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Hunger Games RP!
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Hunger Games RP!
Hunger Games RP!
All right, I'm sorry, I know the Inkwell is rather overcrowded. But none of those RPs are really to my taste, and this has been nagging at me for days.
May I introduce.... the 35th Hunger Games!
So, yes, nothing really special about this. Just a normal Hunger Games, with normal tributes, and a normal arena. If we want to do a rebellion, we can, but please be willing to sacrifice your characters.
Quick few rules:
-OPS ARE A NO. Seriously, it's no fun when one of the tributes is an eighteen-year-old person from District 7 who can kill you with one throw of an axe or just with brute strength. Realistic. Please.
-Don't say you killed someone unless the character is not controlled by someone. Maybe the creators of the charrie had a special death all planned out, and we don't want to ruin it. This is a form of god-modding, which I would prefer to be kept to a minimum. A bit of it is okay, just to keep your RPs from becoming one-liners, but those big descisions, wounds, killings? Leave that to the creator, please.
-Make sure you can see all posts before posting. Just to make sure we don't have two female tributes from District 1 or something.
-Two charries max. Considering, one might be better, but if you have a special pairing planned (like me) that's okay. And I would prefer that they were both from the same district...
A bit of other stuff:
THE ARENA: The Cornucopia is at the tip of a small but very steep mountain. The tributes are place farther down around it. On the left is a deep woodland, on the right a field with a creek running through the middle-- the woods has creeks, too, though.
I was thinking we would start the RP the day of the reaping.
Okay! The boring stuff is over! Charrie sheet:
Name:
Age:
Appearance:
Personality:
District: If it isn't well-known or defined well, such as District 6 or 5, mention it here.
Weapon of Choice:
Skill: Just briefly describe your charrie's fighting abilities.
Gender:
Backround:
Other:
My charries:
Name: Lucelle Marvinforth
Age: 13
Appearance: She has red hair down to her waist and a few freckles on her nose. Her hair is up in a ponytail when doing work, but down the rest of the time. She's about average size with green eyes.
Personality: Sweet, she gets distracted a lot. A very determined and hardworking person.
District: 6, transportation
Weapon of Choice: She'll find she's all right with a sword, but heavy stuff like hammers and wrenches are better.
Skill: Not very good. She has okay upper body strength from a lot of working and (willing) labor, and good with heavy things that could be weapons, but not much else.
Gender: Female
Backround: Her mother (dead) was an Avox, and she inherited the muteness, although she does have a tongue. She grew up in a one-story house with her father, where she developed a love for trains, which was what he did for a living. When she turned ten, she started to help out in the factory where he worked, and was soon welcomed as a full-fledged member. She was homeschooled, because one who couldn't speak wouldn't do so well in a public school. That, and the fact she had been determined "mentally unstable," although she only retreated into her own dim wispy world when she was alone.
Other: One of her only friends is Rick, featured below...
Name: Richard (Rick) Thompson
Age: 15
Appearance: Short black hair and olive black eyes. His eyebrows are unusally thin, with a rather soft face. He's stocky but not very tall.
Personality: As kind as he looks, and quite patient, but with a nasty streak for revenge. It's hard for him to get over a grudge...
District: 6
Weapon of Choice: Something heafty, like a club or axe.
Skill: Moderate. His natural build gives him the upper hand, but he doesn't have experience like Lucelle.
Gender: Male
Backround: His parents were on the poorer side but old friends of Lucelle's father, and he pretty much watched her grow up from birth. While he didn't have the natural talent of engineering like she did, he tried to help out at the factory with her when he could.
Other: N/A
Okay! If I missed anything, let me know!
Let the 35th Hunger Games begin!
submitted by St.Owl, age Recarnated, Everywhere
(December 8, 2015 - 7:35 pm)
(December 8, 2015 - 7:35 pm)
:o
Wow thanks so much!!
Anyhow, I wanted to wait until someone else posted but I couldn't! Also I'd like to change the time line of this post a bit (sorry I take writing stories really seriously for some reason!)
--- Note: so this happens before the dining banquet.
"But darling, you must pick a new outfit!" excalimes Victoria, eyeing my overalls disapprovingly."Once you step off this train you will immediatly be in the chariot ceremony!"
"So?" I protest.
Our escort gasps and covers her chest with her bony hand. "So? So! The Capitol will see you! The President will see you!"
