//------------------------------// // Chapter III // Story: Discord and Co., Entreprise of Evil // by The Diplomat //------------------------------// Chapter III “All right,” said Discord. “Let’s talk business.” Winston looked at him skeptically. “Business?” he asked. “Why yes,” replied Discord. “We’re not going to get you moving down in the world if we do nothing now, are we?” he said, as if stating the obvious. The baron didn’t exactly understand where this was going, but he decided to comply and gave a small nod. “Now,” said Discord. “I understand your family is in the art business, correct?” “Yes,” replied Winston. He was glad to finally have something to explain to Discord that he knew well about himself, and not the other way around. “It’s a family tradition, and it made my family’s fortune during the Renaissance when my English ancestors had emigrated to Florence. We make art, and for many years now we’ve been conducting an international trade of fine art and sculpture from the top artists, exposing them and ourselves in the finest galleries around the world. We still have a few painters in the family today, and we—“ “Yeah, yeah, I know all about that,” said Discord, dismissing the baron’s words with a wave of his claw. “But this is what really interests me,” he said. “You are in fact one of the family painters yourself, right?” The baron, no longer surprised about the fact that Discord knew the details of his private life, nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “And from what I hear, you tend to do well for yourself as a painter,” said Discord, grinning. The baron gave him a humble smirk. “I have my talents,” he said casually. It was true. When he wasn’t looking through his window, he enjoyed taking out his anger on the canvas, which he sprayed furiously with violent paint strokes of many colors. He would scream at the top of his lungs over blaring heavy metal that he played on a stereo, in his soundproof painting studio. It gave him a real kick. Not that he would admit it to anyone. Discord thought for a moment, adopting the position of the famous Thinker statue. He then turned to the baron. “Show me one of your paintings,” he said. The baron shook his head. “I don’t keep them here,” he said. “I paint them in my studio, and I leave them there.” “Where is this studio?” “Downtown.” “Let’s go there,” said Discord. The baron nodded, and went towards his study to pick up the phone. “All right, let me just call the chauffeur, he should be availa—“ “No need for that,” said Discord. And with that he grabbed the baron by the arm, and the two of them vanished in a popping green flare. * * * Ronald Winston’s personal studio was located in the center of Saint-Celest, down on Mane Street. When he took up painting years ago, his parents were thrilled and bought him a luxurious studio in the richest suburb of the city. He had thanked them for their generosity. But once he was shielded from their view, he traded it without further ado on the black market for a warehouse that belonged to a clandestine group of illegal immigrant stallions. He had left a few paintings there, and every month he paid them a relatively small sum to tell his parents that “Mister Winston isn’t here at the moment, we are his caretakers,” should they drop by for a visit, which they did surprisingly often. The warehouse he had obtained from the group of stallions was twice as small as his original one, but it was still very spacious. It was located in the industrial part of town, in an area most would consider as seedy. But Winston did not fear the area. Instead, he was enchanted by the rough urban scenery, and the poetically run-down state of the warehouse, which was decayed but not so much that it would compromise his work. Going to the studio was probably the activity he enjoyed most in life. It was his only getaway from his first-world troubles, the only chance he got at seeing the wild side of life up close. The only downside of it all was that he could not simply go to and from the studio by foot. His family was quite famous in the area of Saint-Celest and its most important members, including him, were recognizable by most Celestians. The chances that he would get robbed close to his studio were very high, and while he would genuinely enjoy the thrill of fighting for himself in the street, he could not compromise his entire fortune by losing his wallet to a gang of thugs. Therefore he usually had to travel in a limousine driven by his own personal chauffeur. But no need for that today, as Discord had said. They both arrived in the middle of the warehouse in the same green flash that had brought them there. Discord remained on his feet, but the baron started to wobble as soon as he was let go of. He was very pale and wide-eyed. He