Ares Theos Elder {District 2}

{ Ares Theos Elder

{ District 2
{ Fifteen
{ Male

{ appearance

Ares scowls like a typical Career. He struts, smirks, glares, and holds himself like a typical Career. His very aura indicates that he is a typical Career; just by looking at him, one gets the impression: typical Career.

Besides the fact that he is so much more than what most consider to be a typical tribute-in-training, Ares does fit the build, the stance, the facial expressions expected of a Career tribute. A shock of dark hair — black, glossy, and mussed up in front — sits atop his pale-skinned, yet decidedly Career face. His still-hairless jaw is square and strong and proud, occasionally pushed out in arrogance or defiance, giving his head a commanding, maturer shape than most boys of his age are usually graced with.

Just above his jaw sit Ares's thin lips, whose lack of color causes them to not stand out against his pale — almost ghostly— skin, which is in sharp contrast to his black mane. On the rare occasion that he cracks a grin or, more likely, an arrogant smirk, abnormally large, somewhat pointed canine teeth give just the right air of bloodlust for someone who takes pleasure in intimidating people. In contrast, his front teeth are quite flat, though also somewhat overlarge, though nobody would dare criticize him for it.

His mouth is an average size, though his broad, slightly up-turned nose gives it the impression of being slightly smaller than it is. This almost bat-like feature sits up slightly higher on his face than most people's do, with wide nostrils that are plainly visible when Ares is looked at head-on. His nose is the physical aspect of himself that Ares would be most likely to change if he could, though he doesn't put much stock into beauty; the only thing about looks that the Career cares for is whether or not they can be used for intimidation purposes.

On either side of his thick nose, two small, deep-set eyes sit. These are constantly surrounded by dark circles, whether Ares is well-rested or not. The irises are a very pale blue — grey, almost; steely — though the color is hardly visible, often engulfed by his coal-like pupils, unless he is right in your face. His eyes have rarely reflected kindness, warmth, or anything besides cruelty or arrogant superiority.

These dark eyes are given the impression of being even smaller than they are by the long, black eyebrows that rest on top of them. Ares's natural, serious expression is somewhere between a furrowed brow and a glare, which keep his eyebrows low on his forehead, which is neither too big or too small — not that anyone could tell, seeing as more often than not, it is covered by his shaggy hair. That thick mess on top of his head is the reason why few see Ares's ears, which are a little bit on the small side and tapered ever-so-slightly at the tips.

The rest of his body is much like his face: pale skin, slightly more mature than average for his age. His shoulders are squared off, though his arms aren't overly muscular; his neck is somewhat thick, an adam's apple protruding.

Between his squared-off shoulders sits a somewhat thick, though long, neck, from which an adam's apple protrudes; beneath them hang his arms, which are strong but not overly muscular. At five feet, eleven inches, Ares is on the tall side for his age, though he doesn't stand among the largest in his district.

{ personality

Other people see Ares as the sort of person that they love to hate. Most people his age know that he's cruel, manipulative, dominant, and bullying, and yet, at the same time, they constantly vie and compete with one another for his approval. Among his peers, Ares is used to his place at the top of the food chain, which feeds into his large-yet-fragile ego. This doesn't mean that he can't handle not being the top dog for short periods of time; when his circle of groveling friends casts him aside, he does the same in return. Holding himself as superior to them is all that he truly needs to reel them back in.

Ares is thoroughly convinced that he doesn't need anyone. He doesn't need his abusive uncle, he doesn't need his social circle, he doesn't anyone's approval to do anything. However, what he doesn't realize is that without the worship of others, he cracks. Though generally considered to be devoid of feelings or emotions, he still relies on human companionship, as he needs somebody to admire him. By far, Ares would much prefer to be well-respected than well-liked, which is a good thing, as the fifteen-year-old is very difficult to completely like. For his entire life, he's been a bully; dominating others is his livelihood.

Beneath his façade of being powerful and detached from everyone else, he is unquestionably insecure. From the time he was a toddler, his abusive uncle had him convinced that he was completely worthless, and deep down, Ares really believes it. He's ambitious because he's terrified of being a disgrace or an embarrassment, and, though he despises the man, Ares still tries to please his Uncle Ares (for whom he is named) despite the fact that he knows nothing will ever work to earn the praise of the man who is as cruel and bitter as he is.

