Epilogue - Dance Like That
Roughly One Week Later
“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.