fell to his knees, a hand on the ground to support him and another clutching his stomach. “I- I really don’t feel good…” he said weakly. He got up from the ground and, feeling a certain nauseating rush in his body, ran to the nearby bathroom, not bothering to lock the door behind him. Meanwhile, Discord had started to admire the studio he had arrived in. It was very spacious, with stone walls that supported an overhead system of steel beams on which hooks, chains and lamps were set up. The roof was made of large glass panes, where mold from the ages had gathered, clogging at the edges. On this sunny day, the glass appeared to be a sickly shade of yellow, but it went well with the industrial setting of the place. It also filtered the harsh light and the hot outside air quite effectively, making the warehouse fresh without being humid. A good place for painting. Well done, little baron, thought Discord. After a series of loud belching noises, the baron finally stepped out of the bathroom. His color had returned somewhat, but he wore a queasy expression, still clasping his belly. “Witness the magic of teleportation!” said Discord, his voice reverberating around the space of the warehouse. “How do you like it?” The baron walked slowly towards him in pain. “I haven’t had anything to eat this morning,” he said. “Other than that bloody horn.” “Well at least you only had bile to spew, then. It’s not like you barfed big meaty chunks of green vomit.” The baron stopped walking and doubled over with a groan. The feeling was returning to him, and Discord’s levity was not making him laugh at all. “Anyways,” said the latter, levitating a chair to the middle of the studio, “take a seat.” The baron did as he was told and slumped himself slowly down on the chair. Discord, who was behind him, walked over to the other side of the room to where all of Winston’s paintings were assembled. On his way there he placed his large paw, for a second, onto Winston’s head. The baron felt something course through his body, instantly washing away any feeling of sickness he had. He could feel the blood rushing to his face and coloring it back to normal. He welcomed this feeling greatly. Discord looked at the many pieces of art before him. There were hundreds of them, stashed messily on one side of the room behind the large drawing board Winston used. They were all a series of colors slapped onto the canvas. Some were aggressive streaks of red, dotted at the sides by little droplets. Others were mellow, serpentine strokes of darker colors. He took one of those paintings and set it up on the drawing board, turning on the small lamp attached to it to make sure Winston could see it properly. He then levitated the board closer to where Winston was sitting, and standing beside it, let the baron look at it for a few seconds. Then he spoke. “Tell me what you see,” he said. The baron sat on the chair, contemplating his own work with folded arms. After a while he shrugged. “Well I think it’s alright,” he simply said with a smirk. Discord looked at him without returning the grin. “If a painting is a true work of art, the viewer should never have to shrug it off,” he said as if teaching something. He then moved to the right side of the room. There was a very large wooden desk that ran the whole length of the room along the wall. This was where the baron kept his painting supplies; a great number of cans marked with labels of many artistically-named colors, as well as a variety of paintbrushes, blouses, and a good supply of blank canvases. Discord levitated the drawing board to himself, casting aside the painting he’d picked previously. He then set one of the blank canvases upon it, and levitated a few tins and brushes to the ground next to him. He proceeded to take two brushes in his paw and claw, one with his tail, and two more which he levitated above him. Shielding the canvas from the baron’s view with his body, he began painting intricately and quickly on the canvas with all the brushes he had, occasionally dipping them in the pots of paint. A little paint splashed all around him while he created. In under a minute he was finished with a painting similar to the one he had picked from Winston’s personal gallery. The baron was slightly impressed. It had taken months to finish said painting. Discord returned to face the baron, bringing the drawing board and his painting with him. He set them in front of him. “Now,” said Discord. “Tell me what you see.” As soon as Winston truly laid eyes on the new painting, something stirred inside of him. It was absolutely beautiful. The colors, though slapped in a chaotic fashion on the canvas, were all set in full, gorgeous strokes of shimmering hues, in a way the best painter could have not set them himself. Winston noticed