Pyrope Castellano -D1- FIN

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But I am what I am and that's all that I am
I shoulda told ya not to get your hopes up
Again and again, I will till I can't...
So don't get your hopes up
I'm just a..

I’m a hot mess.

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There’s no other way to describe it. Pyrope couldn’t even start to tell you where it all went wrong. Maybe she was just born that way. Maybe she was just damaged from the get go…or maybe deep down under those bright blue eyes was a secret mission to be the world’s biggest f*ck up. Either way it didn’t matter as she spent her days in the depths of the training center learning balance and skills far beyond what a girl should know…however when you’re expected to end up slicing off the heads of other children nothing is beyond what you should know. Her hair often dirty and unwashed would stand in tangles around her angular face. The color ranging from bleach blonde, jet black, and even sometimes pink, never paid any attention unless she was trying to woo a boy like a praying mantis. Pyrope didn’t care who it was, as long as she was the one in control.

Her nose was always a source of frustration as she’d try to look past its points and size. It was her father’s nose, not that it made any difference, but she felt it ruined the whole aesthetic of her face. If only Pyrope was from the Capitol, then she could change it on a whim. Not that her parents didn’t have enough money to let her do what she wanted, they often left her for days on end without any real supervision. Those were the days where her general hygiene seemed to slack off a bit more. She wasn’t disgusting but she could stand to shower a bit more than she did. Her body was decorated with random tattoos and sayings to urge her to keep moving forward, reminders that she didn’t have to have anyone but herself.

It was hard to fit little Pyrope into one box when it came to her personality. She’d bounce somewhere between catty to downright bitchy all the while keeping her eyes and curves on any boy who’d look her way. She wasn’t too picky, just as long as they’d let her scratch and claw her way through whatever fun she felt like having. Most the time she’d forgot their names as quickly as they came into her life, tossing a cigarette between her lips with a teasingly dismissive smile. Nothing more than quick distractions for the boredom of everyday life[/color]. Pyrope should’ve been spending her time swinging a blade or lifting the sets of weights her mother had wanted her to excel in, yet that burning rebellious teenage streak had her falling into bed with whoever she felt.

That’s not to say she didn’t have fun at the training center, pretending she was breaking bones and shattering people’s dreams. There was something soothing in the throw of a punch, the crack of knuckle and bone against flesh. The sound echoing around her like the most beautiful symphony. The dance of the fight lifting her up on her toes and down crouching low…it was Pyrope’s most comforting place in the ring of the training center. She felt as if it was truly home.

There were rumors spread through the school about her, not that she even really paid much attention to them, silent whispers of her escapades and nightly dalliances. be She slept with him just so he’d stop looking at her like that. or She broke her trainers nose three times in less than a month. Too bad she’s too chicken to volunteer.[/color] Pyrope wasn’t too chicken though, she was too smart to. Sure if her name was called she’d stand up there on the stage and look down at the others with a smug face full of pride, but realistically she just had more fun doing what she was doing now. She didn’t need the glory, but it wouldn’t hurt.

You see the Castellano’s had never had anyone in the games, and that was a big deal in District 1. Where the guts and a the pride and the adoration of those around them were almost as important as air. Pyrope’s brothers were all too old now. Each one of them breezing through The Reapings as if it was just another day. Pyrope’s father hadn’t been in, or his brother, or his father, or anyone as far back as time could remember. So as much as her parents would’ve liked it, it didn’t seem like their darling daughter would be the start of the Castellano tradition.

As a child she was sullen and almost over weight at some points in her early teenage years, almost rolling her eyes with a sneer. The attitude of a teenager written across a preteen’s face. Though with her training she soon lost the extra padding and a sharp witted sharp faced woman emerged. From there the rest is somewhat written in the stars. The smart aleck young ingénue who never wanted more than a smoke and a screw, now waiting to show everyone that it doesn’t matter what you do. In the end you’re just one hot mess.

Now you can find Little Miss Beat Your Ass hidden away in the dark corners of the gym, finger crooked, calling you closer and closer to your demise. She’d eat you for breakfast if you’d let her.[/i][/color] Her teasing lips and sparkling dead eyes offering things your mind could only imagine. Pyrope was the one to make the call though. You couldn’t come to her without feeling the wrath of her inner demons. So wait your turn she’d whisper leaving men and women hanging on baited breath, because maybe next time it will be you.

But I am what I am and that's all that I am
I shoulda told ya not to get your hopes up
Again and again, I will till I can't
So don't get your hopes up, I'm just a f*ck up
I hear her screamin' "Who you wanna be, son?"
Like a voice of reason in my head
Don't wanna be a rerun "Go and talk to Jesus,
If he can't heal ya, no one can"

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