Discord's New Job

by The Minister of Scones

Rating: everyone
Tags: Random, Discord, Princess Celestia, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy
Length: 5429

Giving Discord a job must have seemed quite a good idea at the time. Celestia didn't mean to trick him, not at first. It just sort of happened that way, really. Now he's not best pleased...

After his little... er... misunderstanding with Tirek, Discord seemed eager to attone for his crimes. That's why Princess Celestia decided that perhaps it wouldn't be such a terrible idea to give him a little job. Well, never mind. Now that he's figured out that the job wasn't really all it seemed, what's the worst the all-powerful Master of Chaos could do?

Published 2016-06-24 01:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-06-24 01:00:01 UTC

In Which Discord Has a Job

"Discord," said Celestia levelly, looking at him over the top of her teacup. And then, so as not to seem malevolent, she added "This is a pleasant surprise." She eyed the draconequus warily. Not that she let anyone see she was being wary, of course. Celestia had been an expert at hiding what she was thinking for centuries, now. It's useful to be able to do that when everypony regards you as a goddess.

"Princess Celestia," replied a grinning Discord, his voice oozing smarm, "I'm so glad you were able to grant me an audience at such short notice." As if to illustrate this point, he reached out his lion's paw and pulled a large bunch of geraniums out of thin air, proffering them to Celestia.

Celestia set down her teacup and took them from him, noticing a distinct chaos tremor as she did so. "Thank you, Discord." She was trying to sound warm, but not so warm that he'd think she completely trusted him. She sincerely hoped she'd got away with it. "Silverhoof," she called to a nearby page who looked like he'd be glad of something to do, "take these and put them in some water." As Silverhoof scurried off, she turned back to Discord. "You'll forgive me for not sniffing them," she said coolly. "I just didn't want to be startled when they turned into butterflies."

"Drat," said Discord, not meaning it, "you're getting to know me far too well."

Maintaining her outward calm, Celestia inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing Discord, they could just have easily have been going to turn into bats, which would have stolen some of her thunder. Well, all of it really. She took a sip of tea to steady her nerves. Now what was she going to say?

"So, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" That was what she said. What she thought was: please please please don't let it be about-

"It's about my new job." He coupled this remark with his most infuriating smirk.

Ponyfeathers. Well, this had been a long time coming. Celestia glanced over at the mirror. She looked immaculate, she told herself, every inch the wise, benevolent ruler everypony expected her to be. True, her mane was a little more ethereal than usual – the unfortunate result of accidentally using her sister's conditioner. She would just have to avoid making public appearances for a couple of days. Otherwise, though, she was a picture of regal unflappability. She realised she had not spoken for nearly 20 seconds. She turned to Discord, wearing the most placid expression she could muster, and opened her mouth to speak.

There was a faint thud and a startled yelp from the corridor outside the room, followed by the fluttering of a few dozen newly-existent butterflies making their escape through the window. Celestia felt a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. This was going to be one of those days.

~Eight minutes earlier…~

Discord was in a bad mood, and he didn't care who knew it. He'd stormed into the castle literally foaming at the mouth. By the time he'd begun his heated discussion with the palace guards (Which, while it had gone on for about five minutes, boiled down to "I want to see Celestia," "You can't," "I'd like to see you stop me when you're weightless and drifting around the ceiling like balloons."), there'd been smoke coming out of his ears, drifting up above his head, and forming the word 'Grrr'.

Only as he was ushered into the breakfast room in which Celestia was taking her morning tea had he realised that, on the whole, he did care who knew he was in a bad mood, because the last thing he wanted was to hold this conversation at a disadvantage.

Celestia was simply surveying him with the attitude of a cat who knows she doesn't need to talk to you if she doesn't want to. He tried desperately to put on a casual smirk that seemed to imply that he, too, had a million-and-one other things he could be doing instead, and was only condescending to see Celestia out of the goodness of his hearts. That was certainly how the smirk felt from the inside, but he had a sneaking suspicion that from the outside it was just a gormless grin. He thought chaotic thoughts. Grrr.

