Fandom ɪɴᴠɪᴄᴛᴜs - CS

[Requielle]

Thank you for applying! Feel free to add details onto the sheet if there's something you want to include and it isn't mentioned! If you have any questions please just let me know and I'll do my best to answer!

1. You can create two characters max at the moment, please make sure they're from different districts if you do so! To keep things balanced.
2. Real faceclaims only! No anime, sorry!
3. Coding is optional! Use whatever template you want!
4. If it gets a heart it's accepted!

Now onto the sheet. This is a basic skeleton. Add more information if you feel so inclined! The more the merrier! There's no specific deadline yet but I'll update this and inform everyone if that changes!

BASICS
Name:
Nickname(s):
Age (unless they won the most recent games then this'll be 18+):
Gender:
Orientation:
District:

VISAGE
Faceclaim:
Height:
Build:
Notable features:
Style: How do they dress? Do they mimic the style of the Capitol or not?

PSYCHE
Personality: a paragraph or more
Virtues:
Vices:
Likes:
Dislikes:

BACKGROUND
Background: Early life, how did they get to where they are now? Reputation: How does Panem view them?
Hobbies: what do they do in their free time?
Other: headcanons, etc - whatever you'd like goes here!

GAMES
Which Games did they win?
What is the most replayed moment of their Games?
What do they think of the Games?
What does their district think of them?
- If they mentor, what are they like as one?

RELATIONSHIPS Are there any other Victors they're close to? Any rivals? What do they think of their fellow Victors? What do their fellow Victors think of them?

 

[Requielle]

Our NPCs!​

Orcus Severan Atticus

Head Game-Maker

Basics

Nickname(s): Sev to the few who are closed to him, most use his surname as a mark of respect.
Age: 68
Gender: Cis. Male
Orientation: Heterosexual
District: The Capitol

Appearance

Faceclaim: Rhys Ifans

Height: Orcus stands at 5"9 foot in height

Build: He is a slight man who projects strength through his rigid posture and the way he easily commands the attention of a room rather than through muscles or his size. Unlike most in the Capitol Orcus displays the blemishes of age without care, the beginnings of wrinkles lining his forehead and creases around his eyes brought on by the years spent squinting at screens though he looks a decade or so younger than his 68 years thanks to Capitol medical care. His lips are so thin that when he presses them together, often in displeasure, they seemingly vanish from his face altogether. And his eyes are almost grey in their pale blueish hue.

Style: He often dresses in blacks, greys, greens and reds, a dark but rich assortment of velvet suits, shined shoes and perfectly pressed shirts giving him a dignified appearance and the lack of the typical Capitol coutere allowing him to easily stand out amongst a crowd.

Notable: There is a stillness about him, pale eyes that often look as though they are seeing through you and a face where rage and joy look much the same leaving it hard to tell how he is feeling. He is not a man who gives of an aura of comfort and instead feels rather clinically detached from his surroundings, observing you from a distance even as you stand shoulder to shoulder in conversation.

PSYCHE
Personality: Atticus is a driven man, he wishes to be remembered as the best Game-maker Panem has ever had, wishing to build back a reputation for his family name after his parents so easily destroyed it. He was groomed and moulded into shape by his Grandparents and often finds himself mimicking their behaviour and mannerisms, his love for the Games was inspired by them and he does what he can to inspire that love and devotion for Panem into those around him.

But his love for his job does not blind him; he takes steps to analyse every situation, enjoying trying to puzzle out peoples thoughts and motivations. He makes his decisions, with the exception of a grief-stricken mistake and several dalliances in his younger years, slowly and carefully which sometimes leaves him paralysed. Too worried about the grander picture to see what is in front of him. It is hard to always estimate those against you when you are so assured you are the smartest man on the board.

He is no monster, he can be cruel and cold in his methods but he does not hurt people for the sake of it - if it is the best way forward he is willing but he takes no pleasure in it. Even in the games he distances himself from the bloodshed; he is not revelling in the deaths of the children but how those deaths have been orchestrated, how the arena has been designed and how they've done their jobs properly. He is a man who is an expert at clinical detachment and it is a wonder what would happen should he ever truly feel the warmth of the blood on his hands. He'd much rather take the softer approach of honeyed words and bribery than a knife in the back, though it can be assured when the latter is employed he is not the man holding the knife.

Atticus is a man who is so determined to have control over himself and those around him that he has closed himself off from the world on every real level; he's civil to those he works with, often happy to join in on a joke and allow his workers enough freedom to be in good enough spirits they're productive but he forms no real attachments with them. He likes them, he likes people well enough but it is not often he will allow himself any measure of closeness with the people around him. As a younger man he'd work around this through one-night stands and brief and flitting relationships where there were little words exchanged, it was an attempt to fill the hole within himself without truly allowing anyone close. He knows the truth of what the Capitol is like, how often those in his position of power get ousted or killed by those he trusts - in a way the only person he truly trusts is President Snow as he's sure that as long as he remains loyal and diligent his head will be spared from the block and he'll be able to carry on doing his job for as long as he can. He pays people to inform him of the whispers and of any turning tides, he's worked to try to ensure his employees are loyal to him and the Games before the government for Panem cannot stand without the Hunger Games to feed it.

Virtues:
- Analytical
- Assertive
- Ambitious
- Perceptive
- Pragmatic
- Patient

Vices:
- Arrogant
- Prideful
- Ruthless
- Detached
- Paranoid

Likes:
- His work
- Experimentation
- Tea
- Creating something memorable
- The feeling of rain

Dislikes:
- Overly sweet things
- Disobedient employees
- The feeling of wool
- Bright colours
- Saltwater pools

BACKGROUND
Background: Atticus was born into an old-money Capitol family, one of the lucky ones to escape the war mostly unscathed and who hated the districts more so for the inconvenience of it all than the lives lost. His grandparents were vocal supporters of the Hunger Games being enacted, his Grandmother regularly sponsoring the Games and taking a young Atticus with her to watch. His Father grew invested in the Games, bidding but without the careful considerations of his Mother, the family lost money after his Father bet on a wildcard district eleven volunteer to win. His Father effectively found himself disowned and Atticus was pulled down alongside him, he studied and slaved over books to get into the Academy in the hopes of becoming something more than his Father.

His Grandparents found out about his acceptance and allowed him to move in with them, they told him how proud they were of him and how much of a fool his Father was for dragging the family name through the mud. It was Atticus they tasked with repairing their name, with climbing the social ladder so the family could stand tall and proud once again.

And he did. He graduated with top marks and was regularly the top of his class, in his final two years he shadowed those behind the Games and followed the mentors of districts without Tributes to see how they worked.

He married one of his fellow students fresh out of the Academy; she was studying biology with the hopes of becoming a bio-engineer for the Games. He'd imagined they'd work on it together,him directing the helm and featuring the creatures she created. They were an attractive couple, the families approved of the match and they were very much in love. Unfortunately there were unforseen side-effects of her experimentation; Scylla was daring in all the ways he was cautious and so when she went into the bowels of the Game Centre to experiment she cared little for the dangers of it all, experimenting to create new mutations for the arena each more dangerous than the last. Her personal favourite were the trees; bred to eat tributes who ventured into their branches - deceptively beautiful and still but waiting to kill those who sought shelter. But the experiments had a cost; she grew sicker and sicker, chemicals causing unforeseen side effects until she passed when he was thirty.

Right after he was given the job as a Game-Maker. He'd worked for years as a mentor and then a trainee so he could work in the Capitol alongside her.

He threw himself into his work, steadily climbing the ladder until he found himself at the top. There had been drunken nights where he sought to forget her memory, finding himself in the arms of another to ignore the loneliness he hadn't quite yet mastered repressing and her family had tried to reach out but he ignored them. He shut himself off from the world and worked and worked until that was all that was left of him.

Reputation: The wealthy elite of Panem view him as the creator of some of the most iconic Arenas to date, the man who provides them with their entertainment year after year and has yet to give them a dull display. The tributes view him as the man who choreographs their deaths to make the biggest possible spectacle. The Victors know him as the man who designed the hells they survived and who will continue to do so for years to come. He is known to be a cold man, not kind but not needlessly cruel, he does his job and he does it well and he has to admit he enjoys moving all the pieces to get certain reactions from the audience and trying to manipulate the outcome of the Games.

Hobbies:
- He lectures at the Academy on occasion, trying to better the next aspiring crop of Game-Makers.
- He enjoys wood-working and the novelty of working with his hands as most things in the Capitol are automated or created on screens. He carves miniature mutts, animals and plants and it is said he gifts one to each of his game-makers to commemorate a specific moment of each of their games.

Other:
- He has a black Somali cat named Diana, she's 16 years old.
- He fathered a daughter in the districts.

Glory of Panem

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

Talisa Loch

District Four Victor

Basics

Nickname(s): Trout, Tal
Age: 40
Gender: Cis. Female
Orientation: Heterosexual
District: Four

Appearance

Faceclaim: Dichen Lachman

Height: Talisa stands at 6"0 in height

Build: She's a tall woman, strong arms from years of swimming and hauling fish - a grace to her when she moves even with the power behind her stride. She's almost statuesque in her build, a classical beauty with muscles and elegant features.

Style: Talisa would dress however her stylists saw fit; often pale blues and teal greens emblazoned with shimmering silvers that look like scales under the right light or small pearls. It seemed she would never escape her district or the affinity for the water she became known for. Her hair would hang around her shoulders, softly curling at the end although she was never convinced to dye it. At home in her district she'd wear greys and lilacs, clothes that both covered her body and left her able to move easily - the outfits her stylists chose always left as much exposed as possible despite the chill that often seeped into the Capitol, the cold weather at odds to what she was used to from home.

Notable: They'd tattooed scales onto her neck after her win, though thankfully they'd stopped before adding fake gills and so under the right light on her neck there's a soft silver shimmering resembling the scales of a fish. She also always wears a seashell necklace, it was her token during the games. Despite her muscles and clear strength her clothing often gives her a graceful appearance, muscles softened by the soft smiles given to those around her and the gentle timber of her voice.

PSYCHE
Personality:
For the most part Talisa is one of the kinder faces in the Capitol; prepared with a gentle smile and a willing ear for those who need it. She is gentle in a very deliberate way; the way you'd imagine a giant to interact with a butterfly, not wishing to harm but very aware of the possibility and the capability she holds to hurt the people around her. She trained for the Games and imagined herself winning but she had not imagined how it would feel to watch life drain out of somebody's eyes or for the water around her to turn red - it is not a feeling she wishes to ever feel again. Talisa tries her best to keep those she cares about safe and wishes to stop the placing of children onto the Pyre but maybe that is the problem. She's so determined and desperate to save the lives of those around her, for the children she escorts to their deaths to live that when she fails she chokes on the guilt. Sometimes the failures hurt more than any injury inflicted on her in the Games ever could; she wakes at night choking on the screams she witnessed on the silver screens rather than in person.

She's passionate and determined, steadily projecting a sense of comfort and light the way the lighthouses she grew up around would guide sailors home, she wants to see Panem change but she lacks the bloodthirst and the ruthlessness she knows she needs to see it through leaving her in a bitter limbo of crippling guilt and a burning desire for things to change.

Virtues:
- Empathetic
- Determined
- Insightful
- Altruistic

Vices:
- Guilt-Ridden
- Emotional
- Indecisive
- Sensitive


Likes:
- The smell of the ocean.
- Collecting things; seashells, sea glass, buttons and other objects that wash ashore.
- Running laps of the beaches of her home in the early morning.

Dislikes:
- The skyscrapers of the Capitol.
- The smell of chlorine.
- Interviews.


BACKGROUND
Background: Although as far as she was concerned it wasn’t like school had really mattered anyway; Talisa knew how to read and she’d been told all the lies she needed to hear. And so at the tender age of twelve she joined her Father and Uncles on their fishing boat - she learned how to read the stars for when the navigation equipment broke, how to tell schools of tuna were present on the shattered radar screen and she helped haul in the nets when they caught the fish. It was an unconventional and entirely accidental way to prepare a child for the Games and yet it worked, with each voyage she grew stronger - grew more confident in the water as when the lines got stuck she'd be told to jump in and cut the line as it was far easier to pull her back on board than one of her Uncles. She spent four years working, during the summer they'd venture out to the barriers and dive in the reefs for lobster and cuttlefish - so she learned how to hold her breath.

But over the years the catches dried up, boats having to go further and further to get the amount the Capitol asked of them, dolphins and turtles tangled in the nets and black balls floating in the water. Her parents grew worried and so once her younger brother was old enough to help on the boats Talisa started attended the Career Academy, not strictly official but the peacekeepers were easily bribed and it was an open secret the Capitol preferred having a ready stock of Careers from loyal districts to spice up the competition. She focused on traps and knifework, she was strong and felt confident she could take lower districts in a physical fight but up against her fellow Careers she needed an edge. Befriending her fellow aspiring-Careers they studied the previous games and fought to be the best, it was an odd sense of fellowship given if you became the best you'd likely have to kill one of the people you considered a friend. But it was a distant enough thought that it could be pushed away.

At least until she turned sixteen. At sixteen, the eldest of her six siblings, Talisa volunteered for the games alongside Ermin a seventeen year old boy she'd trained alongside for two years.

They were excited, Talisa wanted to give her family a better life as her Father and Uncles grew older and the catches they brought in grew smaller and she wanted to make her District proud.