that they also seemed to move slowly. He stared in awe as the different strokes undulated gracefully in their white frame –suddenly glistening – transporting his mind far away, away from the confines of the studio and into a new dimension of his brain. He felt many emotions and saw many inspired visions of unreal places above. He didn’t notice Discord’s satisfied grin, or that his own eyes had not moved for a good five minutes and that his mouth was agape. “Verdict?” said Discord. His voice echoed blissfully in the baron’s head, as well as his own voice. “It’s… It’s…” The words were lost on the baron as his attention was transfixed on the painting, and at the same time drifting away from it and into foreign lands. Discord took the painting away from the view of the baron, who suddenly regained comprehension. He looked around him and at Discord as if he had returned to reality. Discord looked at him. “As you no doubt have surmised, I am the embodiment of chaos. I am its very essence. It is something I have in my blood. And chaos, in a way, is a form of art. It is the art of disturbance.” The baron stared at Discord, slightly unfocused. “Well, it was certainly disturbing. But… not in a bad way.” The draconequus joined the tips of his digits together and gave the baron a mischievous grin. “My young baron,” he chuckled, “don’t you know that art is meant to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable?” The baron said nothing, still in a slight daze. “With this,” said Discord, pointing at the painting, “we are going to make a lot of money. And we are going to send you into the city as its very king.” Winston stared wondrously at Discord, who bent down his supple spine, putting his face close to the baron’s. “But for this to work, you will have to do one thing for me …” * * * Back at his penthouse, Ronald Winston was sitting in a comfortable straw chair on his terrace in the sun. He had changed into a pair of designer chinos, elegant summer shoes, and a brilliantly white shirt tucked not too much in his pants, with its sleeves rolled up stylishly. He sat with a glass of the wine he’d been given two days ago, and took a sip from it. He did not honestly know why he kept drinking it. He considered it to be stale and too bitter for wine. He supposed it was out of respect for his mother. The doorbell rang at his flat. The guest he expected had arrived. He got up and went to the door of his penthouse. He opened it to face none other than his fatal fiancée. “Welcome, Chrissie,” he said with a smile. He had certainly not taken a sudden liking to her; but he figured he should stay polite and call her by her name for once. It was the first time he had invited her privately to his apartment. In fact it was the first time he had invited her anywhere at all. She looked at him, arms crossed, entirely dressed in black silk, and shot him a scornful look. “You must have quite the reason to call me out here in the middle of the day,” she said coolly. The baron internally winced. Perhaps staying polite with this uppity bitch would prove harder than expected. Nonetheless he hid his discomfort. At least she had agreed to come over. “Oh but I do,” he said calmly. “Please, come in.” She walked inside slowly, her heels making a sharp, repetitive noise as they stepped hard onto the wooden floorboards. The sound made the baron shiver. “Would you like a drink? There’s some wine left from last time,” he offered without looking at her. “No,” she replied. You’re welcome, thought Winston bitterly as he stepped outside onto the terrace, followed by his lady. He sat himself back in his usual chair, and put on a pair of Ray-Ban shades. She took an empty chair opposite him. “This mustn’t take all day,” she said in annoyance. “My chauffeur is downstairs and he has… other… th-things… to do…” Winston gave a tiny smile as he noticed Chrissie staring intensely at the painting he had set on a tripod to his left. He could see in her the same reaction he had earlier today. Her lips parted and quivered a bit. Her stare had become immobile and glassy. She was literally staring into space. Fortunately he was not affected, wearing a special pair of sunglasses Discord had conjured for him. Before she was too far gone, he removed the painting from sight. She looked back at him, blinking incredulously. “I have found a new brand of paint, from Asia,” he said. “And as you can see its effect on my painting is quite… marvelous.” He could see Chrissie trying to speak for herself, but she was utterly lost for words. “I invited you here today,” he continued, “at the request of the supplier of this paint. Indeed, he is a wealthy Asian gentleman who ships it to me first-hand, to return a favor I did for a member of his family, who was a client of mine that I sold a