"Go easy on her, Viki," barked Andrea, standing by. "She just wants the freedom to choose the clothes she likes."
Victoria coughs and glances at her. "Well, freedom is something we are in arguably short supply of, and it is something we can't worry about right now."
I sigh. I don't want to start a fight--there's too mich of that already. "Who's my stylist?"
"Oh good. I knew you'd come to your senses."
She claps her hands together with satisfaction and with a small wave, ushered in another woman holding a clipboard and a measuring tape. A pencil tucked behind her ear draws attention to her large disk earrings.
"Hello," she says, "I'm Louise. And you must be Nova."
I smile weakly. "Um, hi."
"Well, I better leave you two in private." Victoria winks at us and scoots out of the room, with Andrea tagging along.
"First," says Louise, pointing at my face as if it were covered with red spots, "let's do something about your glasses."
"What's wrong with them?" I reply, pushing them up. "They help me see."
"Oh I know, but they're just . . ." She shudders as if she were describing a hideous beast. ". . . can you do contact lense?"
"They make my eyes itch."
"I think I little discomfort is worth the praise of the Capitol."
I glare at herm hoping my purpl irises will make an impression like they do on normal people.
"Okay then," she says quickly, "no contact lenses." She turns around and flings open the doors of a large wooden closet. "Next, you pick out an outfit and I alter it according to your measurements and taste."
"Does it have to be a dress?" I groan. Dresses are pretty, but not my favorite.
"Usually, but not always." After rooting around for a few seconds, she whips out a tight, green jumpsuit. "Aha! I think this color would look splendid on you! Maybe add a few teal rhinestones to the collar? Hmm? Going as seaweed would fit your personality perfectly. You are from District 4."
I cringe at the costume. "But I'm not from--" I catch myself before I give it away. "What I mean was . . . mind if I take a look?"
Louise shrugs and steps away. "Fine. Go ahead."
I rummage through the closet and see all sorts of things. Pairs of shoes, scarves, shawls, jewelry, makeup . . . in all sorts of colors, like a giant rainbow you could wear.
After tugging on sleeves and pushing hangers away, I finally pull out a piece of clothing I though was beautiful.
"This," I say strongly, showing it off, "I want to wear this."
***
I stand in front of the crystal clear mirror, gazing at myself for the hundredth time. I turn around then I look at my other side. Then I turn around again--and I see Trevor standing there.
"Pfft," he scoffed, "would you stop admiring yourself and get back to reality?"
"And what is reality?" I ask.
"That you look like a jellyfish."
I smirk. "That's the whole point."
Suddenly, Victoria barges in. "Darlings! Come now! We're here! We're here at the Capitol!"
She grips our hands as she leads us off the train onto a stone path.
"Now, backs straight, grins on, and it is showtime!" She pushes open two heavy doors to reveal a giant courtyard.
I look around and gasp. There are thousands of people, more than I ever saw before, all cheering and clapping in bleachers that seem to go on for infinity. Though they aren't lies. They've caked on their best makeup, with bright colors. They look like a giant mengerie of peacocks.
Then, our escort leads us to a big, woven chariot, with intricate carvings on the side in the designs of swirls, stars, and moons. It was pulled by a single horse, a black stallion. With the lessons of animals I learned from District 10, I carefully approach the mammel. His reins and halters are tight, I can tell. I stare into his eyes and see a plea for help. Scars cover his back. I realized the Capitol must not treat their animals kindly, either.
I peer around me. I siddenly notice a girl with drak brown hair staring at me. It's Gena. I can tell she's curious on how I'm so good with livestock.
I gulp and quickly climb into the chariot.
***
Soon, we start moving. We go in a circle, showing off ourselves to the proud peacocks. I hope they like my outfit--it's a short, purple ballgown, with a few special touches added by me. Louise sewed on a layer of bright blue mesh, and added ocean-green fringes to the bottom. It's got long sleeves, made fron swirly lace. In the middle is a red sash.
Surprisingly, I finally want to smile. Watching everyone else and hearing their names being called out, I grab Trevor's hand, whether he likes it or not, and raise our arms above our heads. I take a peek at my cuff bracelet, made from silver, in the shape of an octopus.
"Presenting the tributes from District 4, Nova and Trevor Cockane!" booms the giant speakers.
