William Cervantes - Wanderer

All soft, sloping angles with high cheek bones and a well defined jaw, William's face is quite handsome. His hair - always tousled - is thick and soft, similar in color to that of a raven's wing. Gentle waves slant across his forehead, the dip of his temples, just long enough to partially cover his ears, to brush the back of his neck. His ears could be compared to that of animal's - not in shape, mind you, but in their ability to catch the smallest sounds.

To say Will's eyes are stunning would be an understatement. Large, almond shaped, and shockingly blue. Though they are not the typical light grayish - blue one might expect, but a deeper more vibrant hue, framed with thick lashes. However lovely a color his eyes may be, they hold a chilly, detached distance. William's nose is well proportioned with the rest of his face, straight, unbroken. His lips are full and tinted slightly pink, occasionally curving into a half smile.

Having grown up in District One, Will never suffered from malnutrition. He grew to his standing height of six feet, with an attractive, well-muscled build. Despite his height and build, Will's movements are lithe, his tread light and ghostly. His skin, despite his time spent in the outdoors, is relatively pale - though not unhealthily so. In fact, it suits him quite well.

William was never one for dressing up, and of course running off into the woods was not a black tie occasion. He can be found in a plain black tee shirt with a denim jacket thrown over it in cooler months, dark jeans, and sturdy black boots. A leather belt sheaths his only other possession: a knife. From a distance, Will's attire looks fairly neat. Up close however, once can see that his jeans are torn at one knee, his shirt wrinkled and dusty, denim jacket faded and fraying slightly at the hem. His boots are scuffed and worn, his face often streaked with dirt.

Having been born in District One, Will never lacked much of anything. His family was wealthy, and he lived in a fine home with his parents and loving older sister, Rebecca. His parents were rich enough not to have to work, and the four of them were very close, especially Will and his sister, though she was six years his senior. Up until Will was about ten years of age, he lived a normal, happy life. His sister trained as a Career upon the insistence of their parents, and she planned to volunteer when she reached eighteen. Will had questioned this at one point, why she was so eager to risk her life against a slew of other tributes. She hadn't really given him a straight answer, brushing of his question by speaking of honor and wealth - didn't they have a lot already? - and telling him he would do the same when he was old enough.

Rebecca, or Becca as he had often called her when he was young, was always quite protective of him, though he did not often need it, or want it, for that matter. But, in the end, it would be her defensiveness of him that saved his life.

It had been the year Will turned ten, Rebecca sixteen. That day had gone by as usual, the evening hours spent no differently. Rebecca returned from training with their mother already cooking and humming to herself in the kitchen, their father stretched out in his favorite chair and reading. Dinner quickly passed, and then it was to bed for all of them. Will crawled into his bed, turned out the light, and fell fast asleep, just like always.

It was the middle of he night when Rebecca burst into his room, shaking him violently awake. The silver locket she always wore swung from her throat as she leaned over him, yanking the blankets off the bed and shaking him again. Will scrambled to his feet just as his sister seized his wrist and dragged him toward the door. She paused at the doorway before hurrying through the hallway and down the stairs to the kitchen, Will in tow. Rebecca released his wrist, pushing him roughly toward the door. Will staggered back, wondering what could possibly cause his sister to act in such a way. "You must run," She whispered, shooing him again towards the front door. Will was about to protest, but his sister only shook her head at him, a wild look in her eyes. Spinning around, he bolted for the door. Flinging it open, he fled into the night.

Will was fortunate enough to run into a Peacekeeper in the early hours of the morning. Upon the pleas of a ten year old boy, a handful of officials were dispatched to investigate his claims. Will, in the meantime, was sent to reside with his uncle, the only other family he had left in the District. Days later, a Peacekeeper arrived at his new residence to speak to his Uncle. Will, always curious, listened from safe distance. What he heard, he had most certainly not expected. Whatever his naïve ten year old mind had conjured up to explain the events that had occurred that night, it was certainly not murder. His parents, his sister. Dead.

Will lived with his uncle for the next six years. He was the one person Will knew shared his opinion about the Games, and they got along well. Even so, he wasn't happy. Even his closest friends wanted nothing to do with him. And, his uncle, who hated the Games, insisted he train as a Career. Will obliged, but found this behavior quite odd. Then, one day Will decided he had had enough. His uncle had been good to him, but he was tired of being stared at and whispered about and being the target of others' jeers and taunts. His uncle was out, and Will used the opportunity to leave.

With his Uncle out of the house, Will tugged on the tough, leather boots he wore for training, and threw a denim jacket over his shirt. Slipping a knife he taken from training into his belt, Will moved into the hallway, intending to pack a small bag to take along with him. Instead he hesitated in the hallway. His Uncle's bedroom - a room that had always been locked and strictly off limits to him, no matter what - was slightly ajar. Under no circumstance had Will ever seen it unlocked. Sometimes he had wondered if even his Uncle ever went in the room. Curiosity getting the better of him, Will strode to the door, pushing it open with his finger tips. He stepped cautiously inside. It was a disaster area, but what caught his eye was a small wooden box, lying slightly open on the bed. A silver chain spilled over one side, jogging a memory he tried hard to keep buried. The silver locket she always wore swung from her throat as she leaned over him, yanking the blankets off the bed and shaking him again.

Striding to the edge of the bed, Will pushed the lid completely open. Inside sat scatter of other objects, but he paid no attention to them. Reaching inside with trembling fingers, Will plucked the locket from the box, balancing it his palm. The surface of the oval was slightly flecked with dried blood. Will popped open the clasp, and was nearly sick. Inside was a photo of his parents, and next to that a photo of Rebecca holding him on her lap when he was very young. He knew now why his uncle had ensured he never entire this room. But why not kill him too, these past six, almost seven years? Too obvious perhaps? He didn't know, but he would be dead for sure if -

The door crashed open, slamming against the wall. Will jumped, then froze, his gaze going from the locket in his hand to his uncle standing in the doorway. The older man held a bottle of alcohol in one hand and was screaming unintelligibly at Will. He backed up several steps, searching for an escape route. His uncle started toward him, sending the bottle flying at his head. He ducked as the bottle exploded against the wall, and used the opportunity to dodge around his uncle and sprint for the door.

Will felt as though he were reliving that night nearly seven years ago. Only difference was, this time he didn't go to the officials. He sprinted to the fence, slid through a damaged section concealed for the most part by brush, and took of into the woods. Vowing, as he ran, that he would never let himself grow close to anyone again.