did you see them ?! that was SILO HAYES, the winner of the 86th hunger games. they’re back for the 92nd games as a TRIBUTE, and you know they’re one of my favourites! the TWENTY-FIVE year old brought such honour to DISTRICT 9 when they won their games with A SCYTHE / USING LAVA. they’re known all over panem for being so WITTY HUMOR + ADROIT despite being so BRAZEN + RIGID. they remind me of at least three aesthetics, and when i think of them, i think of DOOMED by I Prevail .
BASICS
Full Name: silo hayes
Known Alias(es): si, hayhay, hayo.
Age: 25
Gender: cismale
Birthday: july 5th.
Sexual & Romantic Orientation: bisexual & single as a pringle.
Status: alive.
Residencies: resides in District 9.
Occupation(s): he helps out at a local bakery while getting lost in wheat fields, but he's still finding his way.
PHYSICAL EXAM
Facial Features: he has olive skin with a slightly crooked nose and jutting chin. his face is slender with angular cheekbones and wears short curly brunette hair that hangs in his face. he has a bushy brow line and narrow lips.
Faceclaim: paul mescal
Voice: his voice is deep and husky. when he gets serious, it gets tense and tight.
Voiceclaim: his voice is lighthearted, sometimes sarcastic because he doesn't take anything serious besides people.
Eyes: sky blue
Hair: dark brunette
Body Type:
Distinguishable Marks: he has a vertical scar on his left eyebrow about half an inch from the Games. he is missing his left pinky.
Height: 5'11"
Weight: REDACTED
MENTAL EVALUATION
Mental Illnesses (if applicable): he has pstd and anxiety disorder.
Psychological Profile: anything to do with fire, he has a hard time coping, but he gets there.
Positive Traits: witty humor, adroit.
Negative Traits: brazen, rigid.
Alignment Type: chaotic good
Phobias: he doesn't like when it gets dark, but it wont stop him from doing the things he needs to do.
Mannerisms: he mumbles to himself when he's deep in thought. he likes chewing gum to help him think. he yawns loudly.
Hobbies & Interests: he doesn't do much, but he has picked up on scrapbooking.
STRATEGIC ANALYSIS
Combat Style: he uses his fist to pummel through his problems, if needed. otherwise, he just tries to live his life as decent as he can.
Weapon of Choice: a landscape scythe, since that's what he uses all day to cut wheat down.
Hand-to-Hand Combat Proficiency: he doesnt get into fights, but he knows how to use his fist.
Tactical Strengths: he has a strong moral compass to do good, or at least make life not so shitty.
Tactical Weaknesses: he hesitates, sometimes. mainly, because he can't fathom until he's reminded that he has a voice and needs to use it.
Signature Techniques: he punches the gut.
Pain Tolerance: he has a high pain tolerance.
Defensive Skills: he handles things himself. if he sees something wrong, he will speak up and try to make things equal.
AFFILIATIONS & RELATIONSHIPS
Family: gloss dupout ( father , alive ) , terra hayes ( mother , alive ).
Allies & Associates: (Trusted confidants or powerful connections.)
Rivalries: (Ongoing personal or professional conflicts.)
Enemies: (Those actively working against them.)
Romantic History: (List known or rumored relationships.)
Notable Friends: (True friendships vs. strategic alliances.)
HABITS & LIFESTYLE
Daily Routine: ho to work, check in with miss millie may ( the local bakery ), then take a dip or rest under a shady tree until it's time to go back home.
Diet & Nutrition: he eats when he can, which is usually all the time. bread is his favorite snack.
Exercise Habits: working the wheat fields is exercise enough, also carrying bags of flour for the local bakery in town.
Grooming Habits: he likes to keep things simple, since he has to work the wheat fields often. a white t-shirt or beater with blue jeans will do.
Substance Use: he does smoke and drink occasionally. he just doesn't like how it makes him feel.
Sleep Patterns: sporadic, but he can fall sleep at a drop of a dime.
Favorite Books: he doesn't really have time to read, but he will make time to read bedtime stories to the kids who need it.
Favorite Music Genres: he enjoys alternative.
LORE
THE EXISTING
My world shattered at age ten. It didn’t matter that we moved so often that I barely had any time to make friends; it didn’t matter that I knew how to fix a meal for my hard earning mother before I started going to school. All that mattered was that we were together and happy.
She started with how my father was of importance and that some day I should go find him and meet him. Of course, I didn’t believe her when she told me a victor, and nonetheless Gloss from District one. Then, she proceeded to tell me that it was a one night stand and never told him. It’s too much that I ran away that night. Peacekeepers brought me back after finding me just sitting on a bale of wheat, gazing at the sky. I don’t plan on reaching out, but I still wonder why.
