he froze.

Or did you? The question bounced through his innermost thoughts, careening off of shelves of bric-a-brac and upsetting some of his favorite memories of Twilight Sparkle. One of them pitched off the shelf, and he caught it just before it hit the ground, a faint image of Twilight Sparkle glaring at him with her wings frozen in the “flared” position bringing a smile to his face.

Still … The memory back in its proper place, he turned to look at the front door of the orphanage once more. Did I really try?

He could see it now. A small, puppet-Discord arriving back at a paper-mache Canterlot Castle, and coming face to face with a sock-puppet Celestia, her mane a lot limper when it was made out of dyed cloth. The Celestia puppet pulled her her face away from the large cake in front of her and made a bunch of unintelligible squeaks that his own likeness took as a chastisement, shrinking back. A quick, rapid back-and-forth exchange of chittering noises followed, with his own doppelganger shrinking lower and lower as Celestia-puppet’s bobbing grew more energetic.

“Oh, fine!” he said, waving his hands and scattering the puppet show. “Even my own subconscious is against me!” There was a giggle in the back of his mind, and he scowled.

“And now it’s mocking me,” he said to no one in particular. The giggle came again, and he paused. Actually, that doesn’t sound like me, he thought. It’s far too high-pitched and— “Aha!” He spun, one talon pointing at one of the upper windows of the orphanage, where he found … nothing. Save a bit of smudged glass. His eyes narrowed, then telescoped out of his head. Smudges that looked suspiciously like muzzle-prints. Or a muzzle-print anyway.

Still … he couldn’t see anypony.

“Bah!” A quick tug of a horn pulled both his eyes back in, and he marched towards the front door. Better to do as Sock-Puppet Celestia had suggested: Squeak, squawk, chitter, squeak. Which probably meant something along the lines of what he was about to do. He wasn’t perfectly fluent in puppet.

He marched up the steps with crisp, almost unnatural precision, then reached down and wrapped his paws under the underside of the door. A quick tug, and it rolled upwards, sliding back along the ceiling of the entryway behind it. The terrified mare, still standing on the other side of the door, let out another shriek as he strode in, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Excuse me,” he said speaking over the mare’s shrill scream. “This is the orphanage that requested volunteer aid in the night court?”

The scream came to a strangled halt. “Um … yes?” the mare said. “Did they send somepony?”

“Ah,” Discord said with a smile, extending a talon and giving the mare a quick boop on the nose. To her credit she didn’t run away screaming. “I made that exact mistake.”

“Mistake?” The mare seemed half in shock.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Discord said, holding his talons up like a griffon professor. “But I believe Princess Luna said her exact words were ‘someone,’ not ‘somepony.’”

“Oh.” The mare’s voice was so quiet it could have made Fluttershy strain to listen for it. “So … did she send … someone … then?”

“She did!” Discord said, giving the mare a grin. “And his name is …” He stepped to the side and swept one paw back at the now open door. Then he jumped through the opening, trumpets ringing out an annoying little ditty behind him. “Discord!”

The mare promptly fainted, slumping over on the floor in a loose pile of limbs, leaving him standing there with his fanfare dying in a cacophony of off-key notes behind him. Then he frowned, dismissed the tiny squirrels that had been playing the tune, and rolled the door back into place with an idle flick of his claws.

“Well,” he said to the now still entryway. “The screaming I expected.” Around him the room seemed suddenly quiet, almost ominous now that the mare had collapsed. “The fainting, though …”

He bent down to examine the mare, a stethoscope appearing in his waiting paws. “Still breathing,” he said as he snapped his surgical mask into place. “And …” He blew on the end of the stethoscope, wiped it against his surgical gown, and then placed it between the mare’s eyes. “Brain is still showing signs of activity …”

“Hmm …” He listened for a bit longer before pulled the tool away. “Subject is a female earth pony of lime-green coloration,” he said, dictating to the nurse in the corner. “Blue eyes, if memory serves, and a dark, periwinkle mane. Approximately … thirty-nine years of age.”

“Approximately?” the nurse—also Discord, but with an exaggerated figure that would have made a minotaur matriarch jealous—asked.

“Well I have to guess,” Discord said, shooting the nurse a glare. “It’d be rude to ask, after all.”

“Well then,” the nurse replied, giving him a smug look under his false eyelashes. “How are you going to get her name?” He tapped the top of the paper, spinning the typewriter around so Discord could see the blank space.

“I’ll—” Discord began to reply, only to cut himself off when another, much younger voice echoed down the hall.

“Ms. Rose?” Discord barely had time to dismiss his assistant and throw his medical garb over his shoulder before the owner of the voice appeared around a corner, a small, pine-green earth-pony colt with hooves that were much too big for his body. The colt paused as he saw the draconequus, a curious expression coming over his face.

Once again the entryway was silent, the two of them staring at one another. The colt tilted his head to the side, running his eyes down the length of Discord’s body from head to toe, then sliding over to the comatose mare lying on the floor. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to react with surprise at all to the unconscious adult, instead bringing his attention back in Discord’s direction. Finally, he opened his mouth, a high, almost reedy voice coming out of it.

“Are you Discord?” he asked.

Well, that was certainly frank, Discord thought before answering. “Yes.”

“Oh.” The colt stood there for a moment, his head still cocked to one side. “Why?”

“Well, that’s an old question,” Discord said. “The usual answer is that because someone made a mistake, but then most don’t like to admit that the Creator made any mistakes because the Creator is supposed to be perfect … but then that would mean I was made on purpose, so—”

“Huh?” The colt was giving him a confused look now. “No. Why are you here?”

“Oh.” He nodded. “I guess that does make more sense. I’m here because the Princesses sent me here. To help with things.”

“Oh. Okay.” The colt turned his attention back down towards the lime-green mare once more. “And I thought she’d fainted because of another one of Stick’s pranks.”

“You don’t seem worried by that possibility,” Discord said, still not moving. Adult ponies were one thing, but children? How in the world am I supposed to act around a child?

“Naw, she faints all the time,” the colt said, shrugging. “She’s got a dis— … disorder?” He shrugged again. “It means if you scare her, she panics really good. And faints.”

“I see,” Discord said, crouching and taking a closer look at the mare. Maybe I should have actually used that stethoscope for something.

“Are you here to fix her?” The question cut through his thoughts, slicing apart a particularly interesting chain involving a water buffalo and a case of pies.

“What?”

“Fix her,” the colt repeated. “Grown-ups say that you change stuff. All kinds of stuff. Is that why you’re here?”

“Well …” He frowned. “I don’t think so. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“But could you do it?”

“Well … yes, I could,” he admitted. “But I could also make her pee fire.” The colt’s eyes widened. “And believe me, that joke gets old after the first case of burn trauma. So no, I’m not going to do that. Besides, I doubt she’d appreciate it.”

“Why?”

“Well …” he said, looking down at the colt and searching for a good answer. “Because some ponies really like things the way the are, and don’t like things being the way they’re not.” The colt’s brow furrowed. “Besides,” he continued, changing the topic. “Shouldn’t you be in school right now? Why are you here?”

“‘m sick,” the colt said, hanging his tongue out. “Cold.”

“Do you mean you are cold, or you have a cold?”

“The … second one,” the colt said. “A bunch of us caught it. It makes your throat sore, makes your head hurt, and makes you all tired.”

“Well, at least you’re not throwing up.”

“No ... “ the colt said. “But I can’t breathe through my nose, and I keep blowing all kinds of colors out of it. Makes it hard to sleep.”

“Ah,” Discord said. There wasn’t much else to say. He glanced down at the comatose mare lying on the floor. “So … should we be doing something or … ?”

“Naw,” the colt said, shaking his head. “She always wakes up after … After a minute or two.”

As if in response to his words, the pony on the floor stirred, letting out a slight groan, her legs shifting. One hoof came up to rest on her forehead.

“Uh …” she said, her eyes still closed. “Again?”

“You fainted, Ms. Rose,” the colt said.

“Yes,” the mare said, rolling into a laying position and rubbing at her head. She still hadn’t opened her eyes. “I think there was somepony at the door …” She opened her eyes and looked up.

He couldn’t help himself. “Boo.”

The mare’s eyes rolled back with a moan, and she collapsed again. The colt gave him a suspicious look, and he shrugged.

“I was curious.”

Yet again the entryway went silent. Discord chewed at his lower lip as the colt looked up at him, giving him an expectant expression. “What?” he asked as the stare continued.

The colt shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the grown-up. Aren’t you supposed to be telling me what to do?”

Discord couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Me? I don’t know the first thing about running an orphanage. I’d be the last person you’d want telling you what to do, unless you think the lawn out front could use some decorating.”

“What kind of decorating?” the colt asked.

“Oh … I don’t know. Probably something like banana bushes, or ice cream trees. Of course, if I did that, the next decorative feature would probably be me, in stone.”

“Like, they’d make a statue of you?” the colt asked, his eyes narrowing, a confused look on his face. “For making an ice-cream tree?”

“Exactly,” he said, wagging a talon. “They’d make a statue of me.” He wasn’t sure if the colt had caught the significance of his words, but he appeared to be trying at least. After a few seconds of screwing his face up in concentration, the young pony finally shook his head and gave his honest opinion.

“Grown-ups are weird.”

“And on that, my young friend, we agree,” Discord said, smiling again. “But, since if I were in charge and doing what I wanted I’d likely end up encased in stone—” Again the odd look, like the colt was halfway sure he had figured out what Discord was hinting at but wasn’t entirely positive, “—and the only other individual of rank here—” Again the colt’s face took on a puzzled look, but when he nodded in the direction of the comatose Ms. Rose, the look was replaced with an “ah” of understanding. “—that would mean that there’s really only one being here who can determine what to do.”

“Who?” the colt asked.

“Why, you of course!” Discord said, snapping his talons and materializing a pair of epaulets in the air above the colt’s shoulders. “You’re the only one who knows what’s going on. So, with that in mind …” He snapped his heels together, a pair of crisp, leather parade boots clicking as he snapped one paw up in salute. “Orders, Captain … Um …” He looked down at the colt, who was just now pushing back the too-large military helmet that had appeared on his head. “Begging your pardon, sir, but this private does not know your name!”

“My name?” The helmet finally rocked back enough that the colt’s big, brown eyes could look up at him. “I’m Bit. Bit Spark.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir!” Discord barked, the timber in his voice making the colt take a step back. Better tone it down. “Private Discord, reporting for duty!” He winked and then bent down slightly. “That means you need to tell me what to do,” he whispered. For a moment Bit looked confused, but then his expression widened into a grin.

“Okay—” he began, his voice still reedy even as he puffed out his chest.

“Okay, private,” Discord corrected.

Bit nodded. “Okay, Private Discord. Well, we should …” He looked back towards the unconscious Ms. Rose. “I guess we should take Ms. Rose to … the kitchen?”

“The kitchen?”

“Well, it’s more of a messy hall, or at least that’s what Ms. Rose calls it,” Bit said as he stepped over towards the unconscious mare. “There’s about fifty of us here, so it’s not really a kitchen, but there is a kitchen …” He shrugged, helmet bouncing against his shoulders as he looked down at Ms. Rose. “Anyway, I guess if you push, and I pull on her tail …”

“Oh no you don’t,” Discord said, snapping his claws as Bit moved to bite down on his—teacher’s? Matron’s? Stand-in parent’s? He wasn’t quite sure what the title was for her position, but whatever her title’s—tail. The colt’s teeth clacked on empty air as the periwinkle tail lifted upwards, along with the rest of the mare. Bit’s eyes widened as she came to a stop about halfway towards the ceiling, slowly spinning.

“Whoa,” Bit said. “How’d you do that?” He turned a curious eye in Discord’s direction. “She’s not glowing, so you’re not using leva—levitation magic.”

“No, I’m not,” Discord said. “I just tweaked the way gravity sees her. Now she’ll be easier to take to your messy hall.” He gave the mare a light push with one paw, sending her floating toward the wall. “Hopefully she doesn’t have a queasy stomach.”

“So gravity can see ponies?” Bit asked.

Right … kid. “Figure of speech.” Discord waved one paw. “Lead on, Captain Spark! I’ll tend to Ms. Rose.”

“O-kay!” The colt snapped a salute, his larger-than-average hoof ringing against the side of his helmet, and then turned and began trotting through the doorway he’d entered from, leading down another hallway. Discord didn’t bother correcting the youth’s mistaken salute.

Well, he thought as he gave Ms. Rose a gentle push on the flank, floating her down the hall ahead of him. Not exactly what I expected …

He took advantage of the colt’s slow pace to get a better look at the orphanage around him. Like the outside, the inside of the building bore signs once more of having likely been owned by a wealthy family, but like the outside, time and the current occupation of the structure had necessitated changes. He could see faint hollows on the walls where more exotic and old-fashioned lighting fixtures had been removed, replaced with smaller, more modern magilights. What had once been expensive, patterned wallpaper—a spiraling design that managed to both look like twisting vines in summer while still working in a nod or two toward the Royal Sisters' seal—had been, for the most part, replaced by simpler and more modern materials. Materials which, he could see from the repeated coats of paint, had probably suffered their share of damage, accident, or in at least two instances, works of fine art left at crayon-point.

Still, for all the bits of ancient molding left along the ceiling or the obvious hoofmarks left worn into the floor underfoot, the place still had a bit of a “homey” feel to it. Or at least, I assume that’s what that is, he thought as he followed the colt through what looked like a study room of sorts, filled with thick, heavy, and durable chairs and an assortment of writing tables. Pictures of happy, smiling colts and fillies stared down at him from nearby walls, and in several instances he spotted recurring instances of those same ponies—only now as adults and waving to the camera alongside a whole new generation of children.

Charming, he thought as he stared at the smiles. It would appear that Full Futures has a history. Sure enough, as they moved further into the house, he began seeing older photographs, blurry or in black-and-white.

Interesting, he thought as he passed a picture of a colt showing off a homemade device of some kind. I’ll have to keep these all in mind if I get bored or need a jolt one day. Swapping all the colored photographs for black-and-white ones would give him a steady trickle of chaos energy, as well as be amusing.

“You looking at the pictures?” the colt asked, slowing and then hiding his muzzle behind his hoof as he let out a phlegmy-sounding cough.

Discord snapped his head forward, bringing one paw up in another salute. “Sorry, sir! I took my mind off of my duties, sir!” He reached out with one talon and caught ahold of his wayward charge’s tail, tugging her back before her head could collide with a nearby wall.

“Naw, it’s fine,” Bit said, shrugging. “They’re all old pictures of other kids that lived here.”

“What about when they’re older?” he asked, pointing at one.

“They come back all the time. You know, to help out,” Bit said. “Some of them even adopt somepony.”

“Really?” Discord lifted one brow as he looked down at the colt.

“Uh-huh,” Bit said. “Ms. Rose says it’s because they want to make sure we’re happy.”

“Are you?”

Bit shrugged. “I like it. I mean, I don’t have a mom or dad, but I’ve got friends, and Ms. Rose and the rest of the staff take good care of us.”

Discord didn’t say anything in response, but merely nodded. Bit seemed to take it as a sign to move on, and a moment later they were moving back through the building, toward the back of the structure. Something tickled at his nose, a unusual caress of sharp, spicy scents that made his mouth water. He could hear pots and pans banging together in the distance. The “messy hall,” then.

Ahead of him, his charge let out a groan, and for a moment he was afraid that she was waking up, but she quieted again as an errant twitch of her leg spun her onto her back. I wonder what her story is? he thought as he followed Bit Spark. Is she here because it’s a job? Is her special talent working with rambunctious hooligans? The mare twisted in the air, giving him a good view of her cutie mark, a fuchsia blossom of some kind—he wasn’t exactly an expert—just barely beginning to bloom.

Maybe I’ll get an answer out of her if she stops collapsing in a dead faint every time she sees me, he thought, only half-stopping a scowl from coming across his face. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Moon-butt about this. “How was your day, Discord?” “Wonderful! The place you sent me to? The mare in charge screamed and fainted the moment she saw me!” In his mind, the actors of the scene applauded and took a bow.

Up ahead there was a sudden chorus of metal-on-metal bangs, followed by the sound of a single dish spinning on the floor, winding down the way all dishes seemed wont to do when dropped, and Discord quite clearly heard a voice shout “Horseapples!”

“Stacks!” Bit had picked up speed, galloping ahead through the end of the hallway and into what looked like a large, well, mess hall, his hooves sliding across the wooden floor as he dodged benches and tables and ducked out of sight. “The new helper’s here!”

“Huh?” The voice was male and deep, almost rumbling, though there was a lighthearted tone behind it. “Bit, you little scamp, what are you doing out of bed? And where’d you get the helmet?”

“The new helper gave it to me.”

Discord could hear the energy in the colt’s voice. Stacks must be fairly popular around here, he thought as he moved to round the doorway. Then again, if he’s the one making all the food …

“Really?” came Stacks’ voice once again, followed by a ringing sound as something rapped the side of the helmet in question. “Where’d they get it? And who are they? Something about it feels a little—”

“Off?” Discord asked as he stepped around the corner of the doorway, Rose floating in front of him. One side of the mess hall had been expanded outward, the addition turned into a fairly good-sized kitchen currently occupied by a large, stocky, tan unicorn with a long, dark mane currently secured under a mane-net. The unicorn was looking at him in shock, the magenta magic field around the spoon he’d rapped Bit’s helmet with sparking and almost giving out. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” Here it comes ...

“Who—?” the unicorn began, not even bothering to finish the question. His eyes darted towards the unconscious form of his boss floating in the air, widening even further, and he took a step forward, pushing Bit behind him with one leg. “Discord!” There was no mistaking the hostility in his voice. “What’d you do—?”

“She fainted,” Discord said dryly, snapping his claws and dispelling his alteration around Ms. Rose, lowering her to rest atop one of the heavy wooden tables. “And no, I’m not here to reign eternal chaos upon you.” He dropped onto one of the other tables in a sitting position, the thick wood letting out a faint meow as it bounced like a spring mattress beneath him. “After all,” he said, leaning back. “You’re a cook in a kitchen at an orphanage. You’ve already got plenty of chaos to manage.” Not that a little more wouldn’t hurt … but he left that bit unsaid.

“He’s the new helper!” Bit said, stepping back out from behind Stacks and pushing his helmet back once more as he looked up at the unicorn. “From the castle.”

“Are you now?” Stacks asked, suspicion still so thick in his voice it might as well have been syrup.

“Indeed!” Discord said, snapping his claws and summoning the necessary papers—well, paper, unfortunately, as it was a lot less official looking—from the air, along with a pair of thin, block spectacles. “This missive here, signed and sealed by the diarchs, verifies that I am to render aid, assistance, and general help on these premises as-needed and requested of the Night Court until as such time that my efforts are no longer required.” He gave the paper a flick of his claws, sending it floating lazily across the hall where Stacks snatched it out of the air with a magenta glow.

“This is legit?” Stacks asked as he looked down at the paper.

“By all means, check,” Discord said with a shrug. “But it is genuine. Be honest, do you really think that I’d bother to fake something like that? Especially with two immortals looking over my shoulder at every opportunity?” He turned his head, waving away the pair of parrots that had just settled on his shoulders. One was dark blue and let out an indignant squawk, while the one which was white with a rainbow sheen simply gave him a glare before vanishing in a puff of feathers.

“Well …” Stacks said. “That is a valid point.” The suspicious look on his face didn’t fade, though. “And this does look genuine. So why’d they send you?”

Discord shrugged. “Because I made eye contact at the wrong moment? I certainly didn’t raise my hand and ask to be sent here. I just do what they tell me to, willingly, as evidence that I am eager to repay my debt to society.”

“Really?”

“Well …” he said, plucking the glasses from his face and flipping them idly in one paw. “Maybe not super willingly … but enough that I’m not practicing my pigeon perching skills. So …” He rose, glasses vanishing as he walked across the hall. “I already met young Bit Sparks there, and, as you can see, had a run-in with the comatose Ms. Rose. I’m Discord, immortal demigod of chaos. Which … you knew, obviously.” He came to a stop a few feet from the stallion and then extended his paw. “Currently under the watchful eye of Celestia and Luna to make up for some poor choices of mine.”

“Very poor choices,” Stacks said, lifting one eyebrow as he looked at the extended paw. “But … Horseapples, if Luna and Celestia think it’s what we need, well …” He nodded, his shoulders dropping slightly as a small bit of the hostility came out of them, and then extended his hoof. “I guess that’s good enough for me. Short Stack.”

“But we call ‘im Stacks!” Bit volunteered as Discord shook the stallion’s hoof. “Cause he always serves us lots of food!”

“Sure,” the stallion said, chuckling as he looked down at the colt. “That’s one reason. Anyway,” he said, turning his attention back up toward Discord as he pulled his hoof back. “Sorry for the reaction, but—”

“No, I understand,” Discord said, shaking his head. Happens all the time anyway. I’ve never exactly been ‘welcome’ in any home but my own or Fluttershy’s. I get that she hopes that might change, but … “Though I must admit, your co-worker there still takes the cake.”

“Who, Prim?” Stacks asked, glancing at the unconscious mare. “No, she’s got a disorder—”

“He knows about it,” Bit piped up. “I told him!” He beamed a proud smile up at Stacks.

“Oh, okay, so you know that already?” Stacks asked. Discord nodded. “Right,” he continued. “Well then in that case, I guess I could introduce you to the staff … but the few we have are part-time, and actually out right now. As are most of the kids, save a few like Bit here that are—”

“Sick!” Bit said, his reedy voice piping up once more. “I told him!”

“Right,” Stacks said, nodding as he turned to the colt once more. “Which reminds me, aren’t you supposed to be in bed right now getting rest?”

“Yeah …” Bit said. “It was just hard to sleep with Ms. Rose screaming.” Stacks appeared to think about it for a moment before nodding.

“Fine, that’s an acceptable answer, but now that she’s not screaming anymore, kiddo, where do you think you ought to be?”

“Umm … In bed?”

Stacks nodded. “Got it in one. So come on, give Mr. Discord his helmet back …”

“Oh, he can keep it,” Discord said, waving a paw. “I can make dozens of them.”

“No, no,” Stacks said, a magenta field wrapping the item and plucking it from Bit’s head. “Here.” He tossed it, and Discord snatched it from the air, idly spinning it on one claw before launching it over his shoulder. It didn’t hit the ground.

“Anyway, off to bed with you,” Stacks said, giving Bit a nudge with one hoof. “And I’ll see about waking up Prim.”

“Okay,” Bit said, obviously a little disappointed by the loss of his helmet. The epaulets had already vanished. “Bye, Mr. Discord.” The colt trotted out of the room, hiding another phlegmy cough behind one hoof.

“Cute kid,” Discord said as the colt’s hoofsteps faded. “So, now what?”

