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Marvelos Strong

How many lives with so much potential will be thrown away?

0 · 400 views · located in Panem

a character in “The 25th Hunger Games”, originally authored by Attie, as played by RolePlayGateway



Name: Marvelos Strong. He has no middle name.
Nicknames: Marvel. Strong.
Age: 18 since the day of Reaping. His birthday falls on the exact day.
Sexuality: Pansexual. (If I understand it correctly, it means he loves a person, not their gender.)
Birthday: (Whatever the date of the Reaping was)
District: District Five - Power

Weapon of choice: Hammer
Talent: General Survival
Weaknesses: He doesn't 'believe in' killing someone. He will use self-defense, and he will protect others who appear obviously unable to help themselves, but he will never be the one to strike. He is very difficult to 'get to fight back', we'll just say. He is also very slow, when he DOES use his hammer, because he's packing the punch and pulling the weight. Without a hammer, though, he's very quick, but he sucks with just about anything else. No experience.
Hobbies: Studying history, be it from a lost book, a tall tale from an elder in the community, or just about anything not written by the Capitol. He also enjoys dancing of all sorts, even slow. He has such confidence, he doesn't even mind you know that part of him.
-Lemons and the sour faces from them.
-Himself just the way he is.
-Knowledge and having plan B's.
-Love. Everyone should have the opportunity to have love in their life, be it a friend, family, or significant other.
-The Human Anatomy. Not sexually, just as far as pressure points, relaxation points, and the art form of the body.
-The fact that he's never been kissed. Yeah, my first and only crush was reaped the day I decided to tell her. I didn't even have time to give her a kiss before they took her away to die. I'll never forget that.
-Unspoken expectations, or expectations in general.
-The Capitol and President Argent.
-The Games and the very idea of them.
Fears: Dying before having a relationship. Not death itself, just... not being able to have that in my life before I go.
Token: The warmest pair of socks he's ever owned. Striped with white, red, and yellow.

Personality: Marvel is true to himself, and does his best to remain truly neutral to just about everyone. He doesn't feel there is a good enough reason to blow steam off on most people. He'd rather not waste the breath. He has no self-esteem issues, and thinks highly of himself. He doesn't flaunt it, he doesn't use it to pick up chicks/guys, and he doesn't feel the need to let any or everyone know about his very rich family. They can already tell by where he lives, so why should he spit it in their faces? He's humble. He's modest. He's a little bit naive, as well. He sees the world in one way and feels it is all he has left to remain true to what he believes and how he feels. He believes that everyone has the potential for greatness, and that every kid sent to the Games has this stolen from them. He's always felt this, but has always held his tongue. Until it got personal, and then the white color of his conscience began brewing in darker combinations.

The Capitol sure does make it hard not to go from a completely innocent, kind young man in to a raging lunatic seeking revenge.

History: Lifestyles of the rich and famous... Well, famous to his district, that is. Marvel Strong, the youngest Strong and heir to their reign as one of the richest in the district. His father? None other than the mayor. Not that this guarantees Marvel a place in the politics, because that's just not how it's done, but Marvel has never had to want for much, but raised in a diplomatic household (of sorts), he learned patience, proper mannerisms, much about the Capital, and how to please just about everyone with genuine, heart-felt honesty.

His mother is still around, unlike some; a kind, soft-spoken lady who never raises her voice. He taught him the most about treating everyone with the benefit of the doubt. "There's always two sides to every story, darling." She kept him level headed while his father was out and deep in political business. She educating him with books, she taught him how to treat a lady, and gave him ideals and imagination passed on from generations. The woman also knitted him the warmest pair of socks he's even had, which he keeps as a 'security blanket' of sorts when darker things try to fight his poison-free lifestyle and beliefs.

He used to be naive enough to think everyone had as charmed of a life as he, until his eyes were no longer blind from the TV during the Games. Yes, he'd seen the reaping, he'd seen people crying, but for some reason, things never 'clicked' for him. Maybe it was his charmed life fighting to keep his ignorance around. Who knows? However, once that door was open... He dove in head-first, rereading every book he'd ever seen of Panem's history, of the rebellion, of the Games, and ... everything under the sun of that topic that he could get his hands on. When he visited the public record hall that the Capitol so generously bestowed upon his district to educate the closer districts, he met Her. Kaylianna Nestriondes.

