Grand Theft Discord

by TheBobulator

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Adventure
Length: 1669

Sometimes, revenge is a dish best served with chocolate rain and cotton candy.

Sometimes, revenge is a dish best served with chocolate rain and cotton candy. But before anypony can do that, one must procure the source of this insanity. The job: steal Discord.

If anypony out there can find a better picture, by all means message me.l

(Just a little writing thing inbetween FoE: Memories. Don't expect updates often.)

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-27 11:04:01 UTC

Chapter 1: The Proposition

Grand Theft Discord

Chapter 1: The Proposition

Diamond Tiara was having a terrible day. Her father, Filthy Rich, had held the greatest, bestest, most tastelessly extravagant birthday party ever, just for her. Everything was perfect, until those stupid blank flanks showed up. How dare they enjoy themselves? Today was supposed to be her day! She’d show them, she thought as she stormed down the street toward a small shop locally known as Quills and Sofas.

The door of Quills and Sofas opened with achime. Davenport, the store’s owner, excitedly appeared, immediately trying to hawk his wares. “Hey there kiddo! Welcome to Quills and Sofas. Looking for a quill, perhaps?” He was a tan colored earth stallion, his chestnut brown mane slicked back with a bit too much gel. His blue vest had his name on a little gold tag.

“Shut up, stupidface.” Diamond Tiara impatiently shot back. “Daddy says you can do stuff for anypony if they can pay for it, right?”

Davenport hesitated. “Nope. I only sell quills and sofas. Looking for a sofa?” He hopefully added. “There’s a very nice foal-sized plush recliner I received yesterday that you might like. Now, if you follow me...”

She stomped the ground impatiently. “No! Daddy said I could have anything I want for my birthday, and I want to get back at those stupid blank flanks that ruined my party!”

Her irritating tone reminded Davenport of one of his repeat customers. Always wanted everything, and wouldn’t shut the buck up until he got it. “Wait...are you Filthy’s filly?” He dreaded the response.

Diamond Tiara glared. “You will address him as Mr. Rich.” Davenport nervously pulled at his collar. “Now, are you going to listen or not?”

“Haven’t much of a choice in the matter, now do I?” Davenport muttered under his breath. One day, he swore, he’d give that stallion a piece of his mind. And maybe a sofa.

“What was that?” Diamond Tiara asked.

Davenport brightened up like nothing happened. “Nothing! Shall we go somewhere private to discuss our, er, business?” He motioned to an orange, magenta, and turquoise striped sofa, so ugly it was a crime against nature. Diamond Tiara followed him, giving him dirty looks behind his back. “Take a seat.”

“This chair sucks! It’s hard, ugly, and lumpy, like your face.” Diamond Tiara pouted. Davenport rolled his eyes. There was a reason he made sure nopony sat in, or considered buying this sofa. “So why are we si-” She stopped when the chair spun around, revealing a hidden room. “Oh. That’s it? The one in my room goes to a torture chamber, not Namby Pamby’s teatime playhouse furniture store.”

“My mother decorated this room!” Davenport snorted. “Sorry. Now, where were we?” The room was dimly lit (probably due to the frilly lampshades), but it was enough to show the maps on the wall, the gaudy plastic table in the center, and the chalkboard that appeared to be attached to the remaining, un-bedazzled section of floor.

“This place is a dump.” Diamond Tiara tiptoed over fallen stacks of paper and particularly pointy patches of gems on the floor. “So THIS is the Davencave?” She remarked sarcastically.

“Some of us can’t afford the really cool stuff. Or a butler.” Davenport strolled to the other side of the room, put on a monocle, and shuffled some papers back into a somewhat neat pile. “Get to it then. What do you need?” He turned back to Diamond Tiara.

“I want you to steal Discord’s statue.” Diamond Tiara causally ordered. “Any monetary compensation will be taken care of.”

The monocle dropped from his eye. Knowing Filthy Rich, the money wouldn’t be an issue here. Davenport thought to himself. “Are you aware of just what you’re asking me to do?”

“Of course I do.” Diamond Tiara jumped onto the table, carelessly scattering a few maps and notes. “You will, of course, keep me informed on every little thing you do to accomplish this task I am hiring you for.” Davenport indignantly collected the papers back up and piled them back onto the desk in yet another uneven stack.

“Well...” Davenport hesitated. This would be a moon-worthy job. But Filthy Rich paid well, so the risk was proportional. “I’m going to need to hire a much larger team. Will they be compensated as well, or will the pay be split?”

“I’ll assume you’re not talented enough to work alone, so you’ll have to split the pay among the grunts you hire.” Diamond Tiara answered, knocking more papers off the table. Davenport collected the documents off the floor and re-arranged them on top of the chalkboard where they couldn’t be scattered once more. “Anything else?”

