Featherlight is chosen to compete in the 1000th Harmony Games (a Hunger Games Crossover)
Every year, six young ponies from each of the six traitor’s districts are chosen to come to Canterlot Central and fight to the death as punishment for the traitorous acts of the ex-bearers of the Elements of Harmony. This is the thousandth year after the end of the civil war and the death of Princess Luna, the year of the thousandth Harmony Games. Will one small Pegasus from the agricultural district be able to make a difference? Will she even be able to survive?
Once upon a time, the land of Equestria was ruled by a pair of benevolent, magical Alicorns. I know, I know, you’ve heard this one before. Younger sister gets jealous blah blah…to the moon, blah blah blah Elements of Harmony, blah blah blah… and a gang of young fillies saves the day with the magic of friendship, the end. Sure, it makes a good story. It might even manage to pass as a cartoon series for foals, if foals anywhere outside of Canterlot Central had time to watch cartoons that is.
The whole thing with the Elements of Harmony is true of course. At least, some of the story is. I only know what they taught us back in school when I was a squeaker. Of course, the schools are run by Canterlot Central, so everypony knows they ain’t telling us low-life district ponies the whole story. Whatever the truth really is, it’s been lost in the last thousand years since…
I’m getting off track. Sorry, I ramble a bit when I get worked up. Here is a brief history of Equestria from the time of Princess Luna’s return to now. At least, this is what They have told us happened.
All was peaceful in Equestria for a handful of years after the younger princess was restored. Then things began to go wrong. Though “Nightmare Moon” had been obliterated, leaving only Luna behind, she found herself questioning the judgment of Our-Great-Wise-Most-Wonderful-Protector-Her-Royal-Holy-Highness Celestia (May she ever show us her favor). Princess Luna did not understand Our Great Etc. Celestia’s master plan for making Equestria great, and questioned her older sister and her laws.
Time passed and the younger princess became convinced she could run things better than her sister. So she began to try to undermine Our Great Whatever Celestia’s authority. Eventually, this turned into a fully-fledged rebellion. Luna had a gift for persuasion and twisted it to turn even her sister’s most faithful, the wielders of the Elements of Harmony themselves, against Celestia. Even the unicorn Twilight Sparkle, who Celestia herself had called her most faithful student, fell sway to Luna’s influence.
The rebellion grew and it came to war. Much was destroyed beyond repair and many lives were lost. In the final, tragic battle, Celestia struck out to destroy the wielders of the Elements, who were Luna’s generals and as such were traitors to all Equestria once stood for. Luna looked around her and finally came to her senses and out of shame and regret for the destruction she had wrought, the alicorn princess threw herself in the path of Celestia’s attack, deflecting it and saving the lives of her generals at the cost of her own life.
Celestia, though wracked with grief over her sister’s death, pulled together what was left of Equestria under a strict order. Those who had betrayed her and Equestria, along with all their descendants, were organized into the districts. There, they would work to rebuild what their treachery and rebellion had destroyed. Those who had remained loyal (most notably the Blue Blood line) were gathered in to Canterlot to form Canterlot Central, so that they and their descendants would always be with their beloved leader.
However, though she wished to be merciful, The Great Celestia knew that justice had to be served so that no pony would ever forget what became of traitors. So, on the anniversary of Luna’ s death, she ordered a lottery of all the young ponies between twelve and sixteen in the districts. From each district, two earth ponies, two unicorns and two Pegasus were chosen, one colt and one filly of each. Among this first group were the famous Applebloom, sister of the traitor of Field District, Sweetiebelle, sister of the traitor of Polish District and Scootaloo, ward of the traitor of Cloud District. These and the others chosen fought each other to the death in the first Harmony Games. This was to recreate for all the traitor districts, the horror and loss of the Great War, so they would never ever forget and try rebelling again. Celestia, ever merciful, decreed that the last pony standing, the winner, would earn special favor from her for themselves and their district. Applebloom won the first games.
Since that day, the games have come and gone nine hundred and ninety nine times. This year will be the year of the Thousandth Harmony Games. It is also the year I turn twelve. Lucky me.
