For Tenor, when she laid eyes upon the meal fit for the Gods, she was surprised, but not really. It was as if somepony was throwing things at her in a pattern. An apple, a banana, a grape. This happens for an extended period of time, and then—suddenly—two grapes in a row are thrown. She’s taken off guard, but in the end it’s really nothing she didn’t expect.
But, it was so massive. The pile of food in front of her looked extremely appetizing, and freshly made. The words on the wall, way towards the back, almost hinted towards her. It was odd. Though, she’d have to be an idiot to eat it. For all she knew, E poisoned it or something. Tenor wasn’t about to drop out of this game early simply because she was hungry. Besides, she’d rather stay hungry. It’d most likely help her stay awake. She recalled Alloy mentioning something about not eating in order to stay up. As much as she hated him, she couldn’t just blatantly ignore his ideas.
“How… how did this all get here?” Alloy asked nopony in particular. The air was warm, heat resonating off the food on the table. Tenor could see the steam rise up towards the ceiling. The room was slightly fogged already.
“The room shifted again!” Tenor exclaimed. “The Celestia-damned room shifted again! How does this even happen?”
She was in sheer awe. Never before had she witnessed a stranger concept than this. She wasn’t a mare that took surprise well, but for some reason, her hooves were plastered to the floor, and her heart was heavier than she would have liked. Somewhere, deep inside of her, fear was mingling about.
Sketch and Swallow had joined the other four a few minutes upon their initial discovery. Even though they were at the back of the group, she noticed the fact that Sketch was feeling better, and that Swallow had a grand smile that adorned her lips. Though, perhaps that could just be from the sight of all that food.
One by one, each pony wandered inside of what was the pillared room. Mixed expressions filled the air, giving Tenor an unclear idea of how to react.
With things constantly shifting and changing like this, Tenor knew that her chances of winning this game had gone down just a smidgen.
“How does the room do this? How does E manage this? It’s…” Alloy couldn’t even finish his sentence. His open mouth was focused upon the spectacle in front of them.
Tenor sighed, and flipped a small lock of her mane away from her face. She was the only unicorn in the room, so it was evident that she knew just what the stakes were, now. While she was no expert on magic—which is fairly obvious considering that hers didn't extend past basic levitation—she knew that E was either a very strong unicorn, or something else was going on. Being able to manipulate an entire room in less than five minutes was very taxing on somepony’s energy, if not unlikely entirely.
However, Tenor kept these little speculations to herself.
“It’s a memorial,” said Gallant, his eyes dead set on the feast in front of him. Tenor could feel an almost eerie drawl in his voice, as if he were speaking at a funeral. “E must have known that Buttermilk would have been the first to go, or something or other.” She had a feeling like Gallant had more to say, but kept his mouth shut.
“He’s been stalking us for nine years. I’m sure he knew of Buttermilk’s little problem,” Tenor spat. She was going make a comment stating that it may not even by E’s doing, but didn't. She hated the rest of the group anyways. She didn't wish to hear their opinions.
“Why a memorial?” Sketch asked. Even though he appeared to be doing better, and speaking on his own, his voice was still a little downtrodden. Tenor wondered just what Swallow said to the kid.
Alloy shrugged. “Beats me. Perhaps its just so we remember him. After all, only one of us gets out of here.”
Once again, Alloy had chosen his words terribly. The rest of the group went completely silent, as they were once again reminded of the fact. Tenor simply sighed. She had no reason to be scared, once she thought about it. She was going to win this game anyways. She deserved it, after all. She couldn't live nineteen years of her life, only to have it end this way. She couldn't die until she was known throughout the world, knowing that her existence wasn't meaningless.
Sketch looked and the floor, and sighed.
Oddly enough, Swallow was the one who broke the eloquent silence. Tenor could practically hear her stomach growling. “So… erm… I know this is going to sound really bad, but… I think this is our lunch.”
“This is also a major trap,” Alloy added. “I know what he’s trying to do.”
“What, you think he poisoned the food or something?” Sketch piped, raising his head just slightly.
“He wants us to pig out, then pass out.” Alloy shook his head. “Isn’t it obvious?”
