In this arena, in this life, it is every man for himself. It is the Capitol's game, and the children are only their pawns to play with. So, may the odds be e v e r in your favor.
Distinguishing Marks: A large scar spanning across his abdomen, from an accident with a railway beam.
Predominant Features: Chisled Jawline
HISTORY
Josiah was hard working, and perhaps too protective of his friends and co-workers. Those in need has his assistance whether they wanted it or not. This, among many other things, got him in a mess of trouble back in District 6. A fight broke out, and he threw himself into the middle of it. This even brought him within inches of death. One day, when he was walking the streets of District 6, he saw a worker struggling to free himself from a fallen rail beam. He rushed over to provide assistance, and was met by yet another beam plummeting. Another worker dove to push him out of the way, but the sharp corner of the heavy metal put a deep gash across his stomach. This scar serves as a bit of a reminder that he cannot save everyone. Yet he still tries.
Josiah lives with his father, disease having taken his mother and older sister from them when he was very young. He has learned to appreciate and love the life he was given, knowing that others had it far worse. That is, until his name was called for the games. Now he holds nothing but contempt for The Capitol and it’s citizens.
“Let's go invent tomorrow instead of worrying about what happened yesterday.”
PERSONALITY
+ Extremely intelligent, Friendly with strangers, Honest with people
– Gets angry easily, If involved in a feud, unusually cruel, Will do what it takes to win
APPEARANCE
Height: 6'2"
Eye Color: Gray
Glasses/Contacts: Neither
Hair Color: Brown
Important/Usual Accessories: None.
Tattoos: None.
Piercing(s): None.
Distinguishing Mark(s): Scar on left shoulder from a burn.
Predominant Features: Piercing gray eyes.
HISTORY
Aidan was born and raised in District 3 where he was raised to become a technician. Unfortunately, his mother died in childbirth with his younger sister, Iris. His father was killed in an accident at one of the labs in the district and thus, Aidan was forced to raise his younger sister. He had to teach her what he knew about technology and they continued to learn together.
Aidan heard about the 25th Hunger Games also known as the first Quarter Quell, and how they were taking volunteers as the tributes. The Games had always fascinated Aidan even though he was never chosen for them. When the Quell was announced this year, he decided to volunteer, thinking that his technology background would be enough to help him win.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Gustin, Grant.
OOC: Andy, imbctmcn
Account: AgileScholar
AUDITION
Under the cut
Aidan walked around the Capitol after being transported there with the other volunteer from District 3. He wasn't completely aware of who she was, but was determined to become friends with her before the games, to make it easier on him when he gets there.
There were countless people walking around him with the weirdest fashion and hairstyles. Back in District 3 they were only used to wearing the simple uniforms that came with the technician job. But these outfits were just... /fascinating/. Aidan watched all around him for who had the most outrageous hairstyle or the brightest clothes while carefully following his mentor through the crowd.
The female volunteer looked just as intrigued by the outfits and was in just as much awe as Aidan, if not more. He snapped away his attention from the people and started focusing on the buildings. They were insanely tall and as modernly designed as possible. He loved it here. And he would make sure to stay in the Capitol once he participated in the Quarter Quell, and won.
Winters, Rowan Patrick | 18 | District 4 Mentor | 24th Games Victor
"My silence is not my weakness, but the beginning of my great revenge.”
Trigger warning. » Suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder | PTSD; anger, night terrors, insomnia, aggression, nightmares, guilt, agitation, loneliness, loss of interest, severe anxiety, mistrust in others, emotional detachment, social isolation.
Important | Usual accessories: An old silver watch on his right wrist left for him by his father.
Tattoo(s): A lightning bolt on his right forearm.
Piercings: None.
Distinguishable mark(s): An old burn he got from his mother above his lightning bolt tattoo, closer to his elbow; many scars on his arms and back.
Predominant feature(s): His smile is very contageous; his eyebrows are animated when he's excited; a few moles that have been seen as beauty marks; his bright eyes.
HISTORY
Rowan's father, Antonio, was a captain. He loved his only son very much, but being at sea frequently, he often left his son in the hands of his 'small-minded' | 'shallow' wife Deanna Summers. After Rowan turned three, Antonio disappeared for a fishing trip, but was never seen from or heard from again. Deanna often told him it wasn't going to happen. She found peace from the inside of a bottle, leaving Rowan on his own to wait. He made few friends over the years with a drunk mother and an absent father, but had shown he was fairly intelligent through school. He had a nice sense of humor, was very friendly with the other children, but rumors flew about how his father abandoned him and how he was killing him mother with how odd he was. He wasn't a killer, was he? Had he really killed his father? Had he sent him father away? Had he caused his mother to become what she had?
Nonetheless, he wasn't any different; he would always be the lonely son of the wealthy 'widow' and the sea captain who had possibly drowned. But, his luck had just run out. On the day of the Reaping for the twenty-fourth annual Hunger Games, his name was picked out of the many boys. He didn't volunteer, no one volunteered for him. He took it in silence, but it didn't stop him from boldly moving forward; he was a Tribute, there was no need to procrastinate and wait to be forcefully moved onto that train. He could already hear his mother mourning him, and see her wasting away. Could she see his death?
No. She saw the deaths of the others, what her son would become. What the Games turned him into. He had killed, killed to survive, knew how to plot out each of his moves, knew when to strike, which to go for first. He was incredibly skilled and making battle plans, knowing where to find food, knowing how to /catch/ it. He found people had favored him for his ability to make their hearts ache for him, the lonely tribute, every ally he tried to make, almost immediately turning on him. They knew what he was capable of, and his friendliness made him a good target, but he was a fighter, and the others misjudged that what would happen if they had tried to harm him. He'd use the terrain against him. What the game-makers threw, he thought of a solution for, quick, agile, taking needed risks when he needed to. When he was the last one standing, he was covered in sweat from running, the blood of those who had been against him, scratches, scars. He was alone, standing there ready to keep goinf, but also tired. He was immovable, but also very tired from the fighting, the running, the planning; Rowan knew he'd never be able to get the memories out of his nightmares. Even when he was given a new place to stay with his ill mother, he was haunted. Haunted by the monster the 'game' had made him.
OTHER
Faceclaim: O'Brien, Dylan.
OOC: Abbie; runningamaze
Account: WaywardWinter
AUDITION
Under the cut
— Solo:
Since the game has ended, it has often felt like there was a war beginning. The nightmares that followed were often of Rowan standing on a hill, the game-makers sending him into an awful map where the terrain was made of hedges — his imagination unstoppable, forming an inescapable maze. Most of the time, he often wished someone had been intelligent enough to catch him off-guard, strike him where he stood, make him bleed, fall. Make him lose in a game where the winner becomes the person the people of the other districts had started to hate. That wasn't a game. It was his life — a life he was scared to continue, but bravely kept going; a youth he had mourned and an adulthood he'd spend wishing it was with peace; without the bloodshed. He was no longer the innocent boy they had all seen in District Four, he was the the stone-cold killer, the boy fighting for his life, the lone survivor who had seen a girl from his own district die before his own eyes. The suffering Victor who was left to take care of his dying mother, forever waiting for his father to return. The one who was silently welcomed into the Capitol as a 'hero' for killing and surviving something thought to be a game. The party was filled with laughter, and he could hear it ringing in his ears as he silently ate, trying to enjoy himself instead of destroy himself with the guilt. And then there was the 'Victory Tour' he tried to pass; of /course/ there was the Tour. That was how they'd keep it in their heads. Violent murders brought into light by those pretending it was /bravery/, like he was some sort of celebrity for harming others and survivng in a place so treacherous; he didn't deserve that, and he knew it. It was his own personal hell to be reminded of how many families he had destroyed in front of a live audience.
The days had passed, his mother not looking at him the same way. He had hoped she would be at least /happy/ he had returned alive, but seeing what had /stirred/ in him. Was he a monster? Was he even still human? He didn't feel the same. He felt like he was becoming his own personal nightmares; the games replaying in his head turned into nothing less than the truth of what he had done. They didn't disappear, they just kept haunting him. His mother's sudden death didn't make it any better. But, he felt peace, for once. He'd /almost/ become himself again, the sarcastic, lovable boy people had grown to care for — living alone and only awaiting what was next.
