//------------------------------// // Render Assistance as Needed // Story: Discord Day Care // by Viking ZX //------------------------------// discRete senses eARNed nada 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.