painting half-off to. He agreed to do this on the condition that I invite you personally, saying he wanted you to witness his product.” Chrissie’s expression indicated that she was confused as to what she had to do with all of this. “Now, I’m sure this man has a very good reason as to why he requested this,” continued the baron. “But I am not aware of it. I certainly wondered about it, but I didn’t discuss further the terms of our agreement, for I figured it was a fairly good deal for the fantastic product he has offered to supply me with. But, what do you think of it?” Chrissie’s starry gaze drifted back to the tripod where previously stood the wonderful painting. After a while she said: “Well, it’s… it’s certainly… it’s quite something, I mean.” Winston nodded to her, but internally he was laughing with glee. He could read his fiancée and enemy like a book. From what he knew, it was far more than ‘quite something’. But he knew she would never admit it, out of a sense of personal pride and contempt for him that he found to be just plain weird. This was a newfound victory for him. “Good then,” he said. “I’m glad you like it. I shall arrange with my parents for all paintings that we expose, from the family painters or not, to be supplanted by paintings of this nature, that I shall create myself. And I’ll name this one after you,” he said, mentally mimicking a grimace like a schoolboy’s when he is confronted with the topic of love. These last words obtained him a little more reaction from his fiancée. “Surely you will not,” she said. The baron was taken aback by the sudden change in Chrissie’s behavior. “Why not?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you like to have a painting exposed by your sweetheart in your name at a luxurious gallery?” He winced. That was painful to say. But he had to stay in character. “I’m not talking about those imbecilities. I mean to say that there’s no way you are possibly going to manage the entire Winston painting production,” she said with a scornful chuckle. “I mean, I’m sure Lord Winston loves his little Ronnie very much. But honestly. You’re just a producer to him. Someone out of whom he can make more money for his pockets. He’s never going to let you run the entire family business.” Her words stung the baron like needles in his heart. She had utterly no faith in him. She truly despised him with every fiber of her soul, and for absolutely no reason. He’d always been polite and open to her, right from the outset. He had had this image long ago of the two of them at least being kind to each other, forced in a marriage that neither of them wanted. He had expected a little solidarity from her. But instead, she treated him like a pest, a parasite that had forced itself upon her. He was not in love with Chrissie. He’d never been. But he believed no one should have to be treated in this despicable way. Suddenly, Winston felt his insides churn. At first he thought it was the morning’s sickness that had come back to him, possibly triggered by the cancerous words that girl had thrown at him. But he soon realized it was something else. There was a burning hot feeling coursing through his veins as his guts twisted painfully. To his disarray, his vision began to turn a slight shade of red, as if a colored veil had been placed in front of him. He started to panic, not knowing what was going on with him, or if he would recover from it. His breathing became erratic. He took long, sharp intakes of breath, and fidgeted in his chair as for the first time, the Draconequus Horn began to take effect. Eventually the churning stopped. He regained normal visibility. His breathing became much more eased. With one last audible breath, he stopped moving around in his chair. But he was not completely back to normal. Far from it. There was still a hot feeling inside him, that made his blood boil. And as searing as it was, he welcomed it. He relished in the feeling of excitement and pure dare it gave him. He felt giddy all of a sudden. It was as if he was drunk with power. He took off his shades and placed them on a table next to him. He found himself to be moving in strangely graceful movements. He reminded himself of a character called Jack Sparrow in an old movie he’d once seen. He looked at Chrissie straight in the eye, with a very dark look. She had looked at him during his little seizure with a frightened look, as if he was turning into a werewolf. “Listen, honey,” said the baron. He took a second to realize that his voiced had changed noticeably. It had a deeper feel to it. And its tone was deadly serious, with a hint of cheekiness. “I have been real nice to you for a good three years now. Well, at least I tried. But I guess there’s no use putting up a charade like that with a stuck-up bitch like