“Circle inscribed and aligned – check.”

Quill scratched on parchment.

“Magic dampening field activated – check.”

A second ink line joined the first.

“Test item secured at magic focus point – double check.”

If a scroll could be satisfied, this one would have been, as the magenta glow faded around it.

Twilight hummed happily to herself. “We're almost ready to move on to the pre-experiment checklist.”

Her enthusiasm was met with a long, drawn-out sigh. “This is all so incredibly booring. I’ve seen continents that move along quicker than this research of yours does.”

Twilight looked up to see her magic spectrum analyzer and thaumatic imprint extractor lazily orbiting a certain recalcitrant draconequus.

She frowned. “Discord, put those down. You're going to mess up the calibration.”

“You don't know how to have any fun,” he huffed as the two pieces of equipment were enclosed in a magenta glow and gently returned to their stations among the lab’s many workbenches.

“I know perfectly well how to have fun. I also know that there is a proper time and place for it. Not everything is about having fun, Discord.”

Discord grinned toothily. “Au contraire, mon petit poney. Having fun is the most important thing. And what better fun than a bit of chaos?”

Twilight let out an exasperated sigh. “Celestia have mercy. Why did I ever think asking you to help would be a good idea?”

Discord snorted. “Well. Maybe you could appreciate things a little better from my point of view.”

Quick as thought, Discord darted towards her, reaching with a single, outstretched talon. Twilight backpedaled, her horn lighting up with magic, but she was far too slow.

“Boop.”

The talon met her nose, and Twilight found herself flying up and back, closer and closer, before she lost control of the gathered energy in a white fla-

---

Ouch, that smarts. Still, it was worth it. Wait.

“Aaaauuugh! Discord! What did you do?”

I can’t seem to move. Bother. I’m not a statue again, am I? … No, I’m still standing right over there, as svelte and handsome as always.

“Discord. What. Did. You. DO!? Why am I looking at myself from behind? What are these weird little pictures around the edges of my vision?”

…

“Answer me!”

“...Who is Twilight Sparkle talking to?”

“You of course! Who else would I be talking to?”

“Th- the observer is not Discord.”

Of course not. Wait.

“What? What do you mean you’re not Discord!? Scales, fur and feathers, long, winding torso, mismatched limbs. I don’t see any other draconequui here. What did you do to my eyes?”

Oh calm down, Twilight. It’s educational. I thought you liked learning. Speaking of which… What does this do?

The crystal castle lab was a scene of wonderful chaos, with benches overturned, papers scattered everywhere and a couple expensive-looking machines making hissy noises on the floor. In the middle of it all, a splay-winged mane-frazzled lavender alicorn was making sputtering noises of her own as she fumed like an overpressure boiler. She was glaring at a patch of wall next to a devilishly handsome draconequus who was in turn staring at the princess like he’d been hit in the back of the head with a board.

Oh, so that’s how it works, I mentally rubbed my paws together. And pull yourself together, me. You’re making us both look bad.

“Um, well,” said the dashing demi-drake, “as stated before, this observer is not the one Twilight Sparkle knows as Discord.”

Twilight’s glare didn’t let up an iota, though it wavered side to side like the second place contestant at a hard cider drinking contest. “Fine. Who are you, then?”

His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, before pausing. Twilight’s brow furrowed as the seconds ticked by, and she looked ready to explode again, when he finally spoke. “This observer does not have a name.”

Now she did explode. “This isn’t funny, Discord.”

Oh, you’re quite right, Twilight, I chortled. This is hilarious.

“This observer was not attempting humor. When desirable some… very experienced observers can affect emotional tones, including humor, but that is an advanced technique that this observer does not possess.”

Twilight shot him a look that could have stripped paint. “So. If you aren’t Discord, then where is he?”

“This observer does not know. He could be anywhere.”

Such as floating around right next to you.

“Then we’ll just have to find him,” she said, settling back on her haunches and closing her eyes. Moments later, her eyes flew open, and she started to hyperventilate. “I can’t do magic! Oh no no no. This is bad. Spike! Spiiiike!”

Spike came rushing down the stairs, his eyes wide in alarm.

“Twilight! Are you okay?”

Twilight sniffed as she looked at him. “No. I’m very much not okay. We hadn't even started testing for a chaos magic signature, when Discord got bored and did something to me. Now, everything looks as if I am standing behind myself, I can't do any magic, and Discord isn’t helping at all. He says he isn’t even Discord.” She hung her head. “I don't know what to do, Spike. None of my studies covered anything like this.”