I struggle under the burden of sloshing water buckets strapped to my back. The straps go over my wings and rub the feathers uncomfortably every time the buckets shift. It’s been a dry spring and the dust swirls around my hooves with each step. There’s not a cloud in the sky, the Canterlot weather patrol has apparently been too busy to send us our rain allotment for the past few weeks. So with the rain “delayed indefinitely” we have to haul water from the river to the fields. This happens every year. You’d think someone would figure out a more efficient way to get the water to the fields. Then again, if we had a watering system or rain that came on time, then the overseers would have to find some other way to have fun besides kicking our sorry plots when we don’t get goin’ fast enough.
Despite the heat, dust and the chafing of the straps, I’m happy. I’m happy because my family is finally going to get paid for my work. I turned twelve this morning, old enough to be part of the official work detail for the first time. It’s not my first time hauling buckets. I’ve been working in the fields and orchards since I was six, just like all the other young ponies in Field district. Well, all except the ones whose families are wealthy enough they can afford to feed them without the few extra bits that are all an underage pony can make for their sweat. Most of those are the better trained craftsponies, bakers and blacksmiths and the like. Some, like the mayor’s family, get their money from bribes. They are universally despised by the craftsponies, field workers like my family, and even the officials from Canterlot Central (or C-Trolls as we district ponies call them when they aren’t around to overhear and have us beaten).
I’ve just finished watering my fifth row of the day when my pal Redneck catches up with me. “Hey Dusty! Trying to get a bucket for a cutie mark? I thought you finally gave up on that.”
Redneck likes to tease me about still being a blank-flank. He’s a year older than me and thinks that means he knows everything about everything. He can be a pain in the neck, but he’s also the most honest and trustworthy pony I know. As he comes closer, I give myself a little shake to make a bit of the water in my buckets slosh out and splash him. The water hits him in the face and as he splutters in mock outrage I smile innocently at him.
“Oops, sorry Red, I thought that green spiky stuff on your head was some wilted alfalfa, but it’s just your mane.” The C-Troll overseer notices us and hollers that we better get our lazy behinds moving or he’ll see our pay gets docked. Red rolls his eyes but takes out his spade and starts adding fertilizer from the baskets strapped to his back to the base of the plants I’ve just finished watering.
“It still amazes me that you’re on water patrol Dusty. I know you’re tougher than you look, but those buckets weigh almost as much as you do when they’re full.”
I catch the overseer giving us a dirty look, so I don’t answer. I do smile a little proudly as I start on my sixth row and Red follows behind. My first field job had been to bring drinking water to the other workers. Those buckets are a lot smaller than the ones used for watering the crops, but they had still been quite heavy for a six year old filly, particularly a runty little Pegasus like me. Usually, the older colts got the water-carrying jobs. However, when almost half the town went down with a fever at harvest time that year, anyone who was able to stand went out and filled in as best as we could. At first, the water buckets had been really hard for me to lift, but nearly a whole harvest season spent carrying them I got toughened up. I’ve been on the water crew ever since.
We work in amiable silence for the rest of our shift. Once the bell is rung to let us know we can stop, I trot over to the equipment barn to turn in my buckets while my rust-colored buddy goes to put the fertilizer in his baskets back in the big compost pile. The barn has seen better days, the thing is ancient, built with wood instead of the stone and mud we build houses and things with now. Even the C-Trolls build with concrete and steel, not wood. The few forests that survived the war are too far away or too tainted to harvest. Even my buckets are plastic, not wood like the ones I’ve seen in pictures of the old world in class.
I reach around and undo the buckle with my teeth and let the empty buckets slide down my side to the dirt floor. With them off, I can finally give my wings a little stretch. As I do, the equipment C-Troll gets a look at my feathers. “Better get those clipped tonight filly, or the head overseer will do it for you in the morning.”
Ugh… I’ve been dreading this. By law, all district pegasi must have our wings clipped so as to render us incapable of flight. Usually though, foals under twelve are exempt from the clipping since our wings are too small for sustained flight up till then. I’ll miss my little nighttime flying practices. I just figured out how to hover last night.
As I leave the barn, an announcement blasts out over the central broadcast system.
*Gooooooooooood evening my little ponies! As you all know, the Choosing for the 1000th Harmony Games is tomorrow. All young ponies of choosing age are reminded that this is the last evening to request extra entries of your name into the drawing in exchange for extra ration allotments for your family. Sleep well and don’t forget to dress up pretty for the Choosing ceremony in the morning, and may Celestia ever show you her favor!*
The announcement wraps up with a cheerful little marching tune. I shiver as the happiness I’ve been feeling drains away. I’ve been trying not to think about the choosing, because not only will I have to have my first mandatory entry put in this year, I’ve already put in two extra entries. Dad’s leg is still giving him trouble, and with Ma having another foal on the way, we’re going to need those extra rations. Dad and Ma don’t know I’ve put in extra entries. They told me not to. They say it’s not worth the risk, but I don’t know how we’ll make it through winter without the extra. Red understands though. He’s the one who went with me and helped me with the paperwork.
