The barn door creaked as it swung outward. Stale air wheezed through the crack in the door, kicking grit into the stagnant summer heat. Haphazardly dragged into the middle of the barn was a ceder table that looked like it started showing its age three generations ago, flanked by two chairs that looked only half a century younger.
“And there we are!” Rarity’s saddlebags swung as she turned back to Discord. “A nice open space, a bit of light and a bit of a draft—”
“Through the gaps in the wall.” Discord arched a contemptuous eyebrow. “I see that the Apple family still hasn’t bothered to fix the woodwork after the last storm. And to think that I’ve been accused of lethargy.”
“Well...Perhaps it’s a deliberately maintained state of disrepair! Think of it as rustic, dear. Fashionably down-to-earth.” Rarity nodded towards the table. “See? Rustically Bohemian.”
“Filthy.”
Rarity chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that—”
“Would you say it to the pig mud on your hooves?”
“The what?” Rarity gasped as she stared down at her hooves, craning her neck and shifting left and right as she desperately checked each leg for errant flecks of filth. “I don’t see anything!” she whined.
“Oh, I imagine you wouldn’t. Now, if said pig mud had existed in the first place, then you might have noticed.”
Rarity glared at Discord, who responded with a cheerless smirk.
“Anyway.” Rarity cleared her throat. “As you know, the girls and I thought that a spot of socializing might do us all a bit of good. After all, we haven’t been able to talk to you very much recently, and the rest of your friends in Ponyville—”
Discord rolled his eyes. “All two of them.”
“Yes. Well, anyway.” Rarity coughed. “They’ve talked to you even less. We’ve all missed seeing you around, after all.”
Discord snorted.
“Which is why I’ve arranged for you to help one of our mutual friends with an ornamentation project.” Rarity gritted her teeth as she drew even with the table. “After all, the Summer Sun Celebration could always use a few extra flourishes, and I had thought that some delicate little sculptures might help capture the spirit of the Ponyville season.”
“Delicate little sculptures?” Discord checked his nails. Not a speck of dirt, dust, earth or any other contaminant. A shame, really: taking the time to coax the gunk from beneath his nails would have proved immeasurably useful for demonstrating his utter lack of enthusiasm for an activity one half-step away from being a paragon of triviality.
“Yes, you and—”
“So in other words, you want me to do rudimentary school filly arts and crafts. I’m flattered by your estimation of my emotional maturity.” Part of Discord wanted to conjure up an object to emphasize his point - a toy rattle, perhaps, or a pacifier or frilly bonnet. It would have been funny to anypony with a sense of humor. Which, of course, meant virtually none of them. So what was the point of playing comedian to an unappreciative audience?
Moreover, what was the point of playing comedian to an audience he couldn’t care less about?
The sort of crowd worth performing for was gone.
“Oh, don’t say that. You know perfectly well what I meant.” Rarity huffed, ears flicking in annoyance.
Discord sloughed into a chair, wincing as he heard the chair’s legs creak from the strain. “I absolutely know what you mean. Most likely, you mean for me to fritter away an entire afternoon making these, then you mean to commandeer Pinkie Pie’s party cannon, launch them into the stratosphere and force Cloudsdale to deal with the mess. The entire purpose of this activity is simple diversion, isn’t it?”
“Do be careful with the chairs, won’t you?”
“I’ll show as much care to them as anypony else. Ugh.” Discord wiggled one of the legs on his chair. “At least deign to recognize that this arrangement is as far from chic as possible?”
Rarity set one hoof on the table, paused and wiped a swath of dust off of the table with her foreleg. “It could be better, admittedly, but I don’t understand why you feel compelled to make me state my dislike for this arrangement.”
“Some modicum of sympathy for my plight would be nice.” Discord leaned back, leveling Rarity with an even stare. “If you’re insistent on engaging in camaraderie, mutual understanding of one’s conversational partner is never remiss.”
Rarity rolled her eyes as she scraped the dust off of her foreleg with the armrest on the chair next to her. “And what do you want me to sympathize with you about?”
“Busybody meddling.” Discord pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You and your friends have assumed I’ve wedged myself into a deeper funk than a blues musician in a bohemian slum, and you’ve taken it upon yourselves to extricate me from a nonexistent emotional state. Don’t think I haven’t paid attention to your clandestine whispermongering, Rarity.”