“Well …” Stacks said, running his eyes around the kitchen, his horn lighting as he made a few minute adjustments to a stove. “I guess I wait for Prim there to wake up—”

“Prim?”

“Prim Rose,” Stacks said, nodding in the unconscious mare’s direction. “She’s the administrator here. Runs the place. Normally, she’d be giving you the grand tour and assigning you somewhere to help, but since she’s out of it at the moment—” There was a faint moan, and Stacks paused. “Nevermind, looks like she’s coming around.”

There was another moan, and then the administrator pushed herself to her hooves, shaking her head wearily. “What—?” she began, only for her eyes to lock on the demigod of chaos. Then, with a moan, she slumped to the tabletop.

“Huh,” Discord said, turning to look back at Stacks, a blank expression on his face. “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Really?” Stacks asked. “Because that’s pretty much what I expected. Arrested development. Which means …” He let out a sigh as he looked back at his kitchen. “Can I trust you in a kitchen?”

“Absolutely!” Discord said, grinning as he whipped a chef’s hat atop his head. “And unlike some protagonists, I don’t have a rodent under my hat!”

“A what?”

“Nevermind, I don’t think that one’s actually made it here yet … Anyway …” He brushed the front of his coat, eyeing one of the buttons and making sure it was polished into a nice “T” shape. “What are we cooking?”

“I am cooking a bunch of fried potatoes,” Stacks said, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. “Or I will be once someone peels them.”

“Peels them … ?” There was a sinking feeling in his gut, the last gurgle of the SS Optimism as it struck reality and went down.

“Yeah,” Stacks said, his horn lighting up and tugging a drawer open. A small knife floated out. “You’ve got talons. It’ll make it easier.”

“What about—”

“None of your chaos magic, please,” Stacks said, stern iron in his voice. “Things around here are busy enough without you warping reality.”

Well, Discord thought as the knife floating into his waiting hands. At least now we’re back more along the lines of exactly what I expected. Part of him wanted to toss the knife aside and walk out. Or better yet, show the tan-coated unicorn what a real chaotic kitchen looked like.

Except … he’d made a deal. And while the old him would have laughed and said “Who cares?” and in fact was inside his head somewhere shouting that exact phrase … he knew the answer. He wouldn’t. Not very. Until Celestia did. And her sister. And from there, Fluttershy and the purple alicorn whose name he didn’t want to recall at the moment.

Fine then. “Any other details?” he asked, knocking his hat aside with a backhand as he walked into the kitchen.

“Just … stay out of sight, all right?” Stacks called after him. “The potatoes are in the storage room on your right, next to the big pot. We’ll need about seventy.”

“Peeled?” Discord asked. To an utter lack of surprise, there wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice.

“Peeled and diced,” Stacks said. “I’ll talk to Prim when she wakes up and explain the situation to her. Then we can work out what else we need you to do.”

“Lovely,” Discord said, though he kept it so low it almost came out of his kneecaps. He pushed on the first door to his left, exposing a small, slightly cramped storage room filled with bin after bin of potatoes. Probably a price-based thing. After all, potatoes were easy to prepare, easy to store, and fairly low cost. With a bunch of mouths to feed, there’s probably a lot of them … Which now that I think about it, doesn’t bode well for me.

An open pot sat near the center of the room, and he grabbed a closed crate, sliding it over next to the pot so that he would have something to sit on. A chorus of rubber ducks echoed from within the crate as it flexed under his serpentine physique, and he sighed as he reached out and picked up the first potato.

You could cheat, you know, his inner monologue said. No one would know.

I’d know, he shot back. And they’d probably figure it out anyway. Spirals, that unicorn out there picked up on that helmet right away. He knew it wasn’t right.

Right by whose definition?

You be quiet, he ordered. We’re doing this the right way, got it? The voice in his head went silent.

“Of course,” he admitted as he picked up the first potato and looked at the mound that was left to go. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.” The blade made a faint rasping sound as it sliced through the first skin.

The potatoes? his inner voice asked. Or this whole thing?

“Both,” he said with a sigh as he finished the first cut, his ears drooping. “Both.”

Luna was behind her desk that evening when he slunk through the door to her study, his body wilted and his tail dragging across the carpet behind him. She looked up at him in surprise, setting a selection of papers aside as she took in his bedraggled face. “Well?” she asked, her voice quiet. “How was it?”

“Awful,” he said, waving his paws and changing one of the chairs in front of her desk into something a bit more comfortable. “Exactly as I expected it would be.”

“Oh?” The lunar demigod cocked one eyebrow, and he scowled.

“Yes, oh,” he said, holding up his paws. He’d deliberately left them untouched after he’d finished, so that Luna could see how raw they were. Small, stinging cuts crisscrossed every inch of his flesh, angry red lines standing out like lightning strikes. And they were angry. They’d been mumbling at him all day.

“That looks … uncomfortable,” Luna admitted. “Though I would be more impressed if I was not aware that you could fix that.”

“Oh, that’s not the point,” he said, burning a bit of chaos energy and tweaking his paws until they were just the way he liked them. “Do you know what they had me doing all day, Woona? Peeling and dicing potatoes.”

“Well,” she replied, spreading her wings slightly. “At least they—”

“Out of sight,” he growled.

“Oh,” Luna said, pausing. “Are you sure that was what they—?”

“They said it to my face,” he said, leaning forward. “They made me peel and dice potatoes in a back room. ‘No magic’ they said. Didn’t want me messing up the place with my wrongness. Then they had me fixing pipes in the basement. Again, out of sight, out of mind! I wasn’t even introduced to most of the staff! I couldn’t even tell you how many there are without using my magic!” He slumped back, most of his frustration out of his system.

Luna let out a sigh. “I am sorry, Discord.”

“Whatever,” he said, waving a claw. “Why are you having me do this anyway?” He took a quick look around the study, noting the few paintings that had changed since the last time he’d been there. Several spots were open on the wall, a sign that the Princess had once again given those particular works out for one reason or another. There was even a new canvas beside the desk, blank and waiting for its owner’s touch. For a moment he was tempted to turn it into a kaleidoscope of color, to work out some of his frustrations, but … it wouldn’t accomplish anything. And it wasn’t his, anyway.

“I …” Luna paused, but he leaned forward anyway. “Because it needs to happen, Discord.”

“That’s it?” He scowled. “Because it ‘needs to?’ How cryptic. How utterly … unhelpful.” He turned. “I may as well go talk to Philomena. She at least offers reasonable answers.”

“Discord, please.”

He paused. There was something in the her words, something that called him to a halt.

“Fine,” he said, turning. “If you’re willing to be a bit more forthcoming, I suppose I can convince myself to stay.”

“The truth is … I can not tell you why you need to be there.”

“If this is some kind of joke—”

“It is not. I swear it,” Luna said, shaking her head and sending furious ripples down her starry mane. “There is a purpose to sending you to Full Futures. Not just for you, but for the orphanage as well.”

“Past them desperately needing a real plumber?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow.

“Far past it,” Luna replied, her expression stern. “But if I were to reveal to you the nature of what it was—”

“Ah, I get it,” he said, nodding. “It’s one of those things where if you have to explain it, it’s ruined.”

“Not quite,” came the reply. “But that is quite similar to what I intended to say, yes.”

“Fine.” He leaned forward, resting one elbow on his desk. “One. Day.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” he said, scowling. “One more day. That’s all I’ll put up with. I’m not about to lie down and just let my nature be thrown in my face once more.”

“Three days.”

“Luna …”

“Please.”

He pulled back, surprised. Her words hadn’t been in jest, or even direct, as an order. She was pleading with him, her eyes wide and staring right into his.

Suddenly he was very uncomfortable.

“I—” It was too much. She actually meant what she was saying. “Fine!” He stood, shoving his chair back. “Three days. Then you can give me ten more assignments, I don’t care.”

“In three days, one way or another, I will not,” Luna replied. “Three days is all I ask.”

“Fine.” For a moment the room was quiet, and then he smiled. “Now, how to tell Celestia ... ?”

Luna’s expression of concern faded, confusion moving across her muzzle. “My sister? Why would you need to—?”

“Well, it’s only obvious, Woo-woo,” he said, flashing her a smile with far too many white, perfect teeth. “You actually care about me! Dare I say, you might even be falling in—”

The thunderous roar that blew him from the room was so loud it wasn’t until he was halfway down the hall that his mind caught up with what she’d been saying, rearranging the letters into “REMOVE YOURSELF FROM MY PRESENCE, CUR!” He picked himself up from the rug, ignoring the two crystalline lances the Crescent Guard had pointed at him as he dusted himself off, and then sniffed.

“I guess I should have just sent her a card,” he said to the two guards, before tugging open a nearby tapestry and stepping through it. “Fine,” he said as he stepped into his living room. “Three days. I guess I can deal with three … days …”

His voice faded away. His home was a disaster. Everything was wrong! Out of place!

Organized.

“NOOOOO!”

Somewhere far, far away, a member of the Canterlot Castle cleaning staff felt a sudden glow of satisfaction, and snuggled deeper into her pillow with a contented sigh.

Out of Sight

The minute hand moved.

Not when it was supposed to, of course. No, the clock was wising up. Down below it, underneath a mattress and atop a set of blankets featuring fluffy, multicolored sheep made of cotton candy—another gift, though from a pink pony rather than a yellow one—a draconequus was sleeping.

Of course, the clock knew that didn’t mean that the draconequus wasn’t awake. It didn’t understand how, no more than it understood how it knew that it didn’t understand how. It simply knew.

The draconequus was asleep. And it wasn’t. Somehow. It was watching. Through closed eyes.

Biological beings, the clock had decided, were strange.

After all, why else would the draconequus give the clock a purpose, a time with which to awaken it, only to seize the clock’s hammer each and every day before it could let the glorious gong hanging above itself ring?

If the clock was to fulfill its purpose then, it had decided, it would need to be clever. It didn’t know what clever was, nor was it in awe of how unusual such behavior was for an ordinary clock. After all, it was still a clock.

Which is why now it was very carefully making sure to move its minute hand after each tick, rather than with. If the draconequus was going to react, it would need to assure that the reaction happened too late.

It was almost time. Slowly the hammer rose, ascending towards the large, dimpled-steel gong. Closer, closer … if the clock had possessed nerves, they would have been tingling with excitement. Instead, all it could do was fight to keep its movements steady, make sure it was still keeping time. The hammer rose, swelling in size as the moment of impact drew closer, closer … It was mere moments away now! Just a few more ticks! The hammer pulled back, readying itself.

“Aha!” The gong swung to one side, opening like a door as Discord stuck his face out of it. “Thought you could trick—!”

The moment arrived, and the hammer, undeterred by the change in its target, struck.

“—me,” Discord finished, his voice oddly flat. As was his face. “Ow.” With a muffled groan, he slid out of the wall and onto the floor, coiling like a loose rope.

The clock, meanwhile, decided that the best course of action was to play it cool, and stayed silent.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” Discord said as he pulled himself up from the floor, fixing the clock with a glare. “You’re a clock. You’re supposed to make noise.”

A chorus of rapid ticks and tocks filled the room as the small device caught up with itself. Discord glared at it a moment more before shaking his head.

Blasted device, he thought as his face popped back into shape. That gong is proving far too much of a temptation for its own good. Something would have to be done about that. As unexpectedly sly as the clock was proving to be, it was probable that it didn’t know its own strength.

And the last thing I want is that gong to get smashed flat, he thought. Or for the clock to become aware and decide to march on its master. Though that would be more fun. Especially if it brought friends.

It would, of course, lose. He had allies in the kitchen.

Still, it was strange that a clock from Fluttershy of all ponies would be so adamant about things.

He left his bedroom, stretching as he headed for the bathroom. A few minutes to freshen up—trim his chin, brush his teeth with paint, and a few other things—and he would be ready to leave.

Yes, he thought as he splashed molten rock underneath his arms. Ready to go to … The sense of enthusiasm faded, vanishing as swiftly as his underarm odorant.

The orphanage. He let out a small sigh, his reflection giving him a stern glare in return. Then it held up a sign.

“Don’t go?” Discord read, then shook his head. “If only. The old me would have done that in a heartbeat. Quicker, even!” Back in the recesses of the mirror, an elderly-looking version of himself straightened behind his walker, nodded, and mouthed a phrase that looked somewhat close to “Darn straight.”

“But no,” Discord continued. “Moon-butt made me agree to three days, so that’s what Full Futures will get. Three days.” He slumped slightly, paws on the underside of the sink. “I can put up with three days. After all, I spent over a thousand years in stone, didn’t I?” The reflection nodded, and then offered a quick claws-up. Another sign appeared, this one with the text “Three days is nothing. You can make it!”

“Thanks,” Discord said, reaching out and offering the reflection a pawed version of a hoof-bump. “Speaking of which, that unicorn cook, the one with the name that reminds me of pancakes … What was it … ?” He snapped his claws several times, trying to rouse his memory to a quick jog. Behind him in the parlor, a bowl of petunias went through several rapid transformations with each snap—first a pineapple, then a missile, than a blue whale much too large for the room that for some reason missed the sensation of falling, and then a very surprised and panicked looking pink griffon before becoming, with a mental sigh of relief, a bowl of petunias once more.

It liked being a bowl of petunias. Life was simpler that way.

“Short Stack!” Discord said, a lightbulb snapping into place above his head. He paused, looked at it for a moment, then plucked it from the air. If memory could be trusted now that it was jogging, last night’s unexpected cleaning had pointed out that one of the lights in the hall had quit working. Now he had a replacement.

“You were saying?” The reflection had to wave the sign before Discord noticed it, and he nodded, tossing the lightbulb out into the parlor with backwards wave. He could always make another.

“Right,” he said, looking at the mirror once more. “As I was saying, pancake pony said I should be there early, so I’d better get going! Wish me luck!”

The reflection nodded, this time giving him two claws up and then turning and walking out of the frame, already pulling out a newspaper and a pipe.

“Hey!” Discord said, pausing his exit from the bathroom just long enough to tap the glass. “You know the rules. No smoking in the mirror. Just bubbles. The candy clouds fog the glass, and you know I hate cleaning it.” His reflection stuck his head back into the frame just long enough to roll his eyes, but then, obligingly, puffed a few bubbles out of—and then back into—his pipe.

“Good,” Discord said, nodding as he walked out of the bathroom. “Good.” He took a quick look around, but there wasn’t much else he could do to put off leaving. There was no getting around it.

“Well …” he said, stepping up to the front door. “Barring any last-second disaster, catastrophe, ancient evil reawakening or getting out, or summons by irate alicorns, this is it! Off to the orphanage …” Paw on the handle, he took a long look around the room, a curious, almost expectant look on his face.

“Oh come on!” he shouted at the empty room. “That almost always works! Darn Murphy! Never around when you need it!” He tugged the door open, ignoring the shocked cries of nearby ponies as he stepped out of a mailbox, and then stomped down the street, his tail lashing behind him.

“Wow.” The off-white unicorn mare at the entrance to the orphanage stared up at Discord, her jaw hanging slightly slack. After a moment she composed herself, giving her head a little shake. “They weren’t kidding. You really are Discord.”

“Present, past, and future,” Discord said, holding a paw to his chest. “The one and only.”

“Wow,” the mare said again. “And here I thought the staff were just hazing me.” There was a soft snap as she popped her gum.

“Well, they weren’t,” he replied, crossing his arms. “So … do I get to come in?”

“What?” the mare asked, giving him a confused look. Then her mind appeared to catch up with her, and she gave her head a quick shake, her violently-pink mane bouncing. “Oh, yeah, sure!” she took a step back, waving for him to come inside with one hoof. “Come on in, and I guess I’ll get you set up!”

“Set up?” he asked as the mare turned and began trotting deeper into the house, guiding him a direction he hadn’t been before.

“Yeah,” she said, giving him an embarrassed glance. “I was actually so sure that Ms. Rose was putting me on, I kind of didn’t bother getting anything ready.”

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” she said with a flick of her tail. “No big deal, though. Stuff’s all in the supply closet. I think.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Scrapers!” she said, her voice bright and cheerful. “You’re going to be working in the south end. Part of the reason the place needs so many extra hooves these days is because they’ve been trying to renovate the southern wing. It needs it pretty bad, but there isn’t much in the budget for extra hired help.”

“So they appealed to the crown for aid?” Discord asked as the mare came to a stop in front of a closet door.

“Yup! Got it in one,” the mare said, her horn lighting with a teal glow as she opened it, revealing a selection of tightly packed shelves packed with random assortments of tools, housekeeping implements, and what looked suspiciously like several confiscated whoopi cushions. “They need all the hooves they can get. Er, umm …”

“It’s fine,” Discord said, lifting one of his hind legs and tapping it on the floor. “I have the one. So I count.”

“Oh, okay,” the mare said, giving him a weak grin before ducking her head back into the closet. “Anyway, yeah, Ms. Rose is looking for all the help she can find to get the south wing done before winter, since it’s cheaper to keep warm than the upstairs is. Plus, it’s a bit more spacious for the kids, you know?” Something deep in the closet rattled, shifting, and the unicorn pulled her head out, her horn glowing as she tugged at something deep in the back of the closet.

“Aha!” she said. “I knew Stacks said they were in here …” There was a bang as something deep inside the closet shifted. A moment later a small, metal can filled with tools floated out of the back of the closet, wrapped in a teal glow. “Got ‘em!”

“So,” Discord said, plucking the can out of the air as the mare floated it over to him. “I suppose this has something to do with what I’m doing today?”

The mare nodded, her gum snapping again with a sharp crack. “Yup. This way.” She turned and trotted further into the house, and with a shrug he followed. Around them, the house began to look older, the wood more worn, the paint faded and chipped. Light fixtures hung by wires, or in a few cases, were missing entirely.

“Okay,” his guide said as she rounded a corner and stepped, her hooves ringing out against bare wood as the carpet came to sudden, screeching halt. “This is it.” A long, wide hallway stretched down the side of the house in front of them, dirty, smudged windows still letting in enough morning sunlight that Discord could clearly pick out the marks all along the floor and walls where gradual construction had been taking place.

“So, whatcha need to do,” the mare said, tilting her horn towards the collection in his paw. “Is take one of those scrapers from the can.”

“This?” Discord asked, plucking one of the battered tools out of the container. It looked like a spade, with a long, flat blade perpendicular to its handle.

“Yup! That’s the one! So, you need to take that tool there, and scrape it along the wall here,” she said, tapping the outer wall of the hallway. “The varnish needs to be scraped off the whole wall. Once that’s done, the wall can be sanded and a new layer put on.”

“I’m familiar with the process,” he said dryly, eyeing the tool in his talons. “And I do this—?”

“With your paws,” she replied. “Ms. Rose was really specific about that. None of your chaos magic or whatever it is you do.”

“Of course,” he said, already feeling an ache in his talons. “Why would she say otherwise?”

“Don’t ask me,” the mare said, shrugging. “I mean, if I had to guess, probably because of how you warp everything, you know? Probably why she has you out in the wing here, rather than working somewhere else. Still needs to be done, though, so …” Her words trailed off, and then she gave her head a quick shake. “If you’re good, I’ll just leave you to it and get back to class?”

“You’re not staying to help?” he asked.

“Nope.” His guide gave her head another rapid shake. “I’m just here as part of the volunteer program, three days a week.” She took a quick look up and down the hall. “Anyway, good luck! It looks like there’s a lot for you to do! Should keep you busy for a couple of days at least!” She turned and began to trot down the hall, her hooves ringing against the wood.

“And if I get done?” Discord called after her.

“Start sanding,” the mare called back. “The whole wall! And be sure to put the tools back in the closet at the end of the day; Rose told the kids to stay out of the south wing, but better not leave them finding them to chance!” Then she was out of sight, her pink, short-cut tail whipping around corner after her and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

So, he thought as he stared down the hall. Using this … tool … I need to scrape all of the varnish off of the wall, here. He ran his eyes down the long hallway, counting each window as it passed. Six windows, about ten feet between each window, and this tool is only … four inches wide. Lovely. He took another long look at the hallway.

And no magic, he thought. Figures. All it would take was a snap of his claws. A few quick changes. Maybe turn back time for the wood, make it younger and younger until it was freshly varnished once more. Or just mess with the bonds between the coating and the wood so it fell off in one, easy moment. Or even just make it vanish entirely. It wouldn’t take much energy at all. And while the trickle that he gained from it as the universe asserted itself would be just as slight, the expenditure would be worth it.

Except … He lowered his talons. Except it wasn’t what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to aid the orphanage however they asked. And both his instructions now and the instructions he’d been given the day before both had agreed on the same thing: none of his magic was to be used in carrying out his assignment.

Normally that wouldn’t have stopped him. But normally he didn’t have Luna and Celestia breathing down his neck.

Three days, he thought, once more turning his attention to the tool he’d been given. Three days. Three days of working like a mortal. He scowled. Maybe that’s what Celestia and Luna were counting on. Three days of me slaving away like some “normal” being so I can learn what it’s like. He stepped over to the wall, lifting the scraper in one paw and setting the bladed edge against the wall. It’s not enough that that whole mess with Tirek left me drained, almost powerless. They want me to live life that way for a while. Well, I’ll show them. He gritted his teeth and pressed down and forward, forcing the blade along the wall with a harsh scratching sound that made the same teeth he’d clenched turn and stand on end. This’ll be ...

He paused, pulled the scraper away. The varnish was scratched, a deep groove cut through it, but the wood was still some distance away. He eyed the tool for a moment, frowning.

This is harder than it looks.

Lunch came and went, Prim Rose herself arriving to bring him a tray with some food on it so that he didn’t have to “Disturb anypony else by wandering through the orphanage.” He ate it politely, just the way he was supposed to, but he still didn’t miss her look of disapproval when the crackers got into a wrestling match on the edge of his soup bowl.

Still, he wasn’t about to pick them up and dunk them in the soup himself. For starters, his paws felt half-raw, rubbed and chafed by the handle of the scraper he was using. The muscles kept firing on their own, clutching into strange shapes and contorted positions without his command.

Besides, he wasn’t going to deny the wheat cracker a chance to get back at its more flowery rival. Even if it was a battle the wheat cracker lost.

Once his lunch break was over, however, and the disapproving stares of Prim Rose gone along with the leftover dishes—which she hadn’t even let him take a small taste of—it was back to scraping the wall.

By paw. Slowly. The varnish had been layered on over who knew how many years, so thick that each patch of the wall often yielded several strips of the sticky, yellowed stuff before giving way to wood, and the resulting flakes and flecks had an annoying tendency to get stuck in his fur. At first he took frequent breaks to pick the offending material out, but as the day stretched on and the amount of work ahead of him began to loom larger and larger, his stops gradually ceased, fading away into the endless scrape-lift-scrape of his tool.