When he woke after the storm of memories, Rowan pushed them away. /How did other Victors deal with the constant reminder/? Was Rowan weak? No. He'd refused to become that weak little boy he'd once been, the one who mourned how his life had become. He would push the emotions and memories away — /force/ them away — and try to become the charming /man/ he had been before he went through Hell and back again. No one would see how he had struggled anymore. They'd no longer see his pain, feel sorry for him. No, he'd try his best to bring himself back from the dead; he'd be the person his missing father knew he'd become. He needed to prove to them he was able to keep the puzzle from falling apart, placind duct tape where it was needed. He'd learn to smile, live life as he had before, make a joke with a stranger, see past the darkness that still roamed straight through his heart. He was too young to be so broken.
Rowan wanted to be the hero he was rumored to be by the Capitol: a killer, a soldier, . .a /survivor/, but also a strong-willed, charming prince — a nightmare dressed as a daydream~.
“The test of the machine is the satisfaction it gives you. There isn't any other test. If the machine produces tranquility it's right. If it disturbs you it's wrong until either the machine or your mind is changed.”
PERSONALITY
+ Gallant even at the scariest and most apprehensive moments, honest even if it hurts to hear whatever she has to say, very intelligent when it comes to technology and understanding methods (in summary, a genius), creative when in need of solutions or an easy/fast weapon, innate when it comes to understanding machines, strong when it comes to taking something in (such as emotions, bad news, etc).
- Quite callous when it comes to emotions, envious when someone makes better at something she's good at, intolerant to people who share stupid ideas or morals, a strong mad-mouth (comes from her mechanic blood), cruel when it comes to insulting someone dumb, temperamental when pressured.
APPEARANCE
Height: 5'5" (165 cm).
Eye color: Chocolate brown.
Glasses/Contacts: Only when she needs to see small objects (such as chips).
Hair color: Dark brown.
Tattoos: A small series of numbers on her wrist: 25070.
Piercing(s): Her earlobes (2 on each) and her ear cartilage (on the right).
Distinguishing Mark(s): A scar that covers all of her back (got it from an accident back home), a small scar on the corner of her left eye.
Predominant Feature: Her jawline (she just loves it).
HISTORY
Tesla Arellano, youngest daughter of Benjamin and Hedy Arellano, a fiery mechanic from District 3. Since a very young age, Tesla was taught by her brother and sister, Archimedes and Watts, that electronics were the most important and essential thing in their lives. At the age of 5, Tesla had built her first computer from scratch, making her parents proud as their older children had shown those skills at the age of 7. As a child, she was quite charismatic and lovable, always trying to make friends around the District and with her parents' clients. She was sometimes the reason people visited Arellano's Technological Atelier.
But as any kid and human being, Tesla had her flaws. And as any human being, she made mistakes. Something that traumatized her for life, was when one of her inventions ignited and caused the death of her mother. At the age of ten, when she had died, Tesla started blaming herself for both of her deaths. Her father, as benevolent as he was, shook his head every time she started crying and screaming into the air. She had forgiven her, because even if it had been a mistake from hers, Benjamin knew it was meant for her to die. The result of all this, Tesla left technology aside for a while, trying to contain her anger for what she had done.
She had become distant, cold. . . It was strange, even for her father's clients. She heard them from time to time, asking what had happened to the little, charismatic Tesla. And she wanted to answer, she really did, but it was something her lips couldn't make out at all.
Thirteen. She was thirteen now. Three years had passed since her mother's death, and it was time for her to enter her name in those big, transparent balls for her to be chosen. Her father had told her not to worry, that she didn't have to enter her name many times, just a couple. But Tesla knew different. That year, her father's clients had started to lack, the money was short, and her sister had finally stopped placing her name. Now it was Tesla and Archimedes, and both of them knew they had to sacrifice to feed all of themselves.
Tesla placed her name ten times, while Archimedes placed his twenty. If their sister had entered, she would have placed it thirty times. . . What if she had been chosen? That was what had scared Tesla every time she had seen her brother and sister standing in the lines. But now. . . It would only be her and her brother. "Just one year more. . ." She had heard Archimedes whisper once he entered his name. "You /won't/ be chosen, Arch. . ." She remembered whispering back. But oh, how life can be so cruel with people sometimes. /How/ cruel could it be. . .
OTHER
Face Claim: Morgan, Lindsey
OOC: Mar, akadaredevil
Account: NimbleSchemer
AUDITION
Under the cut
( Solo: Tesla, try. )
The reaping.
Tesla woke up, shaking. It had been the tenth time she had dreamt about her brother's death in the arena three years ago. She had dreamt about how she had turned around to see her sister crying and screaming, her father by her side. . . comforting her. Tesla hadn't cried, and it had been something her sister had hated seeing on her. It wasn't her fault, was it? No, but she felt like it was. She had whispered to her brother, that same year, that he wouldn't be chosen, but guess she was wrong.
"Good morning," she mumbled once she entered the small kitchen. Her sister offered her a small, sad smile, remembering what day had been today. "Watts, I. . ." Watts shook her head, fighting the tears back. "No, Tes, you won't. . ."
Tesla was sixteen now, and she was praying quite hard not to be chosen. Not two years before she could stop standing there and continue having a normal life. Just two years more. "I can feel it, Watts, I can feel him calling my name." Tesla was speaking about the District Three escort, Jefferson. "I can feel him taking out that piece of paper out of the big, fish bowl and opening it. . . Then 'Tesla Arellano' escaping from his lips. . . It's inevitable!"
Watts turned to her, wide green eyes staring at Tesla. "Tesla, we're not going over this again. . ." Watts's voice was firm, almost full of anger. "I know, Watts, but. . ." Tesla's callous digits went through her hair, a long, heavy sigh escaping her lips. "You know how I still dream about him, his name being called, his body being pierced by. . ." "STOP!" Watts shouted, "We don't want father to hear, remember? I've had enough of this. You'll see that you won't be chosen." But Tesla was insecure.
Quickly, she ran to her room, grabbed her red leather jacket, and walked outside. She needed to clear her mind before she started shouting at Watts. Checking her watch, she had to be back home before it was 10:30, where she had to get ready for the reaping. She didn't understand why they had to look nice before they went ahead to their death. Tesla had hated the Capitol since she had started understanding what the Hunger Games were all about. And that had been at a very young age. Her hate for it started growing even more after Archimedes had been reaped and killed. How she hated it.
Returning back home, she saw her dad staring into the nothing at the shop. "Dad. . ." She walked to him, grabbing his hand. "Let's get you ready, alright?" Tesla remembered the first time her dad had been this ill. "Dad, don't worry about anything, okay? I won't be reaped at all, I'll be home, safe and sound after the event, okay?" Tesla doubted her father could hear her at all, but she had to try. She had to try not getting reaped, even if it was inevitable. But one way or another, she had to come back home and work hard so her father could get better.
“Behind a pretty face hides a monster that creates beasts.”
PERSONALITY
+ Honest, Loyal, Intellectual
– Impatient, Skeptical, Inattentive when she finds something she is more interested in
APPEARANCE
Height: 5′7″
Eye Color: Blue-Green
Glasses/Contacts: Contacts
Hair Color: Copper-Red
Important/Usual Accessories: None
Tattoos: None
Piercing(s): One on Each Earlobe
Distinguishing Mark(s): Light Freckles Over Nose
Predominant Features: Eyes
HISTORY
Chrome was born into District Ten, living along the animals alongside her mother, step-father, and two younger half-siblings. Her real father, her mother had said, was from the Third District. A Victor from on of the earliest games. He named her. He didn't stay with her mother after she was convinced, he was never a man made for commitment, but didn't live very long afterwards due to his drug addiction, anyhow.
The girl had always had a love for animals, and what she found most interesting, were the ones that went bump in the night. Being the oldest of the siblings, her other sister still too fragile and baby brother much too small, she was sent off every other night keep watch over their trip of goat. Each household was granted a single shotgun per two adults and Chrome handled theirs to guard their animals. She would sit upon the fence as their shepherd dog roamed, giving her the signal of a bark when he sented an intruder. She raised the gun.
Whenever she guarded, at least one animal would not make it through the night. Chrome was so infatuated with the predators of Ten that she would protect the most, but let one go, simply to watch how the hunter did it's job. She has seen foxes, wolves, falcons, and even the occasional brown bear or mountain lion lurking around her forest-sided home.
But she needed work. Real work. Work that did not require her to pick up a gun and wait for monsters to come. She was now an adult. She needed it.
