• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Fandom ๐‘ป๐‘ฏ๐‘ฌ ๐‘ฏ๐‘จ๐‘ต๐‘ฎ๐‘ฐ๐‘ต๐‘ฎ ๐‘ป๐‘น๐‘ฌ๐‘ฌ โ€” the tributes.

demonology

๐’…๐’†๐’”๐’•๐’Š๐’๐’š ๐’Š๐’” ๐’•๐’‰๐’† ๐’๐’๐’๐’š ๐’Ž๐’š๐’•๐’‰.
the hanging tree
the cast.
ยฉ REVERIEE


IMPORTANT INFORMATION


lore + character info | main | ooc

character sheets end on Friday, May 24th.


Hi there! Welcome the the character sheet thread for The Hanging Tree. Before submitting an app, please read through all of the following:

RULES


โ†’ Coding is not required though certainly appreciated.

โ†’ Realistic faceclaims or written descriptions only.

โ†’ For the sake of ease and gender diversity, there is no gender division of Tributes. This means that there is no male or female distinction, though each Games has had TWO Tributes.

โ†’ This roleplay is NOT first-come, first-serve. Applying for the same role as someone else is perfectly acceptable unless otherwise noted.

โ†’ You are welcomed and encouraged to be creative in how you interpret a role, but please run any major changes by a mod.

โ†’ You DO NOT have to read all of the lore, but if you are applying for a specific role, read the entirety of the role information provided.

โ†’
Heavily featured Tributes from the books are not canon unless they have already been stated as such (ex. Peeta & Katniss) or decidedly so by certain players (ex. One role offers the option of their parents being Wiress and Beetee, etc.). In the event that a player wants to bring in a canon character, it is up to them what they change or donโ€™t change, though obviously some elements of the canon timeline should be altered (ex. If one wants their character to be the child of Wiress and Beetee, they will probably need to make Wiress and Beetee the winners of much later Games, leave them out of the Quarter Quell, etc.). If thereโ€™s a role that doesnโ€™t have any connection to a canon Tribute but youโ€™d like to make them related, go right ahead as long as the canon character isnโ€™t already attributed to another role. If youโ€™re unsure, just ask.

โ†’ You can write THREE characters, but you will want to note that it is likely only one or two characters will make it to the end of the plot, with the other dying in the Games or the war after. If you are writing two or three characters, one of them must be an OC. Lastly, you only have to have one character completed by the application deadline.

โ†’
Overall, don't hesitate to reach out vis DMs or in the OOC thread!





THE FORM


There are two ways you can apply. One is your typical character sheet. The other is more free-form and focuses more on giving you an opportunity to write. Either is acceptable and depends on what you are more comfortable with.


Name:
Age:
(Please be aware of age requirements for certain roles)
Gender:

District:
Games Won:
(either yours or your tribute relations; pls include description of Games)
Relation to Victor: (if applicable)

Appearance: (optional if you have a fc)
Faceclaim: (if applicable)

Summary: (this section is up to your interpretation; this can be a brief section describing the key points to your character, what drives them or characterizes them the most, etc. or could be a more in-depth section of your application, including background, personality, etc. This can be bullet points, done in prose โ€” the sky's the limits.)

Reputation: (if applicable)
Motivation: (optional; what most motivates your character?)
Quirks: (optional; how does your character talk, how do they react to meeting new people, what are some of their stranger habits?)
Extras: (optional; could be songs you most associate with them, a pinterest board, etc.)
 
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CARMEN DAZAI : DISTRICT 12
















sakaguchi kentaro.




the hawk.










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก


































FRANCESA.




artist












CARMY.















I.

but we are not foreigners to each other,










name


Carmen Dazai.







nickname


Carmy







age


Twenty-four.







Date of birth


March 15th







gender & pronouns


transmasc, he/him.







sexuality


bisexual.







district


District 12







Games Won


The 93rd Hunger Games โ€” Any fan of Carmen recalls his Games with a twisted fondness. It was not a signature weapon nor a quip that made 16 year-old Carmy memorable โ€” it was his ingenuity. He was a trapper, a tracker โ€” he began his Games by stalking the Career pack, learning their quirks and weaknesses, and then set traps that would slowly but surely pick them off alone. After that, there was only 6 other Tributes. One of them was Maybell, a District 9 girl who was no older than 14. They became allies both due to Carmy's appreciation of her humor and her talent with a scythe. The arena was a destroyed city, reminiscent of a town after the Dark Days โ€” or more acutely, the wreakage of District 12 after the Rebellion firebombings. They hid in broken buildings and in overgrown, lone trees. It got to such a point that it was only the two of them โ€” him and Maybell. Her face was covered in ash. He couldn't look at her and not see the babes who play in the Meadow, hiding from the same parents he shook down for money at behest of his own parent. Maybe it was that guilt. Or the guilt of how many had died by his hand โ€” not just in the Arena, but in his being a cog in the machine, another enforcer of his uncle's shine-slinging business. However he felt in that Arena (for he isn't sure, even now), he could not justify him leaving alive and Maybell not. Afterall, for most of his murders, he could justify them only because he was protecting her. So he walked off, abnadoned her, and promised to be back. That was the only thing that got her to stay. The rope was strung over the tree, the noose around his neck before he heard the canon boom. Afterwards, he discovered the Gamemakers made it look like he was working the rope for his final trap, not his final moments. Somehow, they rigged it so it looked like he killed Maybell. And really โ€” hadn't he?













II.

we are the pressure on the inside of the skull








physicality


5โ€™9โ€™โ€™, 170 pounds of flesh with unkempt, black hair. There is something amusing, almost graceful in his every movement, but also boyish โ€” like he is stifling a teenager that once was housed in his bones. His gentle brown eyes have a tendency to melt people down to their baser parts, which makes his charisma all the more enchanting and his rageful stare all the more unnerving. A doughy farm hand with a professional and haute couture twist on the James Dean type of handsome. Crooked nose, a curvy jaw, and a brow that is naturally folded over the occipital bone, and calloused, dainty hands. Dark brown eyes that upturn into mini-smiles to match the big one on his lips, which hold slightly yellowed teeth that the Capitol stylists can never seem to oust fully. On his chest are faint scars from his top surgery, which he paid for when he was 17 and prior to his involvement in the Games, though efforts have been made to remove the scars fully. Overall, Carmyโ€™s physique is a constant debate between the finery that the Capitol has bathed him in and the D12 homeliness he finds most familiar.







reference


Sakaguchi Kentaro.







aesthetics









style


DURING/IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS GAMES, Carmy presented a very specific blend of Capitol tastes with homages to facets of his life in District 12. Consisting primarily of natural fabrics and elegant, masculine silhouettes, the people of the Capitol enjoyed the boyish charm his sense of style brought, especially once they learned he worked heavily with his stylist to create a collaboration between D12 sensibilities and Capitol beauty (or so the tagline goes). EXAMPLE.
AT HOME, he wears much more practical clothing. He has always been able to afford much more substantial clothing compared to his fellow citizens, and it shows especially now that he is a Victor. He wears and buys clothing more so out of fashion than out of necessity. EXAMPLE I.
IN RECENT YEARS, deliberate efforts have been made to reshape Carmy for the cameras, often with a deliberate boyish, unfinish quality โ€” like his suits are always two sizes too big. His fashion resembles much more of the clothes popular in the Capitol and the upper Districts. EXAMPLE I. EXAMPLE II.







habits


can never decide if he's going to chew tobacco or not so he never tarries away into addiction, whistles bird calls and other tunes, obsessively cleans his hands and has a leatherman on him that has a tool specifically for cleaning under his nails, picks at his teeth or brushes them if a toothbrush is available







traits


There are two polarities to Carmen: one where he is charismatic, genuine, capable of a smile so sweet. He forgets all his sins, all the sins against him โ€” in those brief moments, his laughter is a sunset.

The other end is an overwrought, serious, pragmatic young man who holds himself at a constant tilt. Like his back is struggling to hold up what's left of himself. He is sarcastically rude in place of calm wit. He is careful with his words โ€” noticeably so. His mouth doesn't fly off the handle with charm and unthinking authenticity.












III.

the struggle among the rocks for more room








reputation


Since he won his games nine years ago, Carmen is known for being one of the many victorious jewels that makeup the daily entertainment lineup for the Capitol's perusal. He always manages to make a stand-out appearance with some sort of cutting joke at Caesar's expense or a knowing look. He's marketed himself almost successfully as a bad boy, of sorts, but this is a recent development. His occasional remarks are the sort that make any dissenter or equally-minded Victor raise a brow. He covers it all in a congealed sort of simulacrum of a good Capitol boy, like he's just playing at toeing the line. Just playing. Some may think he's a faker โ€” certainly, there are those in D12 who find him a baseless, wisdomless child. Others may read more into his behavior. Others, like the Capitolists, wouldn't suspect a thing.

His public relationship with THE BERSERKER has only helped in this double-entendre. Their story of being childhood friends directly exposes the real working nature of the Capitol, while simultaneously winning the hearts of many. More info to come on this part of his reputation after plotting has been done!








motivation



  • His guilt and a desire to make his trauma "worth it" is a major motivating factor. Despite Carmy's desire to move past a capitalist system, he is still ruled by the cost of things vs. their worth โ€” the overall profit. Everything he has suffered, everything every Tribute and Panem citizen has suffered and will suffer must all prove to be an adequate cost for the overall payoff.
  • Revolution, the Games, etc. are all ways of separating Carmen from himself, from having to focus on himself at all. He prefer to be detached from his memories, his body, etc. Focusing on survival, on tactical advantage, etc. is what gives him light these days.
  • There are memories he has of the days before the 93rd Games. His life wasn't perfect โ€” no one's life was perfect by any means. He was an enforcer in his uncle's bootlegging gang at only 14; he was an orphan, the son of a baker. But he had the same dreams then that he has now โ€” he wanted to and believed he could change the world. Or at least, District 12. Maybe he still could. There some genuine memories as a teenager of him hunting in the woods with The Hermit and his friends, of happening across the small village living up in the mountains beyond District 12. That was the first time he realized everything could be different.
  • Similar vein โ€” his time traveling to and from the mountain village taught him about community, which is another motivating factor for Carmen. He had already been detaching from his uncle's crew by the time he was killed and Carmen was taken to the Capitol for "questioning." He had been helping to rebuild and expand the Hob, using some of his Victor's money to fund the operation. He would volunteer at the schools, and he even created a community fund to help with any major repairs or emergencies people would run into. That was another of the many reasons why Carmen was a threat to the Capitol โ€” he was changing District 12 for the better. If there were elections in D12, he would have already been voted for Mayor. He was also public about these efforts, choosing philanthropy as his new "hobby" after his victory seven years prior. These days, he's more quietly involved, but the same desire for community motivates him. To protect his people, to protect all the work they'd done.