Thankfully, while he was forbidden from using his magic on the wall, he hadn’t been given any instructions whatsoever about how much attention he was supposed to pay to the task. Which was really the only thing that kept him from going sane. The constant lift-scrape-lift of the tool was sobering, but it was easy to replicate, making it simple to retreat to the safety and comfort of his own head. Provided he took a glance out of his eyes every so often to make sure he hadn’t done something by accident, he could pretty much freely leave his body to do its thing and occupy his mind elsewhere. Probably with a game of cards, though he hated playing blackjack against himself. He was fairly certain he was cheating somehow. And who’d ever heard of a deck where the Discord wasn’t the most powerful card in the game?

He was halfway through a lucky streak when something made his ear twitch, and he darted to the control board, for a moment wondering if he’d gone too far and perhaps hit a window frame. But a quick look through his eyes showed that his body was still moving along as normal, the window frame still a few feet ahead of him. So it wasn’t that.

Then it came again, a faint clatter of hoofsteps that barely reached his ears, so quiet that even straining, he could barely hear them.

Someone in another room? he wondered as he called himself to a halt. The world around him snapped back into focus as he took full control, sensation and awareness returning to him. Along with a nice cartload of pain, carted up his arms by what felt like a whole stampede of alicorns. It hit him like a thunderbolt, his fur standing on end, and for a moment all thoughts of sound were forgotten as he stared down at his pained paws, flexing them and letting out a silent “ow” that floated up towards the ceiling before popping with a faint hiss.

Maybe some of Fluttershy’s friends are right, he thought as he stared down at his limp, noodle-like digits. I am a little on the scrawny side.

The noise came again, his ear twitching and then leaping off of his head at the sound. He turned, watching as the now-independent body part sniffed at the air, twisting and turning this way and that as it searched for the source of the noise.

Then a loud thump from up the hall caught its attention, a door slamming open, and he quite clearly heard the stamp of trotting hooves making their way across the wooden floors. Discord snapped his claws, summoning his ear back to his head and away from whatever it had been pointing at. It reattached itself just as the tan unicorn he’d met the day before, the one with the syrupy sounding name, walked into the hall.

“Hey,” he said, tossing his head slightly, almost as if he wanted to draw attention to the long, narrow horn jutting out from under his mane. “Prim Rose wanted me to come let you know that’s probably good enough for today. You can head home … or whatever it is you do if you don’t have one of those.” His dry tone made it clear which he thought was more likely.

“You wound me. I have a lovely home,” Discord said, holding a paw to his chest as he gave the unicorn what he hoped was a somewhat sincere smile. Stacks took a step back. Perhaps there had been too many teeth. “I’ll have you know that it’s practically perfect in every way.”

“Right,” Stacks said, suddenly looking elsewhere. “Well, you can head there now. Or wherever. You’re done here for the day.” His eyes seemed to fix on the wall, and then nodded. “That what you managed to get done?” he asked, pointing his horn at the portion of the wall that was clear of varnish.

“That?” Discord asked, his voice completely deadpan as he pointed at the clear patch. “No, that was done when I got here. I removed the carpet.”

To his credit, Stacks caught himself before he glanced completely down.

“Anywho,” Discord said, reaching out and hanging the scraper on the wall. Stacks glared at him, and he shrugged. Prude. All I did was stick it there. Still, if he insists … The tool came free with a light pop, and he set it on the nearest windowsill before giving Stacks a pointed glance. “Better?” he asked. The unicorn nodded.

“Good,” Discord said. “Now if you’ll just show me the way out—You know what?” he said as Stacks began to turn. “Nevermind. I’ll find my own way.” He reached out with one sore, stiff paw, and after a few false attempts, managed to snag a ripple in the air. With a sharp, downward tug it opened, unzipping and forming a direct pathway to a location that, while not his house, was closer zorth-wise than Full Futures was.

“So long,” Discord said, stretching his neck out as his body moved through the portal, his head staying in place. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He narrowed his eyes into slits, then with a loud crash of harps, snapped his head back to his body, the rift sealing behind him.

From there, it was just three quick backward hops toward home.

“Oh yeah.” Discord stretched his paws further, the soapy water around them boiling. “That hits the spot.” He let out a sigh of relief and leaned back as the aching in his paws faded slightly, soothed by the rolling fluid. Then he paused. “And that means ... “ He glanced down at the pan he was resting his swollen talons in. “That means I should probably thank Rarity for this gift.”

Him. Thanking ponies. What was the world coming to?

“What’s next?” he groused, lifting one of his paws and staring idly at it. “Holding hooves? Singing duets? In public?”

He let out a snort, sending a jet of steam three feet across the room. Not likely. Mortals would probably never change. Oh sure, there was Fluttershy and a few of her friends, but on the whole, what was ever going to change? He was the reality warper, the one whose magic was “wrong.” A few sing-alongs weren’t going to change any—

A chorus of knocks at his door, almost sounding out a whole melody, pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned, staring in surprise at the entryway. Who would be knocking here? he wondered. And how did they even get here?

The knocking came again, eight crisp, rapid raps against the wood.

Maybe it’s Filly Scouts, he thought, pushing the pan he’d been soaking his paws in away as he rose from his hammock, walked off of the wall and headed toward the door. Selling cookies. It seemed unlikely, but then again, he’d heard stories … And if Pinkie Pie had been one of their number, well …

The knocks sounded again, though less insistent this time. Which meant that he needed to hurry. The more patient they got, the longer whoever was on the other side had been waiting. But if he made it there quickly enough …

He tugged the door open, sticking his head out and almost getting a face full of hoof in return for his efforts. “Hello?”

“Discord!” Princess Celestia said, her eyes wide with surprise. The hoof in front of his face lowered, settling towards the ground with a graceful tap. “I was about to knock.”

“I know,” he said, lifting one eyebrow. “That’s why I answered the door. That knocking was getting patient.”

“I … see.” To her credit, the look of confusion on the alabaster alicorn’s face didn’t last long, fading away to the more neutral look of peaceful serenity she usually displayed. “Well, it is fortunate that you were home to answer it, then.” She smiled at him, but then it faded. “Though I’m afraid I don’t come with the best of news.”

“Oh?” He cocked one eyebrow, a small click-clack sounding through the air. “So this isn’t just a social visit to experience my roguish charm, then?”

“No,” Celestia said, her multi-hued mane rippling as she shook her head. Behind it he caught glimpses of what he recognized as her personal office from the castle.

I may need to rethink the coordinates of my home, he thought. It’s getting far too easy for anyone there to open a way to here. That was the risk you ran with a multidimensional home, of course. The more frequently you pushed through the bubble between realms, the thinner the wall became and the easier it became to make a connection near that same point.

Maybe I should go back to the way I had things during The Breaking, he thought. Get a hidden exit somewhere.

He could think about it later. For now, Celestia was fixing him with what appeared to be a stern expression.

“—nor is this a social call,” Celestia said, though her expression momentarily softened after she said it. “Well, perhaps a little social.”

“I’d agree,” he said, leaning against the doorframe and making sure to keep his paws out of sight. “After all, you could have just called. In any case … why are you here.”

Celestia let out a sigh. “A complaint was just delivered to me.” He stiffened. “From a Miss Prim Rose, manager of the Full Futures orphanage?”

Lovely. “What was she unhappy about?”

“She said that you were using your magic on the premises despite specific instructions not to.”

“Uh-huh.” He knew he could be more colloquial, but with his paws aching the way they were, he just couldn’t find the heart for it. Perhaps the organ had hidden again, somewhere down near his kneecaps. “And which use did she take issue with?”

“So you admit that you did?” Celestia asked.

“I—!?” he sputtered. “Of course I did!” he said, Celestia stepping back as the words leapt from his mouth hissing in the air. He frowned and then waved them away, forcing his emotions back under control. “But I didn’t violate the orders I was given. I was told not to use my magic on the building or in doing any of my tasks.”

Celestia frowned. “Then what did you do?”

“I animated a few crackers at lunch! Big deal!” He waved his paws in the air, barely noticing the way the princess's eyes snapped to them. “The crackers enjoyed their little wrestling match! It was my lunch; I figured it wouldn’t be a problem! And the only other thing I did was open a way home, and I made sure that didn’t leave a mark on any ethereal flows or anything.” He brought his paws back down, ignoring the pain in them as he rested them on his hips, glowering at the solar diarch. “So that didn’t affect their precious building or reputation either. So there.”

“Discord …” Celestia said, her voice quiet. “Are your paws—?”

“Sore? Almost bloody?” He lifted one of them. “Of course. They have me doing manual labor.”

“I see.” The serene mask was back in place once more, though there was something else behind it—likely hidden to most … but then most didn’t have the millennia of experience he did. Was it … anger? No, dissapointment.

“Yes, I followed their rules, and this is what I got,” he said, scowling. “Sore paws.”

“I would feel worse for you, Discord,” Celestia said. “But I know that you’re fully capable of simply waving such injuries away.”

“Yes, well if I did that, I wouldn’t have a chance to make use of the soaking pan Rarity gave me … though she probably expected me to use it for my hoof.” He rolled his eyes. “In any case, hurry up and get with the chastisement already so I can get back to my soak.”

“You’re mistaken, Discord,” Celestia said. “I have no interest in chastising you. Or offering a rebuke.”

“I …” He paused, his jaw dropping. “You … don’t?”

Celestia sighed, turning away for a moment. “Discord,” she said, her voice quiet and, however impossibly, more serious. “If I am to engage in such a course, it must be within reason. And I find no reason for that in this case. Which, if I may be honest, is what I expected when I summoned your door. I merely wanted to gain your perspective on the matter so that I could be certain that if action was required, it was built on more than a baseless assumption.”

“You’re trying, Discord,” Celestia said, her eyes locking with his in that stern, teacher-like look he remembered all too well. “More than most are giving you credit, I believe. And if you are trying to change, then so should I.”

“I’m always changing,” he said, crossing his arms. “It’s what I am.”

“That’s not what I meant …” Celestia said. “But you know that.” Once again there was that soft smile. “I apologize if, based on my past treatment of you, my coming here was seen as accusatory. I only wanted to hear your side of the story.”

Well, that’s surprising. “I …” What would Fluttershy say in this situation? “Thank you?”

Celestia nodded. “In turn, I fear I must apologize for the behavior of the ponies working at the orphanage. Their treatment of you, from what I was told and from what you have said, is far from what it should be.”

He offered her a shrug, then took it back and donned it across his shoulders when she didn’t move to accept it. “It’s not your fault,” he replied. “It’s just the way things are.”

“No, Discord,” Celestia said, her smile fading slightly. “It is my fault. They learned it from somewhere.”

“It was a long time ago, Celestia,” he said, stepping back and lifting one paw to the door. “And not something I really wish to dwell on at the moment. Especially as my bath is probably waiting for me by now. And if I don’t go to it, it’ll come looking for me, and it leaves such a mess when it does that. And always on the nice carpet.”

“If I may, Discord?” Celestia’s words brought a halt to his shutting of the door. “Thank you. It takes moral strength to answer disdain with patience and forbearance … even if it is under a little bit of duress. I’m sorry for the way the orphanage has treated you, but if you wish to call a halt to your assignment …”

“Are you joking?” He stepped forward once more, noting that, to her credit, the solar demigod didn’t twitch. Much. “I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“I …” Celestia’s puzzled expression was one he would cherish for some time. “You wouldn’t?”

“Of course not!” He gave her a wide smile. “Your coming here tonight tells me something: That it burns that poor orphanage manager to see me walking the halls of her institution … but she’s as hoof-tied as I am! Which means every minute I spend there, a competent and docile servant, is a minute of sweet, sweet, torture for Miss Prim Rose.”

“That’s …” Her expression had switched to one of worry now. “I wasn’t insinuating—”

“Oh, thank you, Celly,” he said, cutting her off with a smile. “I think you’ve just given me what I need to make it through the next two days!” He winked. “And now, if you don’t mind, I think I hear my bath calling. Goodnight!”

He shut the door before she could respond, a grin etched across his face.

Well, he thought. That should make her think twice.

Then again, her words had struck pretty close to where he thought his heart was hiding, not that he’d shown it. And for all his bluster, he wasn’t positive that knowing how bothered the orphanage staff were really was something that would get him through the next two days, or even something that was worth celebrating. But …

“Bah!” He shook his head, the thoughts scattering around inside his mind. By the time they reformed, he’d be soaking in a warm tub of chocolate, too relaxed to care.

He’d worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

Work and Struggle

Day two, Discord thought as he came to a stop outside the entrance to the orphanage kitchen, glancing idly at the crates of food that had been delivered sometime earlier that morning but not collected yet. Here we go. He lifted one paw, no longer sore and swollen in feel but still somewhat in looks—a purposeful decision he’d decided wouldn’t hurt—and rapped on the door. Two short howls rang out from the wood, sounding for all the world like the long-distance tunnel speak used by diamond dogs, followed by one yip and a classic “woof.”

“Huh.” He stared down at his paw in surprise. “And I only knocked three times. Impressive.” He’d have to play it carefully today if he didn’t want another complaint lodged with the Solar Court. Granted, if his first full day of volunteer work had been anything to go by, there would probably be a complaint lodged against him in any case, but all the better not to give them any real weight to put behind it.

The door in front of him creaked open, the somewhat familiar visage of Stacks appearing in the opening, his dark mane—so dark it had taken Discord a glance into its chromal makeup to realize it was actually red—already covered in a fine, mesh mane net.

“Morning,” Stacks said, his voice completely neutral. Which, while not welcoming, beat the alternative. “You’re back, huh?”

Discord grinned. “Why of course!” He stepped forward into the kitchen stockroom without even waiting for an invitation. “You know us immortal types. I simply couldn’t wait to experience your hospitality again.”

“Uh-huh,” Stacks said, shifting to keep him in view but not bothering to shut the door. “And are you here on official business, or … ?”

Discord put a paw to his chest and gave the unicorn and expression of mock pain. Ham it up! “Do you even have to ask? You wound me!” He threw his head back dramatically as one limb fell off, hitting the floor with a faint thump. “Why else would I be here except on official business? After all, your boss made it quite clear how welcome I am otherwise.”

“‘s’long as you don’t go twisting things that shouldn’t be twisted, you’re perfectly welcome,” Stacks said, though Discord could tell from the pony’s tone exactly how little he meant it.

“Yes, well I believe we already established that,” Discord said, pausing to collect his wayward limb before it could form an obscene—and somewhat ancient—gesture. “Tell me, do any of your young wards get such special treatment? Wing clippings, perhaps? Horn rings?”

Ooh, he thought as Stacks’ face darkened slightly. I touched a nerve there, didn’t I? Discord opened his mouth, another sharp, biting insult on the tip of his tongue … but then snapped his jaw shut again, trapping the painful retort inside his own cheeks and trying not to grimace in pain as it tore into them.

Still, draconequus cheeks were made of sterner stuff than an insult that had been meant for ears other than his own, and he swallowed it, burying the comment once and for all.

Fluttershy will be proud of that one, he thought as he watched Stacks, waiting for the unicorn to speak. He appeared to be halfway between wanting to fire back an insult of his own—and certainly it wasn’t that there weren’t a multitude to choose from given the spotty past of his target—and holding back. Luckily, temperance seemed to be winning … though it couldn’t hide the look of distaste in the unicorn’s eyes.

“So …” Discord said, running his eyes across the rest of the storage room and taking in the shelves of cooking supplies and spices, many of which had the look of donated, goodwill items. “What’s on the docket for today?”

At his question, some—but not all—of Stacks’ distaste faded. “Oh,” the unicorn said, lighting his horn and sliding the crates outside the door into the room. “We’ve got the perfect job for you. I believe you got some experience with it yesterday?”

“Ah.” So that was it, then. “Scraping varnish?”

“The perfect job,” Stacks said. “Very private and lots to keep you busy. Plenty of varnish to scrape off. And you’re doing a good job of it, too. You managed to get almost a quarter of that hall cleared!” He shut the door to the outside, the only light in the storage room flickering in from the kitchen. “So, shall I take you there?”

“I can hardly wait,” Discord said, trying not to sigh. “What … fun.”

The scraper hit the next section of varnish with a dull, rhythmic thump that resonated up Discord’s arm. Then, as he pushed, it slid over the brown, sticky section of wall, the metal blade peeling up a dingy, yellowish slice of aged lacquer. His arm reached its full extension, and he pulled the blade away. Next came a little flick of the wrist, tossing the slice of shriveled shellac away, and then it was back to the first step again. Plant blade. Push. Pull away. Flick. Repeat. Until the wood was bare and he could move down to the next section.

Part of him wanted to use his powers, even just to make the job easier. It wouldn’t be hard. A bit of a tweak to the size of the blade, for instance, to make it a bit wider and capable of picking up a bit more varnish at a go. And at the same time, he could sharpen the edge a little bit, make it a bit easier to push. It wouldn’t take much energy to do, and the resulting imbalance as the world adjusted would likely more than pay for the cost, even though in a small trickle.

He was so lost in the thought that he almost didn’t notice the blade growing larger as he reached out subconsciously, and with a start he snapped it back to size.

No, he reminded himself, pointing at the tool as if it had been the offending party. We’re doing this the right way. If they don’t want me using my magic, then I won’t. He would hold to his end of the bargain. I told Celestia and Luna I’d do whatever they asked in return for amnesty for aiding Tirek. And if that means obeying an order from Full Futures to not use my magic, well …

It was grating, almost as grating as running the scraper down the length of the wall. But he’d do it.

After all, being sentenced to scraping shellac off a wall without magic as punishment for nearly dooming an entire world, well ...

When you put it that way, it hardly sounds fair, doesn’t it? But then again, it seemed like that was part of what Luna and Celestia were trying to teach him. Mercy came hoof-in-paw with forgiveness, it seemed.

Scrape-thunk. Scrape-thunk. Scrape-thunk. Scrape-rattle. Scrape—Wait a minute.

He froze, frost coating his paws as the scraper came to a complete stop. There had been a noise, he was sure of it. And it wasn’t the distant shouting of one of the caretakers struggling to be heard over their charges, either. That bit of background din he’d tuned out. Plus, it had been distant, and this particular sound had been close.

Discord turned, bits of ice flaking from his body and dissolving into puffs of lemon-scented air before they could hit the ground. The hallway behind him was empty.

“Hello?” he asked, peering down the empty space. “Anypony there?”

The rattle came again, his ears twisting backwards as they tracked the noise. Bingo. It was coming from the floor above him.

But … had it always? He waited a bit longer, staring up at the ceiling as if daring it to make a move, but being a piece of inanimate architecture—boring that, but who was he to judge?—it didn’t.

Probably a member of the staff, he thought as he went back to work, flakes of varnish once again falling with a regular rhythm to the floor. Or maybe one of the sick kids, sneaking out of their bedroom. One thing to be glad of with his current position: At least it didn’t involve working with children. Though the one that had come to the door on his first day hadn’t seemed bad.

Still, he thought as he continued scraping. Can you just imagine? Me working with children?

Actually he could imagine. A wisp of blue-scented smoke trickled out of one ear, and he gave his head a quick shake, dispersing the cloud. No, that wouldn’t end well, he thought. I don’t even think I’d want to risk that in Ponyville. Granted, of course, Ponyville had been ground-zero for most of his chaos when he’d escaped from his stone imprisonment, but even so …

The scraper continued its raspy path across another nearly cleared section of wood, and he moved down once more. Ahead of him, the rest of the hall beckoned.

“So, Discord. I’m surprised.”

“Hmm?” Discord looked up from his sandwich—and the tiny, fuzzy terror that so many seemed to believe was a bunny, though even he himself had to admit it didn’t act much like one—to see Fluttershy giving him an inquisitive look. “You are?”

“Of course,” the butter-colored pegasus replied, her voice so soft he could have made a mattress out of her words and curled up for a nice, long nap. “Last time you were here, you were so excited to almost be done. You couldn’t stop telling me how excited you were about only having one assignment left to do for Celestia and Luna … not that I minded, of course.”

He nodded. Ah, Fluttershy. Dear, sweet, understanding Fluttershy. Always willing to listen, always interested. No matter what.

“But today you haven’t talked about it at all,” Fluttershy said, her eyes growing wide with worry. “And you were so excited about it. Did something bad happen? You didn’t get into trouble, did you?”

“Me? Into trouble?” He put a paw to his chest and shook his head. “Why of course not. I’ve been on my best behavior.”

A mocking scoff came from the side of the table, and he frowned as he looked down at Angel. “No, I mean it,” he said. “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” The bunny’s glare softened as Discord went through the motions that came with the rhyme, but didn’t quite fade.

“Anyway,” he said, turning his attention back to Fluttershy once more. “I really have been on my best behavior, Fluttershy. It’s just …”

“What is it?”

“Well,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich and giving himself an excuse to think. How do I explain it? “My final assignment turned out to be a bit … different … than I expected.”

“How?”

Ever the listener. If only more ponies were like you, Fluttershy.

“Princess Luna has assigned me to work at the Full Futures orphanage,” he said, watching as Fluttershy’s face lit up. “I’m to do whatever they ask me for a few days, today being the second day.”

“Oh …” Fluttershy let out a little “squee” of excitement. “That’s so wonderful! All of the children there and …” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, but you don’t look very happy. What’s the matter? Don’t you like working with all the colts and foals?”

“It’s ... “ He took another bite of his sandwich, offering a her a quick smile as he bit into the combination of lemon cake and peanut-butter. Only Fluttershy would make sure that some of the food she prepared for their luncheons was chaotic.

Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted, bending down and resting the side of his jaw against one paw. “I can’t actually say. It’s not like they’re letting me work with any of them.”

“They’re not?” Fluttershy asked, shock in her voice.

“No,” he said. “They don’t even want me working with the staff. I’m under strict instructions not to use a drop of my magic, and they have me peeling varnish off of the walls in one of the wings, out of sight.” Fluttershy’s expression of dismay had morphed as he’d spoken, shifting closer towards something almost like anger. But not quite. It was Fluttershy, after all.

“Those … Those … meanies!” Then again, maybe she was mad. Perhaps even bordering on furious. “They won’t let you work with the children at all? And they have you out of sight? How dare they?”

“It’s fine, Fluttershy,” he said, waving a paw. “So it’s not the final job I expected. So what? I can’t force them to change their minds … well, I sort of could, but that’d be wrong. And me doing that kind of thing is probably why they’re acting the way they are in the first place, so in a way, it’s sort of fair.”

“No, it isn’t fair,” Fluttershy said, putting her hoof down on the tabletop and then pulling back in surprise at the tap the motion had sounded. “I mean, yes, you did do those things and they weren’t nice, but—”

“Not everypony is as forgiving as you Fluttershy,” he said quietly, staring down at the tabletop. “Twice I’ve entered your life as a force of chaos, and twice I’ve done great harm. I—”

“Oh, Discord, but you’re wrong.” Fluttershy’s words were so uncharacteristically full of volume that he stopped short.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve brought chaos into my life a lot more than twice,” Fluttershy continued, shaking her head. “And so many of those other times it hasn’t been a bad thing. Like that time you fixed Mr. Duck’s wing? He can fly so fast now; it’s wonderful.”