He noticed that she was lying gracefully (How else?) on a chaise longue. Doubtless trying to make him feel uncomfortable. Well, two could play at that game. With a snap of his talons, Discord materialised a wardrobe on his side of the tiny coffee table, laid it on its side, and then sprawled himself across it.

Wasn't she going to speak? He didn't want to have to speak first. What if he accidentally snarled? That wouldn't help his case. And then Celestia did the most irritating thing Discord had ever seen her do. She looked at him over the top of her teacup and said "Discord." Oh, whoop-de-doo, thought Discord, she knows my name. Alright, now was his chance. All he had to do was simper and say “Princess,” in a tone which implied he thought she should be anything but.

“This is a pleasant surprise.”

Terrific. She's using irony now. It was too late to attempt a comeback. He was going to have to use a little of his famous chaos to get his oldest living enemy (and dear, dear friend, of course) on the back hoof. "Princess Celestia," he said, with what he sincerely hoped was a mischievous grin, "I'm so glad you were able to grant me an audience at such short notice." Now for the finishing touch. With a flourish – a chaotic flourish, naturally – he plucked a flawlessly simulated bunch of geraniums from mid-air and offered them to the princess.

“Thank you, Discord.”

How in Tartarus does she stay so calm!? No matter, he told himself, now she'll sniff them and then she'll…

“Silverhoof, take these and put them in some water."

I will murder this alicorn.

"You'll forgive me for not sniffing them. I just didn't want to be startled when they turned into butterflies."

No, I'll keep her alive for as long as possible. Murder's too good for her. “Drat. You're getting to know me far too well." It took every ounce of self-control he had to say it in a way that made it obvious that he didn't mean it, and wasn't really all that bothered about the geraniums not working, thanks very much. He did mean it. He wanted to say it through gritted teeth. So gritted you could see the grit. Most of the self-control was going towards not manifesting that particular visual pun.

Celestia remained painfully serene. She just drank some more tea. Was there no end to this mare's reserves of calm? "So, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" That's what she's saying, thought Discord, glumly. What she's thinking is “I once encased this draconequus in stone and I'll do it again if he puts a hoof out of line.”

Okay, Discord. Let's end the malice. If you play nice, she'll play nice. "It's about my new job." He coupled this remark with his most winning smile.

Infuriating was not the word. Exasperating was nearer the mark. Discord watched in dumbfounded silence as Celestia stared at him, blankly, as if to say “What makes you think I give a flying feather about your job?” Then she looked in the mirror. Oh, so she's checking her mane, now. Marvellous. Hey, what's up with her mane? It looks more transparent than usual. Is she even going to speak? Was she listening? Hold on… does she seriously not know what to say? Have I finally got the advantage? Oh, this is too delicious! And I was trying to be nice…

At that moment there came a thump, a yelp, and the sound of his beautiful butterflies escaping. Oh. He had forgotten that little embarrassment.

“Your new job?” said Celestia, slowly, trying to make it sound as though she was surprised. She wasn't. She remembered very clearly the time when she had given him the blasted job. It was shortly after the little 'incident' with Tirek. For weeks afterwards, Discord had been at his most refreshingly contrite and apologetic. Oh yes, she thought bitterly, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, then.

One of the most pleasant side effects of this Period of Shame was that Discord kept offering to do little things about the castle. Tidy up the gardens. Wash the windows. De-scale the water-tank. Nopony had trusted him at first, of course, but after a while it had become apparent that he really was trying to help. Occasionally he had slipped up, and fallen back into his old habits – it had taken all day to get all the tadpoles out of the drinking water – but, on the whole, he seemed genuinely to be trying to make up for his betrayal.

That was when Celestia's dark side had got the better of her. She decided to take advantage of Discord's new-found conscientiousness by offering him a little job. She had known he'd accept, of course. Even now, months after Discord was fully recovered from his little bout of goodness, he was still doing the job.