IV.

the shove and giveaway,








summary



When Carmen Dazai thinks of Revolution, he sees Maybelle's sweet face with a bullet through her mouth. When Carmen Dazai thinks of Justice, he attempts to reach out and touch his teeth with his tongue, remembering too late what has been taken from him. When Carmen Dazai thinks of Peace, he recalls the taste of ginger beer, the tangy feeling clawing at his throat. When Carmen Dazai cannot sleep, he thinks of Revolution, and when he thinks of Revolution, he thinks of Justice, and when he thinks of Peace, he remembers Revolution. Around, and around, and around he goes โ€” until it is morning, and he cannot think of Revolution. At least, not so blatantly. He schools his face, straighten his brow, and smiles with full teeth. Because even when he isn't thinking of Revolution, he's believing in it.

These days, Carmy is a demanding, sometimes cruel leader. He can be demeaning when someone fails, only to follow it up with an overwrought apology. He is always overcompensating, trying to make up for his failures. He was once a kid who used to rebel, and even when he was a young adult, he could enjoy the gifts from his Capitolist gains. Since his tongue was cut from him, he's returned to who he was before his Games โ€” a baker's boy. A bootlegger's nephew. What he makes in Victor's spoils, he returns to the communities. Since the announcement of the 4th Quarter Quell, he has been ascetic; he refuses even the mildest of pleasantries. He's spent most of his days in the woods, in the rebuilt Hob, in the odds-and-ends and alleyways โ€” communicating to people who speak on behalf of him or send messages. Right now, he doesn't have time for sleep. He doesn't have time for Peace or Justice โ€” there is only one thing on his mind.

Because the problem with Carmen's dream of Revolution is that it isn't something he wants โ€” it's something he needs. It isn't an act of passion. One of suicide. His grief, his trauma, the lives on his hands (both those in the Arena and out; not even death too โ€” the Berserker comes to mind, even if it is not his fault). His anger is the only expression adequate for what he feels, and he constantly is at odds with the summer child he once was. Constantly, he feels like he needs to do something with his hands, to make the pain inside material. Without something that gives, Carmen Dazai will not know what it means to breathe again.













V.

the grudging love, the old hatreds.
































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
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INGA MUร‘OZ : DISTRICT 8
















elysia crampton.




the tower.










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก


































LILAC WINE.




artist












INGA.















I.

grief is tailored with the red string of fate










name


Inga Paola Muรฑoz.







nickname


Ingie







age


Forty-nine.







Date of birth


April 27th







gender & pronouns


transfemme; she/her







sexuality


bisexual.







district


District 8







Relation


Spouse of the Victor of The 69th Hunger Games













II.

without buttons or zippers.








physicality


6'2''. Gaunt and leatherbound. The corners of her eyes reveal the woman that galivants is itching for a rest. A slender form with hard lines and muscle as a thing viscous around jaunty bones. Her bones are weary, drooping with a slender curvature found within a painting. A bit of gray showing in her hair, which is perpetually cut at home. Tanned skin that darkens with more time in the sun, smattered with some sunburn-caused freckles. Various scars, self-inflicted and others accidental. A face to sculpt and rival Aphrodite, but she prefers to sculpt the busts, not sit for one.







reference


Elysia Crampton







aesthetics









style


Practical, yet always with flare. Her days of espionage demand some sense of obscurity, yet on occasion (more than she should), she opts for something more dramatic. Simple basics, breezy and easy to conform to any climate, and convenient to run away from Peacekeepers in. More here.







habits


on autopilot, she counts the number of people in a room when she enters, taps the side of her leg with her finger or hand (optionally: taps her foot, shakes her left, etc.) to keep the time, chews on toothpicks to curb the craving for a cigarette/her box mod, one of her few "Capitolist" preferences is for nice, woolen socks.







traits


haunted, mischievous, a recovering menace and hot-head, a governess of calamity, thorough, lonesome, ambitious, daredevil, selfish, guilt-ridden, discrete, determined, practiced, acetic, masochistic, hungry, quick to smile, pleasuring in the little things, a head formed around memories












III.

the struggle among the rocks for more room








summary


A dull set of fangs, grown over with age and lack of bloodshed. Her mind remains a sharpened point, though the arrow head is wisened. Inga holds her hands open, downward, and letting slip old drudgery. The spindles of a missed opportunity haunt: rounded lenses, a personal T.J. Eckleburg, and the squeal of a baby. The innocence of memory, of constantly living in that dreamy, sepia past, is daunting. She remembers the days of Rebellion with a flutter in her chest, an angel wanting to escape with a flutter of its wings. For as long as she can remember, she has been a side-character in her own life. That is how it was, a quarter of a century ago: a Rebellion sewn at the price of a marriage and a childhood. She's still paying off her debts.

Inga knew nothing of her husband when he was Reaped. His Games passed by her with mild intrigue, a dull recollection that he was an attractive young man, but she had other things on her mind. The Games were a fan to her own flames, but there were bigger Games to play. Her penchant for disguises and her childhood as a street rat made her an easy pick for District 13's sect of DIstrict citizens who double as spies and assassins. She lived an average life as a seamstress in a company-owned factory, calling in sick or being moved around enough so as not arouse suspicion when she went on a mission. Her husband first met her when she went undercover for her first major mission: at his Victory Tour celebration in the Capitol. He spotted her as she removed her bubble-gum pink wig, tossing it and her set of knives in the trash. She pocketed a small paperweight, but it fell out of her pocket as she left. The second time they met was when he returned the poppy encased in glass. It was an act of karma or fate โ€” she happened to be in the same city as his Victor's House. At this second meeting, though, they did not speak. He left the paperweight and left with a strangely sad smile. Adjusted his spectacles, and simply said, I think you lost something. They finally spoke when he met her a third time, having been paired on a mission together where she posed as his bodyguard.

He proposed to her when they were just nineteen. They married at twenty. They gave birth to a darling baby a year later, and her husband left the whole of the Rebellion at this time. Inga stayed, but she vowed to take a few years off. Then the 74th Games happened. She watched Katniss be crowned and remembered her own days of revolutionary thinking, the times in which the Games weren't an anxiety, but rather a reason to keep working harder. Now, she looked at her child, realized what was coming for them, so Inga returned to work. She would be there when the first firebombs dropped. She would be there when the first cries of Capitolist pain were felt. She would be there when her child barely remembered what the Hunger Games was, what Panem was, what pain was. For all her inspiration, an ultimatum was still drawn. The pair were separated by the time the 75th Hunger Games Reaping occurred when, thankfully, her husband's name wasn't drawn. Was it selfishness that she was glad he didn't go โ€” not because he would be safe, but because he could take care of their child while she was off fighting in the Rebellion? These days, she might tell you yes.

Inga was on the battlefield in 8 when the District surrendered. She refused to believe it was the end. Instead of seeing the world free, she saw the world return to the same. Watched it all from a hospital bed, posing as a civilian. For the past quarter century, she's been focused on keeping herself alive for her child. Resigned that the only hope is in the future, she managed to repair her relationship with her husband. On the side, she has done some small rebellious work, but nothing too egregious that she has gotten caught. Yet.

Then the theme of this year's Quarter Quell is announced. Has it really been that long? It is like living that nightmare all over again, but this time, she wants her husband because he is the only thing good left in this world. She wants her daughter alive because she is the only thing holy in this world. So she trains, she pushes her body back into a former shape. She's resigned herself to death by the time her daughter's name is called at the 100th Reaping. Neither family member is happy with a mother's choice. But was it ever really a choice?














V.

the grudging love, the old hatreds.
































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
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Remora Odair - DISTRICT 4.
































#the good girl is always a ghost








#the body is always a wound




















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก


 
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THE AUTEUR.
































#The blood keeps running.








#On and On It Runs and Runs.




















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก


 
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adonis sierota - district 7
















๐Ÿ—กdanny griffin as the berserker




๐Ÿ—กmurder, murder in my mind










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก


somewhere back in time โ”€ IMPORTANT INFO
โ”€ ADONIS ( adonis kresnik sierota )
โ”€โ”€ ๐Ÿ—กFormerly: embry kresnik banik
โ”€ Name Meaning: adonis "ruler", kresnik "slavic god of fire", sierota "orphan"
โ”€ Nicknames: he was called addy by his family before the games, but now tied to horrific memories it makes him recoil.
โ”€ Gender: cisgendered male
โ”€ Pronouns: he/him
โ”€ Age: 21
โ”€ Role: the berserker

i left a part of me, i wanna see if you can try โ”€ VISUALS
โ”€ Appearance: adonis has had the misfortune of growing up in the capitol gaze. when they first saw him, he was an undersized 15-year-old boy. short, scrawny, wearing clothes that hardly fit him. his face freckled from countless hours in the sun. big, ocean eyes threatening to spill over in a tsunami if spoken to too harshly. light skin hid the contours of slight muscle, earned by chopping wood. some things remain. his skin is still fair, his hair is still blonde, his eyes are still blue. but he has changed vastly. his body is that of a man, now grown and standing tall. his muscles ripple with every movement, no longer possessing a lithe frame. a more fitting, brawny body has taken its place. hardened. firm. rigid. his slouch has turned to a stiff, militaristic posture, unyielding to exhaustion or sadness. he receives unwarranted compliments on his form. "do you work out?" hands gently touch his biceps. fingers slide across his back. it is perfect. there are no scars, no sun damage, no mark to draw your eye. they erased the evidence. his hair is still light. seen cropped short for the 95th hunger games, it is now overgrown. it tumbles over his bushy eyebrows, which are knit in an pervasive grimace, and brushes against his golden lashes. he doesn't touch it, or brush it away from his face. it wilts into his hardened gaze, curtaining vacant windows. flaxen, bleached by the sun. his eyes are deep blue, like the ocean. frigid, cold like the one in the arctic. framed by deep, dark circles. they bore into yours. you feel like there is no one home. he didn't speak much to begin with, but now it's somehow worse. the stutter has been replaced by eerie silence. they dress him to fit the part. utilitarian styled clothes, though tight to display his intimidating stature. even when he's dressed up, he feels naked. suit jackets with no undershirt, low-buttoned dress-up shirts, bellicose boots and spiked jewelry. he looks unapproachable. tired. fraying.
โ”€ Body Modifications: they pierced his ears for fashion purposes during his first games. the holes didn't close.
โ”€ Faceclaim: danny griffin
โ”€โ”€ ACCESSORIES ๐Ÿ—ก he's lost the ones that have meaning to him anymore. he wears a single, thick rubber-band on his wrist. sometimes, it seems welted under the band.
โ”€โ”€ INJURIES ๐Ÿ—ก none yet
โ”€โ”€ SCENT ๐Ÿ—ก pine + eucalyptus

to bring it back to me โ”€ THE 95TH HUNGER GAMES
โ”€ District: district 7
โ”€ Games: victor of the 95th hunger games
โ”€โ”€ ARENA ๐Ÿ—ก"happy hunger games! and may the odds be ever in your favor!" his bottom lip quivered, his large blue eyes locked with a girl's in the crowd. there would be no volunteers that year for district 7. adonis's fate was sealed as soon as lux draven pulled the card with his name scrawled across it. mandatory to skirt outright execution and necessary to feed himself and his family. lux had struggled to read his ugly scrawlings, stumbling over the jagged letters as he scanned them before coming up with adonis's name. tears welled in addy's eyes. he was scared. he had been scared many times when he was small, but not as scared as he was then. 14 years old, he had a death sentence. that was the reality of living in the districts.