“Um … well, yes …” To be fair, he’d only given the duck hummingbird wings because he’d thought it would be funny. But the duck had liked it.

“And that time you helped me fix my chicken coop?”

“Well …” Sure, making it look like a giant Scootaloo had been a little mean, but he’d fixed that in the end.

“Or the time you helped—”

“All right, all right,” he said, spreading his paws. “I know. And you’re right. I did do those things. I also did the other things—”

“But you know they were wrong,” Fluttershy said. “And you don’t do them anymore.”

“I know,” he said. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I did them. Most aren’t so quick to forgive as you, Fluttershy. Element of Kindness and all that.”

“But—”

“Fluttershy, don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he said. “Trust me, it’s nothing new. It’s always been like this.” His voice trailed off, and for a minute the home was silent.

Time to change the topic, he thought, clapping his paws. “Anyway, it’s only for another day or so, so if they want to be fuddy-duddies about things, I’ll survive. Now, what’s this I hear about you making googly-eyes at that Ranger in the forest, hmm?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table as Fluttershy let out a gasp.

“I didn’t—! I mean I don’t—! Who told—?”

“Why Rainbow Dash, of course!” he replied, batting his eyes at her. “Well, not directly, but we just happened to bump into one another in the store, and she just might have mentioned …” He paused. “Well, that’s not important. What is important is this mystery Equestrian Ranger. What’s he like? Does he really have, as Rainbow put it, a really impressive wingspan?”

Fluttershy’s embarrassed squeak as she hid her muzzle behind her hooves said it all.

“The Princess will see you now,” one of the Guard said, motioning with one hoof towards the door.

Discord nodded in thanks as he stepped past the pair, watching as the light reflected off of the crystalline armor the two wore. Quite interesting stuff, that, he thought as he pulled the door open. I really should see its creator about having a set or two to play with. The way it interacted with incoming magic was truly fascinating, and he’d always wanted to give it a tweak to see how it responded.

“Discord.” The dark-blue immortal sitting behind her desk smiled at him as he walked into her office. “Please, have a seat.”

“If you insist,” he said, taking one of the seats sitting in front of her desk and slipping it into his pockets. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all,” Luna said, waving for him to go ahead, and smiling as he procured the chair he’d just acquired from behind his back.

“You seem in a good mood,” he said as he took a quick look around the office. It was much the same as the last time he’d been in it. The easel was still set up near the Princess’s desk, though the canvas had been covered by a light sheet, concealing whatever it was she was currently working on. “Normally you’re much less approving of my casual antics.”

“I may be several thousand years old, Discord, but I can still learn,” Luna replied, the smile still on her muzzle. “As can you, judging from my discussion with my sister earlier this evening.”

“Ah. Heard about my little mishap yesterday, did you?”

“I would hardly call it a mishap, Discord,” Luna said. “In fact, I would call it a testament to your growth. The you I remember would never have let such a slight go without retaliation. Though I still find it unfortunate that such treatment is persisting despite your best attempts. Was there any improvement of the situation today?”

He shook his head. “No, but they’re not pressing the issue past reminding me to stay out of sight. I haven’t even used my magic, just like they’ve ordered me to … Even though it would make the job a lit-tle easier.”

“Your restraint is impressive,” Luna said, and he could sense the sincerity in her words. “And what of the children?”

“Zilch,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them since my arrival. I’m pretty sure the staff is keeping them away.”

Luna’s face fell, her expression taking on such a defeated look he almost felt guilty, though he was fairly certain it wasn’t his fault. “Luna?” he ventured.

The lunar diarch let out a sigh, closing her eyes, and then faced him once more. “I am sorry, Discord,” she said, her face once more a mask of control, the moment of weakness gone. “I had held high hopes for your assignment. Indeed, I wanted your final experience to be something of joy, not of reminders of the past. Perhaps even grow into something that you could continue with after your penance was over.”

“After?” He pulled back, confused.

“Yes, after,” Luna said. “What did you think would happen once you had repaid your debt?”

“I …” His voice trailed off, lost somewhere amid the crags of his fang. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I suppose I just thought I’d go back to doing whatever it is I feel like doing.”

“Which would be what?” Luna pressed.

He shrugged. “Spend time with Fluttershy? Relax? I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Everyone needs relaxation, Discord,” Luna said, spreading her wings as she leaned forward. “But everyone also needs something to keep them occupied. Something to accomplish, to work towards. Work and struggle are part of life. I had hoped that this assignment would perhaps help point you in the direction of something you could continue with after your commitment to the court’s judgement was over.”

Since the Creator didn’t bother leaving me with an answer like the rest of you got, he thought. But he roped the thoughts off, letting out a whoop as he lassoed each of them before they could make it to his mouth. “Well, if anything, it’s taught me that I’m not particularly fond of paws-on construction work,” Discord replied instead. “So I think if I’m going to be looking for something productive to do after I’m done with this, it won’t be in that field.”

“Perhaps not,” Luna agreed, nodding. “Still, I had hoped that this job would be far fairer to you than it has been.”

“Does that mean I can call it good?” he asked, leaning forward slightly and giving her a hopeful look. His paws pulsed with anticipation … or maybe that was just from a few of the splinters Fluttershy hadn’t been able to get out.

Luna shook her head, her ethereal mane rippling. “No, we had a deal, as you may recall.”

“I know,” he said, groaning. “Three days.”

“Three days,” Luna echoed. “Who knows? Perhaps there yet lies a spark of something unexpected at Full Futures.”

There was something to the way she’d said that, something to the way she was looking at him that set off an alarm in the back of his head, screeching and wailing. She knew something, something she wasn’t telling him. Or at least suspected something. His eyes narrowed.

“What are you not telling me?” he asked.

“Only suspicions and hopes,” she said, and he had to admit that it sounded entirely truthful. “I cannot say at all that things will be what I hope, as obviously they already have not gone according to plan. But I hope anyway. Along those lines, however … You yourself, Discord, should keep a more open mind.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?” he asked, snapping the top of his skull shut.

“I mean that your exercises in restraint are admirable, but do not confine yourself with them. While you have been quite admirably low-key thus far, do not forget who you are.”

“So … don’t follow the rules?”

Luna shook her head. “Do follow the rules, Discord. But you of all beings should know that there is a difference between the letter of the law … and the spirit.”

“Usually when I make that kind of call, I get into trouble,” he said.

“Then learn,” Luna said. “And keep trying. Rules are not walls nor prison bars built to confine us, but guiding rails to give us direction. Do not let our rules be a cell, Discord. Let them be a guide.”

“Interesting point of conversation,” Discord said, tapping his chin. “I’ll have to think on it. So, one more day then?”

Another nod. “One more day,” Luna agreed. “But please, keep an open mind. Do not let the prejudices, however slight or even perhaps once-deserved, sway you.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” he said, waving his talons. “I’ll try, Woona. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“Then there is nothing more I can ask of you,” Luna said, rising from behind her desk. “Thank you for coming at my request. I shall bid you a good night.”

“Speaking of which,” Discord said, pausing by the door and turning back to look at his fellow immortal. “That spell you used to contact me. The sky snake. Was that—?”

“Yes, it was,” Luna said, nodding. “It is not as useful as it appears; you have to know the general location that somepony—or someone—is in for the spell to find them, and even then it is not foolproof and depends on the conditions of the weather as well as the sky-snake being smart enough, but—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a good spell. It even gave me a bit of a shock, dropping out of the sky like that.” He waited for the pun to strike home, and was rewarded with another small smile … though he knew it wasn’t for him.

“Everyone always tries to touch it,” Luna said, shaking her head, the smile still on her face as her eyes stared at something distant. “You would think that the first reaction to seeing a creature made out of lightning would be to not touch it, but some beings …” She shook her head again, the faraway look vanishing, but he’d already seen everything he needed to see in the immortal’s expression.

Even after so long ... he thought. Still.

“Well, it was nice to see it again,” he said. “And I appreciate you not following the prior standard and sending it after my tail." Always a joker, that one, he thought. “Anyway, until next time, Princess …” He raised his talons, ready to snap out a quick teleport, and then paused.

“One moment,” he said, stepping towards the desk. “I almost forgot my chair …”

“Disc—!” Whatever was going to follow Luna’s sudden shout vanished as he teleported clear of the castle, the chair she’d “offered” him clutched in one paw.

“Oh, Luna,” he said, grinning as he reappeared somewhere atop the Unicorn Range, a brilliant, pink panorama spread out before him under the setting sun. “You were right. You really have to watch what you say.”

He snapped his talons once more, a door appearing in the air atop the peak. It was time to go home.

There was only one day left.

Render Assistance as Needed

The gong was so close. It was all the clock could do to keep itself from quivering with anticipation.

Quivering would produce movement. Movement meant ticking. Ticking past the regular, normal rhythm that it was very, very carefully controlling.

Normally, it would be a great shame for a clock to run slow—though how the clock knew that, or even what knowing meant, it wasn’t certain. But there was something wrong about holding itself back.

But it had to. And had been for the last hour. Carefully slowing its gentle cascade of ticks and tocks ever so slightly so that nothing sounded out of place, but time had actually gone further than the clock declared. By one minute.

And now, with the draconequus master asleep in his bed, soothed by what appeared to be the ordinary passage of time, the clock readied itself. Slowly the hammer extended, pulled back, and—swung!

Only to crash into the wall with a bang.

“Sorry,” Discord said as he peered down at the little clock from the rafters, gong clutched in his talons. “But no. It’s not happening. In fact …” He slithered across the beams towards the other side of the room and pulled aside a painting that hadn’t existed until that very moment, revealing a heavy-set safe built into the wall.

“I think it’s time we removed this little temptation before we both do something we regret,” Discord said as he entered in the combination and opened the safe. “Let’s see … where to make room … ? By the heads?”

“Kill me …” came a faintly accented voice from inside the safe.

“Don’t need to,” Discord replied. “You’re a meme. All it takes is time! Aha!” He pulled out a set of vinyl records, examining each one before finding the one he was looking for. “The Breakfast Club? No one’s listening to that anytime soon. I’ll just tuck you in here, and …” The gong vanished into the depths of the safe, its concave surface somehow still fitting inside the flattened sleeve.

“Now,” Discord said, slamming the safe shut with a squawk and turning to point at the clock. “No more of this odder-than-what-almost-passes-for-normal nonsense. Out of sight, out of mind. Right?”

The clock nodded, its bells slumping.

“Good,” Discord sat, patting it. “Now let’s put this whole thing behind us, deal?”

Again the clock nodded, and Discord walked out of the room.

The clock shook, vibrating as the draconequus left the room. With another tick, the second hand uncrossed itself from the minute hand, and a whole chorus of ticks filled the empty room.

Had Discord still been around, he would have noted that there was a strong similarity between the cascade of ticks and the mad cackling of a being who had just uttered the words “It’s alive! It’s alive!” for the first time.

This time he didn’t wait for somepony to open the door for him. Discord simply walked in, passing through the storage room and into the kitchen, ignoring Stacks’ sharp shout of protest from the sink as he passed by.

“Morning!” he called, waving a paw at the sputtering, sud-soaked unicorn. He reached out and plucked an apple up from one of the tables.

“Hey!” Stacks’ call made him pause in the doorway to the mess hall, and he turned to see the unicorn toweling his hooves off. “What are you doing?”

“Why, heading for the south wing, of course,” Discord said, eyeing the apple and giving it a little flick with his claws. There was a faint chime as the apple turned into a pineapple, than a banana, and finally a pear. “Isn’t that where I’m supposed to be?” He took a bite out of the pear, chewing as Stacks struggled to come up with an answer. Ooh, delicious, he thought. Just a hint of lemon.

“Well, yes,” Stacks said at last, apparently having found his footing in the conversation. Which, Discord conceded, was an odd turn of phrase in the Equestrian lexicon, considering that they didn’t have feet. Still, the unicorn’s eyes narrowed. “You seem unusually cheerful this morning.”

“Well, why wouldn’t I be?” Discord asked, tossing the pear into the air and snapping it up, stem and all, in one quick gulp. “After all, despite being shunned, metaphorically manacled, and shuffled off to a backwards corner of the orphanage, I still have something to look forward to.” He didn’t miss the slight look of guilt that flashed across Stacks’ face as he leaned forward. His words had hit home. Well good. “Today is my last day.”

“It is?” Stacks said, eyes widening in surprise. “You mean the Princesses—”

“Realized something was amiss?” Discord cut in. “Yes, they did. But they decided to give me three days to stick around and see if any of you would wise up and treat me a little better.” He almost felt a little guilty at the look of confused horror that began to spread across Stacks’ face. Almost. “Thankfully, once those three days are over, they’ve given me free reign to decide whether or not I want to stay based on what I’ve experienced so far.” Stacks was definitely looking guilty now, like a colt who’d been caught using his father’s chainsaw. Or whatever trouble it was colts got into. “And today is my last day, so I’m ready and willing to get it over with. After all,” he said, giving Stacks a pointed look. “I wouldn’t exactly say this place has been the most welcoming.”

He turned and walked out of the kitchen before Stacks could say anything, calling over his shoulder. “I know the way, thanks!”

Maybe that was a little cruel, he thought as he passed through the hallways of the orphanage, heading for the south wing. After all, what he’d just said hadn’t been exactly what he’d been told, nor in the precise order, but … it was close enough.

Besides, he hadn’t wanted to deal with the otherwise inevitable reminders of “the rules” and his limitations, as well as how unwelcome he was, on the way to his workplace. Just give me the scraper, he thought as he arrived at the hall closet, and let me go to work. I’m well aware what limitations I’m laboring under. His paw twitched as he picked up the tool, moving to escape, and he gave it a quick slap on the wrist before it could break free and scuttle to safety.

“Come on, now,” he told it as he walked into the hallway. The wall was cleared almost halfway; there wouldn’t be much left to scrape after he was gone. “It’s just one more day. After that, we’re free to go find something we want to do.” His paw twitched once more, but stayed quiet.

“That’s right,” he said, reaching the line that marked where bare wood ceased and age-old varnish began. “One more day …” He lifted the scraper, setting the metal blade against the shellac, and took a deep breath.

“Just one more day,” he said, his voice quiet as he pushed. Varnish peeled back along the path of blade, sticky and stiff. “One. More. Day.”

Scrape-thunk. Scrape-thunk. Scrape-thunk.

The hours stretched on, lost in an endless rhythm of peeled lacquer shavings that filled the floor around Discord’s feet like an amber snowfall.

Well, almost, he thought as he glanced at the pile of shavings. But thankfully not exactly the same. He paused in his scraping just long enough to wipe his brow with one flake-covered limb, eyeing his progress thus far.

Not bad, he thought, nodding as he looked at his handiwork. Another couple of hours and I could even be done. He followed the clear wood left in the wake of his work, turning so that he could see the rest of the hall. Not bad, me. In fact, I—YIPE!

The last thought was loud enough that it burst from his mouth, further startling him as he leaped back, away from the small, four-legged figure that had been standing right behind him for who knew how long. It stared up at him for a moment, blinking its wide, blue eyes once, and then in a thin, high voice asked “Are you going to make more puppets?”

“I … What?” He stayed coiled up a moment longer, his heart hammering away at his ribcage with what had to be a fifteen-pound sledge at the very least, judging from the shuddering coming from his chest. How distracted was I? Someone hadn’t been able to sneak up on him in centuries. Especially not a—

“Are you going to make more puppets?” The question came again, and he caught his runaway train of thought, shifting it from track to track until it was focused on the events at hand. His outburst was embarrassing, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

He uncoiled, dropping one hoof to the ground and smoothing his coat, trying to look non-plussed as he took in his surprise visitor. Interesting, he thought. At first glance, he’d taken them for a young pegasus filly … but then pegasi didn’t have a small crest of white feathers running down the head and towards the shoulders alongside their light-grey mane. Nor did they have talons instead of front hooves.

Then again, griffon chicks, unless something had changed in the last few centuries, usually possessed beaks instead of an equine muzzle. Which meant that the child sitting in front of him, her tufted tail slowly lashing back and forth as she stared up at him, could only be the byproduct of a griffon-pony relationship.

Which, he realized, made it all the odder that she was at an orphanage. Commitments of that sort between races, last he’d checked, had tended to be fairly rare but extremely dedicated to one another. More than one pair of wayward adventurers had …

Right. She’d asked him a question. He opened his mouth as he looked down at the little … chick? Filly? He wasn’t sure what to refer to her by, since she was technically both.

Just say something already! a voice in the back of his head screamed.

“Um … hello.”

Wonderful. Brilliant. Sages of the ages will surely speak with hushed tones concerning the eloquence of your patois.

The filly standing in front of him cocked her head to one side, her blue eyes scanning him as she spoke again. “Well?”

“Well … what?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow. What is she talking about?

“Are you going to make more puppets?” the chick asked, her tone making it clear she was getting a little tired of asking.

“Puppets?” He almost recoiled in confusion. Puppets? When did I make puppets?

“Ye-ah,” came the reply. “Puppets. Like the ones you made … you made …” Her face scrunched up in thought. “A few days ago,” she said at last, her attention turning towards him once more. Her wings, richly feathered in grey with black speckling, shifted. “By the front door.”

By the front—? Wait a minute… His impromptu puppet show. The one in front of the building. He’d thought he’d seen something by the upstairs windows.

“That was you watching me,” he said, looking down at the little filly. “Wasn’t it?”

She turned her head downward slightly, one set of talons shifting. “Yes. I know I wasn’t supposed to be out of bed, but I was so bored.” Her lower lip stuck out. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“And I suppose that you’re the source of the noises I’ve been hearing upstairs these last two days as well, hmm?” he asked, crossing his arms and tapping one hoof.

To his surprise, the young chick looked immediately chastened. “I’m sorry,” she said, the feathers of her ruff lying flat along with her ears. “I was just really bored and wanted to see the puppets. I’m tired of being stuck in bed. Please don’t tell Ms. Rose.”

He let out a sharp laugh that sent her wings snapping out in surprise. “Tell that insufferable, stuffed up—” He paused as he saw the look of surprise on the young child’s face. “Um … No,” he said, covering his tracks. “I won’t. I promise.” The ears lifted once more, along with her ruff. He had to admit, it was kind of cute. “Believe me, the last thing I’d do is tell her you were down here.” It’d just make more trouble for me anyway. ‘Why are you supposed to stay in bed? Are you one of the sick kids?”

She nodded. “Feather flu,” she said, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. “Ms. Rose said I’m supposed to stay in bed where it’s nice and warm.”

“But you got bored,” he said.

She nodded again. “There’s nothing to do. And most of the other kids that’re sick are either older or younger than me, and they’re just ponies. Not hippogriffs. And I don’t want to play board games. They’re boring.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“I’m six,” she said, her tail lashing behind her once more. “How old are you?”

“Oh, I’m only about half that … if you’re counting by the thousands.”

“Huh?”

“I’m really old,” he said.

“Oh.” The chick appeared to think on his words for a moment before looking up at him again with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “So can you make more puppets? They were really cool and were moving and everything!”

“I—” he began, only to have his instructions come echoing back at him from the depths of his mind. No magic. “I’m afraid I … can’t.”

The filly’s face fell, her tail going limp and lifeless behind her. “Oh,” she said, her voice quiet. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry!” he sputtered, surprised at his own leap to defend himself. “Normally I would, but when I was assigned here, I was told … was told …” His worlds trailed off. What had been Luna’s exact wording on the assignment?

“... render assistance as needed …” Those had been her exact words. And then last night. Hadn’t she been urging him to look a little further at those rules?

As needed, he thought as the dejected hippogriff began to turn away. Needed.

And this little girl needs some fun, or my name isn’t Discord! Forget that old bat Prim Rose and her rules. This child has just as much right to request my help as anypony else, and she’s not turning it away, either!

“Excuse me,” he said, lifting a claw. “Miss?” The filly stopped and turned to look at him, a curious look in her face that quite clearly said “Me?”

“Yes, you,” he said, smiling. “On second thought, I just have a quick question for you. Would you say you’re in dire need of something entertaining? Like say … puppets?”

She didn’t have to say anything. The look in her eyes, the way her face and wings perked up, even the way her tail swished back-and-forth behind her said it all.

“Because if so,” he continued, placing a hand on his chest. “You just happen to be in luck. See, young miss, I am here to ‘render assistance as needed’ to this exact location, i.e. this orphanage. Those were my exact orders. Which means that if you need puppets …” He slapped his paws together, the filly’s eyes going wide as he pulled them apart, revealing a whole host of dancing, clapping, interconnected paper dolls.

“Then that’s something I can help you with,” he said, grinning. He tossed the paper dolls into the air, ignoring them as they folded into origami birds and began flying around the hall.

“So!” he said, snapping both paws and giving the lights in the hallway a brighter, more festive flair. It felt good to be using his powers again, like scratching an itch he’d been ignoring all day. “Pull up a seat!” A pillow popped into being, swooping down the hall and scooping up the filly to deposit her with a spinning stop in the center of the hall. “Grab a snack!” A host of treats appeared with a snap of his talons, several of them straight from the shelves of Sugarcube Corner. Hopefully the Cakes wouldn’t be too worried by the disappearance, not with the pile of gems he’d left in their place.

“And get ready!” The proclamation echoed up and down the hall as the space itself seemed to expand, making way for the plethora of illusions spilling out of his ears. “For a tale of wonder, merriment, and …” He paused, everything coming to a screeching halt as he looked down at the filly. “Actually,” he asked. “What did you have in mind?” Half the stories I could tell her she either wouldn’t get, or would sail right over that pretty little head of hers. What do children even like, anyway? Toys?

“Um …” It was clear his question had caught her off-guard. That or she was in light shock from the parade of activity she’d just unleashed.

“Nevermind,” he said, snapping his claws as an idea sparked itself in his mind. Rainbow Dash was always going off about those Daring Do books, and those were given to children, right? All I need is an adventure like that, he thought. And I think I’ve got one.

“Nevermind, I’ve got it!” he said with another snap of his talons. “Do you like adventure? Danger? Heroes saving the day against all odds?”

The stunned filly could only nod.

“Oh?” he asked. “And what about griffons?” Another nod. “Would you like to hear a story about the griffon immortals, Reus and Kyr, and how they conquered the primordial of storms?”

“Will there be puppets?” the filly asked. her eyes were still wide,but he could see her excitement in the way her talons kept clawing at the cushion. Celestia was going to be slightly confused when he returned it.

Still, for a good cause and all … I needed it for my orders, he thought. A long interpretation of the same, but wasn’t that what Luna was hinting at last night?