“Quite. My new job.” Discord coughed delicately into a lace hoofkerchief that he had just pulled out of the velvet tunic he was suddenly wearing, and straightened the powdered wig that had popped into existence over his head. “One was wondering whether one would answer a few questions concerning it,” said he, foppish accent and all.

This was it. She'd known Discord would figure out the truth eventually, and now he was distracting her with his buc… with his silly magic tricks. Okay, 'Tia, get a grip on yourself. One six is six. Two sixes are twelve. Three sixes are eighteen. Four sixes...

“Princess? Would that be acceptable to you?” Even that voice set her teeth on edge. It brought back memories of their early encounters, over a millennium ago. The alicorn sisters' very first attempt to depose him was a superb example…

Discord had stood cackling over the vast vat of custard in which she and Luna had suddenly found themselves suspended. “That'll show you I'm not a villain to be trifled with. You won't try to take me into custard-y again in a hurry.”

Luna had bellowed back “IF FOOLISH PRANKS BE ANY SPORT FOR KINGS, I'LL SEE THOU'LLT GET A DECENT SHARE THYSELF!”

“Oh, Luna, you look so pretty when you're angry.”

“I'LL SEE THEE EAT THY TAIL BEFORE I- blubblubblub” Luna had become the tragic victim of a custard wave that Discord had created behind her.

That hadn't gone well. Celestia shuddered. She then realised that Discord was still talking. Oops.

“...And then I thought, well, she's interested, I might as well tell her about it.”

“Whom?” said Celestia, without thinking.

“Fluttershy, of course.” Discord leant towards her – no, he wasn't leaning, he was simply stretching his neck over towards her, so that his face was close to hers, glaring as only Discord could glare. It was very unpleasant to watch. “Princess, have you been listening?”

“Of course, of course.” She realised she'd said that a little too quickly. So did Discord, if his expression was anything to go by. He retracted his neck and gazed at her, eyebrow raised – raised above his head, in fact.

“Right. Because your eyes did glaze over, slightly, and goodness knows my hearing's not what it once was,” – to illustrate just how dissimilar to how it once was his hearing had become, Discord stuck a talon into his ear and twisted it round as though clearing out wax, only for the ear to come off in his claw – “but it sounded like you were mumbling something about custard.”

The two watched each other in silence, which each willed the other to break. Had Discord figured out what she was thinking about? Possibly not…

“Ooh!” cried Discord, after about 7 seconds, “I've thought of another one. I should have said that you two could always sponge yourselves off later.”

Okay, he had. Celestia felt ready to explode, but fought to keep her face expressionless. She just sipped some more of her now lukewarm tea, instead.

“You know. It's another trifle pun.” Discord looked hopefully at Celestia, but she didn't betray a flicker of amusement. That's one emotion it's not hard to suppress with Discord around, she thought. “Oh, suit yourself,” said the draconequus, finally. “Anyway, I told darling little Fluttershy all about the job that you, my gracious benefactor” – somehow, he managed to make the word rhyme with 'harridan' – “were so generous in providing for me.”

The only thing Celestia could think of to say to that was “I'm glad to hear your friends are taking an interest, Discord.” Come on, 'Tia. Still the voice of authority.

“Oh, believe me, she took an interest.” The malice in Discord's voice was growing by the second. “She pointed out one or two things to me that I, in my eagerness to please you, oh noble one, might have overlooked.”

Oh dear. He's figured it out.

“Sometimes I envy that mare her mind. It must be convenient to have a brain that isn't organised on the basis of disorganisation. Albeit not much fun.” Discord snapped his lion-claws, and a brown and grey parrot materialised on his shoulder. “Not much fun at all, wauk!” it screeched.

I tried to get the better of him, and now he's figured it out. I'll never hear the end of this.

“And now, I want some answers.” “Answers!” agreed the parrot. Discord stared at her, arms folded defiantly. It gradually dawned on Celestia that he hadn't figured it out, at all.