I just hope… No, I won’t even think that. The Choosing will come and go as always and then Red and I will go home and watch the mandatory broadcast with our families and hope that maybe this year, one of our chosen will win. There hasn’t been a winner from Field district since Old Cider. We could sure use the winnings here.
I squirm away from the brush Ma holds in her mouth. We got up early, even for us, to get ready for the Choosing ceremony. She has been chasing me and my little brother around our two-room house all morning, brushing and re-brushing our manes and tails, making sure we’ve washed our faces and behind our ears, picking out old bits of ribbon for my mane and generally worrying over us and trying to hide her concern.
“Honestly child! It’s no wonder you got that nickname. Just look at all the dust in your feathers and mane.”
Ma shakes her head and ties one more ribbon into my mane. Where she scrounged up all these lovely blue and green ribbons I have no idea. I would rather not think about what she traded away for them. Old and outdated as they are by Canterlot standards, they’re still pretty.
It’s an hour before dawn by the time Ma is finally done making me and Bluesky presentable. Dad leads the way to the center of town. Once we’re there, he gives me a gentle nuzzle, then points towards the roped off area by the statue of Our Ruler were the other youngsters old enough to be chosen are being gathered.
“See you in a bit sweet-heart.” He whispers in my ear before trotting away with Ma and Blue. Right now, all I want to do is run after them, but I give myself a little shake and head over to join Redneck and the others in the choosing area.
There is one place in town that is kept free of dust, and that is the Statue of Celestia, right in the center of town. The statue isn’t just of Her Highness, it also features a much smaller alicorn lying at her feet. The smaller alicorn appears to sleep peacefully as Celestia stands over her, her wings spread protectively. Our ruler’s image has a determined, yet kind look on its face. The whole thing is carved of the finest marble, with real jewels and gold for the crown, collar and shoes. There is a silver plaque just below the smaller alicorn, reading “Rest peacefully Luna” and in bigger lettering, carved into the stone pedestal is the message “Never Forget.” Also carved on the pedestal are the names of every winner our district has ever had. It’s funny, in a horrible way. We make sure we remember the winners, but we can’t seem to forget those lost fast enough.
There is already a big crowd by the time we get to Town Center. The area in front of Her Majesty’s statue is roped off in three sections, one for each type of pony. I am directed to join the other Pegasus fillies on the right side of our section; the colts go to the left.
Us first-timers get shoved to the front by the older ones. This, I’m told by the C-Troll smiling unpleasantly as she watches over my section, makes it easier for the cameras to see us all. There are a lot of us. Not just the youngsters of the town, but all the fillies and colts from the surrounding farms are here with their families.
There are a lot more out-of-towners than there are the rest of us. The families that live farther out tend to have a lot of children. Dad says it’s because they need as many hooves as they can get out there, because so many die young before they can repopulate the workforce. I probably wasn’t supposed to hear him say it, but the only thing separating where Blue and I sleep from Ma and Dad’s bed is an old curtain.
I notice that my section is right next to the “pen” for the earth pony colts. I bounce a little to see if I can spot Redneck. I think I spy a flash of green and red, but before I can get a better look, the sound of the anthem blasts out from the speakers. Everypony in the square falls silent as the last notes of the anthem fade and Mayor Grey flanked by a pair of “Celestia’s Hooves,” the most feared of the C-Trolls. They were a matched pair, black coats and gold armor shining in the light of the rising sun. They’ve probably been magically dyed. Pure black coats like that just ain’t natural.
I fidget a bit as Mayor Grey starts his usual speech. My wings feel odd and scratchy where the primaries Dad clipped last night rub against my back. It may only be one day since I turned twelve, but the C-Trolls are extra strict on a choosing day and if he hadn’t done it for me, one of them would have done it a lot less gently before shoving me into the pen and slapping a fine on my record for my family to pay. I saw just that happen to one of the other fillies up front with me, an out-of-towner. One of her wings looks like it was dislocated when she struggled and hangs limply by her side.
