This was a horrible day for Magwitch. Firstly, some chump had somehow gotten ahold of a VERY PRIVATE moment of his past and nailed it up in a VERY PUBLIC location. Then the arbiter was all sorts of mean to him, calling him SO MANY mean things. What had he ever done to deserve that? What had he done to the arbiter specifically, he knew what he had done to other people. Not why they were so MEAN about what he said, though. Worst of all, the wish machine, or anathema, as it called itself, which, in magwitch’s opinion, was a stupid name, not at all helped by its recent DESTRUCTION of its merciful, graceful creators, was so mean to him! The wish machine! Mean! To Magwitch! Its biggest fan! This just wouldn’t do! Not at all one bit. He would find a way to get the wish machine to like him. And to get everyone to like him. Maybe that would be his wish, yes. And even worster of all, his puppet had broken! Not that he really had that much of an emotional attachment to the thing, even if it wasn’t clunky, hard to use, limited him to using one hand, and literally placed his true body on a platform that practically made it a giant target, but at least he wasn’t small. He hated being small, and he hated being weak, which he was both of, unfortunately for him. However, faking his own death was only a band-aid for the larger issue of his puppet getting wrecked, someone would catch on sooner or later, and then he’d really be in trouble, especially if it was that clock kid. That kid really freaked him out, he was so strong, but also small, which frankly seems pretty nonsensical. He definitely shouldn’t have mocked the death of that kid’s closest friend, but what was he SUPPOSED to do? That, however, was back when he was taller than the kid, and now that he’s the approximate size of his head, Magwitch is beginning to feel that there may be issues on the horizon. The single crowning jewel on this Royally sized crap of a day wasn’t him losing his grafted cores, he never used those much anywho, and mostly just let them for posterity, it was the loss of his poster that really roasted his chestnuts. That poster was the one belonging he really cared about. Maybe even the sole thing he cared about IN GENERAL! And what had he ever done to anyone ever? Oh, he “hurt people’s feewings” well they’re in a war! And they have to get used to it. But now here he is, stuck without his puppet, without his grafted cores, without his beloved poster, and walking back to home turf through a bunch of woods BAREFOOT! When he got home, he was going to take a nice hot bath. He deserves it.