The smile on Swallow’s face did a complete one-eighty. Tenor had to admit, Alloy had a point. She was fairly hungry herself, and the idea of overeating sounded all too possible. She wasn’t going to lose this game simply because she couldn’t control her appetite.
“He’s trying to toy with us, and help us fall asleep so the game can progress,” Gallant interjected. “He’s using Buttermilk’s occupation as a way of doing it.”
Swallow brought a hoof to her belly. “We can’t just starve, though.”
Tenor had forgotten of Miso’s existence almost completely. Even though she was completely unable to put everything together—much less read the incriminating writing on the wall or understand E’s announcement—she appeared totally unfazed. She casted a hungry glance around the room, while folding her ears against her head.
Something about her seemed… off. Miso piqued Tenor’s interest, something that has only happened to the punk mare a few times in her life. Only rarely did she really give a damn about somepony other than herself.
Tenor was going to need to keep an eye on that mare.
“Well, obviously not,” Alloy muttered, turning from Swallow to the buffet in front of them. “We just have to be careful not to overeat.”
“This room has shifted twice in the last seven hours, though. What if we don’t get another chance to eat for a while?” asked Swallow. She was shifting her weight on her hooves, eagerly.
“Yeah, I mean, we should eat while we can,” Sketch said. Tenor wanted to ignore him, like usual, but considering that she almost—almost—felt bad for the kid, she decided not to completely tune him out. However, he still annoyed her to no end. She didn’t like him very much. “I’m starved too.”
Sketch cast a kind smile over to Swallow, who returned a warm one of her own. Tenor wanted to vomit. Though, she could use this to her advantage. Swallow didn’t appear to be a mare who’d be able to control her appetite. This much was obvious. It was also apparent that Sketch was going to suck up to Swallow for a while. She had no idea what kind of talking session the two had had, but it was apparent that Swallow was the new Buttermilk to Sketch. Considering that Sketch was likely the most tired in the group so far, Tenor felt her inner gears turning. A devilish smirk crossed her face, as she opened her mouth.
“Well, why don’t we just dig in? Sketch and Swallow have a point.”
Gallant shook his head. “Probably not a good idea. We need to portion ourselves. The sleepier you are, the less food you should eat.” He shrugged.
Alloy nodded towards Gallant. “Agreed. Perhaps we take a plateful of food, and call it at that? E isn’t going to starve us. If he sees we’re getting hungry, he’ll do something about it. Dying that way isn’t the point of the game. Besides—” he looked upwards, as if he was calculating something, “—dinner should be sometime within the next five hours at this rate. We’ll be fine.”
Swallow’s eyes lit up. “Oh! A plateful works for me!”
“Me too!” Sketch agreed.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Alloy said, fixing his gaze upon the buffet in front of him. The lights above him reflected off his glasses, like honing beacons. He turned to look at Gallant, again. “Let’s eat.”
Tenor narrowed her eyes.
Gallant could feel his stomach wanting to remove the food that he so desperately craved. It only made him devour more.
Eight hours, ten minutes, four seconds into the game.
So far, Gallant wasn’t all that tired yet. Even with a belly more full than he would have initially liked, he felt extravagantly chipper, even for him. The game had failed to take any sort of mental or emotional toll on him, so far. He knew that as time went on, that he’d soon have to learn how to worry, should this game get dragged on for hours upon hours, even days, possibly.
He hoped not.
He felt glad that he was matched up against these opponents like he was. He believed he had a very good chance of winning, after all. During missions in his younger days, he’d stay up for days and nights depending on what the situation called for. He was accustomed to not getting any sleep.
So, why should he be nervous? Simple. He shouldn’t. He stared upon every situation with a sense of indifference that calmed his elderly heart. He wasn’t like other stallion’s his age. He was very fit and strong. He could never envision himself in an old ponies home. His body was like a tank, able to take almost anything the world could throw at him.
In fact, his occasional cases of insomnia played very well into his current circumstances.
How lucky for him.
After everyone had eaten, the six remaining contenders split up, going their own separate ways. Gallant didn’t pay attention to where they all went, however. Truthfully, he couldn’t care less, so much as they didn’t bother him.