you, right?” If Winston had struck her hard across the face, Chrissie’s expression would still not be as stricken as it was right now. The baron enjoyed this new transformation greatly. He felt totally in control of everything, and ready to take anything that the world could throw at him. “So I’m gonna tell you what’s going to happen – fuck it, this wine’s shit,” he said, after having raised the glass to his lips. He threw it over the side of the terrace and into the void below. Chrissie flinched. “I’m gonna start taking care of my own damn shit from now on,” he continued. “Tell your parents, or my parents, or whatever, that our thing isn’t working. And tell your folks that if they want money, they oughta do like the house of Winston, and come up with an idea to make their own dough, instead of making bullshit wedding deals and what not just to get to my family’s own hard-earned fortune. Meanwhile, I’m going to manage business the way I see it, and there’s nothing you or your dumb little buddies can do about it. Is that understood?” Chrissie simply stood where she was, her eyed wide as saucers as she stared helplessly at the baron. She was utterly paralyzed by such an unexpected tour de force. After a while of staring at each other, the baron imperturbable, she got up wordlessly and headed nervously towards the door. Winston followed her. As she arrived to the door she turned around swiftly to face the baron. She had tears in her eyes. But her glare was hard as ice. “This will have very, very serious implications for the relations between both our families. Do not expect this little stunt of yours to sit well with your father whose business you are trying to steal!” she hissed angrily. “I’ll take care of the family, sweetums. You just leave here and never talk to me again,” said Winston. She looked at him with hatred. “What in the world has gotten into you?” He gave her a smirk. “Devil’s horn, baby. He stuck it up my ass last night, like a suppository.” She flashed him a last glare of shock, and turned to open the door, which indeed flew open. And then she left, slamming the door with such force that it would have made the baron himself flinch, had he not been in his current second state. He stared at the door with no expression. This was it. She’s gone for good. He took a cigarette that somehow ended in his back pocket and lit it up with the lighter that was also there. He had never smoked in his entire life. But somehow the taste was not new to him, as he puffed effortlessly on the little stick. From behind him came a bouncing and giggling draconequus. “HeeheeheehahahaHA! That was amazing!” he exclaimed, dancing around in joy. “You’re a true natural at this, my friend! What a show! Hahahahahaha!” He went to the baron who was standing without a reaction, contemplating the door in a moody stare. Discord took him by the shoulders and spun him round to face him. “Well? What do you think? Isn’t chaos magical?” he cackled. The baron said nothing for a while. Then he slowly lifted his gaze to Discord. “She’s gone,” he said in a hollow tone. “You bet! There’s no way she’s going to text you after that one!” he said, laughing ever harder. After calming down a bit, he looked at the baron with a cheery smile, his lone tooth sticking out from under his upper lip. The baron looked back at him. Slowly his expression changed from seriousness to fear. “Oh… my god,” he said in an alarmed voice. They both understood now that the effects of the horn had faded away. Winston shrugged himself out of Discord’s hold and started to pace around his penthouse, looking in fear at the ground, his hands at the sides of his head. “What have I just done?” he said in a shrill voice. “I’ve… I’ve completely lost it! My engagement is over! My family will have a bad reputation with the Sallis family! They’ll lose money! My parents will kill me! What was I thinking back there? And what the hell is THIS?” he yelled, looking at the cigarette in his hand and tossing it swiftly out the window like a scary bug. “Calm down,” said Discord reassuringly. “Calm down, my good baron. None of that is going to happen.” “Oh yeah?” yelled the baron at Discord, visibly annoyed. “Yes, yes. Have no worries. I’ll see to it that this whole thing blows over,” replied the draconequus. “That’s part of what I do, after all. Tampering with minds is one of my specialties,” he said with a wink. The baron stared at him, panting. He was still alarmed, but seemed to be slightly relieved. He put his hands on the sides of the open window frame in his living room. He stared at the city. The first golden rays of twilight had started to strike the crisp autumn leaves below. “My god…” he said. “That horn… it’s a powerful thing.” Discord edged himself closer to Winston. “Yes. Wasn’t it hugely