Bright lights shine in our faces, almost blinding me. As we pass through the center of the crowd, I catch a glimpse of the young President, standing at a podium. His hair is thick and white--white as snow. His eyes are a cold and dark gray, and something ominous and horrifying is behind them.
I already know what his misdeeds are.
Somehow our gazes meet, and I can't help it--I give him the angriest, nastiest glare I could muster.
He lifts his head slightly and stares back, undaunted. He slowly claps, and I realize I just did the most regrettful thing ever.
Suddenly, our horse stops. He whinnies and lifts his front legs. The fhariot begins to tilt, throwing us off balance. We grab the sides and stare ahead and see that the one in front of us just went up in enormous flames. Something spooked the horse of that one, and I assume a torch got knocked over. The chariot is soon a pile of black ashes, and the kids who were in it are severely burned. The rest of the crowd becomes silent and starts murmuring and whispering. People crowd around the accident, and the ceremony has come to a bief pause.
The man with snow-white hair is still slowly clapping.
(January 29, 2016 - 8:29 am)
On to the chariots, then!
~Gena~
I would never have thought Pippin was capable of this.
True to her word, there has been a lot of "finagling" with the dress. Somehow, my chest and hips look larger- appealing to the Capitol, perhaps, but not to me. The rest, though...It looks like a ball gown, the most extravagant ball gown I have ever laid eyes on. The skirt is full, neon yellow at the waist fading to dusky gold at the hem; every time it moves, I could swear tiny holographic-style lightning bolts streak across the fabric. The bodice is black, long-sleeved, and very tight, with a network of golden yellow wires all over. The most impressive part, however, is the "tail": a fan of peacock feathers, gold with the "eyes" jet black. Gold gloves, necklace, crown, and overstated makeup complete the ensemble.
Looking at myself in the mirror for the first time, I am hard-pressed not to gasp at the sartorial miracle. If Courante looks anything at all like this, we are likely to make a bigger splash even than Ariana!
I would not call myself beautiful; I am still too short and stick-figured, my nose too large and hawklike, my cheekbones too high and sharp for that.
No, I am not beautiful.
I am elegant.
Courante turns out to have a cape, made of the same material as my skirt and trimmed with black fur. His suit is black, richly embroidered in yellow and gold, the designs vaguely electrical. His knee-high boots are gold as well, and we each carry a scepter. The carriage, when we finally enter it, is, quite simply, fit for a Queen.
I assumed, going into these Games, that I would be mortified at every possible opportunity. However, I feel there is no harm in conceding that my expectations have been reduced to rubble, bad presumptions and therefore flawed logic. There is no mortification here.
In fact, I rather think that for what time I have left, I shall enjoy myself.
There is an unexpected snag during the actual ceremony: two chariots behind us, the District 7 conveyance goes up in flames. My regal demeanor does not slip; two injured tributes mean that much better odds of survival. If they die, new tributes will be picked. I doubt the Capitol will be happy, in any case.
It is only after the ceremony, replaying it over and over in my head, that I realize several things: The District 4 girl, Nova I believe, is unusually good with land animals; I was wrong about making more of a splash than Ariana, she's a crowd-pleaser even when she hasn't been transformed into a sort of breathtakingly gorgeous "avenging angel"; and whoever coordinated Rick and Lucelle's clothing needs to have their head checked.
(January 30, 2016 - 11:46 am)
Ariana ~ The small silver dress makes me look beautiful, and adorable, all at the same time. And Thrawn, well, I'm afraid he's …weird. They ruined him. That's all I can say. He's just wearing a black suit with a silver tie. But I look dazzling. We're led to a beautiful white chariot, with white horses. "Presenting Ariana and Thrawn, the tributes from District one!" I can't help but smile broadly at the crowds. They scream and throw flowers at me. I blow a kiss at them like Diamondshine did. They all scream and wave their hands in the air wildly. I'm even more popular than Diamondshine was.
Right as we we're being led back into the stables, we hear that the district three chariot caught on fire. My voice catches in my throat. How-why-I can't speak. I'm devastated. What will happen to the Games? I know they won't stop them. It's too much to hope for.
(January 30, 2016 - 1:17 pm)
Lucelle~
"For District Six, Richard Thompson and Lucelle Marvinforth!" the announcer calls as our chariot is pulled to the circle. The horses are a stormy grey, matching my dress well but completely contrasting with Rick's suit.
