//------------------------------// // A Spot of Conversation // Story: Interlude With a Donkey // by Bluegrass Brooke //------------------------------// Boring, so boring . . . Discord swished his tail, watching from his perch in the rafters of the guardhouse. They sat at their table, playing a card game that seemed simultaneously novel and familiar. No matter how many centuries passed, soldiers’ games always traced back to a similar source. The heavy mixture of sweat, stale tobacco, and booze could easily have knocked the average mare for a loop. However, it granted a kind of nostalgic comfort to him. Father always insisted that their chambers be located beside the barracks. On more than a few occasions, he had snuck out to watch their games, hear their stories, or join in a few drinks. Discord gave a barely audible chuckle. Father did not like that much. It baffled him that a group of guards sworn to protect the princess and trained by the captain of the guard himself could not have spotted a draconequus reclined on one of their rafters. But, he conceided that these ponies had never known battle nor the all consuming vigilance wrought by a lifetime of fear. As Havoc repeatedly reminded him, ‘There is no threat to the nation quite as great as complacency. See that it never takes hold of you, Discord.’ As if he could ever grow complacent after . . . He shook his head, best to leave the past where it lay. And yet, here he was, living vicariously through the guards like some battle worn elder with too much time on his claws. Come to think of it . . . that rather fits. Gods he needed a job. Well, apart from training Twilight, but that duty fell more in line with a privilege. Already nearing midnight, he half-expected the brass to come in and rattle their cages, but no. A pity, I should have liked the show. Their conversation and laughter drew him in. Not in the usual way that would have him contemplating the best way to amuse himself at their expense, but in a different, irritatingly soft way.   Conversation. He never really had it before his banishment, not outside of the royal family and his father anyway. But ever since his childhood, he craved it like a dying man craves his family. To them it remained an everyday occurrence, something that they simply took for granted. They wished to converse, so they did. Never once did the true blessing of it sink in. Ponies and other beasts saw fit to speak with him, but never for long and only if it suited their needs. Even Tia and Luna would not speak with him unless they had need of his services or concerns about his reformation. His friends helped, but they often tired of his appearances, preferring to set up appointments as with Fluttershy’s tea sessions. Since when do friends need appointments to see each other? And now, despite his determination, Discord found himself craving it more and more with each passing day. Cruel that he should have inclusion waved in his face for nearly a month only to have it wrenched away. Well, Twilight and Spike at least continued to speak with him regularly. The others . . . well, they would come around. Unable to control himself any longer, he swooped down, landing atop their card strewn table. “Good evening, everypony!” Their reaction was pitifully slow. They gaped at him for a few moments before the tallest of their group, a yellow-green earth pony stammered, “Wha-what? Where did you come from?” He batted his eyes and put on an overly innocent expression. “Heaven.” “Urgh!” One of the unicorns made an adorable attempt to grab him in his magic. One snap and he was tangled in a mass of salt water taffy. “Really? If you can’t notice a draconequus sitting in the rafters for over two hours, what makes you think you can catch me with that pitifully slow spell, hmmm?” The others froze, taking a step back. His earth pony buddy continued more steadily, “What do you want?” Discord sighed theatrically. “A spot of conversation.” The taffy donned stallion stared blankly at him. “Con-conversation?” “Con-ver-sa-tion,” he spelled out as if speaking to a dense kindergartener. “You simple minded ponies might call it idle chit chat.” “What makes you think we want to talk to you?” Earth pony guard smirked, yellowing teeth complementing his mane perfectly. He eyed them, registering their mood. No amount of explaining could change their response. “I . . . I don’t. I merely-merely wished to—it does not matter,” he stammered. Without another word, he snapped, teleporting to the courtyard. The cool of the grass and the utter stillness of the night met him where he stood amongst the trees. Discord found his heart racing, though he hadn’t the faintest idea why. Quit being stupid, you knew they wouldn’t want to talk to you. What were you expecting? ‘Oh, yes, grab a chair and we’ll deal you in?’ Please. Only a fool thinks like that. Yes, a fool, or a spoiled child. He sighed, walking slowly over to the small pond. His reflection met him, the reflection of a draconequus, the last creature anypony wanted to hold a conversation with. The last creature Twilight wanted to date. Discord legs shook underneath him. To be surrounded by those who cared only to be thrown out when the truth came to light. Alone as usual, as it should be. But he could not bear it, not any more. He did not with for companionship, he needed it. Grimacing, he looked towards the city. Did he dare risk it? Did he have a choice? Jazelle hummed to herself, swinging her tail to the familiar, jazz inspired tune. Old Oliver could really carry a beat on that piano. Smoke filled her bar as it did every night and she drank it in like a tonic. Ponies might be offended by the smell, but she liked