Title: Blue-Ribbon Performance
Author: Shadowravyn
Theme: April 22, Showjumping
Genre: Teenage Angst
Version: Crystal Tokyo
Rating: G
Words: 997



Another ball. Huzzah.

Small Lady Princess Usagi (who mostly went by Usagi now that she was old enough—and tall enough—to resent the term “Small”) sighed wearily as she gazed out the window at the streaming mass of well-dressed humanity entering the palace, here to pay their respects to…her. Upon hitting a physical sixteen, since she’d passed the chronological age centuries ago, it seemed that the entire world had begun focusing on her. And, unfortunately, that wasn’t the usual teenage sense of self-importance. As the heir-presumptive to the thrones of Crystal Tokyo—not that her parents seemed to be in any danger of suddenly vacating said thrones—her popularity amongst noble sons and their ambitious mothers skyrocketed once she became of marriageable age.

Too bad she was sick of the lot of them.

It had been a year and a half since this farce had begun. Her parents had announced that the previous New Year’s celebration was to be held in her name and honor to celebrate her reaching her majority. She hadn’t realized it then, but that had been the social equivalent of holding up a sign that said “Hey kids, free candy!” outside a schoolyard. The nobility came in droves.

Old men, young men, fat, thin, rich, poor-but-titled, gregarious, shy, charming, hideous…after a while, they all started to blur together into one faceless horde of men. She’d danced with men who technically weren’t old enough to be her grandfather, but certainly looked the part, and spent other evenings practically babysitting prospective suitors while the boys’ mothers cooed about how wonderful the two of them looked together, and how much better they’d get along once their sons hit puberty.

Several months ago, while she was enduring the tedium of the receiving line, a brittle smile plastered on her face, she was struck by the similarity between her current position and the competitions she used to watch in the 20th century, during the height of her fascination with Helios. Like the shows she used to watch, her evenings were divided into three separate ‘events’ where she would perform for an audience of hundreds, and, as the only filly on the field, every eye was glued to the least of her movements. They would watch her, judge her, dissect every gesture, look, and response, and then figure out how to use it to their best advantage. Except in this competition, her only prize was being able to continue the charade the following month. Not quite the purse and the acclaim she remembered the other horses getting. At first, she had tried to laugh off the comparison between her life and a horse show, but upon reflection, the parallels between the two were uncanny.

First, during the informal reception, she’d be called over and put through her paces. “Your Highness, please grace us with a song, we’ve heard you sing so well!” “Princess, will you chat with His Excellency? You’re Greek is as good as a native’s.” “Oh, Princess Usagi, I’m so glad you’re here! Your grasp of macroeconomics is astounding, would you mind explaining a few things for us? From the moment she descended the stairs into the public sections of the palace, she was on display. At any moment, one of her talents (real or simply imagined by whoever was talking to her at the time) could be called upon for the ‘edification’ of the masses.

That lasted until the bell rang for the formal dinner. Dinner was somewhat of a relief, as she got to sit with her parents and the Senshi; any guests who were privileged to sit upon the dais with them were usually visiting heads of state, and they generally spent most of their time talking to her parents. It was easier to ignore the avaricious stares of the assembled when she was separated from them by several meters, and surrounded by her family. She considered dinner to be the grooming and appearance part of the competition. While she was placidly eating dinner under their watchful gazes, they were appraising her manners, the estimated value of her clothing, her face, her body, any part of her conversation they could hear… Occasionally, she imagined some old beldame or another hiking up to the head table and checking her teeth. The only thing they couldn’t pass judgment on were her bloodlines, which were, of course, impeccable. In one of the earlier balls, she’d been told by a Swahili diplomat that her parents’ titles in his tongue translated out to “gods upon the earth.” You couldn’t really go up from there.

After the desserts had been cleared away, the formal ball began and with it, the final round of competition. In Usagi’s eyes, it was no longer a party, but a course of obstacles laid out by scheming people with only their own advancement in mind. There was no telling when they would leap out and try to trip her up. She couldn’t shy away from them, that would be seen as weakness, and it was impossible to avoid them all, so the only option available was to try to leap over their hurdles as gracefully as she could, and hope they didn’t pursue her. She would open the ball with a dance with her father—the only dance of the night she truly enjoyed—and he would waltz her to the starting line. After their dance, he would give her a courtly bow, and return to his seat next to Serenity. The eyes of the assembly glittered with anticipation watching his departure from his daughter’s side. The moment he took his seat on his throne was the only green flag they needed.

And she would spent the evening running the course they laid out for her, never sure when she’d have to leap, keeping a serene smile on her face so no one would know what she was truly feeling, and always wishing she could abandon it all and just run for the door…