And one day, the Capitol came around. Lucas Ramírez, Head Game-Maker. He was looking for someone who knew about monsters and could get around technology quickly. Ten and Three were the best candidates. She was a little bit of both, and Chrome didn't hesitate to jump at the chance.
“I believe in a God but even I know praying won't help me now.”
PERSONALITY
+ Tactical and ambitious. Will offer his services to others in need. Very observant to people and things around him.
- Quiet and usually won't speak unless spoken too. Polite with some aggression.
APPEARANCE
Height: 6'2 (189 cm)
Eye color: Blue/Gray (depends on the lighting).
Hair color: Platinum Blonde
Glasses/Contacts: None.
Important/Unusual Accessories: A turquoise and midnight colored ankle bracelet from his sister.
Tattoos: A trident near his right shoulder blade.
Piercings: None.
Distinguishing Mark(s): A scar on his left bicep from a hook that caught onto him when he was small.
Predominant Features: His platinum blonde hair, and his gray/blue eyes.
HISTORY
Hailing from a family of four and being the only boy and youngest child, Cyrus had a very quiet life or quiet family he'd like to think. He'd help his father fish and his mother cook whenever he could. Being the only boy wasn't easy but he thanked whatever, God was out there that he had his father. Cyrus didn't have many friends but he had his sisters Lunar, Selina, and Cora who teased him occasionally if they were bored or just because. Each of his sisters very beautiful and very protecting of him. Sadly the Hunger Games was something they couldn't protect him from.
Optimism was once apart of his nature until a tragedy struck his mother who died of something so simply; the common cold, just a week before he was nominated and placed to be the District 4 Male Tribute. A boy who he and his family hadn't even finished grieving yet. That day Cyrus' father cried tears of pity as if he weren't good enough to win the games. No...as if he were already dead and he'd lost his only boy. Cora that day made him a ankle brace of of his favorite colors an kissed his cheek as a goodbye and farewell. That's when he knew he had to win not for the victory but for his family.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Smith, Lucky Blue
OOC: Indigo, OcexnHues
Account:
AUDITION
Under the cut
Cora combed back his platinum blonde locks with a weary expression. He reached for her hand that was placed gently on his shoulder an looked into her eyes though the mirror giving her the 'everything will be alright look'. Of course he didn't really know that everything would be alright he just wanted his sister to feel better. After the passing of their mother things were quieter at the Sapphire household and on the day of the Hunger Games election things were silent.
The people of district 4 gathered around with saddened faces. Parents fearing for their children. His father praying that neither of his children were nominated. Time passed and the District 4 female tribute had already been called thankfully it wasn't any of his sisters. Cyrus could tell by the look on his fathers that he could breathe a little bit easier now that three of his children were safe. Now it was time to pick the male tribute.
The announcer on stage opened the white envelope and said a name that his father and sisters feared the most.
"Cyrus Sapphire. . ." It was his. His own name replayed over and over in his mind until he heard the sounds of the seas. His family stood together and cried tears of fear. His sisters not ready to lose a brother and his father not ready to lose an only son
Michael Gallagher | 20 | District 1 Tribute | Alive
“His stride emanated the fatality you’ll be met with, should you double cross him, behind the warm glow of his eyes lies a hazardous being that shall dig the claws of death into your soul.”
PERSONALITY
+ Intellectual, Strategic, Resourceful
- Lack of comprehension pertaining his sentiments, Vindictive, Reticent
APPEARANCE
Height: 6’2
Eye Color: Mocha
Glasses/Contacts: None
Hair Color: Brunette
Distinguishing Mark: Myriad of scars cascading the epidermis of his somatic; subsequently to the intense trainings his father concocted for him.
Predominant feature: His optics for it serves as the window to his broken soul.
HISTORY
Michael is the only child of the notorious Head Peacekeeper of the district, and the successful daughter of a Jeweler from the lavish district. However, even then all the wealth and fame they own had failed to save his mother’s soul from being condemned to death. Albeit dying a noble death, where her demise harbored the concoction of another’s life into an empty vessel, alas child labor, the impact of her absence was prominent to the remaining of his family.
Growing up without a mother figure proves to be extremely difficult for him, as his whole entity manifested into a depiction of a target for the bullies in the district. However, complexity coaxing his life was only made worse, as what comes with fame, comes the inevitable need to satisfy the expectations of the prying eyes of his surroundings. Thus, at such a young age, his father has taken the liberty of training him into becoming this monstrous killer fitting for the slaughter held by the Capitol. Just like the maestro of his orchestra, his father demolished a strip of his persona with every tonality played, and reconstructed it into something that complements his vision; fabricating his being into something he is not. And, for every attempt conducted by him to resist his father’s prominence, he was met with the noxious punishment of a harsh beating.
He’s not a father to him.
He’s a mentor.
A Peacekeeper.
Now, laced with the ability of estranging his sentiments, and crafted into being a vicious and aggressive man, he had been turned into a formidable warrior. He’s the perfect killing machine to conduct fatalities to the ones surrounding him; fitting for the nefarious ploy of The Capitol.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Bateman, Nick
OOC: Roy, ArsenalOfAtoms
Account: EnduringCallous
AUDITION
Under the cut
The epidermis of his calloused thumb was brushed gently along the cicatrix cascading his somatic, disconnected pallid margins extorting a soft breathe out of his system. His sepia colored oculars focused on the reflection of his abdomen, where his thumb smoothed a particular scar among the spectrum of marks embellishing his body, when the fibrous connective tissue has developed, to cease the cardinal, viscous bloods from oozing out of his wounds.
10 years.
For 10 years he suffered, under the putrid influence of his father’s desires; maiming his soul with every order the man granted him with, and making sure that he has had full control of all the muscles in his body; fearing that an act of defiance may come out from his side. Alas, if that ever occurs, a definite beating shall be sanctioned upon his entity.
However, it doesn’t matter now, does it? Contemplation can never change the hideous fact that his father’s mission had been accomplished, and that he had paved his shell with attributes that he conceived so badly; molding him into the son he had always wanted to have. He’s ripped at every edge, spilling like an overflowing ink and yet, he’s still the masterpiece his father had contrived.
The creaking sound of the soles of his father’s feet against the wooden floor pulled him out of his trance curtly, tight grip around the fabric of his clothing brusquely released, as gradually the scars that are festooning his derma were quickly made ambiguous once more to the prying eyes of his surroundings.
“Michael…” His father’s masculine, suave voice echoed through the whole premise, calling for him.
“I’m here father..” He responded. Heels were pirouetted, mocha colored optics aligning his vision towards his father, who is now standing before him, scrutinizing him carefully.
“When will you be leaving, son?” He inquired him with the query, perfectly groomed brow arched slightly.
“Tomorrow” Prior to the current, his name was announced to have been the chosen one to partake in this Quarter Quell held by The Capitol. It was really not much of a surprise to his embodiment that it was him, the son of the feared, notorious Head Peacekeeper assigned to this district, who was announced to represent this sumptuous place. Despite having only shown the abilities branded into him to a few, he was sure his father had boasted of what a formidable warrior he’s to his comrades, hence conducting a chain of reactions that lead to his current situation.
Contrary to the popular beliefs of his district, this is more of like a death sentence than an honorable privilege to him. Sure, taking upon the persona of a gallant, chivalrous knight, who is ruthless and conveying actions merely for his survival, is illustrious to the view of the society. However, to him? It’s more of like a death sentence. Almost most of the time, he questioned the ethics The Capitol had established as a system; attempting to fathom the motives behind these games they had devised consecutively. However, even then his attempts were kept silenced. One doesn’t simply question The Capitol especially not considering the grotesque actions they have liberty in committing.
“When you get on the arena, use everything I’ve thought you. You go and win the game, and if you lose, lose like a warrior. Do you understand me, son?” His fathers voice was stern, demanding even.
Head bobbed itself up and down subtly, as the slightest nod was done by him in response.
Oh, he will.
He will use everything his knowledge can produce to win this game, to survive, even if it means having to strip what’s left of his humanity, if any is even left.