Oh, well, perhaps this won't go as badly as all that. I can probably stop him from realising… And it was at that moment that it dawned on Celestia that Discord figuring out the truth, now he'd returned to his old ways, wasn't such a terrible thought after all. Actually, this could be rather fun.

“And now, I want some answers.” That'll show her, thought Discord, smugly. “Answers!” squawked the parrot. He was already regretting generating that parrot. It was getting on his nerves. Can't get rid of it, he thought, or I'll be admitting I made a mistake.

“Discord,” said Celestia, as calm as ever, “I hope you realise what a responsibility I entrusted you with when I made you a guard in Tartarus.” What was going on in her head? Probably tranquil oceans and placid meadows, thought Discord, miserably. What could he say to that? Oh, of course. He could ignore her. If that didn't rile her, nothing would.

He reached down, and picked up the tea-tray. I could just break everything on it. No. Too obvious. He flicked the tray upwards and sideways, sending cups, saucers, milk-jug and sugar-bowl flying across the room. They landed on the hard marble floor, and bounced. Not one broke. The teapot, meanwhile, stubbornly ignored such petty concerns as gravity and momentum, and remained rooted to the tray, which Discord set back upon the table.

Celestia watched the proceedings with a sort of grim amusement that seemed to indicate that that was exactly what she had been expecting to happen and that she could have done much better anyway. Discord scowled. He picked up the teapot and poured a little tea into the tray, so that the bottom of the tray was completely coated. Then, with one eagle-talon, he stirred it a little, sending ripples darting across the surface. He glanced up at Celestia. Still not a flicker. He scowled again, then focused on the tray. “Just a moment.” “Moment,” clarified the parrot. Discord turned to it and glared. “One more peep out of you, Captain Beaky, and you're for it.” The parrot abruptly clamped its beak shut.

Gradually, the ripples began to gain form, to take shape. Within a few seconds, a full colour image had appeared in the tea. The picture showed a sky-blue earth pony stallion with a navy blue mane and round-framed glasses. He was tall, muscular – handsome, even. Even via the medium of oracular tea, he exuded an air of goodness. Celestia just raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?” she said, silently.

“That's Genticleer Fourhooves,” said Discord – not that it needed saying. “He's the pony you instructed me to guard.” “Instructed him to-” that was as far as the parrot got before it exploded in a shower of feathers. One of the feathers went up Discord's nose. None of them seemed to hit Celestia.

“I'm well aware of that,” she responded, as though there had never been a parrot in the first place.

“You assured me that he was the most dangerous criminal Equestria had ever known – which I tried not to take personally.”

“And so he is.”

Discord looked sceptical. “He doesn't look like much of a criminal mastermind to me.”

“Why, Discord, I never took you for a student of equine nature,” smiled Celestia. The smile made Discord's spleen turn somersaults.

“I'm not a student of anything,” Discord asserted, tossing the beret he was suddenly wearing out of an open window. “When I showed this picture to Fluttershy, the first thing she said was that he didn't look anything like a criminal. Fluttershy is an excellent judge of character. Have you forgotten that I'm her best friend?” Discord gestured towards a badge on his torso that read “Flutters' #1 Friend!”

“I'm sure that those last two sentences were linked in some way,” Celestia smiled, “but I'm afraid I'm not quite sure what it was.”

“You're such a scream, 'Tia,” said Discord, sounding dryer than a midsummer afternoon, “you should be in the music halls.”

“I'm afraid, Discord,” sighed the princess, “that most criminals tend not to look like criminals. If they did their job would be very difficult.”

“She pointed out his cutie mark, too. It's a pair of scales. Scales of justice.”

“Those represent the scales he used to weigh the forged gold.”

“He's a forger?”

“Forger, thief, arsonist, foalnapper, squatter, graffiti vandal and street mime.”