It was puppy love, but it was still at first sight for him and as true as he'd ever felt for anyone but his family. He'd admitted it to her, she'd responded in favor to his confession, and they held hands on many long walks to her home. (He'd walk her.) The day he planned to confess his intentions of a future with her, (as naive as a seventeen year old assumed his future would be, since you know everything when you're young and stupid), it was her last reaping. She'd turn 18 before the next, so all she had to do was miss out on this one.

Fate would have it that she was reaped. He never told her. He never kissed her.

Then his mind began to wonder... How many other lives full of so much potential were shattered due to these horrifying games? Entertainment for the world at the price of innocent lives? Children, no less? Yes, he'd lost his own potential in her, but it started a fire that began to char away at his naive and honest soul. He holds on to what he has left of his sanity, of his innocence, but.... It's only a matter of time.

This year, it's his turn. He's called. His parents weep, How could this happen? But Marvel was ready. He looked up after a moment's hesitation. His face was ... determined in a way, and his strides were confident. When he reached the stage, he nodded his head upward in recognition to his district, bringing up a hand to the air, then his waist, bowing there in a grand gesture to them all. No one cheered, they wouldn't dare, but when his eyes rose up to stare them in the eyes, their fearful gazes was all he needed to see.

If one action can cause a district to panic silently.... I can make a difference.
Anything else?: There is no white or black. Everyone has both. It's what you choose to do that determines what 'side' you're on. This applies to Marvel as well.
Your reaction to being chosen for the Hunger Games: Expression. Acceptance. Really, this only helps my imagination of every dream I've had of the girl I once knew who was also reaped a year ago, and then died on the television screen. To know what it was like for her, to feel how scared she was... This must have been it. But I'm not scared, strangely. No, I'm pissed.

So begins...

Marvelos Strong's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mildred Tarzia Character Portrait: Tyke Delfino Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Cloud Deverell Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong
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#, as written by Attie

The Train Ride to 'Home'

As I sit here, and I think about how everyone in this place must feel - the tensions rising, the fear, the submission, the lust, and even hatred from some... We are twenty-four souls being placed in to fish bowl without a promise for food. It's basically like we've been told it's coming, and we all gather in a pack, optimism winning us over until we find out one day that... Food isn't coming. Then your mind wanders off in the distance, and it comes to the conclusion that everyone around you is coming to: you're going to have to kill them, to survive.

Is that my coping mechanism this time? Thinking about it as survivalism to cope with the idea that I may actually have to kill someone? That's really what I'm going for? Fucking. Stupid. Shit. But it makes sense, I mean, I hadn't anticipated being reaped. No one does. And I hadn't thought about it much other than mourning the others who went off to their doom. Honestly, I didn't give a second thought until it was Kaylianna's turn.

Kaylianna... I miss you. Is this how you felt when it was your time? Did you ever get a second to meet the people you were destined to end lives next to? I wonder if you'd meant to kill your two victims. It all looked so mistaken, so accidental. Before then, all I had known was the gentle fawn that you always were - always would be - to me, but in the Games, you were completely different. Your attitude, your looks - though now I can lend over most of that blame to your stylist now that I realize what a huge part they are in appearances of the tributes.

It's like this whole thing was planned. You, Kaylianna, were the spark inside of me that ignited as soon as you were killed and I realized at that instance... You'd become a memory. And this whole year that's gone by, I should have been tending to the fire, letting it shine and making a difference to light up this world.

I've let you down, but I promise to make it up to you. I won't let them take me without a fight.

Not without a good memory.


Marvelos hadn't been a writer originally. Sure, he'd written a few diaries because memories were a big deal to him. Did anyone gather that yet? But still, with diaries, he wasn't a huge fan of the pencil and paper, and creating something of an art. Really, his passion was to get his feelings out on paper, because it was easier to unleash them on something that wouldn't spin them into it's own problems and hurt you. He could just open the wound, spill the blood, and apply a bandage as necessary. She was always going to be a tough subject for him, even if they weren't in true love. It was the idea, the theory behind it all. He'd never know what she was to him. They weren't permitted that time to find out.

