One donkey, way too many ideas. What happens when she can't fit them all in? She makes a story with them, that's what! A collection of slice of life scenes that I love but didn't have space for in my long-running stories.
Bluegrass sits at her keyboard, mulling over her latest idea. "Oooh this would be really awesome! Oh . . . wait . . . that doesn't fit in the story anymore. Argh!"
What is it?
"Er, a really awesome and cute scene! But, it won't work now . . ."
Why don't you make a story?
"I did, and it doesn't fit!"
No, no, no. A story for the stuff that doesn't fit into the regular story! Then you could take requests from your readers for scenes they wanted to see too.
"Oh . . . that'll work."
Really and truly I have too many ideas that I wanted to fit in. I originally wrote this as a thank you story for 200 followers. Thanks everyone! I really appreciate the support, I can't express how much it means to me.
Tags vary incredibly by segment. Probably more slice of life than romance. Some will be happy, others sad, and a few will be incredibly serious/dark.
Well, this is . . . interesting. Flam looked at the paper, then back up at the farmer before him. That same stupid grin was plastered on his face, as thick as the honey he sold. “These are all your records?”
“That’s right,” Honeydew grinned, showing off his yellowing teeth that mirrored his coat so well. “I’ve been keepin’ all the important bits.”
“All the important bits, you say?” Inwardly he groaned at the miniscule list of numbers. Profits, taxes, and costs. That was it. Celestia give me strength. “Could we go over this one more time? I want to make sure I’m understanding the situation before I come up with a plan.”
“Sure can do, kiddo!”
Kiddo . . . cute. This was going to be a very long day. Flam could only hope Flim was faring better on his end. A part of him wished he was fixing equipment instead of balancing farm budgets. Then again, he would be very little use with machines, that was Flim’s forté. His lay with financial management, and thankfully that skill had not been lost in his “stint of stupidity” as Flim was calling it now. He only hoped that, once the debt was paid off, they could move from the traveling mechanic and accountant brothers to something with a little more pizazz. But, beggars couldn’t be choosers, so he would do his best with whatever job they managed to land, even if that job involved helping elderly honey farmers with their operation.
Five hours, five hours of staring at data and chatting with the sweetest but most financially clueless couple in all of Equestria. The only saving grace was that they had given him a few extra bits, a basket of biscuits, and some honey for his troubles. Flam trotted down the path from the house to meet up with Flim near the barn. It didn’t take long to spot the sunburned stallion, sides streaked with a concoction of grease and sweat. “Well, brother of mine, how was your day?”
Flim grinned back at him. “Good!” He blew a strand of thick forelock out of his eyes. “Made some real good progress with that ol’ machine. Runs smoother than a greased hog now.”
Flam grimaced. Why did he insist on talking like that? It had been the same for weeks now, and it was getting worse. It wasn’t as though he hated “country” accents, but the fact that his brother was using one habitually was wrong on so many levels. He could only imagine the whipping Flim would get from their mom if he talked like that. ‘Why are you talking like some uneducated redneck? Your father and I raised you better! Do you want to embarrass the family?’ Flam chuckled to himself causing Flim to look up from his attempt at scrubbing himself clean.
“What? Yeah, I know I’m covered in grease. Geeze, give me a sec.” Flim picked up a rag with his hoof, scrubbing at the matted hairs.
“What are you doing?”
Flim snorted, rolling his eyes, “Writing an opera. What do you think, Flam?”
Flam walked over, lighting his horn up and casting a cleaning spell on his twin’s sides. “Honestly, we’re unicorns, Flim, use the ‘force.’”
“Oh . . . right.” Flim chuckled nervously, working with his magic now. In a matter of minutes, he was presentable, well, if you didn’t count the almost wild overgrowth of his mane and tail. It was nearly as long as some mares he had seen and stuck out at random odd angles. That and the thick, crimson sideburns gave him the appearance of a middle aged farmer.
“Don’t you think it’s time you get a trim, Flim? You’re looking like big hoof.”
Instead of a response, Flim took a deep swig from the water trough.