{ history

The Games have always been more important than Ares. From his infancy to the present day, the Games have dominated every facet of his life and upbringing. Born on the Reaping Day that eighteen-year-old Mars Elder stepped up to be the male tribute for their district, Ares never even met his biological father; his only glimpses of the Career tribute were the flashes of him getting his head bashed in via flail in the bloodbath, courtesy of his district mate. Memories of his mother are also nonexistent, as Minerva Arrius volunteered for the Games the following year, leaving Ares in the care of her resentful half-brother, Ares Arrius, a bitter ex-Career stone miner that had always disliked children.

He was always told that he was lucky that he'd had his uncle, and Ares had always believed it. After all, he had a roof over his head (even if that roof was the rafters in the attic) and food to eat (usually, unless it was part of his training) and, most importantly, the sort of opportunities that weren't offered to orphans that were sent to the community home, the sort of opportunities that had the potential to make someone very wealthy. That is, so long as they were competent and worthy. The sort of person that Ares was so frequently told that he was not. Of course, no one really ever told him that he was just as well off as the rest of his family had been; there were no victors on either side of his family. Absolutely none. Once he knew, though, Uncle Ares drove the point home: Are you going to be the one to bring honor to this family? Because you, boy, are a disgrace! I'm ashamed to share any bloodlines with you at all!

He was always told that he was lucky that Ares Arrius was kind enough to keep him, and that it was perfectly normal for mischievous, naughty little boys such as himself to be punished for their misdeeds. After all, he had to learn right from wrong somehow, didn't he? He had to learn not to vomit on his uncle's good shoes somehow, didn't he? He had to learn that he was expected to do his drills whether he had supervision or not, didn't he? And he had to learn somehow not to ask questions about whether or not other children received the same form of reprimanding, didn't he? Six-year-olds certainly had to learn their lessons somehow, so Uncle Ares the elder taught Ares Elder (the younger) with the same ideology that he'd been raised: spare the rod, spoil the child.

This, of course, is why it came as little surprise that Ares began to behave in the same way that he'd witnessed his uncle behave: beating on his classmates, whether they were larger or smaller, teaching them lessons for everything from taking the stick that he'd wanted to looking at him the wrong way. Among his peers, his unyielding brawling prowess and tolerance of pain ("I bet you I can hold this hot coal for longer than you can!") made him an object of worship — after all, he'd had the very qualities valued by many of arguably the fiercest Career district literally beaten into him. The sense of being respected and revered filled up the hole in Ares's life where love and affection was meant to go; his ego swelled, and he became drawn to power, fixated on the idea of being the best.

This only made him work harder at his Career training, which, in turn, earned him — at ten years old — the closest thing to praise that he'd ever received from his uncle, which, in turn, made him strive to be perfect even more. He'd quickly grown accustomed to manipulating his friends and acquaintances to his will, and, as always, was thrilled by the results. People trusted and admired him to the point where he was no longer challenged to win their allegiance, and, at the moment that Ares became aware of it, everything changed. People were no longer the groveling minions that he so enjoyed enslaving; they became gnats, buzzing around, yearning to hear his praise (though he seldom offered this to anyone) and irritated him to the end of his wits. Where he once found pleasure, Ares now found only frustration.

Fortunately, salvation to this predicament came in the form of an older Career boy, one who'd moved to Ares's neighborhood from across the district. Knowing nothing of Ares nor of his reputation, this savage brute of a teenager needed a ranking in Ares's social hierarchy and had his eye on the dark-haired boy's throne. The new challenge thrilled Ares, though he knew he would lose any physical confrontation with the older teen, so he'd tried to win him over using words and the sway of his reputation. The then-fourteen-year-old considered this to be a failure when the broad-daylight trouncing he ultimately received resulted in ten stitches across the side of his head and a broken arm — the latter being the result of his uncle's fury at the incident. Even though he'd been king of the hill for awhile, Ares still didn't have it in him to stand up to his uncle. He never did, and he probably never would. Most of the time through Ares's teenage years, however, Uncle Ares was more preoccupied with the various on-and-off girlfriends that wandered in and out of his bedroom at will.

Following the unceremonious de-throning of Ares Elder, the social order was thrown into temporary anarchy. His followers had been much less loyal than Ares had taken them to be, and the climb to the top was much, much more difficult the second time around. Three months into trying, he decided that everyone whose attention he used to command was beneath his notice. He'd already proven that they were weak, their minds malleable, and there was no reason for him to have to vie for his affections when it used to be the other way around. So Ares pulled away from trying to re-earn the worship of his peers; he convinced himself that he didn't care what they thought. That, it seemed, made all the difference. When he no longer payed them any mind, his minions came crawling right back, eager to serve their master once more.