the previous victors of district 7 had been lost to the rebellion or succumbed to the darkness the games had left in their hearts and minds. his mentors were an older woman who had won many years ago and somehow survived the wreckage and punishment 7 had suffered, and 7's capitol liaison. lux and sycamore were serious mentors. disenfranchised by the world around them, by the capitol, by the games. lux had began to sympathize with the rebel cause. he was merely a teen when the rebellion happened, but struggled through panem's rebuild. change was warranted.

both adonis and his fellow tribute from 7 were quiet. though, castanea was practically despondent. she refused to eat or even look at either mentor. she was resigned to a fate of losing. adonis had a family, a life back home. he was hopeful. he wasn't haunted then. he believed he had a shot. he was molded into a victor.

7 was a boring district. not much happened there. too many people, not a flashy enough industry. a lack of victors. the capitol wasn't interested in 7 or adnois. that had to be rectified. immediately, lux and sycamore encouraged adonis and castanea to eat. they needed to pack on weight to be strong, healthy for the arena. they needed to eat to grow, to get bigger to be a larger threat. they would take on intense training, building muscle and skill as fast as they could. "be ruthless," sycamore growled. "you have no sponsors if you are not a contender. you have no chance if you have no sponsors. it's a show, adonis. give them a show. give them blood."

he struggled through the socialized aspects of the games. the chariot display, the interview. he stuttered horribly every time that gaudy interviewer asked him another question. he couldn't open up. his lip trembled, his throat would close, and a tear or two squeezed their way out of his eyes. he fidgeted with his pants, he shuffled his shoes, he refused to look into the audience, terrified that one look at them would vaporize him. he was supposed to give them a show. and they watched, like a car crash they couldn't look away from, as he stumbled through every word and embarrassed himself after castanea had sat in silence for her whole two minute interview. his only chance was the arena.

fire watch. his arena was a scorched forest scene, nestled in a steep mountain side. a small section had tall, blackened trees, perpetually smoking, reaching for the sky. sparks would infrequently jump off the ashen bark and float through the air. the rest of the mountainside had tall, healthy, green trees that would bend and sway with the wind. the cornucopia was small, its angled downwards towards what could be assumed the bottom of the mountain. it only held a handful of packs and a small stack of weapons. up the mountain, a small tower could be seen in the distance. it reminded adonis of the outposts the peacekeepers watched 7 in.

he was lucky. when the timer sounded and the tributes were free, the steep mountain side had caused many tributes to hesitate. the uneven ground and sliding rocks beneath their feet made moving difficult, and required careful calculating. many years navigating the trees in the wildlands gave him the climbing skills that were necessary to move a little more gracefully than his counterparts. he moved swiftly, ignoring the stones that would roll out from under his feet and down the mountain's face. he needed to give the capitol a show. he needed to be an early front runner. he needed a pack and a weapon. he was able to swiftly take a small one and a sword. not a great weapon for distance, admittedly, but it felt the most natural in his hands. the career pack had watched him advance and followed closely on his heels. there waiting. he had to move again, and quickly.

castanea had remained on her podium, refusing to move. no one else had weapons yet, so she was safe. but her green eyes stared vacantly at the ground before her. she was a statue. adonis couldn't allow the careers to catch him. so he ran, more sloppily than before, his feet slipping from underneath him as he sprinted towards castanea and her podium. he grabbed her hand and pulled her along. they would move for the watchtower.

killing came surprisingly easy. with every swing of his sword, he heard sycamore's advice echoing in his ears. they needed a show. the sword swinging felt similar to chopping wood. he stabbed and murdered a couple of the smaller tributes from less fortunate districts quickly. he reveled in the shedding of their blood. he went from a terrified boy to a terrifying man speedily in the confines of the arena. it was a 360 degree turn around. had he been faking it in interviews? was he outsmarting the game? did the arena unlock a hidden beast, unleashing it upon fellow children? it was deliciously morbid and delectably entertaining. his heart sunk with each blow, but it was necessary. he had to get home. all the while, he cared for castanea. forcing her to nibble on the crackers found in his pack, keeping a firm grip on her wrist and forcing her to climb for her life. for both of their lives.

they moved up the mountain swiftly, and within a long day and a half reached the summit where the watch tower sat. in the watchtower, castanea whispered her begging in his ear, asking to be killed. she couldn't take the games. she couldn't do what he was doing. he promised her, he would be the one to kill her if she wished. just not yet. he still had a spectacle to put on. they rested for a day in the watch tower. but then they would explore. they would find water. on the day they set out, a lightning storm occurred, striking a tall tree on the mountain top and starting a forest fire that would last three days. a handful of tributes died then.

in his exploration he found that the arena was smaller than he had imagined, with a forcefield preventing him moving further. he had been lucky to see a small panel of it waver before his eyes before he did anything stupid. he slashed his sword at it. it bounced back, and he remained unharmed.

between himself and the careers, numbers in the arena began dwindling fast. his kills became more gruesome. sword swings became for decapitation. he would hack at the bodies until they were barely recognizable, like the bloodshed and the overkill was necessary for him. necessary for the kill to be finished. when the numbers had dwindled and only he, castaneas, and a couple careers remained, he fulfilled his promise to her. he rose in the night, in the glow of a tree still orange and sparking from latent fire, and stabbed her in the back. he strung her body up in the tree, for the cameras to see. they would know it was him. he left to hunt the remaining careers.

he managed to confuse and separate them, taking them on one at a time. he lead the two survivors up the mountain side, towards his fire tower and passed where castaneas's rope still swayed in the breeze. he decapitated the girl from district 1, driving the sword through her head like a spike and ripping it back out. it was heavy, but he kicked it away, allowing her warm blood to pool at his feet and slowly run down the mountain. it was the final two. him and a tribute from two.
โ”€โ”€ WINNING ๐Ÿ—กhe was jumped by 2, distracted by his pounding heart and the sudden sickness he felt, recognizing the carnage he had caused. the carnage he drank in. for the cameras. it was all for the cameras. right? 2 and adonis struggled for some time. exchanging blows, cuts, stabs. they were growing ragged, but neither boy wanted to give up his life for the other. they both gripped the handle of adonis's sword. adonis's hands at the top of thie hilt, 2's at the bottom. near the forcefield, he plunged the weapon away from his face and into the forcefield. the sword became electrified, and adonis had ripped the rubber grip of the hilt in half days ago, finding it crumbling under his grip. his fingers had remained on the rubber, the first time he found the field and now. 2's hands were on the metal. he was electrocuted and died. the canon had sounded. he still stabbed him, for good measure and showmanship. the ship came to collect him.
โ”€โ”€ NOTABLE TRIBUTES ๐Ÿ—กambrose, district 11, first kill / castaneas, district 7, ally, kill / diamond, district 2, career, final kill

you gotta go where i cry โ”€ PERSONALITY
๐Ÿ—กโ”€ Summary: adonis is a husk of what once was. his former self a sweet, trusting, charming young man who could smile, laugh, and enjoy the life he had despite its struggles. now evaporated, leaving behind a body and a scrambled mind that can no longer make sense of reality. the cry baby shyness has been replaced by emptiness. he tries to smile and laugh on cue, but there is something amiss. something missing. there is no light behind his eyes. the big blue planets that sparkled with life have dimmed, become hollow. he is stiff, rigid. his movements are robotic. careful, calculated. like the wrong one would cause a bomb to go off. and in a way, it probably would.

he is fearful. he had always been scared of things, but he had never known fear quite like this. he cannot make sense of the world around. he struggles to read the truth, unable to discern reality from fiction. the trackerjacker venom... his memories... he doesn't know where those end and he begins. he is lost. he struggles with his identity. he hates the look of pity, and he hates the looks of those lustful for his downfall. he can't help it. he knows he has a hair trigger. he knows that when he flies off the handle it's unreasonable. he's not an angry person. he's not. or he wasn't before. he thinks he wasn't before. he hates the capitol and what they've done to him. they took everything. his body. his mind. his heart. he can't control himself. he spends so much time thinking and thinking. no matter how much introspection he has he goes berserk. he knows what he's doing is wrong, but he's taken a backseat to his own hands. he doesn't know what he's capable of. but it's not good. he is trapped. caged like an animal. a spectacle at the zoo for the capitol to watch and enjoy. they have turned him violent. his savagery the dance he performs to survive, to please. he doesn't know what he's doing or why. he's trying. is any of this even real? he can't remember anymore.

he is hurting. his heart yearns for the family he once had. the belonging he felt. the life he misses. he misses enjoying the sun and the trees and the outdoors. he misses missy and xanthe and linden and luelle. he misses being able to think. being able to sleep. he misses knowing that he understood his world. he misses his sanity.

he is distrusting. outside of the hawk and the hermit, he is convinced the world is out to get him. he is convinced he is out to get the world. he has turned on anyone else that could quite possibly love or care for him. he's not sure he's capable of that any more. he can't trust others and he will never trust himself again. he has been made into a monster. a machine. his sole purpose is to hurt. to show the world that he is an abomination and they should look down on him. look at him and the hawk. feel so sad for them. laugh at adonis. laugh at how simple and stupid and evil he is. remember his arena. his games. remember he is a brute who is nothing more than your property. you own him. you made him.

he is fragile. everything sends him over the edge. it shouldn't. it's like he blacks out, and suddenly there are guns in his face and he's being forced on his knees. he's yelling, screaming. he's shredded his image again. his mind is in tatters. what has he done? they cut the cameras when he cries. they don't let him show remorse. his softness must be forgotten. it must be expelled from his body. his hands are still covered in blood. is it his? no. he has hurt someone again. that is design. he will only harm. he can only harm. how could anyone love him?