Discord's yellow eyes popped out of their sockets and fell into the tray, splashing faintly in the tea. He scooped them up and popped them back in, then used them to stare at the picture of Genticleer. “Him?” he asked, incredulously.

Celestia nodded gravely. “Him.”

“Well…” began Discord uncertainly, “he does sound pretty evil.”

“Exactly. That's why it's so important that you keep a close eye on him.”

“There is just one other thing. Watch.” Discord plucked a fang from his maw, flicked it into the air, and let it fall into the tea. It fizzed momentarily, then dissolved, filling the brown liquid with a milky-white smoke. When it cleared, the tea showed an image of a pleasant-looking grassy hillside, covered in daisies, buttercups and flowering purple and white clover. “It's about his punishment.”

“Ah, yes. I got the idea from a book I read as a foal. He has to push an extremely large boulder up that hill every day. He will be released from Tartarus on the day that he manages to get to the top. The catch is that I have ensured the boulder is too heavy for him ever to reach the top. A most agreeable arrangement, wouldn't you say?”

“No,” fumed Discord.

“But surely this is the perfect punishment, engendering despair and hopelessness?” Celestia asked this question almost too innocently to be true. Almost.

“No. Watch.”

As they watched the tray, a large boulder – about twice the size of a pony, covered in moss (the boulder, not the pony) – edged its way into view. There was an audible grunting and groaning coming from the tray, now, as though somepony were straining under a heavy weight. Gradually, the figure of Genticleer himself appeared, valiantly struggling against the boulder's strong disinclination to go up the hill. He began to get closer and closer to the top – ever so close, he was so nearly there – and then: calamity! The boulder slipped from his grasp, rolling down the side of the hill, right back to the bottom.

“It seems to work,” Celestia pointed out.

“Just wait.” The image changed. Now it showed the interior of a rather pleasant-looking, comfortably-appointed log cabin. Out of the window could be seen the same hill. The door opened, and in walked Genticleer. He picked up a piece of chalk and wandered over to a large blackboard, which took up most of the west wall.

At the top of the board was a rough drawing of the cross section of the hill. Up the slope of the hill were numbers: 1 to 57, in ordinal sequence, as if dividing the hill into sections. The remainder of the board was partitioned into 57 numbered boxes, in which were written such suggestions as “Start using forelegs,” and “Bring fetlocks into play.” Genticleer stroked the thin beard that was beginning to emerge on his chin, then rubbed off the words “Relax abdomen muscles,” in box 24, and rewrote them in box 25. Then, at the very bottom, in a small area marked “For Consideration,” he wrote “Try to conserve more energy for final push. Consider making ascent two degrees further East.”

This done, he settled himself at an artist's easel, and picked up a palate, turning his attention to a watercolour of some moorland. He was smiling.

“I didn't know he painted,” mused Celestia.

“He didn't,” grumbled Discord. “It's just another of the things he's got ample time for, now. He's also learning to play the lute.”

“I'm afraid I don't see your point.”

Discord could contain himself no longer. “What kind of punishment is this?” he roared. “He's got to push that boulder up the hill once a day, and then he doesn't have to do anything else! He paints! He plays music! He talks to the other prisoners! On Tuesdays, Tirek pops over for a game of chess! I can't stop him! He's got a permit! Who authorised that? I didn't! How is that even a prison cell? He's got beanbags in that cabin! He's the most content pony I've ever seen in my life!” Then Discord's head fell off. It sat on the table, grumbling, while the body paced up and down, kicking the furniture.

“Ah. I see what you mean. He has a clearly defined goal in life, and, as far as he knows, every chance of success in the near future. He also has a large amount of free time, and company whenever he needs it.”

“Exactly,” said the head, glaring bitterly at the 'prisoner', who was putting the finishing touches to a clump of heather.

“Essentially, he has all the ingredients needed to be perfectly content.”

“Yes.” The body strutted over, and indignantly rammed the head back onto its neck. “And don't think I don't know you did this deliberately,” he growled. “I've known you long enough to recognise your hoof in this. He's not evil at all, is he? You're doing all this to reward him for something, aren't you?”

