“Ee-nope.”

Big Mac doesn’t feel a hint of remorse as he declines her ‘offer’. He is a free pony, and he’d rather keep his faculties about him, thank you very much.

Lemon stares at Big Mac, as though she might will his hoof to move up and accept the drink. It soon becomes obvious - painfully so - that he won’t. She quivers, now focused on the floor, the bright purple liquid in her glass sloshing from side to side.

“I tried,” she whispers, but not to Discord as she shakily replaces her glass on his tray, somehow managing to not spill any. It all turns from clear glass to a metallic green stained with a red rust that seems to shed everywhere. “I gave it my very best.”

Discord laughs, sharp and derisive. “What did you think would happen? Harmony is a self righteous life form who is eager not to learn but to prosecute, to judge anything she doesn’t understand or can’t tolerate.” He sneers, remarking to Big Mac, “You made the right choice. Your own.”

As much as Big Mac is upset about Lemon trying to convince him to give up his wits, he doesn’t care at all for how Discord is treating her. “You should leave,” he says, gruff and unyielding.

The lanky draconequus leans against the wall, really leans, looking quite ‘cool’. Big Mac grumbles at being ignored, though he unconsciously tries to emulate that lean, crossing one foreleg ahead of the other and letting his weight settle against the wall. It is decidedly uncomfortable.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Discord remarks casually, “how hard it was convincing the map to send the lot of them on missions to see their parents, knowing that they would pick up a mare or four along the way. That is what you ponies are going on about these days, isn’t it?”

Wait, the Lord of Chaos sent the mares on those missions? And he did it in order to set me up? Somehow the realization that he needs a mare or four in his life sounds worse coming from a primal deity than it does coming from a practically newly minted mare, especially one with less faith in love than in harmony.

The horselike head dips down to peer at Big Mac over a set of dark shades before suddenly brightening. “Oh, and that reminds me! Here’s my contribution; after all, isn’t six just the perfect number of mares in a herd?”

Six?! Does Discord think Lemon is still joining, or will another mare ‘spontaneously’ show interest in him?

At the snap of claws a cardboard cutout of a skeletal mare - as in, an actual skeleton with exposed ribs and an empty skull and no nose - pops into existence. The sharply drawn paper regards Big Mac with sunken green sparks for eyes that seem far more intelligent than a piece of cardboard should be. She effortlessly wears heavy plate barding with black greaves, twin notched battleaxes strapped to one side, a kite shield on the other, and a longbow on her back. A red studded leather kerchief is wrapped around her neck, the only bit of color; bony ears poke up in front of her wispy light purple mane, and thick black eyebrows seem to pop into existence when she gives Discord a questioning look.

“Big Mac, this is Skellinore,” Discord introduces, the bony mare giving a curt nod while her rictus of a face contorts to what Big Mac hopes is a smile. “She’s a level seventeen bone warrior in the dark wizard Squizard’s mage army, but just to pay off skeleton student loan debt.”

“Evil medical school,” Skellinore adds in a raspy monotone. She slides her kite shield to reveal a red saddlebag with a bone white cross emblazoned. On the other side is an extra large saddlebag that even Rarity would blush at bringing along, stuffed with all manner of supplies. He can’t help but think she has to ignore encumbrance modifiers, able to carry a heavy load without flinching, and blushes (though who can tell) at the thought of what (who) else she might carry.

“Sure,” Discord continues at Big Mac’s lack of enthusiasm, “she’s an imaginary one dimensional cardboard cutout, but I think you’ll find she has a depth of personality most other mares lack!”

Big Mac has had enough of other ponies trying to set him up. “Out. Now.”

Discord stops laughing, regarding Big Mac with something between incredulity and disdain. “I do so only because it suits me,” he says dismissively. “And Grogar needs his Transfixing Tea Set back. It reeks.” He makes a show of brushing off the red dust before disappearing with a snap of his claws. The dust settles to the ground, making a weird five sided pattern of interconnected rhombi. Skellinore remains, off to the side, glancing around the storeroom, remaining silent and sullen.

“What was that?” Big Mac demands from Lemon, letting some of his frustration slip now that Discord is gone. He’s not as mad at her as before, seeing as Discord is behind all this, but it’s aggravating nonetheless. Apple trees never gave him this much trouble.

“I think…” Lemon starts, though she pauses to mull over her words and take another few deep breaths. “That was a test.” She sighs, looking downtrodden. “I just wish I knew if we passed or not.”

For a moment nothing happens. Then Lemon shudders, the yellow pitcher on her flank flashing brightly. Her tongue lolls out, panting, her seeking eyes raising to meet Big Mac’s with the same fevered intensity from before. Her flanks sway as she approaches, raised tail swishing from side to side, and licks her lips as though ready to pounce.

“Err,” Big Mac warily says, unable to back up without wedging himself between bags of flour and boxes of collapsed boxes.

