Discord Applies For Citizenship Papers
A lion paw and an eagle claw slammed onto the simple wooden desk. A long, sinuous body snaked down to bring its head down, eye-to-eye with the poor pegasus behind the desk.
“My name is Discord,” snarled the Draconequus. “I am older than Equestria, older than the Princesses. I am older than the seas. I have seen the void between the stars, I have felt its hunger. I have seen entire species rise up, build civilisations, and fall. Sometimes over the course of a single afternoon. I was already ancient when Equestria's sun first ignited, before the planet itself formed out of the primordial intersteller dust!”
“And, um, how many years would that be?” asked the pegasus.
“All of them.” growled Discord.
“That, um...” The pegasus glanced down at the paper on the desk, then looked up again. “The form needs a number,” he explained, firmly.
Discord growled. “How do you measure years when there isn't a sun or a planet to measure with?” he asked.
“Um...”
Discord sighed. “Put down five billion,” he said, finally. “That's close enough.”
“Okay!” nodded the pegasus. He looked down at the form, then looked up again. “Um. I'm only supposed to put in one digit per block...”
“So?” asked Discord.
“Well, um, there's only three blocks...” said the pegasus, nervously.
“...oh, that's perfect!” yelled Discord. “Just perfect! Why, you'd think that the stupid ponies who designed this stupid form had never ever thought that a Draconequus would ever try to get a set of citizenship documents! I'm half tempted to reach back in time and slap them over the head in the hope that they'd be sensible!”
“You can do that?” asked the pegasus, nervously.
“Of course I can do that!” snapped Discord. “I'm Discord!” He sighed. “It's not as if there's -” He paused suddenly, as a thought struck him.
“Wait a minute,” said Discord, suddenly. “The Princesses. I know for a fact that their age is four digits long. How did they fill in the forms?”
“Um, they – they've been citizens of Equestria for centuries,” said the pegasus. “I don't know how they filled it out, but it must have been a long time ago. They might not have been a thousand yet then, I guess.”
“This is ridiculous!” yelled Discord. “Why are there only three boxes for age! I mean, there's a lot of creatures out there that can grow to more than a thousand years old! What about dragons? How many dragons have ever tried to fill out this form?”
“Um... one,” said the pegasus.
“Ah! And what did he put?”
“Well, he didn't fill it out himself,” said the pegasus, nervously. “I understand he was three days old at the time.”
“Three... days.”
“Yes, see? Easily under three digits.”
“GRRRRRRRARGH!” yelled Discord. “Three digits! How am I supposed to fit my magnificent age into a mere three digits?”
“I have no idea,” admitted the pegasus.
“Three digits,” muttered Discord. “Three digits.” He paced back and forth for a moment, and then said “Ah! Three digits! Right, In the first block, put a one.”
“Right,” said the pegasus, drawing a single stroke with a pen.
“Then a two.”
“Right, one-hundred-twenty...”
“No, no, no. Twelve. Now, in the third block... raise it to the power of nine.”
“Wait, what?”
“Raise it to the power of nine,” said Discord, smugly. “That's 5 159 780 352 years. Close enough.”
The pegasus nodded, and frowned at the form. With great care, he put a nine into the upper half of the third block. “Right,” he said. “That's your name, and your age so far. Of course, I'll need a copy of your birth certificate to go with this.”
Discord screamed in frustration.
* * *
“Parents' names.”
“Parents' names?” asked Discord.
“Parents' names,” said the pegasus, firmly.
“I didn't have parents,” said Discord.
“Ah, so I can mark down 'orphan', then?”
There was a long silence. Then Discord spoke.
“There's a box for that?” he asked.
The pegasus nodded.
“And it doesn't lead to any additional forms or anything like that?” he asked.
The pegasus shook his head. “On the contrary,” he said, “we can skip the entirety of Section 14-B, Parents.”
Discord sank into his seat, sighing with happiness. “Well, that's good news, I guess. Right. So, what's next?”
* * *
Four hours later
“Pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, griffon, dragon, minotaur, zebra or other?” asked the pegasus.
“Other,” snarled Discord. “Draconequus.”
“Um. How do you spell that?”
“D-R-A-C-O-N-E-Q-U-U-S.”
The pegasus started writing, then slowed down and stopped. “Um,” he said.
Discord sighed. “What is it now?” he asked.
“That's eleven letters,” said the pegasus.
“Yes? So?”
“There's... there's only space on here for ten letters.”
“WHAT?”
“Ten letters,” said the pegasus, tapping the form. “Ten little blocks, see?”
Discord's eye twitched
“Maybe I could just leave out one of the letters?” asked the pegasus.
Discord stared at him for a long time, then threw his talon and paw up in the air. “Fine!” he yelled. “Fine! Leave out a letter! See if I care!”
“Since you marked 'other',” continued the pegasus, “you'll need to fill out supplementary species detail forms AZ-17, BR-12, TW-93, DI-37 and KE-53 to KE-92...”
Discord groaned.
* * *
“So,” said Celestia, looking over the document in front of her. “According to this, you're a hundred and twenty-nine years old?”
“That should be twelve-to-the-nine,” explained Discord.
“And you're a Draconequu?”
Discord sighed.
“Which, according to the supplementary forms you've filled in, is an endangered sapient creature which requires two litres of chocolate milk and fifteen cupcakes a day for medical reasons?”
“I get cranky without them,” explained Discord.
“I don't think 'cranky' counts as reason enough for 'medical reasons',” said Celestia.
“Oh yes it does,” insisted Discord. “It's for my mental health.”
“What about your dental health?” asked Celestia.
“No, no, no. Not 'dental'. 'Mental'.”
“I mean,” explained Celestia calmly, “aren't they bad for your teeth?”
“No,” said Discord, firmly.
Celestia raised an eyebrow, but didn't push the point. “I see you're also deathly allergic to spinach and alfalfa?”
“Oh, terribly,” moaned Discord, clutching his stomach. “Why, the very words strike me to the marrow!”
“And you're an orphan.”
“Yes.”
“Alright,” Celestia put down the form. “Which leaves me with only one question...”
“And what would that be?” asked Discord.
“If you wanted citizenship papers,” said Celestia, “why didn't you just come to me directly?”
“...what?”
“The forms really aren't intended to be used by the more... unusual citizenship applicants,” explained Celestia. “They're intended to be used by people of species we've had as citizens before. If you'd come straight to me, I could have had your papers sorted out within five minutes.”
There was a long moment of silence, and then Discord screamed.