Flam moaned theatrically, “Would it kill you to act more like a unicorn, Flim?”
His brother raised his head, cheeks full of water. Without warning, he spat a stream of it all over his dress shirt. “Lighten up, brother of mine. I ain’t goin’ to the fair. You’ve got yer job, an I’ve got mine.” He levitated his cowboy hat off of the nearest fence post and slipped on his flannel shirt, “An mine ain’t particular in how I dress.”
“But, Flim, we . . . we’re twins.”
Flim’s eyes widened in mock surprise, “What? We are? Why, I didn’t recall.” With a flick of his long tail, Flim set off down the road. “Come on, Flam, daylight’s a burnin’. Got a ways to go before we hit ol’ Saddlewood.”
“Quit talking like that!” Flam levitated the basket, following his brother down the road. “I’ve apologized like a million times already. We’re working honest and hard just like you always wanted. So why are you torturing me?”
“Torturin’ you?” Flim raised an eyebrow, slowing his death march a little bit. “What in Equestria are you goin’ on ‘bout now?”
“That,” he gestured to Flim’s hat and shirt.
“What about it?”
Flam clasped a hoof to his forehead, “It’s not you, Flim. You’ve never liked farming, and yet, here you are obsessing over machines in the hot sun all day. What about your condition?”
“My condition’s fine,” Flim muttered, avoiding eye contact. “I haven’t had any more problems since Entropy sent that medicine to me back in Seaddle.”
“Yes, but,” Flam gritted his teeth, the memory of Flim’s last fit etched permanently in his mind’s eye. That had happened only a week after they got back together. Whatever he did in Ponyville had aggravated the condition until it was worse than it ever had been. Flam wasn’t about to allow for a repeat of that night. “You’ve got to watch out for yourself.”
“I am watching out for myself, Flam! I’d let you know if I wasn’t feelin’ up to work, honest.”
“I know, I know, I just . . . I worry is all.”
He felt Flim’s hoof on his back, “Thanks for that, brother of mine, but you don’t have anythin’ to worry about.”
“Anything but that accent of yours,” he grumbled.
Flim removed his hoof, eyeing him as though he were two tents shy of a three ring. “Accent?”
“Yup.” Flam cleared his throat, doing his best to imitate Flim’s newfound habit, “I can’t rightly see why yer talkin’ like some backyard hick when Mom an Dad taught us better ‘an that.”
“Oh, that,” Flim mumbled, avoiding eye contact. Rather than getting angry, he looked honestly embarrassed, adjusting his hat over his eyes. “Sorry, guess I’m just a little homesick.”
“Homesick? Flim, nopony in the ENTIRE circus ever talked like that!”
“Not . . . not the circus, Flam.” Flim’s voice lowered until it was scarcely more than a whisper, “For Sweet Apple Acres.”
Flam’s heart skipped a beat. So that was what he was going on about. Though they had been back together for a while now, a kind of distance seemed to be building between them, a distance not so easily mended. Oh, he had tried to bridge it somehow, but a part of him knew their relationship would never be the same as before. His blunder had seen to that. What hurt the most was that Flim didn’t seem comfortable or even willing to share his concerns with him. “You miss them that much?”
“Well, yes and no,” Flim hedged.
“Yes and no?”
“Well . . . It’s more,” he gulped, “more her I’m missing.”
Her? Flim had mentioned his time at Sweet Apple Acres briefly. How he had ended up working for the apples, how with their help he had been able to turn a new leaf, but he never mentioned specifics. What he did mention, or more accurately, who, was Applejack. The way he went on about her had started to get on his nerves. Now the pieces were all starting to fit together. “You like her? Like her, like her I mean,” he added.
Flim pawed at the dirt like some schoolyard filly. “Yes,” he squeaked.
“I knew it! So that’s why you’ve been acting like this, you’re trying to imitate her.”
“No I’m not!” Flim’s sunburned face grew even more red, “I just admire her, that’s all. Acting like her helps.”
