Prompt 010 - Years
Character: Discord
Fandom: Original Universe
Prompt: 010 [Years]
Word Count: 421
Rating: PG, Minor violence
Author's Notes: Takes place when Discord is somewhat younger and not familiarized with humans yet; canonly counted.
What was time to her? Time was something to be played with, swum in, stepped out of. It was all a game to her, never noticing the worlds below.
The first time she did, they interested her. She watched for a long while, though it seemed as nothing at all to her. It seemed very peculiar to her that the creatures below were changing, even after they had fully grown. They would get weak and frail and brittle, then something would happen and they would stop moving completely.
She wasn't quite sure what this was, at first. She was certainly curious why they didn't move again, and why humans would put their own in large wooden boxes and bury them. It was a curiosity to her, and that was unacceptable. Discord did not like not knowing interesting things.
She decided to have a closer look, ghosting down to the material plane so she could walk around, hear things, and not be seen - so similar to above, yet closer and somehow more real.
She walked in the middle of a war zone, in a land fraught with danger and blood, stopping in a small shelter just away from the fighting. There were people in there, a woman, two men, and a brittle man. The last looked to be having trouble breathing. Having only discovered this 'breathing' recently for herself, Discord tried it a few times, then decided it was better just to not.
The humans were speaking. She listened intently.
"He's eighty-three years old, Natasha...let him go."
"He's my father. My father!"
"I know. He's lived a long life. Let him rest."
Long? Discord studied the prone figure curiously. What was a year? She counted on her fingers. Sixty seconds were minutes; sixty minutes were hours; twenty-four hours were days; three hundred sixty-five days were years. That was a lot of seconds, but it also wasn't, to her. The number was big, but the end result small. She counted again. In 'years,' she was several hundred older than this frail man.
What an inaccurate measurement of time.
She stepped back outside through the primitive, physical, wooden wall just as the black winged angel, also invisible to those inside, fluttered down gracefully on the task of collecting a soul. He spared her a glance and nodded, ethereal scythe in his grasp not reflecting any of the now dim sunlight. She returned the gesture and ghosted back home.
How curious that humans needed so many measurements for something they had so little of.
Fandom: Original Universe
Prompt: 010 [Years]
Word Count: 421
Rating: PG, Minor violence
Author's Notes: Takes place when Discord is somewhat younger and not familiarized with humans yet; canonly counted.
What was time to her? Time was something to be played with, swum in, stepped out of. It was all a game to her, never noticing the worlds below.
The first time she did, they interested her. She watched for a long while, though it seemed as nothing at all to her. It seemed very peculiar to her that the creatures below were changing, even after they had fully grown. They would get weak and frail and brittle, then something would happen and they would stop moving completely.
She wasn't quite sure what this was, at first. She was certainly curious why they didn't move again, and why humans would put their own in large wooden boxes and bury them. It was a curiosity to her, and that was unacceptable. Discord did not like not knowing interesting things.
She decided to have a closer look, ghosting down to the material plane so she could walk around, hear things, and not be seen - so similar to above, yet closer and somehow more real.
She walked in the middle of a war zone, in a land fraught with danger and blood, stopping in a small shelter just away from the fighting. There were people in there, a woman, two men, and a brittle man. The last looked to be having trouble breathing. Having only discovered this 'breathing' recently for herself, Discord tried it a few times, then decided it was better just to not.
The humans were speaking. She listened intently.
"He's eighty-three years old, Natasha...let him go."
"He's my father. My father!"
"I know. He's lived a long life. Let him rest."
Long? Discord studied the prone figure curiously. What was a year? She counted on her fingers. Sixty seconds were minutes; sixty minutes were hours; twenty-four hours were days; three hundred sixty-five days were years. That was a lot of seconds, but it also wasn't, to her. The number was big, but the end result small. She counted again. In 'years,' she was several hundred older than this frail man.
What an inaccurate measurement of time.
She stepped back outside through the primitive, physical, wooden wall just as the black winged angel, also invisible to those inside, fluttered down gracefully on the task of collecting a soul. He spared her a glance and nodded, ethereal scythe in his grasp not reflecting any of the now dim sunlight. She returned the gesture and ghosted back home.
How curious that humans needed so many measurements for something they had so little of.