We meet eyes for a minute, just a moment, as they traipse in. But then we avert gazes, Rick staring straight ahead, me beaming at the crowds. Contrasting, just like Rick and the horses.
We discussed it all this morning-- Rick, Ivy, Harriet, Justin, Marcus (Rick's mentor), Bonnie, and me. We agreed, somewhat grudgingly, for Rick to be an emotion-filled, heartbroken boy who is above all and yet sunk to the lowest depths of the ocean, and me to be a cheery, optomistic, naïve young child.
They had finally, finally realized that the speechless tribute had something to say and gave me a pencil and pad of paper so I could share my thoughts, where I complained most angrily about both personalities. But they all-- including Ivy-- pointed out that the idea of personalities was not to show who we were but who the Capitol wanted us to be. I would have argued more but for the fact Ivy agreed with them.
So I'm acting like an eight-year-old on a chariot.
"Look," Ivy had said, "and don't take offense, because you know it's true-- you're mute. You can either use that to make you an instant target and the one everyone's going to ignore, or you can manipulate it to make you the pitied, the kind, the one the crowds are going to look at and go 'aww.' Being yourself doesn't help you survive until you're in the arena. Once you're there... then you can be the expert engineer I know you are."
So as I stand in the chariot, beaming and waving, smiling at everyone, even jumping up and down, those are the words being repeated to me.
"The one the crowds are going to look at and go, 'aww.'"
"Manipulate it to make you the pitied, the kind."
"Once you're there, you can be the expert engineer I know you are."
So here I am.
Lucelle Marvinforth, the one that fancies herself an eight-year-old.
(January 30, 2016 - 3:34 pm)
Ttttttoooooopppppp!!!!!
(February 5, 2016 - 9:01 am)
Sorry I haven't posted here, St. Owl...
Caitlyn~
I can't believe I've been chosen... I wonder if that's really a good thing. I think, then try to brush that thought off. But it stays. I'm starting to get a bit annoyed now. I need to suceed where Weyne failed. My family's counting on me. My district's counting on me. I'm counting on me. I need to win these so- called 'games'. I need t- I'm startled out of my thoughts by Lucinda, my stylist. "Darling, we need to find your outfit for the parade," She says in a overly- cheery voice. "Here's the choises." Inwardly I groan. I've been through this before, when we were 'finding the perfect dress' for me to wear to the party. But I say, without much real inthusiasm, "Oh, yay. That's justperfect, honestly." Lucinda beams. "I knew that you'd be excited! You can be a horse," She points a long, dull brown dress. I immediately think No way. "A firefly," The firefly dress is a shimmery, sparkly deep green. Sparkly isn't my style, but I could wear it if there isn't any other good choices. "A flower," The flower dress is dazzling. It's a buttercup yellow dress that flows into a beautiful jade green. There are small shining glass butterflies to acompany it in my hair, and jade green twining high- heeled sandle shoes, but before I can say, 'I want to go as the flower' Lucinda presents me with a horrid sparkly hot pink dress. "Or you can go wearing the traditional Distict Seven dress."Uhg. NO WAY. Lucinda beams at me expectantly. "I'll be a flower." I say inthusiastically. "Okay! A flower it is!" Lucinda practically shouts, infinity times infinity more inthusiastically than me. Somehow I'm almost exited about the games. Almost.
Swift says "eetg." Eek? What are you scared of, Swift? You're a dragon.
(February 6, 2016 - 1:52 pm)
2nd post of mine to the 35th Hunger Games!
Caitlyn~
This dress even feels like a flower. I think as I rub the soft fabric between my fingers. "Don't touch that!" Lucinda says, a smile still pasted on her face. I don't think her smiles are ever real. Lucinda snatches my hand away and wheels the cart to the other side of the room, then looks at me expectantly. I know that she wants me to sit down. The reason why I don't, obviously. "The stylist for the male tribute, and both of your trainers, will be coming over in a few minutes," Lucinda says, in a falsely peppy voice. I feel muddled. On the one hand, I like my trainer, Nissa, and on the other hand, Werden acts like I'm dirt because I'm from a lower- class family than him. And he acts like he's the king of the world. Well, I'm not dirt, Werden. I'm not. Just then, a very loud knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts. I'm about to say 'come in' but the door bursts open and Werden steps in, regarding the room with distaste. I grit my teeth, but I say "Come in, everyone." Nissa and Lucinda sit down on either side of me and start talking to the other stylist and trainer. I jump in, but the conversation is not something I am really interested in, so I grap my sketchpad and a pencil and draw a picure. I says in creative letters:
DISTRICT SEVEN
PRESENTS TO YOU:
CAITLYN OWENS
AND
werden illusion
I stifle a laugh. Werden Illusion is so tiny you can hardly see it, whereas Caitlyn Owens takes up most of the page.