Rarity adjusted her saddlebags. “Don’t you mean our friends, Discord?”
“I don’t know. Do friends normally keep secrets from each other?” Discord smirked, baring a pointed, protruding tooth at her. “I had assumed that they’d be more generous with their forthrightness.”
Rarity’s face flushed. “I think you’re being rather unfair, Discord.”
“Oh, really?” Discord sniffed. “So what exactly did you bring in your saddlebags?”
“A surprise!” Rarity replied with a forced giggle and even more forced smile. “I know you love surprises!”
“Actually, I hate them.” Discord reached for the saddlebags, but Rarity batted his arm away with an exasperated huff.
“It’s paper! Honestly, Discord, there’s no reason to grouse!”
“I’m not grousing. I’m merely maintaining realistic expectations about the level of satisfaction I’m going to derive from...paper?”
“Yes! See, I had thought about arranging a lovely series of paper butterflies to accentuate the dining tables. Nothing overt, nothing entirely distracting, but artful. Tasteful. Something to fill in the blank spaces.” A smile trickled onto Rarity’s lips as she swooped one hoof at an imaginary diorama. “Delicate, hoofmade crafts would thoroughly complement the aesthetics of the celebration, and I’m positive that several of our guests would find them absolutely charming. Wouldn’t you?”
“No.”
Rarity rolled her eyes. “Well, assume that you were someone else, dear. Somepony who wasn’t so thoroughly predisposed towards negativity.”
“Somepony who would be absolutely thrilled to devote his hours to mindless and uncompensated labor? Oh my stars and blooming begonias, darlin’!” Discord drawled, flapping his hands as his voice slipped into a falsetto. “That sounds like the most wondifferously splendid sort of time that a fair gentlecolt could ever hope to have! I sure do love drudgery and toil, dont’cha know! Ugh. Gag me with a spork and toss me off the bridge of a dragon’s nose, it’s not happening.”
Rarity pursed her lips. Discord was pleased to note that the expression ‘ready to spit nails’ almost literally applied to her. Eighty percent of the way there, probably; no more than five points more or less.
“As you wish.” Rarity sniffed. “I suppose I’ll have to let Big Macintosh know that he’ll have extra work to do.”
“Big Macintosh is coming?” Discord broke out into a genuine smile, before freezing and sliding back into a more cynical expression. “I see. So you’ve wrangled him into joining your little enterprise on the assumption that I’d simply tag along, did you?”
“It was his choice, actually! He was looking for something to do and volunteered to help. I offered him tasks I assumed he would be more interested in, but he seemed simply enamored with the idea of assisting with these decorations. Of course, I assume he knows how much work to expect, so I doubt it will be any trouble at all to—”
“—Invite me along. You should have said so in the first place! I suppose you had intended to tie me into a generic ‘I’ll-work-for-you-whenever-you-want clause,’ which is not going to happen, for the record.” Discord waggled his finger at Rarity. “But it would be remiss of me to not help a good friend with his labor. So! When will he arrive at our excessively humble abode? Now?”
“Eeeyup.”
Rarity turned towards Big Macintosh, beaming as he trotted over to them. “Good afternoon, Big Macintosh. I take it your chores are done for the day?”
Big Mac nodded. “Eeeyup.”
“Well, then! Could you be a dear and fetch the paper out of my bags for me?”
“Eeeyup.” Big Mac nodded again, trotted over towards Rarity and poked his head inside one of her saddlebags.
Discord huffed. “Oh, I see. So he’s allowed to rummage about in your personal belongings like some sort of petty hooligan?”
“He is being a gentlecolt and assisting me. That’s rather different from trying to make a mockery of our idea.” Rarity smiled as Big Mac pulled a thick ream of paper out of her saddlebag. “Is there anything else I can provide you with, Big Macintosh?”
Big Mac shook his head, papers clenched firmly between his teeth.
Rarity sniffed as she turned back towards Discord. “Well, then. Is there anything else I can get you, Discord?”