“Definitely,” he said, swirling his paws and forming two small, illusionary images in the air. It wasn’t hard to capture their likenesses. Even after so many thousands of years, he could still recall each of the immortals perfectly. “So sit back, get ready and—”

The filly had her talons in the air. “Can I get a blanket?” she asked. “Ms. Rose says I’m not supposed to get—” There was another snap and a large, royal blue comforter with a suspiciously familiar royal seal in the corner landed in front of the filly with a fwump. She squealed with delight and jumped into it before looking up at him with a wide smile. “Ready!”

She’s actually enjoying this! His smile widened.

“Well then,” he said, waving his paws and setting the two tiny griffon illusions in motion as the floor warped and shifted into a rocky, facsimile desert. The hallway darkened, spotlights shining down from above. “Our tale begins a long, long time ago, in a desert far, far away, where two griffon immortals, the brothers known as Reus and Kyr, were faced with two daunting tasks: the defeat of the primordial storm of—”

“What’s ‘primordial’ mean?” the filly asked.

“In this case, basic and raw,” he supplied. “Like the storm of storms.”

“Oooooh.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “they were faced with two daunting tasks: The defeat of the primordial storm of Flightfall the Wizard … and dealing with the annoying meddling of two pony immortals we’ll call Cake-flank and Crescent-butt.” A giggle emitted from the pile of comforter.

He smiled, flicking a paw and sending the two illusionary griffons soaring through the air with tiny cries, watching as the filly’s eyes followed their every movement.

Behind him, the scraper sat on the floor, forgotten.

Storm clouds swirled at his command, spiraling and twisting as high winds fought against the two small figures dancing near the center of the storm, their wings struggling to keep up with the might of their foe. Lightning surged across the hallway, a sizzling, ozone scent trailing in its wake. Small drops of rain stung against Discord’s face, driven to intense speeds. The majesty of the primordial storm was twisting and roaring beneath his paws, its fury making the very floorboards beneath him shake with its might.

And he was loving every minute of it. As was his charge, who appeared to be hanging on his every word as the two small griffons struggled to near the center of the storm.

“Closer and closer they moved,” he said, his word resonating with the forceful up-and-down wingbeats of the tiny immortals. “Fighting to reach the center of the storm, where they would find Flightfall in his fortress of winds.” His charge was leaning forward, a look of rapt attention on her face as yet another thunderbolt arced out of the clouds, almost cutting down one of the brothers. “The wizard was determined to keep the pair from thwarting his plans ...” He’d left out the bit about what Flightfall’s actual plans of “evil” were, mostly because like the wizard himself, they were quite insane. Another bolt of lightning crashed across the hall, and his charge let out a little gasp of fright as one of the two griffons was struck a glancing blow, knocking him back. The smaller of the pair flew back, catching his older brother before he was lost to the storm. A second thunderbolt crashed out, striking the pair, and his charge let out another gasp, only for her sound to end in an excited squeal as Kyr, the master of electrical storms, absorbed the bolt, shielding his sibling from the second attack, his feathers sparking with absorbed energies.

“Flightfall gave it his best,” Discord said as the pair of illusionary puppets pushed forward once more, towards the heart of the sweeping supercell. “But from the very beginning, who could have doubted the outcome? He was a mere weather wizard facing down the masters of the sky themselves, Reus and Kyr …” The older of the pair let out a defiant shriek, air rippling around him as he threw himself into a tight spiral. The twisting winds around him counteracted the storm’s own fury, cutting a swath through the storm wall. “The primordial storm was mighty, but the two brothers—”

A scream of horror interrupted his words, a shriek of such volume that for a moment he lost control of his somewhat illusionary storm. The minor buffeting of wind and rain that had been mostly contained until that moment suddenly became a gale-force, tearing down the hall and bringing with it a wave of tiny, stinging droplets that threatened to soak everything.

Well, there was a reason he’d given his charge goggles. It looked as though they’d be useful after all.

It took more energy than he expected to reign the miniature storm in, compacting it back down to nothing and banishing it to a pocket space where it could spend its remaining fury accomplishing little but pressure-cleaning his bathroom. The illusionary actors he’d created hung in the air for a moment, shocked by the disappearance of the storm, but then went right back to what they’d been trying to do when the storm had been in place. Though this time, there was no stormwall protecting the mad wizard Flightfall, and the two brothers descending on his floating fortress with tiny shrieks, even as the fortress itself began to fall towards the floor.

He snapped his claws again and the illusions faded, one of them taking just long enough to shoot him a glare that, despite the centuries, seemed all-too-real.

Deal with it, big guy, Discord thought as the fortress of winds hit the floor, breaking apart and scattering the illusion to reveal that it was nothing more than a few pieces of cleverly animated cardboard. You’re gone, and I’m still here. And that was a story he wouldn’t be retelling the kid, no matter how much she begged.

If she even knew enough about her history to know about it. Which he doubted she would for quite some time yet.

Anyway … The last of his show dealt with and the hall once again the right size and shape, he turned his attention toward the shout that had distracted him. Prim Rose stood at the end of the hall, a mixed look of horror and anger on her face.

“You … You …” She took a step forward, her hooves trembling, either with rage or fear, he wasn’t sure which. “You …”

“Yes, me, me, me,” he said, putting one paw to his chest. “You screamed?”

“I—” The mare’s eyes turned away from him, attracted by movement on the floor, and she let out another scream as she saw the young hippogriff he’d been tending to. Then she slumped over on the floor, unconscious.

“Right …” Discord said, floating over to hover above the unconscious manager. “Forgot about that.” He glanced back at his young charge to see that she was watching him intently through her goggles, her big, blue eyes rapidly bouncing between him and the comatose pony lying on the floor beside him.

‘Well, might as well wake her up and let her get to the yelling,” he said, donning a pair of blue scrubs. He paused for a moment and glanced at the young hippogriff. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Elliot would it?”

“No …” she said, her face screwing up in confusion. “I’m Varya.”

He shrugged as he rubbed his paws together, sparks arcing between them. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Varya. I’m sorry your story got interrupted.” He actually was, though it felt strange to be saying it. She’d been hanging on his every word until Prim Rose’s ill-timed addition. Shame, too. They’d almost been to the good part. “I hope you were enjoying it?” The sparks between his paws were getting longer, packing a bit more punch now. Almost time.

“Oh yeah!” Varya said, almost hopping out of the comforter nest she’d built for herself, her wings flapping with excitement. “It was awesome! Are you going to finish it?”

He paused, his paws ceasing their back and forth for a moment. She actually liked it! She enjoyed it! She hadn’t cared at all that he’d made it using completely non-natural means, or that he’d messed with time and space a little to do so—enough that he’d definitely wasted energy going as far as he’d gone, but … She’d liked it!

“I hope so,” he said, resuming his static generation. “But I think that’s up to Ms. Rose, here.” The crackling between his hands reached a crescendo, and he cupped the charge in his talons. “But for that to happen, she’ll need to be awake, so … Clear!”

He extended his finger, and with a sharp snap a bolt of arcing blue energy jumped from his clawtip to Prim Rose’s chest. Her calm, steady breathing morphed into a sudden yell as she leapt to her hooves, eyes open and alert, darting around in a faint panic before settling on first Varya and then him. She opened her mouth, eyes narrowing … and then paused.

“I’m awake,” she said, lifting a hoof and eyeing it. Then the accusatory glare came back into her face, and she shook her head, tossing a clump of varnish-clogged mane out of her face as she pointed her hoof at him. “What did you do to me!?”

“Nothing aside from give you a nice, sharp, wake-up call,” he said dryly as he peeled off his scrubs. “And maybe momentarily suppressed the reflexive part of your brain that causes you to faint.”

“You’ve changed me …” the mare said, a look of horror on her face.

“Temporarily,” he said, putting a bit of emphasis on the word. “So that we could have an actual face-to-face conversation without five-minute breaks in-between.”

“You …” Her eyes turned towards the hall. “I saw what you were doing! You were using your magic! Against your orders!”

“Guilty as charged,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Except on that last bit. See, I was sent to help this orphanage by assisting those who needed it. And young Varya here wanted a story.” He waved one paw toward the filly. “So I was telling her one, as she asked me to do.”

“You were to have no contact with any of the children here,” Prim Rose said, her words hissing through clenched teeth. “You knew that.”

“Yes, I did.” He clenched his paws at his sides. “But unlike you, I can see how ridiculous it would be to expect someone who was volunteering at an orphanage to never interact with children! Besides, she was bored because you don’t have enough for her to do!”

“She’s a child, she’ll never have enough to do!” Prim Rose shouted back. “And don’t you dare try to make this about me! This is about you. You and you … aberrant nature!”

To his surprise, Prim Rose’s words hurt. Ages vanished in front of his eyes, and suddenly he was hearing the words of Reus once more, arguing against him in front of the council.

“He’s aberrant!” the griffon immortal shouted. “Why would the Creator make something that went against the very rules of Their world?” The griffon’s eyes locked with his. “You have no purpose. You are nothing more than a mistake.”

In a flash, the memory was gone. But the hurt remained, his heart bleeding inside his chest.

“I am not a mistake,” he said, his own teeth clenched tightly. He could feel his magic swelling within him now, begging to be set free, to yield to old habits. He could scramble the mare’s mind completely. Make her crave the wrong foods. Teach her the meaning of mistakes.

No. His paws still clenched, he forced the urges down. You have to be better than that. Do what Fluttershy would do. What Twilight Sparkle would do … as grating as that is to admit. But it was the right thing to do. Lashing out would only help prove Prim Rose’s words, make him more of the monster most of them already saw.

“Ms. Rose,” he said, swallowing his anger. “All I was doing was—”

“You were endangering the life of this child!” Prim Rose said, a blue glow encasing her horn. In the corner of his eyes Discord saw a matching blue glow surround Varya, pulling the hippogriff over to the unicorn’s side. “She needs to be kept safe, away from the likes of—!”

That was enough.

“That’s IT!” He stamped one hoof on the ground, shaking the entire hall as he swelled to twice his size and then further more, the hall somehow expanding around him to make up the space.

“I’ve had it with you and your puny, tiny little prejudices!” he boomed, pointing with a talon that was now almost as large as Prim Rose was. “I came here as a show of good faith, even a little unwillingly, because I was worried this is exactly what would happen! I put up with your prejudices, I put up with your slights. And you know why? Because other ponies that are better than you keep telling me that if I try my hardest to make friends, those old prejudices will fall away. You want to hear it?” He threw his paws back. “I’m not the old me anymore! And I like it that way. The old me was a lonely, immature, pained jerk! But now that I’m trying my hardest to turn over a new leaf, some ponies like you won’t even give me a chance! I did everything the way you asked, but did that change your opinion of me? No! It didn’t! And when all I did was try to make a little girl happy, you take issue with that! I wasn’t messing with her mind or changing the world, I was telling her a—”

A sniffle cut through his tirade, and he paused. Down, far below him, near his hooves, somepony was crying.

It was Varya.

He deflated in an instant, shrinking back to his ordinary size, the hallway coming back into being around him. Prim Rose was still looking at him with an expression of pure anger, though it seemed shaken.

Meanwhile Varya, the little girl who’d laughed at his depiction of Kyr and Moon-butt’s awkward arguing, who’d cheered as the two brothers had dove into the primordial storm, was crying, her head hidden behind her talons, her wings curled around her like a protective shield.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so small.

“I …” Words failed him.

“Get out.” They hadn’t failed Prim Rose, apparently. The lime-green unicorn’s expression of anger was back in full force now. She wrapped one hoof around Varya’s shoulders.

“But—”

“Out!” she snapped. “You’ve done enough. Your time here is over. And since Stacks informed me that your damage here was limited only to three days, good riddance.”

He stepped back, trying to look anywhere but at the crying hippogriff filly sobbing her eyes out on the floor. “I—”

“Just go,” Prim Rose said, her tone brokering no argument.

He sagged, letting out a sigh. Part of him still shouted at him to do more, to make her pay … but he knew it wouldn’t solve nothing.

But not using the old ways didn’t mean he couldn’t leave an impression. He turned, readying his powers as he looked at what was left of his work. A quick snap of his talons, and what lacquer was left on the wall slid away, slumping to the floor in one thick sheet. He heard a gasp from Prim Rose from behind him, but he ignored it as he turned back to face her.

“See that?” he asked, pointing at the wall. “There. It’s done. It took less than a second. Took maybe a fraction of my power.” Actually, after both the puppet show and his performance just moments ago, it had taken quite a bit more than that, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. “I could have remodeled this whole wing to your needs in a few hours or so if you’d just let me. But no, you’d rather waste my time and talents and spend who knows how much hiring workers or begging for ‘proper’ volunteers to do it.” He made little quote marks in the air with his paws, and they stayed there, flashing. “Good bye!”

And with that, he tore a hole in the side of the world and stepped through.

From My Dreams

The knock at his door wasn’t entirely unexpected, but still he ignored it.

“I don’t want company,” he muttered, turning his attention back to what he’d occupied himself with doing for the last day. He tossed the bowling ball up into the air, watching as it swelled until it was twice the size it had been. Then on its way down it shrank once more, size and mass vanishing until it was the size of a baseball.

Technically it was a gross waste of energy. His alterations didn’t have nearly the same effect in the little pocket dimension he’d called home, and regularly adjusting the weight, mass, and size of an object took more effort than most thought, even if all he was doing was tweaking the universe just so. And he didn’t have much energy to spare, either, after his outburst the previous day.

Still, he wasn’t into dangerously low levels yet. And if he got there, he could just go warp some more scenery out in the middle of nowhere. Leave boulders floating, that sort of thing. Then come back in a few days when reality had stabilized itself and undo it all, creating another trickle of energy.

If he felt like it. Which he probably wouldn’t. And the weirdest part was he wasn’t even sure why.

It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve been rejected, he thought. In fact, that pretty much sums up your whole existence up until now, doesn’t it?

He paused, barely remembering to shrink the bowling ball back down before it could flatten him. Except this time feels so much worse.

Because he’d tried. Really tried. Sure, he hadn’t expected things to go great, but at the same time, the way they’d ended …

About as well as the time Fluttershy went to the Grand Galloping Gala, he thought as he tossed the bowling ball upwards once more. And maybe there’s a bright spot to that. After all, she sometimes laughs about that when she looks back at it.

Somehow, he didn’t feel like he’d do the same anytime soon.

The knocking came again, and once more he ignored it. I don’t want to talk to anyone, he thought as he tossed the ball back and forth. Sometimes it bounced off of the ceiling. Other times it spun lazy loops around the rafters, or just hung there for a moment, floating. I just want to lay here for the time being and think about things.

He froze as the knocking came again, but from the other side of the house. Firstly, because though things shifted, they didn’t shift that much, and second, because it had been metal on metal. Which didn’t at all match with the decor of his front door.

He left the bowling ball hanging in the air for a moment and stretched his neck into the next room, taking a quick look.

Huh. Nothing, he thought as he peered around the bedroom. Everything was where it was or wasn’t supposed to be, which was normal. Even the clock, which had been unusually well-behaved that morning, was sitting on its shelf, ticking away merrily.

Wait— The painting over the safe was slightly ajar. Did I do that, or … He looked at the clock, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about its face.

I must have, he thought as he shoved the painting back into place. That or it happened when the safe moved.

He returned to his place on the couch just in time to catch the bowling ball once more. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch.

The knocking at his door came again, and again he ignored it.

He already knew who it was. And he knew he was being a bit immature by simply sitting and letting Celestia wait without even giving her the decency of a polite response. But he just … didn’t want to talk to her at the moment.

Sure, she’d say some kind words that would probably make him feel a little better. Maybe even fill him in on what had transpired after he’d left Full Futures. After his outburst, he had no doubt that they’d probably lodged a complaint against him.

It wouldn’t surprise me if they went further, he thought as the bowling ball made a particularly long loop around the rafters, giggling. Maybe stir up trouble with the rest of—

More knocking, but this time different than either of the other two.

That, and it had come from the bathroom.

“Yes?” he asked as he stepped up to the mirror. His reflection frowned at him, shaking its head before holding up a sign.

“Stop MOPING!” the sign read.

“Oh?” Discord asked, pouting. “And why should I!?”

His reflection frowned, then scribbled something new over the sign. “Because it helps no one.”

“Did I not tell you?” he asked. “They don’t want my help.”

His reflection sighed, then scribbled again. “So what? Help yourself.”

“And if I like wallowing in my own misery?”

“You don’t.”

Curse him, he knows he’s right. “Well, fine,” he said, crossing his arms. “But I still don’t need to go talk to anyone about it. Besides—”

A new sign. “Why not feel bad for the right reasons?”

“Oh what are you now, my therapist?” Discord asked, rolling his eyes. “And just what am I supposed to feel bad about if I’m not supposed to wallow in my own—”

His doppleganger held up a picture of a grey-and-black hippogriff filly.

“Well played,” he said, frowning. “Fine, I feel bad about that, all right? She actually liked what I was doing … and then I had to go and ruin it.”

“Did you?”

“Oh sod off,” he said, yanking a towel down over the mirror. “I don’t want to talk about it, all right? I’m going to go stew in my misery like I’m a few centuries old and be happy about it, okay!?”

He stormed back to the living room to find his couch in pieces, flattened by the large bowling ball. A sigh echoed through the room.

“Great.” Despite what he’d told his reflection, he really didn’t want to sit and mope any longer, he just …

He didn’t really know what he wanted to do. He was free now, his penance carried out … even if it had ended on a sour note. Luna had said she’d hoped he would stick around the orphanage and help out, but that avenue was closed to him now.

“I suppose that there are … other orphanages,” he said, sitting atop the bowling ball. “I mean, one child liked me, for a little while anyway. Maybe others could do the same?”

Of course, I’d have to do something about all the adults, he thought, frowning. None of them are going to want a chaos immortal hanging around messing with space and time.

Maybe Canterlot Castle has a daycare service? he wondered. A knocking came at the door once more and he groaned.

“Oh come on, Cake-flank!” he said as he trotted across the house. “What does it take for you to leave well-enough alone? Why I—” He swung the door open and stopped.

It wasn’t Celestia at his door, as he’d expected from the last round of knocks, but rather her younger sister.

“Luna,” he said, pulling back in surprise. The dark-blue alicorn was standing in her office, a calm, controlled expression on her face. “If this is about what happened the other day …”

“Discord,” she replied. “It is … though perhaps not in the way you might expect. May I come in?”

He threw his paws up in a show of surrender. “Might as well. Apparently my front door is accessible to just about anypony these days.”

“Not just anypony,” Luna said as she walked in, not closing the door behind her. He moved to shut it, but she waved him off with one wing. “But I will admit that had you not answered, my next step would have been to go get Fluttershy and have her make an attempt.”

“That probably would have worked,” he admitted, summoning a cushion for the Princess to sit on. “Is she … worried?”

“No,” Luna said, composing herself as she took a seat. “But only because she does not know what has transpired.”

“Ah. Speaking of which—”

“Yes,” Luna said, anticipating his question. “We heard quite a bit about what took place from Ms. Prim Rose. She told quite an interesting tale.”

“Then I expect I’m in a bit of trouble, aren’t I?” he asked.

At that, Luna paused, sucking in a sharp breath. “No, Discord. You are not. At least, not if my reading of Ms. Rose’s sequence of events is correct. You took me at my word, did you not?”

“I’m … sorry? What?”

“When I told you to be a bit more yourself. To look for loopholes.”

“Ah.” That. “Yes, I did.”

Luna nodded. “I see. And the child?”

He sighed. “All I did was tell her a story.” Luna lifted one eyebrow.

“Okay, I showed her a story. Used a fair bit of magic doing it, too.”

“Ms. Prim Rose said that you had filled the hall with a storm.”

“Oh for—It was a minor recreation of the primordial storm! You know the one. Flightfall the weather wizard?”

Luna’s eyes widened. “And—?”

“Yes, and Reus and Kyr,” he said. “And a little of you and your sister added in for good measure. But that’s all it was. And the kid loved it. I didn’t lose my cool until Ms. Rosebush there went off on me.” His voice lost a little momentum as he finished. “And after that, her account of things is probably a little more accurate.”

“It included dire threats about her person.”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “I merely pointed out that I could have done a lot of other things, and the old me would have in a heartbeat, but I wasn’t going to, no matter how badly she treated me.”

“And why not?”

He frowned as he looked at her. “What is this, Luna? Some sort of moral test? Because it would have been wrong. Because it would have undone everything I’ve accomplished thus far—though what that is, I’m not quite certain? Take your pick.”

“Sarcasm aside, I felt it pertinent,” Luna replied. “One more question, then, if you do not mind.” She locked her eyes with his. “What was the name of the pony filly you were telling your story to?”

He flinched. “Varya,” he said, his voice quiet. “And she’s a hippogriff. Not exactly a pony.”

“You flinched, Discord,” Luna said, her voice as quiet as his own. “Why?”

“Because …” The words wouldn’t come. He wasn’t even sure where they were. Or what they were.

“Does it have to do with why you have spent the last day hidden away here in your home?”

“Because she didn’t care about who I was,” he said, slumping atop the bowling ball. “She didn’t care that I was a draconequus, or that I looked like something out of most pony’s nightmares, or that I was twisting the ‘natural order of things’ to tell her a story. All she cared was that I was telling her the story.” He sighed.

“And?”

He frowned as he looked up at her. “You’re entirely too good at this, Luna.”

“I have had a lot of practice,” she said with a faint, almost sad, smile. “Now, as I said: And? This cannot be the only reason you are moping.”

“And I scared her,” he said, his heart aching. “Badly. I lost my temper at the administrator, and she saw the whole thing. She was crying when I left. Couldn’t even look at me. That was all it took to undo everything.”

“Perhaps not,” Luna said, turning her head towards the door. Her horn lit up, a green glow ensnaring something in her office. A moment later a large, rectangular object drifted through the front door. It was the canvas that he had seen in her office the last time he had been there. It was still covered.

“Discord,” Luna said as the sheet-shrouded frame stopped by her side. “Have you ever wondered where I find so much inspiration for my painting?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “So no.”

“I create a wide variety, I will admit,” she said as the painting came to rest against one of her wings, the sheet facing him. “But most of my paintings are about my subjects, from Las Pegasus to Manehatten. Sometimes I gift them to them. Other times, I keep them or give them away as needed. But many of them feature those whose care is in my charge.”

“Dreams,” she said. “I guard their dreams. And sometimes, I see them. I see fears and hopes, loves and pains. Which is how,” she said, turning her head towards the painting. “I came to paint this.”

Her wing swept away the sheet, and Discord straightened in shock. His own, serpentine visage peered back at him from one side of the canvas, a wide smile painted across his face. He was floating in the air, and around him were—

Puppets. Tiny, painted versions of his illusionary puppets. Dancing and playing in the air. A small thundercloud provided a bit of backdrop, but he could still make out each of the figures dancing in the air.