Alice did not live a charmed life, but it wasn’t full of suffering. She was the only child of two ranchers, and they were relatively well-off, considering they lived in one of the poorest Districts. Her father was close friends with the mayor, and because of this her family was recognized by many. This recognition made her parents believe that she would not get voted into the Quarter Quell, but the reality was quite the opposite. People voted for names they knew would not suffer too much without a child. The Gearys could afford ranch hands. Financially, they didn’t need Alice. It was the name recognition that sent her to the Games.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Blanchard, Rowan
OOC: Mary, TevahkFam
Account:
AUDITION
Under the cut
“They won’t choose you, Alice. You’ll be fine.” Her mother set the hairbrush down on the table beside her and squeezed Alice’s shoulders. She seemed so certain, it made Alice confident. She would attend the reaping, or election, the same as everybody else, then she would go home. The same as everybody else. She walked with her parents to the town square and found a place near the front of the crowd of teenage girls. She waved at the mayor as he walked past and waited as the envelopes were given to the tributes’ escort. It was just like the reapings she had watched for the last fourteen years. She was not in danger.
The first envelope to be opened was for the female tribute. There was a pause before the escort spoke. “Alice Geary.” That was all she heard before she couldn’t hear anything else. Her world froze. She froze. There were people moving around her and she could tell someone was talking, but she couldn’t make any of it out. Somehow she was up on the stage next to the escort, but she didn’t remember going there. She was pretty sure she hadn’t moved voluntarily.
The world came rushing back to her the second a hand touched her shoulder. Everyone was staring at her. Everyone was silent. She wondered how many of them had voted for her. How many of them knew what they were doing to her. This was a death sentence. They all dressed up to see her murdered.
Next they called a name she did not recognize and a boy she did not know joined her on the stage. She could not find her parents in the crowd before she was ushered into the City Hall. She kept turning around to find them, even as the door was closed behind them. Alice did not pay attention to what they were saying to her. Her life was over. Now the only thing that mattered was how entertaining they could make her death.
Gray, Corin | 29 | District 2 Mentor | 14th Games Victor
“Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.”
PERSONALITY
+ Caring, passionate, fiercely loyal
- Harsh, brutal, cold
APPEARANCE
Height: 5’5”
Eye Colour: Blue
Glasses/Contacts: None
Hair Colour: Blonde
Important/Unusual Accessories: a gold bangle given to her by the President
Tattoos: Birds flying up the inside of her arm
Piercings: None
Distinguishing Marks: Scar along her inner bicep due to a training mishap
Predominant Features: Bright blue eyes, contagious smile
HISTORY
Corin is a master of the blade and connoisseur of explosives. Growing up she despised training because she thought it boring. In no time she was well ahead of her peers in the race to become the Career and this delighted her parents. To have a child with a possibility of winning the Hunger Games was the ultimate prize. When she mastered the sword she moved onto another skill to take into the arena. Corin chose explosives. Watching things burn both fascinated and excited her. Fire was so pure and innocent but yet it caused irreversible damage. When the 14th Hunger Games approached, she volunteered along with another District 2 boy whom she’d met a handful of times. During her games she allied with her District along with the other Careers. Together they were unstoppable. When the other tributes were killed, they quickly turned on one another. With a sword she struck down the final opponent who was from District 4. Her victory wasn’t a surprise to the audiences. Throughout the Game she’d dominated with her skill in swordsmanship and explosives. For two years she lived in Victors’ Village along with her parents. They only wanted to talk about her win and how much pride she brought to the Capitol and her District. After two years she was approached to mentor the new tributes for her District. Readily she agreed not only to serve the Capitol but also to escape her doting parents. Since then she’s continued to mentor tributes to watch some win and some die. She holds their deaths close to her heart but doesn’t let that show.
OTHER
Face Claim: Teresa Palmer
Writer: Abbaline, QueenAae
Account: GirlofThorns
AUDITION
Under the cut
On the screen she watched in anticipation as the tributes dwindled down to four, then three, then two. It was between District 2 and 4 now. Both Careers and immaculately trained, it was a draw as to who would win. Two boys from different districts clawed to be the winner. Corin remembered the panic of being one of the last two. Somehow with only one opponent left, her life seemed more at danger when there were 28 opponents. Absentmindedly, she picked at a loose piece of skin on her thumb. It was a nervous habit she’d developed over the years of mentoring. As much as she tried, Corin couldn’t help but invest her heart in her tributes. They were so zealous for the Capitol and eager to win the Games like her.
“Come on, come on.” Rin whispered to herself as she watched. District 2 had a knife in each hand while District 4 an axe. She knew the boy from 2 wasn’t skilled in knife throwing but few could defeat him in hand to hand combat. If only he could get the axe away from District 4. “Push it away.” Her breath caught as District 4 took a swing. Like he’d been trained, District 2 blocked the oncoming blow but not before the blade sliced a deep gash into his shoulder. Crying in pain, District 2 held his shoulder that spurted and gushed blood. He wasn’t paying attention to his enemy anymore. Rin covered her eyes for a moment, knowing what was coming. With a sadistic smirk, the boy from District 4 raised the axe over his head and brought it down at the base of District 2’s neck. Another shriek followed. Corin gritted her teeth and looked away. She couldn’t watch the end.
Most mentors warned her that she keep a distance from the tributes. But Corin couldn’t. It was like keeping a thirsty dog from water. Her heart wanted all the tributes to win but the Capitol didn’t agree with that philosophy. Corin told herself she was wrong for contradicting the Capitol. President Rose was right. To keep peace, there must be war. Betting a couple dozen children rather than thousands. That’s what she kept trying to convince herself.
The District 4 mentor wasn’t far away when the final canon blew. Corin squeezed her eyes shut to keep herself from screaming profanities at the man. He shook congratulators’ hands with an arrogance that rubbed Corin like sandpaper. Pushing a hand through her blonde hair, Rin trudged away before she said anything she might regret.
After the Game, she made her way to the bar for a drink. After that gory scene she needed a few to drown out the memory. Or so she hoped. Lifting a finger, she ordered a beer. A minute later one was placed in front of her. Taking long swigs, Rin washed away the pain of losing yet another tribute. Being a Career wasn’t a guaranteed win. More and more that was becoming the case and every year Corin was reminded of that. A couple minutes later only foam remained in her glass and she asked for another. While the people from District 4 would be drinking in celebration, Corin drank in mourning. Life was so fragile and fleeting. It came with an expiration date. Some deserved to die and some to live. But death wasn’t prejudiced.
Lifting her glass to the screens that played reruns of the Game that had just taken place, she murmured, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”
“Can you fall in love with the things you may never touch?”
PERSONALITY
+ Talented, Optimistic, Kind-hearted
– Oblivious to the suffering caused by the Games, Absent-minded, Closed off
APPEARANCE
Height: 5’7”
Eye Color: Hazel
Glasses/Contacts: None
Hair Color: Brown
Important/Usual Accessories: Diamond bracelet given to her by her brother
Tattoos: Spiral of roses up left calf
Piercing(s): Two on each ear
Distinguishing Mark(s): None
Predominant Features: Smile
HISTORY
Ophelia was born in District 4, the daughter of two fishers. She had an older brother, Laertes, who was four when she was born. Her parents died in a boating accident before she was a year old, and she was adopted, with her brother by President Rose. Carolina was the only mother Ophelia ever knew. She worked long hours and Ophelia was often left with a nanny, which meant spending most of her time with Laertes. The two were thick as thieves, and Ophelia spent most of her childhood idolizing Laertes. He became Head Peacekeeper for District 4 shortly after her eighteenth birthday and gave her a diamond bracelet before he left. One month later the news came that he had been killed. Ophelia was devastated. She poured herself into her art, and found she had a talent for fashion design. She became a designer and was soon made a stylist for the Games. When she was twenty-one she fell hard and fast for one of the mentors. He pushed her away and she decided, with some persuading from her mother, that it was better not to speak with anyone from the Districts unless necessary.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Ridley, Daisy
OOC: Mary, TevahkFam
Account: AScarredFuture
AUDITION
Under the cut
Ophelia sat at her desk, scribbling furiously over a rough sketch of a dress. She had been up all night trying to get an edge on the other designers, but she had no inspiration. There was only so much to be done with fish, and she had done most of it before. She needed something fresh. Something new. Something inspired. She did not feel inspired. The scratch of her pen ceased and Ophelia crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. Her gaze drifted to the bracelet on her wrist, then up to a picture of her brother. She had fought with the gamemakers the year he died. One of the tributes was the son of the man who killed Laertes and they’d wanted her to be his designer. It was supposed to make for good press, but Ophelia refused. Laertes was where she drew the line.
