Silo Atrius [d2 peacekeeper] [*fin]

Name: Silo Rudhan Atrius
Age: 32
Districts: Born in 2; Transferred to 4; Transferred back to 2

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{Speech} D44942
{Text} 834130

My Mirror Speaks...

By no means has Silo ever been among the most handsome of District Two's Career tributes, and will he ever be handsome relative to the other Peacekeepers. At five feet ten, he's barely above average height, with a stocky-going-on-paunchy girth. The muscles of his teenage years have not abandoned him completely, but have toned down some, rightfully giving him an air of worldliness.

While Silo lacks the height and rippling muscles of the prominent Career tributes of District Two, he still manages to be just as imposing — if not more so. It's all in his face. Though its rounder shape and pink cheeks falsely imply youthfulness, these are often overlooked; Silo's face as a whole is much too intimidating to even consider incompetence.

Deep-set eyes, a dark grey-green, the color of algae on granite, are the coldest, most threatening feature of Silo's appearance. They have always been his most exciting feature, cool green but alight with passion. Or, they were at a time; they are no longer. Now, they are simply frozen, dull and lifeless, empty of the raw appetite for life he once had, prior to enlisting in the Peacekeepers. They may as well be made of the algae-covered granite of their color, for all the emotion they show.

And somehow, that makes them all the more unnerving. Framing Silo's vapid eyes are light eyebrows and perpetual dark circles. His nose is rectangular in shape, and, having been broken a time or two, is slightly off center. These features all sit under a heavy brow that is furrowed by default and a rather large forehead.

Silo's lips make an insightful statement to his general mood. They are thin and subtle, none too rosy — rather, a subdued and inconspicuous color. More often than not, they are pressed into a serious line. Occasionally, the corners will droop down in a loosely held frown. Smiles — or, more accurately, smirks — are rare, and almost never a good thing. They mean mischief, they mean lust, they mean a flash of guile, they mean his superiority has been confirmed.

The most inconsistent feature of Silo's face is his hair. Shaving only whenever he feels like it, the peacekeeper will be sporting stubble more often than not; however full beard, various styles of goatees, and sideburns are not uncommon. His face stays completely clean-shaven for all of ten hours; his stubble will grow back in by five o'clock, easily. When grown out, Silo's beard is dark brown, almost black. Not a single hair of his has managed to turn grey, one testament to the sometimes overlooked fact that he is still a fairly young man.

Matching his facial hair is Silo's hair itself. Nearly black and left, for the most part, to its own devices. He trims it, of course, every once and awhile, but does not put much effort into it beyond that. It is allowed to lie flat against his head if it chooses, to stick straight up if it chooses. More often, under the influence of sweat and grease and headwear, it prefers to do the former, stuck down to his large forehead. Naturally, Silo's hair has a slight wave to it, but this is scarcely noticeable for the way it tends to be pressed against his head.

He may not be exactly handsome, but there is a rugged look about him that allows Silo to lure in a fair number of the women of his choice. His clothing — typically his peacekeeper uniform or a more military looking peacoat while on duty; flannel button down shirts when not — enhances the weathered look just enough to suffice. He does not care for the finery that some of his peers choose to wear, instead keeping it simple with minimal ornaments or accessories, save for his belt and peacekeeper strap.

---

"This is who I am. And this is what made me."

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As is frequently the case with children born into the upper few districts — particularly Silo's own 2 — both Silo and his twin sister Merenda were trained as Career tributes. The two exemplified sibling rivalry to a T, and always tried to outperform the other. They were evenly matched at everything they did — same speed, same strengths, same weaknesses. His father hated him for it; to be no better than a girl — even his father's own girl — was unacceptable.

When the twins were seventeen, Merenda volunteered for the Hunger Games. She placed second. Their father was disgusted. Didn't care that his daughter died — he was beyond disappointment that his favorite child, his star (and they were evenly matched!) wasn't good enough to win. He pushed Silo harder than ever, but couldn't even look him in the eye. As if it were Silo's fault that his sister lost.

