You trot over to a certain cottage by the woods, humming as you go. It’s a delightful day—mind you, most days in Ponyville are—and you’re looking forward to talking to somepony—or more accurately—someone who you’ve been trying to be a better friend to lately. One the one hoof, he did betray you to Tirek, a being of absolute evil. But on the other hoof, can you blame him? You and your friends were pretty big jerks to him. Except Fluttershy of course, because, bless her heart, she’s a bigger mare than you when it comes to seeing the good in ponies, err, creatures. You only see research.
Yes, as much as you tell yourself that you’re trying to be a better friend, the truth is that even more than friendship, you’re compelled by the power of the scientific method, and Discord is certainly not someone who’s been methodically scienced. A veritable treasure trove of weirdness and chaos, just sitting there, waiting to be researched. And you’re going to be the one to do it! Why you never thought before of just how much progress you could make in the field of chaotic magic, you’ll never know, though you suspect it has something to do with the fact that even now you have a hard time standing his smug attitude and trickster mentality. Nothing like an interview to change that! That’s right, you’re going to interview Discord!
As you cross the bridge over the nearby stream, you wonder what you should ask him first. Thinking back, you realize the number of non antagonistic encounters you’ve had with him over the past two years could probably be counted on a single dragon’s claw. You’re the princess of friendship; that won’t do! So as you knock on Fluttershy’s door, you resolve to make a positive first impression.
*thock thock thock!*
A mismatched (aren't they all?) draconequus answers the door, dressed in a maid's outfit.
"Hi Discord, can I interview you?" you ask eagerly.
Positive first impression: check!
"Meeee? You want to interview meeee? Miss Sparkle, I would be delighted to confuse and confound you with my witty remarks and candid answers. Please, ask away!" He beckons you to enter, and as you do he snaps his talons and a white rabbit falls from where it was stuck to the ceiling via static electricity.
Pulling a notepad and quill from under your wing, you ask, perhaps overenthusiastically, "Think you can handle a tough question right off the bat?"
"Darling, I was born ready. Fire away!"
"Well," you begin as you plop down on a divan, "Discord, I know it’s probably a, uhhh, touchy subject for you, but I must say I’m curious: what was it like, being trapped in stone?"
He purses his lips, and rolls his eyes up in thought. "What’s it like being trapped in stone?", he repeats, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Really, not very different than not being trapped in stone, if you want to know the truth. It’s like… being an onion."
An onion? "Oh, really?" you respond, eager for answers.
Oh yes. I’m a very powerful being. I can warp spacetime itself. Can you do that? Actually, don’t answer. You’re the exception to the rule. By the way, that’s another way we’re alike, really: we both take exception to rules. In fact, since we’re so similar, for this little exercise, I want you to put yourself in my horse shoes. I know I don’t wear shoes normally, but play along with me, if you will.
Imagine that, as long as you’ve been aware of your existence, you’ve had an urge to cause chaos. It doesn’t matter if it’s on a quantum level making protons violate the uncertainty principle, or on a macroscopic scale of hurling stars into each other. Yes, that’s right, I can, given enough time and patience (both of which tend to be in short supply for me, mind you), take Celestia’s job. At least the raising and lowering the sun part. All that icky paperwork and dealing with the stuffy nobles would make me vomit though. Ughhh.
But as I was saying, I have an innate urge to mix up, break apart, mash together, tear down, and generally discombobulate stuff. Always have. When I don’t, I get real skittish and moody. I just need to cause chaos. Not entropy. That’s too disorganized, mind you. Just some good old fashioned chaos.
So, indeed, picture you’re me. Picture you too having an undying, unyielding, unceasing, innate urge to mess with stuff. And imagine one day you wander upon this planet with the most fascinating little creatures. They actually react when you mess with them! It’s a hoot! Soooo much more interesting than playing with rocks or dirt or a million other inanimate objects. Even if I animate them, they’re still not really alive. I’m not a miracle worker. Just a draconequus.
So, you’re on this planet, and you love it! So much to mess with! So much harmless fun! You’ve finally found a home for yourself and your awesome powers of disorder and… let me put on my sunglasses… discord.
And yet, when you use any of those powers, you’re immediately told that you’re a bad dragon. You’re told that hurting ponies is wrong. They actually condescend to tell you exactly that: hurting ponies is wrong. Of course hurting ponies is wrong! I don’t hurt ponies! I’m not a monster, like Chrysalis or Tirek or King Sombra or Nightmare Moon or the Grand Galloping Gala or any creature on the evil villains roll call. Can you name a single time I hurt somepony during my triumphant return to form? Maybe I hurt their feelings. Maybe I hurt their chances of being able to ever look at balloons again. Maybe—and I think here I’m doing everyone a favor—I hurt their pride. But I never actually hurt a pony. Ever. Can Celestia claim the same?
Again, don’t answer that; I don’t want to give you cognitive dissonance. My point is, I’m not evil, just misunderstood. But nopony else sees things that way. Surely, Miss Sparklebutt, you can commiserate with me when it comes to ponies not believing you. Why, your dear friends’s unwaivering belief in who was right and who was wrong almost cost us the kingdom, did it not? Wasn’t that frustrating?
Imagine that every single day of your life.
Imagine being told you're wrong every single day of your life.
Never allowed to do anything fun. I always have to play by your rules, the pony rules, as if ponies are somehow the end all be all of morality, the ultimate authorities when it comes to what is and isn’t right.
That’s what I have to live with.
You want to know what it’s like to be me? I’m like an onion. I’m sure I’m not the first snarky character to make that analogy; I don’t really care.
Onions have layers.
On the outside, I’m playful and jovial. I have to be. If I wasn’t, I’d go insane. Well, more than I already am.
But start delving beneath the surface, and you find residual anger. Trouble being empathetic (have ponies ever been empathetic to me?). A whole host of personality disorders, at least according to all the psychologists and therepists and psychiatrists and psychotherapists and all the myriad of doctor types the princess (that’s Celestia) has sicced on me. According to them, I’m a sociopath. But I have a better, simpler answer for why I act the way I do.
Wow. How do you respond to that? If yesterday, somepony told you that at this moment you’d be squeezing Discord in the tightest bear hug possible, you’d have looked at them funny and called them crazy. But right now, you feel it would be crazy not to.
"I’m sorry. So sorry," you whisper, comforting your strangest, weirdest, trickiest, and right now most vulnerable subject. "I’m sorry I—no, most of us haven’t been very good friends to you. I'm sorry we haven't tried harder to understand. That’s going to change." You, princess of friendship, are hugging one of the least-friendly creatures in Equestria. But right now, when you call him your friend, you mean it, every word. Huh. What a chaotic world.