Swift says "thry." Yes, Swift, you can say three. Good job!
(February 6, 2016 - 3:27 pm)
Welcome, Coconut the dog! I thought you weren't going to do this, but we're glad to have you anyway!
Also, wasn't Caitlyn from District 9, not District 7? (Don't worry- you're not the first person to mess up their tribute's district...)
~Gena~
My trainer is the first non-idiotic Capitol resident I have met to date.
His name is Kamdan, and his "look," like Pippin's punk princess, is science-fiction warrior to a T. His hair is its natural brown, tied back in a ponytail. His tunic and trousers are green, his leather boots brown, and he wears some sort of armor on one arm- not sure why, unless it's for appearance alone. He doesn't strike me as the type to wear anything as large and heavy as armor without good reason. Interesting.
"Okay, let's cut to the chase," he states without warning about half a second after striding into the room. "You're small but smart, correct? And good with anything electric?"
"That about summarizes it, yes."
"So the things you need to work on are natural skills, conventional weaponry - I expect you haven't used much of that - and maybe a little bit of strength training, huh?"
"I do not believe three days of strength training would do me much good."
"Alright, then we'll skip that. No offense, but you need some catching up. We'll start you on edible plants, archery, things like that. Variety is everything; don't spend too long on any one skill. Oh, and I want to see what you're really good at. Anything to show?"
I do not speak. Instead, I cross to the opposite wall, where blunted versions of countless different weapons hang. A split second after I take a long bullwhip down from its hook, the tip snaps six inches above Kamdan's head.
He chuckles, a tad nervously. "So that's what you're really good at, is it? I think we can work with that."
I like this man more every minute.
(February 21, 2016 - 9:54 pm)
TTTTTOOOOPPPPP.
I MEAN IT.
TOP.
Koda says rpow. That's the spirit, Koda! POW this RP straight to the TTOOPPP!!
(February 28, 2016 - 9:10 pm)
Why will you not top?! You need to top! Right now!! I mean, seriously RIGHT NOW!!! TTTTOOOOPPPP!!!!
TOP! TOP! TOPTOP! TOPTOPTOP!! TTTTTOOOOOPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!
(March 3, 2016 - 7:00 pm)
ALL RIGHT, THINGYMABOBTHREAD! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIE ON ME! NO WAY!
Rick~
"What about my mentor? Isn't my mentor supposed to be my trainer?"
Alex, my trainer, laughs. "Oh, come on. You really want a drunk, haunted by horrible memories, to teach you how to survive? Marcus is your mentor, no? He's horrible. No, the times when he's actually sober he's having flashbacks. So, I'm here to help."
I stare at him. This guy is blunt and really rather rude. "How nice of you," I say cooly. "Where do you want to start?"
"Tell me about you. Do you know about plants? Fighting? Basic camping skills?"
I scratch my head. "I suppose... I'm strong. Really strong. But we don't have many plants in District Six. And the only way I know how to make fire is by putting the wrong fuses together."
"But you're good with fighting."
I nod.
"Okay then," Alex says, "We'll work on your survival skills..."
___
Sorry this didn't really provide anything. It's more of a topper post.
(March 4, 2016 - 6:44 pm)
OH YESSSSS
Oh, how you will not believe how much I hoped the first RP I joined would not become a zombie.
Oh, how zombies are bad.
Ohhhhh, YOU WILL NOT BELIVE HOW MUCH OF THIS RP I ALREADY PLANNED OUT!
Oh, how I didn't want all that planning to go to waste.
(March 5, 2016 - 2:17 am)
My thoughts exactly!!! Including the bit about planning it all out!
I'm so glad there are still other people on this RP. We've got it topped; now all we have to do is keep it there! FOR PANEM!!
*coughs* Sorry, just ranting. Onward to the post.
~Gena~
Forget symbolic costumes and first impressions. This may well be the best chance I get to gather information, of a slightly more pertinent variety.