Spike tapped his chin thoughtfully with a talon. “Well, maybe your friends can help.”

“Maybe you’re right, Spike, but short of using rainbow power, I’m not sure how they could help with a problem like this.”

“I don’t know Twilight. If Discord is involved, maybe Fluttershy would know what to do. Or I could take a letter to the Princess,” he said, brandishing a scroll.

Fluttershy? The princesses? I felt a shiver go up my nonexistent spine. Spoilsports. Fine, it’s time I tried a few things, anyhow. I hummed and hemmed and hawwed, did a couple whirlygigs, revved up the encabulator, and finally with a haftwise twist, my voice popped out of the air like uncorked champagne.

“Ahh, so much better!”

Spike dropped the parchment in surprise, as my dulcet tones filled the lab.

“What?” Twilight exclaimed, twisting her head away from, well, me, her ears swiveling to and fro. “Who is that? Where are you? What’s going on?”

“Oh, just a practical demonstration of chaos magic,” I chortled.

Her ears locked onto my voice, and her head slowly followed.

“Chaos magic? Discord, is that you?” She looked confused. “You sound like a little filly.”

Of all the nerve! “I am not a little filly!” I cleverly retorted. “I am the Lord of Chaos.”

The chubby little whelp standing next to her snickered as he picked up the dropped scroll.

Twilight’s eyes narrowed, and her tail lashed the ground. “Right. Then why can’t I do magic?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I gave you a bit of a nudge, so you could expand your horizons a bit.”

She snorted. “Yes, I’ve noticed. And?”

“You have to go about things a bit differently from there. You mentioned seeing some small pictures at the edge of your vision.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Good. Go think at one of them.”

Spike stood back as Twilight's muzzle scrunched up in a marvelous pout for a few moments, before her horn burst to life. The magic coalesced, and a door winked into existence in front of her.

“See, there you go,” I said.

She stared at it a few moments before looking back towards at my little patch of air.

“So, you really are Discord.”

“The one and only,” I smirked.

“Then why are you still over there,” she said, pointing towards my fabulous figure, who was busy sampling the contents of the wide variety of test tubes and beakers that littered the lab benches.

I watched proudly as he took a swig of a fizzy green liquid in a luridly marked testtube. He made a face as the taste registered, before burping out a small cloud of yellow smoke.

She gaped at it for a few seconds, before facehoofing.

“I don't know!” I crowed. “Isn't it great?”

She turned to look at me like I had lost my mind, which, to be fair, may have been true in a boring, technical sense, but was hardly merited.

A small explosion echoed across the room, and a few strands of Twilight’s mane popped loose as she focused back on my industrious incarnation, and the bubbling red beaker he now held. “Stop that! Those are dangerous. You shouldn’t eat them,” she cried, leaping to her hooves and promptly walking sideways into a table.

“Aaaaugh! Help! I’m stuck.”

“Ah, yes. Moving around from that perspective does take a bit of practice,” I mused.

She glared in my general direction. “Whenever I try to move, the direction is all wrong. How can you stand to live like this? I can’t eat or brush my teeth, if I can only ever see the back of my head.”

“Well, you couldn’t ever see your face before, without using a mirror. That’s hardly any different now. You don’t even need a mirror anymore, if you angle it right,” I offered.

“That hardly helps,” she wailed. “It’s like I’m looking through a camera that’s following me everywhere. I can’t always see where I’m looking, because I’m in the way, and every time I move anything it just feels weird, because I’m looking at someone else, but it’s me. You really look at yourself from behind all the time like this?”

“Well, not all that often, really, but it does have its moments.”

“Turn it back.”

“Sorry, no can do.” I said. “I can only look around and take notes from here. That dashing fellow over there will have to do it.”

The draconequus looked up in alarm from where he was rubbing a paw over one of the smooth, crystal desks.

“Oh yes, don’t think we’ve forgotten you,” I said.

“This this observer did not cause the situation.”

“Yeah, well you’re part of it now.” Twilight regained her feet, walking towards him in a straight-ish line, Spike following close behind. “Who are you, and what are you observing?”

“This observer observes the events that happen.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks. Let me be a bit more specific. What is an observer?”

“Observers are non corporeal entities that are drawn to interesting or important situations to record them.”

“Better. How come we’ve never heard of you before?”

“Observers are not to interact or reveal themselves.” He studied his paws intently, before continuing quietly, “this observer has failed that basic tenant.”

Twilight looked thoughtful. “So you observe to record... Who do you give the records to, and why?”