“Ahem, Fillies and Gentlecolts, we are gathered here today to *aherm* celebrate the beginning if the one-thousandth Harmony *harrumph* Games and to remember the sacrifice made by our Great, Wise, Most Wonderful Protector, Her Royal Holy Highness, Empress Celestia.*Cough*”
Every year, Mayor Earl Grey makes the same speech. The only thing that ever changes is the number of the upcoming Harmony Games. He goes on for some time about the mercy of the Empress in allowing them to live when they deserved death for being related to the traitor six. He praises her generosity in providing for them and for guiding the sun through the sky every day and the moon every night. Then he reads out The Edict, the one where the Harmony Games were first instated as the price for the Great Rebellion. After that he rambles about the mercy of the Empress in granting the winner of the Games her favor and what a great honor it is to be chosen. He ends with an admonishment to all of us youngsters who will be chosen to fight hard to win for the Field district.
“*Herm* May She ever show *ahem* us Her favor.”
He steps back and Shiny Bauble, the Canterlot Central officer in charge of our district’s Chosen, takes his place. It seems his theme for this year is ‘diamonds and rainbows’. His white mane and tail have been dyed with rainbow polka-dots he is sporting a vest encrusted with a rainbow of gemstones. The effect actually isn’t quite as awful as last year’s outfit. The florescent green had looked even more garish than the bright pink stallion’s usual eye-burning color choices. I will never understand Canterlot fashion.
Behind Bauble is Old Cider, Field District’s only living Game Winner. He is drunk. He’s always drunk. Still, most of us in the district are kind of fond of the old fart. At least he’s not as bad as some of the Winners in Candy District. I don’t know what they’re on, but they make Cider look like a tea-totaler whenever we see them on the broadcasts.
“Greetings my darling youngsters of District Five!” Bauble gushes and poses for the camera-ponies, his Canterlot accent as ridiculous as ever. “I hope you are all feeling as fabulous as I am this morning.”
“C’mon Dawdle, don’ eew thin theesh poor kids ‘ve had ‘nough of speechifyin’ for one mornin?” Old Cider pokes at the pink CC official with his half empty tankard. “Jee-ust git on with it an’ hit th’ button already.” The old amber-colored unicorn hiccups and tries to take a sip from his hovering mug and just misses, landing on the stage in an almost graceful face-plant.
A faint ripple of laughter goes through the crowd, it is strained, but it is genuine and not at all mean spirited. Sometimes I think Cider does things like this just to ease a bit of the tension of choosing day. Bauble looks put-upon and sighs.
“Well since the gravity of the moment is lost I suppose I have no choice.” He trots forward and bows elaborately (Bauble does everything elaborately) to the statue of the Empress, then he pulls out his remote control, which is also encrusted with rainbow gems this year, and presses down on the sun-shaped button in the center. With a musical chime, a small slot opens in the base of the statue and a slip of parchment comes out. The Pink pony holds it up and reads aloud. “Earth Pony colt, Grindstone! Earth pony filly…”
I don’t hear which filly gets chosen, I’m too relieved that Redneck is safe again this year. The chosen pair march slowly up to stand on the stage behind Bauble and Cider. The names of the unicorns are read next. They are Rockjaw, a big colt who looks like he is just barely under sixteen, this was probably his last year; and a dainty filly a couple years older than me named Crystal.
“Last but not least, Pegasus colt, Silverlining! Pegasus filly, Featherlight!” The chosen colt heads forward, his head held high to join the rest on the stage. I look around for a moment before it sinks in. I see a few others looking around in confusion, trying to spot the last chosen. Nopony calls me by my proper name except Ma, so the few startled glances that fix on me as I slowly step up to the stage are understandable. Everypony but my family knows me as Dusty, short for Feather-Duster.
Now that I’m up on stage I can finally see Redneck. His face is an expressionless mask, looking nothing like his usual enthusiastic, expressive self. I wonder what my face looks like. I hope I’m not crying or anything. I don’t think I am, but I’m so numb right now that I can’t be sure. I try to keep from seeing my family, but I spot Bluesky standing on Dad’s back. I look away quickly, but not quickly enough to miss the look of shock on his face and despair on Dad’s. I don’t see Ma’s expression; she has her face buried in Dad’s mane.
I hear half-hearted claps and forced cheers and Bauble’s voice finishing up his usual speech. “-ever show them Her favor. Now let’s all head to the train station. The families of the Chosen will have the opportunity for brief farewells on the platform while the train is taking on fuel.”