Her arena was a series of small islands; some with caves, some with harsh rocks and seaweed, some with trees and others with open space and the promise of exposure. The central island was a Cornucopia that glistened under the sunlight and Talisa, who had aligned herself with the career pack, set her sights on it. She killed two in the bloodbath, drowning one and a knife to the other. District 4 had an advantage, swimming came naturally to them and so they could go from podium to podium with comparative ease.

She walked into her games a brash and proud young woman, determined to win or die fighting and walked out with a piece of her missing. Hollow at the reality of the Games she'd held up in reverence for years, nausea at the idea of watching it happen again and again - she'd begged the Gamemakers to let her die as she lay in the Hovercraft hacking up her lungs and coughing up seawater but she lived. She won and was crowned with a crown of pearls, a nod to her District and when at the end of her Victory tour President Snow told her the price of her life she wished she could to burn it all to the ground.

Reputation: Talisa is known for being a kind mentor, an oddity for the Career districts who are so often filled with volunteers and harsh training; she lacks the brutality she was known for in the Games and is known for being there for those around her with soft reassurances and has been known to take scared tributes up to the roof to teach them about the stars. Her Games is not the first to come to the minds of those in the Capitol and so she is more so known for her Mentorship and known to those involved in the Games. The Games dulled her edges and she came out of it seemingly oddly softer than when she entered.

Hobbies:
- She still helps her family fish on the boats whenever she's home.
- She enjoys fashioning jewellery from seashells, driftwood and seaglass.
- She sometimes helps at the Academy, she doesn't necessarily agree with there being Careers on principle but she'd prefer children got all they help they could to survive.

GAMES
"Which Games did they win?" Talisa won the 53rd Hunger Games, luckily avoiding the Quell.
"What is the most replayed moment of their Games?" The most replayed moment is the final fight between Talisa and the District One male, Otto, they crashed into each other on the rocks - both already battered and bloodied with one wrong move sending them down a drop into the water below. They'd both got several hits on the other, battered and bruised and cut to ribbons. He stabbed Talisa in the leg and in a moment of desperation she pushed them both over the edge and into the crashing waters below; they fought in the water and Talisa dived down to pull him down into the depths - holding him there until her lungs were burning and her head was screaming to the point she did not hear the canon or notice the resistance from him fade. That was the moment she became a Victor.
"What do they think of the Games?" She hates them, not for what they did to her but for making her lead children to their deaths year after year and the heavy price they must pay for their lives.
- If they mentor, what are they like as one? She's a good mentor, gentle and guiding and determined to make sure her tributes have a chance even though they are often prepared Careers. When she can she is also one of the Victors to warn the newest about what the road ahead is like, given she's on the older end of the spectrum.

Other:
- She can whistle and click like a Dolphin.

Be ever in your favor

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[gingersnaps]

​

August Sharpe

"The Huntsman"- District 7

Basics

Name: August Sharpe
Nickname(s): Gus, though only his sister called him that. He no longer answers to it. The Huntsman.
Age: 24
Won the games at: 16
Gender: Male
Orientation: Homosexual
District: 7

Appearance

FC: Freddie Fox
Height: 5’6
Build: Short and stacked- August is muscular, and despite being considered a short man, he has an imposing and intimidating build.
Notable features: Several scars across his torso from his time in the games- an especially gruesome one in his right-hand. Self-inflicted wounds on his arms and wrists, always kept hidden away.
Style: Sleek, elegant but simple clothes, always in dark colors. August prefers long sleeves and turtlenecks, the more skin he covers, the better

PSYCHE
August Sharpe is an off-putting figure. Quiet, antisocial and very threatening, he was the winner of the 67th Hunger Games- said to be one of the most violent and disturbing games to date, in large part due to his participation. Sharpe used his axe in such a brutal manner that many viewers couldn’t stomach watching it.

Cold, violent and merciless- those were the words the Capitol used to describe the lumberjack’s son as he hacked his way through the arena. Personally, August did not care what was said about him, as long as he survived.

Despite his frightening aura and reputation, August s very dedicated and loyal to the few people he trusts. He came out of the arena paranoid and erratic, but he’d burn cities down to keep the people he loves safe and sound.

Virtues: ambitious, loyal, hard-working, clever, protective, resourceful.

Vices: anti-social, detached, insensitive, extreme, distant, cold, paranoid.

Likes: quiet, painting, tending to his plants, being alone (or alone with people he trusts).

Dislikes: crowds, cold weather, being in the spotlight, the Capitol.

BACKGROUND
The Sharpes were a simple family. Rickard Sharpe was an angry drunkard, a man not fit to be a father, but after his wife’s untimely death, he was forced to raise two children by himself. August and Dahlia were raised to work hard and not ask questions. August Sharpe was quite good at both of those.

Growing up, August never had the time or wish to socialize much with the other kids. He usually interacted with them by shoving his fist into their faces whenever they bothered his sister. Dahlia had always been an easy target- sickly, frail and scared of her own shadow- so August was always defending her. Since he was never a great talker, he usually resorted to a more violent approach, one he learned from his father. Lucky for the Sharpe siblings, it worked.

As the years went by, August’s reputation quickly became that of someone you did not want to fuck with.

But when his name was called for the 67th Hunger Games, people thought he was as good as dead. He was a lumberjack’s son who got into fist fights with other scrawny kids, he wasn’t a killer. August was not a killer, but he was a survivor. He simply refused to die. When the games began- an artic tundra, cold and merciless- August’s only goal was to find an axe and cut down anyone who stood in his path to get back home. And it was exactly what he did.

He shocked Panem when he took down 3 tributes during the bloodbath, and even more so when he took out his own District mate. He came out of the arena victorious, but everyone could tell that something inside the boy had died. Sharpe’s violent and detached behavior got worse and worse the months following his return to District 7. The day he publicly attacked a Peacekeeper, it was the day the Capitol decided August had lost his mind.

Reputation: August is known throughout Panem as a bloodthirsty, heartless killer who went “insane” after the games. He welcomes this reputation, since people tend to leave him alone because of it.



Hobbies: Since coming home, August likes to spend his time painting, working out and tending to a small indoor garden he keeps in his house. The only person he allows to visit is his sister, Dahlia.

Glory & Gore

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[Braddington]

Evander Carmichael

Second Quarter Quell Victor - District 2

Basics

Name: Evander Carmichael
Nickname(s): Evan, Bullseye
Age: 41
Won the games at: 16
Gender: Male
Orientation: Bisexual
District: 2

Appearance

FC: Ben Barnes
Height: 6'1"

Build: Evander is not particularly muscular, but has maintained himself for mentoring purposes. Lean and mean, as he likes to say. He retains his lithe frame, always quick and agile when the time calls for it, in-between whiskeys.

Notable features: Underneath his layers of clothing he possess many scars from his time in the arena, fading with each passing year from his ordeal. Relative to most, however, he came out of it mostly unscathed physically, a consequence of his strategy. One incident in the arena, consuming what he thought were safe berries, has left him without any sense of taste, his tongue riddled with burn marks.

Style: Evander doesn't pay much attention to style anymore, long has it passed that he was expected to look pretty for the sake of some Capitol gawkers. It is true that he much prefers darker colours, however, and it is not uncommon to find him in a simple buttoned down dress shirt. He has been encouraged to hire a stylist team, an idea he has firmly rejected with many expletives involved. He keeps his hair short, more instinct than a choice, longer hair is easier to grip. One exception to his general lack of care regarding his style comes with his shoes, which always seem to be polished to perfection.

PSYCHE

Personality

Most consider Evander to be a bit of an ass, condescending to no end and always with some witty putdown regardless of if the situation calls for it. He has stopped caring. What would be the point? He wakes up, eats, drinks, sleeps, and repeats, only with the odd break to mentor the next group of dead teens. His life is monotonous, empty, and never-ending, but Evander can't seem to rebel against it. He has tried to tame his apathy, to wrestle control back, but deep down he is afraid of what consequences could come with allowing a return to consciousness. He has long since left the arena behind him, or so he insists, yet every year he's told to relive it all once again. Once upon a time he tried to find common cause with other victors, but what was there to find common cause with? Hell? Regardless, he found it hard to connect with them, forty-eight kids was a lot more than twenty-four.

His vices have taken over him in the absence of personality, whilst he can't taste the whiskey he drinks, at least the burn makes him feel something.

Virtues:
- intelligent
- resourceful
- honest
- reliable
- trustworthy
- cautious

Vices:
- apathetic
- alcoholic
- bitter
- destructive
- harsh
- arrogant
- cowardly

Likes:
- ambition
- competence
- honesty
- perseverance

Dislikes:
- district 2
- idiocy
- platitudes
- stylists

BACKGROUND
Evander Carmichael was born with nothing. Whilst District 2 was usually regarded as one of the wealthier districts of Panem, his lived experience was quite the contrary, always scraping in the dirt for any scraps he could. His father was a Peacekeeper, whilst his mother worked in a munitions factory, supplying the oppression of the Capitol day in and out. His father would die in unknown circumstances, something the Capitol simply marked off as a training accident, leaving Evander and his mother in abject poverty. It wasn't until his fifth birthday he was given a name, the probability of survival for children born into such conditions being minimal. It was a year later his mother would take him to one of the various factories that littered the district, far from home, and left him there. For a time he was furious with her abandonment, but eventually came to conclude she did it for her own survival over that of an unproductive and weak child, a tragic situation he couldn't help but sympathize with. The factory took him in for work making plane electronics, a complex and intricate job best suited for the smaller hands of children, and something he excelled out, earning just enough to eat. He would sleep in the workhouses provided by the district, rundown structures made of corrugated iron.

He hated life. He was not satisfied with what was given to him, and Evander was determined to climb in the face of adversity, no matter the cost.

From the first moment he could he would claim tesserae so that his name was added many times over to the reaping pool. Sneaking tools from the factory, he would train himself in the woods outside the districts bounds, becoming particularly efficient with knives. Yet every time he would try and volunteer come the yearly Hunger Games, careers would always claim the spots for themselves. Always two, every year, without fail.

That was until the 50th Hunger Games, the quarter-quell. A twist. Double the amount of participants. When the careers volunteered, as they always did, there was an extra spot he was able to fill without hesitation, not really understanding the grief that lay ahead of him. Yet, Evander was determined to win, for a reason far more personal than the careers could possibly understand.

Entering into the process ahead was a chore, the glitz, the glam, it was unfamiliar, but it was a first taste of what easy living could be ahead of him if he succeeded. He managed to impress with his skills, scoring well, until finally the moment dawned and he was placed in the arena. The chaos was almost immediate, the faces of those who fell at the first hurdle imprinted in his mind forever more. Surviving the initial onslaught he devised a plan, to use the twist against his opponents. Double the amount meant double the raw chaos, and that could be turned to his advantage. He would draw tributes to each other, chasing a phantom until they came across each others path, and when the deed was done between them he would use his knives to silence the weakened opponent left standing.

Rinse, repeat.

A soul destroying practice, until forty-six lay dead. His last opponent would give into the arena, so close to victory, but too exhausted to carry on.

Evander was proclaimed the victor of the 50th Hunger Games, taken on tour and paraded for the masses. He would be given everything he ever wanted, the food, the houses, the luxury. Yet for some reason, it all felt meaningless. All he could crave was the gentle embrace of his mothers arms, something he would never again experience.

Over the years he has fallen into a monotonous alcohol filled existence, performing his duties whenever required, never rebelling, never really lifting a finger. A miserable existence.


Reputation: Evander maintains the accolades and fame that comes from being the victor of a quarter-quell, the only one alive to have conquered such a feat against double the amount of opponents no less. Yet his star has faded as time marches forward and twenty-four victors have come after him. His public image is one of a diligent and thoughtful mentor, always doing his duty every year for a new pool of tributes. As a mentor he is known for his rough treatment, not one to pamper or give platitudes. He instills in his tributes one simple thing - competency. You don't need to adopt his strategy, many can succeed, but make sure whatever you do, you do it well. Survival will not come with incompetence.


Hobbies: Evander doesn't particularly have many hobbies to speak of, he is not someone that enjoys any fanciful games, or events. He can't seem to foster a reason to really want to pursue such things. A common day would be spent in solitude, either in his Capitol apartment or wasting away in the Victors Village of District 2.

GAMES

Which Games did they win? - Evander won the 50th Hunger Games, the second quarter-quell

What is the most replayed moment of their Games? - At the end of all things, with the devastation made plain before him, Evander was left with one opponent. His strategy exhausted until he was forced to face the final barricade on the road to his victory. Yet the moment was not him, for the tribute from District 12, exhausted, filled with trauma, simply didn't want it. The stained legacy, a life filled with this moment replaying in their mind. As he prepared for the end, the final fight, the tribute from District 12 flung themselves against the forcefield at the edges of the arena, being violently thrown backwards against a tree, dead. The smell of burning would be a stench Evander could never seem to remove from his nose.

What do they think of the Games? - In truth, whilst he struts about with no conceivable opinions, he detests the games. He finds them deceitful and despicable. How could he not after everything he has seen? Then, at the end of it all, the glory that they promise you is nothing more than a façade of luxury as they cover you in chains for all eternity. Shackling even your legacy.