Despite his mood, Marvel let out a smile. He'd chosen to chill out in the lounging area next to the dining car, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he sat back, his journal laying flat on his stomach, hand over it, and another leaning back behind his head to catch it from hiding the back of the couch. He appeared to be completely relaxed and at ease. He let his gaze scan the area before he'd realized he completely forgot that Tyke was here the whole time, drawing or something. It was Mildred that had brought him out to Marvel, her smile and the way the atmosphere in the room just brightened up with her presence.

This was the kind of girl that needed to be around... All day, every day.

Marvel nodded to her, waving with his free hand with a, "Hey there," and then a respective nod to Tyke, though he didn't want to interrupt the artist at his 'desk'. It wouldn't be too much longer that the car would be filled, and that didn't bother Marvel, but he wasn't sure what he expected out of the other tributes when they would enter through and find the dining car. He let out a laugh to himself at the thought of that one.. Cloud, meeting up with Stiletto at the same end of the table. Sharing elbow room. He laughed again, and that's when he noticed the slight pain in his lower stomach. Signal! Warning! Nature's calling!

With that, he folded his journal under his arm and winked at the others entering through, kindly waiting for each one to pass him and allow entry in the opposite direction. He hadn't quite figured out the way this outline of this machine worked, but he knew somewhere, hopefully some place very near, would provide him the necessary... well, you know. When a man's got to go, it's a timer waiting to go off.

I should really just go to my room. That's the only way I know for certain - But he couldn't remember where it was. Annoyed, he started banging through doors, trying to see if they'd open. His strength was present as he grew more and more frustrated with the idea of not finding an applicable location. Out the window is starting to sound fascinating, but I wonder how that would look at this speed? It would definitely come back at me.

Finally, he slammed hard enough in to one door that he heard a few startled noises and shuffling of bodies - like one being flung from next to the door he'd just barged in. Had he smashed a nose? Run over a toe? He regretted it, but he was worried about the cameras thinking he was attacking someone - and he'd be damned if it was for the world to see. He slipped inside, slammed the door shut with a lock and then turned around to meet his current dilemma in the face.

"I am -SO- sorry, I swear, and this is going to sound like a dick move, but if I don't... Well, I've got to piss like a race horse, so if you guys don't mind having this discussion until after I'm done, that'd be great. Two seconds."
He blurted out, wincing at his choice of words before he noted the two were undoubtedly two of the males he'd been staring at during the interview. Both attractive, both definitely on different sides of the world as far as personalities... Both undeniably out for each other before he intruded.

I'm a c*** block. Fantastic.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mildred Tarzia Character Portrait: Solara Brinx Character Portrait: Zyker Lintsy Character Portrait: Tyke Delfino Character Portrait: Saffron Lockhearst Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong
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Saffron leaned on the wall outside Zyker's room, waiting for the handsome boy that she had fallen for over and over again to come out. She felt a small smile appear on her face as she thought about Zyker; how she always smiled when he there, how her skin tingled whenever he touched her, and just how happy he made her when he around around. She smiled softly at the bouncing red-head running through the corridor in a pink towel. However, the brunette girl was quickly snapped out of her little reverie of Zyker when a loud bang interrupted her thoughts. Her head snapped up from his resting position on the wall, and she followed the sound to see the girl from District Five leaving her room. Loudly. What was her name again? Oh yeah, Solara.

Saffy didn't like Solara - she hit on Zyker quite a lot, and she made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She crossed her arms across her chest as the stunning brunette girl made her way towards her, her hips swaying as she walked. There's just no need for that, is there? She's such an-- Before she could finished her thoughts however, the girl was speaking to her, shouting down the corridor of cabins, again jolting her out of her own little dream. She bit her lip as she registered what Solara was saying, turning her eyes to the floor instead of looking at her. She decided not to answer, to ignore the snide comments, keeping her eyes downcast to the floor.