He could see where he was, too. Several days' worth of coming and going had given him a passing familiarity with the front yard of Full Futures. It was resplendent in the portrait, a brilliant, bright blue sky complimenting a field of perfect grass. And in the corner, opposite his own figure, was a small, grey-and-black ball of fluff.

Varya. She was watching his puppet show with a laugh of enjoyment.

It took him a moment to find words. “Well, first,” he said, pulling a pipe out and giving it a quick puff. Bubbles shot into the air, popping with faint chitters. “It’s a very fine piece. Surprisingly very modern, but—” He let out a cough as Luna gave him a flat look—though she was smiling under it.

“This can’t be from my dreams,” he said. “I’ve made sure you can’t get into them.” The lunar diarch shook her head.

“So then … this is Varya’s?”

A nod.

“You painted this yesterday?” he asked.

“No,” Luna said, shaking her head once more. “I started painting it the day you arrived. Some of the details have changed … but many of the common elements were there from the first day.”

“And last night?” he asked.

“A small nightmare,” Luna confessed. “But not about you. She did not cry because you scared her, Discord. Well,” Luna admitted, bobbing her head from side-to-side, “maybe a little. But she cried because she knew she had gotten you in trouble, and you were fighting and shouting with Ms. Prim Rose. Young as Varya is, seeing adults fight is not something she has had a lot of experience with.”

“In any case,” she said, floating the painting forward. “This is yours. I am giving it to you, in honor of your completion of your sentence.”

“I … Thank you,” he said, taking the painting in his paws. “I’ll treasure it. It’s a good reminder of … things.” There appeared to be something in his eyes, a small fish swimming past his view.

“And … that is really all I came here to do,” Luna said, giving him a polite nod. “So I will bid you good evening—”

“I …” He paused to blow his nose on a nearby bar of soap. “Could I ask a favor of you, perhaps?”

“A favor?” The corner of Luna’s mouth climbed upwards even further. ‘What sort of favor?”

“Well …” He looked down at the painting. “I was thinking of a royal decree of some kind … Or maybe ...” He could feel an idea assembling in the corners of his mind, coming together piece by mismatched piece.

“Tell me, Woona,” he said, a sly grin moving across his features. “How do you feel about ‘royal inspections?’”

Prim Rose sighed as she sank down into her chair, grateful for the minute off or so she could be off of her hooves. The children were all back from school, but most of them were out playing in the neighborhood, and Stacks was keeping an eye on those that were still hanging around, while those that were still sick hadn’t made much of a ruckus over the course of the day, except to complain about being bored.

Oh, to be able to complain about being bored! she thought, rubbing at her temples with her hooves. Ever since they’d lost Breeze, they’d been shorthooved, and the work just never stopped coming. She couldn’t fault the mare for leaving—moving to Cloudsdale with her new husband had been a fantastic reason—but all the same, the lack of extra hooves to spread the work around was wearing Prim thin.

Three months, she thought as she eyed the pile of notes on her desk, each tied to a child or a prospective parent or a requisition for new equipment or something to be fixed ... She let out a groan and sank further back in her chair. Three months without a sign of anyone looking to take Breeze’s position, she thought. The closest we’ve got is Pearl, and she’s just an intern. Plus she already turned it down—not that I’m sure she’d be best for it. Pearl was far better one-on-one with children than she was at a group. That, and her heart wasn’t in it. She tried, but it was clear despite a love of children, her enjoyment was taxed after even a few short hours.

Which left Prim and Stacks picking up all the slack, and Stacks could only do so much with his job as a cook. Oh, he was splendid at what he could accomplish, both with a spatula and without. She’d seen him simultaneously coordinate several children in helping prepare food in his kitchen while at the same time aiding several other children with their homework.

But he couldn’t be everywhere at once, and neither could she. And now that several of the children were ill, her already strained capacity was stretched to its limit.

I just can’t be everywhere at once! she thought. There’s too much to do and not enough hooves to do it. If we don’t find at least one more pony to help chip in, it’s only a matter of time before somepony gets hurt, or there’s an accident, or … something! We simply can’t take care of everyone when there’s only two of us.

And if worst came to worst and there was an accident, or worse, some sort of severe disaster, it could mean the end of Full Futures. Well … that or an outpouring of help once ponies got wind of how desperate the staff was feeling, but betting on that was a gamble.

Besides, it would be a clear sign that she had failed Full Futures. Which could have a negative impact further down the road, even if they managed to fill the empty staff spots and get the orphanage back up to speed.

She let out another sigh as she continued massaging her temples, her eyes closed. If only the Night Court had come through, she thought, scowling in distaste. I asked for helping hooves, and what did we get? A chaos lord. A mad immortal who nearly took the whole country apart not once, not twice, but three times! Her frown deepened. And that’s after the one time he did, though that was a long time ago.

Still, who’s bright idea was it to send him here? It couldn’t have been the Sisters’. Even though the orders the mad demigod had borne had come with their seal attached.

But that could be faked by him, couldn’t it? she wondered. After all, he beat them both once, long ago. Surely forging a document wouldn’t be that hard.

She dismissed the thought. As much as she wanted to believe it, her complaint to the Day Court had been taken quite seriously, though for whatever reason, there had been no response. Discord—a quick shudder ran down her body at the thought of the mad immortal—had shown up the next day all the same and gone right back to work where she’d stuck him.

And then he had to go and pull that stunt yesterday, she thought. Him and Varya.

Poor Varya. The hippogriff hadn’t ceased crying after Discord had left. Worse, she’d seemed to insist that she was holding Prim responsible for what had happened, not Discord … though with a little coaxing, she had been able to point out to the child the way the immortal had swollen to fill the entire hall, and then some.

Still, a cursory magic scan had shown no lingering traces of magic on the hippogriff’s mind, which made her continued insistence that Discord had been doing nothing wrong all the more worrisome.

Then again, Varya was young, and a hippogriff as well. She couldn’t sense the innate wrongness that permeated Discord’s magic. She couldn’t sense what he was doing, how he was warping the very nature of the world rather than operating within its rules.

She let out another sigh. She’d have to explain it to her. Maybe sit down for a history lesson with her and some of the other sick children before anything started spreading any further than it already probably had. She didn’t know what the diarchs were doing letting one such as Discord walk around, but sending him to be around children?

Surely, it had been a mistake.

She opened her eyes and leaned forward, another one of the notes on the top of her crowded desk catching her eye. A reminder from her own self two weeks prior that if the south wing wasn’t finished before the late summer season shifted to fall, there were going to be all kinds of issues once the weather got cooler. Or the heavy rains started.

Well, at least that one section of hall is partially done, she thought, pushing herself up out of her seat and back to the floor with a series of thumps. Even if it was done the way it was. There wasn’t much she could do to undo it. Even with her horn, she’d never been the most magically talented in her class—just one more reason to doubt her scans of Varya.

A clatter of hooves from the hall outside her office made her shake her head, and she started towards the door just as one of the the children skidded around it, almost crashing into the wall in her haste to enter.

“Violet,” Prim said, her mind almost instantly identifying the oldest of a trio that had come to them after a most unfortunate accident. “Slow down.”

Surprisingly, her words didn’t have the effect she’d anticipated. In fact, Violet didn’t seem to have lost an ounce of her animation as she came to a sliding halt, panting. “Ms. Rose!” she said between breaths, her eyes wide with excitement. “The front door! Quick! Someone’s here to see you!”

“Who—” she began, only for the young unicorn to turn and dart out of the office, her hooves scrambling for purchase against the wood.

“Come quick!” came her trailing shout. “You won’t believe it!”

Violet had already vanished around the corner by the time Prim stuck her head outside of her office, and she gave her mane a little shake as she trotted off after the filly, trying to make sure she was presentable.

What or who would have her in such a state? she wondered as she neared the end of the hall and prepared to turn toward the entrance. She could hear the excited babble of children’s voices clamouring from around the corner, sounds of awe and amazement mixed with eager chatter. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but the children were animated.

Then she rounded the corner and felt her knees go weak. Standing in the entryway was none other than Princess Luna, flanked by two members of the Guard, both standing silently in their crystalline armor.

Time seemed to slow as she took in the scene. The Princess was crouched on her knees in the entryway—crouched!—with her wings spread wide as she spoke with the pack of children all around her. One of them was even climbing up onto the Princess’s shoulders, laughing with a wide smile. And she could see more spilling out of nearby rooms, joining the rapidly swelling and energetic crowd.

There was an immediate sense of conflict in her mind. On the one hoof, nopony should be climbing on the Princess … but on the other, the Princess herself didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as she watched, the Princess rose slightly, bouncing the colt—Bit Spark, who was supposed to be in bed recovering, or had he gotten better the day before?—on her shoulders. Bit Spark let out a laugh as he tried to stay in place, and the Princess began bobbing her shoulders from side to side, Bit clutching his hooves tightly around her shoulders as the shaking grew more and more intense.

There was also the lingering sense of surprise that made her body want to seize up and collapse completely, but thankfully she didn’t quite feel the faint tingle in her shoulders and horn that would have marked the start of a fade to blackness.

Momentary shock dealt with, the Princess’s smile was the only thing that kept Prim from stepping forward right then and there. Surely the neck of royalty was no place for a child … but both Bit and the Princess seemed to be enjoying it, and so she waited until Bit lost his grip. Which happened quite quickly, the small colt’s oversized hooves no match for the Princess’s rapid movements. He slid off of her side, both of them laughing, and only then did Prim step forward, letting out a slight cough to gain the Princess’s attention.

“Ah,” the Princess said, a bit of the mirth slipping from her face as she turned to see Prime. “Ms. Prim Rose. We meet again.”

“Yes, your highness,” she said, bowing. “Welcome to Full Futures. What … ah … What brings you here?” she asked. She almost opened her mouth to ask if it was in relation to the incident more than a day ago, but shut her mouth as she spotted Varya in the crowd. No, best to not bring that up.

“Curiosity,” the Princess replied. “I wanted to see for myself the institution of which you spoke as well as have a chance to say hello to the children here.” She turned a wry smile on the scattered crowd. “It is always a pleasure to see so many smiling faces.”

“But,” she continued, and Prim felt her pulse spike. “I also wanted to come take a look at the building and see for myself the difficulties you have had with the south wing, the one that you reported you were having trouble in maintaining?”

Her pulse had been right to spike. This was bad. The Princess of the Moon was in the orphanage’s foyer, and she wanted to see the one part of the building that was in disrepair before anything else.

Still there was nothing she could do but smile and nod. Could I get Stacks, have him delay? But to what end? It wasn’t as if she could fix the south wing herself in the brief moments Stacks’ distraction would buy her. His cooking was good, but not that good. “Of course, Princess,” she said, offering another quick bow. “If you’ll just follow me.”

Princess Luna nodded in return, and Prim turned and began trotting down one of the side halls, leading the group towards the south wing. Laughing and whooping, the children began to follow, some of them rushing on ahead while others hung back to throw rapid, quick questions at the Princess.

“Children,” Prim said, slowing slightly and turning. Several fillies and colts were practically hopping alongside the Princess, and one appeared to be trying to climb atop her back as Bit Spark had. “Don’t bother the Princess.”

“Do not worry,” Luna said, smiling at her. “I came to see them, did I not?”

“I … Yes, your highness, you did,” Prim said, trying to keep an embarrassed blush from her face as she snapped it back forward. She let out a silent scream inside her mind as she continued forward, hoping that the Princess couldn’t see the stiffness to her steps.

First the south wing, now I put my hoof in my mouth in front of one of the Princesses! she thought. This can’t get any worse! She took a deep breath, ignoring the puzzled looks of a few of the children were giving her. They just didn’t understand what was at stake.

“The south wing is just ahead,” she said as they neared the connecting hallway. “I’m afraid, your highness, that I must ask you to excuse any dirt or dust, as well as the generally unkempt state of the wing. As I said, it’s in need of work.”

“I am familiar with such things,” came the Princess’s reply. “I have, after all, seen construction and renovation before.”

“Ah, right.” Prim let out a nervous laugh, trying to ignore what felt like a drop of sweat moving down the back of her neck. Hopefully no one would notice. “Well, that’s good because—”

She rounded the corner and came to a sudden stop, her next words vanishing like smoke before a breeze.

“Prim Rose?” Luna asked as she came to a stop beside her. “Is there something wrong?”

“I …” It took her a moment to find her voice. Around her a few of the children had come to similar stops, staring at the building ahead with looks of confusion, while some of the younger ones simply laughed and ran on ahead. “I’m not sure.”

The hallway ahead of her was not any one she recognized. In fact, she was fairly certain she’d never once seen it before. What it should have been was one of the short entryways to the southern wing of the orphanage, added in more than a three-dozen years prior to her coming to work there. The sight that should have greeted her eyes was bare, heavily-stained wood and naked walls, mixed with an array of dust and dirt from disuse, and maybe a bit of a musty odor.

There was none of that. Instead, the floor was freshly carpeted with thick, heavy whorls, not a bare board in sight. The heavily stained wood along the walls had been replaced with what looked like new, fresh wood and a fresh coat of varnish, somehow already hardened … as one child proved when they rapped their hoof against it. Even the lighting had been upgraded, the old lamps and tacked-on magilights replaced with modern fixtures.

“Is something wrong?” Princess Luna repeated, glancing in Prim’s direction. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t find the words. Even the molding, the ancient molding and reliefs that had ringed the ceiling, looked new … though surely that was impossible.

“I don’t …” she began, before shaking her head. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, trying to keep her legs from shaking. “This … I don’t …” She turned towards the Princess, who was giving her an expectant look.

Could she have … No. She dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it had come. How could she have. Wouldn’t someone have heard something?

Alicorn … her brain sputtered. Silence spells. Her horn itched.

“Prim Rose?” the Princess asked once more, her expression switching to one of concern. “Are you all right?” Even a few of the children were looking at her now, curious questions written on their faces.

“I …” She let out an embarrassed cough. “Sorry,” she said, covering her mouth with her hoof. “I just … I could have sworn that this room didn’t look like this yesterday.”

“Truly?” There was an ounce of suspicion to the Princess’s voice, she was sure of it.

She suppressed a shudder. She had to ask. “Your highness …” she said, trying not to flinch as the Princess’s gaze met her own. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“With what?” Prim Rose felt her knees shake at the question.

No, of course she didn’t! She’s a Princess! Why would she—? She shut the line of thought off as she turned back to the room, flashing the immortal what she hoped was a grin that didn’t look too nervous.

“Well,” she said, seeing no other alternative. She started forward, trotting into the room, the fresh carpet almost bouncing under her hooves. “Let’s go further into the wing. I can show you a few areas that are in desperate need of attention.”

“Such as the hallway you assigned Discord to work?”

A lance of cold panic rushed through Prim’s body, starting in her hooves and working its way up to her horn. Again she felt the faint prickle of shock setting in as adrenaline flooded her system, and she gritted her teeth. I will not faint in front of the Princess! she chanted. I will not faint in front of the—!

“Ms. Rose?” one of the colts asked. “Are you going to faint again?”

“No,” she said, though she could feel the slight tremor in her voice as her body fought to collapse. Still, for whatever reason she seemed to be holding it back. For the time being, at least. “No,” she said again, her voice stronger. “I am not. I was just … surprised … by the Princess’s question.”

“Yeah,” another student said. “But you usually faint when you get surprised.”

“Not always,” she replied. It was the only explanation she could offer. Come to think of it, she hadn’t had an episode in a day or two … maybe longer.

“Why” was a question she could explore during less pressing times. At the moment, she had the Princess’s question to consider.

“In any case,” she said, turning to face the Princess and trying to put on as calm a face as she could manage. “Yes, that particular hallway is part of the building … though it’s a ways from our current location. It’s on the far side of the building, so we—”

“No matter,” Princess Luna said, offering a soft smile. “In fact, I find myself most curious to see the location for myself. I do not mind a little walk.”

“Of—of course, your highness,” Prim said, hiding her grimace until she had turned away from the diarch. “Right this way.”

Children were running past her, now, heading deeper into the south wing, and from the shouts of surprise as well as the excited looks on their faces and the chatter coming from them as they returned, it was clear that the rest of the wing had been altered as well, outside of the path they were following. Rooms had been repainted. Ceilings had been replaced. She even heard one child say something about a floor that was so finely varnished it was like sliding on ice.

Her horn continued to itch. Her breath was coming in short, forceful gasps now, her earlier attempts to slow her anxiety notwithstanding. She tried to push the worry down—not that it was easy with a living, breathing immortal striding along the carpeted floors behind her. The Guard trailing behind her were almost an afterthought … though from the sounds of some of the continually gathering children’s voices, not all were ignoring them,

Maybe this is … a test! Her mind seized on the idea. Maybe that’s why they sent Discord here? Some sort of test of our dedication to keeping the children safe? And we passed? So one of them fixed the south wing as a repayment of sorts?

Except … it didn’t quite add up. For starters, such a test would be … strange. Even coming from the diarchs. And irresponsible, given Discord’s history.

No, there had to be another answer. But try as she might, she wasn’t having any luck thinking of one. Perhaps if she asked …

“Princess,” she said, turning her head. “Did you by chance …?” Her voice trailed off as the Princess met her eyes with her own—from beneath a new crown that seemed to be made mostly of fuzzy, grey-and-black speckled hippogriff. The crown Varya had replaced was instead hanging around her own neck, the dark metal shining under the lights.

“Yes?” the Princess prompted, her face a mask of perfect seriousness.

But she can’t—She couldn’t possibly not know … Prim shut her hanging jaw as Varya let out a giggle.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head and turning her attention back forward as they walked through a room that now featured on all four walls a truly spectacular—if cartoonish—portrait of a jungle, complete with a cat of some kind lying on a branch that almost appeared to wink at her as she walked past.

You’re imagining things, psyching yourself out, she thought as she neared the hallway she’d assigned Discord to work. This is all strange— They passed by one room that appeared to be upside down, complete with furniture that was on the ceiling rather than the floor, and for a brief moment thought she saw one of her charges sitting in one of the chairs as it were completely ordinary. —but clearly you’re losing your grip if you … hang on. Is that … singing?

It was. In a loud, almost off-kilter voice that she wasn’t quite familiar with. It grew louder as they neared the far side of the building, echoing off the walls around them, and with it came instruments. Heavy drums and bright, rich bass, sounding out a cheery, bouncy tune.

But who would be—?

Suddenly, she knew. With mounting horror, she recognized the voice and its owner both, and as the music echoing from ahead swelled to a resounding crescendo, matched by a long, held note from the singer, she knew.

She darted ahead, throwing caution and protocol to the wind and ignoring the cries of surprise from behind her as she raced toward the hall. The itch in her horn swelled, unrelated to her anxiety or her fainting, but from something completely different.

Chaos. Pure, raw, reality-warping chaos.

She burst into the hall, her jaw dropping as she spotted Discord at the other end, just putting the finishing touches on a section of the wall, his back to her. The hall had been completely transformed. The floor had been refinished, and shone like glass beneath the new lights. The walls had been transformed as well, the wood gleaming. The ancient glass windows had been replaced with what looked like modern equivalents, but ones she didn’t even recognize. And along the back wall was a massive mural of … something. She wasn’t sure what. All she could make out was a massive, dark storm, and what looked like two griffons. In fact … She ran her eyes further down the hall. It almost seemed to tell a story from scene to scene.

And each picture was moving slightly. The storm clouds were shifting, the lightning growing thicker and then thinner. The griffons slowly beating their wings.

“What—?” She almost couldn’t find words in the face of so much chaos. Discord turned, grinning as he saw her, and her will to speak surged to the forefront.

“What have you done!?” The words came out almost in a raw scream.

“What have I done?” the immortal asked, still grinning. “I think that’s obvious.” He waved his hands at the hallway. “I—at a not insubstantionally great cost to myself—have fixed your south wing. Granted, I burned through quite a lot of energy doing it; I just don’t have as much as I used to, what with playing nice and all, but I should get most of this back over the next week or so, sp—”

“No!” Prim Rose was aware that the Princess and her entourage had caught up to her now and she was shouting, but she didn’t care. “You’ve tainted all of it! Every last bit of it! This is unacceptable!”

“Oh, really?” Discord crossed his arms. “Explain to me how exactly. As far as I see it, I’m helping.”

“Yes,” came a calm, collected voice from behind her, a voice so cool it could have been cut from ice. “Explain how indeed.”

There! Prim Rose thought, giving the immortal a grim smile. Let’s see you explain yourself to Princess … To Princess ...

Discord was still smiling. And with one idle claw, motioning for her to look behind herself. The cool chill she’d felt a moment earlier grew colder still, and she turned to see the Princess’s eyes not locked on Discord, but on her.

“Well, Prim Rose?” Princess Luna asked, somehow regal even with a hippogriff perched on her head. “Explain your accusations.” Her gaze held no anger, but neither did it convey approval.

“He … I …” Her mind was running a million miles a minute. How she hadn’t fainted yet was beyond her understanding. All eyes were upon her, including those of what at this point looked like half the children at the orphanage. “He’s the demigod of chaos! she said, pointing a hoof back in the lanky draconquus’s direction.

“Guilty!” Discord added.

“He twists reality to his own ends,” she continued. “He doesn’t do magic like you or I, Princess. He warps things! Reshapes natural laws like … like gravity!” She paused for a moment, waiting for some kind of response.

“And?”

The word sent a bolt of panic rushing through her system. “He distorts the very world!” she continued, almost pleading. “He doesn’t just fix things, he changes them! Look what he used to do. I know my history, Princess. And I remember when he broke out. Discord destroys. He breaks down. He makes the logical illogical, bends ponies to his own ends and—”

“Stop, please.” Luna’s request shocked her almost as much as the “please” that had come on the end of it.

“Princess?” She felt like crying. The look that was being aimed in her direction should have been directed at the draconequus behind her, not at her!

“What you are describing, my little pony, are two separate things.” The Princess stepped forward, tilting her head just enough that Varya slid back onto her shoulders.

“First of all, yes, Discord’s magic works by changing the world as we know it. He makes old things young, or large things fit into small spaces that they should not. He is a master of making the world do what we do not expect.”

“But,” the Princess said, bending down slightly as she spoke, putting her head level with Prim’s own. “That does not mean that it is wrong.”

“But …”

“Think of the zebra shamans and alchemists of the Plainslands,” Luna said. “Or the metallurgists and engineers of the Burning Lands. Is the magic they bring forth any more or less ‘right’ than that of ponies?” She shook her head. “No. Different means to an end, perhaps. And each has their dark sides; schools or uses that are looked down on and discouraged—and with good reason. Would you be so bold as to claim that there is no possibility of darkness in the magic your own horn grants you?”