If they mentor, what are they like as one? - A realistic one. As mentioned previous, he has an aura of competence about him, always giving the right advice if not the popular advice. He does not write off any tribute given to him, always identifying and playing to their strengths.

"As a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen..."

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[BELIAL.]

Gossamer Corvin

66th Games Victor - District 1

Basics

Name: Gossamer Corvin
Nickname(s): Goss
Age: 23
Won the games at: 14
Gender: Female
Orientation: Bisexual
District: One

Appearance

FC: Anya Taylor-Joy
Height: 5'8"

Build: Having always been sometime lithe, though built with fine muscle and lean fat for optimal fitness, Goss has rounded out a bit in the nine years since she was actively training and preparing for the Hunger Games. Though always in peak condition, and having a reputation to maintain with said svelte figure, she has softened a bit around the edges physically, and her body has become far more proportionate in adulthood than early teen years.

Notable features: Her right arm was injured beyond much repair at the end of her game, and rather than attempting to repair it they simply severed the limb and replaced it with a prosthetic. It passes for a real limb quite easily in the day to day, but still manages to present a baseline of issues from strenuous use, as well as phantom pains that don't feel quite right, even with the false limb. At times, the limb will be used as a fashion aesthetic, often outfitted with whatever enhancements or shiny attachments that play to the outfit or personality that Gossamer is supposed to be presenting.

Style: Certainly wearing Capitol couture and the like, Gossamer tends to don less of the highly saturated colours and more lighter, while still bold, tones. The makeup and hair are always eccentric and highly styled. Her oufits and makeup are in pales, blues and greens and pinks, really cementing a supposedly 'innocent' facade despite the whole 'killing her way to victory' thing. Parading about in white with various brocades and symbols of luxury, she is constantly ornamented in whatever gems and jewels are available and showcase both her district's industry as well as the prestige and parade that comes with being a Victor. Most of her outfits are dictated by her fashion team, and they are quite strict with the image that they pursue, but Gossamer does try to put her own spin on a few things. Keeping her hair its natural blonde, for instance, was her choice--though she has been known on occasion wear wigs or temporary dye and extensions.

PSYCHE

Personality

Once a fraction of the vivacious woman that she has become, Gossamer was once a quiet and intimidating force. Having been trained as long as she can really remember to participate in the Hunger Games, like most Career Tributes who were as devoted and impressionable as she, Gossamer was a slow-moving, silent aggressor. With little room for much in her psyche beyond the possibility of death, or the promise of glory, winning was a true victory lap for her. In the years since she has been molded, plied by alcohol and drugs, to be a committed lapdog to the Capitol. Flirtatious, humorous and ditzy, she's a source of 'light' for most in her inner circle, though there are shades of that split, detached and daunting person. When these break, and her bubbly persona drops, it's back to the drugs or whatever mind-numbing intent needed to return to complacency. Rebellion does not breathe within Gossamer, but she does crave a little violence at times.

A hard edge lines beneath her effervescent, shining persona; that of someone who has witnessed death upon death, and no matter how much training a child goes through, they cannot fully compartmentalize what death truly is until their adult lives. While Gossamer could claim that she was forced into this paraded about idol by the Capitol, as one of the prettiest of their shiny toys, she has never said no to any of it. There were lines to be drawn, sure, but it didn't take much time for them to melt away. Plied by luxury, reverence and a healthy dosage of addictive substances, she is enthralled by the life she leads now as much as she is afraid of it.

Part of her is deluded enough to think that nothing bad will come of it; that, in due time, she will maintain her star shaped hole in Panem's sky, and all will be well. A stunning, stubborn optimism that has fully eroded the blameless confidence that she once wore; Gossamer is perfectly content to remain complacent, knowing full well that there is no love in life but the love of adoration. So young and yet so jaded, she'd rather play the docile pet than even try to step out of line. Flirting with death was fun when it was all you knew, and you did not see the horrors of the Capitol's greed, but Gossamer has been encouraged into a life that feels more fictional than real. The romantic lead, set up on dates upon dates-- yet love is only to be found in the equally returned paycheque. The passionate singer, given songs to croon and cry to the masses-- yet it is all fabricated, synthetic vocal chords rubbing against her own that are far from perfect. Every movement, pose and emotion is dictated and ornamental.

Virtues:
- Charismatic
- Dedicated
- Flirtatious
- Vivacious
- Adaptive
- Ambitious

Vices:
- Addicted to alcohol and sleep syrup (recovering from a minor morphling addiction)
- Selfish
- VIndictive
- Fatalistic
- Attention-seeking
- Aloof

Likes:
- Lively moods
- Performing
- Sweet tastes
- Being Challenged

Dislikes:
- Debby-downers/Those who go against the norm
- Awkward silences
- Feeling inept
- Cold weather

BACKGROUND
Knowing so little of love, Gossamer Corvin was born to a better off family in District One, and with all the ties needed to cement her status as a Career tribute from a young age. It was all that young Gossamer knew, barely feeling her mother's embrace, or her father's warm words-- for they were as cold and unfeeling as possible. Raised to be a diligent student before she would set off for her training among the other Careers, Gossamer was moulded to listen when spoken to and to act immediately. Sparing little thought to the self, or self interests, she was left doodling with graphite under her bed, making up her own happy ending. Perhaps she did so badly want a family-- but it wasn't as if she knew any better, and had only the words of others to go off of. Children who spoke so fondly of their parents, of their siblings: but not Gossamer. Her siblings were as cold and detached, each brought up to bring the potential greatness to the family and to their country. Life was, otherwise, as sharp as the cut edge of a diamond.

By the time training began, it was a welcome change. New faces, new dynamics, and a chance for Gossamer to truly outshine her peers. She performed better, worked better-- worked harder than others. Even at such a young age, perhaps benefitting the most, Gossamer was diligent and prudent. Most kids took it seriously, though they had their moments of lax and adventure. Dragging Gossamer out was a chore and a challenge, most finding a laugh out of tricking her off the grounds more than genuine enjoyment to invite her to anything. Perhaps one or two did show this warmer side, a more human side, but Gossamer couldn't care less for it. She would return to their next training session with fire in her eyes, flattening them on their asses in half the time she'd taken the week before.

The challenge was beyond simply being the best Career; it was being the best and being revered for it. Suffice to say she was left to her own devices, mere muscle than camaraderie to be developed between children. They would, if they were lucky, die one day-- or win the Hunger Games and emerge victorious. What time was there to be had, following the strange niceties of human nature? It was alienating to feel so detached, so unfeeling.

Perhaps, then, it was a shock and a relief that she'd get drawn anyway-- no need to volunteer, and no need to waste anymore years training. Set on her feet, hitting the ground running, Gossamer's fellow from District One, Flavius, was somebody that she didnt' get along with-- at all-- during training. For the scheduled appearances they would speak so highly of each other, of admiring one another's form and dedication. True reality was met for Gossamer through her mentor-- Evander Carmichael. They butted heads sure enough, being that Gossamer was rigid and regimented from her training, but with reluctant prying and enough push on both sides she did manage to learn a few things. Feeling finally seen, perhaps, and catered to beyond the standard cut of a Corvin, or any other District One Career, was enough of the beginnings of change to form within her.

The Games set Gossamer into a stunning maze, sections of which were met with environmental or otherwise detrimental elements that catered to each of the twelve districts. She immediately attempted to make her way with the other careers, but even Flavius didn't seem keen on it. While he didn't immediately set his sights on her demise, she was pushed out of the Careers faster than she could attempt to help them. Forced to operate on her own, and rather with the strongest from other districts that the Careers hadn't picked up, she survived a while before being put into actual danger. Claiming a couple kills already, skilled with heavier weapons than light ones, she cleaved another tribute's head in and collected his knives-- finding an odd connection to them from the training she'd been given by her mentor. This turned out prudent, leading directly to her later success.

Following her victory, one of the youngest at that, Gossamer was quickly ushered into the life of luxury, something that felt strangely odder than her own growing up, yet just as disconnected. They took issue immediately with how many kills she had secured, and her violent and quiet nature-- bending and moulding Gossamer with the help of sweet treats, laced with drugs that lulled her into initial complacency. Mourning the loss of her arm, prosthetic or not, factored into the rush job they did at turning Gossamer into a Capitol pet. She mentored a few years after, in their way of helping her regain some normalcy after the trauma inflicted, but they went sour quite quickly and Gossamer's temperament proved inneficient to train tributes.

So they turned her to the public. Set to the wolves, Gossamer was primped and preened, given a hobby that she didn't even know if she really liked, and regarded as a particularly shiny trophy for the Capitol. One of the younges winners, they said-- a remarkable feat of both District One and the unwavering spirit of loyalty. Being so young, it was easy to slip into this persona. Dressed up so nicely, given the softest sheets, and revered... finally admired for her name, admired for her looks... did anything truly matter anymore? It was all about the glitz, the glam; the Gossamer glow.

Once it became clear, however, to Gossamer that she had little agency, rather than fight back, the addictive substances helped her simply dull into complacency. Completely removed without the assistance of any drugs, she's become fully dependent on something to liven her system. She loves performing for the vibrance it brings, and the attention it commands. The dates that she goes on-- they are all for fun, anyway. She'll never have to settle down. She'll never have a child to subdue into the same complacency, a serpent eating its own tail-- the type of full circle failure that tears someone from the inside out once they realize...

But of course, she'll only do what's told. It's what's best, anyhow.


Reputation: The very picture of a star, an icon, Gossamer is paraded about as a young and pretty plaything by the Capitol. Her hobby as a singer, managed directly by the Capitol, is overshadowed by her looks, and though the whole thing is fabricated people eat it up. A flirtatious yet demure figure, this reputation actively seeks to undo itself; though time will tell. The life of the party, and a conversational flirt, Gossamer is consistently single and yet seen on every eligible's arm. Never committing to one thing, Gossamer is a far cry from the Career hardened tribute she once was. Some may view this as a downfall, while others would simply nod in acceptance: one has to find a way to swim when the current's too strong otherwise. For those that she knew within the first few years after her Game, the change in most noticeable.


Hobbies: Any hobbies that are personal to Gossamer are near nonexistent, being operated and dictated by her personal team more than anything. The singing that she does as her major hobby, to entertain the nation and the Capitol's citizens, is a loose interest at best-- yet they took it and ran with it to make an image out of her. She has an interest in others, more understanding and evaluating their psyche or their behaviour. Watching walkers, people in busy locations, or even aside from a conversation and she finds joy in it. Perhaps being robbed of much substance beyond fighting has rendered Gossamer vulnerable more to people than to something innate within her for an interest or hobby. She has expressed some vague interest in fashion, specifically in jewlery based designs, but that's left to scribbles in a wastebin.

GAMES

Which Games did they win? - 66th Hunger Games

What is the most replayed moment of their Games? - With her arm lodged between a wall that closed on it, shattering the bones and forcing her to be isolated into a corner, Gossamer nailed the last competitor left with a single knife throw, lodging it into his neck and showering the wall in a spray of blood.

What do they think of the Games? - She's a supposedly vocal supporter. In actuality, despite all her training, she's naturally quite terrified of the games. Has little remorse for those being put through it, however, if they don't survive.

If they mentor, what are they like as one? - Mentored a few times after, though prefers to be more of a sponsorship and public appearance mentor than a game one. A more mentally challenging mentor, Gossamer likes to question her trainee on their skills when left to the end of their wits, and how to improvise in the heat of a fight. Finding that fighting styles are better to be adapted to the tribute than widely applied, in that her own logic skills helped her more than her brute strength, she will subtly encourage this level of fighting and tactics. But it's been some years since she's mentored, taking more time to cater to her own spotlight instead.

"But burn down our home, I won't leave alive"

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[ForgetTomorroow]

Areum Payne

63rd Winner - District 5

Basics

Name: Areum Payne
Nickname(s): Poppy (what her former wife would refer to her as), she disdains any other nicknames regarding her, and Areum's tolerance is little.
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Orientation: Bisexual
District: Five

Appearance

Faceclaim: Jung Hoyeon

Height: Areum herself stands around five foot eight — nothing exceedingly intimidating but enough of her own advantage to conquer shelves. Her own height makes her ideal in her line of work — a suitable stature to both crawl and stretch. She limits herself to flats and “heels,” which are what she refers to as “pointy shoes with no purpose,” though she appreciates a good boot concerning her height.

Build: Areum is reasonably toned and excelled in augmenting her build physically to endure. Her days of training still affect her visual portfolio more noticeably, her shoulders being more defined and her arms. Her arms are considered more robust because of her operation in the field and her legs, while still trimmed with a bit of muscle, are more slender in contrast. She maintains a healthy weight. She’s a little addicted to snacking, and that indulgence has lined her stomach with some padding.

She’s comfortable in her skin and doesn’t mind showing off her build when the time calls for it.

Notable features: To a few wayward fans and people, Areum has been compared to a fiery autumn, enriched in her pride and warmed with her hunger. She radiates every shade of greed — golden & gleaming. Yet she’s muted in her wardrobe and muted with her appearance, blending together into the background. A low saturation in visibility is what she’d like to be the case. However, her hair, oh her hair, garners the most attention and exposes her to troves of stares. It’s developed since her childhood within its intensity and strengthening her presence to engage with others. She cannot hide when her hair is on display, it’s been complimented and disparaged, leading Areum to withdraw.


