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.