he is doomed.
โ”€ Reputation: adonis's reputation his a highly public one. he has a public relationship with the hawk that makes him a capitol darlingโ€” in the worst way possible. he has become their morbid entertainment, everyone tuning in to see if he'll fly off the handle like he has time and time again. they expect to see danger and bloodshed. they expect to see madness from him. he is their circus monkey, furious for more peanuts. he's remarked as being scary, and someone who you should not trust or be alone with. he is not stable enough. his rage is insatiable. you will be a victim to his bloodied hands like everyone else has been. and you will eat it up.

among victors and those at home who still have empathy for what had happened to him and what he went through in the arena, he is pitied(which he hates). they look at him with sorrowful eyes and cringe as he rampages once more. but they do not hate him. they feel sorry for him. it's not his fault he's this way. the capitol has taken its fair share of all their minds. maybe he got fried when he electrocuted that last tribute. it's sad, really. how many times have we seen someone go mad for the games? the real brutality is keeping him alive.

those who were close to those he called family hate him. he lost his mind in the arena and he is to blame for the loss of innocents in 7. if it weren't for him, the town would be better off without him. he should've died in the arena. he should've lost his games. he should have never bothered to show his face again. forget a revolution. forget him leading anything of importance. he's no victim. he is a false martyr. he could die alone and insane, for all they care.
โ”€ Motivation: revenge. after seeing the capitol's power, knowing what had been done to him and those he loved, he shied away from the idea of a revolution. his brain was soggy, mind fragmented. he could never be sane enough to lead anyone to rebellion. he couldn't lead anyone to anything but the conclusion that he was mad. but, after years of stewing, of trying to piece himself back together, the gravity of it sunk in. he hated the capitol. he hated what they had done. to sissy. to xanthe. to linden. to lubelle. to him. to the hawk. to the hermit. to the other tributes. to district 7. do district 12. to everyone. they needed to pay. the system needed to be dismantled. snow needed to die. preferably at adonis's hands.

maybe, just maybe, if the capitol fell his he could return to peace. his fragmented mind could be pieced back together anymore. his thoughts would quiet. he would be in control again. everything would be okay. but that bastard snow needs to pay for what he's done.
โ”€ Quirks: he doesn't speak much unless prompted. he treats everything with a quiet consideration that seems to contradict his explosive nature. he spends more time thinking than speaking. he prefers to listen. but he doesn't stutter. when he gets lost, or struggles, he goes quiet. his stare coupled with his silence can be unnerving to many. intensity radiates off of him. he has to speak more than he would prefer, sometimes interpreting for the hawk. he hates it, but he'd do anything for his partner.

he does try to combat the rage inside. he clenches his fists if there's a slow build to his anger. he digs his nails into his palm so hard they bleed. or he'll bite his cheek, and he'll bite it so hard it bleeds. the pain seems to be the only thing to keep his brain checked into reality. but his anger issues can't always be controlled or thwarted. even it surprises him. the snap of the fingers or the drop of the hat, he is the capitol's snarling mutt.

he likes repetitive sounds. he finds them comforting, grounding. he will leave the faucet on just to listen to the water drip. he enjoys the sound of a clock ticking, and his bedroom is filled with several. he taps his fingers, slowly, repeatedly, for his own sake. repetition, routine. he needs those. counting also helps. he'll count everything. heads. his footsteps. times he blinks. it's one of the few comforts he enjoys.

he hates wearing shoes. he's often dressed in boots to push forward his image of someone strong, militant. but he'd rather be barefoot in the dirt. his feet are calloused from running around barefoot his his youth. he often tries to take his shoes off both in and outdoors, feeling freer without the restriction of them.

and take in all the tears, i wanna see if you can try โ”€ RELATIONS
โ”€ Family: luella banik. she was his mother, for a short period of time. he doesn't know his birth parents, and has always assumed them to be dead. he was dropped off on luella's doorstep in the dead of night. he was born just four short years after the second rebellion. it is unknown if those who gave him life were rebels hiding in the forests outside of district 12, attempting to escape the capitol's fury, or if they were young people in 12 who could not care for a child. luella, in her sixties when the babe was left with her, cared for him like she would her own. she had never had any children in her life before him, and his presence was a dream come true. she named him embry. she allowed him to be a kind and sensitive boy in the rubble of the capitol's destruction. when he was bullied and beat up, she would hold him while he cried. she did not have much money and struggled to provide for the both of them. it would be her downfall. she would be shot and murdered by a peacekeeper for stealing. it would be the reason he moved to district 7.

the hawk. the hawk was his childhood best friend. they would play together and spend time with each other. he's always cared for the hawk. after luella's death, he was most distraught about also losing the hawk. he wouldn't necessarily mind leaving 12 if it hadn't been for the hawk. it was easier to grieve luella's death without having to face it everywhere he went daily. since adonis's games, he and the hawk have been reunited. the hawk was down in the same bunker where addy was administered his torture, where his mind was reworked. the hawk has become a sort of crutch for adonis to lean on, and he still cares for him. the duo are now a power couple in the eyes of the capitol, a spectacle to be enjoyed. the hawk is the only one who seems to avoid adonis's rage and harm. he's only ever told the hermit this, but their relationship scares him a little. he can't help but feel like the hawk's safety is the capitol's doing, a fear reinforced by his difficulty to recognize reality from time to time. he has a horrific inkling that one day the capitol will force him to snap on the hawk. he is the capitol's mutt, after all, and what would be more grotesquely beautiful than watching him turn on the one thing that seemed to keep him sane?

linden and xanthe albero. these two were like brothers to him. they ran with missy and addy in his time in 7. he cared deeply for both linden and xanthe, even though adonis and linden fought a lot. between the two brothers, they helped toughen adonis up. the teasing and bullying was the same in both 12 and 7, and they made it their mission to make him stronger. he learned to fight from them, even though he was still sensitive and cried a lot. he doesn't cry so much anymore, but their sobs as the capitol scientists gutted, hurt, tortured, and murdered them echoes in adonis's mind nightly.

missy bannister. when embry was moved to district 7 and placed in an orphanage, he was taken in by a handful of the kids who were slightly older than him. missy was their leader. she was the one who had given him a new name, remarking "wow, you're a regular adonis" when she met him. he was teased by her for years for being a pretty boy, and her name for him stuck amongst the others. adonis loved her. she was who he was closest to in 7. a part of him loved her as more than a friend, but she already had a long-term boyfriend. she was pregnant when it was announced he would leave for the games. at snow's orders, she was tortured the longest and the last to be murdered. they didn't care about her or her baby. she was the message they sent to adonis. the image of her, dying and dead, is permanently burned into his mind. he sees it every time he closes his eyes.

the hermit. adonis was introduced to the hermit through the hawk. the hermit was already a parental figure to the hawk, and adonis fell right under their care alongside his partner. the hermit is someone that adonis has been able to trust quickly in a time where he can't even trust himself. he has turned to the hermit as a confidant when he feels like he cannot tell the hawk. they are the only one to know the fear he feels regarding his relationship with the hawk. they know a lot of his fears. he trusts them with his life.
โ”€ Sexuality: pansexual, demiromantic(questioning aro)

drink a little bit of me โ”€ EXTRAS
โ”€ Playlist Link: click!
โ”€ Mood Board: click!

no, no โ”€ PLAYLIST
โ”€ solitude (felsmann + tiley reinterpretation) - m83
โ”€ test & recognize (flume rework) - seekae, flume
โ”€ acid rain - lorn
โ”€ blackout days - future islands remix - phantogram, future islands
โ”€ tongue - maribou state, holly walker
โ”€ panic room - au/ra
โ”€ daddy issues - the neighbourhood
โ”€ formula - labrinth
โ”€ little dark age - mgmt
โ”€ transgender - crystal castle

 
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the reaper
















-district 9




-Medalion Rahimi










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก






Note: Age, Game, and general timeline subject to change due to collaboration!

Basics:
Name:
Esther Gerst (known as Tess or Tessa by the few close to her)
Age: 31
Gender: cis woman, uses she/her pronouns
District: 9, Grain
Games Won: 88th Annual Hunger Games at age 19, having been 18 at the time of the reaping
Reputation: Esther's reputation is largely dependent on who you are speaking to. To Capitol citizens, she is half of one of their favorite couples, a devasted young woman who found love with another of their darling Tributes. To residents of District 9, she is a withdrawn woman- Generous at times, but not very involved in her community. To residents of other districts, she is the girl who killed their children without mercy or emotion, who now flaunts her happiness on propo reels.
Motivation: Nothing will ever bring her family back. She has long since given up on the idea of revenge, or even justice. But maybe, if she can stop what happened to her from happening to someone else, it will be enough.

Additionally, she does have a vested interest in protecting those she values- the Star, the Hermit and the Hawk- but she isn't sure she will be able to. She wants to keep her relationship with the Star and keep the Star alive, but isn't sure she can do both.

Appearance:
Esther is approximately 5 and a half feet tall, with an average build. She was more muscular in her youth, but that has become less defined with age and the comfort of a Victorโ€™s life. She has light brown skin that tans and freckles easily, and large brown eyes beneath thick brows. Her dark brown hair is generally very curly, but is relaxed into gentle waves during Capitol appearances. Lately, there have been a few strands of gray.

Faceclaim: Medallion Rahimi

Character Background/Summary:

content warning for domestic violence & child abuse, mentions of prostitution, and descriptions of canon-typical violence

Aren't you my smart girl, then, her mother always said. And Esther was. She was bright and inquisitive, and always asking questions. She paid attention to the details, and noticed patterns in changes.

Perhaps, her mother said, if they saved enough money, they could one day send Esther to school. Real, proper school, not the basic education where the population learned to read and write and do simple sums. School where the Overseer's children went, where they learned to manage irrigation and crop yield and grain storage. It was rare, for a worker's child to attend. But if they could pass the test and provide the money, they were in.

And then, Esther dreamed, she could be the one providing for her family. Because someone needed to do it. Her father was a drunkard. He was mean when he was drunk, of course, but he was worse when he was sober. He was cruel, when he was sober.

Her mother took the worst of it, though Esther and her sister got it as well, always putting themselves in between him and their younger siblings. She got beat for anything and everything under the heat of District 9's scorching sun, and that was just the way it was. Until her mother failed to accomplish some trivial task, and her father punished her by pressing a hot iron to the baby's feet. Her brother's screams awoke something in nine year old Esther- Maybe this was how it was, but it wasn't going to be how it always would be.