“This observer does not know. It is our purpose – we simply do it.”

Twilight’s ears flattened. “That doesn’t help very much.”

"This observer is sorry, Twilight Sparkle,” he said, head hanging low.

She waved the apology away. “What do you do when you aren't observing?”

“We wait.”

“Ugh. That sounds incredibly dull.” I interjected. “Go find someone more boring, and run around in their body, instead.”

“Discord!”

“What? He doesn't even have a name,” I cleverly rebutted.

“That hardly matters,” she protested.

Spike looked at him speculatively. “I don't know, Discord does kind of have a point.”

Twilight stared at him, aghast. “What? Not you, too, Spike. You can't seriously want to get rid of him.”

“What? Oh, no, not that. We can’t just keep calling him ‘The observer,’ though.”

Said observer cocked his head and looked at the baby dragon quizzically. “Why not?”

“It’s weird.”

Twilight buried her face in her hooves. “Ugh. Fine. This recording of yours – you write a lot, yes?”

The observer puffed up proudly. “Indeed. Observers are singularly skilled with words.”

“Well then, congratulations, you’re now Lexicon.”

The observer was silent for several long moments, before a smile blossomed on his face. “Thank you, Twilight Sparkle. This observer… I, have never had a name,” he said, suddenly bashful.

The words and heartfelt tone brought a small smile to Twilight’s muzzle. The moment lasted until I cleared my throat.

Twilight shook herself. “Great. Can we move on to getting this sorted out, now?”

Lexicon nodded, before holding up a cautionary talon. “There is a problem. Lexicon is humor aligned, and was drawn towards a high potential comedic situation.”

Twilight looked at him somewhat accusingly. “That’s debatable, but I’ll go along with it. Why does that matter?”

“With my additional interaction, the basic comedic situation has changed.”

Says you. “And?” I prompted.

“At this point, another will likely come.”

“What? You mean another observer?” Twilight cocked her head. “Why?”

“Yes. As a comedy affinity at a comedic event, Lexicon can expect to be undisturbed for the expected duration. However, with the additional factors in play the event could easily change tone. If that occurs, it would likely draw in observers of a different affinity.”

Twilight looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. “So, what happens when time runs out, or this new observer comes?”

“They will report the current infraction. Interaction is a violation of one of our basic tenants. They will attempt to return the situation to its baseline. You will remember nothing of this afternoon, and they will erase the defective observer.”

Wait, that's me... “We need to fix this right away,” I said.

Spike piped up. “That does sound bad – should I call the princess?”

Lexicon shook his head. “No, that would only hasten a change in tone. Additionally, the factors leading to the original comedic situation may still be in play.”

“The other shoe is about to drop,” I said.

“Discord, you’re not helping,” Twilight said, ears flat. “So it comes back down to undoing your magic, and you're the only one that understands what you did.”

“Actually, it was your magic,” I said.

“What?” she snapped.

“Well, all I did was give your viewpoint a bit of a boost. Switching Lexicon and I here, that was all thanks to whatever spell you were charging up. Good job there, but you’ll have to be the one to undo it.”

A few more strands of Twilight’s mane sprung loose from their fellows. “So either I need to undo my magic discharge – while under the effects of your spell, or Lexicon needs figure out how to undo your spell, without having ever done magic before.”

“Exactly. Don’t forget, we have to be funny, too.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Spike looked back and forth between the arguing parties, gauging the mood. “Maybe we should take a short break. Is anypony hungry? I could make sandwiches.”

Twilight took a few deep breaths. “That’s a good idea, Spike; you can go ahead and get started – I’ll follow you in a few moments.”

Spike ran off, as Twilight stood there with a look of intense concentration on her face, head turning to and fro.

Oh, this opportunity is too priceless. And it is important to maintain comedy – Lexicon said so himself. Twilight can thank me later.

“You’re staring at your own flank, aren’t you?”

Twilight jumped as if stung, whirling on me as her cheeks flamed scarlet. “What? No! Of all the ridiculous things to say at a time like this.” She huffed and had started trotting after Spike when her magic door suddenly opened, smacking her in the muzzle.

“Ow.”

Pinkie Pie stuck her head out. “Hi Twilight!”

I perked up. Pinkie could be amusingly unpredictable, sometimes.

“I need help with a super duper ultra important order, and everypony else is busy.”

Except when she prattled on about something boring, like food. Blah blah Zecora, blah special ingredients blah blah, scritchy back, montage. Hmm. What does this do?