Style: In her very opinion, Capitol Couture is ugly and over the top. Her fashionable pallet is more streamlined in simplicity and functionality. Comfort is sometimes the focus, but overall, she prefers dressing in long coats, sweaters, and pants. Anything to make her blend into the background is what she aims for. Though, to say she isn’t a participant in trends would undervalue what she is striving towards. There are begrudgingly some photos out there that highlight obnoxious reds and oranges painted like a circus doll.

PSYCHE
Personality: Pragmatic, realistic, and deductive are just a few traits that orbit around Areum, exhibited in both speech and temperament. Her disposition lends more to the cynical spectrum than the positive — she knows the capital is corrupt, but what other system would work just as well? She isn’t singing praises, but her personality leans more toward supporting the Capitol than she would like and upholding the traditions all the same. It suggests some elements of her personality are passive, interlinked with underlining selfishness to maintain her station in a flawed machine. As well as working with a competitive personality, to rise through the ranks simultaneously.

This can, in effect make her somewhat unpredictable and very — in the same vein — predictable.

Virtues: Perceptive (attuned to the people around them and recognising their wants), enabling her to notice insignificant details indeed. It allows her to understand her peers better and how to make her overall persona more) digestible. Calculating and cunning are combed neatly under her eyelashes, pliable in extracting information and gleaning over what needs to be done. She’s efficient within the parameters of her job and has been called “methodical,” for always running her facility up to the highest standard. Her knowledge of electronics and engineering makes her indispensable in her field. She’s dynamic with a fiery disposition.

Vice: Jealously (Areum is prone to feeling inadequate and mediocrity places her somewhere she doesn’t want to be). Envy (another duh on this one, but her obsession with envy materializes into action). Manipulative (borne out from what she summarized, being nice and demure was enough for the common populace to accept her as “just that sweet girl from district five” and she learned how to dial that up). Inherently driven (she can respect strength and talents) but. Oh, the biggest, but that Areum wants to move from her own district.


Likes: Classical music, books, jazz, Areum enjoys partaking in alcohol but is selective in whiskey and gin. She prefers her drinks dry with a hint of ice (usually one cube), she sticks to patterns and formations. She regulates her life in routine and can be defined through that heavily. She still enjoys challenges, wanting to test what she believes to be her boundless intellect.

Dislikes: Noisy people, conflicting schedules, being backed into a corner. An intense dislike for those more accomplished than herself — setting into rivalry — competition and building herself to be better. She can be amicable, but there is some underlining tension in her words and body language.

BACKGROUND
Aruem knew life in two words: comfortable and menial. District five provided enough in ample, enough to see the sparkling glinting stars of the higher districts, but never sludging itself in the dirt with the rest. Her father, Hyuk, a civil engineer and her mother Miriam, an electrical technician — are highly coveted in district five for maintaining the power and electricity for the rest of the nation. Areum was privileged in her education from them and grew up with relative success, but she found her life to be boring and the challenge presently didn’t exist for her. She bounded ahead of them in knowledge and curiosity. She didn’t make any formal relationships during her childhood and was left alone with her own devices. Until her dreams or nightmares were actualised in the way of becoming a tribute.

Aruem volunteered herself, under the dying wails and screams of her mother rejecting the motion outright. Back then, Aruem thought the best way for her to ascend above her station. Her intentions were to transcend her status in the hands of the Capitol and lift herself out from under mediocrity — be exposed to new wonders and work on a career which would be lucrative in kind. She cannot say, precisely, what ushered her in, wanting to become a tribute. Logistically, all the components fit wrong with her assumptions and nothing was to be gained from leading herself to the slaughter. Yet her drive won out, she was accepted as a “tribute” but she wasn’t treated as anything special. Quite the opposite, all tentative days leading up to the games branded her as a pawn. Filling in a slot or number, she calculated with her odds to be in the single digits. Nobody thought she possessed the conviction to conquer her bloody reality.

Perhaps the taunting whispers and cruel words were right. Yet, something deep inside her, the hungry part, the recognition and acknowledgement. She was intelligent; she was great, and she was going to change the nation with her ideas — she had so many, so many to transmute power and technology more cohesively. It infused into Aruem dogmatically, blitzing the road in her success and ambition. She slept more soundly with her inner voice, telling her what she would accomplish. This separated herself from the other tributes — holding tightly and clinging to the deluded reality of her pride.

She won her game in the proceeding months, but she was disappointed with the outcome. Her district celebrated her but Areum was never satisfied with what became of her. A failed marriage, no children and stagnant in her career, have currently made her antagonistic.

Reputation: Since the games, Areum has been heralded as a “conniving harlot,” splitting Panem down the middle. Her reception has been both warm and cold, but leaning towards more the hellish scape on criticism — some redeem her as human and she showed them. The pitiless depths into which humans will sink for survival and others recall her to be cunning without a heart. She was underhanded and took the game in another direction, which wasn’t appreciated. She’s gained more disapproval in recent years with her failed marriage and wanting to blossom in her career. But she’s amassed a lot of respect from her district, becoming the head of the primary facility which produces electricity.

Hobbies: She’s a puzzler, reading, and processing her designs for future facilities into drawings, cycling, painting, she’s the amalgamation of about improving her mind and all hobbies are service to that.


:
Other:
Headcanons:
Areum was previously married to a woman, but because of the circumstances of her life and what she is currently building towards made them overall incompatible. She still harbors regret.

Which Games did they win? 63

What is the most replayed moment of their Games?
Areum from the beginning wasn’t a fan favourite, and she wasn’t crowned in any glory or infamy. She was believed to be “a middle pack runner,” surviving the beginning, but evidently she’d meet her maker. She knew her odds for survival were slim, slimmer than she wants to conform to the game — she had to. Certain players had a marginal advantage on her, and with some swift thinking. She planted around items (flasks with determinable poison), and food, and she manipulated herself into a four-way alliance until the end. She orchestrated the last meal for her “friends” and killed them in the process before the game could come to a bloody close. Areum never disclosed how she made the poison but this moment was coined “The last rite for pain,” and in proceeding years, has been a tactic by other tributes.


What do they think of the Games?

Areum despises the games entirely, but she cannot fault them.

- If they mentor, what are they like as one?

Areum strays from mentorship, but she mentored one young man who emulated her traits and with a want to survive above else. She found him interesting as a character and compelling him to survive for his own sake — she was drawn into his story and did everything in her power to prepare. Ultimately, his demise happened within the first few seconds of the game, and her reputation as a mentor was botched as well. She doesn’t actively mentor and prefers to be a sponsor, but she’ll take up the mantle for the right price.

RELATIONSHIPS
Are there any other Victors they're close to? Any rivals? What do they think of their fellow Victors? (edited)

"The desire to reach for the stars is ambitious. The desire to reach hearts is wise.”

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[TYPE]

Ajax Adaire

51st Victor - District 3

Basics

Name: Ajax Adaire

Nickname(s): A, Autocrat

Age: 43

Won the games at: 18

Gender: Male

Orientation: Bisexual

District: 3

Appearance

FC: Michael Fassbender

Height: 6'0"



Build: Surprisingly fit for someone who spends a majority of his time behind a screen, Ajax spends enough time being busy in order to stay healthy and agile - despite his advancing age. He most likely won’t be able to keep up with younger folk though, as he is not professionally trained or motivated to spend the energy in being competitive in that field.



Notable features: While he cleans up well, most of the time his hair and his beard are somewhat unkempt and his eyes are usually quite bright and wild - especially when he is working on something critical. Unlike many Victors he has no marks or scratches to speak of across his body, a testament to his methods and skills. His various hobbies are very technical and delicate however, and he has various cuts and scars along his fingers from working with fine and delicate - often sharp bits of material.



Style: Ajax tends to wear darker colours, rarely opting for accents - and even then, most likely just a scarf or a light blue tie. He also wears glasses whenever he works late, but they are simple and not very extravagant spectacles which would only draw attention insofar they are particularly ordinary. He likes structured and formal looks whenever he has to make an impression, but most of the time he is in comfortable, soft and durable fabrics and textures - and when working from home he might well spend days in only comfortable sweatpants and socks..

PSYCHE



Personality



Ajax is a very focussed, severe man. His interests are singular and specific, and he spends most of his time on his technical and support work. He has not really made great efforts to develop his celebrity, but the absence from public view has given him a rather mysterious presence, further enhanced by his disinterest in talking more than is strictly worth. He feels deeply unsatisfied with the more wondrous and spectacular distractions of the capitol, and tries to make up for his frustrations with exercise, late hours and constant work, as well as harbouring copious amounts of pent up rage. This has made him extremely proficient and effective, while also making him severely isolated and standoffish. He has not been known to be gentle, affirming or patient - and while that is acceptable and even encouraged in a professional situation, it has not won him any favours politically or socially.

If there are any ‘socially redeeming qualities’ to him, it would be that he enjoys honesty, directness and clarity - which means he is honest to the point of crassness - and you always know where you stand with him. He has often mentioned his distaste for the exaggerated face-makeup and performative dress of the Capitol, finding it inherently deceptive and wasteful.



Virtues:

- Dedicated

- Focussed

- Resourceful

- Creative

- Honest



Vices:

- Suspicious

- Brash

- Dismissive

- Unforgiving

- harsh




Likes:

- Industriousness

- Technicalities

- Competence

- Creativity

- Talent



Dislikes:

- Superficial Decadence

- Ungratefulness

- Laziness

- Pointlessness



BACKGROUND

With a youth made of sharpened, electrified copper and rust filled lungs, Ajax grew throughout his early years into a cold mechanism of a much grander order, with only one choice ahead of him. Despite his prodigious memory and his analytical skill, he now recalls very little from his early life. Tired of sour water and an empty stomach, the path ahead burned at him - and his natural ambition. Here he was writing for and making such beautiful and fine tools, gadgets and gear - never to be used by him or his kind - sent away in white craft which never seemed to touch the earth. There was only one way out. By chance - be free of the arena, and enjoy the splendors to be had of slavery in all but name, or become a part of the spectacle of slaughter - and sip guiltily of the bloody wine…

In the end, it did not matter though, what he might have wanted to choose - was irrelevant to the grand mechanism of time and fate. That choice, too, was made for him, and so killed the illusion of choice forever in his mind. It was just survival - all of it - survival in a game someone else designed, controlled and was playing.

During his preparation for the Hunger Games he was quiet, unobtrusive and unassuming. He rated badly, had no sponsors beyond the few who did so out of pity. When the games started he made sure to isolate himself as fast as possible - something that was not tactically reasonable - as the Arena was specifically designed to force early game alliances. Sat in a hidden corner, Ajax - on the cusp of adulthood - listened to music blaring into his ears, his face cool and unmoving - the light of a wrenched loose datapad glowing against his sweating skin. Despite the music in his ears, he could still hear the alarm bells go off, the screaming, the frantic searching.

On the screen flashed threats and orders to cease what he was doing… But he knew that they would need a victor at the end of it all. And he wanted to live. He kept his face stony, despite the shaking of his hands. He blinked away any tears that seemed to well up from inside of him, and every time he executed another command line and executed another young life - his chest burned. Over and over in his mind he bombarded his conscience - saying that it was best not to show regret. It would have to be a victorious and ‘sellable’ end - something they could salvage and dish out to the public… They were going to be angry enough already, and did not need tears and pity.

He was right.

They said that he had shown himself heroic, innovative, a veritable celebrated genius for the Capitol to salivate over. Yet none of the men, the game makers, who had congratulated him with his victory was seen since… and all the smiles, friendly as they were - seemed so… practised. Perhaps, he had wondered, whether or not he should go. That was what victors did at the end of it all. They went home and enjoyed the spoils of their spectacle. Yet here and now, and to him, they said they wanted him to stay. They were insistent even. Every time he wanted to escape and get away from the fussing, it always seemed like there was something that needed doing, some work, some performance, some showing. It was not a hard thing to do. Not much of a sacrifice at all. And really, they did seem to really want him to stay.

Quickly though, despite the majority of his misgivings being assuaged over the first few weeks - he developed contrasting ideas within his mind about his newfound situation. Two sides of the same brain - one pleading with the other to be careful, cautious and aware as every luxury felt more and more like manipulation and coercion - while the other side was quickly seduced by this new magical world of food, and drink, and silk… and sex. With everyone being so accommodating - more so than they were being with the others, and with the work he is doing being so intriguing and complicated, it seemed a futile battle. If he were honest with himself, he might have been won over with the sheer scope of the resources he had been granted access to. They said time and again that he should ignore the hands, covered in grime and cut on unfiled plating he could see behind every bit of technology he used - for after all, they no longer resembled his own hands anymore.

The Capitol had adopted him, there was no need to go back.

There was a continuing and growing sense of unease beneath his skin as the years went on. His work mandated psychologist suggested that perhaps he understood that, while the Capitol remained evermore a symbol of stability and order, he saw the dark truth beyond that. He, being an attentive and conscientious man, saw that there remained a great injustice at the heart of the world. It felt right to hear it. To confide these conflicting ideas with someone who would offer him wisdom and clarity about his thoughts. It felt honest. They spoke at length, and he came to realise that, yes - no matter how generous they were, these other districts, with their mired expressions and small displeasures - showed that the games are not doing what they should. What they were designed to do. Guided by their insights into his feelings, they suggested that - perhaps - this frustration could be reworked into creative problem solving - after all, he was a smart man with many ideas. And more importantly - he wanted to do good. Perhaps the games could be designed better.