He’s never directly seen a cutie mark glow like this before, but he has heard about it, most notably the time Princess Luna and Princess Cadance were getting a bath with Doug. It supposedly happened right as he was cleaning out their nethers, leading to quite the blowup between the two Prince Consorts. He did get to see the aftermath, though Shining Armor and Cadance were covered with bubbles, and had never seen a happier mare. Except maybe Applejack a couple times, like when she told him the news about Apple Bloom or when two of her fillies got their cutie mark. The idea that he could see the same face on the lusting mare in front of him…

Before he can act on such a crude idea, or bark out a halt, Lemon abruptly stops. “Sweet Celestia,” she breathlessly spits out, taking a moment to recover. “No wonder I wanted to herd up with you! When you’re feeling like that…”

“Eeyup?” Big Mac asks cautiously. Did Discord do that, just to mess with them, or is Harmony ultimately behind all this?

“You weren’t just the first pony to come to mind.” Lemon blushes furiously, her yellow coat almost getting to Big Mac’s red. “You were also the best. I mean, I’ve known you all my life. And when Marble Pie was asking about you?” She exhales with an appreciating whistle, shaking her mane from side to side. She offers Big Mac a hopeful smile, one he has a hard time returning. “It just felt, like, why would I feel that way if nothing was supposed to happen, you know?”

Big Mac isn’t sure he knows, but he is sure about one thing. He steps out of the corner to draw her in for a chaste hug. He’s glad she doesn’t seem to take it the wrong way. “Ya may not be a daughter‘a mine,” he explains in a slow, somber voice. “Ah might’a never changed yer diaper, but Ah was certainly ‘round when yer sire did. It makes it hard t’ think of ya as anything else.”

“Apples have married their cousins before,” Lemon contests, offering a weak smile that poorly covers her shattering heart. Big Mac feels terrible about doing it. “And ponies grow older, and change, or become…” She glances at Skellinore. “Um…”

“The otherwise alive,” the skeletal mare rasps. She doesn’t sound upset at the question.

Big Mac takes the opportunity to look the pale mare up and down. She doesn’t seem imaginary. Doodled on the cardboard are white and yellow lines, green spirals and orange stars, giving the impression of movement or maybe combat without actually moving. She’s surprisingly tall, or maybe it’s the boots and paper perch, her bony shoulders almost coming up to his withers. He isn’t sure if she can move around, or how. It’s hard to get a read on how old she is, her teeth in pristine condition, though a few of her bony plates are marred with deep slashes. He can clearly see through her barrel, making him also wonder about what it would be like being with her, if that is Discord’s intention.

“So, uh,” he starts, hoping he doesn’t offend her. “How would this… work?”

Skellinore seems to grasp his meaning, at least the lewd part. “I’m actually two pieces,” she explains forthrightly, in a way he finds he likes, tilting so he can see first her left side and then her right. They aren’t mirror images, the scratches different, the heavy saddlebag more visible. Her scratchy voice continues invitingly, “If I clench just right, and you press down, then I split apart.”

Big Mac has a deep longing - coltish and excited and voyeuristic but there nonetheless - to see what happens. He nods, curious about what lies inside, having never asked a mare to ‘show him hers’, as it were.

She seems to sidestep in frame, which rotates her cardboard cutout, lining up with him and becoming nearly invisible. She then takes a deep breath and holds it in nonexistent lungs. What once was an imperceptibly thin line splits slightly, like Trixie bending a pair of playing cards in her hoof, shadowy around the brown cardboard but with light visible between her ribs.

Big Mac rears up, having to reach to press on the top, and there is surprisingly little resistance as the cardboard crumples until he reaches her exposed spine. She grunts, and when he peers around his barrel he can see her bony legs bow out slightly. He feels an ethereal sensation in his hooves (and lower barrel) as her tail flicks, cold and clammy, yet titillating and tantalizing. And, if he cranes his neck back, he can see an area that didn’t crumple, it split apart, just about the right position and size and-

“Wow,” Lemon remarks with an approving whistle. “And I thought my sire was fast!”

Big Mac gulps, having completely forgotten that Lemon is in the room. This is why he never put himself out there, too afraid of getting enticed into something he isn’t looking for and they on the farm can’t afford. He hops off the cardboard mare, the background brown springing back up with slight creases that quickly fade.

“Also,” Lemon adds, “you might want to, like, invest in some lubricant. She looks bone dry back there.”

Big Mac groans even as Skellinore chatters, a booted hoof covering her coy smile. Now he’s getting… that kind of advice from her?

“Don’t worry,” Lemon reassures with a pat to his withers, which only makes him feel worse. “I’ll pick it up for you. Wouldn’t want to keep her from your boner, am I right?”

“Ah better go,” Big Mac says, hurrying to the door. He catches Lemon giving Skellinore a look of longsuffering, the kind that goes with a muttered ‘stallions’, though in this case it’s entirely deserved. If it was anypony else he would wonder where she got it from. “Make sure everypony else is okay.”

He yanks the door open, completely forgetting that he took his eyes off Pinkie Pie - worse, Party Mood Pinkie - for more than five minutes.

Next Chapter: Ch. 185 - Omen on the Winds, Part Seven Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 53 Minutes