It took a week and a half. Mostly that was waiting for her father and her to be out in the field together and alone, but she had to find a broken sheath too, to replace the one over their tractor's splined drive shaft. Then she had to remove the good one, and bury it deep in a field. It was a mildly warm planting day, and she watched with a blank face as her father's shirttails caught in the tractor's joints and he was pulled under. She put the broken sheath over the offending part of the machinery, and reported the accident.

The family received some meager compensation, as the death had been due to the poor maintenance of the equipment by their Overseer. Esther hoped, briefly, that the education her mother had once promised might then materialize. But instead the money went to medicine for her brother's feet and for her ailing grandmother's persistent cough, to new clothes for all of them, and the rest saved to buy additional food during the winter, so she and her sister might not have to take tessarae. They ended up having to regardless.

But Esther did not mind, and held no resentment towards her family. You had to make sacrifices, for those you loved.

Every summer, Esther watched the Hunger Games with rapt attention, though her mother always tried to dissuade her from it. She had always been a somewhat odd child, and she found the Games fascinating, if gruesome. There were patterns in it. When and where food was available, what percentage of Tributes died of disease or 'natural' causes, how the victors performed in their interviews and what sponsors gave to them. She even made small bets here and there- Never on who would emerge as Victor, but on who might die in the next day. Who might receive a life saving gift.

Despite the frequency with which her sister had taken tessarae, she was never called in the Reaping. Esther assumed it would likely be the same for her as well- So many other children took it, for even bigger families than hers.

But she assumed wrong. She was eighteen- nineteen, in a week and a half- when she was Reaped. And everything changed.

It was a bit of a blur. Being ushered away from her family, seeing the fear in her mother's eyes, boarding the train. But eventually she got her wits about her, and began to take stock of what she knew. Since the Rebellion- since long before the Rebellion, even- there had been no Victor from District 9. That meant she was without a Mentor, for the time being. No doubt they would assign her one when she reached the Capitol, but whoever it was, would have less interest in keeping her alive than someone from her own home might. For now at least, it was just herself and her escort on the train, and the nameless staff.

Her escort was a man with hair as wild as she had ever seen on Caesar Flickerman, and at dinner, she ooh-ed and aah-ed at all the right places. When she tried a delicious new dish, she insisted he try it too, though he protested he already knew what it tasted like.
When she tried a new drink, she certainly insisted he try that.

He was, all things considered, a relatively easy man to persuade, and not very good at holding his alcohol. She plied him with questions, and he was eager to talk. None of the other tributes from District 9 had seemed very interested in his job, he complained. But not Esther. She wanted to know all about it.

Not that he knew that much. A lot of it was worthless drivel about the competitiveness between the escorts and stylists- Who wanted to be assigned to which district and how likely or unlikely that was to happen. But he had a few odd tidbits here and there, that Esther appreciated. He'd heard the Gamemakers were planning something 'unusual' for the arena this year. This would the third game in which they used the new aerial camera drones. What happened to Tributes, once they became Victors.

She figured he thought there was no harm in speaking to her so openly about his petty squabbles. That even if she was more attentive to him than his predecessors, she would be fodder in the initial bloodbath regardless.

Esther had other plans.

"Why, aren't you the most beautiful thing we've seen out of District 9 in some time," Flickerman told her, and Esther blushed on cue. "The best thing since sliced bread, my mother always said," she replied with a tinkling laugh. She did her best in her short interview- To seem sweet and likable, but not too weak. To seem... Desirable.

She did all right in her training, but not spectacular. Years of field work and tessarae had made her strong, but she couldn't compare to the muscles of the Careers. At least she wasn't so weak she could barely lift one of the supplied weapons, like the little girl from District 11 who spent her training with a pen knife, whittling a piece of wood into a horse.

Esther told herself it didn't matter how well she did in training- She was getting back to her family. They would have a Victor's house, and the whole family would move in. Her mother and her younger siblings, but also her remaining grandparent and her pregnant sister and new brother in law. They would be safe, and well fed, and happy. Together.

She had killed for them once already. What was a few more times? You had to make sacrifices, for those you loved.

The girl from 11 dropped the horse she'd carved during the countdown, as they stood on their podiums- Esther always suspected it was intentional. The smoke and fire of the explosion caused some cover, and Esther couldn't tell if there was a ringing in her ears or some quiet, buzzing bee behind her. She ran to the Cornucopia, grabbing the first thing she put her hands on. A large pack. She searched wildly for a weapon of some sort, but after a few seconds of finding nothing, she gave up. She swung the large pack on her shoulder, grabbed a smaller bag and ran.

It was a field, mostly, with tall grasses and the occasional copse of trees or a stream. And strangely enough, little buildings. Esther ran past the first few without much thought. Anything close to the Cornucopia would become the Career's territory and Esther wanted no part in that.

She ran as far as she could, finally collapsing in the grass to steady her breathing. There was the slightest sound above her, like the hum of a very polite bee. After a long while and careful observation to make sure no one else had come this direction, Esther picked herself back up and made her way to a stand of trees, where the faint humming finally stopped. There she went through the things in her bag- Food and water, some basics supplies like a simple first aid kit and sunscreen. A long rope. In the smaller bag, there was something else that looked medical, but that she couldn't identify. She stared at the building nearest to her for a long time, unsure. It was built close enough to the trees that seeking shelter in the ramshackle shed might mean she could be ambushed from the trees. But seeking shelter in the trees might mean she could be ambushed from someone behind the shed.

In the end, she kept walking. The little buildings that dotted the landscape were curious, but likely a trap, she decided. Her goal was to put herself as far away from the Careers as possible.
As night fell, only two canons sounded. Which was odd- One was the girl from District 11, which meant only one other had fallen in the bloodbath. Not much of a bloodbath, was it?

That humming she'd noticed again as she began to walk was replaced by a new noise. A snarling, dangerous noise. Coming from the edge of the Arena, and headed inwards. Esther ran.

The mutts were huge, and more terrifying than anything she had seen before, even at a distance. Not that she tried to look that closely. Eventually, she came back to the odd little barn-like structure she'd passed only twenty minutes ago in her walking, and threw herself inside, slamming the door behind her. The noises stopped. And were replaced by the most dangerous sound of all.

The voice of another Tribute. He seemed friendly enough, or at least not intent on murdering her immediately. He was from District 8, and she reckoned she could probably take him in a fight. He was awfully skinny. They agreed to a tentative truce- They would spend the night in the building together, and depart in the morning, or whenever they could no longer see the mutts outside the window.

He wanted to explore, opening the drawers and cabinets. There was food and water in the first few he opened, and he suggested they split it. They divided it evenly among themselves, though neither ate. She couldn't be sure if he was merely being a smart rationer, or if he suspected as she did- That if something had been provided in the Cornucopia, it wasn't to be found in the arena.

And then he opened the farthest cabinet. And in it were several sharp, steel knives. Perfect for gutting your opponent. "Wait," Esther shouted, noticing the unusually stark line in the floor around his feet. But he reached in with a grin to pull out a knife- And the ground dropped out beneath him. There was a sickening crunch as his body hit whatever was below. So Esther went through his supplies, and took what she could carry.

The next night, she found herself hiding from the mutts with two kids from District 5, and a girl from 10. The kids from 5 had figured out one of the weapons traps, and each held two knives. Neither would give up a knife, and the group took shifts- Esther and one of the 5's would keep watch on each other first, and then the other 5 and the 10. As the others slept, Esther asked her 5 if he had found any food, at the cabin where they'd found the knives. No, he said, and Esther passed him some of the food she'd taken from the night prior.

It was sealed in Capitol packaging, so he ripped open a nutrient bar and ate it quickly. Within minutes, he was dead. She took his knife and slit the other two's throats as they woke up from the sound of the cannon.

She killed another kid the next day, in broad daylight, that same barely there buzzing in her ear. It was easier this time. That night, she had a building to herself, but she didn't sleep, too afraid that one of the Tributes might make it past the mutts to where she hid.

She lost the knives and the smaller bag the next day to the long grasses in a fight with a Career, from which she barely escaped. When she went back for them, they were gone and she cursed herself endlessly for losing the knives. Most of the buildings within her radius had already been picked over, or had traps too difficult for her to spend half a day puzzling out.

She went over the math- 10 cannons had sounded in total. The girl from the bomb, the unknown from the first day, the boy she'd seen die in the trap. The four she'd killed. And three more. She didn't know how the unknown Tribute had died, but even if she assumed they'd been killed by the very same person who'd killed the other three - which seemed unlikely- that was four kills each. If someone was making bets, they might start betting on her. At the very least, they might think helping her would make more interesting games. Maybe she could even persuade some of them that they wanted her to be the Victor.

She found a stream, and tested the water with a finger. Her skin stayed on, so even if she wasn't going to chance drinking in it, she was probably fine to wade. She then proceeded to take the biggest risk of her life: A bath.

It wasn't a proper bath, really. She kept her pants and her lightweight bra on. But she rinsed her arms and her clavicles slowly, and laid down in the shallow water so that her hair floated above her and her clothes stuck to her when she stood. That nearly imperceptible buzzing noise became somewhat more perceptible.

Those fucking perverts, she thought. She went next to the building nearby, the one with the most difficult of traps. She made a few more attempts at solving it, with little luck. But that wasn't why she'd come. She began to cry, weeping quiet tears but keeping her face as composed as possible.

Poor, beautiful Esther. All alone, with no weapon to protect her.

Her tears began to dry, not really sustained by anything, and she feared the ploy had not worked. But there was a soft beeping sound, and she ran outside to retrieve her gift.

It was larger and heavier than she expected, and when she opened it, she found a burnished iron sickle. She would have preferred another knife if she was being honest, but she reckoned this was meant to pay homage to her district, never mind that wheat was harvested with industrial machines these days.

But she swung it through the grass and the stalks fell neatly, so she supposed it would have to do.

With each death on her hands, Esther felt her family get closer. She had to win, to get home to them. Or else, what had all this killing been for?

Eventually, it was just her and a girl from District 2. They grappled, but the other girl was the far better fighter, and she knocked the sickle from Esther's hand as they fell to the ground. She strangled Esther, and as the air left her lungs, she heard that very small hum move closer.

Rather than continuing to try for the out of grasp sickle, Esther reached up, grabbed the cloaked surveillance drone, and brought it down on the other Tribute's head.

What happened next took maybe thirty seconds.