It turned out to be a strange thing, how being busy could affect his life. So drawn into the schedules which flashed upon his screens and lay written in large, underlined font on his desk - that he didn’t realise he had become an old man… Or at least, an old man by the standards of the past. Older than he ever would have hoped to become in the place where he was born. When, along this long road of confusion and complacency, of interviews and staff meetings and design strategy conventions and statistical modelling - did it become so hard to remember that place of the battery sour water? When did time become such an urgent and unyielding thing?

Things had become so big these days… So many people, so many years, so many - things. When early assumptions about reality reliably seemed to come back to bite him in the ass, and he now finds himself sitting alone in a room late at night, feeling that for all his creativity, for all his effort, it seems that the work would not end. And, yes - it remained creative, and it remained good… Challenging in the best of ways. But when would it end? How does one make a traitor understand that they should be thankful for the graces they were given? Will it end? Does it have to? Was it ever designed… to… Did it matter?

There was only one way forward, regardless. In the mornings he will wake, and he will work. Regrets, if they ever existed and were ever to be had, would be done so only in the night.



Reputation: To most, Ajax is seen as a deeply entrenched figure in Capitol politics and specifically the management and development of the Hunger Games. He is sometimes, though rarely so - interviewed on his role, however most of his public interaction is through missives and writing. This has left him with a bit of a mysterious, brooding quality that some find intriguing and others find insulting or tiresome. He has been on and off with public appearances, joining events irregularly, speaking with other victors only during these, and rarely meeting them outside of official events. Outside of the spotlight he is known to be a bit ‘rude’ and ‘controlling’ - with the more salacious rumours suggesting that he had a tendency to ‘work out his frustrations’ through one night stands and casual hook-ups.

Whether this is true or not does not really matter, as this is commonplace - but it serves to titillate against his very manicured and devoted work persona which most are more commonly aware of. His role with the Hunger Games itself is somewhat distant from the actual victors - especially when it comes to mentoring, as he has such a direct link to the development of the games. Many of the more hardcore fans and analysts do wait eagerly each year for his reports, which are known to influence the ratings of players - as he judges their progress before and during the games.





Hobbies: Reading, Writing, Design, Sketching, Applied Physics and Engineering, Coding, Amateur Biology and Chemistry, Hobbyist Climatology, Swimming, Running, Boxing



GAMES



Which Games did they win? - 51st Hunger Games, also now known as “The Half-Hour Quell”



What is the most replayed moment of their Games? - The cameras were stuck on him as he hotwired a datapad into the sprung trap mechanism, and backdoored into the Arena Management Systems. Seated in a hollow alcove, and out of sight - Ajax set about using all the various ‘entertainment’ and ‘control’ features like traps, poisons, explosions - which was normally used to direct the contestants around the map and at most scare them - in a display of extremely organised lethal executions. As if playing a game, he picked them off in droves - until finally he was collected by the peacekeeping officers.



What do they think of the Games? - Ajax has been working on the games for nearly 25 years now, serving as a consultant, identifying potential exploits - having made the games not only far more dangerous, but also enduring - which have been amazing for ratings and made him somewhat of a hero among the broadcasting set. To him it is a challenge, a macabre but needed part to make sure the games actually achieve what they are designed to do. His personal questioning about whether they are being successful has through silent intervention been undermined and redirected - and he is often so overworked and tired that he does not have time enough to truly consider what it is he is doing.



If they mentor, what are they like as one? - He does not mentor - or he has not… yet…

"So cold, it was like he was checking his mail..."

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[riddle .]

jelle drukker

65th victor - district 8

basics

full name: jelle drukker
nickname: jel
age: twenty two
won the games at: thirteen
gender: cismale
orientation: demisexual
district: 8

appearance

faceclaim: jared thomas taby

height: 5'11''

build: tall and lanky with lean muscle, fitting for a runner like himself.

notable features: along with many other victors, jelle's body has several scars adorning his pale skin. most noticeable and the most discussed is the slim yet long scar across his neck that he received after being betrayed. he often hides it from others by wearing scarves or chokers.

body modifications: nothing too drastic as he's become wary of anyone doing anything to him ever since the games, but he does have pierced ears.

style: wears ill-fitting clothes; too baggy and appears second-hand. dislikes bright or loud colors, so he settles with neutrals. beige, black, and white. doesn't enjoy dressing up and doesn't make an effort to put together anything special for occasions unless he gets haggled by his mother or stylists enough. also avoids jewelry apart from a few rings or bracelets as he keeps taking them off and leaving them where he can't ever find them again. plus, they just get in the way. as for hair, he leaves that up to his mother to cut his hair, too paranoid to let anyone else near him with scissors. when she's too busy, he does it himself, thus its constant haphazard appearance.

psyche

personality

jelle feels more dead than alive most days, even to others. he wanders the halls aimlessly like he's looking for something, as he often forgets things. forgets the time, what day it is, what month it is... he lives in a perpetual fog that has transformed him into a living ghost.

dead-eyed and monotone is how he Is often described. not exactly anti-social, just silent. as though talking would take too much out of him. he almost always answers with simple nods or shakes of the head, perhaps a quiet and hoarse yes or no. rarely, a sentence.

he has little care for the celebrity lifestyle or acting like one. doesn't see the point. doesn't see a point in much of anything, so why try? not really a cynic, more of a realist. accepts things as they are. prefers blunt, factual things to hold onto. grounds him when he feels like he might be fading in plain sight.

virtues: forthright, quick-thinking, observant, calm, accepting.

vices: distant, absent-minded, paranoid, avoidant, morbid.

likes: running, sewing, fall weather, warm and filling food, antiques, songbirds, taxidermy, staring at the wall.

dislikes: deep water, large animals, bugs, aggression, overly extravagant things, talking.

background

an only child born to a single mother. jelle originally was a very outgoing child, often showing off his prowess in running through the district's streets, delivering fabrics and helping out whenever he could to the adults. he took pride in his work alongside his mother, becoming adept at sewing and knitting.

he had no outward worries, and concerned himself with being a good son and being with his best friend, mora. he and mora were inseparable and did everything together. she was his family and he was hers. then both their names were called during the reaping. they made a promise to each other on the train to the capital. he would look out for her and help her win, willingly forfeiting his own life for mora who he loved as a sister.

jelle showed skill in first-aid during training as well as in his speed and agility. he earned a score of 7. upon entering the arena, he and mora made a run for it in an unforgiving rainforest. they were on their own at the start, avoiding the others and focusing on surviving the through the rain and poisonous animals they encountered until they came across an injured tribute from district 2 and a companion from 3 after the careers started turning against each other. against mora's wishes, jelle decided to give aid to the tribute and allowed them to join him and mora, making a deal to not harm each other until there were enough left to disband peacefully from each other.

they made an effective team. the district 2 tribute, a sixteen year old boy named piers, encouraged jelle to use his speed to steal and lure other tributes to him and mora to attack them. there were only 6 remaining when it happened.

piers brought jelle away from their camp with the task of gathering water. when jelle had his back turned, piers attempted to slit his throat. with honed reflexes, jelle managed to avoid the blade from going into his jugular vein, but still bled enough to fool piers into believing he had cut deep enough and left jelle to bleed out.

using spare thread and a thin sharpened stick to mimic a needle, jelle was able to sew his wound shut and wearily made his way to camp to find mora when he heard the canon. he was met with piers on top of mora, stabbing her even though she had already passed. her glassy eyes still open and staring at jelle, accusing him in death for not being there and for trusting someone he should have killed at the start.

jelle doesn't remember everything that happened after that. one moment he and piers met eyes and the next jelle came aware as he was running after him, covered in blood and gripping a knife in his hand. piers couldn't outrun him, and he screamed that as he ran from jelle, begging for him to stop - to make his death quicker than the rest. jelle didn't understand, but he didn't care as he tackled piers to the ground and started with his ankles, then his fingers, then the eyes, until the body gave out, but the mind had already left for the both of them.

the final canon sounded and jelle, motionless beside piers was gathered up and crowned the winner. he didn't know how the others had died, didn't remember. all he knew was that he had done it and that when he returned home after the tour to his mother, he was met with the same unsettled stare that he had seen since he won.

reputation: not exactly feared nor adored, jelle holds a neutral ground among others. partly to his unneverving silence and progressive interest in surgical medicine through a capital doctor who enjoyed jelle's performance during his game. jelle remains in both good terms with the capital and other districts with his continued impassiveness and perceived "good behavior". his memory issues are often considered an adorable quality for pompous capital elite he meets.

hobbies: taken an extreme delight in taxidermy, using it to practice his needle skills other that sewing. he liked the thought that he still preserving life even passed death. still runs, though his intensity has increased. of course, he still knits and sews various fashions and things for his mother and for fun, never for himself.

GAMES​

which games did they win?
the 65th game.

what was the most replayed moment of their games?
while he doesn't remember it, his massacre of the remaining four tributes besides piers has become the main highlight of his game. he has never seen it himself, too afraid to relive mora's death, but he has overheard people talking about it. it had apparently made such an impression that some doctors marveled at his accuracy moving around the human body and even had him watched by peacekeepers several months after his game ended.

what do they think of the games?
jelle tries not to think about them at all. each year when they come around, he hides away, refusing to come out until it's all said and done. blissful ignorance has become his best friend.

if they mentor, what are they like as one?
absolutely not. jelle does not want any active role in the games.

something in my mind, keeps me up at night

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[Walliver]

Franklin Ackerman

64th Winner - District 10

Basics

Name: Franklin Ackerman
Nickname(s): Frank, Fran, though no one calls him that anymore
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Orientation: Aro-Ace
District: Ten

Appearance

Faceclaim: Richard Harmon

Height: 5’9”, won’t fight you on it.

Build: Lanky, toned. He still works in the slaughterhouses, despite his Victor status, and has retained the muscle tone and precision that allowed him to survive the Games.

Notable features: His eyes, bright and piercing, set in the semi-permanent scowl upon his face. Oh, and his limp.

Style: Anything with long-sleeves that he doesn’t mind getting dirty. Has been seen in formal clothes approximately once, only in his interview for the Games. Secretly fond of soft sweaters, which he only wears in the comfort of his home in the Victor sector.

PSYCHE
Personality: Franklin is fairly reserved for a Victor, preferring to keep the way of life he had before the Games happened. He does not enjoy the fame and credit he receives, nor does he enjoy the admirers that follow him about. In fact, he’d love nothing more than to live the rest of his life in anonymity. The only people he really cares to interact with are the other workers in the slaughterhouses, where the cows go at the end of their term in the field.

He used to be a lot softer than he is now, and occasionally that part of him rises to the surface. Sometimes, he can be found with a smile instead of a scowl on his face. But he prefers to keep up the harsh façade, that way no one bothers him too much.

Virtues:
+ Resourceful
+ Humble
+ Observant (just not socially)

Vices:
- Abrasive
- Reserved
- Dishonest (mostly)

Likes:
His job, knitting, oranges (from what he can remember of them), silence, sleeping, journaling

Dislikes:
When it rains (it makes his leg ache), being touched, strangers, the Games, loud noises, most animals


BACKGROUND
Born to a poor, working family along the outskirts of District 10, Franklin knew pain and suffering his whole life. He was the middle child, marked as least important from birth. Extra helpings of food, blankets, and even hours of sleep were handed to the oldest and youngest, and never to Franklin. He grew up at the edge of starvation and exhaustion, consistently dismissed and devalued. He began work as soon as he could, and applied for tesserae as soon as he was eligible.

His oldest brother died in the Games when Franklin was only 13. Henry was only a few months away from aging out, and he died in the initial bloodbath. Soon after, his oldest sister, Naomi, married and moved out. His youngest sister, barely 8, fell ill. The family did their best, but without the money and support that Henry and Naomi used to provide, the child perished within a month. Franklin’s parents were devastated, and it was up to Franklin to pick up the slack. He took longer shifts, put his name in more often. By the time he was 16, Franklin’s name was entered 32 times.

Being Reaped wasn’t a joyous occasion, but it was a relief. His tesserae would still go home, his burial may not even be necessary. There would be one less mouth to feed in the Ackerman home. He was finally done.

Winning was never in the cards for him, but it happened anyway. He returned home with the blood of twelve innocent children on his hands, the mark of a knife splitting his leg open, the memory of his kills burned into his mind. He was revered, regarded as a champion of the District and an inspiration to all. They called him a “Victor”, one who survived the horrors of the Games and lived to tell the tale. He didn’t feel like a champion. He just felt numb. His parents had perished while he was away, leaving his three siblings orphans. His oldest sister took them in, but turned a blind eye to him. Franklin was well and truly alone. And now he makes due, trying to live as normal of a life as one can.

Reputation: He is a survivor of the highest order, one who stared death in the face and laughed. They watched him crawl from the brink of death to claim an impossible victory. The Capitol never speaks of District 10 without saying his name, and the people of his district practically worship the ground he walks on. He can’t go a day without hearing whispers in the slaughterhouse, though they are quickly quelled by a cruel gesture with the closest sharp object.

Hobbies:
-Working. He works and he works and he tries to forget. It helps him keep some sense of normalcy.
-Sleeping, thought it is more a state of unconsciousness brought about by absolute exhaustion.
-Knitting, surprisingly. He has become quite adept at crafting socks and sweaters in his spare time.