He found himself in his specified room. Between the foreign mare’s area—where Miso could most likely be placed right at that very moment—and Buttermilk’s grave site. The stallion was accustomed to death. He’d seen it in its brutalest forms. The fact that he was currently residing in a room next door to a dead pony didn’t exactly bother him, so much as he didn’t think about it.
He stared at the photos of him that littered his dresser, and sighed. He noticed upon inspecting Buttermilk’s room earlier that Gallant had much less pictures adorning his room: only about three. Then again, Gallant wasn’t much for pictures in general. Whenever he was invited to take part in one, the stallion usually came up with a half-assed excuse and wandered away.
The first picture was very old. In fact, it was black and white. It was a family photograph that the stallion’s family had taken when he was barely a child. He sat gloomily on a barstool in front of his smiling parents. His hair was neatly gelled, and he wore a “handsome” suit and tie that matched his fathers. He looked remarkably depressed, and it made Gallant grin. He’d always hated having to sit down and look that nice when he was a colt. It was at that moment where he discovered his hatred for picture taking.
The other two pictures were eerily similar to each other, both being taken in the same place and almost the same time. They were both of him, surrounded by a bunch of his squad mates before he was a commander. Both of them took place at a banquet that Gallant remembered vividly. It was where he was gifted with a few of his medals during a ceremony. He took such pride in them, it almost saddened him to remember that he might never see them again, and recall the glory that earned him them in the first place.
His eyes shifted to his squad mates, all three of them. They all surrounded him, and smiled at the camera. In one of the photos, Marvel—the more outgoing stallion of the squad—was practically jumping on Gallant’s back, laughing away as he gazed into the camera. The other two stallions, Revoir and Zest, were chuckling away as the watched it all take place. The cock of Zest’s eye always made Gallant want to smile nostalgically.
As far as he knew, Marvel was the only stallion from Gallant’s squad that was still alive.
He didn’t bother to think about any of that. Even though Revoir and Zest were the closest things to friends he’d ever had, he just didn’t feel bad. Sure, he felt a little lonelier, but he didn’t find himself upset upon learning of their demise all those years ago. In fact, he didn’t even go to their funeral.
He wondered just what Marvel was doing right then. Probably off breaking a rule somewhere, or causing some more trouble in an old ponies home. Weird guy, he was.
Gallant was jolted out of his memories by a knock on his door. He didn’t even jump. He turned his head to look behind him, maintaining his forever-even glare.
It was Tenor.
He sighed. Of all the ponies in the competition to come to his door, it had to be her. Gallant couldn’t stand that mare—more importantly, her attitude. He contorted his face into a disappointed grimace, and turned back to set his photograph back on his desk. “Can I help you?” he muttered, lowly.
“I need to talk to you,” she replied while walking inside, not even bothering to ask permission. Gallant should have known better than to have assumed she’d do something like that. Tenor rudely barged her way inside, and tried to shut the door behind her.
“Leave it open,” he said, sternly. Tenor paused for a moment, simply staring at him before she rolled her light blue orbs.
“Pfft, whatever.” Gallant didn’t even waste time getting angry at her remark. She obliged, and left the door open, albeit a crack. She let out a small sigh, and stood on the other side of the room. “You have some explaining to do, grandpa.”
“About what?” he asked, knitting his brow.
Tenor dug her hooves into the ground, and bore a frightening frown. Whatever she wanted to talk about, it did not make her happy. “I’ve been observing you ever since this game began, Gallant. Something’s awfully fishy.”
Gallant was still a bit confused. He shook his head. “What do you want?”
Tenor’s eyes flared. She spoke lowly, as if she was having trouble managing to keep her voice down. “You know exactly what. What’s up with you?”
“I’m not going to ask again. You’re the one that came into my room. Get to your point. I’m not in the mood to be bothered.”
“Ever since the beginning of this game, you’ve been so calm,” she said, poison flowing from her ivory lips. “You’ve been staying within talking distance to Alloy ever since you two investigated that Pillared Room a few hours ago. I’ve been watching him too. He always turns to look towards you whenever he has an idea or says something interesting.” Gallant’s heart skipped a beat, but refused to let it falter him.
“And then with Buttermilk. Once again, you were completely calm. The guy died, and there you were, just staring at him creepily. Everyone else is having a panic attack, but you… you weren’t. So, I’m going to ask you once. What’s your deal? Explain yourself, or I’ll tell everyone that you’re acting suspicious.”