Davenport sighed. “Fine. The pay will be good?”

“Get it done within two weeks, and I’ll pay your weight in gold. Get it done within one, and I’ll pay his weight..” Diamond Tiara motioned to the statue of a moose wearing a pink poncho smiling stupidly at the corner. probably intentionally, at this point Davenport thought to himself, knocked over the only surviving stack of files left on the table.

“Great.” Davenport motioned at the couch. “Ms. Tiara, I assume you can see yourself out.” He pulled off his blue vest, fixed his dress shirt underneath, then retrieved a coat. “I have to make a few house calls.”

“Ungrateful, impolite commoner.” Diamond Tiara muttered, jumping onto the couch. She was sent back into the space of Quills and Sofas with a whirr.

Davenport leaned against the table, regarding a small grayed notebook. He had his work cut out for him, and many of his contacts didn’t have the skill to do this job. But somepony he knew might. “Time to get the big pies.” The small book was deposited into an inner pocket of his coat. He stared at the empty wall where the exit couch would be. “I should have installed another one on this side.” He muttered to himself.

A crowbar, some grease, and ten bits for a train ticket later, Davenport was on his way to Canterlot on the one o’clock train. As much as he hated it, he would have to rely on somepony else’s contacts. Not that he didn’t trust them, but he just didn’t trust them. He had no work experience with them, and that would lead to complications later.

An hour later, he was walking the confusing cobblestone streets of Canterlot. A noisy donut parlor named Pony Joe’s on the corner finally attracted his attention. “Hey, Donut Joe! Looking for a sofa?” The shop was bright, clean, and occupied by a few of Canterlot’s citizens. The light amber colored unicorn stallion standing behind the counter looked up and waved at me. He excused himself from a familiar purple and green dragon.

“Hey Dave! Grab a seat and help yourself to a donut. I’ll be there in a second!” He ran his hoof through his brown mane and replaced his donut boy’s hat. His shirt and apron were smudged with bits of chocolate and powdereded sugar. Davenport sat down on one of the many counterside seats that were available.

“Still got that orange La-Z Stallion I sold you last summer?” Davenport asked, scanning the menu. “Get me one of those strawberry cereal covered sugar glazed heart attack thingies. You know how much I like those.”

“One Strawberry Sugarbomb Explosion, coming right up.” Joe laughed. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

Davenport looked around, and drew the dragon’s name out of his mind. “Hey Spike! How’s the quill I sold you?”

Spike shifted in his seat. “Hey, it’s the sofa guy. And you never sold me a quill.”

“Name’s Davenport. Quills and Sofas.”

“Hey Spike old buddy? Can I get a few minutes with my friend? Some personal stuff, I’m afraid. Have a donut on the house. Extra sprinkles.” Donut Joe levitated a chocolate glazed donut covered with an exorbitant amount of colorful sprinkles to him.

“Sure, whatever.” Spike hopped off the counter and rejoined Twilight in a corner booth, who was reading a book and studiously taking notes.

“Why’s she here?” Davenport asked, motioning at Spike and Twilight with his head and sighed. “This makes what happens next a bit more difficult.”

“Oh come on. It can’t be that bad.” Donut Joe pulled out a rag and started cleaning off the counter. “And besides, we’ve got the entire bar to ourselves.”

Davenport looked around one last time. “I’ve got a job. It’s a big one.” He whispered.

“So? Just get your regular movers.” Donut Joe casually answered. “Its not like I know anypony tha-” He was cut off by Davenport’s very serious glare. “Oh. That kind of job. Need mine?”

Davenport tore a big chunk out of his donut. “Yep. You’re the only contact that I’ll trust.”

Donut Joe looked around then levitated a small green notepad out from inside his cash register. “Careful with this. I’m not proud of having it, but...you know.” Davenport reached over and pocketed Donut Joe’s notebook.

“I know. Any idea where the Mage is? I’ve got her contact info, but somehow I don’t think she lives there anymore.” Davenport replied, continuing to eat his donut. “She moves around too bucking much.”

“Agreed.” Donut Joe “Send me a message when you’re ready. You know the drill.”

“Yeah.” Davenport shoved the rest of the donut in his mouth and brushed the crumbs off his hooves. “I’ve got to go. You wrote down the Alchemists, right?”

Donut Joe washed his rag.“Totally.” He scratched his head. “Third page, I think. Why?”

“We need everyone.” Davenport dropped a few bits on the table. “Thanks for the donut. Drop by my shop in Ponyville if you want a sofa! Or a quill.”

Author’s note:

This story will update super slow between chapters of FoE: Memories, so don’t expect super fast updates. However, I’ll try to get one chapter periodically. This’ll be about...ten, fifteen chapters. We’ll see how long it takes to get out of control.