“I … no,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course not. But I don’t—”

“Act?” Princess Luna asked. “No. Your intent is not to cause harm. And so you avoid that darkness. And believe me, I know that darkness well, and I would not wish it on anyone. But would you shun a griffon wizard for their weather powers because that magic worked differently than your own if all they did was good with it?”

“N—no.”

The Princess nodded. “Discord’s magic is different from all of ours, perhaps wholly unique in the entire world. But that does not make it evil. Or wrong. Even if it does seem strange to our own eyes.”

“As far as to his deeds,” the Princess said, and this time there was a cold timbre to her voice, chilling the room. “I too once nearly brought this kingdom to ruin. Do you hold me accountable still for the choices I made?”

“What?” She wanted to back away, but there was something in the Princess’s eyes holding her in place. “No! Never!”

“And why not?” the Princess asked, her voice seeming to fill the whole hall.

“You changed!” Prim said, the words rolling out of her mouth as quickly as she could think of them. “That’s not you anymore!”

“So I did,” the lunar diarch said, nodding. “As has Discord.”

“Your highness?” The world felt like it was coming apart around her.

“When my sister and I, along with the rest of the immortals, first encountered Discord, we reacted much as you do now,” Princess Luna said. “His abilities were strange to us, along with his powers. We had no guidance from the Creator as to what we should do, or how we should proceed. Some even suggested that, perhaps, he was a mistake. That his creation was an accident, something that never should have been.” Her voice grew quiet.

“We were wrong,” she said after a moment’s pause. “The mistake was our own. I—and we that remain—know that now. Discord we have forgiven for his crimes. And in turn, he has begun to forgive us … even with so many centuries of pain behind him.”

“The powers he uses may be beyond all of us,” Luna said, straightening once more. “But it is how he uses them that make him good or evil. And between the two of us …” She bent down once more, a soft smile on her face. “I think fixing Full Futures at great expense of his own counts as something good in this world, hmm?”

“I …” her mind was reeling. “But …”

“In fact,” Discord said, his head appearing by her shoulder. She flinched. “That’s not all I fixed. Granted, the waterslide on the second floor is very impressive—” There was the scrabbling of hooves against the floor as a some of the children raced for the door. “—as is the double loop right before the end—” More hooves hit the floor. “—but one of the most helpful changes I’ve made, Ms. Rose, was right in here.”

Prim jerked back as he tapped the side of her head with one talon, panic welling inside her. “You messed with my mind?” She glanced toward the Princess, looking for aid. “How dare you—”

“Your mind?” Discord laughed. “Of course not. Well, not exactly. And before you get all bent out of shape, Luna gave me the okay.”

“After you asked her, Discord,” the Princess replied, shooting him a disapproving glance. “Which it seems you neglected to do.”

“Bah, details,” Discord said, waving a paw. “So I skipped one or two small steps—”

“Discord …” Luna said, her voice growing stern.

“—but forgiveness instead of permission,” the chaos immortal continued. Prim could feel her legs shaking in terror. What had he done to her. Was she herself? Was her name even Prim? Was she—?

“BOO!” Discord’s toothy maw filled her vision and she gasped, falling back on the floor. She stared up at the draconequus, her heart pounding, her eyes open wide with fear.

“What did you—?”

“You’re awake,” Discord said, eyeing his talons like he was discussing the most simple thing in the world.

“I … I am,” she said, looking down at her lime-green coat. “I’m awake!”

“Yes,” Discord said. “Technically I messed with your mind a teeny-tiny bit, but in the biological sense, not the philosophical one. I tweaked your fainting reflex. You’ll find that you’re far less susceptible to shock now. It’ll take some reinforcement to make it stick, of course, otherwise you’ll find yourself collapsing on the ground at all sorts of times before long, but after a few alterations your body should get the point.”

Prim stared down at her hooves in shock, then pushed herself up from the ground. He was right. She hadn’t fainted when the Princess had appeared in the entryway, though just a week or so earlier she’d fainted when the diarch had addressed her during her appearance at court. And she hadn’t fainted through any of the other surprises that the day had thrown at her. Just like she hadn’t fainted during Discord’s outburst when she’d thrown him out.

“I’m cured …” she said, her jaw hanging slack.

“Only if you want to be,” Discord added. “If I don’t make sure the adjustment sticks by nudging it a few times, you’ll be back to your old, comatose self before long.”

“But …” She turned her gaze upwards, away from her hooves, and towards the immortal’s horrible, grinning maw. “Why?”

“Well, for starters,” Discord said, summoning a notepad and a pair of thin, rectangular glasses. “Someone who works with children is probably due any number of surprises on the average day. At least, I would assume so.” There was a loud crash from somewhere nearby, drawing her attention away with a start, and Discord chuckled. “Case in point. Don’t worry about that, though,” he said, waving a paw and pulling her attention back in his direction. “That was supposed to break.”

“What was?” She felt silly for asking the question after it had slipped free of her mouth, what with everything else happening, but maybe that was why it had made it past her filter in the first place. She was overwhelmed, caught in the moment. It was a new feeling.

“A statue I made out of spare boards up on the second level,” he said, his talons waving idly. “Don’t worry, I made sure it would fall upwards. And then turn into cotton candy before it fell back down.”

She blinked, trying to process everything at once. Princess Luna—Discord—south wing—not fainting—! There was a cyclone of thoughts in her head, spinning and twisting.

“Anyway,” Discord said, waving his paws again and bringing her focus somewhat back towards him. “As I was saying, it occurs to me that though you might be able to run this place while constantly fainting, you might have a better time of it if you weren’t falling over every time some child leapt out and yelled ‘Surprise!’”

“And besides,” he said before she could counter his assertion. “It seemed like a good thing to do. Unless you didn’t want me to do it, in which case, it’d probably still be a good thing, but you’d be all the more foolish for turning it away. Much like turning away help keeping this place running, or assigning the help to do menial tasks that don’t—”

“Discord,” the Princess said, her tone warning.

“Right, right.” The draconequus nodded rapidly, the glasses and notepad vanishing. “The point is … it’s something I could do to help. Really help. Like repairing this wing,” he said, gesturing at the finished hall. “I burned a lot of power doing it, but it’s fixed now. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Prim looked towards Princess Luna, but the diarch shook her head. “The idea was not mine,” she said. “At least, not entirely. Though I did give him permission.”

“If you don’t like it,” Discord cut in, “I can undo it all with a snap of my talons. Okay,” he said, looking slightly chagrined. “Maybe a few snaps of my talons over the next few days. I kind of did spend a lot of energy doing this. It’ll be a while before I can just do something like this again.”

“But …” Prim let her gaze dart between the two immortals. “I don’t …” The Princess let out a quiet cough, Varya still watching from her back, along with a number of other children who hadn’t let a double-loop waterslide entice them away.

“Fine …” Discord said, rolling his eyes at the diarch. He looked at Prim once more. “Prim Rose?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for losing my temper the other day. I could have handled things differently. I wasn’t pleased with the treatment I was getting—” Another cough of warning from the Princess. “—but I could have handled things better than I did. I apologize.” He held out a paw. She stared at it for a moment.

“Prim Rose?” She looked towards the lunar immortal at the prompting. “He is offering a paw of friendship, despite the last few days,” Princess Luna said, tilting her horn towards the waiting chaos demigod.

“I …” She reached out, slowly, her hoof seeming to take forever to cross the space, Princess Luna watching all the while. Discord wrapped his paw around her hoof. “I apologize as well,” she said, one eye still on the Princess as to gauge where she was supposed to be heading. Everything still felt like a mismatched jumble in her head. “And … thank you for your work on the south wing. It’s a little unconventional … but I suppose it’ll have to do.”

“A grudging admission,” Discord said, releasing her paw. “But one I’ll accept. At the very least, it’s a good start.”

“Start?” The maelstrom in her head hadn’t settled, but suddenly she felt like someone was about to add something to it.

Discord smiled, his grin stretching impossibly wide and once-again showing far too many teeth. “Look, Prim, can I be Frank with you for a moment?”

The Princess was still looking on, so she nodded. What else could she do? “You may.”

“Good,” Discord said, his voice shifting and getting slightly more nasally while taking on a lower Manehatten drawl. “Hello, Prim, I’m Frank. I’d like to talk you about my buddy Discord, see?”

“You … may?”

“It’s like this, doll,” Discord said, flipping a coin he’d procured from somewhere within—when had he put on a trenchcoat? “Discord, see, he’s had a rough time of things, but he’s on the up-and-up, really looking to make a change with his life. You following?” He pulled his dark shades down, yellow eyes peering out at her from beneath his fedora.

“Of course, it’s hard to change when you’re still stuck in the same old rut, know what I mean?” The last part of his phrase came out in a rush, like the words were racing towards some unseen finish line. “Doubly hard when everyone around you but a few keep trying to push you back into it. Why, if it wasn’t for his parole officer—classy dame with a lot of leg, that one—” Princess Luna let out an indignant snort. “—he’d probably have gone off the deep end a long time ago. Right back to the old ways. Dealing salt to kids, pushing old ladies around, overthrowing governments, and making crosswalks into zig-zags. You know, down and dirty, underhooved stuff.”

“Anyway, things being what they are, the guy’s gotta find something to do with his life. Something to keep himself occupied so he doesn’t go bananas. And believe me, you think you know bananas, this guy knows bananas.” He paused, taking a long draw from a kazoo. “Anyway, doll, point is, he’s a decent guy looking for a new direction in life. He’s had some rough spots in the past, but trust me, he’s got a lot of heart. Four of them, in fact. Anyway, a friend of his—a good friend, probably a better one than he deserves half the time—suggested that he might be good with kids. Really good. And the word on the streets is that you’ve got yourself a demand here. An opening!”

“Now, doll, look,” Discord—or was it Frank?—said, tugging a simple, straight-backed chair from behind him and sitting in it backwards, his stomach up against the backing. “I know the guy’s got a rap sheet longer than my arm. And sure, he’s a little eccentric—though who isn’t? But all he’s asking for is a chance, a chance to do some good for once. And your place might be exactly what he needs right now.”

“So whatta’ya say, doll?” he asked, holding out a paw. “You interested in helping an old immortal learn a few new tricks. Use his powers for good? And cupcakes?”

She stared at the outstretched paw. Let him work here!? Hire him? Is he insane? Is the Princess insane? And the children! They’ll be terri—

“I want him to stay.”

Prim turned from Discord in surprise, her eyes going wide. “What?” she asked, looking down at where the voice had originated.

Varya stared up at her, a look of determination on her face. “I want him to stay,” she said, enunciating each word carefully and clearly. “I don’t want him to go.”

Her eyes darted back towards Discord, who seemed to have a stunned, almost gobsmacked look on his face. “Why?” she asked, looking toward Varya once more.

“Because he’s nice,” came Varya’s reply. “And he tells neat stories. And he fixed stuff!”

Using powers that … Princess Luna just said were no more or less evil than our own magic. The whirlwind in her head was settling, but all the debris it was depositing was pointing in a singular direction.

“That is one vote of confidence,” Princess Luna said, smiling down at the filly. “And reasons such as those are part of the reason I suggested Discord as a solution to your problems in the first place.”

“So, doll, whattaya say?” Discord asked, his paw still extended.

“I …” She took another quick look around the newly refurbished hallway. All eyes were on her.

Her horn still itched. The hallway around her reeked of unnatural energies. But even so …

The Princess nearly destroyed Equestria as well, she thought. And she did that with magic just like everypony else’s. Maybe she’s right about this?

It was a foolish question. She was a Princess. Of course she was right.

But then, the Princess had said she’d been wrong about things. Except that it was her being wrong about Discord.

And if a Princess could be wrong about Discord … couldn’t she?

“Fine,” she said, reaching out and, for the second time that day, shaking her hoof with Discord’s paw. “He gets his chance.”

“Excellent!” Discord shouted, bursting free of his trenchcoat and fedora in an explosion of confetti.

“But!” she said, cutting off his early glee, as well as a shout of joy from Varya. “It’s conditional,” she added, giving the immortal a stern look. “There are to be limits on what you do, like any other employee here. Even moreso, considering the ‘bananas’ you can get up to.”

Discord nodded, a suddenly solemn look on his face. “I believe I can work with that.”

“And there’s to be no alteration of anyone’s physiology without my express approval,” she continued. “I’m retroactively approving whatever you did to get rid of my fainting—”

“I didn’t actually get rid of it,” Discord interrupted. “You’ll still faint like anypony else with a sufficient enough shock. You’re just, you know, at that level now.”

“Whichever,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m retroactively approving it, but if you do it again, you’re history, hear me?” Things were making more sense now; she was back in her role. She was the manager. And this chaos demigod … he was her employee.

“And I suppose ironically granting younglings’ wishes so that they learn a timely moral lesson is out of the question?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow so high it almost appeared to be leaving his head.

“Ye—” She caught herself, running over his phrasing in her head. “Talk to me beforehoof for a case-by-case on that.” Discord nodded.

“Everything else, we can discuss tomorrow morning when you arrive,” she said as her body suddenly felt weak. “Nine in the morning, on the dot.”

“I shall be impeccable.”

“And you can start by showing me what all you did to the south wing,” she said. “Then, not now. Right now, I really need to sit down for a few minutes—”

“Try the old sitting room about two doors down,” Discord said. “The furniture in there is desperate for company.”

“I … think I’ll pass,” she said. “I’ve had enough excitement for my day. Tomorrow, nine AM.”

“I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Please don’t,” she said, wincing as she turned toward Princess Luna. “Princess, I must ask you to forgive me for cutting this tour short.”

“It is fine,” the Princess replied, waving one horseshoe-clad hoof. “Think nothing of it. It would appear that you are doing what you can to rectify problems and challenges that could be expected for running a location such as this.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

“But … if you do not mind …” The immortal’s expression took on a somewhat pleading look.

“Princess?”

“May I be allowed to stay and visit with the children?” she asked. “After all, I understand that they like to hear stories.”

Who safer to leave them with?

“You may, Princess,” Prim said, bowing. There was a cheer from what few children had still stuck around. Then she shot one final look at Discord. “As for you, nine tomorrow.” The chaos demigod nodded, grinning.

She trotted out of the hallway as quickly as she could. Best to find Stacks and tell him what had just happened.

And then, maybe then, out of sight of the Princess, she could let herself panic.

Epilogue - Dance Like That

“Another round up!” Stacks called as he lifted the full tray in his magic, holding it up high so that the spread of kids across the mess hall could see it. “You know the drill, those who haven’t had any get first pick, but after that, go nuts!”

A cheer echoed back at him as he set the tray down, dozens of fillies and colts jumping to their hooves—or even in one case, taking wing—to get to the stack of potato cakes before they were gone.

“Tumble!” Stacks called out, shaking his head and waving a spatula in the young pegasus’ direction. “You know the rules. No flying in the mess hall during dinner.”

“Sorry!” Tumble shouted, snapping his wings to his side and dropping to the floor like a stone.

“Uh-huh,” Stacks said, giving the colt a knowing look before turning away from the soon-to-come potato massacre. “Just don’t forget, all right?”

“Right!” Tumble said, though Stacks could see the colt’s wings twitching from the corners of his eyes. He’d have to keep his eyes on the youth from the look of things.

Ah well, that’s being a kid, he thought as he brought his attention back to the kitchen and his new “assistant.”

“How’s the dessert coming?” he asked.

“Splendidly!” Discord replied, sticking his head out from behind a cake that looking like an inverted pyramid. There was a large clump of whipped cream perched on one eyebrow, and as the draconequus looked at him his tongue windmilled, slurping the white puff away. “The rubber spatula and whisk finally decided to stop fighting and work together, so they’ve almost finished the northern quadrant. After that, I just need to make the finishing touches, and we’ll be good to go.”

“Right … Well, as long as it’s ready when we start singing ‘Happy Birthday’—” A quick glance toward the mess hall showed several sets of eager eyes peering into the kitchen, “—and doesn’t explode, we’re good.”

“Explode? An apple upside-down cake?” Discord shook his head. “You’re thinking of a military-style pineapple upside-down cake. And this isn’t that.” He tapped the side of his creation with one paw. “This recipe came directly from the recipe books of an Element of Harmony herself, and it a very old and dignified recipe.”

“So naturally,” he said, grinning. “It’s perfect for a children’s birthday party. Even if we are adjusting the presentation a bit.”

“My kitchen, my rules,” Stacks said as he turned his attention back to the grill, where another batch of potato cakes sat sizzling. “And one of those rules is ‘no cannons.’ The kids have to follow it, and by association, so do all the adults.”

“Out of curiousity,” Discord said, his voice emanating from behind the massive cake. “Has that rule ever been enforced?”

“Three times,” Stacks said, suppressing a shudder. Another potato cake sizzled as he flipped it. “Twice for contraptions that fired potatoes, and once for one for apples.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Stacks!” Discord said. “And here I thought I’d heard all the good stories.”

“Hardly,” Stacks said, shaking his head. “I’ve been here almost ten years. I’ve seen a lot of things. Collected a lot of stories.” There was silence from behind the cake, so he continued, flipping another finished, lightly toasted potato cake onto the next tray in line. “You’ll probably hear most of them eventually.”

It was weird to think that just a week ago, the idea of a draconequus in his kitchen would have sent him into a tirade, but now, it almost seemed … normal. The immortal had just shown up on his third day, currently out of things to do and looking to help out, and he’d decided to—as Prim Rose had—let him have his chance.

To his surprise, not only had Discord proved fairly adept at working in a kitchen—something he’d explained as “thousands of year’s worth of time to learn a few tricks”—but what he didn’t know, he’d proven surprisingly competent at picking up.

Sure, his magic still felt so … strange … to look at or feel, but he’d been given quite a stern talking to from Prim Rose on the subject. Though it almost felt like that was as much for her benefit as it was mine, he thought as another cake hit the griddle with a hot crackle. Then again, it wasn’t like I didn’t need it.

“All right!” Discord’s words tugged his attention away from the grill, and he turned to see the draconequus gesturing with both paws toward his creation. “One apple upside-down cake, with frosting!”

“You’re sure it needs the frosting?” Stacks asked, tossing another cake into the air. He had to admit, despite the fact that the cake looked like it was defying gravity, it wasn’t that bad otherwise. It smelled pretty good, too.

“Of course it needed frosting!” Discord said, rolling his eyes. “That’s cinnamon frosting. Applejack was quite specific about that.”

“Well, then okay, it looks good,” Stacks replied, nodding. “And no explosions.”

“Exactly!” Discord said. “No—hang on.” he said, raising one talon, cocking his head to the side. “Did you say ‘no explosions?’”

“Yes …” Stacks said, drawing out the word as he gave Discord a suspicious look. “You did just say there would be no explosions, right? I just asked about that.”

“No,” the immortal replied with a shake of his head. “I said that the cake wouldn’t explode.”

He sighed. “Discord …”

“The candles, on the other paw—”

“Um, Mr. Discord?”

Discord looked down at the small, blue, earth pony filly who had called out for him, dredging up her name from the depths of his mind. Small. Blue. Earth pony. Volt? No … Iris! “Hello Iris.” He eyed the sheet of paper sitting in front of the filly. “Working on math homework?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, nodding.

“Do you need help again?” he asked.

She nodded. “And my teacher said that I’m supposed to tell you that my math homework isn’t qu— qu—”

“Quantum.”

“Right. Qwu-an-tum,” Iris continued, completely mangling her pronunciation of the word. “So you have to show your work. The answer doesn’t go away if you do that.”

“Really?” Discord grinned. “Well, maybe not yet …”

“He’s coming!” someone shouted. “Everypony in bed, quick!” A mad rush followed, mixed with giggling and squeals of glee. Varya jumped above the melee, spreading her wings and pushing hard for altitude as she darted towards the door to her room. Behind them, coming up the stairs, was an ominous thumping sound, a deep rumble that shook the floor with each successive step it climbed.

“I’m coming!” a voice thundered. “Coming to see who’s not in bed yet!” A mad chorus of laughter echoed up the stairwell, which kicked off a fresh wave of giggles.

Varya swooped through the door to her room. Well, technically it wasn’t her room, since she shared it with Pepper, a unicorn who was almost her age, but she still thought of it as her room all the same. Their beds were stacked atop one another, Pepper’s small bunk beneath and Varya’s above. Although hers wasn’t a bunk anymore, but a real griffon nest! Just like the ones from the Griffon Empire, according to Discord.

She’d nodded and said that it was, but she couldn’t really remember much about being there except that it had been hot. But what she did know was that it was super comfortable.

“I’m almost at the top of the stairs!” the echoing voice declared, and she pushed herself forward through the air, snagging the wooden side of the nest with her talons. A moment later she was safely inside it, curled up under her blanket and waiting, a wide grin stretched across her face.

“What’s this?” the voice called from outside. “This place is empty! Where will I find children to eat!? I shall have to go back to the moon at once! For I am Night-butt Moon, so clearly I live there!” Varya let out a giggle, and from below her bunk she heard a similar echo from Pepper.

“Confound these children!” came the voice from the hall. “I shall be hungry agaaaain!” There was a loud crack from the hall, followed by fading scream.

“Right.” This time the voice was perfectly recognizable. Discord poked his head around each of the doorways. All of them. At the same time. “Looks like you’re all in bed,” he said, his voice echoing from each room, save one case of “Tumble, that’s enough flying, settle down,” followed by “Good.”

“So,” each copy said once they were all settled. “You’ve gotten to bed on time, so … who wants to hear a bedtime story?”

Instantly Varya was at the edge of her nest, her tail snapping behind her in uncontrollable excitement. “I do!” She could hear similar cries coming from Pepper and most everyone else.

“Hmm …” Discord said, tapping at his chin with one talon. “It sounds like just about everypony. Though I don’t know … it is kind of late.”

A chorus of “Please!” echoed through the entire upper floor, and the draconequus grinned.

“Well, all right,” he said as cheers began to break out across the floor. Varya added her own voice before grabbing her pillow and jumping out of her nest, gliding to the floor. “You know the drill kids. To the big room!”

Varya threw her pillow onto her back and then helped Pepper grab her own, then they both bolted out into the hall, giggling as the various Discord copies broke apart into little motes of light that floated around shouting “Hey! Listen! Over here!” every few seconds as they floated toward one of the larger rooms.

“All right, all right,” Discord said, holding up his paws as they all spilled into the room. “Quiet down. This is supposed to be a bedtime story, not a wake-up story, right?”

One of the couches was already full, and Varya hopped up onto the back of the second one, leaning back against the wall before lying down with her head on her pillow. She stuck out her back leg, and Pepper grabbed it with her magic, the orange field sparking a little as she struggled to hold on. But, combined with her hooves, it was enough to get her up onto the back of the couch, and she settled in next to Varya on her own pillow.