Ignoring the bump on her shoulder as well, Saffron's face contorted into a wince at the second comment from Solara. Okay, that one had hurt a little. She bit down on her bottom lip softly, to keep herself from saying something that she would regret later on. "I have a feeling that Zyker wouldn't lower himself to the standards of you." She muttered underneath her breath, once Solara had turned the corner and was out of earshot. A relaxed sigh escaped her lips once she realized that she was alone again, and she rested against the wall. But, as soon as she had positioned herself comfortable, her best friend emerged from the room, enveloping her in his arms in a warm embrace. Her mouth hung open in shock as she took in his handsome appearance, and she just stared at him as he placed a loving kiss on her forehead.

Saffron's skin tingled where his lips had once been, but she continued to be lead by him, his arm around her waist keeping her moving. Suddenly, she stopped, turning towards him, pointing her finger at him accusingly. "Zyker Obediah Linsty. What the hell happened to your hair?" She asked him, her other hand resting on her hip. She also wanted to ask him about the whole Solara incident, but that would come after the whole hair thing.


Tyke had been sitting in that lounge like room for what seemed like hours now, with that Marvel boy from District Five... he believed anyway. Neither of them had acknowledged each other, and surprisingly, it was quite comfortable like that. He didn't feel like the male was going to stab him in the back and kill him at any time, which was good, and he also didn't feel any need to spark up a conversation with him to keep the atmosphere comfortable. It was nice. However, soon their uncomfortable silence was broken by the introduction of another body in the room - that of the pretty petite girl from District Seven. Mildred, was her name. Yes, he remembered her from the interviews and from their first meeting. She really was quite pretty, and her bubbly aura lit up the room as she entered. It was a refreshing change from the silence.

Then, Marvel got up and walked away, leaving the two of them alone. He nodded back curly to the male, a farewell gesture to the comfortable and quiet silence, and turned back to Mildred, welcoming the upbeat and chatty girl. He didn't feel extremely flirtatious right now; he never really did after he had been sketching, but he knew that when he was in the mood, some of his attention would be directed specifically at this girl. So, for now, he would be friendly, and sweet, a large smile on his face as he spoke. Hopefully, he could spark up some sort of relationship with her now.

"I don't mind." His voice was soft, quiet as it always was after he had been drawing, and he gestured to the many seats throughout the room. "Please, make yourself comfortable." A crooked smile flittered across his face as he offered her a place to sit. He followed her gaze around the room, nodding as he again took in the details of the cabin that he had been sketching. "It is quite nice, isn't it?" He nodded in reply, before looking back down at his sketch book. He then lifted it up to show the girl, hoping that she would like his handiwork. "What do you think? Does it capture the beauty of the room?"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Nori

There'd barely been time for Reutruse to secure his pants and regain his balance once more, before he found himself knocked stumbling across the room, the door he'd been leaning against thrown open with a force he'd hardly anticipated. Catching himself on the brim of the tub--a tub he only then really registered as being there--and narrowly avoiding barreling into the sea of plush pillows held within, he stared, dumbfounded, into the mass of trembling pillows beneath him, illuminated as they were by the momentary flood of light. Eh? Wha...? No way.

As realization dawned on him and his mind's preoccupation with the ever growing need to relieve itself ebbed into guilt, it was difficult to resist the urge to kick himself. Of course it was Keeth, who else would be hiding in a bathtub intertwined in a practical womb of pillows other than the boy. He'd seen him struggle with the Peace Keepers, watched weakly as they practically dragged him aboard and whisked him away to his quarters; that he'd forgotten to check on him, see that he was alright and not burrowing into some strange pillow-y contraption, was inconceivable. To believe he'd abandon the boy to his fears after such a public declaration of fealty--to think him truly such a, well, ass!--there went his entire notion of decency...