“Why, Discord. How could you even suspect such a thing? I just haven't had time to think this through.”

“So…” A tinge of hope began to creep back into Discord's voice. “You'll rectify the situation?”

“In the fullness of time.”

“What?” The hope was instantly replaced by cynicism.

“I'll certainly be launching a feasibility study into the possibility of holding an enquiry to decide whether there are better methods of punishment that could be employed, and, if so, how they could best be utilised.”

“Oh. I get it. You'll do nothing.”

“I beg your pardon? Not at all, Discord.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“I mean that I'll launch a feasibility study into the possibility of holding an enquiry to decide whether…”

“I can't believe it! Every time I come to you with a complaint, you insist on launching about fifty studies and independent commissions! Even last week when I said I wanted marmalade for breakfast.”

“Order can be every bit as powerful a weapon as chaos, Discord.”

Discord was tearing his mane out in large fistfuls. Fortunately, it was growing back as fast as he could pull it out. “But every time I come to you to find out the results of one study, you launch another to analyse them.”

“That's right.”

“When does this end?”

“Whenever you like.” Celestia smiled, as a fox might smile at a party of rabbits it had asked over for tea. Reassuring in a way that did not reassure.

“I think I get the idea.”

“I'm delighted to hear it,” said Celestia, sweetly.

Right, decided Discord, time to adopt some slightly more sentimental tactics. “Princess,” he began, his voice dripping with enough syrup to keep a bakery supplied for the best part of a decade, “you surely don't intend to let our long and – ahem – eventful friendship devolve into petty political peccadilloes?”

“That's what you said a thousand years ago.”

“One-thousand-two-hundred-and-twenty-seven, to be a little more accurate.” Some of Discord's smugness left him when he saw the expression on the princess' face. It was not the expression of a pony who enjoys being corrected. “Oh, princess. Don't let's start squabbling. It hasn't all been bad, has it?”

“No,” conceded Celestia, “but that may be because you spend a sizeable portion of the time in suspended animation as a garden ornament.”

“Even when I wasn't, we had fun. Remember Trottingham, and the visiting dignitaries?”

A strange, soft, faraway look crossed Celestia's face. “Oh, I remember Trottingham. That was one of the happiest weeks of my life.” Discord relaxed a little, satisfied that he had struck a chord. “However, I have absolutely no recollection of you being there.”

“Pshaw! That is entirely beside the point.”

“I'm sorry, Discord. I can promise you a judgement at some point in the future.”

“The near future?”

“The future.”

Deflated, Discord stood up and snapped his paw. With a pop, the wardrobe turned into a pile of ducklings, which filed out through the door in an orderly procession. He turned to leave, but as he did so, something struck him.

“Hypothetically,” he began, more calmly this time, “since this system is obviously benefiting the 'master criminal',” – he spat the words out like curses – “you could probably use it as a reward system for particularly virtuous ponies in the future.”

“Possibly.”

“If so, do you think you could give me a random example of the sort of pony who might qualify?”

Celestia half smiled at him. He'd obviously appealed to the sense of mischief she'd been successfully hiding from her subjects for the last 700 years. “Well, to pick an example completely at random, I suppose somepony who'd shown great dedication to helping other ponies, who'd given most of his bits towards the foundation of an orphanage, and who'd tirelessly campaigned to ensure that large areas of Equestria were given Outstanding Natural Beauty protection status in order to preserve the habitats of rare and endangered species might qualify, but that's purely hypothetical. And besides,” she continued, a little more sternly, “and I can't stress this strongly enough – that is exactly the kind of pony that Genticleer Fourhooves isn't.”

“Of course not.” I hate this mare. “Goodness knows I have nothing but respect for you, your majesty.” No you don't, you hate her. “But I really don't see why you can't just reward this pony normally. And why did you have to drag me into this? Do you know what it's like, watching him, day in, day out, having the time of his life? And here I am, stagnating! I'll be middle-aged, soon!”