“A smidge more clarity about exactly why you need me the next time you drag me out to the barn.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have come if I had been forthright, would you?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” Rarity smirked, turning away from the barn and trotting back towards Ponyville. “I’ll come back just before dinnertime, than, shall I? Have a lovely time, you two!”
Discord arched a contemptuous eyebrow as Rarity trotted away from the barn. Seemingly nonplussed, Big Mac set the ream of paper down on the table and took a seat on the other side, smiling.
“Well, then.” Discord sniffed. “I assume you know what you’re doing?”
Big Mac nodded and picked up a piece of paper in his hooves.
Discord quirked an eyebrow. “Wait, you do?”
“Eeeyup.”
“With hooves?”
“Eeeyup.” Big Mac folded and folded again, tongue poking out of his mouth as he worked.
“Well,” Discord coughed. “Even so. The vast catalogue of knowledge I possess over such trifling matters all but ensures that I’m best suited for the task. Perhaps I could take over for us?”
“Nope.”
Discord paused. “I don’t think you understand. I could snap my fingers and finish the lot of these in three seconds, and you wouldn’t have to bother yourself with this menial labor.”
“Nope.”
“Don’t you want to—hold the proverbial phone.” Discord sputtered. “Are you trying to tell me that you actually want to do this?”
“Eeeyup.”
Discord blinked. “That...may actually have been the most objectively wrong statement that’s ever come out of your mouth.”
Big Mac said nothing. His hooves slid with surprising alacrity over the paper, tracing folds after folds, flipping and turning the paper with ease as it gradually began to take shape.
And there it was, surprisingly. A textbook example of a paper butterfly; all the folds in the right places, it caught the light from a gap in the barn walls and all but glowed with the afternoon sun. Humming slightly, Big Mac set the butterfly down, grabbed another sheet of paper and began folding again.
Discord picked up the butterfly, looking it over. Depressingly enough, he couldn’t see any obvious flaws in it. It wasn’t any worse than Rarity could have done, and most likely would have been leagues better than Rainbow Dash could ever do.
And yet…
“No.” Discord shook his head. “This is wrong.”
Big Mac stopped, mid-fold, and turned to stare at Discord.
“Not technically speaking, of course.” Discord glanced at the butterfly again, utter disinterest plastered on his face. Abruptly, he flung it over his shoulder, where it sailed off into a dark corner of the barn. “Technically speaking, it’s a shining example of a youthful celebratory farce, but—did you learn how to do this from a book?”
Big Mac paused. “Uh...Eeyup?”
“Thought so. It’s perfect in an academic sense, but where’s the color? Where’s the life? Here.” Discord grabbed a piece of paper and deftly tore it into three equal slices. The material was there, ready and waiting for the same folds the book Big Mac used had doubtlessly asked for.
It wouldn’t get those folds.
Instead, Discord changed the lengths, the widths, the folds themselves. This paper butterfly, smaller than Big Mac’s had been, took on a character of its own as he folded; rounded but sturdy, size and curves belying a stoutness that promised not to crumple in the slightest breeze. Without bothering to check if Big Mac was watching, he flitted to the next slice.
This time, the folds were bold and angular. The wings were tiny, disproportionately so, and Discord held the butterfly up and tossed it lightly into the air. He grinned as, instead of tumbling, it soared; as Discord looked up to watch it dance in the air, his eyes briefly caught Big Mac’s gaze. Together, they watched as it caught the air beneath its tiny wings, dancing briefly at eye level before drifting slowly down towards the floor.
“Now, my laconic companion,” Discord said as he picked up the second butterfly and placed it next to the first one, “can you guess what my third butterfly might look like?”
Big Mac leaned closer to the two paper butterflies, looking them over for a second before breaking into a smile. “Delicate” he replied. “Pretty. Like a little ornament.”
“Precisely.” Discord grinned, stretching his arms. “So try again. Take a piece of paper and make a butterfly to complement the other three while I work on this last one.” Discord turned back to the third slice and began folding; a second later, the sound of folding paper echoed louder as Big Mac set to his task.
Discord finished, setting the third butterfly with the other two as he looked up at Big Mac. There the fourth butterfly was; sturdier than his first attempt had been, and plainer. All attempts at intricacy had vanished, but the butterfly seemed all the healthier for it, and its wings practically overflowed with vitality.