"Don't worry about it, it's fine Keeth, really, it's partially my fault anyways, just, could you--" he began to apologize himself, only stopping as another all too familiar voice cut in from behind him, "--I am -SO- sorry, I swear, and this is going to sound like a dick move, but if I don't... Well, I've got to piss like a race horse, so if you guys don't mind having this discussion until after I'm done, that'd be great. Two seconds." Nooooo, it wouldn't--couldn't be him, no way, not even, that's just, cruel, what would even be the chances..? Pivoting around on his heel to face the latest entry into the room, Reu was aghast, yet hardly surprised, to see that, why, yes, it was in fact Marvel. It was at this point that the blonde had come to a conclusion: chance no longer factored into anything in his life, fate was out to get him.

It'd been luck that his hands still remained on the tub's ridge, seeing as how his knees buckled under the weight of his latest revelations, eyes darting between the two occupants of the room, himself, and everything in between as he struggled for words. That expression of Marvel's he'd only managed to catch a glimpse of, how he avoided even glancing in their direction, the way he himself loomed over Keeth even still, disheveled and flustered as he was, a tub shoved full of fluffy cushions and the like--"Oh, no, no, nonononono! It's not what it looks like, with the me, and the him, and the you walking in--I came in here to pee too, just pee, nothing more--not that I'd have any problems doing anything with um, actually, ignore that last bit, yeah, I just, pee--have to--really bad--pleaseee?" Reutruse forced out in a hardly coherent blur, voice dying down to a pathetic plea by the end as the all consuming urge to peeeee wrought it's torment upon his body. It was a dam about to break, sapping every ounce of willpower in his body's efforts to resist relieving himself right there, right then; if his pained, contorted expression, previous rambling, and antsy pacing from foot to foot failed to speak exactly how intense his need to urinate truly was, he'd...Mnmdfer, happy thoughts, they'd be able to tell, Marvel can hold it, everything would be fine, happy thoughts! Happy. Thoughts.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magna Aerosta Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by throne
His mantra was not working. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect, drawing yet another physically imposing tribute into the bathroom as well. Reutruse had started to stammer (which struck Keeth as strange in an unidentifiable way; he was used to being the stammerer, not the stammeree) out that it was okay, even though it was most definitely not okay. Nothing was okay about the current situation. He was supposed to be snugly nestled in the tub, like he had been on the way from Six to The Capitol. No one was supposed to come in at all, never mind come in to relieve themselves!

And then it was even less okay. It shouldn’t have struck him as so strange that some people actually wanted to use the bathroom for its intended purpose, but it did. He felt very, very small, hiding in his blankets, with the two daunting young men towering over his less and less adequate bathtub of protection. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The only thing that came to mind would actually have been more of a shrill scream, to the tune of GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GO AWAY LEAVE ME ALONE. He’d learned his lessons about screaming long ago. It was better to just consent to whatever hurt or humiliation was coming. He’d probably end up hauled up over one of their heads, or maybe one would take him by the wrists and the other by the ankles and they’d swing him to the count of three before launching him into the corridor. No, that wouldn’t do at all. He’d been thrown like that before, when bigger boys from Six had caught him one day and chucked him into a fountain outside the Hall of Justice. A filthy fountain. Birds pooped all over it, and for all he knew, tall, handsome boys who made his stomach feel funny and warm peed in it all the time. He’d thrashed and gasped as if it had been twenty feet of water rather than less than one, spurring laughter from the ones who’d tossed him and most other people in eye- or earshot.

He heard their words, even as he hid. Reutruse’s stuck in his head. He failed to grasp Marvel’s appraisal of the situation in the initial exchange, but then the boy from eleven protested, it’s not what it looks like. What did it look like? He had no idea. Was there something that one meek coward hiding in a bathtub that just happened to be in the same bathroom as a powerful hero who’d volunteered to save a similar boy looked like? If there was, it was well beyond his kenning. It was like they were speaking in code. Maybe there was a male universal language, hidden between the lines of normal words, which he was not privy to? Maybe it came along with puberty, but only if you got muscles and the need to shave more than once a fortnight as well?