Other:
Headcanons:
-Used to be an excellent dancer
-Takes in every stray cat he finds
-Should probably get a different job

Which Games did they win? 64

What is the most replayed moment of their Games?
Blade hitting bone, carving a gash from hip to ankle. And his retaliation, the crunch of bone and flesh as he turned upon the tribute who mutilated him.


What do they think of the Games?

He despises them and anyone who enjoys them. He pities both the victims and the survivors.

- If they mentor, what are they like as one?

On the rare occasion that he does mentor, he has been known to be cold and calculating, pushing the Tributes to their limits. He is a strict teacher, and a smooth-talker among sponsors. Tributes that he mentors tend to make it among the top 10 and even top 5 in the Games.

RELATIONSHIPS
Are there any other Victors they're close to? Any rivals? What do they think of their fellow Victors? (edited)

"Survivors have scars. Victims have graves.”

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[gingersnaps]

​

Cassandra Villareal

"The Belladona"- District 2

Basics

Name: Cassandra Villareal

Nickname(s): Cass, Cassie, The Belladonna.

Age: 38

Won the Games at: 15

Gender: female.

Orientation: bisexual.

District: 2

Appearance

FC: Eva Green

Height: 5'9

Build: Tall, toned and thin. Cassandra's body is narrow, and her angles are all sharp.

Notable features: Her piercing blue eyes. They say Cassandra’s glare could freeze hell over, she could intimidate a piece of plywood into doing what she wanted with just one look.

Style: Cassandra adheres to the Capitol fashion, though in a subtler, more elegant manner. Her clothes, while luxurious, have a practical element to it- they’re sleek, shiny, and easy to move around in. She prefers to drape herself in cold, dark colors, which are a nice contrast against her pale skin.

PSYCHE

Personality: Cassandra has always been a victor. Long before she ever won any games or took any lives- she was born a winner. Her ambition and drive always put her a cut above the rest. Among the best of the best, Cassandra still shined.



Spending her entire life training for the games, Cassandra was as ruthless as she was determined. She firmly believed that it was her duty to bring glory and riches to her District and her family. Though the latter was always a more complicated matter: the Villareal siblings all had previously volunteered for the Games, and all of them were met with failure. Cassandra refused to be like them. She was a winner, she was a killer.

Virtues: ambitious, driven, charismatic, magnetic, confident, cunning, resourceful.

Vices: proud, prejudiced, vicious, cruel, narcissistic, out of touch with reality, envious.

Likes: fighting, fashion, challenges, swimming, birds, alcohol.

Dislikes: undignified and pathetic people, boredom, family.

BACKGROUND

Ophelia Villareal was the first of the siblings to volunteer. She was 14, her 15th birthday would’ve taken place while she was in Arena…if only she had lived that long.

Cassandra was only 8, she couldn’t remember much. In fact, she didn’t even fully understand what had happened until a few years later, when she was watching clips of the 45th Hunger Games. She watched, wide-eyed, as her sister was held down and drowned in a river by her supposed allies. Only a single word came to mind:

“Pathetic.”

Her brother was next: Basil Villareal, age 14, fighting in the 47th Hunger Games representing District 2. Basil put up a good fight, he fought like he had something to prove. In the end, all he proved was that he wasn’t good enough. He was poisoned by a snot-faced girl from District 9, who died a couple hours later with a rock to the head.

2 years later, it was Criston- who wasn’t even worth mentioning. The mere memory of her older brother brought Cassandra immense embarrassment.

They were losers. Every last one of them, a failure- but not her. Some people were born with something different in them, a bright stroke of luck, an assurance that they were something more. Cassandra was something more. A diamond surrounded by dirt. She was born for victory.

The years went by, the Quarter-Quell passed, and Cassandra watched every single victor come and go, knowing she was destined to join them.

When the 52th Games came around, 14-year-old Cassandra Villareal raised her hand and volunteered. The last Villareal child left, her parents cried in a pitiful display of weakness. But she never faltered.



The very first thing she thought when she stepped into the Arena was how beautiful it was: an incredible green meadow, full of flowers- and a hedge maze. A wrong turn, and the tributes ended up at the pointy end of her spear. Cassandra painted the flowers with their blood.

She celebrated her 15th birthday by driving a spear through a boy’s chest.

Of course she came out victorious. She won, and was awarded with all the glory and riches she always deserved. Cassandra adjusted to the victor life more than easily, becoming a favorite in the Capitol for her magnetic personality, her style and her confidence.



Some people were born to win.

Reputation: Cassandra is beloved and feared across Panem. She enjoys partying with the Capitol socialites, drinking champagne with her fellow victors and making explosive public appearances that people talk about for days. She is not happy whenever a new Victor comes around and tries to steal her spotlight.

Hobbies: Even after her victory, Cassandra continues to fight and train almost every day. She has a special love for swimming and throwing her spear. She also enjoys hunting and partying.

Kill V. Maim

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[Maverick.]

Poe Wellman

District Ten Victor

Basics

Name: Poe Wellman
Age: 35
Gender: Cis-Male
Orientation: Pansexual
District: Ten

Visage

Face claim: Rahul Kolhi

Height: 6'1"

Build: Poe’s body is weathered and worn, both built and ruined by long days on the farm. His work, even at a young age, kept him strong, though not to a miraculous degree, as improper nutrition kept him constantly fending off malnourishment. As a young man, Poe was lean and athletic due to his activity. Now older, his body has softened, and though he’s short of neither food nor money, his frame hasn’t grown, and his lack of physical maintenance has weakened him further.

Notable Features: Poe’s expressions are heavily determined by his brow, which furrows or lifts according to his moods. His mouth is largely concealed by facial hair, which makes him appear even quieter in a way, with his eyes being the most telling feature about him. He appears weathered, yet carefully molded at the same time, with thick, chafed skin like leather hiding his bones beneath calluses. His scalp and cheeks are already flecked with gray in some places, a lighter spatter amongst a thick crop of dark hair. A few of his fingers appear crooked, as he’s broken all of them at least once throughout the course of his life. He carries a constellation of scars, most decades old by now, with the most noticeable one being near his eye, which creates a notch in his right eyebrow.

Style: His style, to this day, reflects his upbringing. Despite inheriting the wealth of a victor, Poe’s wardrobe has remained simple and practical. Growing up farming among livestock has made him partial to denim, flannel, and thick boots. He has a hard time tolerating the cold, which makes him opt for thick layers and long pants, always with pockets so he has somewhere to keep his hands. He chooses dark or muted earth tones in general, and always keeps comfort his top priority.

Psyche

Poe is naturally reserved, always thinking twice before speaking and keeping his cards close to his chest. He offers distant politeness by default and not much else, as he finds himself reluctant to interact in general. His presence, at least before he gained the status of a victor, was often left unnoted. He communicates as little as possible with acquaintances, letting others do the talking while he is left to nod and listen.

His habit of silence can be intimidating to some, sometimes taken as coldness, especially to those who know of his past participation in the Games. Over the years, he’s found himself using it to his advantage, letting peoples’ reproach of his reputation keep him secluded, allowing a withering look from him to hold more weight if he so chooses. He behaves practically, which makes him blunt and to-the-point. His bitterness has been boiling behind his teeth for decades, perhaps perceivable to those who share the same resentments.

In truth, he’s generally slow to anger, and his emotions often get caught and quartered before they reach surface level. He’s jaded by now, often behaving as such, yet not heartless. His exposure to violence and ruthlessness has left him exhausted and craving peace, which he tries his best to emulate himself for those around him, despite still feeling out of practice.

Virtues: hardworking, intelligent, empathetic, gentle, practical

Vices: untrusting, reluctant, dishonest, passive, taciturn

Likes: horseback riding, animals, music, hot beverages, being busy, the outdoors

Dislikes: cold weather, uncomfortable clothes, sweet foods, small talk, extravagance

Background

Poe Wellman would not have been missed for long.

He was the only son, with six sisters among him—four, including a set of twins, born before him, and then two born after, all in quick succession, with hardly more than a year between. This meant that, for the Wellman girls, the odds were far from their favor.

Like many in District Ten, the Wellman family barely survived. Farming was tough work which yielded fickle results, and the slaughterhouses were gruesome and unforgiving. It was dust and wind and the bellowing of cattle. It was the march of hooves through the pastures to the gates, where Poe ushered cows between high fences, parting them into pools according to their size and ranking. Even as a young boy, he found that part to be tedious work. While the quality of the meat was to be judged accordingly, he still knew that whether strong or weak, every calf raised for the slaughter would die.

Poe learned sacrifice by necessity and exposure. Preparing calves for meat, though not a simple procedure, was straightforward. His parents had put him to work young, but prepared him long before that. Sacrifices were to be skipped by no one, and every calf had a price on its head in lieu of a name. As a young child, Poe met their soft eyes with his own, unable to draw a line between himself and the mirrored reflection he saw in them. For the first six years of his life, Poe cried for the calves.

By age seven, Poe was given a pair of reins and a set of knives. It turned out that he wielded both well, becoming skilled in a saddle and at the slaughterhouse. With preparing meat, he was efficient and precise. More than that, he wasn’t squeamish in the least, and he never complained. While his sisters were more than tough in their own right and not considered to be faint of heart, most children of Poe’s age could not stomach the slaughterhouse day in and day out.

Poe, it seemed, did not mind.

Everyday, he stained his apron with spilled blood, sharpened his knives and dirtied his fingernails. It was mechanical, a series of motions in which he mastered without sickness or fainting. While the majority of his work revolved around butchering, the times at the farm or in the pastures, atop a horse or covered in alfalfa, felt the closest to healing that he could get.

While none had it much better than the Wellman’s, there didn’t seem to be any that had it much worse, either. A family with as many children as theirs meant that struggle was constant and relentless, and catching up to their own needs was nearly hopeless. The tesserae was an unfortunate necessity for Poe and his sisters. Their misfortune spread far and wide across their family throughout the years, but the one thing that everyone thought when they spotted a Wellman was the inescapable reality that one day, eventually, at least one of the family’s children was likely to be reaped.

The year Poe turned twelve, his father sat him down. Poe’s father was honest and hardworking, both blunt and practical by necessity. He loved his son, and he loved his daughters more.

“Poe, Maeve saved your life.”

Maeve was the oldest, almost four years older than Poe. She was relentless, working harder than most her age, and yet a kinder person than most others despite it. She was her parents’ favorite, and she was Poe’s favorite, too.

“I know. She saved all our lives. That one time.”

“Every day since, Poe. You almost died when you were sick three winters ago, me and your mother had to take care of you and pay the doctors. We couldn’t work or run the farm. We couldn’t feed ourselves. Maeve was twelve, and she entered the tesserae as many times as it took to keep all of us alive. We would’ve starved, Poe, I’ve told you this. That whole winter, she fed us alone. ”

“I know, I—”

“Her name has been in that bowl more times than most of the girls in this district already.”

“She—”

“We owe her our lives. You owe her your life.”

“I… I know.”

“She has three more years left, Poe, only three. She’s made it this far, but her odds are getting worse. This will be your first year. When she—listen to me—if she gets reaped, you will not. You’re not going to be reaped, I know this. I’m telling you now that your chances are lower than any one of your sisters’. Only if Maeve—if she gets reaped, you’re going with her. You will volunteer to save her. She’s already done it for you. She’s volunteered her life for you already. She’s saved you.”

“I don’t… why—”

“Because that’s what’s fair. Never tell her what we’ve just decided. Until the day comes, we’re not speaking any more of this. I pray it never does.”

For the next three years, the Wellman children escaped the Games. Poe spent his mornings ruling the pastures on horseback and his nights washing away the gore from each day.

When Poe was fifteen, he and his sisters attended what would be Maeve’s last reaping. The oldest Wellman sister was unwavering, as she had always been. She never regretted how she cared for Poe and her family, not even when her name was called.

Poe’s eyes found his father’s in the crowd. He was staring right at his son, and Poe’s blood spilled toward his heart from behind his skin.

“Dad, I can’t—”

“Poe Wellman.”

Things moved fast after that. The siblings were ushered out, given an opportunity to say their goodbyes. Everyone had bet on a Wellman getting reaped. No one had bet on two.

Poe and Maeve were separated, left to say farewells to their family without one another. Poe’s father lingered after his mother carried his sisters away.

“I love you, son. You know that.”

“Dad, I love—”

“Poe, I’ll miss you.”

~ ~ ~

Poe spent the pre-Games festivities stumbling through interviews, leaning heavily on Maeve while she worked to win the favor of sponsors. He did better than expected on the skills scoring, proving that a knife in his hand would draw blood. The Wellman siblings’ chances were low, but they had a chance nonetheless.

Maeve wasn’t hopeful, but she was determined enough for the both of them. She never said it, but Poe knew that she was going to try to save him. He had to beat her to it—he knew well enough that there was no other choice.

When Poe arose into the area on the first day, he was cold.

Him and Maeve participated directly in the initial bloodbath, as they had planned, and escaped. Cover was scarce in the arena, the trees bare, the ground frostbitten. The tributes would discover that every night, the temperature dropped more, and it did not rise in the morning.

That first night, Poe was given a cleaver.