The pink stallion turns around to face us, giving Old Cider a nudge to get him to do the same. Cider ‘accidentally’ sloshes a bit of the contents of his mug onto Bauble’s immaculately groomed coat. Bauble sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes skyward as if to ask the heavens what he has done to deserve being forced to endure the company of the drunken fool beside him.
“Hello Darlings! If you would please line up in your pairs and follow me, we’ll be going. I and *uhg…* Mr. Cider will be your escorts to Canterlot Central. I will advise you for your interviews and other appearances and Mr. Cider will coach you through training. I look forward to our time together with great anticipation.”
We lined up as directed. No one daring to so much as take a step out of line with the C-troll elite guards looming beside us. I trot automatically beside the Pegasus colt. My legs seem to be on autopilot as my mind swirls with confusion, terror and sadness.
Once we board that train, I will never see my family again. I won’t get to say goodbye to Redneck. I’ll probably die a blank-flank. For some reason, that last thought lights a tiny spark of fury in my heart. I know I probably won’t last very long once the Games start, but if there is anything at all I can do, I will fight back and somehow show them that they can do what they like to my body, but they can’t touch my soul.
The train station is the only building in town that is completely modern and in good repair. It has to be, since if it were a wreck like the rest of Field Town it might slow down the delivery of goods to Canterlot, and wouldn’t that be a travesty? The train is moved by magic these days. In school, we learned that they had been pulled by teams of ponies for centuries before the Magi-lev tracks were invented. I’m glad it’s faster and cheaper than the old way. If not, you can bet the C-Trolls would have teams of us district ponies hauling the things till we died of exhaustion. Instead, they just round up a few ‘volunteer’ unicorns and draw out their magic to power the train. After all, district unicorns are fitted with magic inhibitors as soon as they’re born. So they aren’t using any of their power for anything else. The C-Trolls are hooking up their ‘volunteers’ to the engine with rubber tubes that fit over their horns and attach to the inhibitor rings implanted into their horns.
I realize I’m concentrating on anything I can to distract me from thinking about saying goodbye to my family. The path to the door into the train car is roped off and our families are gathered there on the opposite side of the ropes from us. There are cameras hovering all around us. Some are carried by Canterlot Pegasi, others are being levitated by Canterlot unicorns. They are all reporters and everything they see is being broadcasted on the Magi-vision screens all across Canterlot and the districts. The only time those screens work in the districts is when the Games are happening or when the C-Trolls want to show the execution of rebels and traitors.
I don’t know why they feel the need to film our farewells. Is it just to humiliate us? Or do Canterlot ponies get some kind of sick, vicarious thrill out of seeing all this? I don’t know, but I forget the cameras when I’m hit in the side by a tiny blue and orange lightning bolt.
“Blue! What are you doing?” I hiss at him, trying to move to keep myself between my brother and the guards so they won’t see him. “You have to stay behind the ropes! You’ll get beaten.” I edge towards the ropes, maybe I can get him back behind them before one of the guards sees.
“I don’t care!” he wails, drawing the attention of the cameras and the guards. “I wanna go with you! You’re my Big Sister Best Friend Forever!” Tears flow freely down his cheeks and his whole tiny body shakes with sobs as he clings to me. The damage is done, I see the guards coming towards us. Then I notice that nearly all the cameras are focused on my brother and me. The guards are hesitating. Maybe they’re reluctant to beat a little colt on camera? I crouch down and hug him tight, I don’t have to fake tears for the cameras, I’m crying as hard as Bluesky. I pat his back and nuzzle his flame colored mane, wishing I could just stay here holding him forever. Swallowing my tears and putting on a brave smile is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
“You can’t come with me Blue.” I say quietly, but loud enough for the camera-ponies to hear. “I need you to stay and take care of Mum and Dad till I get back.” He lifts his tearstained face up to look at me. “B-b-but…”
“Shhh, it’s alright. I’ll come back, ok? You’re my Little Brother Best Friend Forever. I’ll always come back to you. You remember how I saved you when you got stuck in the tree? And the times I brought home the extra sweet clover that grows by the stream and shared it just with you? You just take care of yourself and our parents and don’t worry about me. I need you to be a big, brave colt for them until I get home. Can you do that for me L.B.B.F.F?” He puts on a shaky smile of his own and wipes his nose with a hoof. “O-ok, I’ll be brave. I’ll watch you on the screens and pray to the princess for you every day, B.S.B.F.F.”