It was when the words doing anything somehow passed through the fabric cocoon and reached his ears that he realized, to a degree, what it looked like. Keeth may have been naïve, but he was fairly observant, and probably too clever for his own good. It was part of always being at the edge of every group, always wearing the outside-looking-in perspective. He’d heard other boys talk about things they had done or would have liked to have done. He was vaguely aware that, for some reason, he was supposed to want to do those things too, whatever, exactly, they were. He had a sneaking suspicion that part of why he was so often the target of bullies was intricately tied to his lack of wanting to learn more about, never mind actually participate in, those activities. He was also reasonably sure that Reutruse and Marvel were talking about those things right now, only it involved him, and Reutruse, and…

… it made him wish the train would derail, right then and there, and consume them all in fiery doom.

He waited about three seconds, bracing himself for the screech of metal. Of course, the world was cruel, so it never came. That meant he had to go with Plan B. Plan B was really more instinctive than anything else. It involved hurtling over the side of the bathtub and dashing out of the bathroom as if he were being chased by a flock of birds that were attended by trackerjackers. He was fast, he knew that, and they both seemed pretty focused on peeing, so he had a good shot at escaping, in his estimation, and then they could do whatever they wanted and just leave him out of it.

Initiate Plan B!

He grabbed the side of the bathtub yet again, and this time got his legs beneath him, erupting with all the awkward grace of an antelope wearing work boots out of his blankety confines and over the edge of the tub. So far so good. He darted in the darkness, avoiding the silhouettes of the two other tributes, and realized, oddly, that his cheeks felt very warm. No time to think about that, even if he wanted to. Every second was precious, if he wanted to make a clean getaway. If either got their hands on him, he’d be as helpless to wriggle free as he had been with the Peacekeeper. Anxious adrenaline had burned the drugs out of his system, it seemed, which was good. He made it to the door unscathed and then grabbed the knob. He was free of the incredibly strange situation!

Or he would have been, if the door weren’t locked. Panic seized him, and rather than work the lock, he tugged and turned and grunted and then started to cry. He was trapped, trapped in the dark (the lightswitch was like, two feet away, but never mind that), and they were going to do who-knew-what to him. He felt very stupid all of three seconds later when Smart Keeth reappeared and undid the lock. Success!

The split-second he spent congratulating himself proved to be his undoing. Before he could pull the door open, someone much stronger than him pushed it open from without. He let out a yelp as he was driven back, and his legs got all tangled up, causing him to stumble and then fall, flat on his back with a very audible ”Oof!” of pain. It radiated up and down his spine, carrying through his limbs. The light pouring in from the doorway was blinding him, forcing him to squint, and even then the amount of time he’d spent in the dark bathroom made it impossible for him to identify the newest participant in this nightmarish experience as anything more than a black shadow in stark contrast to the whiteness that filled the doorframe.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magna Aerosta Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Magna followed the Peacekeepr in silence. She briefly wondered if he'd stay with her for the remainder of her life before teh Games began. Deciding that whether he did or not, it wouldn't truly affect her in anyway, she let her gaze drop to his booted feet. So militaristic, and yet she'd bet money she didn't have that he didn't know the first thing of having to use the weaponry on his being. He was a Capitol Peacekeeper after all, and very little happened in the Capitol to call for Peacekeepers who could actually accomplish anything other than looking formidable. Even so, this particular one had hard enough time even attempting that. Perhaps he was terrified of how "radical" she was. Smirking, she looked back up at the back of his head, covered with the helmet of his kind. Breathing in through her nose, she decided to test him. Reaching up decisively, she tapped him on the shoulder. To his credit, he didn't jump, but turned quietly and looked at her. Even though his demeanor was calm, she could read his eyes. He was confused, and yes, she'd been right, a little scared. She stopped moving, causing him to also cease his forward trajectory.

"Yes, Miss Aerosta?" His eyes had calmed, but Magna was positive that underneath all the padding of his uniform he was tense, ready to run. She could have laughed, would have, if he'd even had the smallest idea of who she really was, deep inside. As it was, he knew the 'new' Magna, the Magna who pushed the old one deep down inside any time the pain started again. She let him sit for a moment, expectation and the smallest amount of worry settling in. She was patient and could wait out the awkwardness, so instead of responding she turned and walked slowly over to a window. She stood there, and crossed her arms softly across her chest. The Peacekeeper shuffled his foot, obviously uncomfortable, and let a small cough escape his lips. A smile spread across Magna's face. The absurdity of it all. Shouldn't she be the one uncomfortable in his presence? Smiling feraly she turned and looked at him dead on. She felt more than saw his tension build. Then, in her sweetest voice possible, she made a simple request.