She closed her eyes briefly to gather her thoughts then grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. This time she knew what she was drawing. The top of the dress was white, with thick black stripes around the elbows and shoulders, like a peacekeeper’s uniform. There was also black over the heart, a small circle that turned red farther away from the center and dripped down the rest of the dress like blood. When she finished she stared at the sketch for a moment before tucking it neatly into a folder she kept hidden under her mattress. This design could not be used for the games. It could never be used.
The clock struck midnight and Ophelia put her art supplies away. She needed rest. Staying awake all night would do her no good. She would try again in the morning.
Riddlecain, Natalia | 27 | Capitol | District 1 Psychiatrist
“Psychotic, a three syllable words for any thought too big for little minds.”
PERSONALITY
+ Highly intelligent, well mannered, loyal.
– Very ambitious, insane, sadistic.
APPEARANCE
Height: 5'7
Eye Color: Blue.
Glasses/Contacts: Glasses.
Tattoos: None.
Piercing(s): Earlobes.
Distinguishing Mark(s): Scars on her right arm.
Predominant Features: Slim figure.
Hair Color: Blonde
Important/Usual Accessories: A tablet, notepad, pen.
HISTORY
Natalia Riddlecain, daughter of two successful politicians with dark private lives. In public her father treated her like a princess, dressing her in nice clothes and giving her anything she wanted. In the privacy of her home, he hits and psychologically abuses both her dear mother and herself. Creating inside the young girl a deep hatred for her father. Used to be teased at school for being a bookworm and a loner. Bullied because she's smart and wear glasses, the girl didn't had much social skills just a deep love for her mother and science. Finally snapping when her mother got killed by a robber while taking her to a science convention and blamed by her father because of it, getting both psychological and physical abuse by him during her teen years. Graduating from her school at the young age of 16 and finishing her college degree at the age of 24, becoming one of Panem's most successful physiatrist so they say, both many secrets she hides from the public.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Benoist, Melissa.
OOC: Jan/Amy. BookahoIic.
Account: Darkened_Ashes
AUDITION
Under the cut
Another day in the life of Natalia Riddlecain, which means more disturbed victors, the madmen and criminals of Panem plus the wife who complains that her husband doesn't give much time to her. Honestly it all made the blonde doctor feel like rolling her eyes in front of them and just staring how pathetic most of their problems are but she knew better, in time they'll get their fair amount of her hidden wrath. For now, she'll continue playing the Capitol's darling of doctors, the good girl, that one doctor who is so kind and noble. Natalia did all of this for her ambitions and desires but she couldn't help feel bad for some of her patient. To some, and if she's in a good mood? She'll genuinely take care of them and help them. But the majority are just pieces in her mental game, that game that will lead her to be powerful in this place.
Rubbing the scars on her right hand with her thumb, a reminder of why she has become such a prodigy, a reminder of what ruined her life, a remainder of how her weakness became her strength and a reminder of how evil humanity truly is and why they deserve pain to be caused upon them just like it once was caused for her.
A soft sigh escaping her lips as she fixed her glasses, then fixed her coat's sleeves, covering that one arm and clicking on the button at the left of her desk to let the secretary know her next patient can come in.
"Hello!" A wide smile spread through her lips, making it seem like she was nice, even someone who can be your best friend but truth is she was far from that. She was your enemy depending on her mood, you were her victim if she wanted. After all she's the one holding the trigger.
“The struggle you are in today, is developing the strength you need for tomorrow.”
PERSONALITY
+ Dependable ally to anyone who needs help. Optimistic even when under pressure, and Observant of his own surrounding, especially when it comes to interpreting others.
– Sarcastic-mannered. Complex-minded; does things in his own ways regardless of others’ opinions, and Aggressive.
APPEARANCE
Height: 6’ 1” (185cm).
Eye Colour: Blue.
Glasses/Contacts: None.
Hair Color: Blonde.
Important/Usual Accessories: None.
Tattoos: None.
Piercing(s): None.
Distinguishing Mark(s): Linear scar on his left chest, from a crushed glass used against him during a brawl involved with his abusive late-father.
Predominant Feature: Well-built body that stands out among his family and friends.
HISTORY
Ray Anderson is the eldest son of Richard and Sarah Anderson. Along with his two other brothers; Ron and Roy Anderson, who are 13, and 14, respectively. Ray isn’t the most amicable young lad anyone would ever meet but he believes in fighting for both freedom and justice. Just like his father, Ray had always been the troublesome child who occupies his time loitering in the streets creating chaos or helping out in a local blacksmith hut attracting misfortune. Parents would visit The Andersons’ home just to knock on their door and grumble about the boy’s misbehaviours. A troubled child like him witnessed his abusive father throwing jabs and crosses right onto his mother’s face without any warning. He could feel the agony of his mother’s; every dusk and dawn until it became intolerable. All he could do was to hug his brothers tight, hoping they could tuck in and wash the miseries away.
The moment Ray turned 16, he almost memorized every routes in the district, and tailing his father every night sneakily as the older man ran his usual habits. – Visiting the other dysfunctional males of the Districts, chugging down bottles of alcohol as if there weren’t any tomorrows to live. Ray would then follow the man back into the house. Richard would continue with his abusing-fiesta asking Sarah for more money to replenish the lack of alcohol. But this time, the boy had it enough before he left his brothers in their room only to cease the ongoing brawl between his parents. An elbow went straight for the man’s face before Richard reached out for the empty bottle and smashed it against the teak table. The shard of glass in his grip went through Ray’s chest effortless, piercing through the skin before Richard dragged it linearly without mercy. The fortunate boy had to hold back his scream as he pushed his father off him.
Little did they know, their brawl hadn’t gone unnoticed nor unheard. Peacekeepers that were strolling by the street stormed in with no hesitation before Ray witnessed his father dropping motionlessly on the cold, hard ground with bullets pierced through the man’s chest. As much as he wanted to forget the image in his head, the death of Richard Anderson could still be visualized vividly at the back of his mind.
OTHER
Face Claim: Lutz, Kellan
OOC: Alpha, DeathByDasMads
Account:
AUDITION
Under the cut
Audition Title: [The Child. – The Rebel.]
{This short write-up is a quick glimpse of Ray’s personality.}
That one thing about Phobias, they are a bunch of pathological fear waiting to devour each and every soul of mankind.
No light would seep through the fog at night, and the existence of darkness would make the young man cringe for no apparent reason. – Oh, Noctiphobia. The abnormal fear for such calignosity. Ray was never fond of pitch darkness ever since he was a little boy. The innocent and the damned, the unpredictable wicked shadows would cease the sense of tranquillity in one way or another. It is just the matter of time.
“In a couple of days, I’ll be gone, mum,” He heaved a sigh of frustration, looking out of the window, merely hoping to see skyscrapers that never existed. Even if they do, they are being torn apart like other buildings in the filthy streets. Fortunately for them, and other individuals in District 2, they own the luxury to /at least/ have a good night’s sleep without worrying about what they would have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“Ray, if I could pull you out from the list of tributes, I would. I really would, son. But Capitol’s orders are orders to be obeyed, and I can never do a thing or two,” Sarah Anderson, the lone mother of three, smeared the small block of butter on the surface of the frying pan as she spoke. Preparing late dinner for the five of them, as per usual. Ron and Roy busied themselves with the worn-out toys in the living room as Ray took a quick glance of them over his shoulders.
“You worry about me way too much. Children in this District aren’t born to lose. That makes me different than those punks from other Districts, trust me. Besides, it’s the Quarter Quell. Backing out like a chicken would be the last thing I wanted to do,” His jaws clenched shut, with arrogance wrapping his tone completely. He sounded like a man who had nothing to lose when everyone else knows that every single living person on this earth has everything to lose at the end of the day.
“You sound just like your father. All he ever cared about was winning, Ray. Between him and death? Death won,” The string of words that crawled out of Sarah’s lips sounded more of a warning to his eldest son as she kept her attention to the frying fish slices in the pan.
“Because he couldn’t stop Death, and I will,” The boldness was radiating off him. Although, ending another person’s life for his own victory would be a sordid event he would ever face, he couldn’t even bear to think of leaving his mother alone in this cruel world to take care of his two brothers without his presence.