“Sure it does.” Flam didn’t believe him for a second, but decided not to belabor the point. What he really wanted to know was why. Why had he left her and a place he was so happy in to come looking for a hopeless gambler like himself? Surely he could have lived a relatively happy life, heck, maybe even gotten married and had foals. Instead he was traveling around Equestria taking care of his screw up twin for the indefinite future. “Sorry, Flim.”
“Huh? What for?”
He bit his lip, “For making you leave.”
“You didn’t make me leave, Flam. I chose to leave.” Before he could protest, Flim wrapped him in a bone crushing hug, “I needed you every bit as much as you needed me. So don’t be guilty, numskull!”
Flam returned the hug, gripping his twin tightly. “I’m . . . sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too . . . me too.”
Flam chuckled into Flim’s mane, “You smell like a barn.” Flim only chuckled, still keeping the hug. For once, he couldn’t complain. His brother might be different now, but he was still his brother, and, come what may Flam would never abandon him again.
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.
I have some weird ideas. Some really, really weird ideas. If I posted half of what goes on in my mind, I could fill an ocean. This is on exceptionally off topic one I had the urge to write down. It's not my usual cup of tea, but I'm fond of it and it gives me the feels hard core when I read it (though what gives me the feels and what gives most people the feels might differ considerably). I've used it as practice for improving my writing, so you will notice the quality is much higher than normal. It'd better be after five hours on 1300 words . . .
This could possibility occur in TCARW's universe after the book one and before book three. Not sure if I'll make this idea "canon" or not yet. Guess I'll see how it's received.
Why now? Gods, why now? Discord gritted his teeth, stretching out on the aging stones and trying to calm the tremors coursing through his body. Here at least he would be guaranteed a solitary respite. Nopony other than Twilight popped in on the Castle of Two Sisters, and he doubted she would show up in the rain. His present condition would invariably lead to more than a few uncomfortable questions.
A snap of his talon revealed what he knew already. The river, the very source of magic itself, had cut him off, rendering him without so much as a single incantation to his name. Every year, the block came, as sure and steady as clockwork, eventually dissipating after a few days. Though it was a ridiculous notion, he had hoped after settling into a “reformed” life, he would be free of it. But no, it had come on faster than usual and twice as painful. Must he deal with it the rest of his life? Though the he continued to fight it, the carnal urge threatened to drive him mad.
“Urgh, please, someone make a joke.” Of course there was no reply save for the pounding rain against the aging stones. The once mighty wall now scarcely constituted a windbreak, allowing the rain to freely soak through his coat. It was soothing, and the only factor preventing him from thrashing around like an idiot.
A kind of nostalgia came with the steady splatter of the rain against the stones. Perhaps it came from being encased in stone for over a thousand years or from knowing that this hall dated back much further than that. Whatever the reason, he was grateful for it.
The tremors returned, sending up a nearly uncontrollable urge to move, to search out what he knew he would never find. He cursed to himself. Stop it! They’re dead, hell, you were dead to them when they were alive. They wouldn’t have taken you back if he had come crawling to them.
Why did his body insist on resisting reason? When it boiled down to it, the urges served only one purpose; to force him to take a mate. Take a mate based solely off of some shallow lust. What a disgusting notion. And here he lied, the chief of hypocrites.
Discord closed his eyes, trying to remember something, anything from his father’s lectures that might be of use. Nothing. Not a single mention of the burning desire now coursing through his veins or a method to resist it. Such a mature subject had never been brought up by Havoc. He had simply been too young at the time. Now he would have given anything to understand the cause. Could this be normal for draconequus? Then again, it might be due to the fact that he had yet to take a mate. Whatever the case may be, it frightened him to see his reason and control slipping away in the matter of hours. He desperately needed a distraction.
Should he seek out Twilight’s council? He had surely upset the mare, but she still cared for him, at least as a friend. However, his present state could hardly be considered safe for any creature to be around. Then he had to consider the other issue. A pony was a far cry from a draconequus, but he had never tempted fate, always distancing himself during these episodes. With his inhibitions shot to hell, there would be no controlling whatever reaction came.