“An excellent personification of your sister,” Discord said as Big Mac finished the butterfly and set it down.
Big Mac nodded, and pointed at the first butterfly. “Applebloom?”
“Of course.”
Big Mac nodded his head at Discord’s other two butterflies as he grabbed another piece of paper. “Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle?”
Discord smirked. “Eeeyup.”
“Mind if I do Rarity?”
Discord reached for the stack of papers. “I didn’t know you were particularly fond of her.”
“I don’t figure you’d do a version of her that weren’t rude in some way or another.”
“Fair enough.” Discord shrugged. “I’ll assume that you don’t wish to tackle a butterfly with nigh-impossible verticies?”
“Pinkie Pie?”
“Pinkie Pie,” Discord replied as he resumed folding.
And the barn exploded in motion. Hooves slid and digits pressed, lines folded in on themselves and formed sharp corners, heads twisted and turned to capture angles just so. And all the while, they called back and forth to each other, directions and suggestions mixing with names:
“Twilight Sparkle!” Big Macintosh said.
“Precisely. Rainbow Dash?”
“Eeeyup.”
“Seems flightworthy enough. Angulature could afford to be a bit sharper. Place her next to Pinkie Pie and Rarity. Right, that brings us to five.”
“I’ll do—”
“Spike. I trust you to do Our Little Dragon justice, yes?”
“Eeeyup.”
“That’s the spirit! Now, if I’m going to want to do Starlight Glimmer, I should probably start with something at least vaguely reminiscent of Twilight Sparkle…”
They pressed on. Spike. Starlight Glimmer. Thorax. Princess Cadance. Flurry Heart, complete with extraordinarily large wings. Princess Cadance again, with holes punctured haphazardly throughout it.
“Ah’m guessing that’s Queen Chrysalis?”
“Bra-vo. Zero points of extra credit for guessing that one, however.”
Princess Celestia. Princess Luna. And then the words between them faltered and died, as they lost themselves in sheer creation; each seeing with perfect clarity who was making what, what to make next, how to build it in an inimical but instantly recognizable style.
The Cutie Mark Crusaders were accompanied by Miss Cheerilee, and their classmates—hordes and hordes of them—surrounded them quickly after. Derpy Hooves showed up to accompany her daughter; Filthy Rich showed up to look over Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Mayor Mare oversaw them all, before Discord and Big Mac grabbed several sheets of paper apiece and made royal guardsponies to accompany them. Shining Armor kept watch over the crowd, accompanied by the Wonderbolts—and Rainbow Dash, as Discord smirked and flicked the sharply-angled and aerodynamic butterfly in their direction.
Daring Do. The residents of Griffonstone. Hordes and hordes of tiny, strange-looking paper butterflies for the breezies. Commander Hurricane. Princess Platinum. Chancellor Puddinghead. As soon as the table was full, Discord and Big Mac brushed large swaths of butterflies off of the table and quickly filled the blank spaces with yet more paper figures, until the barn floor around them was littered with handicrafts.
Discord and Big Mac abruptly looked at what had formerly been a huge ream of paper. Three sheets were left.
Mischievously, each dove for a piece of paper and began folding frantically. Discord folded a butterfly that was huge, but ridiculously plain and unappealing. Big Mac’s butterfly looked almost like a crumpled mess, with mismatched proportions and awkward-looking antennae.
“I dare say, I think I got the better end of that deal.” Discord smirked as he set his butterfly— the Big Macintosh butterfly— down.
“Nope,” Big Mac replied, shaking his head as he set his butterfly—the Discord butterfly—down.
One piece of paper left.
“I believe that’s yours, dear chap.” Discord leaned back, staring up at the high, vaulted ceiling of the barn.
“Nope. Yours,” Big Mac replied.
“Well. Is there anything left to do?” Discord tilted his head. “We weren’t going to make one of Tirek, were we?”
“Nope.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to attempt a hydra butterfly. Even by my standards, that seems a bit silly.”
Big Mac shook his head. “Somethin’ closer to home, Discord.”
“One of your relatives?”
“Closer.”
“Twilight and her friends? Her close friends, I mean?” Discord bit his lip. “I could have sworn we did them all.”