He shouldn’t have mentioned the princess. While it isn’t actually forbidden to offer prayers to Princess Luna, it is frowned upon. We’re supposed to only offer prayers to Celestia. I hold my hoof out to him, hoping the C-Trolls don’t pay much attention to what he said. “Good, brohoof on it?” I ask. He nods very seriously at me, bumping my hoof with his (the hoof with his boogers on it, eww). We both say the rhyme together, and make the traditional motions as we do “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”
I spot our parents pressing up against the ropes as close as they dare, Mum reaching out for Blue. I lift him up and pass him to her. She doesn’t say anything, but I don’t mind. I think I’d start bawling again if she did. Dad surprises me by taking off his big gray cowpony hat and putting it on my head. I have to stick my ears out to keep it from falling down over my eyes. “Be safe.” He says, and then turns to lead Mum and Blue away.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaw! Wasn’t that sooooo sweet!” I hear Bauble gushing behind me. “Such a good big sister even though she’s such a little filly herself. It makes me what to squee! Doesn’t it melt your hearts gentlecolts?”
I turn and see the pink pony has intercepted the guards before they can go chase down my family to punish them. At that moment, I could hug him.
The cameras move along with him to watch the rest of the goodbyes. The rest are much more subdued. I pull Dad’s hat down over my eyes to hide from the cameras until Bauble shoos us all into the train car. He makes sure we all get settled into the car before closing the doors after one last wave to the cameras. I curl up on a luxurious bench as the train pulls out of the station and try to keep my sobs too quiet for the others to hear.
I don’t get to cry for long. Old Cider stomps into the car, looking shockingly sober. “Alright kids, gather ‘round and listen up if you want more than an ice-cube’s chance on the sun of survival.” All of us look at the amber unicorn in shock. None of us have ever seen him this serious. I glance over at Bauble. The pink stallion is nodding.
“Yes my dears, pay close attention to Mr. Cider. He’ll be the one persuading the sponsors on your behalf during the Games. I’m going to go *ahem* powder my nose. I’ll see you all again when we arrive in a few hours. Tata darlings!” He prances out, leaving the six of us alone with Old Cider.
“Eeyup! You heard right kiddos. I’ll not only be your line to the sponsors, I’ll also be in control of which of their gifts you get sent and when they are sent to you. All of you have seen enough Games to know what a difference a sponsor’s gift can make on the chances of survival. I’ll also be your advisor on what training to get before the Games begin. It’s my job to make sure you give the audience a good show before you die. You’ll probably all die, but if you do exactly what I tell you, there’s at least a tiny chance that one of you might survive to the end. Any questions?” I can almost hear jaws hitting the floor in shock, my own included. I had no idea how much of our fate rested in Old Cider’s hooves. Before any of us can finish getting our mouths closed, Cider nods and continues. “Good. I’ll leave you to ponder on that for now. Bauble and I will be planning strategies for each of you. We’ll discuss them with you individually after the parade tonight. Until then, I’ll leave you all with a bit of general advice. Get some sleep and don’t fight your fashion designer when he dresses you. Later kiddies, I need a drink.” With that, he trots out, using his magic to pull down the blinds as he leaves. As a winner of the Harmony Games, his magic inhibitor had been adjusted to allow him to perform basic telekinesis. The car is dark and there is nothing for us to do but follow his advice. As I drift off, mine are not the only muffled sobs to be heard in the dark car.
The colts and fillies from each district are always presented in a dramatic costume parade before entering training. The costumes are supposed to reflect the districts they come from. However, the fashion designers put in charge of the looks for the chosen take the opportunity to use the parade to show off (and hopefully set new trends for the Capitol ponies). This means that the outfits are usually over-the-top, ridiculous and tricked out with the latest fashion magic. Most years it’s hard to even see the colts and fillies under the costumes.
I’m dreading whatever monstrosities the designers have cooked up for Field District this year. Usually it’s some excessively sparkly interpretation of “ancient” settler garb. Supposedly this is inspired by the settler ponies who originally tamed the wilds of our district long before the Last War. Once or twice there have been other themes, usually something equally tacky and glitzy based on the supposed outfits the native Buffalo wore before they were driven out of Equestria, or some skimpy “farmer” get-up that would be destroyed in seconds by actual work.