Still, he longed to see Twilight, to feel her by his side. No amount of potions could compare to the medicine she gave by her mere presence. “Quit it, Discord. This isn’t like you. Crack a joke, make fun of her,” his voice lowered until it was barely audible, “something, anything . . .”
“Discord?” The familiar voice drifted over, as if sent from heaven itself. Did he dare look? Slowly, he raised his head to stare at into Twilight’s lilac eyes. Though she was leaning casually against the wall, her rain drenched coat and heaving sides betrayed her concern. “There you are. You missed our less-” She paused, lowering her ears. “Discord? Are you okay?”
“Forgive me for missing the lesson. I was preoccupied.” Under any normal circumstance, he would have been quick to dismiss her concern. But, today, today he needed her. His eyes fell to his talon glistening in what little light penetrated through the clouds. “I . . . I’m in pain, Twilight.”
Discord flinched when she knelt down beside him on the floor. His heart beat faster than it had in weeks even as an almost uncontrollable urge surged over him. “Twilight, you need to leave,” he managed through gritted teeth.
“Why?”
“I . . . I can’t control myself. I don’t want to hurt you,” he added in an undertone.
“Hurt me? I doubt that.” Twilight lifted his head with her hoof, wrapping him in an intoxicating dose of her sweet breath. Her eyes were filled with the un-godly understanding she seemed to possess in spades. “What’s this really about?”
For a moment he wanted to deny the truth, to claim that nothing was at all remise, but he could not bring himself to do it. The words tumbled out before he could stop himself. “It’s mating season, at least I think it is.”
Twilight opened and closed her mouth, murmuring something incomprehensible. Then, before he could gauge what to do next, she spoke up. “So, it’s like you’re in heat?”
Heat? Do I look like a mare to you? Another wave of pain shot through him, causing an involuntary shudder. Gripping his chest, he turned to Twilight. “Much, much worse.”
“Oh.” Her eyes darted away towards the entrance, then back to him. “We make potions for heat, maybe that would work for you.”
“You can try,” he gasped.
She patted him gently on the back. “It hurts a lot, huh?”
Discord nodded weakly, watching Twilight’s horn light as she cast a healing spell on him. It was a valiant attempt, but misplaced. “Twilight, it won’t work.”
“How do you-” She stopped short, gasping as the magic bounced off of him. “What? Why?”
“I’m a draconequus, Twilight. We’re part dragon.”
“So you’re resistant to magic!”
“Not all magic, just spells, potions are fine.”
A nearly mutinous expression came over her, “But I healed you before, when you were in your Entropy form.”
Realization sunk in as he stared blankly into her eyes. I never told her. “Twilight, that spell of mine, the one I use to transform into a pony. It’s . . . it’s not just an illusion.”
“Now you’re not making any sense.”
He sighed, continuing slowly, “It is a partial transformation, at least according to Luna. In that form, I’m sort of in limbo between a draconequus and a pony both physically and magically. That’s the reason why the spell is so painful, I’m putting my internal organs under extreme strain. Though I can constantly repair them in my draconequus form, the pony half resists.”
She clasped a hoof to her mouth, beginning to shake. “You, you were tearing yourself apart from the inside? Why didn’t you stop?” His eyes met hers, and she looked away, flushing crimson. “You . . . you really loved me didn’t you?”
Without hesitation, he pressed his head to hers for a moment, drinking in the closeness of the moment. “I will always love you, Twilight,” he breathed, nuzzling her on the cheek. “You are worth the pain, and I would bear it ten thousand times over if it meant remaining by your side.”
Twilight did not speak, but he could feel her quivering. Reluctantly, he turned away from her, resting his head against the cool stones. “Would you . . . would you stay with me, Twilight? As a friend if you prefer. Your company is all the medicine I need.”
Discord felt the mare’s slick coat press against his own. Twilight looked back at him, smiling in that soft, understanding way of hers. “I can do that.”
Closing his eyes, he felt well and truly relaxed. The pain ebbed with each passing second, and, before long, he had drifted off to sleep. In the stillness of the old castle, he had found his cure. And, somewhere deep in his mind, he knew, just knew he was free of it at last.
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 . . .”