“Look at you, mum. Look at those scars on your hands, and neck. Dad took away your freedom. Beating you up like a sack of potatoes every single night and I had to watch it like a bloody repeated show on the television. And now, you just want The Capitol to take away /your/ freedom too? I will give them a good fight. And then I will rip the President’s head off his body. You /can’t/ say ‘no’ to me. Not anymore.”
“When you dance with the Devil. – You don’t get to pick the tune.”
PERSONALITY
+ Audacious; shows no fear even against authority. Charismatic when interacting with women of his own interest. Adaptable under multiple demands. Knowledgeable when it comes to strategizing, and Self-Reliant.
– Dominating when it comes to presenting his ideas. Destructive-minded when scheming the layout of the games and planning for his own success, and Insensitive to others.
APPEARANCE
Height: 6’ 0” (183cm).
Eye Colour: Dark Brown.
Glasses/Contacts: None.
Hair Color: Dark Brown.
Important/Usual Accessories: None.
Tattoos: Capitalized Phrase - “morte aut fuga punivit” on his upper back – which means “Death or Exile” in Latin.
Piercing(s): None.
Distinguishing Mark(s): None.
Predominant Feature: Cheekbones.
HISTORY
Born and raised in The Capitol, Lucas Ramírez went through no hardship other than to please his parents. They had been demanding nothing but perfection from the one and only child. The Ramírez is one among many well-heeled family that lives within the utopian city. While his parents filled themselves with greed for economic dominance among other ongoing businesses, Lucas filled himself with greed for authority in every aspects of his life. Of course, only the richest of the rich within the walls afford to spend their luxury for education, Lucas being one of those child who is raised with knowledge showered upon him. Yet, he didn’t consider himself lucky, held back to always meet his parents demand not to his own liking. A cage he couldn’t break himself free from the posh cage himself. The constant pressure had caused him to develop the stoic façade to veil his distressing moments. Withstanding the city’s tyrannical dictatorship became a lifestyle because it was no different than the way he was being brought up.
Through the years, Lucas’ mind had gone rogue, feeding himself with the prestige needs. Presenting himself highly in academics, he successfully landed in the security department of the city for central intelligence. Peacekeeping; most inhabitants would call it. Dealing with administration duties in and out over the years, because Lucas was never fond of violence, nor getting his hands blemished with the blood of others. His complex creativity didn’t go unnoticed by the President. Impressed, he was hired to be a part of the privileged council before haphazardly located into the game-making sector to be the Head. The offer wasn’t overlooked; authority had always been in his mind and there was nothing greater than to be in-charge. The opportunity that was thrown to him is a stroke of luck to the man.
He took note of nothing but the warning that The President had given him. Shall he fails to create a game to make a hit and impress the President, death shall be upon him. Lucas could careless of the President’s words. Heart as cold as eyes, mind as tough as bricks, no words of his would make Lucas tremble on his knees. Yet, Lucas still obeys the President’s words and follow by the book, as much as he could to keep his reputation.
OTHER
Face Claim: Mikkelsen, Mads
OOC: Alpha, DeathByDasMads
Account:
AUDITION
Under the cut
Audition Title: [Feed Your Fear.]
{This short write-up is a quick glimpse of Lucas’ personality.}
It was the song of death that became his prayer, a solemn lullaby that accompanies his nights; he would make sure that all-encompassing hope for an end to the games of hunger will go in vain ever since he was hired to be the man behind the gameplay. All he wanted is that the dangers imposed for those tributes will be everything that they lived, breathed, and thought every time the sun rises, and every time night calls.
His mind had been in captivity for years until his parents’ death, now, he believes that it is time for him to shine and bask in the glory of his own victory.
“Oh, we will let them fight through the stages until their last breath. Let them remember ever second of their unworthy life, my friends,” A ghost of a smile crossed his face before it faded off within seconds. His eyes paid attention to the growing hologram as the other members of the game-making council made the adjustments according to Lucas’ directions.
Lucas took a seat, letting his head fall back slightly; he found himself mesmerized by his own madness. Bloodshed, written in his heart and soul. The Capitol will love the dramatic and violent fight for survival. Acceptance washed over his body, diving into the cracks of affliction. – Worry less about those children, and live life happier. The more you care about those innocent children, the more you will fall.
Oh, dear. What an imperialistic view, but the words of the President rings hollow at the back of his mind. The game has to kill those tributes. The chance of survival should be as thin as the stale air. No more, no less. Let not time heal the wounds, not even a streak of it.
“Sir, will that be all? We have poisoned most of the waters,” The junior member notified him. Lucas acknowledged the amendments made with a simple nod in agreement. A smirk crawled along his lips as he pondered about further inputs that could make the game more… Thought-provoking.
“We should have a good drink for tonight. – Because the odds will never be in their favour.”
Rose, Carolina | 45 | Capitol | From District 1 | President
"She tries to smile to feel happy. But she just feels empty."
PERSONALITY
+ Caring towards the people she loves, intelligent, debonair
– Negative Traits: Selfish, entitled, bitter
APPEARANCE
Height: 5'9"
Eye Color: Blue/Green
Glasses/Contacts: Yes
Hair Color: Carmel Brown
Tattoos: None
Piercings: Ears
Distinguishing Marks: None
Predominant Features: Sharp cheek bones and large lips
HISTORY
Carolina was born into District 1. Her family was wealthy and her only brother was a Career in the hopes of winning the Games. She wasn't a Career. Carolina was diligent in her studies and found political science fascinating. Her teachers ingrained in her the mishaps of history's governments and how the Games fix their mistakes. But Carolina didn't like the Games. She didn't like to watch young people mutilate each other for sport. Her brother volunteered for the 2nd Games with the promise of victory. None were equal to his size, strength and cunning. He was slaughtered in the bloodbath. Losing her brother and best friend was a dagger in her heart. The blow was too much for Carolina. Her parents became distant and hardly acknowledged her. And so she poured herself into her studies. The top of her class and every teacher's favorite, Carolina began to learn how to win the hearts of the people. At 36, in a landslide she was elected into office. She has learned to manipulate the people to believe her ideals are the best, even when they are not. With a heart as cold as ice Carolina doesn't care what's best for the people. She strives to glorify Panem, to create a perfect society out of an imperfect system.
OTHER
Face Claim: Jolie, Angelina
OOC: Abbaline, QueenAae
Account: AScarredPast
AUDITION
Under the cut
A woman meticulously curled and combed her hair while another applied blush to her cheeks. The Games were almost upon Panem. This was the hardest time of year for her. It reminded her of what, rather, who she had lost. Even she fell to the talons of the Games. Like an eagle they swooped in to grab unsuspecting prey. Many times she had debated ending the gladiator match but her anger convinced her otherwise. Carolina wanted others to know what she had endured. She wouldn't allow herself to be suffer alone.
"We're on in five." A man said and she nodded.
Interviews started tomorrow. The introduction of the tributes fed the flames of excitement that was spreading through the Capitol. They were all as morbid as she.
The girls stepped away from her silently and Carolina smoothed her skirt. A painted smile curved her lips. Her eyes were dead and glassy as the director counted down. When he pointed at her, her smile widened every so slightly. The President needed to seem somewhat sympathetic.
"Good evening, Panem." She began, her voice like smooth velvet. "I am coming to you with an announcement concerning the upcoming Games." Carolina was like a robot in front of the camera. This announcement was one she had made many times. "Tomorrow begins the interviews with our own lovely Nikol. Tune in tomorrow to watch our own tributes talk about the impending Games." That was all she needed to say. It was all the public cared to know, "Thank you and may the odds be ever in your favor." The director cut the cameras and praised her for a job well done.
Standing, she exited the room without another word. Ironic, she thought to herself with a wry smile, the odds have never been in my favor.
Singleton, Serafima | 26 | District 10 Mentor | 15th Games Victor
“A line separates a fighter from a warrior. One is motivated by reason, the other by purpose. One fights to live while the other lives to fight.”
PERSONALITY
+ Optimistic, a fast-learner, has a persuasion skill.
– Cynical, churlish, often curses at someone.
APPEARANCE
Height: 5’ 68“.
Eye Color: Blue.
Glasses/Contacts: —
Hair Color: Blonde.
Important/Usual Accessories: A red cloth bracelet which was made by her very own mother.
Tattoos: —
Piercing(s): —
Distinguishing Mark(s): A long scar on her left arm which she got from the girl from Two.
Predominant Features: Eyes.