The blow didn't kill the other girl, of course, but it gave Esther a momentary advantage of surprise. She dropped the broken drone, rolled herself and opponent over, grabbed her sickle, embedded it in the other Tribute's eye, and wrenched it down through her eye socket. She sat, breathing heavily on the dead girl's chest, having managed what no other tribute before her had done.

What happened next took maybe thirty seconds.

The blow didn't kill the other girl, of course, but it broke the drone's camera's. It was cast aside, the lenses showing a fractured view of the sky, then grass. The Gamemakers hurried to deploy a new camera, while others tried to right the fallen one. The feed switched off for half a moment, as the new drone took its place, zooming in on Esther from afar. She sat, breathing heavily on the dead girl's chest, having managed what no other tribute before her had done.

Esther had given her competitor a private death.

โ€œAnd what did you mean by that, that stunt with the camera,โ€ her escort asked her when they were reunited.

She looked at him, puzzled. โ€œI meant to survive.โ€ What other meaning could there have been?

It wasnโ€™t a good enough answer.
_____

Esther returned home, elated. The six months between her Games and her Victory Tour were the best time of her life. Her family got the first choice of houses in the Victorโ€™s Village, and they chose the largest. Her grandmother moved in, as did her sister and her husband. Her nephew was born. Her younger siblings were a little scared of her at first, but they warmed back up quickly enough- Apparently, their mother had made them stop watching Estherโ€™s games shortly after she had killed her first three opponents. Her older sister at least, seemed to understand what she had done and why she had done it, and that was a great comfort. Her mother was distant, her smiles tight around the edges. But that would fade over time, Esther was sure. Her mother would forget over time, what she had seen her daughter do. Her mother would see, how careful but generous Esther was with their new wealth. Her mother would love her again, she was sure.

Her Victory Tour was a more painful process. She no longer had interest in playing the beautiful young ingenue with the sweet smile and charming laugh, but that was who the Capitol wanted to see. The Districts of course, didnโ€™t care, but if her familyโ€™s continued happiness hinged on this, and just one yearly visit to the Capitol to be prostituted and paradedโ€ฆ She would perform. You had to make sacrifices, for those you loved.

And then there was the surprise announcement. That Estherโ€™s family would be meeting her in the Capitol for a week of sightseeing. Wasnโ€™t that exciting?

Esther didnโ€™t think so- She didnโ€™t want to have to play this part in front of the people who knew her best. And nothing like that had been done before, so why now?

Esther was woken from her Capitol apartmentโ€™s canopy bed in the early hours of the morning and brought through the city, supposedly to meet her family at the train depot. By the time she and her escort arrived, she knew something was wrong. Nevermind that they werenโ€™t at the train depot, but where were the cameras? Didnโ€™t they want to film this reunion and sensationalize it for everyone to see?

Instead, Esther stood in her nightgown in front of a one way mirror. She could see a sterile room beyond, with a drain in the floor. One by one her family memberโ€™s were marched into the room, blindfolded and gagged, even the baby. She pounded on the glass and screamed, she dislocated her shoulder trying to force the door open. She had to be forcibly pulled away by the Peacekeepers when she began to strangle her escort. They forced her to watch, as her family was slaughtered, and she could do nothing.

A train was found derailed, bodies inside wearing clothes from District 9. The work of rebels from District 4, who were so cruel as to strike at a Victor in this way. One who had worked so hard to get back to her family, only to have them taken away. At least she would still have her family in the Capitol, Flickerman assured the masses. The people of the Capitol would always keep her in their hearts, wouldnโ€™t they?

Esther was sent back to District 9 to await the next games, with Peacekeepers stationed at her house for her โ€˜safetyโ€™ from the rebels. She wished she could say she began to plot her revenge then, but mostly she plotted how to get drunk with as little effort as possible.

Upon her return to the Capitol, she was introduced to the first man who wanted to pay for a night of the pleasure of her company. Heโ€™d been the one to send her the sickle, he told her proudly.

Esther broke his arm.

In killing her family, Snow had lost his leverage over Esther. There was only her life to bargain with, and she valued it very little.

In the end, a compromise was reached, brokered by the new escort for District 9. Esther never bothered asking what had happened to the earlier one. She hoped it had been a painful death.

Esther would live in District 9, and be left to herself for most of the year. During her yearly visits to the Capitol, she would take part in a โ€˜relationshipโ€™ with another Victor. Videos of them would be filmed of the two of them, and at least once or twice a year, she would visit the other Victor in their home District, and them in hers.

The Capitol citizens wanted her to be happy, after all.

It wasnโ€™t prostitution, or guards around her home at all times, or a lobotomy, and Esther took it.

She might not have, if she had known then that she would still be just as much of a pawn in Snowโ€™s machinations as anyone else.

88th Annual Hunger Games Summary:
Esther's Games took place in a prairie-like Arena, dotted with small buildings. The Cornucopia contained the only edible food or water, and no weapons. Weapons could only be acquired through gifts from sponsors, or by dismantling the traps around them in the buildings. Mutated animals were let out every night, forcing Tributes until the buildings together. Esther surprised her final opponent by smashing her over the head with an invisible camera drone and then killing her, inadvertently causing footage interruption.

With 11 Tributes dead by her hands, Esther is the Victor with the most individual kills in the history of the Hunger Games. Others have killed more, but none were Victors of their Games.


 
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title



artist












The Berserker















R

equisite.










name


Juniper Firr







a.k.a.


Juni







age


21







Date of Birth


25th Nov







Gender & Sexual Orientation


Female // Pansexual







District


District 7







Faceclaim.


Kathryn Newton







Games Won


The 95th Hunger Games. As soon as the camera panned out on the vast forest landscape it was obvious that the winner would be from District 7, however, not one person would have guessed that the victorious tribute would be the 5'1 90lbs quiet girl who had barely spoken during her interview and lead up to the games.

Juni barely made it out of the cornucopia alive but escaped with a bag containing food, water and climbing materials. Needing to heal and wanting to escape the bloodshed, Juniper set off towards the edge of the map as she vowed to make it as far away from any other tribute in the game. She eventually came across a hiding paradise, huge Fir trees with interconnecting bushes on ground level. The Fir trees gave her hope as she climbed her namesake and took security in its dense heavy branches. Lying there late at night, she listened to footsteps approaching and looked down from her safety as she watched the boy from district 6 run through the brushes and straight into the forcefield at the edge of the arena. It took her a few minutes to figure out what had happened to the boy, watching his lifeless body falling back onto the grass but once she realised what she was beside, Juni moved a few branches away before settling into her hiding space, only leaving to gather food and water as needed. So sunken into the background that by the time there was only a handful of tribute left in the games people had even forgotten she was there, both audience and tribute alike.

As the numbers began to dwindle, Juni made her way out of hiding and began to take the other tributes down one by one, using the shelter of the leaves as she jumped from tree to tree, landing on unexpecting tributes and killing them with their own weapons. If anything she put on a great show, that was until she landed on a brach, expecting to find the remaining career tribute but instead came up empty handed. She didn't have much time to dwell in her confusion before she was stabbed in the side and pushed off the branch onto the ground below. A bleeding wound, a concussions and definitely some broken bones but she was unable to rest, unable to pity herself as she watched through blurry eyes as her prey became the predator stalking down the tree towards her. Holding her side, Juni jumped up and ran (hobbled) back towards her safety area of the first few days of the Games.

Seeing the bushes in front of her, Juni believed she was safe but a sharp pain in her back made her fall and she turned to see a throwing blade wedged under her shoulder blade, an anguished cry escaped her lips as she used the last of her strength to pull herself into the bushes and out of sight. She mocked the career tribute for not following her, hoping that they would run at full speed towards her and she was thankfully right. Juni managed to pull herself to the left and out of the way as she watched the final tribute run headfirst straight into the forcefield, a small buzzing was heard, the smell of smoke filled her senses before the lifeless body fell the ground. Hearing the final cannon, Juni crawled out of her hiding space before closing her eyes finally allowing herself to relax.














p

syche.





The girl that Juniper once was haunts her nightmares as the person she may never be again. A strong, courageous, resilient and kind girl now just a terrified and paranoid shell of her previous self. She would love nothing more than to be the Juniper before the games, the girl who enjoyed being in nature, sitting in the trees and found refuge in the forest, the girl who had all the best qualities of district 7. Not the Capitals mutt or fear bringer, the example for the districts of what happens when you cross them, a warning.

Reputation
An angry bitter girl who lost her mind at the games. Known to have attacked a capital representative on live tv and to have had various mental breakdowns that have resulted in her being sedated or her lying in a ball crying until she is carried away off screen.

Her relationship with the Hawk has helped her image somewhat as she finds their presence to have a calming effect on her, well that or the fact that the capital do not tend to trigger her into an attack as much when they are together.










M

ore





Motivation
The demise of the capital and all those that work for it. Honestly, she has nothing left to loose and there is nothing more dangerous that that. She wants to watch the lights leave the eyes of those that killed her family and tortured her in the underground lair. She wants the fighting to end, she hasn't known peace since she was reaped for the 95th Games.

Quirks
A untrusting and nervous girl she doesn't like new people and can be either cold and abrupt or quiet and cautious around them. She will normally watch to see how her allies interact with them before she will.

She rubs the scar on her side when she is nervous or extremely anxious and will also mess around with her hair, tieing it up, plaiting it or taking it down over and over again.

When she gets overwhelmed she can be found rocking in a corner muttering "Im out , Im out" quietly to herself, only interrupt this if you know her otherwise she could kill you.

DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES TOUCH HER, unless you know her or she is open to the physical contact. She takes this as a threat, thanks to the lovely President Snow and will attack as though her life depends on it.









g

allery.
































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 






the imposter
















-district 2




-Anar Khalilov










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก



Name: Aleks and Adrik Petrov
Age: both 27
Gender: both cis guys, use he/him pronouns

District: 2
Games Won: 91st Hunger Games at 18 years old

Appearance: The twins have large brown eyes, and a nose with a slight crook towards the bottom. They share a mop of light brown curls and thin lips. They have very prominent facial bones, and in recent years this has led to Adrik looking almost gaunt.

Faceclaim: Anar Khalilov

As young children, the twins were inseparable. In narrow bunks at night, they would talk and talk, only falling asleep as the day dawned. It worried their mother as they grew old enough to start school, and she feared their performance would suffer.

But it wasnโ€™t the case. In fact, they excelled. They were both charming and personable, making friends almost as fast as they learned. As they grew older they could often be found after school sitting in the dimly light kitchen, Aleks reading aloud as Adrik took apart their parentsโ€™ radio and timed how fast he could reassemble it.

