Awake.

Meesley gently woke up. His bed was so soft today that he wished he could lay in it until the end of time. Actually, what would happen if he simply woke up at the end of time one...day? Would he just stay there forever, never to fall asleep again? Honestly, would that be a good or a bad outcome for him? Eh, no time to stay still and think purely about theoreticals. He decided to open his eyes.

His room greeted him; however, today everything seemed bigger. Taller ceiling, larger bed, more belongings. Oddly enough, it still looked like his room, only bigger! He was certainly in a castle of some sort, and his inference skills told him he was not a servant.

Meesley decided to look out the window, where he saw a sprawling city of marble and gold below the grand castle he was currently residing in. He knew this place, he had woken up here a few times before. It was Canterlot, the seat of the princesses of Equestria, and its capital city. Known for things such as: unicorns, nobles, fashion, really just the best of the best. All things he looooooved.

"Wow I'm...sassy today," he thought aloud.

He turned his gaze back into the room, trying to piece together some context clues of what he had to do today. After a few minutes of searching-his room is really uselessly massive today-his eyes fell upon an opened letter on a scribe's table pushed against the wall.

After a few seconds of trying to carefully open the letter with his mouth-no horn, of course-he finally gave up and tore the envelope in two. The paper inside was somewhat roughed up by this, but was still very readable:

Dearest Sir Meesley,
We at Canterlot would like to start off by thanking you
for your services in helping rebuild Vanhoover after the
recent flooding. Without your funding, the damages
would have persisted for quite a few more months and
would have likely never been completed as thoroughly.
As a small thank you, you are hereby invited to this year's
Grand Galloping Gala. Inside this envelope, you will find
your formal invitation which includes the event's date and
location. It is encouraged that you wear your best attire
and that you bring some sort of gift for the princess, as
a formality. Food and drink will be provided, so will
entertainment. We hope to see you there.
Regards,

The Nobility of Canterlot

The letter was so heavily perfumed, he had to go back to the window for a fresh breath of air. Meesley used this time to think over the contents of the letter, all of which he deftly and efficiently summarized as: "Wow...I am really important today!"

Though, the more he thought about it the more one specific realization started to annoy him. He was now FORCED to spend an entire day with the least functional, biggest egos in all of Equestria. Luckily he remembered quite a few names that would likely be here today, and the rest would just have to be luck.

He heard a knock at the door, and a voice was heard soon after, "Sir, I was sent to ask if you were awake. I have brought some tea as you requested when you arrived last night. I will leave it h-"

Meesley opened the door, cutting the servant off mid-sentence. He did not recognize her, but that doesn't necessarily mean much. He used his magic to levitate the cup to his mouth and took a long drink from it. Once he finished, he remembered that he should maybe address the pony in front of him.

"Good morning!" he said, "Thank you for the tea, may I ask what time it is?"

"Uh, certainly sir! I believe it is three quarters ten, so you still have plenty of time to get dressed. Would you like any help in preparing yourself for today's event?"

He gave her a look, "Do you think I am unable to dress myself? Will you prechew my food for me, too?"

"No, I didn't mean that, sir!" her eyes went wide, "It's just something we usually help with, to make sure every guest is tended to as much as possible. Please, I- I am sure I can get you an earlier escort to the event, to make up for my mistake!"

"What? No!" he exclaimed, before thinking over what he said, "I am sorry if I came over as aggressive or annoyed, I must have slept wrong last night. I am fine with preparing on my own. Please, do not feel like you have wronged me."

It's the best he could do to apologize. He was really not the shining example of kindness today. But if he donated to repair a whole bucking city, he must have some kind of heart, no? He waited for her to move, but she just stared at him awkwardly. Finally he remembered an old, small formality and said, "Oh, you are dismissed."

With a final thank you, the servant left down the hall and into the rest of the massive castle-complex.

Back inside his room, he begins to put on a perfectly tailored suit that was resting on a stand nearby. The suit was certainly masterfully made, but it was not overly lavish in design. Its design was guided by function over form, but the form seemingly came naturally as part of its functionality. As he pulls one of his forelegs through the jacket's leg, he hears some cracking from his joints.

"Well, I'm not as young as I used to be," he chuckles to himself as he puts the finishing touches on.

An escort did come sooner than expected, so it makes sense to assume the servant was still spooked by his behaviour.

At the official front gate of the Gala, Meesley presents his formal invitation. He gets a bit of a strange look from the guards, likely due to the small tear in the paper and the folds running through it, but he is let through into the hall. It was astounding to see such intricacy to detail on such a large scale. Every part of the stone roof has some sort of carving or gold inlay. The amount of purple, a rather expensive colour, is also awe-some.

As 'Sir' Meesley gawks at the interior of the hall, he is approached by another guest, "Quite beautiful, isn't it?" the very old, suited stallion says to him. His stare was fixated on the plafond.

"It most certainly is. What an unfathomable amount of money must have gone into this?"

"I have helped with some of the book-keeping of the royal archives," the elder says, "I think you would rather not know."

They both chuckle, before Meesley asks, "So, you are more of the studious type? Can't say I'd have expected many of you here." It was somewhat of a shot into the dark, since this could be seen as a great offence by some. But today, Meesley apparently had much more confidence, and he wanted to test this stallion's humor.

"Ha," was the perfect reply, "Yes, there aren't all that many of us around. Outside of a few cases, intelligence seems to hate power, and the rare pony with both knows how to stay far away from the nobility."

Staring. Meesley notices a pony staring at him. A pegasus mare wearing a dark dress contrasting her white fur squints at him from the other side of the grand hall. As soon as he returns the stare, she looks away. How odd...