"I believe I need to use the restroom. Will you please show me the way?" She watched as the suited man untensed and expelled a breath. Seriously, what was she going to do? Stab him? A thought occurred to her, "Actually, you're dismissed." She wasn't sure if it would work, but it was worth a shot. The Peacekeeper stood for a second, obviously slightly confused, "I can't go anywhere, we're on a bullet train. Besides, I have to be on air in 3 minutes." He wasn't moving and she was almost positive that she couldn't pull of what she'd planned, then another thought, "I want privacy. So shoo." As she had in her interview, she kept her voice level, knowing that even the slightest change in vocal patterns cued people to emotions that weren't always necessarily there. Another minute passed as the two looked at one another, then the Peacekeeper looked sidelong as if listening to and concentrating on something that Magna couldn't hear. Nodding once, curtly, he turned and left the room.

Magna's eyebrows raised as she watched him retreat away from her. He'd obviously been given some order by the Gamemakers. She may not be on Panem LIVE yet, but she'd be damned if she didn't think they had her on watch somehow. The spider muttation in her room had told her as much. She made a mental note to undress subtly, knowing that it didn't really matter after all the time with the stylists, but for her own peace of mind.

Clearing her thoughts, she started heading towards the dining car. As she made her way along the cars, a few sounds caught her attention. She heard some high pitched squeaking, then two more manly voices. Interest slightly piqued, she wandered to the door the sounds were coming from. If there was an alliance being made, she wanted to hear it. She needed every tiny bit of information she could get if she was going to win. She listened intently, a scowl crossing her face as she craned her neck back to give the door a look that dripped of, "What the...?"

She put her hand on the knob then to steady herself as she leaned on it to listen better, on some level curious of what was really happening in the community restroom. She heard some clamoring about, and something that sounded like grunts of exertion giving way to helpless whimpers as the doorknob jiggled in her hand. Someone was breaking the rules, it was obvious. It sounded as though two of the larger guys had gotten a hold of one of the weaker ones or even a girl. Not that she really cared about the Games rules, but she did have morals and that just wasn't fair. They weren't even to the house yet, disgusting pigs. It was probably the Careers and that Tyke kid or something. Her eyes narrowed as she realized that she recognized the whimpers. Well shit Keeth. Magna looked skyward briefly, What have you gotten yourself into? She heard the lock click and without a hesitation pushed the door open with all her strength. Rules and stoicism be damned, no one, and she meant no one was allowed to hurt Keeth if she was around.

As the door flew open a yelp and movement pulled her line of sight to the crumpled Keeth flailing backwards to the ground. She watched him hit the ground, then looked at the two figures standing behind him. Mild surprise hit her as the light from the doorway shone past her and illuminated the men. The only outward show of this surprise was her eyebrows raising ever so slightly as she looked from one man to the other, then to the boy, and flicked the light on. Now that she could fully see them all, she assessed the situation. Reutruse, the guy who stands up for the little man but doesn't give a thought to how the people who care about him feel. Marvelos, the one who caused a twinge of pain and tight aching in her chest that she didn't want to name or remember . And Keeth. Enough said.

A tiny smile crept onto her lips she looked down at the third, letting a softness fall over her features that was rarely seen. Arching a pretty eyebrow, she set aside her amusement and the softness was gone again. "Did you just want to prove me wrong?" She asked him not unkindly, then looked at the two larger boys. Again, without raising her voice or adding any venom what-so-ever, she continued "You know the rules. Don't mess with the other Tributes, especially not the defenseless ones, before the Games." Stepping forward so that Keeth was behind her, Magna's tiny body only stood about shoulder height on the other boys. "I know first hand what they do to you for breaking their precious rules," she stated matter-of-factly, "You boys won't like it." She was not threatening them or being menacing in any way, as she shrugged to punctuate her sentence. It was as though she were stating they couldn't wear her shoes because they wouldn't like 3 inch heels.