“Dear, dear.” Celestia didn't seem terribly moved, so Discord whipped out a violin and a dinner jacket and began to play 'Hearts and Flowers'.

“It gets worse,” he went on, summoning up his Extra-Melancholy Voice. “With all the exercise he's doing he gets stronger every day. That means that every night I have to go out and make that hill a bit taller so he can't get up it! And I can't help but notice that somepony seems to have placed chaos-blocking spells all around Tartarus, which means I have to do it BY CLAW!”

“Goodness! What an unintended consequence of the new security measures.”

Enraged, Discord hurled the violin at a nearby vase, which ducked. “I can't go on! But somehow I have to. Alright, maybe I have tried to bunk off work once or twice. But I've never managed it. In fact, I'm beginning to suspect that that contract which you assured me was a 'mere formality' was magically binding.”

“Well, it seems to me that you find yourself obliged to ensure that a pony who is perfectly content stays perfectly content, while you yourself are condemned to carry out a tedious repetitive task which has no visible end or tangible reward, and is thus devoid of any hope at all.”

“I certainly am,” seethed the Dark Lord of Chaos, chaotically.

“All the ingredients, in fact, for the perfect punishment.”

“Precise… what did you say?”

“Well, maybe next time you'll think twice before betraying all your friends.”

“This is all about me, isn't it? You did all this to get revenge on little ol' Discord! You took advantage of my sweet nature and naïve simplicity.”

“One thing you've got to learn is that from now on, all your actions will have consequences.”

“I can't believe this! Don't be surprised next time I turn on you.”

“You won't.” Celestia said it so matter-of-factly that Discord found himself agreeing – then kicked himself for doing so.

“What makes you so sure? You can't stop me, princess. Nopony can. There's nothing that can prevent me from going on a chaos rampage until I get my own way.” To emphasise his point, Discord made the teapot burst briefly into bright-blue flame.

“Nopony but yourself.”

“Well, obvi- I beg your pardon?”

“I don't think Fluttershy would be very pleased, Discord.”

“Oh, she wouldn't be cross with me.”

“Perhaps not. But she would be extremely disappointed.”

“Ah… well… when you put it like that…” Discord's head was suddenly filled with an image of Fluttershy, wide eyed and solemn, sadly telling him what a let-down he was. “No… not that.” He tried to assume a slightly more humble, grovelling attitude. It didn't come easily.

“Okay, princess. You win. I've learned my lesson. Now can I resign in peace?”

“Not quite yet. Another of the consequences you'll have to learn to accept is that of signing contracts without reading them. I'm afraid you'll have to wait till your current term of employment expires.”

“And may I ask when that will be?”

To Discord's abject horror Celestia did her full-on, beaming, mischievous grin. “In about 30 years.”

Discord solemnly contemplated the next 30 years of his life. He looked down at the floor. “Oh, poo.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Celestia was smiling on the outside – and not just a gentle, loving smile, such as was her princessly duty to perform, but a proper smile. The one she never let her subjects see. She'd been doing it on the inside for about five minutes, and it had just occurred to her that it really didn't matter whether Discord saw it or not. I'm enjoying myself far too much, she told herself sternly. But what harm can it do?

Discord was staring down at his hooves, looking like he'd just been kicked. “Oh, poo.” He was saying.

“Well,” said Celestia casually, “this has been enormous fun. We should do it more often.”

To her delight, Discord just stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Don't you agree?” she asked.

Discord's face was hovering somewhere between terror and rage. “Yes, princess,” he said. And, with a final snap of his claws, he vanished.

Author's Note

This came out of a John Finnemore sketch, based on classical legends. The well-read amongst you will probably be able to identify which one. I decided to take the opportunity to explore Discord and Celestia's unique relationship, and I'm glad I did. Towards the end I realised it was drifting more and more towards Yes Minister, so I decided to end on a similar note.