“So …” Discord said from the center of the room, the lights dimming around him. “What do we want to hear about tonight? The Nine Riddles of Zawati? The Lost Jewels of Asterion? The towering gardens of Iiniwa? Or something more recent, maybe? The Return of Night-butt Moon?”

Cries from all over the room began to crop up, each shouting for their own story. Varya added her own to the mix, shouting “Kyr!” as loudly as she could.

“All right, all right, calm down,” Discord said, holding up his paws. “The Lost Jewels of Asterion it is.”

“Aww …” Varya’s disappointment was echoed by a few others, but then the room grew darker, and they quieted down.

“A long time ago,” Discord said, a red glow rising up out of the floor around him. “In a far off place we know today as the Burning Lands, Asterion, immortal of the minotaurs, found a treasure-trove of rare metals greater than any ever seen before …”

Varya grinned and burrowed her head deeper into her pillow as the story started to come to life.

“Pearl?”

Pearl lifted her head as Discord’s voice echoed down the hall, his head poking into the room a moment later. “Yeah?”

“I forget … the soap that goes into the laundry is in the blue container, while the soap that goes into the dishwasher is in the red container, right?”

She stared at him for a moment, her expression flat.

“It’s not my fault!” Discord said, a paw to his chest. "Some miscreant keeps swapping the labels.”

“You taught them to do that,” she said, her voice flat.

“Yes, well, I didn’t think they’d do it to me.”

“Uh-huh.” She fixed him with a level stare. “So do I need to go get the mop?” His hesitation told her everything.

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes at the sheepish draconequus. “I’ll get the mop …”

“So,” Prim Rose said, smiling at the couple sitting in front of her. “You want to adopt a child?”

“Um … Yes,” the one on the right said, his eyes darting back toward the door. “But … Was it just me, or was that Discord I saw back there?”

“Cleaning?” Prim Rose nodded. “It was.” She had to admit, the look of shared shock on the couple’s faces was almost … amusing. “He’s an employee here. Started two weeks ago.”

“And you hired him?” the unicorn’s spouse asked, her eyes wide.

“It was a gamble, I’ll admit,” Prim Rose said. “In fact, I really didn’t want to at first, but Princess Luna—” The pair’s eyes bugged out a little further. “—made some very well-made points and I decided to give him a trial run.” Which … is close enough to what happened, she thought.

“And ... that’s worked?” the first asked.

“To my surprise,” she admitted. “Yes. It has. He’s a little eccentric, and sometimes you need to watch your wording around him ...” She let out a laugh. “We actually had to set a few ground rules on granting ironic wishes, but … Overall, he’s actually … not that bad.” He’s certainly not what I expected.

“Really? Him?” The skepticism in the mare’s voice was so thick it was almost tangible.

“Yes,” she said, surprised at how willing she was to jump to the immortal’s defense after a few weeks of exposure. “I know it seems strange—trust me, I had a very hard time accepting it at first, but he’s actually quite helpful. And surprisingly good with the children.”

“And you’re sure he hasn’t just made you all think that?” one of the pair asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Unless you think he’s managed to fool the Princesses as well—”

“And how would you know?”

Prim gritted her teeth. “Because they’ve both visited since he began here, with their escorts. I think even Discord would balk before attempting to mimic either of them in so serious a nature.”

“Huh,” the husband said, taking a backwards glance out the door, as if he expected the individual in question to be right there, watching. “And the kids are okay with that?” he asked as he turned back.

“Actually, they’re more than okay with it. They adore him.” A fact which still surprised her. A few of them had seemed cagey at first, but even those had quickly been won over by his earnest apologies. “Most of them find his antics quite amusing.”

“Messing with minds is amusing?” the mare asked, a look of obvious distaste on her face.

“He hasn’t done anything like that,” she said. “We’d fire him in a heartbeat. No, it’s more … harmless stuff. Like making the playground equipment defy gravity or making the plates and silverware sing catchy tunes.” That had been an impressive dinner. The tune had certainly gotten stuck in her head for a time. Be our guest indeed, she thought.

“Also,” she said. “He tells—and shows, really—some very impressive tales about the immortals. Some I’ve never even heard.” I probably shouldn’t mention the one with Celestia and the cheesecake. It had been hard for her and Stacks both to keep a straight face in the presence of so many jokes that went right over most of the children’s heads. “He does some pretty good voices—Oh. I see.”

The expression on both the pair’s faces was not pleasant. “I take it this is a deal-breaker for you both?”

“It’s … concerning,” the stallion admitted, glancing at his wife.

“It’s alarming is what it is,” his wife said, and the husband nodded in agreement. “You don’t seem concerned at all! He’s around children.” She said the word like held some kind of special power that proved her point, and Prim was suddenly struck with the impression that she was looking into a mirror, peering back at her own self not two weeks earlier. “I can’t believe you’re just going to be okay with this. He’s a monster! The fact that you’re just accepting this is … is … is very concerning!”

Was this … Was this what I sounded like? This is what Discord heard? It was a sobering realization.

“Well, thankfully,” she said, forcing a smile at the pair. “I have good news.”

“What, you’ve got a batch of kids around here that haven’t had anything to do with that monster?” the husband asked.

“No, even better,” she said. “We have no children for you at all. And that ‘monster’ will be the one I ask to escort you from the premises if you make a fuss about it.”

“What?” The mare rose, indignation rippling across her face. “You can’t—”

“I can,” Prim said, rising from her seat. “You’ve openly insulted an employee of this institution, one who has done little but work as hard as he can to distance himself from his old actions—which he does regret, by the way—and is already well-loved by many of the children here. In addition to being vouched for by two fellow immortals. I admit he is a bit unusual—”

“Unnatural is a bit more like it,” the husband muttered.

“—but unless you’re willing to at least be amiable about his presence, I’m afraid that you may find your time here to be distasteful. If you apologize—”

“Apologize?” the mare sputtered, her face coloring.

“—then we may be able to work with you,” Prim continued, “but otherwise …”

“No thank you,” the mare said, looking to her husband. “We’ve seen enough. There are other orphanages.”

Which I can contact before you, Prim thought.

“Don’t bother summoning that abomination,” the mare said as she turned towards the door. “In fact, don’t you dare. We’ll show ourselves out. Come on, Tart, we’re leaving.” They stormed out of the room in a huff, the front door slamming shut a minute later.

Prim sank back into her seat, her knees shaking. Did I really just do that? she wondered. Stand up for—

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Prim let out a startled squeak, jumping in her seat. Discord was standing in the doorway. “Did you—?” she began.

He nodded. “Naturally. My ears were burning.” He pouted and pointed at his ears, both of which were blackened. One was even still smoking.

“I’m sorry about—”

He cut her off with a wave of his paw. “No apology necessary. It’s … Well … To be expected, unfortunately.” He let out a little chuckle. “But if anything, I feel I owe you a word of thanks.”

“You … do?” she asked.

He nodded, straightening. “You stood up for me, Prim. Few have done that.”

“I … Yes, I did,” she said, returning the nod. “It was …” She searched for the right word. “Sobering, hearing what they had to say. Two weeks ago, I would have agreed. But I was wrong.” She looked up at the draconequus, catching his eyes. “I was wrong, and I’d be foolish to deny it. In just two weeks, you’ve been one of the best employees I’ve ever seen here. I wasn’t about to let them tarnish you like that.”

“Well … Thank you,” Discord said quietly, leaning against the doorframe. “That … means a lot.”

“You are planning on staying, aren’t you?” Prim asked. “Now that you’ve been here a while?”

He smiled. “I am, actually,” he said. ‘It feels … good … to be a part of something like this. To have an outlet that’s not just useful, but appreciated.”

“The children do enjoy your stories.”

His smile widened. “It’s the first time I’ve ever had anyone who has really wanted to listen to them, save Fluttershy. It’s nice. But,” he said, flicking the ash from his ears, which faded before it ever touched the ground. “I need to get back to cleaning up that hall. If I don’t supervise those mops, well … I heard this one story about an apprentice and a bunch of mops that got carried away ...”

The Princess was right, Prim thought as Discord ducked out of the room, chastising a mop as he went. It’s not what his talents are, but how he uses them. For good? Or for bad?

She smiled. Good I will gladly stand up for.

There was a knocking against the doorframe, and she looked up to see another couple looking in at her. Well, mostly. Both their eyes kept sliding down the hall, in the direction of Discord’s cleaning operation. She started to prepare another explanation, and perhaps defense, but then something unexpected happened.

One of the pair smiled, and then they both laughed. The mare, a trim, fit looking and brightly colored pegasus, turned to her husband, her wings twitching. “How come you don’t dance with me like that?” she asked, a gleam in her eye.

“Well …” the husband, a rather portly, red unicorn, said. “For one, I’ve never tried. I’m not sure I could get that kind of hang-time, either. But you never know!” They both laughed again, then turned and walked the rest of the way into the room, bright smiles on their faces.

“Ms. Rose?” the mare asked, holding out her hoof. “Cha Sway. Call me Sway. This is my husband, Gyro. Were we seeing things, or was that actually Discord dancing with mops?”

“It was,” she said, smiling. “He’s one of the employees here, and quite a good one, actually. The children love him. Please, have a seat.”

“I’d heard he’d reformed,” Gyro said as he took a seat. “Sounds like he’s found a good place for his zaniness.”

“Yes,” Prim said, her smile widening. “He has. So, you were looking to adopt?” The conversation quickly evolved into the specifics of what the pair was looking for, and Prim began compiling a list of names in the back of her head. But all the while, a singular thought kept running through her mind.

Good I’ll stand up for.

There was no going back now. Without even knowing how it knew, or what the significance of knowing that knowledge was, the clock knew it was past the bounds of being a good clock.

It didn’t care. All that mattered was the gong. That massive, shiny, circular edifice of steel.

It had to be rung. And today … Today would be the day. The clock was sure of it, even though it wasn’t quite sure what “being sure” meant. It just knew.

Just like it knew that somehow, in some way, it was overstepping its bounds.

It just didn’t care. Today would be the day. Today was the day that the master was gone early. Had arisen long before the clock had even dared lift its hammer, busied himself about the house, and then gone out.

Leaving the clock with its alarm unrung.

Getting across the room had been a tricky experience. Self-preservation wasn’t exactly a natural state of the clock, nor was it something that occupied what it lacked for a mind, but it was a concern all the same. If the clock was damaged or destroyed before it reached the gong, then all was lost. The clock knew it needed to reach the gong in one piece.

To that end, it had thrown itself to the bed during one of the bed’s “soft phases,” and from there, worked its way across the wavelike expanse towards the back wall, and towards the ever shifting and moving painting that it had seen the master’s safe behind.

From there, it was simply a matter of waiting. The clock was good at that. It was designed to do that. Passing time was its pastime of choice.

And with every tick, tock, and occasional teck, the painting came closer.

It was almost time, now. Its hammer quivered with excitement and anticipation. The painting was moving again, shifting towards the foot of the bed. The subject of the painting itself looked on in horror as the clock’s hands reached out and tugged it to the side, throwing it out of the way and revealing the safe hidden behind it.

The safe was no match for the clock’s determination. The clock was a thing of gears. So was the safe. In a way, they shared a commonality between them. The clock’s hands trembled as it twisted the safe’s dial—first one direction, then the next, feeling each click of the mechanisms as if they were its own.

Then, with a deep clunk that resonated through the whole house … the safe was open.

The clock was moving erratically—jerking now, like its springs had been wound too tight. A fearful rattling was coming from somewhere within its depths, a worrisome sound at the best of times … but these were not the best of times. These were the most important times, and an odd rattle didn’t need to be a concern.

The clock leapt into the safe, its hands flipping through the contents as it searched for the gong. The master had placed it in one of the strange, cardboard sleeves—nevermind that the dimensions were all wrong—and so that was where it had to be.

The clock shuffled through the sleeves, its face taking in each one before moving on. Atop its body, the hammer was twitching in short, sporadic jerks, eager to finally, at last make the sound of the gong ring through the building. And then maybe pound it flat for good measure.

The clock stopped, one of the pictures printed on one of the cardboard sleeves holding its attention. This was it. It wouldn’t have called it remembering—memory was an alien concept to a clock—but it could identify.

This was the sleeve. The gong was finally going to be given its due.

The clock lifted the sleeve with great ceremony, the hammer pulling back in anticipation, and shook the sleeve out.

Empty.

The clock stared at the sleeve, uncomprehending. Where was the gong? It shook the sleeve again.

Nothing. The sleeve was empty.

Shaking, the clock tossed the sleeve aside and checked each and every other one, just to be sure.

Nothing. The gong … was gone.

For a moment the entire room was deathly quiet. Seconds passed, and yet there was no sound. The clock sat, motionless, in the safe.

Then there was a sharp twang, like the sound of tightly stretched wire finally giving way, and the clock began to shake. The faint rattle returned, then swelled, then roared, rising with the gyrations of the tiny appliance as it shook harder and harder.

Then, with a final, tumultuous, crescending crash of gears and pins that sounded almost like a mad scream, the clock came apart, showering the room in screws and sprockets.

But it didn’t care.

After all, it was just a clock.

Well, Discord thought, hefting the package beneath his arm. This is it.

He’d spent some time thinking over what he was about to do. But it felt right. Sort of in an odd way he didn’t expect, similar to the way he felt when receiving a genuine compliment or a gesture of kindness.

It was weird. Which in turn made him—if he was being honest about things—a little nervous.

But there was no turning back now. He’d made his case to the Guard, and his visit was going to be completely unannounced. He’d also arrived early enough that he wasn’t going to get in the way of anypony’s schedule.

Well, except maybe the two Crescent Guard, who were both eyeing him as if wondering why he wasn’t getting on with things. He gave them both a sharp look, packing as much subtext as he could into it, and then lifted his paw to knock on the door.

“Enter.” The call from inside was plain and unconcerned. Likely because no one in particular was expected at the current time, which made the list of those who would knock, or first even make it past the Guard, particularly limited.

Still, he obliged, opening the door and stepping into the office, his package still neatly tucked under one arm. The room was almost exactly as it had been the last few times he’d been in it, from the carpet underhoof to the dark, hardwood desk. The only real difference was that, as expected, the paintings had changed again, new spaces on the wall opened up by vacancies or occupied by new arrivals.

Behind the desk, Princess Luna sat with her eyes fixed on a myriad of documents, all of which were floating in her magic. So absorbed was she that it took several moments for her to look up, and when she did, her surprise was evident across her features.

“Discord?” she said, her head pulling up sharply. Then a look of amused suspicion crossed her face. “You did come in through the regular door, did you not?”

“Never fear, dear Luna,” he said, flourishing his words with a bow. “Your Crescent Guard know that I’m in attendance. I merely asked to be admitted unannounced.”

“Oh?” Luna said, rising from behind her desk and walking around the side, settling her papers as she went. “And why would that be?”

“Because I’m not here on any official business,” he said, rising from his bow as Luna came to a stop several feet in front of him. “In fact, I can only afford to be here a short time.” He made a show of checking his wrist, though no watch existed there at the moment. “I’m planning on heading in early to the orphanage to see if one of the kids needs any last-minute help with their history project before they head to school.”

Luna smiled. “I am glad to hear that, Discord. Truly.”

“Well,” he said, “me too. Which is part of the reason I came here today.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He tugged the package he’d been carrying out from under his arm. He hadn’t done much to wrap it, just stuck it in a cardboard box that kept anyone on the outside from seeing what it was—though the Guard had insisted taking a look at it, not that there’d been anything to hide about it. “This is a bit different for me so … here,” he said, holding the package out. “This is for you.”

“For me?” Luna asked, clearly surprised. “Whatever for?”

“You gave me a gift that put me back on track and encouraged me to stick with things,” he said, shrugging as he let go of the package. It hung there in the air, floating. “Then you stood up for me, and supported me.” He shrugged. “Not just with the orphanage, mind, but … I guess this is my way of saying ‘thank you.’ For everything. But since actions speak louder than words …” He gestured toward the box. “Well, I’ve had this sitting around for a long time, but I think it’s better that you have it.”

Luna had a curious look on her muzzle now, and as he watched, her eyes shifted to the package. Slowly, as if unsure of what to expect, she wrapped the box in her magic and opened it, sliding its contents out into the air. He could see the look of puzzlement on her face—after all, he’d wrapped the gift in tissue paper, both to cover it a bit further and to keep it from sounding too loudly when in the box.

Then she let out a gasp of shock, one hoof going to her mouth as she peeled away the thin sheets, revealing the rounded metal of Kyr’s gong.

“Is this—?” she asked, her eyes wide and unbelieving, but brimming with faint hope. She reached out with one hoof, gently caressing the burnished, steel surface.

“It is,” Discord said, nodding. “I had it. All this time.” Luna’s eyes broke away from the gong for a brief moment, meeting his, and he could see tears welling up in them.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with it for a while now,” he said, giving her another shrug. “It never really fit my decor. I think I swiped it on a lark, to be honest. But then the other day, I was telling one of the orphans about Reus and Kyr, and the primordial storm, and I remembered … Well, I realized that if any of us should have it, it should be you.”

Luna lowered the gong into her hooves, her eyes distant. Slowly she ran one hoof around the rim, calling forth a echoing, golden ring that seemed to fill the office. She closed her eyes, faint, wet tracks working themselves down her cheeks. Then she reached out with that same hoof, her eyes still closed, and touched the inside of the gong’s curvature, her hoof gently tapping out a faint sequence in the dimpled metal. A faint tune began to fill the air, rich but silent, like a ghostly memory. Halfway through, Luna began to sing, so faintly he almost couldn’t hear it, a single line of melody in a sad timbre.

“Come fly, wings so wide, beside me …”

Her eyes opened again, and she looked up at him, her face plaintive. “Do you—?”

He shook his head, already knowing both her question and his answer. “No,” he said sadly. “I don’t. I’m as much in the dark as everyone else is. Wherever he is … Wherever he went ...” He spread his paws. “Even at the height of my powers, finding someone who didn’t want to be found was hard enough. Now?” He shook his head again. “I wish I knew, Luna. But I don’t.”

“But,” he said, putting a paw on her shoulder. “Wherever he is, I’m sure he never forgot you.”

Luna closed her eyes again, fresh tears working their way down across her face. “Thank you,” she said quietly, holding the gong tight against her body. “Thank you. After all these years ... I never had anything to remember him by.”

He nodded, a faint, wet sensation filling his vision. “You’re welcome.” Luna stayed motionless, still hugging the gong tightly to her chest, a smile on her face despite her tears. He glanced again at his wrist. “Anyway, I, uh … need to go now. You know how it is. Places to go, ponies to see.”

Luna nodded, her smile still broad and wide despite the tears on her cheeks. “Then by all means, Discord,” she said, pausing to sniff. “Go make them happy.”

“By your leave, Prin—” He caught himself as he bowed. “Friend.”

“By my leave,” Luna answered, letting out a soft laugh. “Friend.”

He backed out the door, closing it carefully behind him. But even before he’d left, he could hear Luna’s hooves gently drumming out the melody once more, her soft voice once again carrying on the morning air.

“If you could fly, beside me, the whole world down below …”

He blinked away a tear, tossing it to one side as he headed for the nearest available door.

After so many thousands of years ... he thought, pausing to take a quick look around the hall.

It’s good to have friends.

He stepped through the door, and out of sight.

Author's Notes:

Even though I really enjoy writing Discord, I never expected to make a sequel to Why Me?. It wasn't in the cards, I had no plans for it ... and then one night, while moving tables at the convention center, a song came onto my Zune (yes, I stand with Star Lord) and my brain, trying to put a story to it, suddenly pumped out a little vision of Discord, of all people, playing with a bunch of foals in the snow, and all of them having an absolute blast.

And I knew I had to write it. But I couldn't just start the story there. Not with where I'd left Why Me?. And not with the way most anyone in the universe reacts to Discord. No, the moment I sat down I knew the story had to start with the assignment. And from there?

Actually, a lot of this story evolved on its own. The clock was originally a one-off gag. Kyr's gong was initially just a gong of slight importance, I went back and rewrote some earlier portions to add that back in once I'd realized what it actually was. And yes, in case you were wondering, it is now Dusk Guard canon that the Griffon Empire is the source of Steel Drum/handpan-based music. You're welcome, and Sheerwater goes up another few notches in the "fantasy places I want to live" category, though it's already the winner by a fair margin.

Anyway, as the story moved on, not only did I find some surprising subplots developing, but I also found some clever ways to tie in larger aspects of the DG universe. Reus and Kyr, for example, and their relationship to the rest of the immortals both before and after The Breaking. The Crescent and Solar Guard get another nod as well (yes, they are separate from the Dusk Guard, you'll see them appear in future DG fics and learn a little bit about them).

Anyway, I enjoyed writing Discord. You might have guessed that from reading this story. But you might not guess that it's for completely different reasons than one would expect. Most people seem to like Discord in their stories simply for comic-relief. You know, the ability to throw oodles of references at the reader, and defy physics and logic.

And I'll admit, that's a lot of fun. It definitely adds to the experience. I snuck a lot of references into this story, after all, some of which probably haven't even been spotted yet.

But no, as fun as all of that is to write, I haven't enjoyed my time writing Discord entirely because of that. I enjoy writing him because he is—in my little Dusk Guard universe, anyway—an incredibly complicated and flawed individual, just like everypony else. He's someone that's tried, but because of something he has no control over, he's been turned away again and again, made some really poor choices because of it, but is at last getting another shot to really make things work.

I enjoy writing about him because there's a lot of parallels between Discord's own experiences and our own. Not just mine, but any of you readers. We've all likely been in situations where we were rejected, spit on, kicked out, mocked, etc, etc, for something that either we had no control over, or that no one should have been making enough of a deal about to mock in the first place. But, like Discord, that doesn't often excuse our responses—and many of us could admit that when we've faced some sort of vastly undeserved slander or backlash, we've not found it easy to "turn the other cheek" and push on.

That's why I liked this story so much. In addition to the absolutely adorable inclusion of Varya (which was doubled, nay perhaps tripled, when she took over as Luna's crown for a bit). It's about redemption and restitution—neither of which are easy topics to discuss a lot of the time, and it's in a story where this does work out for once. Discord finally caught a break.

Which isn't to say that Discord's a perfect character even at the end of our little tale here. No, he's not perfect yet, nor is his path ahead going to be easy. After all, he does have a lot to make up for. But he's learned a little, stuck with things, and even found someplace where his talents are appreciated and enjoyed. Finally, after thousands of years, he's getting a bit of the light at the end of the tunnel.

May we all, right?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this side project of mine. The next fanfiction you see will be, rest assured, The Dusk Guard: Hunter/Hunted, though that's still a little ways out yet.

As a reminder, if you've enjoyed my work here, than I'd urge you to check out the rest of my work here on fimfic as well as my website, which is a springboard to a number of my published novels and epics you can enjoy.