Gallant glared at her. He didn’t have much of a tolerance for anything, but he did not appreciate blackmail in the slightest. There was a moments silence, before Gallant stood up tall, and looked back at the mare with eyes destined to kill.
“So, you’re assuming, since I’ve done the right thing and remained absolutely calm throughout this game, that I’m obviously up to something.” Upon rephrasing her words, Tenor grew just a little bit angrier, and shook her head.
“You dolt. I’m saying that you’re acting suspicious. I’m saying that your reactions to these situations don’t add up. Perhaps you’re working with E, and have no need to react considering you know what’s all about to happen anyways, hmm?”
Gallant’s eyes went wide. While what Tenor was spewing was in no way, shape, or form, the truth, the results of her telling those type of lies to the group would be disastrous.
“The room shifted twice, and you didn’t bat a wrinkled eye. Why not? Any normal pony would have at least been a little shocked. You’re actions are evidence that you’re hiding something.”
“I have done no such thing, Tenor,” Gallant replied, calmly. Getting angry would probably not help anything at the moment. “You’re paranoid. It’s understandable, considering this game and its mental toll. I have no part in anything. I woke up here asking questions just like you.”
Gallant mentally sighed when Tenor still continued to talk.
“Then what’s your deal with Alloy then, huh?”
Gallant stayed quiet.
“Something’s up between you two. I wanna know what it is, right now. For all we know, you two could be conspiring against us.” She began to absently pace around the room, while Gallant heard the gears in her head turn and turn. “You two could be plotting to kill us on your own, and win the game yourselves. Or, just an alliance? Is that it? Are you trying to team up to win this game? Newsflash, genius. Only one of us leaves!”
Gallant didn’t say anything.
“Teaming up isn’t fair, Gallant. Either way, I don’t know what you’re doing with Alloy, but you’d better give yourself a kick in the ass and tell me.”
Gallant had had enough.
“First of all, I’m not in some kind of alliance. What, is this some kind of reality show? No. This is real life. You need to calm down. I can see you’re getting tired already, going off and going crazy only eight or so hours into the game. I am not up to anything, nor is Alloy, as far as I know. Why don’t you go talk to him instead? Secondly, you saying something isn’t fair in this game is ridiculous. You need to reevaluate yourself, and stop focusing on other ponies and worry about your own life.”
Tenor let out a furious yell, and picked up one of Gallant’s pictures that resided right next to him with her magic. She slammed it on the floor, where it made a loud cracking sound. “You’re in for it now, hag. I’ll make you regret talking to me like that. You just watch.”
With this, she stopped out of the room.
Gallant only stood there for a few moments, before letting out a soft sigh. He turned to the ground, at the remains of his picture. He bent down, and picked it up. Off all three pictures Tenor could have grabbed, she picked his family portrait.
He looked at it, and frowned.
The picture was nearly blemish-free.
Unfortunately, young Gallant’s face was cracked, and shattered—contorting the depressed frown on his face into something even more grotesque.
Sketch had heard everything.
Even though it was eight hours into the game, Sketch’s boredom was increasing. Even though he still felt a bit of grief for his late friend, he had a new one now. Swallow was his new best friend. And for once, she seemed to be okay with that fact. She was very kind to him, unlike the others.
But now, with a full belly, he decided to walk off his emotions, taking a minute to simply ponder things while his best friend took a bathroom break. Alone, yet again, and unable to find any of the other contenders, he took to roaming about aimlessly.
This, was how he stumbled upon Tenor and Gallant.
He knew he shouldn’t have been listening, but he couldn’t help but hear Tenor’s angry rants and points. There were times that his eyes would go wide with realization, as he contemplated just what was going on.
His inner coward was beginning to beg for freedom.
He couldn't ignore Tenor’s words. What if… what if Gallant was working with E? What if Gallant and Alloy were working together, plotting to kill him?
What if his death would be at the hooves of Gallant?
The more he thought about it, the more creepy and malevolent his views of Gallant became.
As soon as he heard something break, Sketch became spooked. “I’ll make you regret talking to me like that. You just watch!” he heard Tenor shout.
Those were the last words Sketch heard before he darted away.