HISTORY
It was a beautiful morning in District 10 for the little Serafima. She woke up with the usual breakfast on a ramshackle wooden table; a sheep bone soup, and saw her mother spinning the wools from the female sheep which had been shaven earlier.
With a wide smile danced on her tiny lips, Serafima sipped the soup's dressing. They might live at the poorest district—in the poorest place in 10, even, but the young one couldn't be more grateful than it. Her mother and father are enough for her.
Her smile was still beautifully printed on her face, when she heard some people who were debating right in front of her house’s door.
Her father...and, someone else.
From this near distant, she could understand about their arguments. /That/ other people were probably the Peacekeepers and their pompous manners. Demanding the reason of the fleece which aren't fancy as before, the quality was indeed decreased. Not to blame Serafima's family, though the government had stopped distributing those food and other supplements for the cattle. It is truly impossible for them all to afford such things.
The next thing she knew was the stenches of smokes starting to permeated her nose. She took a glance over her mother and found only worries on the woman’s face.
“They aren’t not proper enough for the Capitol’s residents,” a heavy voice started speaking.
“But these are all we have. We can’t afford more than this!” Her father tried at his best to negotiate, Serafima could hear a slight wrath in his voice.
“Throw those rubbish to the fire,” the heavy voice yet again neglected the plead, and demanded his associates to burn the fleeces down.
Serafima was sculpted on her seat for she damn knew what will happen next. Her father had done an enormous effort to do his works—during this hostile weather—only to fulfill the sake of Capitol’s daily needs. But those scums didn’t appreciate it.
In the front of the door, her father already grabbed a garden shears then aimed it right at one of the Peacekeeper’s neck. He truly can’t understand their mindsets and all of their greediness. His mind had told him to do something injudicious. Nevertheless, before he could anything, a blaring sound of bullet sliced anyone’s hearing.
And there Serafima father was, collapsed with the pool of blood staining his white shirt.
The little girl started crying. She knows that something unsavory had happened to her father but she dare not to see it.
“Serafima, dear, hide inside the cupboard, would you?” Her mother softly approached in attempt to calm her daughter, yet her voice was shaky.
Serafima did nothing except to obey her mother’s bidding. She rushed towards the cupboard and cowered like a little puppy in there.
The door was suddenly opened forcedly. The growl of the Peacekeeper's was audible to be heard when they found her mother,
then,
they did the exact thing to Serafima’s father.
—
Weeks has been passed but never once she could forget the image of her parents /drowning/ in their own pool of blood. Their eyes were opened widely, they even couldn't scream before the bullets flew through their hearts.
Serafima lived as an orphan since that incident for she has no relatives anymore. She tried at her best to survive, to afford her daily needs at her very young age.
— And since that day, a splotch of rebellion soul started blazing in herself. One day, she’ll get her own payback to the Capitol and their minions.
A sweet yet deadly revenge.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Seydoux, Léa.
OOC: Raz, tangledmuses
Account: RuthlessBeau
AUDITION
Under the cut
It was a worst nightmare which Serafima ever had in her lifetime when the escort called out for her name in the Reaping Day. She had no choices, after all. There are, at least 30—40 papers with her names written on them. For the sake of tesserae.
Speaking of opportunity, she would be total pessimistic over the fact that she'll be underestimated, truly. Ten is the poorest district amongst the other thirteen— twelve, and either the audience or the Tributes would simply judge that she could be killed with an ease. A frail, feeble little girl who won't run far enough from the bloodbath.
Perhaps she'd rather take the whole staple goods in Cornucopia than the weapons. She'll be a great target.
Yet their expectations were missed.
Being raised in a region with the inhabitants who mostly work in livestock section apparently made the young Serafima learns lot of things. She often watches those shepherd dogs—how they use their legs to run, and also how they could gain the sheep's trust to follow it. A persuasion skill.
The slaughterhouse little did teach her on using the knives. At least, knives would be her /best/ friend in the arena.
When the Games had begun, she ran towards the Cornucopia even faster than the others. The bloodbath just happened when she has finished taking all the stuffs she would need.
The arena didn't bother her at all. A desert. Some dehydration phase might be her biggest fear— but that's all. She's getting accustomed with such weather.
Days had been passed and the cannonball notified that they were at least—17 out of 24 who died. Eleven from the bloodbath. And that when Serafima chose to smoothly execute her plan.
Soon as she walked out from her hideout towards an oases, she found out the Career Pack who were gathering around there. Piling up the goods for the sake of their lives, of course.
Swiftly, without making any sounds, she immediately pours the poisonous liquid from an insect into the oases' water and ran away. She believed that those scums will die within hours when they drink from it.
—and her prediction was right.
The five of Careers died at the noon. Though, Serafima scrunched her nose up once seeing the dead bodies with the ichor on their skins. But one of them wasn’t there. The female tribute from Two was still asleep and hasn’t drunk the water.
And so be it, four of the Tributes left. The condition got even worse in the arena, thanks to the Gamemakers, and the survived ones appeared one by one.
The boy from Seven was the first to defeat Serafima. Using his big axe that would be able to chop her head within a blink of an eye. Nevertheless he didn't know how to use it in a proper way. And soon, she could stab the point of the knife right at his heart.
The cannonball exploded.
Two more to be defeated.
Serafima was about to wipe the sweats on her forehead, when suddenly a strong arm strangled her neck from behind.
With a hard attempt, the black haired gasped for an air; but she couldn't find one. Her competitor—a girl from Five was strong as hell.
There's always a way, anyhow.
Serafima's hand groped the sand beneath her and threw those right into the other girl's eyes. Causing an irritation, perhaps a damage, she doesn't give a damn.
“Next time, find an equal rival for you, bitch,” she hissed in disgust whilst using the chance to take the pocketknife from her jacket.
And with no mercies nor pity, she sliced the girl's throat.
“Disgusting,” she cursed while trying to roll her body from the other female's corpse. Her former competitor's blood left lots of stain on her jacket. She didn't care, though.
There's one more who shall be killed. The tribute from Two.
District Two—the place where the filthy government trains the residents to be Peacekeepers. Or in other words, almost all of them came from there. It could be this girl's father, or her uncle. Whosoever. Serafima wouldn't give a damn. All that she cared about is how to release her hatreds and fulfill her revenge which had been planned since years ago.
She won't let the girl to be a Victor. If that girl becomes the winner, she'll be back to her District, perhaps she'll get married—and have a son, two sons, three sons, who'll be another ruthless Peacekeepers soon.
Serafima knew that the Gamemakers will do anything to end this Games as soon as possible for there were only two Tributes left in there. And her instinct was right, again. Raindrops fell from the sky swiftly—an acid rain, and she immediately ran away from there. Searching for a safe place...and her opponent.
She was about to ran as fast as she could before the rain kills her when a chopper was planted deeply on her right arms. How could it be? She didn't even she someone walks near her.
"Shit!" She screamed in agony, as the blood began rolling down from the open wound. But she did not give up. She still has enough strength to kill that bastard.
When she lifted up her chin, she saw a devious smirk flashed by the other girl. Probably she thought that Serafima will die anytime soon because she's suffocating at the very moment.
'Alright,' Serafima thought to herself. She'll play this scenario in a good way. Even though she's very near to meet her death, she will not let that girl to win.
Serafima then toppled her own self onto the sand, and groaned in pain. The silly tribute of Two bowed down; her face was only inches away from Serafima's.
“That's for killing my friend.” She whispered.
Using any opportunities she has, Serafima strangled her neck and threw her body away to lay beside her with her right arm. Now their position is reversed.
“I won’t let you win. Ever.” She spoke with a deep anger whilst her hand gripped the other female's chopper which was used to harm Serafima's arms.
With a vigorous might, she wield her weapon to literally chop the girl's head to be separated from her body—not all of them, though.
“And that’s for my parents, you dirty helot of Capitol.”
De Santis, Vincenzo | 29 | District 2 Mentor | 20th Games Victor
“I am not afraid to die. It’s every breath that comes before.”
