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Beau is sitting alone at lunch, the second day of training. Bryce is still out on the floor, shooting arrows with various contraptions. It’s not like they’re buddies, or anything, and Beau is just as glad to have some time to herself.
Until the princess from District One puts her plate down across from her and says, "Hi my name's Jester what's yours?" She says it so fast it takes Beau a second to answer, and by that time Jester has already sat down and started eating.
"Uh, Beau. Beauregard. Hi."
You're from Twelve, right?"
Everyone knows she's from Twelve. After the splash Dairon made with their costumes two nights ago, everyone knows Beau and Bryce. She puts her elbows up on the table and glares at the princess, trying to figure out what her game is. "Yeah."
“That’s cool.” Somehow, she doesn’t sound patronizing about it. Like she actually thinks it’s cool that Beau’s from the ass end of nowhere. “It was really cool how you were on fire at the parade! Did it hurt? Did you get burned? How long did you know you were going to do that, because I decided on my style like, right away. Are you going to be on fire again tonight for the interviews?”
Again, Beau could only blink under the onslaught of questions. From anyone else in this fucking room, they would have been barbs, testing out weakness, looking for information that could be used against her.
From the princess, they were just...questions. Like one of the girls at school, Maevi, who was just really into dresses and fabrics and shit.
And Beau could not afford to think like that, could not afford to see a girl from school and not someone she might kill in less than a week.
So she says, “Uh, I don’t think it’s any of your damn business what my style is.”
And Jester collapses like a popped balloon. She shrinks down over her half-eaten plate, staring at the food for a second. It’s just a moment, and then she smiles a sad sort of smile, shrugs a shoulder, and gets up to leave. “You’re right, of course,” she says, in her stupid posh accent. “Sorry for bothering you.”