Eventually, though, there was a divide. Aleks wanted to join an Academy. He had been training himself, he told their parents proudly, and was the fastest kid in their class. He was excited about the opportunity to join the Games and bring glory to their family and their District.

When asked if he wanted to join an Academy alongside his brother, Adrik considered.

He was very rational as a child, and didnโ€™t share his brotherโ€™s optimism about the whole thing. The chances that a childhood spent in an Academy would lead to a chance to compete in the Games? Slim. The chances of surviving the Games themselves? Statistically, less slim. But slim all the same.

Adrik did not want to become a Peacekeeper. And he certainly didnโ€™t want to die.

So.

Their paths diverged. Aleks went to the Districtโ€™s best Academy, and Adrik didnโ€™t. Instead, he pursued his studies- How things worked, and how to make them better. He would have a bright future in mechanics, repairing and replacing the machines that kept the Districtโ€™s industry going.

Things went on that way for awhile. Aleks excelled at the Academy, and Adrik in shadowing various mechanical engineers. They saw each other less and less frequently, but remained the otherโ€™s closest friend.
When it came time for Aleks to compete in District 2โ€™s Olympics, the family held their breath.

Aleks was far more muscular than his lean brother, but he lacked a certainโ€ฆ Physical intimidation factor that was shared by most Career Tributes. They neednโ€™t have worried.

Though it was true that his lowest score was in hand-to-hand combat, he more than exceeded expectations in every other category. He was the fastest candidate by a bit, his survival skills- an area often ignored by Academy students- were among the highest scored in the Olympicsโ€™ history, he demonstrated an ability to problem solve far more quickly than his opponents, and he ranked highly in the use of every weapon. It was a close call between him and the boy heโ€™d lost his hand-to-hand trial to, but eventually the judgeโ€™s decision came down: Aleks Petrov would be District 2โ€™s second volunteer for the 91st Hunger Games.

If Adrik had been concerned for his brother during the Olympics, it was nothing compared to the fear he felt when Aleks boarded the train.

โ€œIโ€™ll be back in the month- Less, if I can swing it,โ€ Aleks told him, a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eye, patting his brother on the back.

And true to his word, he was.

Aleksโ€™ Games were fairly unremarkable. He charmed Flickerman and the audience with his affable and easy going nature. He succeeded in creating an alliance between himself, his fellow District 2 tribute, both Tributes from District 1, the girl from District 4 and the promising young fellow from District 8. The arena was a popular enough setting- a wild forest- and the bloodbath at the Cornucopia was led by Aleks and his pack.

Adrik watched in horror, to see his brother slit the throat of a girl younger than their sister as if it were nothing.

At dinner that night was where things diverged from the usual course of events. Having gone through the contents of the Cornucopia after securing it, Aleks and his pack knew there was no food there, and set out to hunt some. Aleks set snares and caught two rabbits, which he promptly set about cooking. He even flavored them with herbs he had found.

โ€œThat smells delicious,โ€ one of his new friends told him. โ€œGuess weโ€™ll have to keep you around,โ€ he joked, and Aleks nodded with a smile.

Aleks divided up the portions, and began to eat his. The others followed suit.

Usually, it takes a few days for the Career alliance to fall apart. Aleks killed his alliance that first night, as the others in his group began to eat and one by one, fell down dead. He finished his portion, and then calmly began to eat what the others had left behind.

It was simple enough, Aleks explained to Flickerman later. He had made a study of which plants and poisons appeared in the Games most often when he first joined the Academy, and then over the years, he had built up a resistance to the top five. Simple.

With the sudden removal of the majority of the top contenders, it could have been anyoneโ€™s Games to win. Aleks killed twol more Tributes when he came across them, but mostly he tried to wait them out, allowing the others to kill themselves with poor survival choices or each other in fighting. This was not a terribly popular approach in the eyes of the Gamemakers, who came up with increasingly elaborate ways to force Aleks to compete more directly with the remaining Tributes.

After a few days of running from various mutations and โ€˜naturalโ€™ disasters, Aleks gave them the show they wanted, and was crowned the winner.

Aleks hugged his family warmly when he returned home, and if anyone noticed a hint of discomfort in the brothersโ€™ reunion, no one said anything.

Aleks was a model Victor. He was always available for an interview or comments, he gave generously to his District and preached the values of Panem, and mentored his Tributes with the intent that they would win. He was in the Capitol more often than was really required of a Victor, rubbing shoulders with the wealthy and influential. He seemed happy in his life and his role, and no one seemed to notice that he asked a lot of questions about an awful lot of topics.

And then three years ago, Adrik committed suicide. Devastated by his brotherโ€™s death, Aleks withdrew to his Victorโ€™s home, and did not emerge for months. Eventually the Games began again, and he returned to the Capitol as a mentor.

He had lost weight and muscle mass, obviously not eating well. There were dark circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and he wasโ€ฆ Reckless. His humor was dark and biting, and shared to those with whom he should have held his tongue. He flirted with anyone in distance, and fell into bed with those who had not paid for the pleasure of his company. He became a terrible mentor, and all but abandoned his young Tributes to be looked after by District Twoโ€™s other Victors in order to seek out his hedonistic pleasures. He drank heavily, and picked fights he couldnโ€™t win. It was heartbreaking for his District and the Capitol, to see one of their most beloved Victors brought so low by his brotherโ€™s death.

But hereโ€™s the thing: Adrik didnโ€™t kill himself. He didnโ€™t even die.

Instead, it was Aleks who had vanished. Previously unknown activities were uncovered by the Peacekeepers, and it was presumed he had left to join the Revolution. The truth was the sort of scandal the Capitol could not afford. Even a coverup- that Aleks had died in unknown circumstances- might be seen as suspicious, and at the very least would steal away one of the Capitol citizenโ€™s favorite Victors. It seemed wasteful to ignore such a convenient alternative when a spare was readily available.

So, Adrik was given a new life, a lie. He would take Aleks place entirely, or his familyโ€™s lives were forfeit. A funeral was held with a closed casket, and the deception began.

Of the brothers, Aleks had always been the stronger one, not just in physicality but in character. If their situations had been reversed, Aleks might have carried the burden with care and deference. But that wasnโ€™t what had happened. Adrik made for a poor imitation of his brother, and abused his new power and position. The resentment in his heart grew, and he did whatever he could to forget that he had been forced into this role by the very brother he had so dearly loved.

When his name- his brotherโ€™s name, really- was called in the Reaping, Adrik couldnโ€™t really be surprised. He hadnโ€™t behaved the way his Capitol handlers wanted him to, and now they saw a convenient way to be rid of him, and punish Aleks from a distance too.

He lived his brotherโ€™s life for a few years. Now he gets to have his brotherโ€™s death as well.

91st Hunger Games: These Games are best remembered for the moment when Aleks poisoned his alliance of Careers on the first evening with a meal he had made, and also ate himself. Though the Gamemakers were displeased to learn he had studied which poisons were common in the history of the Games in order to inoculate himself, it was largely considered a brave and daring move by the audiences and he suffered no consequences from upper leadership, with the exception of the various trials the Gamemakers put him through during the remainder of the Games.
 
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SUN-HI
















sora choi. district 4.




the jester.










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก


































TANK!.




artist












SUNNY.















I.

you have never met anyone










name


Sun-hi Park.







nickname


Sunny







age


twenty-nine.







Date of birth


April 3rd







gender & pronouns


cis woman; she/her







sexuality


gay.







district


District 4







Relation


Distant Granddaughter of the Victor of the 11th Hunger Games.













II.

as hungry and as cruel








physicality


6'1. Lanky and lithe, she is akin to a spider, a minx, something quick and easy to hide in the shadows. She makes you shiver with each pitter-patter step, so airy and free you almost forgot she was there. Prone to sneaking up on people, Sunny tries to make herself known before she speaks. Yet, you will still jump, unexpectant of a girl seemingly so meek yet so thunderous in her physique. Even she forgets this fact, more of a weapon than anything visceral. Her gaze reminds you of this fact, this self-image, as she holds a look so emotionless, only to flit away a moment later. She isnโ€™t scared, you realize. How could she be?







reference


Sora Choi







aesthetics









style


Comfort is always key with Sunny, even if she seems over-dressed. The sensory experience of clothing always bothered her, and overtime, Sunny has learned to understand and work around this. Preferring mostly monochrome and pants-shirt combos, you can find her looking almost the same day to day.







habits


Picking at hangnails, checking her closet and hallways for voices she thinks she heard, leaving out coins for good luck, buying clothes that are a size too-big so they donโ€™t constrict her throat, sitting in silence with others even if it discomforts them.







traits


aloof, somber, macabre, cold-temperament, literal, blunt, steel-souled, independent, part-time adrenaline junkie, the rock and the hard place, hard-wired, intrinsic, strategic, particular, nothing at all, loyal against her better hard-wiring, logical to a fault, sirenic, a mocha-nut shell with a softened interior, sobs in solitude but spits in your face when asked, feels most alive when close to death, stopped asking questions long ago but you can see their murderous tattooed on her lips.












III.

as me.








summary


Everyday, Sunny arrives at the Hob, dressed in her off-white Peacekeeping grieves with a gun across her chest. The permanent indentation of a scowl on her face is why people can't hold back a scoff when she reveals her name. Yes, I know. The irony isn't lost on me either. Will she ever tire of telling people her name? Because every time she does, she seems Remora's face, her name across the bottom of the television screen. But it is the delicious prick of pain behind the eyes, where tears yearn to be shed from but will never be released. That is the pain that keeps her back rod-straight after a twelve hour shift, that keeps her scowl planted on her face. Make no mistake about Sunny โ€” she has always been a glutton for pain.

Even as a child, when she began her training, she learned to make people smile. As the shorelines of her home were eroded away with increasingly dangerous and alarming levels of rain and hurricane, she would not cease to be the source of catharsis. The source of pain. The pin cushion. Remora's smile mattered most. It still does, all these years later. Sunny has never missed a Reaping, nor a Games. Like a bird at a window, she keeps throwing her body at the glass, hoping to escape.














V.

the grudging love, the old hatreds.
































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
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MAYA LATIER
















THE HAMLET.




I AM HOME TO HOPE & HATE.










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก


Name: Maya Shae Latier
Nicknames: sometimes May, other times Doll. When she was younger, well before her rather bullshit Reaping and all the sutured secrets which led to it, Maya enjoyed vulgar taunts from friends and flings alike. Try it now (away from the uptight pomp of the Capitol, of course) if you'd like to see a bit of fire from a physician.

Age: 31 y/o.
Gender: cis-female.
District: District 3.
Faceclaim: Jurnee Smollett.