PERSONALITY
+ Protective of the ones he cares about, Strong sense of self, Quick-witted
– Alcoholic, Emotionally distant, Short tempered
APPEARANCE
Height: 6′2″
Eye Color: Blue
Glasses/Contacts: None
Hair Color: Blond
Important/Usual Accessories: None
Tattoos: Crescent moon on left shoulder, heart-shaped stone covered in blood on right shoulder, iron fist over his heart
Piercing(s): None
Distinguishing Mark(s): Deep scars from burns on most of his back
Predominant Features: Jaw
HISTORY
Vincenzo and his twin sister, Vitoria, were both careers and volunteered for the 20th Hunger Games together. Their mother put more faith and more effort into his sister’s win than she did his and Vincenzo felt distant from his mother because of this. They only made one other ally in the arena, a young girl named Luna. Vincenzo was with Luna when she died, but he and his sister were the last two surviving tributes. He was forced to kill Vitoria in order to survive. Now he mentors for District 2 and drinks to drown out the memories of his time in the arena.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Hedlund, Garrett
OOC: Mary, TevahkFam
Account: StonesNotSticks
AUDITION
Under the cut
He could hear his sister's distinctive whistle. But that wasn't the only thing he heard. Vincenzo and Luna had been off picking fruit. Luna was only seven, but she knew what you could and could not eat. The same way he knew which cuts made for the most painful death. The same way Vitoria could look at the ground and tell you who walked there and when.
In a game like this, the board was almost as dangerous as the players. The faint whistle of gas being released into the surrounding area alerted him to the impending danger. Vince grabbed the District 7 girl's hand and started running.
Her legs were short, and she couldn't run as fast he could. She was just behind him when the Gamemaker pressed a switch and lit the flame. De Santis didn't feel the force and flames pushing him forward and searing the flesh on his back. What he felt was the small hand of the moon-eyed girl slipping from his grip.
--
He woke up before the cannon went off. The familiar pounding in his head that came with every attempt to drown a memory was dulled by the burning ghost pain of the scars across his back.
He had grown attached, and it had cost him. Winning the Games was the worst fate he had ever suffered. Vince wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. Yet here he was, teaching innocent kids to kill for the entertainment of the Capitol.
Rouge, Velvet | 27 | District 1 Mentor | 21st Games Victor
“They say she was born from the sea. And she’s just as lonely and just as willing to swallow the world.”
PERSONALITY
+ Charming, Strategic, Resourceful
– Emotional, Cynical, Vindictive
APPEARANCE
Height: 5′7″
Eye Color: Green
Glasses/Contacts: None
Hair Color: Blonde
Important/Usual Accessories: Silver moon pendant necklace
Tattoos: “Te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma,” in red across her left side, meaning, “I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”
Piercing(s): Two on each earlobe
Distinguishing Mark(s): A small scar on her right temple from the last time she was hit by Midas
Predominant Features: Cheekbones
HISTORY
Velvet, an only child to a wealthy and loving family in the Luxury district, became a mother at the young age of sixteen, the father being an eighteen year old boy named Midas. The child was named Luna, and though neither had been ready for a child, Velvet was still determined to care for the child while the father did not. She and Midas had both trained as careers to volunteer for the 21st Games, but Velvet opted out to care for their child. She was reaped, and no other female had volunteered to take her place. Outraged with the results, Midas snapped, storming into her room and grabbed Luna with Velvet pleasing to stop while her rattled the baby until the small girl’s neck snapped, killing her instantly with his bare hands. Since then, Velvet had vowed for revenge on her daughter’s death, hunting and killing Midas when they were the last two tributes in the Games. Now, she avoids romantic relationships altogether since Midas, but frequently has casual sex with other Victors and Capitol people to forget the pain losing her daughter. She slowly finds herself falling for the Victor to the 20th Games, Vincenzo De Santis, and has returned to her drinking habits in an attempt to drown out her feelings.
OTHER
Faceclaim: Heard, Amber
OOC: Peri, redarachne
Account: SanguineLuxury
AUDITION
Under the cut
| T/W: Blood. A/N: This actually kind of sucks but hey have a scene from Velvet’s past. |
Revenge was the only thing on her mind. It wouldn’t get back what she truly wanted, but at the least, she would get something out of it.
They were the last two in the arena, and the remaining tributes were both from the luxury district. She was running from the fire set in the forest. The Gamemakers had set it to bring them closer together, and she knew. Velvet was getting closer to Midas, and though he didn’t know it yet, he was a dead man. Midas’ touch. Midas’ touch... His touch brought upon death, and it brought the death of something truly special to Velvet.
Her daughter.
He killed her---a seemingly harmless eighteen year old boy, rattling a child until she suffered her death.
The teen wanted to hear his screams. The same agonizing screams she heard surpass her own child lips. She had everything planned out. A dull, rusting blade was clutched in her hands, and the fire died down, replaced with a shower. He was close; she could practically sniff out the blood that would soon be on her hands. She wanted revenge, and she wanted him to know that she was not just an innocent little girl he could play around with. He would remember everything he’d done, and the boy with the deadly touch would die with the name of the hellish girl upon his lips.
Velvet was only sixteen when she had her little Luna, and Midas was angry when he heard the news. He told Velvet it was all her fault, as if she deserved it. He was yelling and screaming when she told him, throwing dishes at the floor and putting his fist through the walls. Midas left, and she never saw him again, until the few days after they were reaped for the Games. He grabbed the poor child right out of her peaceful slumber and listened to her cries. Velvet was much too small to save her little girl. A broken neck, damaged brain, and suffocation. All suffered by a baby no older than two months.
“It was your fault.”
“We’re too young.”
“You’re going to die anyway.”
“Nobody would come back for her.”
“You can have another one.”
“She would have gotten reaped too.”
He said all of those things and more, and Velvet remembered every last one of them.
Low growls escaped her as she noticed a figure hiding under a short tree through the beginning of blanketing darkness. She slowly crept her way toward the unknowing male from behind, careful not to snap sticks below her feet or cause any loud noises. She was thankful for the heavy rain masking her mistakes. Her technique got quite sloppy under the extreme weather. Velvet was never for it, as a girl like she loved her sun to bask in and blue skies to stare at, but she was no longer the girl she used to be. She was a woman enraged; and a woman enraged wanted the moon to howl at and the color red dripping off of her hands.
Approaching closer, she was just in time to grab the unaware boy before he could have jolted and ran for his life, or kill her then and there. He was even lucky to be able to stand up before her knife slashed at his side. “Asshole!” She declared, then a hand grabbed tightly around his throat, and the smaller tribute used all her might to throw him to the ground. Her attempt had been successful, and she kneeled on the boy’s arms, one hand holding his hand up, the other, drawing the blade over his throat. Velvet paid no attention to his begs to let him go. She took no care for that. Nobody else could come to kill her, so all of her attention was focused on the killer of their child.
“How could you?” The first slice was across his forearm, and the young woman watched the red trickle from his veins.
She got a small wince out of him, but he kept himself strong. Midas tried to pry her off of him, but her rage was overpowering. “She would have died anyway!”
That earned him a beating on the fingers with a rock nearby. A cry surpassed his lips, and that was slightly satisfying for Velvet. “Fucking hell, Midas! You killed your own child!” Another slice. This time, across his cheekbone.
He screamed, legs kicking beneath her in attempt to shake her off. Midas said nothing more, but he kept his weakening gaze locked on hers.
Velvet shook him by the shoulders, just as he had done with little Luna. She slammed his head against the dirt, listening for his wails to stop. “Velvet! Please, I’m begging you!”
At that, an amused chuckled was drawn from her. “Begging me? Remember when I was begging you to let her go? To let us go and you would never have to see us again?” She reminded him, and her thumb dug into his left eye.
“Never.”
Midas was much too beaten to even speak now, and after a few more bashes with the stone, Velvet used the rest of her strength to turn him face-down in the dirt. She used her knife to tear off the rest of his shirt, and she slashed at his back, pushing his face into the mud.
“For me!” A long slash across his back.
“For him, for her, and for the rest of everyone and everything you’ve ruined!” Ten more cuts at the small of his back. He was no longer breathing.
Finally, in her last throw of anger, Velvet pushed her knife into the back of his neck. “For Luna!”
She felt his cold blood on her hands, and she basked in her fulfillment. Velvet threw her head back, eyes shooting towards the full moon. Her gaze finally softened and the sound of the last cannon rung her ears. Velvet had gotten her revenge---for everyone who had suffered the Midas’ touch.
Velvet Rouge, with the splendor of velvet and the shedding of rouge blood. She was alive, and she would be crowned the victor of this year's annual Hunger Games.
“Pour la lune.” For the moon. For Luna.