I watched as Twilight and Pinkie looked around rapidly, mouths moving. Spike returned bearing a platter. Now Twilight was getting more and more frustrated, before finally following Pinkie with the others. Now I’m in the Sugarcube corner kitchen. Zecora appears, and drops off some strange looking berries. Fast forward and they're being mixed into dough, which lumps up under its own volition. It commanders the rest of the baked goods, who take up utensils. The bakery comes alive, with Spike, Pinkie and Lexicon holding the line, while Twilight huddles under the counter with the party cannon and a set of blueprints. She emerges at the last minute, banishing the dough into the depths of the oven. I blinked back into the lab.

Oh, so that’s how this thing works, I thought, setting it back crossfiddle.

The door opened, and a battered and weary group made their way in. Twilight slumped down at her previous spot in the middle of the lab.

“Thanks, for all the help Twilight!” Pinkie said, chipper as always.

“Sure, Pinkie,” Twilight mumbled.

“It looks like you all were on a roll,” I said. “Should icing a victory song?”

Twilight flopped over and glared at me. “Discord! Where were you this whole time?”

“Why, Twilight, you wound me! I never left your side.”

“What?” she fumed. “Why didn’t you help? Or at least say something? We spent a half hour waiting for you before we finally left for Sugarcube Corner. We don't have time for this!”

“Well, it was all flashing by too quickly,” I said, somewhat defensively.

“Montage,” Pinkie nodded sagely. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Arrgh. Whatever. Discord, we really lost a lot of time. Don't do it again.”

“You still won; it couldn't have been that bad.”

“It was terrible. I could barely use my magic. And this view – it keeps getting hung up on walls,” she moaned. “I can’t navigate corridors at all.”

“You just have to-” I began to offer some helpful advice, before noticing the stink-eye I was getting. “Well, maybe another time,” I conceded.

“At least it’s over,” she sighed, slumping over a lab bench for a few moments, before sitting bolt upright.

“Wait, was that the probable humorous event?”

Lexicon nodded. “Probably.”

Twilight grimaced. “Then we don’t have much time left. I got a little bit of magic practice in at Sugarcube Corner; I’ll see if I can improve on it. Discord, could you work with Lexicon?”

Lexicon looked up sadly. “Your plan might work, but even if I can switch back, and they don’t notice, I… like this. I like breathing, the feel of air on my fur. Taste is nice, too. Some of those test tubes were not very good, but that cake we fought was delicious. I don’t know if I could bear to stay as I was before.”

Twilight smiled at him. “I may have an idea about that, but we can get to it later. For now, I need you to work with Discord. Can you do that?”

He nodded, and I spoke up. “Very well, Lexicon, let’s start with the basics. Tell me where are you looking from?”

“Uh, my head; I assume that’s normal.”

“Excellent, standard first draco view, then. Try snapping your fingers.”

He did so, the sound distinct in the quiet lab.

“Good. It’d be embarrassing if you couldn’t do that bit. Tell me, are you thirsty?”

“I could drink, I suppose.”

“Well, then think about plaid generosity, with a granite twist.”

Lexicon’s eyebrows bunched up on his forehead. “What? Those don’t make sense. I don’t even know where to begin with that.”

“Then just think of plaid-colored rocks and snap your fingers.”

His face scrunched up, and his fingers snapped, but nothing happened.

I sighed. “Well, if you can’t even manage chocolate milk, you have some ways to go before you could reel Twilight back in.”

He looked downcast, and I hastened to reassure him. “Don’t worry, it doesn't always happen right away. Just think Interesting things and keep practicing.”

His snaps echoed across the room as I focused my attention on Twilight.

“Aha! So the symbol’s color corresponds to the school of magic,” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Ooh, and this area is a spell matrix!”

“Try moving them,” I suggested.

“What? They move? Oh, and they can be duplicated, too! So if I combine elements in this area… Eureka!”

The snapping stopped, and Lexicon called out. “Twilight, I think we’re running out of time.”

Twilight was practically bouncing on her hooves. “Don’t worry, I think I’ve got it.”

“And about me?” he said, hesitantly.

“The swap is in already, but with this combination matrix, I think I have a solution to that, too,” she said. “It’s actually much more convenient than I originally realized. Tell me, would you prefer to be a colt, or a filly?”

“Uh, filly, I guess. Wait, does this mean I’ll become a pony?”

“That's the plan.”

Lexicon’s eyes went wide. “Wait, but then who will finish the recording?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Her grin was a shade less than manic, as her horn began to glow brightly. “Okay, let’s do this!”

There was a fla-