“Nope.”
“Don’t make me lean over and count them. You did Applejack, then I did Pinkie Pie, then you finished Rarity, I did Twilight Sparkle, You did Rainbow Dash…”
Discord paused.
“Then we worked on Spike and Starlight Glimmer…”
“Discord.”
“We just did us, so—”
“Discord.”
“Don’t be obstinate, okay? I’m rather not in the mood for—”
“Discord.”
Discord fell silent. All too aware of Big Mac’s pointed stare, he watched the ceiling instead, looking for bugs. Errant apple leaves. Motes of dust. Anything.
Nothing.
Big Mac continued to stare at him.
“This was the entire point of this particular endeavor, wasn’t it.”
“Nope.”
“You’re still staring at me, aren’t you.”
“Eeeyup.”
“You’re going to continue to stare at me until I do what you want, aren’t you.”
“Eeeyup.”
Months ago, Discord might have challenged him on that. Months ago, he might have refused to budge to such an objectively insolent and bossy demand. Months ago, he might have turned the upstart stallion into a mouse for such impudent behavior.
But those months were gone, like the years before them.
Discord sat there. He couldn’t remember when the energy to stand up for himself had drained out of him, but it was gone.
And Big Mac continued to stare at him.
Discord avoided his gaze as he sat back up again, reaching for the last piece of paper. He stared at it, at the empty space, and his mind went blank.
Discord gulped, and set the paper down again.
Seconds ticked past, without anything to mark the passage of time at all.
Discord picked up the paper, hands shaking.
Why were they shaking?
Stupid hands. Stupid, stupid hands. They couldn’t shake now. He needed them to stop, he couldn’t deal with—
Discord gasped as Big Mac leaned over and gently took Discord’s hands into his hooves.
The shaking diminished, slowly, until finally his hands were still.
“This is stupid,” Discord mumbled.
Big Mac said nothing.
“I’m not going to cry over something like this. That’s—that’s trite, and inane, and—and stupid.”
“I know.”
The barn fell silent. Finally, Discord drew a shuddering breath.
“Can you help me move my hands?”
“Eeeyup.”
“You know how to do it, right?”
Big Mac gently pressed his left hand, then his right. Lines began to form, then angles, then tangible shapes. This butterfly was more delicate, almost fragile, as if capable of tearing in a stiff breeze. It seemed smaller, too, though it was made of nothing less than its friends; an outsider could have misconstrued it as flimsy or unwieldy.
But it had a strong core. It could hold itself together.
And it was beautiful.
Only when Big Mac’s hooves had stopped moving Discord’s hands did the Draconequus realize that they were done.
Silence fell.
Eventually, Discord coughed. “That’s it, then.”
“Eeeyup.” Big Macintosh pulled his hooves away and stood up, sighing as he stretched his back.
“So what happens now? With Rarity, I mean?”
“She’ll be back t’pick these up pretty soon, I figure. We should prolly jes’ go.”
“Ah. Okay, then.” Discord stood up. “I suppose I should...well. Go somewhere. Wouldn’t want to be a bother, of course.”
Big Mac tilted his head. “If you want t’come have dinner with us in a bit, I don’t think any of us would object. Ain’t nothing wrong with havin’ company from time to time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Eeeyup.” Big Mac picked his way through the paper butterflies around them—strewn as they were, all over the floor—and opened the barn door, filling the barn with sunlight. Carefully, Discord stepped his way through the field of paper until he drew level with Big Mac, stopping as he saw the stallion smiling sadly up at him.
“You’re still holdin’ on t’her.”
“Come again?” Discord looked down at his hands. The final butterfly rested there, wings spread in the stagnant afternoon heat, limp and lifeless in his palm.
Big Mac nodded his head back at the barn. “Go on.”
Discord stood there, unmoving, staring back from the sun and towards the sea of butterflies and the darkness behind them.
Big Mac stood next to him. Neither moved. Neither spoke.
Somewhere nearby, a cicada buzzed.
Then, gingerly, Discord picked his way through the dark field and placed the butterfly back where it belonged, right in the center of the paper flock. Without another word, he walked out of the barn again, and did not look back as Big Mac shut the door behind him.