The days wore on as the snow built up. By the time ten tributes remained, Poe and Maeve knew that they were being hunted. They’d been dodging the careers as long as they could. The day that they caught up to the siblings, Maeve stopped running. Poe heard the bear trap clamp down on her ankle before he saw her stumble.

Both of them together couldn’t pry the trap open. They could hear the careers by then, their voices calling out to the Wellmans as the pair struggled to free Maeve. She looked at Poe’s cleaver, and then at her leg.

He was fifteen years old, weak, and frightened. He knew that he couldn’t do it even before he started swinging. A life in the slaughterhouse had caught up to him, and his aim faltered and his strength left him.

The careers were right on top of them, nearing the top of the hill through the treeline. Maeve broke down and begged him to keep swinging harder, to not leave her. He left anyway, running and not stopping even after he heard her cannon.

He hid the rest of the games, drowning in the snow. Somehow, he outlived them all.

Coming home didn’t feel right because it wasn’t. His family didn’t hate him, but they couldn’t love him anymore either. His father tried to pretend that he wasn’t disgusted by his son. His mother couldn’t keep him close enough to remedy his regret. His district remembered Maeve well, and his betrayal did not go unnoticed.

He didn’t need to work anymore, though he didn’t know what to do without it. On his first visit to the slaughterhouse, he passed out and woke up on the floor. Now, blood made him sick, and wind chill made him sweat. The Victor’s Village, sparsely populated, offered some space. He moved there, and found a way to build some semblance of a farm to maintain.

And so even after he had emerged from the arena, he went right back into hiding.

Reputation: Some recall Poe’s shyness in his interviews, and some recall his killings, but everyone who knows him has seen his cowardice play out. What his fellow victors think of him and his actions depends on their own morals or experience with the games, which means mixed reviews. His district, however, has yet to fully pardon him for what he did. The capitol doesn’t mind him, as his time as a tribute proved to be interesting enough, and he’s done little to interfere with them after. His performance in the Games will never allow him to slip into seclusion, though most seem to get the idea that he wants little to do with them anymore.

Games

Victor of the 55th Annual Hunger Games

What is the most replayed moment of their Games?

The moment when Poe, his hands wet with Maeve’s blood, leaves his sister to the career tributes.

What do they think of the Games?

Poe’s hate for the Games brews in his mind daily. He recognizes the evil of it and the harm the capitol has done, yet he still feels just as powerless against them as he did at fifteen years old.

What does their district think of them?

District Ten always favored Maeve, whether they’d admit it or not. Many find it hard to accept what happened to her and Poe’s role in that. The way he waited out the Games in the end, surviving by luck, has done little to win their favor. Some have empathy, though most seem to find Poe to be a hard victor to be proud of.

If they mentor, what are they like as one?

Poe is rarely anyone’s first choice as a mentor, nor is he readily eager to take on the role. His advice is practical and blunt, and when in the presence of tributes, he tries to keep himself and his emotions distant.

the butcher.

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[Silverash]

Alabaster Haven

54th Victor - District One

basics

Name: Alabaster Haven
Nickname(s): Aster
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Orientation: Bisexual
District: One

appearance

Faceclaim: Peter Porte
Height: 6'1"

Build: Though the days of dawn-to-dusk training are but a distant memory, Alabaster remains athletic in form. His bulkier appearance in youth has since given way to a slimmer and leaner build. Nonetheless, consistent exercise into adulthood left him with a generous amount of muscle, and is something he works to maintain.

Notable Features: Like many of his peers, he sustained a number of scars during training and the Hunger Games that tarnish his body. Most notable is a slash mark that runs nearly the length of his left forearm, although all blemishes are concealed to the best of his ability in public showings.

Style: Despite his intimate association with Capitol couture, Alabaster doesn’t regularly indulge in their pompous sense of style. His business and products admittedly cater to an appetite for the exorbitant, but his personal preference is that of a minimalist. Beauty is best found in elevated simplicity, where his garments of choice seldom breach his collection of patternless suits, jackets, and matching pants that altogether form a classically recognizable silhouette. He’s usually loosely accessorized with some combination of chains, bands, rings, and miscellaneous forms of embellishment. Otherwise sleek in appearance, his hair is commonly tousled and swept in a multitude of controlled angles for depth.

psyche

Prim and proper to perfection, Alabaster’s demeanor is as refined as the very gems processed in his native district. He is habitually courteous and well-mannered by default, molded by the contrived mannerisms of the Capitol crowd. Sociability is perhaps his defining feature, forever on the prowl for potential contacts and business partners. This approach does well to appease the common Capitol citizen, but admittedly does little to impress those toiling in the vast majority of the nation. To anyone who has lived single a day outside the Capitol’s comfort, his words often ring hollow and land impersonal at best. Nonetheless, he’s among the first to congratulate and welcome new victors to the winner’s circle after each Hunger Games. His intentions are often painted as a self-serving networking scheme, though underneath the glitz is an honest desire to check in and connect with the newly initiated victors.

How much of Alabaster’s Capitol-facing facade has blended into his true beliefs is an unwieldy web to untangle. His frequent tours and forays into the Capitol may say otherwise, but he has no intrinsic love for the city, their people, or their beloved Games. Clinging to their oversized coattails is merely his surest form of stability and the highest sense of fulfillment he’s enjoyed in years. But when stripped of all public adoration, he is a stranger to love and affection. He’s made peace with the fact that his relationships and interactions are all material transactions in disguise, and is still guarded when it comes to the few exceptions. Navigating his life has effectively become its own intricate business, and there is nothing more terrifying than the prospect of adding any further regrets to his ledger.

Virtues:
- Decisive
- Commitment
- Sociable
- Disciplined
- Aware
- Strategic

Vices:
- Arrogant
- Callous
- Self-Conscious
- Selective
- Impersonal
- Dismissive

Likes:
- Interior decoration
- General fashion
- Indulging in conversation
- Getting to know someone
- Collaboration

Dislikes:
- Expectations
- Bouts of idleness
- Mimicry
- Lack of inspiration
- Disorganization

background

For as long as history remembers, the Haven household labored as a proud and industrious line of jewelers. Yet in recent memory, the family business fell gradually from their former grace. The lineage’s longstanding traditions and practices were unable to keep up with the sporadic and dynamic trends of the Capitol market, and the gap between the Havens and their competition compounded with each generation. By the dawn of Alabaster’s birth, the business was knocking on bankruptcy’s doors and faced an imminent collapse. In a desperate bid for survival, the family risked their succession altogether, turning instead to the Hunger Games for the preposterous ambition of reclaiming their lost glory.

There was little childhood for Alabaster to remember, if at all. For as long as he could remember, he was groomed to become District One’s premier tribute. Whereas his forefathers took up saws and hammers as instruments of beauty, he was thrust into the world with weapons in hand and taught to pave his own bloodied path to prosperity. And thus, with neither the context nor the maturity to understand his position, the boy was enrolled as a full-time Career in-training.

Whatever he lacked in natural talent, he made up with unmatched hours and rigorous focus. His parents, with livelihoods on the line, meticulously shielded the child from any possible distractions in his bout for lifelong fortune. He had minimal exposure to the realities of life outside the Games, meaning no external interests to pursue, no points of conversation to make, and nobody he could be consider a friend. Instead of warm bodies, his most steadfast companions were the chilling bites of his swords and spears, and the unabashed recordings of previous Hunger Games playing on repeat in the comfort of his room.

When his discipline and performance was at its peak, he was enrolled in the 54th Hunger Games.

Through all stages of the pre-Games festivities, Alabaster performed as expected and played his role to a tee. He scored well in training and was sufficiently captivating in the public eye to garner a steady following of sponsors. He got on well enough with his fellow Careers and secured early alliances, but never neglecting the inevitability of their betrayal. While the other tributes gawked, cowered, and did everything in between during their brief stay at the Capitol, it was all procedural nonsense that Alabaster cruised through. When it came time to slaughter, it would require his full attention.

After several years where the Hunger Games devolved into a show of gimmicks, haphazard stints, and environmental showcases, citizens of the Capitol longed for the event to revisit its roots. No longer was it merely satisfactory for the tributes to perish, but they needed to perish by the bare hands of another.

The 54th Hunger Games was engineered specifically to satiate this prevailing thirst for tribute-on-tribute blood. The arena comprised dozens of imposing structures acting as miniature battlegrounds, a grim yet grandiose demonstration of the Capitol’s chief architects. Most importantly, there was a lack of environmental hazards, with the climate comfortable and nourishment plentiful for the entirety of the Games. Instead, sculpturesque mutts would periodically spring to life throughout the arena, individually programmed to drive opposing tributes into crossing paths. The unfortunate victims would be forced into sheltering at the location of the Gamemaker’s choice, unknowingly locking themselves into an impromptu close-quarters fighting ground with another.

With combat ability at the forefront of these Games, Alabaster and the remainder of the Career alliance proved to be an exceptionally dominant unit. Halfway through the competition, their morale soared and the pack devised a divide and conquer strategy, allowing them to pick off the other tributes at a steady pace. When the number of targets dwindled, the Careers then began setting their eyes on each other. This culminated to a highly contested and anticipated finale, where the only remaining participants were his former allies - deadly, trained individuals with blood in their eyes. The act of besting three other Careers simultaneously would be no simple feat, and many believed the outcome to be entirely dependent on the distribution of the final sponsorships. After a frenzied struggle without reprieve, Alabaster emerged from the battle bruised, scarred, and scathed, but ultimately victorious.

Due to the nature of his victory, his name immediately become one synonymous with wealth, luxury, and talent. His home district welcomed him with open arms and sung his praises like never before, and his family’s tribulations were hailed as one of Panem’s most noble success stories. The Victory Tour proceeded swimmingly, his team determined to ride the wave of Capitol adoration for their newest victor. All things considered, Alabaster had all he needed and more to retire to a life of perpetual comfort.

But as the greater part of his life was spent in preparation for the Hunger Games, he had little inclination on how to navigate the outside world. With no interests or hobbies to indulge in, he dove back into the only life he knew: the familiarity and comfort of the Hunger Games. In the immediate years following his victory, he served as an instructor in the Career Academy as well as a mentor during the actual Games. With the burden of success and poverty no longer hovering over his sole shoulders, he was able to amuse himself and discover enjoyment for the first time in his life. Barely a young adult at the time, he could handily empathize with many of his students, all of similar age. He understood their stories and ambitions unequivocally, especially with his own trajectory still fresh in mind. In time, he would come to befriend several of his mentees, sharing in their hopes and dreams as they trained. Never before was he allowed this form of companionship, and it quickly became something he craved.

Unfortunately, it was also how he discovered the true cutthroat nature of the world.

Though young and sheltered, Alabaster was not naive enough to delude himself when it came to Hunger Games. He had prepared himself for the possibility of losing his students, but the loss hit particularly hard for a man who never had to grieve before. Year after year, he watched helplessly as his protégées, the only friends he ever found, marched to their ends in an increasingly unnecessary and nonsensical death parade.

By the turn of the decade, District One was unable to secure another win. No blame was verbally directed toward him, but palpable were the stares he received in the streets. The content and quality of his instruction came under question, and his well of excuses ran painstakingly dry. Eventually, the mental toll of hiding his anguish while wanting to preserve his legacy became too much to balance. Guilt-ridden and defeated, he resigned from his position at the Academy and as a mentor. He seemingly disappeared from the public eye altogether, unwilling to be used as bait for future generations of ambitious, thrill-seeking children.

Retreating to his abode in the Victors’ Village, he would spend his free time finally learning the family trade of jewel-making, helping out his father with various crafts and commissions. With nothing else to turn to for the foreseeable future, he spent hours upon hours perfecting his artistry. The time he spent in solitude by the bench was quiet and monotonous, but ultimately comfortable and a welcome change of pace. When his father could no longer work the long hours and match the quality of his old handiwork, Alabaster would inherit the business, as was tradition.

With no ties to the cruelties of the Hunger Games, he would’ve been more than content to spend the rest of his days laboring in the confines of his own home. Alas, word spread that he was now the figurehead and principal manager of his family business. Although the news failed to have a particularly profound impact within the district, Capitol residents grew ecstatic. Aristocrats became enamored with the idea of owning precious ornaments hand-made from the blood and sweat of a former Hunger Games victor. A handful of satisfactory word-of-mouth reviews was all that was needed to attract the attention of higher-end clients.

In the blink of an eye, Alabaster was whisked away to meet with his new clientele in the Capitol. By the time he could fully understand the ploy, his involvement in the fashion industry became too deeply entrenched. He grew to critical acclaim as a leading designer in the jewelry industry, the Capitol drawing on his expertise to cement him as yet another cog in their well-oiled machine. Powerless to decline the invitations extended to him, he felt more of a hostage in their galas and exhibitions than a guest of honor. For all intents and purposes, his effective imprisonment should have been met with revulsion and bitterness. And yet, there was something endearing of his new given purpose. He had long abandoned the notion of a peaceful and remorseless existence, but the flashiness of Capitol life was an acceptable distraction from his demons back home. Perhaps he would never be able to replicate the camaraderie he once experienced, but even the material affection of the Capitol was an embrace warm enough.

Reputation: In the present, Alabaster Haven is a household name in the realm of Capitol high fashion. His handiwork is a relatively common fixture on their runways, and he makes a noticeable effort to safeguard his relevancy in the industry via public appearances. His business has been lucrative enough to eclipse his accolades in the Games, though his title hardly escapes him in day-to-day conversation.