The best thing about my birthday is, it is the day after Reaping. The worst part of it all has to be getting through the damned thing. After that, it’s smooth sailing and I won’t have to stand around, waiting for Death to unroll its scroll and maybe call my name. I have better things to do. We all have better things to do. Even the mayor and his double chin, which looks tamer than usual. Probably looking good for the cameras.
Shrilling clicks of heels cross the platform and haunt the empty space between us and them. It’s never fair, who is reaped, and always sad, the hardest pill to swallow watching kids walk to their grave. Especially with ill Bill announced over the speakers. It’s sickening, and I can already see them depriving him of the medicine he needs, instead plumping him up with propaganda and lies then sending him on his merry way into the arena.
I volunteered for him. Now, I throw up, retched everything I ate this morning before I’m guided up to be put on a pedestal for the world to see. My gnawing stomach and aching temple scream at me for doing such a stupid thing. I was finally happy — working and doing well. But, Peacekeepers and the Capitol don’t care about happy. All they want to see is entertain with my face plastered over the television screen announcing my death.
As I board the train to the Capitol, I swear this isn’t going to be my legacy. I will go out kicking and screaming, if I have too.
THE FIGHTING
You’d think I’d have it figured out after a couple days of the same routine. Wake up, eat, talk about strategy, eat, practice our skills, eat, then sleep. But, there’s always something that throws me off. There’s not much time to think and meander about what’s happening back home when the Careers are looking at you like a snack, either. Panelle, the female tribute who was reaped with me, is no help. She’s been like a deer in headlights whenever someone tries to talk to her. I almost feel bad, until I see the Career’s snicker from afar.
It’s like they’re cats playing with their prey, but I hold my ground – for her, and mostly for the districts, because who else? They pad and paw at us to see if we’ll prance, but I know better. I play dumb and avoid them until the arena. No fun in letting my greatest strength out too early. As long as I can get my hands on a scythe or some sort of blade, I’ll be good. I can handle caring for one other person.
When we dress, we dress light and breathable, but it sticks to my skin like glue. I feel the warmth under it all, and try to backtrack what wearing lightweight fabric means. Probably hot, most definitely humid weather with a sunny disposition. This is the type of clothing they would make kids wear to protect their skin. With a black long sleeve and joggers alone, I can rule our snowy or cold places.
The next day can’t come any faster, but it’s here. As I’m rising in the tunnel, my stomach leaves me, staying put with my stylist and last wishes.
It’s hot – ‘boiling my skin off’ hot when the platform comes to a halt. I have to squint before I get a look at the damage before me. A cornucopia full of goodies, some weapons littering in front but most are displaying within, sit in the middle of the tributes. When I look back, there's about a mile of meadow before the trees can shelter me. I turn my back. That’s an issue I’ll deal with later. My eyes set on the closest thing near me – a dagger and a small burgundy backpack.
As the gong rings, I leap to my only saviors in surviving this. Everything’s a blur after that. I wake up to Panem playing their final tune and welcoming the victor of the 86th Games, SILO HAYES FROM DISTRICT 9. I look down to find my hands are bloody, I’m missing a finger, and I can barely see out of my left eye. I remember playing as a kid, but the floor is actually lava just inches away from my melting skin.
THE PLAYING
They tell me I won, but I feel hollow and apathetic about all this. I watch the replays on the jumbo screen, spinning tales that shed light on horrible memories, and I’m forced to swallow it all again. Sitting here, I figured out I teamed up with the Careers early in the games only for one to betray and split the group up. I used the landscape and weather to my advantage and left the rest for dead for the rising lava. I watch in shock as the lava bleeds through the floor, engulfing everything in fiery orange liquid. My skin tickles just watching. My heart pounds remembering it all devastatingly.
I wasn’t able to save anyone, and they made me look like I am a natural born killer, prodding me with their hunger eyes. So, why not play the part? I’m answering questions I don’t care about with smooth wit. I throw a charming smile at the crowd for insurance. I even jest at Caesar in light fun, a coat of vexation dusts the edges of the words.
And when I get home to district nine, I pick up the same routine, only this time I add Panelle’s family to the list, because the Victor Village is empty and has nothing to do. We had three Victors at one point. One died of old age a couple years back and the other two were executed for siding with the rebels. They were young, too.
Most days, I keep to myself. But, whenever the cameras come invading, I brave my face for the weather.
credit for 86th games and here
INSPIRATION
peeta mallark ( thg ) , carl grimes ( twd ) , john murphy ( the 100 ).