enjoyable though?” he asked. Winston thought for a while as he stared below his window. It was a terrible thing. It had made him say dreadful things. Arguably, Chrissie had it coming to her. But they were still horrible disrespectful words to say to anyone. In a few seconds, that horn had planted the seeds of anarchy in his mind. They had grown, seeped into his senses, and constricted his judgment. A few seconds was all it had taken to erase years of fine-tuned education and manners of the high court of society. These manners, though, he thought. The same bloody manners I have to uphold, again and again… And after all, why not? Why not let chaos do its thing? He thought back to a few days ago when he’d been looking, at this time of the day, of out of his kitchen window. At the time he had begged the sky silently for something like this to happen. It was a true breakthrough from the mould of his prim and proper little life. He sought action. And this was it. Thanks to this horn, he would never see his dreaded fiancée ever again! There would be no more misery on account of her. So, why not? But there was still something that bothered him. Something that tugged at his conscience. The way he’d behaved today was not becoming of him. What he wanted was to behave like a normal person that had grown up in the heart of the urban jungle with all his friends by his side, and his daily dose of problems and joys. He had neither; his life was a barren desert of dollar bills. But today he’d gone too far. He’d treated a person with utter lack of respect, and no one in their right mind, rich and brought up or not, would have tolerated that. He turned to the draconequus’s large yellow eyes. They burned with the fire of anarchy. “I don’t know…” he said in a timid voice. “It was definitely enjoyable. My god… what a thrill! But… it wasn’t me back there. This is not who I am, or who I wish to become. This is not how I live!” Discord listened, then blinked once and raised his bushy eyebrows. “How you live?” he said incredulously. The baron was taken aback by Discord’s surprise. “Do you think you know how you live?” continued the creature. “Let me tell you something, dear baron, that I think you’ve omitted.” He put his palms on Winston’s shoulders and lowered himself to his level. “You forget that all that is simple is in fact quite complex, my dear fellow,” he said. “Yes, all we do is walk, talk, and observe. But underneath this simple exterior, there is a cloaked core of needs and wants.” The baron simply stared at Discord, taking in carefully every word he said. “ You see, life is like a coin,” continued the beast. “And it has two sides: Safety, and Thrill.” He stuck a thumb out from his hand. “On the one hand, you may live a life of safety. You will know peace of body, shielded from both the evils of unsafe places, and the need for food and water and good health. But you will not know peace of mind, as you will feel inexorably bored and fatigued by the stagnant ocean of which you sail alone in this life.” He took a brief pause. “And on the other hand,” he continued, “you may live a life of thrill. A life of daring nerve and adventure, that all humans crave deep down in their souls. But as you play through this life, you will be playing with fire, making friends that are like double-edged blades with no handle. And occasionally you will get burned, and you will wish that your life were not so rocked by the waves of uncertainty and fear.” “Because life is a coin, we cannot stand on both sides. We must choose one. But alas, life is cruel, as we all know. And we do not simply live, my friend. Once we have chosen a side of the coin, we are set on a path that we will roam for as long as we breathe. We live the way we choose to live. But then again, we are blind, and choose at random along what bumpy roads we walk on. It is a tricky business, that requires open eyes, for what you seek. And what you seek is thrill.” Discord lifted himself up and looked down at the baron with a sly grin. “Me?” he said. “I am a businessman. My eyes are wide open. I am a salesman of thrill.” Winston said nothing as he stared in a daze at Discord, who suddenly seemed quite wise. His words rang strangely true in the young baron’s ears. He set himself back to his living room window again, resting his elbows on the bottom edge of the frame. The sky was now streaked with orange and pink, casting the shadow of dusk along every road and corner of Saint-Celest. He turned to his left to talk to Discord, but witnessed in surprise that the draconequus had vanished. Later, during the night, Winston could not find sleep. He lay awake in bed, carefully mulling over all of Discord’s words. The side of the coin that we choose… By morning, the baron had come to a final decision.