Back home, his legacy is spoken of more dubiously. Once the pride and joy of his district, his prolonged residency in the Capitol has since evoked a sentiment of abandonment. Though he’s not openly antagonized, his general absence and reluctance to mentor new tributes have sparked hushed debates on his true talents and priorities.

Hobbies: Given the sheer demand of his product and the time required for its distribution, Alabaster has few hours to spare outside his working schedule. However, he has developed an affinity for interior decoration, constantly renovating and spearheading home improvement projects for his Capitol dwelling.

games

Which Games did they win?

The 54th Hunger Games, at age 18.

What is their most replayed moment?
The Capitol fondly remembers the conclusion of the 54th Hunger Games, where four allied Careers clashed for the title of Victor. The free-for-all was a demonstration of raw combat prowess, and stakes were further elevated by the sponsors’ investments. As the Careers matched blows and grew increasingly weary from battle, gifts rained down the sky in an effort to motivate the tributes and prolong the festivities. Though the action would inescapably come to an end, it was a demonstration that the Capitol would reminisce on and a sequence for prospective Careers to study for years to come.

What do they think of the Games?
Alabaster has a tumultuous relationship with the Games, acknowledging them as the sole reason progenitor of his wealth and comfort. The event’s sadistic nature and unmatched brutality is not lost upon him, but ultimately something he has chosen to overlook. In the present, it’s not uncommon for him to supply and correspond with stylist teams when it comes time for the Games, though this level of dissonance has thus far been bearable enough on his conscience.

If they mentor, what are they like as one?
In his years as a mentor, Alabaster maintained a fairly easygoing approach with his batch of self-assured Career tributes. Fatally, he often misread confidence for competency in his youthful state of mind, and is the biggest regret he still carries to this day. His demeanor would harden with each successive failure, but the results would not change for the better until he quit mentoring altogether.​

​

"it is rough treatment that gives souls, as well as stones, their luster."

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡

 

[sollie]

Willow Adler

68th Games Victor - District 7

basics

full name: Willow Alder
nickname: Will
age: 22
won the games at: 15
gender: Female
orientation: Demisexual
district: 8

appearance

faceclaim: Daisy Edgar Jones

height: 5'4

build: Small, lean and strong. She has the build of a climber, with strong arms and strong legs from years of climbing.

notable features: a thin scar across her right hand from an injury she sustained in the Games. Willow also has a plethora of scabs, scars, and other things from her time spent in the trees. Bumps, bruises, the like.

body modifications: n/a.

style: Very practical clothing. Warm. Functional. Muted tones of browns and greens. Natural looking outfits. Shoes that are flexible and easy to maneuver in. All her outfits must have some kind of practical nature, in her opinion. The more pockets the better. Durable clothing often doesn't come with that high fashion look that is so desired in the Capitol. Her Stylist insists on dressing to the Capitols taste, but Willow has convinced them to water it down at least a little bit.

psyche

personality

Willow's talent for putting on a sweet smile and a gentle persona for the Capitol was half the reason she had as many sponsors as she did, but it is all a facade. Though at one point she may have held that innocent gentleness the Capitol eats up, all remnants of her past self have been melted away by years of tortured nights and endless days remembering the Games. Her quiet and withdrawn nature oftentimes deceives people into believing she's far more docile and harmless than she really is, but Willow is as quick as a bullet and as sharp as a knife when it comes to intellect. She is crafty and quick-thinking, always on her toes. She is a keen observing. In her silence, she soaks in others chattering and files back information for when it could be useful.

virtues: Determined. Attentive. Patient. Clever. Resilient.

vices: Stubborn. Distant. Paranoid. Avoidant. Deceptive.

likes: winter. redwood trees. fresh snow. sun rise. foraging for berries and fruits in the forest. observing. quiet. flute. singing.

dislikes: open spaces. loud noises. interviews. large bodies of water.

background

Born to the mountains, and raised by the trees, Willow Adler was cradled by the cold of her home. The only fridigeness the child knew, however, came from the environment she was raised in. Though the youngest of the Adler children, the hearth of the family kept them warm in the long winters, made nights of hunger manageable, and cultivated a world that was bearable to live in, even despite the cruelties and the hardships most faced.


At age seven, Willow began accompanying her mother to the forests. While her father and brothers worked in the forest, the work of a lumberjack was difficult, strenuous and dangerous, especially for a young child. While trained workers could manage the risk adequately and reduce the danger, an eager and excitable little kid frolicking about in the world of axes and falling trees sounded reasonably injudicious. Holly held a different occupation, away from the logging and felling of trees, deep in the woods, high above the forest floors, tending to the health of the trees. Her job was crucial to the success of the harvest, of course. Ensuring trees were healthy, non-diseased, and strong guaranteed a healthy and plentiful yield for years in the future.

Willow clung to the memory of her first time looking over the treetops. She was impossibly high. So high she swore she could touch the clouds. That the sky was only inches from her fingertips, calling out to her to make contact. The forest was endless, miles and miles of redwoods, cedars, firs and a million other trees. She could see the mountains, in all their glory, covered in a white and painting the blue sky with magnificence. Willow knew humans couldn’t fly, but lingering in the tops of those endless tall trees felt as close as she could get to soaring above everything.

It took only a few months for Willow to learn the ropes– literally. Little hands went to work practicing knots after dinner, until the setting light of dusk made it impossible to see. She worked in twilight, sightlessly memorizing the feel of a knot, dedicating it to her memory until her body begged her to rest. Climbing came naturally to the child, the thick ropes twisted around the trunk of the tree fitting into small hands as she ascended a few inches. Inches turned to feet, and before long, Willow began working alongside her mother, apprenticing and learning the craft as meticulously as she could. Before long, Willow began working full time in the forests, just as her father and brothers did.

The forest was impossibly quiet, only filled with the soft noises of wildlife and the muted clamoring of climbers as they completed their daily tasks. Even in the cold, dead of winter, Willow reveled each day of work.

Though things seemed peaceful for the Alder family, the boys were aging, and with age came the risk of becoming a tribute. Willow’s disconnect from the Games was slowly ceasing, as she crept closer and closer to reaping age. Still, her mind settled in the Forest. While there was also the dread that one of her brothers might be reaped, the Alder family avoided the tragedy of the Games for several years, as they continued to work. Willow’s father insisted that she begin practicing woodcutting, as perhaps one day she would rather join him, and Rowan, should she get bored of climbing trees all day. She doubted it would happen, but enjoyed the time spent with her father, learning to hone her skills on the unique tool. Though she did not possess the years of knowledge her brothers did, her intuitive nature aided her in becoming adequate with an axe. Though, Willow had never been a fan of desecrating trees for the Capitol.

With each passing year, one Alder came closer to escaping the Hunger Games, while Willow crept closer. Her first year in the reaping happened to be her eldest brothers last year. All the Alder children were eligible for the Games that year, all standing in anticipation, clustered with their peers and their neighbors, as they anxiously awaited the dreaded reading of names. Willow didn’t have much to worry about. Her brother’s hadn’t been called in years prior, her name was only placed once…

Hadley Alder.

Hadley Alder.

It wasn’t possible. Something must have been a mistake. Hadley was only 15, his name was only supposed to be in four times. So how was it possible that, out of the hundreds of children that showed up for the reaping, he was called?

That year, Hadley Alder died just hours after the game began. Killed by careers. One of the first handful of kids slaughtered in the arena. He was a bright boy, kind and generous and always smiling. He would never be a killer, but to have his life taken… so easily… To swiftly… So cruelly?

For weeks, Willow spent her days in the Forest, returning home only for food every couple of days. It wasn’t like she could eat anyways. Instead, she spent her nights in the top of an old Redwood, where she and Hadley had managed to rig a hammock in the high branches. Willow wondered if running away could free her from the grief that came along with living in Panem. Escaping with her family to live in the tops of trees and to forage and sing and be happy… But it was only the fantasy of a hurt and grieving child.

In the following year, Willow withdrew from many of those she called friends. She spent more time in the forest, working day in and day out. And each year reaping she prayed her brothers would escape the cruelties of the Games. Rowan was free, Ferric was next… Thankfully, the Alder children avoided being reaped for years.

And then came the 68th Annual Hunger Games. The youngest Alder, Creek, was born in the hot summer months, days before Willow’s fifth reaping. Days before Willow was sent to the Capitol to fight. To survive.

Willow wasn’t a fighter. Hadley, at least, had been superb with axe’s. Willow was only a novice… Her chances of survival were slim, but her charm managed to woo the Capitol and acquire their favor. Kind and gentle and smiling… The sweet, innocent girl from District 7 who would likely be killed in the bloodbath.

But something inside Willow had ignited. She would not leave her family with another child to grieve. And if that meant turning against every fiber in her body– if that meant killing another– she would do it.

Though Willow would never admit this, if the Arena she fought in had been any different, she wouldn’t have survived. But the tall trees, rough, snowy terrain… It was everything she was adapted for. Out surviving those that wasted energy on slaughtering others seemed to be as good a plan as any for the girl. In the heat of the moment, she’d scrambled out to grab any supplies. A tent. Blankets. Food. A rope. Anything to help her survive out in the cold. In her fervor to grab anything, Willow came face to face with death for the first time in her life.

A blade slid across her skin, cutting the skin open. Tearing her eyes up from the bag, it was a career– A District 1 girl who’d had it out for Willow ever since they’d arrived in the Capitol. The fresh wound wept but adrenaline kept her going. Claiming her bag, of which she’d now shed blood over, Willow retreated into the mountainous terrain, deep into the sequoia forests. Only a mad man would try and climb the giants, which seemed impossibly huge, like they stretched forever into the sky. One could fall and plummet to their doom… It would be difficult to come down for someone that did not grow up like Willow had.

Outlast. That was the goal. And outlast she did.

Over days, with the few supplies Willow managed to gather before she began her climb up the giant with nothing more than a bloodied knife, a makeshift cloth rope, and a small axe she retrieved from a body of a boy she couldn’t recognize because of how mutilated he was, Willow stayed atop the tree, cold, starving, but not dead. Canons sounded throughout the cold nights as she struggled to stay awake and alive. Thankfully, melted snow made for a great source of water.

The tributes were dwindling. Willow knew she couldn’t win by waiting for everyone else to die. With three tributes left in the Games, weak from hunger, frozen half to death, and desperate for some sort of comfort, Willow began her descent down the grand Sequoia which sheltered her so well.

With axe and knife in hand, the end of her Games went by in a blurry haze. What Willow did remember was watching as the female District 1 tribute turned against the male tribute, spearing the boy through the face with no mercy and no remorse. As Willow watched in anticipation from the edge of the Forest, the District 10 tribute approached, but it was too late… Violet had taken another victim. A knife through the chest. Blood spilled onto the white snow in the center of the arena. All that was left was Willow who’s kill count was an astonishing zero. And Violet, a career from District 1, killer of nearly half the tributes.

What came next astonished Panem.

Willow approached with silent footsteps that soon turned to running, dashing towards Violet who was reeling for weapons. Throwing the axe as hard as she could, the thick blade met its target, now Deep in Violet’s abdomen. Still, despite the blood, Violet was still kicking. All that Willow had left was her knife and the desperation of survival. Stab after stab Willow went, plunging her blade into Violet until there was no motion left. Though Willow managed to escape the Hunger Games without many lives on her hand, the brutality she’d shown against Violet thrilled the Capitol.

The kind and innocent Willow Arden was a killer lying in wait.

reputation: Willow’s warm and quiet nature is charming. A shy girl with a pretty smile and a heart of gold, her reception to the people of the Capitol was outrageous adoration. Though encouraged to frequent the Capitol, Willow’s insistence on returning home and staying out of the Capitol as much as possible made it difficult to interact with the other Victors. She’s certain they don’t like her. Or respect her. After all, resilience isn’t worth anything in the eyes of trained killers.

Though those in her District respect her sacrifice, the brutality of the final kill clearly has lingered with them. The stares of her former peers and neighbors are all too much to handle. The perception in District 7 of Willow Alder is on a reclusive and strange Victor, never seen for more than a moment in town.

hobbies: Willow spends a considerable amount of time alone and in the woods. She fills her free time, outside of working, with playing a flute her father carved for her. In recent years, she’s taken up nursing injured animals as much as she can to prove she can take care of her younger brother.

GAMES​

which games did they win?
The 68th Hunger Games.

what was the most replayed moment of their games?
The ending moments of the 68th Hunger Games are celebrated and replayed, images of Willow’s shaking and cold body atop Violet’s as knife is plunged into chest 18 times.

what do they think of the games?
Willow thinks the same as she thought when her brother died; They’re horrible and she wishes nothing more than to escape. The only reason she shows face with Capitol affairs is to provide her family a more comfortable lifestyle.

if they mentor, what are they like as one?
Willow does not mentor. Her rationalization for not mentoring is simply her unique tactic in winning the games that is impossible to recreate. The mixture of luck and “skill” can’t be taught. Should she ever be forced to mentor, Willow believes she will emphasize survival of the arena over survival of the other tributes. Outlasting and conserving ones energy to the final battle.
relationships: Are there any other Victors they're close to? Any rivals? What do they think of their fellow Victors? What do their fellow Victors think of them?: TBD!

I remember damage.

♡design by sirnateunknown, coded by uxie♡