Just gazing around the room at the other tributes, all dressed in more or less the same black bodysuit, tells me more about their actual prowess than the past two days combined. Freed of all poorly tailored suits, Rick looks a far more formidable opponent, as does Juno from District 2. By contrast, the District 9 boy - one Werden Illusion, I believe - appears to be the pompous but weakish sort. Nova from 4 and Ember from 12 share a similar build, as do Lark from 11 and Lucelle from 6, though in both cases the latter person seemed far more waiflike at first glance.
We all stand in a loose semicircle, flanked by our trainers. Looking at Courante's, whom I hear is called Tado, I am inclined to think he might have been better off with his mentor, Buzz: a hulking twenty-year old brute of a man, the one who won the Games two years ago. This is a fact I intend to keep from Ariana, for as long as I deem it necessary (or until Courante is idiot enough to tell her himself, which would render the point moot).
"Tributes!" A military bark from somewhere in front of us arrests my attention. It comes from a chocolate-skinned man in an outfit not dissimilar to ours, his head shaven, black eyes glittering. Once he's sure every eye is riveted on him, he launches into a speech without preamble. "I am Captain Haruu, your Head Trainer. We're running a bit behind schedule" - he glowers at the horse-faced redhead from District 8, who arrived several minutes late - "so I'll make this quick. Rules are as follows: no one is allowed on the strength-training equipment without supervision; there will be absolutely no fighting amongst yourselves, armed or otherwise; no hogging a specific station for more than an hour if there's another tribute waiting to use it; and if your Trainer says to stop using something, you stop. No questions asked. That goes for me as well. If you need anything, like a drink of water or the facilities, just ask. I think that about covers it; any questions?"
The cavernous training room remains dead silent. Captain Haruu is, in a word, intimidating.
"Alright then." He claps his huge hands once and rubs them together. "Go to it, and may the odds be ever in your favor."
************
Sorry this is just a filler. I'm getting things into the training stage. (By the way, at the end there when Haruu's talking, I nearly wrote "may the Force be with you" instead of "may the odds be ever in your favor," but caught myself at the last second. Sigh...)
(March 5, 2016 - 9:47 pm)
Nova ~ After the long, eventful ceremony, it's time for the real stuff. No more glittering ballgowns or fancy tuxedos. Instead, we're put inside tight bodysuits, slick as silicone and black as night. Mesh lines the joint areas for flexibility, but it's still not comfortable.
I'm standng in a large circle, next to Trevor, with the other tributes. In the middle is the head trainer, Haruu.
He says a quick message, and then we disassemble into pairs. Seriously, I wonder, why there has to be so many people following me around. First it's our escort, then our mentor, then my stylist, and now a personal trainer?
I shrug as he leads me to a wall of blunted tools. "Hello Nova. I'm Adrian Russo. I'm here to get you prepped for the arena."
As I look at him, I notice he seems nervous. He's skinny, but tall, and I can tell he's the kind who's been misunderstood but comes out on top at the end.
"Okay . . . , " I reply slowly.
"So, what's your main skill?"
I suddenly freeze. My mind goes into a panic. My main skill?! I've ventured through every District! I don't have one main skill. I have almost 13! I don't know what to say. If I say everything, he'll know something's up. If I say just say fishing and water," he'll treat me like a baby and make me learn about stuff I already know. After a few minutes, I decide to repond truthfully.
I take a deep breath . . .
"I know how to fish, how to swim, how to mine for coal, how to tend livestock, how to grow plants, how to make textiles, how sew, how to--"
"Okay, okay," he says, giggling slightly, "I get it. You can do a lot of things. But do you know how to fight?"
I think for a moment. "Yes. I'm good with hunting tools."
(March 6, 2016 - 2:06 am)
Hi!! Sorry this is really late, I just want to test out Chatterbox. (I'm new)
Name: Rilla Archer
Age: 14
Appearance: Long red hair, emerald green eyes. She has a pointed chin and surprisingly fair skin.
Personality: Doesn't speak much, tends to hang out by herself, when she does speak it's very shallow and she never speaks her mind.
District: 4
Weapon of Choice: A dagger or knife
Skill: Moderate. She's good at sneaking around so she can get a good angle for her knife, but she's not the best at dodging blows.
Gender: Female
Backround: Her best friend, Smith, was murdered after being caught stealing and so she was left alone to help her tempermental father fish.
Other: None
(March 6, 2016 - 1:07 pm)