//------------------------------// // One More Student // Story: Interlude With a Donkey // by Bluegrass Brooke //------------------------------// Discord was beginning to wonder if there was any point in keeping Spike around the library. As a princess, Twilight could use a lackey for drafting letters and the occasional odd job, but why a baby dragon? Certainly Celestia could have come up with a more adept assistant than that. Dragons weren’t remotely useful or intimidating until they were at least a hundred years old. At Spike’s age, all you got was a whiny little kid that caused more problems than he solved. Today had proven to be no exception. Discord sprawled out on a chaise longue he conjured up, watching the dragon attempt to do something with a stick. His ears perked up as Spike took a massive breath, releasing a burst of green fire that quickly enveloped the stick. In an instant, it had vanished, taken by the teleportation spell to Celestia. Discord burst into tears of laughter at the thought of Celestia getting hit in the head with the stick. No doubt she would deserve it, and a part of him wanted to teleport over to enjoy the show. You know, that’s not a bad idea. Just as he raised his talon, Spike charged over to him, tugging on his bat wing. “Don’t!” “Don’t what?” “Don’t tell her,” Spike bit his lip, glancing around the library. So that’s it. Discord smirked playfully, “Why should I listen to you? I think Celestia would love to hear about your latest mishap with the transportation magic.” “Celestia?” “Yes, Celestia. I want to see the look on her face when she gets smacked with that stick of yours.” Spike raised an eyebrow, “So you weren’t going to tell Twilight?” Twilight? Discord’s heart skipped uncomfortably in his chest. “No . . . Why would I—I wouldn’t bother her with that,” he stammered. “Sure you wouldn’t,” Spike drawled sarcastically. Discord so longed to think of a witty comeback, but was coming up empty. The Lord of Chaos having trouble with a witty comeback! It was all because of her. Even after they had made up, all the dials of his life were set on full awkward mode. How was he supposed to act? Should he ignore what happened, laugh it off, or start over? Even worse was the longing, sometimes gripping, and at other times as fleeting as the morning dew. Her smile, her velveteen coat against his course fur, her eyes full to bursting with childlike innocence. It wasn’t intentional, but his mind would inevitably drift there like a moth to the flame. “Discord?” Spike’s claw waved centimeters from his eyes. Instinctively, he pushed the child away with his tail. “Personal boundaries, Spike.” “Yeah, because you’re the master of personal boundaries.” Shut up. Discord got to his feet, snapping away the lounge. “Why don’t you want me telling Twilight? Surely she’s seen enough of your little blunders to understand when it’s an accident.” “But it’s not an accident,” he deadpanned. “Well color me shocked!” He leaned down to sneer at him, “What? Are you helping Celestia build a stick hut now?” Spike’s foot struck the floor in a less than intimidating impression “I didn’t send it to Celestia!” “Really?” Teasing the dragon was simply too much fun. He clapped his paw and talon together in mock understanding. “So you sent it to the builders! Ah, I’m such an idiot.” “No I didn’t! I sent it here.” “Here?” Without warning, the very same stick Spike had been messing with dropped from the ceiling, becoming caught in his mismatched horns. Discord snarled a curse in draconequus, sending Spike cringing. Baby. Ripping the stick off his head, he proceeded to use it as a pointer. “What use is transportation magic if you’re sending it to the same location?” “But it’s not the same location!” Spike gesticulated wildly, resembling an overly excited child telling a fish story. “I moved it from here,” he pointed to a spot on the floor, “to there,” his claw circled the spot on the ceiling it came from. “That’s not the ‘same location.’” “Quit being a smart ass,” Discord snarled. Though he had to admit, the kid was right. He raised his paw to his hoof, still holding the stick with his talon. “Haven’t you been doing that for years, kid?” “No! I’ve been transporting letters to Celestia . . . and you,” he added as an afterthought. “This is transporting other stuff. It’s really hard.” Discord snorted, “Soooo difficult. You’ve only done that, what ten times in front of me already? Remember your demonstration for ‘Entropy’ at the Castle of Two Sisters? What makes this one so different?” “It . . . it,” Spike stammered stupidly. Hit the nail on the head. “It’s not different! So quit acting like it’s some great secret, gods you’re annoying today.” “But it’s at a longer range than before! Plus, I can transport bigger stuff now.” “Uh-huh.” Discord began to scratch his ear with the stick, “Because you know