I'm grateful to get my heavy clothes off after the parade, (not to be naked, but to put something lighter). The outfits my arrogant stylist made me and Swifty Sketch wear looked like space suits. I was very overheated during the entire thing, my body temperature likely raised 2 degrees celsius above normal. I was afraid I would pass out. That would've made quite a scene, and while I'd be grateful for the attention it would not be of the variety that I like.
"Hello, I'm sure you're eager for some refreshment before your training tomorrow." Says, a lavender pony smiling. Me and Swifty Sketch nod as we begin to follow her up to the rooms that the Capital has provided us during our stay. "Oh Discord the food is outstanding you have got to try..." I'm usually a good listener but this pony's ramblings are getting the better of me. Nothing she is saying is even making a lick of sense. As we enter the dining hall, I find myself greeted with the mentor for District 3, Ender. I sit down grudgingly next to him. He hands me a glass of water.
"Thank you." I call. I chug the water down gladly. "I still feel a little hyperthermic."
"You're a depraved oversensitive lunatic." Swifty Sketch teases. "Those suits were not that hot." I dig my fork into my veal and ignore her comment. I try to remember if ponies even eat this stuff, then I shrug. "Well aren't you going to say something Law School?" I stand up to assert my dominance, challenging the mare. Ender clears his throat preparing for a response.
"In the games, bickering is suicide. Arguing of any kind is suicide. The biggest way to end an argument is to kill whatever pony you're debating with." Ender responds, staring into his silverware. "So... GET ALONG" He growls. I sit down, I can't continue to be feral and must stay civilized as long as possible until the games begin. When the games begin, I'll become wild.
Ender adjusts his purple glasses and rubs his black hair with veal fat. "You foals have best eat what's on your plate and get to bed. Big day tomorrow, you must train well if you want to do good on your evaluations." He cackles, digging his spoon into marmalade and eating it in such a way that I wish to not describe.
"And THIS is our insane mentor." I lean over and whisper to Swifty Sketch, she laughs.
"Hey!" Ender barks.
"At least we're getting along. That counts for something." I say. I get out a sheet of parchment kept in my vest pocket. "Why don't we sign a peace treaty. And agree not to kill eachother." I turn to Swifty Sketch. The legally binding document in question, is an armistice. She signs and she agrees to cease conflict, and certain other terms written in big words and small font that I expect the 13 year old mare not to care about. I watch her skim through the longly worded document in about 5 seconds, before signing it. I smile.
"I'll remind you of the terms if you fail to comply." I say, carefully instructing her. I turn to her drawing something on her napkin, holding her pencil with her mouth. "Are you listening?"
"Yeah, uh huh." She says, eyes still on her paper.
"Give me that." I growl. I look at the napkin which reveals a drawing of me with my mouth open and eyes crossed, affectionally labeled 'He never stops talking.' I crumple it up and throw it at the ground. "I think that violates our agreement."
Swifty Sketch turns her head. "What? It's not like I stabbed you or anything."
"Oh that can be arranged." I say, dramatically holding a steak knife to my chest before Ender takes it away.
"No dying until the games start." Ender says.
The purple mare from earlier, who oddly enough hasn't talked since we sat down is staring at me. "Well. Say something." I say. Ender glares at her, she nearly hurls but begins to talk.
"That was so dramatic." She says, giddily. "You will be perfect to watch during the games." It was a joke, I'm not thespian. That being said I really liked her better when she wasn't talking.
"What did I say about you talking?" Ender yells. "I think that violates our agreement."
"Our agreement is verbal and not legally binding." The mare says, sticking her tongue out.
I stare at Swifty Sketch from across the table as she tries to cover up her laughter. "Well I'm long finished with my meal and it looks like the annoying mare is talking again I'm going to excuse myself." I say with remorse as I walk away.
"Excuse me, my name is Written Fable." She yells back at me. I turn my head and smile.
"Sorry, my manners. I'm LawWing." I bow. "May I please be excused?"
"You may." She huffs.
"Hey Swift." I ask. "You going to bed soon? You've got to be rested for training tomorrow."
"Actually I'm too excited about meeting new tributes." She jumps up. I raise my eyebrow.
"You're excited to meet the people who want to kill you." I question.
"No, really the more I gain their trust the less likely I am to die." She says, twiddling her pencil. "It's all I can hope for at this point." She puts her head down, I walk closer. I stare into her pink eyes and smile.
"You really shouldn't be afraid of dying, you should be afraid of living. When you die you have no fear. You're at peace." I say, touching her cerulean mane. She back off.
"Well I'm not giving up." She yells. I take a second to tend to my black and yellow mane, she stares. "You're doing your hair now?"
"Gotta stay sharp for your funeral. After all if I win you have to die." I smile.
"Now you're provoking conflict, isn't that against our agreement?" She asks.
"Actually no, our agreement prevents you from initiating or prolonging conflict." I explain. "It doesn't prevent me from provoking you. You really should read every sketchy legal contract before you sign it."
"Figures."