"Truthfully, I wouldn't be here either if I had the chance," the other stallion sighs, "But, I have made a few promises of appearing, and I can assure you there will be some wonderful drama at some point later tonight!"

"I'm not really here by choice either," Meesley responds quietly, but decides to shut up.

"Well, it was wonderful talking to you, my friend, but I will now have to entertain some of the others like me."

With a final goodbye, the two go their separate ways. Meesley attempts to start up conversation with some of the nobles that finally start filling the venue. Though, none of them seem familiar, and he usually abandons their useless conversations after only a few sentences. Why would somepony care so deeply about taxation if they have enough bits to pay theirs a dozen-fold and still have enough extra to live a walking dream?

'Y'know what,' he thought, 'That was a stupid question.'

He ponders for a little while as to what he could do to entertain himself next.

'Maybe the guards can keep better company?' he wonders to himself and starts searching for the armored ponies.

They may be more militant, and will often times refrain from conversing with others outside of their in-group, but they have quite the collection of stories and adventures. Meesley can recall a few times he was amongst their ranks, so he understands that they can much softer on the inside...once you can crack through.

Eventually, he finds his targets, lined against a wall on one side of the grand hall. Only a few of them seem to notice the approaching noble, straightening up and falling into a well-trained stance while eyeing him slowly and maybe a little confused by his presence.

Quickly, he recognizes one of the pairs of eyes. The rest of these guards' features always looked the same, part of standard procedure, but there is something about the eyes of a pony that you simply can't fully change. Using his wing, Meesley attempts to give a crisp salute to the private. A few joints pop as he does so, but he is otherwise able to impress some of the ponies facing him.

"I see Sir Meesley has some guard blood in him!" the pony he recognized-Swift Pierce, an old friend-exclaims. This is received by some shock from those around them.

"It's great to see you again, Swift," Meesley replies.

"A friend, I take it?" one of the others says, to which both stallions simply nod.

"I've been trying to strike up conversation with these wastes of br- very important ponies," Meesley corrects himself, "But I think I would have more fun talking to rocks."

"Well, glad to be your rocks, then!" the guardsponies joke.

"You know very well that's not wh-"

Suddenly, Meesley is interrupted by horrendous and EXTREMELY out-of-place singing coming from somewhere in the hall. He sees a bouncing, pink earthpony making a fool of herself in the middle of the entering crowd. Maybe on another day he could have survived this ruckus, but not today.

"Good luck with this, I have to get out of here," Meesley quickly finishes off the conversation.

The guards helpfully point him towards an exit into one of the public wings of Canterlot. He gives a nod of thanks and leaves as in a fast canter.

He attempts to use a teleportation spell, but finds that his horn doesn't have the magical potential he needs for such a complex spell. Of course. And of course the pink pony starts singing even louder, somehow. Navigating the hall isn't easy, with a myriad of nobles and servants rushing around, attempting to create as many connections during the event as possible. As Meesley nears the door, somewhat hindered by the lavish half-suit, half-dress he is wearing, he hears the disruptor suddenly shut up. However, his mood is still ruined and he isn't quite able to calm himself down, so he continues for the door.

As he swings the door open and exits, he is suddenly greeted by lush greenery. All around him, beautifully trimmed plants are on display. His dark fur blends into well into his surroundings, bathed in the night's onyx. It takes him a bit of time to get his bearings.

"These must be the castle's gardens..." he mutters to himself.

Indeed they are.

Meesley quickly spins around, "Who was that?" he questions, but there is no reply yet.

He continues to trot along the winding paths and maze-like corridors of the gardens. The changes aren't making things easy. They say 3 lefts make a right, but Meesley's universe seems uninterested in such idioms and their wisdoms. Eventually, however, he reaches something familiar.

A statue, likely almost as ancient as Canterlot itself. It resembles some crude chimera, some mistake of nature (Hey!), like the outcome of some displeased god unleashing its fury upon the world. Most don't know, however, that they aren't staring at a deity's rath, but the deity itself.

"Discord," Meesley announces, "Looks like you are still emprisoned today. I don't quite know if I should consider it good or bad that not even you seem exempt from my ailment."

Well, you'd say that.

Meesley spins again, presenting his wings as a quasi threat before regaining his composure. He made a realization then, "Is that you? How are you able to do this?"

No response. Only the loud silence of the night and the whistling of some far-away servant. The Gala was still only beginning, so there was little need for the other guests to 'escape.' Meesley, on the other hoof, was starting to get seriously annoyed by the chaos demon's antics.

He reels back his hoof, "Alright, old friend, you want to play stupid games. Then I'll just have to get to you the old-fashioned way."

He goes to strike the statue and as his hoof makes cont-

Change.

"What?" the confused pony says. Changes don't usually happen plainly in front of his eyes, only when he is distracted. But as he looks around, he finds himself in another part of the gardens entirely.

Bother.

Meesley's ear twitches. "WHAT?" He starts to gallop as fast as he can to the area he was in before. He now knew something about the changes he had never known before. They were designed. He had sort of assumed this, a part of his superstition perhaps, but this was definitive proof! R- Right? With renewed anger and conviction, he begins to gallop even faster, his young legs taking him as fast as he can.

No changes occur, for some reason. So it only takes him a minute or two to find the statue again. He goes for the strike again and-

SLEEP.

Idiot.

Author's Note

This is longer than planned, so sorry for any boredom you may have experienced.
There is still an attempt being made at setting up the quasi-story/-narrative, so it may get more exciting?

Note:
There are deceptions, there have to be. But lying is only for those too week to face their own truth.