Relation to Victor:
Daughter of Beedee and Wiress Latier.
wip

Reputation:
head & heart, ever apart, tearing her in two.
wip

Motivation:
Motives are known to dim or turn to dogma. Maya, though, restricts herself to one quiet belief: the world is always in need of improvement. There are far too many lives of poor and poorer quality for this passion to ever dwindle.

And, while a fair few can say they've found the interest of her mind, the fate of family will ever hold her heart; inheriting a place in the Games has only kindled her resolve.

- plenty of room here for stuff&things with THE AUTEUR, THE STAR, others

Tidbit: storytime!
wip

Quirks: โ€Š
wip

Extra:
wip

 






"HAZEL"
















THE DOVE.




MURDER OR MARTYRDOM?










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก


Name: Dimitri Emmer. Used so very little.
Nicknames: a childhood spent grasping for identity might explain Dimitri's habit of nicknaming himself and the people who enter his life. He's called Acre, Till, or โ€ŠLucky by most that meet him, Matchstick or โ€ŠClover by many who find his company open and frequent, but his favorite name โ€” told only to those whose friendship he's sure of โ€” would be Hazel. Ask him the origin of each and he'll spin their tales as tapestries.
(The man has always been extra.)

Age: 45 y/o.
Gender: cis-male.
District: District 11.
Faceclaim: Yusuf Gatewood.

Relation to Victor:
sibling to the Victor of the __th Hunger Games and father to the Victor of the __th Hunger Games.
wip

Reputation:
Some say the farmhands of District 11 argue well into the night over which resource is their signature. Could it be the fields of fallow found between dawn and dusk horizons? Maybe. Could it be the quiet fruit orchards and the disquiet ones who tend them? Just might be. Or, perhaps, is it that sharp, sordid brand of apathy sown into the soul of its world-weary people, grown wearier with every death and each family uprooted?

It'd be foolish to even suggest reason.

They go round and round for hours, reaching further than suns and starlight to prove their truth; always, the only agreement by morning is to disagree the night after. It's just like men to let harmony exceed their grasp. But Hazel?

Well, he never did hesitate to shirk a good trend.

โ€Šwip

Motivation: gotta save 'em all
wip

Tidbit: โ€Š
wip

Quirks:
- aspiring pacifist

Extra:
intended foil for THE HERMIT

 






joan calypsi shaheen
















# district 2




# the auteur




# bella hadid










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก



 
























































































































City Cop.



















artist
















































Fox.




























































I.




i get mean when iโ€™m nervous like a bad dog,








































name








Foxglove Beaumont.




























nickname








fox, bambi, lamb.




























age








Fifty-Four.




























Date of birth








September 12th




























gender & pronouns








genderfluid, he/them.




























sexuality








pansexual.




























district








District 1




























Games Won








The xxrd Hunger Games โ€” charm and public endorsements was the way they were able to win their game, a flashy smile and bubblegum sweetness kept others blinded to their hidden blade. fox was a young kid when they were reaped, being a fresh career from district 1. it didnโ€™t matter how influential their families name was, the games latched their iron claws into whoeverโ€™s flesh that glides by. sixteen and afraid for his own life, fox swallowed down the bitterness of his fears and painted a face full of pink hues and glued pearlsโ€” a sweetness came from their skin, a pheromone linked to their soft underbelly to keep others at bay, a way to enhance his chances of being picked off lastโ€ฆ who wants to kill the sweet boy with a pretty smile to match?



an over abundance of sweet, sweet sugar will cause teeth to rotten out. vanilla and decay lay waste within their aching jowls, bitterness overcoming the sweet nectar that oozes from fox. it was enough to cause people to start to hate him, their rotten teeth trailing behind them as they followed the soft pink hue that travels with him wherever he went. it was the only way he could survive this game, while he attracted honey bees with his pot of goldโ€” hornets soon began to hide underneath his nose. throughout his game he always attached himself to groups of four, hiding from within with his charms before sinking in his blade into their soft underbelly.



summer heat allowed the forest to grow wild tulips and pretty white flowers, the fallen kids would often be covered in their beauty to hide the nasty wounds inflicted by their grave keeper. they felt immense grief for the blood that soaked their skin, but it was either him or them and fox wasnโ€™t about to lay down and take an arrow to the gut. the way they acted granted them immense privileges as outside sponsors would send them gifts, a token of their investment in their abilities to climb the ladder. buying their way into the winning pool, enchanted by the strawberry and blood scented aura that followed them through the hot, swampy forest.





















































II.




i am cruel, i am gentle, i can make you laugh
































physicality








the lamb of district 1 has always been known for their soft, elegant composure yet also their slenderness of a fox. while theyโ€™ve aged quite well by the help of fancy creams and injections, foxglove cannot defy mother nature in the acts of agingโ€” wrinkles and crows feet align their soft features, smile and forehead lines are obvious but they seem to complete their personal. slicked back, black hair with sprinkles of grey layer throughout their crown, facial hair to match. A smile plastered across their features, pearly white teeth sparkle underneath the spotlight just as their neck filled with gems and crystals. as if trying to hide whatโ€™s truly underneath that sickly sight of pink they always wear, hoping that the glow of their treasure will keep unwanted eyes and filthy hands away from trying to crack them open.

strawberry and iron follow them like bees to flowers, soft hues of pink and red adorn their body like a priest to its bible. they are never seen without an assortment of perfect, white pearls clinging to their neck.




























reference








Ethan Hawke.




























aesthetics




































style








DURING/IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS GAMES, he has always been one for fashion and keeping up with anything new. while he could never get his hands on anything exclusively from the capitol within his life in district 1, most of his clothing was loosely based on their extravagant style and designs. so as soon as he won his game, fox allowed himself to indulge in the fruits of his bloody labor. before bad never been able to express themselves in clothing, so will gladly wear outfits more feminine then masculine but as long as itโ€™s something to his taste heโ€™ll put it upon his body.



AT HOME, even within the comforts of his own home fox still enjoys to put on a fun outfit. while they might not be as flashy and regal, fox still adorns themselves in silks and jewels. often wears silk robes, pearl necklaces, silk slip dresses.



IN RECENT YEARS, still wearing his iconic pink and red hues, fox still dresses how heโ€™s always been dressing. often following the new fashion trends within the capital and other high districtsโ€” sometimes mixing different district together, has been seen as a fashion icon throughout the years heโ€™s been alive.





























habits








constantly plucking out grey hairs from wherever they find them, simply because they hate how it makes them look however will not allow chemicals upon their crown of hair. if a jewel is loose on their clothes, will start to pick at it until it comes off simply for them to reattach it later. always has to twist their pearl necklaces at least four times around their neck whenever they put it on.




























traits








The lamb of District 1โ€“ a loving and charismatic soul, darling to everyone that meets them. pearly white smile so big one might think itโ€™s stapled on, a sickly sweet laugh often rumbles within their throat. they are the type of person to give the shirt off their back to one that needs one, compassionate and warm-hearted. their body beaten down to submission, yet their loving spirit was more fierce then any rabid dog.



The whore of panemaโ€” teeth sharp as knives, eyes sultry just as the way they walk. fox has often been seen latched onto the arms of rather successful and powerful men and women, a trophy that theyโ€™ve got underneath lock and key. a chain necklace tight against their throat, eyes begging for freedom yet their hands filled with champagne flutes made it appear other wise. flirty and outspoken, fox is a talent with their words and attracting everything and everyone with their sweet nectarโ€” hornets and honeybees alike. black and blue bruises covered by pink silk and moscato wine, they are what president snow whatโ€™s them to be. the whore of panema, a sultry man with a golden chain.



















































III.




i will never die, i will never die, i will die
































reputation








over the years their reputation has been smeared in the darkest of light, yet their warmth has never died. some view them as a fake, appearing and appeasing the highest bidder or the one that held their chain the tightestโ€” someone that seeks validation and pity, while wrapped in expensive silk and diamonds while others died from hunger. it wasnโ€™t true! they werenโ€™t some cheap whore, they werenโ€™t just a pretty faceโ€ฆ they justโ€ฆ weโ€™re stuck just like everyone else.



they have tried to change their public image, holding out a helping hand and giving away rationsโ€ฆ anything that would allow others to see the true version of themโ€” but after a while, anything they did only made it worse. they slowly began to feel numb to what others thought of them, slinking back into their own corner and simply trying to survive.



more info later!!
































motivation












  • claiming their own identity once again; after winning their game all those years ago, they were plucked from their home and morphed into the image that snow wanted them to be. conditioned into that of the sultry fox.




















































IV.




i pretended you were mine, it made me calm babe.
































summary










  • the first born child within the beaumont family, eldest of ten.
  • career family, whether you wanted to be trained to become one was irrelevant. they started training as soon as they were able, around the age of 5.
  • came from district 1, a prominent family with riches and a very lavish lifestyle. while they try to distance themselves from where they came from, fox cannot help but slip back into their old habits of lavish living and speechโ€” it rubs others the wrong way most of the time.
  • volunteered at the ripe age of sixteen, resulting in them winning their game. most of it was a blurry dream, each of the twelve lives they took being the only thing permeant on their mind. their slain were often given dignity, laid in pretty flowers with their eyes closed.
  • president snowโ€™s interest peaked in the young boy, how many deaths on his hands yet how elegant and pose he was in doing so. after winning, he reached in and grabbed upon fox with an iron claw. while they wanted to go home, there were other plans for the newly crowned victor.
  • hasnโ€™t seen his family in several years, not wanting to face them after everything thatโ€™s been smeared about them and the things theyโ€™ve had to do in order to survive the capital. in hopes of keeping them safe and breathing, fox chokes down the salty substances and smiles those pretty pearly whitesโ€” he must endure so they can be spared.




















































V.




i donโ€™t think about the past, itโ€™s always there anyway.
































































































































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
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the hamlet
















-district 3




-rose saito










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก





Note: Age, relevant Games, and general timeline subject to change due to collaboration!

Name: Delilah Craine
Age: 71
Gender: trans woman, uses she/her pronouns

District: 3
Relation to Victor: Daughter of the winner of the 19th and 24th Hunger Games

Faceclaim: Rose Saito
Appearance: Delilah is 5'5", with a slim build that's gotten more gaunt as she grows older. She has long, silvery white hair often worn down to her waist, but tied back when working. She typically dyes her eyebrows a darker color, and always keeps them plucked in a fine arch. Her face is lined- Not with laughter exactly, but lined nonetheless. Despite of all the advancements in anti-aging procedures (many of which her research was responsible for), Delilah has never seemed too concerned with her visible progress into old age.

More info to follow!
 

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