to imagine it as her stage act. A few of the regulars nodded, raising their glasses. The elderly pegasus dressed in her best business garb, held out a hoof, “Lovely, Jazelle. Voice of an angel, I’m tellin’ you.” She shot her a smile, brushing a cloven hoof through her thin black mane, “Well, I don’t know about that, but pretty close. How’s work treating you, Manilla?” The mare scoffed, “It ain’t. Still worked like a dog and missed another promotion. But,” she shot her a genuine smile, “if you sing that one song, you know the one, I think I’d be a lot better off.” Jazelle winked, “Sure can do. Just about heading there anyway.” Her hips continued to sway to the beat as she made her way to the stage. A few uncomfortable heads turned her way. Jazelle never blamed them, it wasn’t often ponies even saw an oryx, let alone one who owned a bar. But she’d make them feel right at home in a few minutes, guaranteed. The regulars didn’t even bat an eye after all. The moment her hooves touched the smooth wood, all talk in the bar ceased. She flushed just a little. Ten years of this and the respect she received from complete strangers never ceased to amaze her. Oliver turned to her, waiting. With a quick wink and a few stamps, he registered the code. The piano took to life and her heart soared with it. As she sang, the words no longer became music, but a tonic. The walls reverberated as her voice drifted through the smoky haze, and slowly wrapped her audience into her spell. Jazelle began to dance on the stage, swaying to the beat and soon she had the entire joint swinging along. Jazelle’s smile grew as theirs slowly began to appear. The songs did not matter, the long nights, the bills, all that mattered now was her music touching them, lifting their spirits if only for that blessed instant. And she drank it in. Song after song, request after request. They did not know it, but she needed them as much as they needed her. For, when the bar fell silent and the lonely nights alone crept in, that’s when she saw their faces and remembered. They came to her to escape, to see what they had forgotten and allow their troubles to dissipate like the smoke. However, her voice could only keep up with her enthusiasm for so long. Reluctantly, she left the stage, grabbing a shot and leaning against the bar. Her ebony eyes scanned the room, taking in the crowd. Pretty big tonight. Sheesh, gonna have to add more chairs. Her attention fell to a middle aged unicorn seated in the corner. Jazelle could not be considered an expert on the subject, but the stallion definitely looked like he needed a chat. Finishing her shot, she stepped over to him. If the empty bottles and shot glasses were anything to go by, the conversation didn’t have a high chance of success. However, when his eyes met hers, she took a step back into the nearest stool stumbling over. He limped over, helping her to her hooves. “My, my, not everyday I see an oryx in Canterlot.” “You know what I am?” The stallion’s decidedly sober eyes met hers from behind a set of rectangular spectacles. “I’ve been around a very long time, miss uh?” “Jazelle.” She held out a hoof and he took it. “I run the bar here.” “And provide the entertainment I see.” Though he attempted a smile, Jazelle knew it to be false. This ain’t my first go-around, bucko. The stallion motioned her to sit and she did, staring across the table at him. She cringed as he downed yet another shot of whiskey as if it were water. “How-how do you drink like that?” the words tumbled out before she could stop herself. He chuckled, a low, sad sound that made her skin cringe. “My dear, I can never get drunk. It is . . . impossible.” “Impossible?” “Mmmhmmm.” The bottle began to swing in his golden magic, in beat to her last song. It took a minute to look at him, but when she did, she gasped. His pupils had turned a violent shade of red. And then she saw it, the shadowy figure of a strangely familiar beast behind him. Jazelle lept to her hooves, feeling them shaking under her. “What? You-you’re not a pony.” He gave her a rather un-enthused scowl. “Neither are you. You don’t see me freaking out.” True. Slowly, reluctantly, she relaxed, staring at the shadowy figure behind him. All around them, ponies were talking, but none seemed to notice the shadow of a chimera looming behind him. “They . . . they can’t see it, can they?” “Nope.” “But you—why are you here?” He sighed heavily, “My dear, I have lived a long time, a very long time. All this old man desires tonight is a spot of conversation.” “Conversation?” Jazelle stared into his eyes and knew the answer. Years in the business had taught her when someone just needed to talk. It did not matter about what or who as long as they had it. A simple connection with another living being. Someone to hear you out, someone to cross paths with if only for a night. To laugh perhaps or to grieve, or even to learn. She pulled up the chair once more, watching his surprise with some satisfaction. “Alright then. You want to start or should I?” The unicorn stammered, then levitated the bottle back to the table. As the light left his horn, so did the shadow, but in its place was a warm, genuine smile. “You are not afraid?” Jazelle scoffed, “Mister, I’m a single woman running a smoky old bar at night. A little chimera ain’t going to scare me off.” He chuckled softly, “Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m a draconequus. As for who’s to start, I’ll take the lead, then you join in. But prepared for a bit of a rant.” “Please, after working this joint for ten years, I’ve heard just about everything.” “Well,” he took a long swig straight from the bottle, “I might just surprise you . . .”