Author Games: The Final War

Task One: Scores and Sponsors

Makenna scowled at the sheet in front of her. "There is no way some of them are not paying off voters. There's just no way. He did not do that good on the interview that that many people voted him for most likely to survive," she groused, stabbing a finger at a name on the paper.

Drystan rubbed the bridge of his nose, already tire of his wife's tirade and it hadn't even been a half an hour. "Sweetie, maybe they see something you don't. Not everyone is as cynical as you."

"Oh, I'm sure they all see how all the candidates are just filled with rainbows and sunshine and will fix the world with a wave of their hand!" Makenna raged. "I'm sorry, was that rude? I guess I'm just too cynical to believe that after decades of this utter ridiculous fighting between the fighters and the Strongs which has regressed to an actual fight to the death for the next leader like we're some kind of savage has no end in sight since nothing has been fixed in generations."

"Well, maybe one of these kids will fix it!" Drystan cried. "you're signing them all off as if none of them have potential!"

"I'll make my decision when one of them proves even the least bit competent in the real world, outside of a training room, since all they can do is give us scripted answers!" Makenna screamed.

"They weren't all scripted, you're being ridiculous now!" Drystan snapped.

"I'm being ridiculous? These stupid interviews are ridiculous! These stupid Games are ridiculous! Why can't they just get along like adults!" 

"Well what would you rather we do, let the people choose and have each side push their own agenda?" Drystan questioned sarcastically.

"How about something that isn't a miniature war between the two sides!"

"Oh, so instead we'll just start an all out war with one side winning, because that worked so well last time." Drystan rolled his eyes.

"Maybe if Fighters got over themselves and stopped seeing Strongs as arrogant, egotistical, power hungry manipulators, things would be easier!" 

"Or maybe if the Strong stopped looking down their nose at Fighters as if there's something wrong with them for not having an affinity and calling them inferior we wouldn't have an issue!" 

"Maybe if the Fighters stopped living up to their designation and talked instead of trying to start a war whenever they meet a Strong, we'd have less problems!"

"Well, when they have a Strong like you to look up to, they see little choice!"

Makenna froze. "What....did you just say?"

"Oh, miss I'll burn down your entire living space if you piss me off, I don't know? Maybe the truth?"

With a wordless scream, Makenna flung a fireball at Drystan's chest. The fire dissipated before it could touch him but that didn't stop her from throwing another and another.

"You. Don't. Know. The. Hell. I've. Gone. Through. For. You. You. Bastard. I. Fight. For. Everyone's. Freedom. I. Want. This. To. Be. Over. I. Had. To. Kill. My. Own. Mother. So that we could be happy. So that we could move forward you egotistical bastard!" Makenna finished with her rant by pounding Drystan's chest until he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I love you."

Makenna sagged against his chest, clutching him tightly for a moment before pulling away. "Let's get this done," she said roughly.

They went back to looking at the sheets of paper, a silence hanging over them like a damp cloth.

"I like Amhpi," Drystan finally said.