great logs like these don’t come around every century. Why, I’m sure you had to fight off ten timberwolves to rescue this bad boy.” Spike looked ready to run off, probably to complain to Twilight. Typical kid. Discord held the stick out at arm’s length, and, taking a deep, controlled breath let out a concentrated burst of his golden flames. Immediately, the glorified twig was set aflame, and in a few seconds, burned to ash. Satisfied with his job, Discord showered Spike in the ashes of his guinea pig. “Oh look, I accidently burned your log.” There was an awkward moment of silence where Spike just looked at him with the most stupid expression Discord had ever seen him don. “What?” He raised an accusatory claw, “You . . . you can breathe fire?” “Uh . . . DUH! What kind of boulder have you been living under anyway?” “But . . . you . . . you’re not a dragon!” Spike reached out a claw, running it over Discord’s coat as if he were one of Fluttershy’s rare and exotic animals. “Obviously,” he snorted. “But I am a draconequus, kid. I’m part dragon.” The kid’s eyes met his with a mixture of shock and awe, “So when I sent you those letters, you got it through fire like me? What about your horns?” Discord tapped his antelope horn with a talon, “What? These? These are just for decoration, they can’t channel magic like unicorn horns.” “Seriously?” Apparently realizing that he was nearly clinging to him, Spike took a step back. For a moment, he just stared at the floorboards, then he spoke in an unusually soft voice. “How’d . . . how’d you learn?” “Learn what?” “How to use your fire like that.” He pointed to the remaining ash. “That was waaay hot, but you controlled it like Twilight does magic. How?” How? Discord stroked his beard thoughtfully. It had been centuries and centuries since he had learned to use fire. Controlling it came as second nature by now, though he rarely used it in day to day activities. “I uh . . . I suppose Father taught me.” “Your dad did? Could he use fire too?” He barked a laugh, “Oh, yeah. He set fire to plenty of villages in his time.” Seeing the horrified expression on Spike’s face, he added, “It was during the Great Reckoning.” “The Great Reckoning? What’s that?” Discord flicked him on the forehead, “None of your business, squirt.” “So he taught you to use it? Just by explaining it?” “No, I practiced.” Discord closed his eyes, remembering the familiar, pungent odor of the burning oil and flesh offerings. Not a day had gone by that his father had not made him light something with his fire. “Lot’s and lots of practice, Spike . . .” he trailed off, allowing himself to be lost in the memory. Spike gripped his paw in his hands, staring almost pleadingly up at him. “So, if I practice, I can be as good as you?” “Er . . . better I guess. Dragons have a lot more umph,” he blew a jet of fire, allowing it to wind in the air like a snake. “Ours is kind of subdued.” “Awesome!” Spike jumped up and down, still holding a vice-like grip on his paw. “Can you practice with me?” “What? Do I look like a sucker to you? I’ve got more important things to do with my time than teach some runt.” Spike’s expression fell, as he released his paw. “Oh . . . okay. I just thought . . . since we could both use fire, it’d be something fun. I never had someone to practice with before.” The words brought him back, back to a time he thought he had long since forgotten. It had been on a cool summer’s night nearly two centuries before his father forsook his soul, two centuries before it all fell apart. Father! Hey, father, did you see that? I lit the torches all by myself. Havoc chuckled, adjusting the heavy gold plated collar around his neck. ‘Indeed.’ Could you do that one technique? You know, where you wrap it all around you? ‘Perhaps tomorrow, Discord. I have much on my mind at present.’ Yeah, but you could totally take a break! No one controls fire like you do. You are the best of the best! Please, Father. Havoc rolled his eyes, drawing the young draconequus into a tight hug. ‘Very well, but only if you follow along too.’ “Discord?” He flinched, looking down at Spike. “Sorry, Spike, I seem to have spaced out.” Then, without really knowing why, he bent down to the child’s level. “If you wish to practice, I’ll help you out.” “You mean it?” Discord smiled softly, patting Spike on the back, “Sure I’m sure, but you’d better believe you’re going to work your butt off.” Without warning, Spike’s arms wrapped around him, then quickly released again. “Thanks! You won’t regret it. I’m the best student out there.” Discord’s booming laugh bounced off of the library walls. “We’ll just see about that!” It, like Twilight’s lessons might prove to be awkward, but Discord couldn’t bring himself to see it as a chore. This kid might be a pain in the neck, but Spike needed him, and maybe, just maybe he needed him too.