(SIMAY BARLAS, FEMME-NEUTRAL, SHE/THEY) The 74th Annual Hunger Games are upon us and here comes THIMBLE VIRIDIAN RINALDI, a DISTRICT 8 TRIBUTE. Word around The Capitol is that they’re WHIMSICAL AND ADROIT but can also be ERRANT AND ERRATIC. According to sources, they’re TWENTY-ONE and were once described as the fading warmth at twilight of midsummer concrete beneath lithe bare feet, a whistled melody carried like a bubble by the wind, searching for a star to follow in the light pollution of a city skyline, a story told from memory while a tea candle keeps the nightmares at bay, a needle piercing two sides to pull everything together. What a character! As we always say, may the odds be ever in their favor!
BIOGRAPHY
Before the peacekeepers forcefully made the Covey settle into various districts, they were a nomadic folk. Thimble’s grandparents could still remember the days of travel and music, well, the ones who were still alive and around could. Her mother’s father was among those who resisted, and two uncles, a great aunt, and her mother’s mother were forced to separate to District 4 before the rest were told to settle into Little Cove on the edge of District 8’s large, urban infrastructure. They struggled to make ends meet without traveling to perform at first, and while some continued to sing for money, others began to learn the textile trades of their neighbors. Soon the remaining family mastered their own unique form of carpet weaving in order to have income.
The older generation remained righteous and seething in their anger as they maintained what parts of their culture they could in a city which largely ostracized them while Thimble’s parents simply slipped into their mundane daily work with soulless dedication. It was true they genuinely loved one another and claimed to be content with their simple lives, but there was never passion in their eyes. It was more like resignation to survive. Thimble swore that would never be her. In fact, she didn’t really like weaving carpet despite an instinctual talent on the loom. Instead, she preferred to make her own clothes. At the very least, any and every thing she wore had an embroidered embellishment or stitched needlepoint done by her own hand.
Thimble both saw the beauty present around her in unconventional ways and wanted to make it all ever the more beautiful. She loved to explore the city. There were factories with loose windows that were easy to climb in and feel all the fabric textures. The dye shops always left their back doors open when it wasn’t raining and during their lunch, Thimble could sneak through to assess all the nuanced hues of possibility. She would dance to the sounds of her kinsfolk music on evenings in Little Cove with thrill and delight. Every ballad they sang became memorized in a treasured stitch on a tapestry of storytelling. Even what was harsh could be rose tinted in her eyes. She would climb to the top of their family’s shared living and stare for hours hoping to catch a twinkle in the night sky beyond the lights that dimmed them, but couldn’t it always finally be the day?
Eventually, Thimble decided that they simply had to become a stylist. It was a career that would give them everything that they wanted. The freedom to get out of Little Cove and see different skies, a purpose for their deft needlework, an audience who wouldn’t walk all over their art, and a bridge that could express their vision and passion to those who would otherwise ignore them. It just made sense. Thimble’s sister, Clementine Rose, who was far older and somehow content to continue their parent’s work, often warned a young Thimble not to become too hopeful of that daydream. Clem was always very responsible and helpful. She was the eldest by far and tended to behave a bit more maternal over her younger siblings. Unfortunately, she also seemed to believe pessimism was rooted in being more realistic. Meanwhile Thimble’s older brother, Reaper Blue, was much the opposite. He was the middle child; easy-going, relaxed, and enjoyed nothing more than the idea of having a little laugh. He was always telling fantastic stories and making everyone in the room laugh. No one was more inclined to tell Thimble to dream ever bigger, and Thimble would listen to every word.
Ironically, Reaper was likely the one most devastated when Thimble was reaped for the games. Everyone watching in each distinct district heard the pained cry he could not contain when the name was read. Clem bore it in tear-stained silence. Thimble could not even look at their parents’ faces, because at least then they could pretend both continued on in placid ease. They all knew no one would volunteer on Thimble’s behalf, which was fine. They would just have to win. Thimble could win; they were adaptable, clever enough, and charming to a crowd. They could carve a place of belonging even where they could not create cohesion. They were passionate, idealistic, and absolutely brutal. Since they had already spent a lifetime playing against unfair odds, Thimble had developed several creative methods of evening a play field. They only looked at the crowd and the cameras and smiled.
STATS
Deceive; 2
Fight; 2
Lore (knowledge); 2
Notice; 2
Physique; 1
Provoke; 1
Rapport; 2
Resourcefulness; 3
Stealth; 2
Will; 3
EXTRAS
pinterest. || playlist.
HEADCANONS
Despite Thimble’s talent for weaving, embroidery, tailoring, and otherwise altering textiles, they absolutely can not figure out how to knit. Something about that skillset completely evades them. Every time they try, it comes out horribly miscounted and uneven.
She almost always has a few needles and pins on her and will not hesitate to use them to her advantage, especially in situations where she sees the circumstances as unjust or unfair. There have been several occasions where she jabs someone just to look extra innocent when they start after her to manipulate the peacekeepers.
For some reason, the lack of stories that her family shared about their missing members has bolstered within Thimble a great need to be remembered. She wants people to tell her story; good or bad.
Thimble knows how to whistle very impressively and knows how to play a handful of flutes, but her brother was the one who really fell in love with music. She just wanted a better way to bond with him and found the flute suited her.
Style is obviously very important to Thimble, but they refuse to cater into already established styles. Popularity is nice, but they’re a trendsetter, not a follower. Their goal had been to create a home for their style amongst the Capitol fashions. Perhaps it still is a goal, although a few notches down in priority now.
Their parents were the sort that cared about their children, but obviously were so burnt out and depressed that it still felt like they were often at arm’s length. They did a lot of autopilot days, and Thimble spent far more time with their siblings and grandmother.