As we leave the train and Canterlot station, we are led by Bauble with Cider shooing us along from behind to keep us from gawking like the yokels we are. The whole building seems to be made of glass panes, forming a gigantic dome which allows a full 360 degree view of Canterlot. The buildings around us are huge, seeming to almost touch the clouds. They are every color of the rainbow, looking like they are made of giant spires of candy. They glisten in the noonday sun, without a hint of dust or other pollution in the air. They must have a whole army of ponies just to keep the city clean!
I manage to tear my eyes away just in time to keep from bumping into the rump of the big unicorn colt (Rockjaw, I remember upon seeing his cutie mark of a rock from just inches away). I quickly back up a step and peer around him, craning my neck to try and see why we stopped. We are standing in front of a set of metal doors. They slide open, disappearing into the walls to reveal a small room lined with mirrors. There is barely room for the eight of us as we squeeze inside, herded in by Cider. There is a panel of buttons inside and Bauble pushes one marked “C”. The doors slide shut and my stomach does a barrel-roll as the room suddenly feels as though it’s falling!
I let out an involuntary squeal of panic and look for a way out of this death-trap. Rockjaw, who is looming next to me, reaches up a forehoof and pats my head. “S’ok kid. Just a lift. Like town hall.”
I think that may be the most he’s said the entire trip. His calm voice cuts through my panic long enough for me to remember that lift in town hall. It was only put in last year (registration for the Games is held in the second floor of the building, so Redneck and I got to take a couple rides up and down) and it is nowhere near as fast and smooth as the thing we’re riding in, but I realize he must be right. I hear snickers from a couple of the others at my outburst. Bauble only makes it worse when he smiles that painted-on smile of his at me and says in a condescending tone “Don’t fret darling, you aren’t the first Chosen to get a little spooked by the elevator. They are called elevators here, not ‘lifts’ as they are in… quainter places.”
I grit my teeth for the rest of the ride. After a few more endless moments, the ride finally ends and the doors slide open again. I barely manage to suppress a moan of relief as we walk out into the sun. We are in some sort of courtyard or fancy garden. There are six huge tents on the immaculately trimmed lawn, each marked with a number. Another group of colts and fillies are being led to the tent marked with the number 3; they must be the Polish district Chosen. I look ahead and see our tent. It is right next to the bank of a big stream which runs through the courtyard and, unlike the other five tents, it has no roof.
Bauble ushers us inside our ‘tent’, colts to one side and fillies to the other with a cloth wall separating us. We are greeted with bubbly enthusiasm by the brightest colored mares I’ve ever seen. There are three of them, all a bright neon green that actually glows, with their manes each dyed another glowing color. One is florescent orange, one is lightning blue and one is such a vibrant purple it hurts to look at. Actually, it hurts to look at any of them. They are all wearing skin-tight body suits covered in glitter in rainbow colors. The orange one grabs Crystal, the unicorn, by the hoof and starts fussing over her and helping her into a steaming tub. The earthpony filly is given the same treatment by the blue one, leaving me with the purple one. I hope my eyes aren’t permanently damaged by prolonged exposure to her.
I hear a complaint from the earthpony filly. “Why doesn’t our tent have a roof? Aren’t we all supposed to get equal treatment?” “Quit whining Heartsong.” Crystal snaps from her tub. From what I can see, she seems to be enjoying the ministrations of her glowing attendant. Heartsong fights off her attendant and stands up in her tub to glare at the unicorn filly. “I am NOT whining! I am complaining. Do you want to hear whining?”
“Now now darling, no need for that.” A voice booms out above us. It sounds male, and yet oddly effeminate. I look up and feel my jaw dropping again. It seems to be doing that a lot lately. Above us looms a huge, purple sea-serpent. His hair, though perfectly styled, is gray with age. That is, it’s all gray except for one side of his long and impressive mustache. While the right side is a dignified gray and straight, the left side is a deep purple and tumbles in a gently curled wave. His voice booms out over us again.
“I am Steven Magnet. I’m your stylist and I’m the reason your tent doesn’t have a roof. I told the event planners not to bother making a tent big enough to fit me when they could just leave off the top so I could see inside. I must say, you all look simply fabulous! It will be an absolute pleasure getting each of you dressed for the parade.” He flashes a brilliant smile at us and I see Heartsong swoon out of the corner of my eye.
“Oh dear, is the mint-colored one alright?” The sea serpent leans down to look at her with genuine concern. I think I like him.
