If There's Any Other Way ✵ Alayne, Andrick & Magnus
Magnus had been awake for hours now, quietly allowing the stylists to slap on trace amounts of makeup and gel to make him look presentable. In past weeks he’d only worn what was necessary to be seen in public, the time taken to look good not invested in nor cared about. Without much of a fuss, too, his stylists were surprised that the fiery-spirited boy didn’t fight back as they tugged on the Capitol-issued clothing like prior years. Sadly, Magnus just didn’t care about fighting back anymore.
So much about the young lad had changed in the past few months that now Magnus didn’t really understand what was happening but there was one thing he was starting to comprehend: there was no fighting the Capitol. Going along with the charade was much easier than fighting the heartbreak that accompanied struggle. And with the final touches added in by his miracle workers, the young victor was left alone in quiet solitude once more to await for his time to walk on stage and claim two more lives; this year all by himself. Trying to think of what Calloway would do, he tried not to let the stress get the better of him. However, that was another battle lost.
As his feet walked out onto the stage of countless desperate faces hoping for divine intervention for their families, an attempted smile was given to his fellow District Twelve people. Like him, they wanted nothing to do with the Games but there was nothing they could do to stop the oncoming heartbreak from occurring. Two souls would be picked, voluntarily or not, and then sent into a slaughter. They’d hate him again, too. They’d hate him for tearing apart their family and he was okay with that. He once hated Calloway for bringing him into the chaos and it wasn’t until later that he realized that the Old Man couldn’t prevent it from happening.
Fate knew what it was doing, although Magnus seriously doubted that a good fate was in the future for any of these poor people.
“Welcome,” Magnus began awkwardly with a glance over the filled center, “to the Reaping for the third Quarter Quell. As formality would have it, I am Magnus Whishart and I am to bring two of you back with me to the Capitol so that you can fight it out in a glorious battle to the end.” Magnus stated, past tones of frustration working their way into his speech. “As you all know, for these games anyone is at risk.” he gulped, another attempt at a comforting smile given. “Please do not be afraid, though. You will represent our District in pride and be a manifestation of all that our humble town has to offer. So, without further ado, I’ll go ahead and pick our first potential Victor.” he nodded, walking over to the glass bowl filled with female names.
Hesitant, his hand hovered over the opening and as he tried to ignore the terrified faces in front of him, his stomach sank as his fingers dropped down inside to grab hold of a single piece of parchment. In hand, his feet absentmindedly carried him back to the center stage. Unfurling the slip of paper, his eyes widened in fear of whoever he was about to condemn.
“Audrey Wells.” he announced quietly. If it wasn’t for the microphone, no one would have heard the name. “Come on up, darling, and may the Odds be ever in your favor.”