The disappointment he faced in the wake of his sister's Games was nothing compared to the outright shunning — the literal disownment — that came after Silo himself was reaped. Because he'd stepped down. He'd had the opportunity to be in the Games, and he'd backed out. His father wouldn't listen to Silo's protests that he couldn't participate in the Games — because his girl was, too, and he couldn't be the one to kill her! — while his mother sat in the corner and wept. More tears were shed over the Disappointment that was Silo than the death of his twin, the death of their favorite child. They'd've preferred that he died ("it doesn't even have to be in the Games, just take this disappointment away from our home!")

So he did get away, as they'd wanted. He enlisted in the Peacekeepers and was promptly shipped off to District 4. Far enough from home, familiar enough in the Career-style of the district. He was still a stranger here, but it was preferable to being a disgrace to his parents in Two, where they were happily pretending that he had died. Silo hates fish.


District 4 drained him of whatever passion, whatever excitement for life he retained after losing his girlfriend, his reputation, and being shunned by his parents in one fell swoop. He liked peacekeeping just fine for a little while; he'd been brought up to be ruthless and never compromise, a skill that translated very well into policing one of Panem's most populous districts. He managed to maintain his old fitness regimen with large success, but it hadn't been the same in that year without his sister, and it wasn't even close to similar in a foreign district.

The whole attempt at normalcy was intended for Silo to cheer himself up, but it fell far short. Life became dull and flavorless. He lost interest in swordplay and knife throwing, lost interest in practically every aspect of his old life. His exercise fell to the mandated weekly conditioning that he needed to maintain his position as a peacekeeper. In the other off-hours, Silo hardly knew what to do with himself. He tried filling the hours with alcohol, but that never helped; it made him worse. So Silo succumbed to his drug of choice: lust.


Since the last thing Silo poured himself into completely — being a Career, that is — fell through in the most horrible fashion, Silo hasn't been able to hand himself over to anything. He'd never admit to his fear, but the Peacekeeper has a deep aversion to committing to anything. The twenty-year contract he signed with the Peacekeepers still looms over his head, even though it's six years from expiring; he doesn't like being rooted down, forced into working. It's good though, that he is. Without the government keeping him employed and working at the threat of having his tongue cut out, there's no way Silo would be any more than a lazy mooch, showing up for occasional work when he was practically falling over from hunger.

It hasn't stopped Silo from trying to get out of his work as a peacekeeper, though. His insistences that he was mentally unstable and prone to violent outbursts were met with miles of red tape from the Capitol to even get reviewed by a psychologist, then miles more to get a copy of the results. He got a raise. Turns out a tendency to become violent is something valued by the higher-ups in peacekeepers.

Silo rebels against the idea of love. Love as a whole has been too complicated and too confusing for him to sort out. To give yourself over fully to one person and one person only has seemed outrageous to him. What happens when they inevitably let you down? Pain. Outrage. Depression. Lust, instead, was so much better. Intense passion, a primal desire that could be fulfilled by someone else if the first choice didn't come through. It was a powerful drug, and much, much simpler than actually loving someone.


Potent as it may be, Silo has never actually found fulfillment in his promiscuity. It has been and continues to be an outlet for his emotions — passionate and passionless at the same time — that never actually means anything. It's a thrill, a rush, adrenaline rather than actual feeling. Silo never actually gains anything from his encounters. Never really has.

Yet, at the same time, it's an addiction. Silo's drug of choice. He's never been able to function without having one single strong focus. As a boy in District Two, this was his Career training. After he settled into his life as a Peacekeeper and lost focus, he began to drift. He hated himself, never thought he was worthy of anything. He drowned these negative feelings in meaningless sex. It never moves him forward, and Silo recognizes this, but he can't release himself of his need. It's an addiction he has often wanted to kick, but can never bring himself to do so. Instead, he splashes about in the same vicious circle.


One trouble with Silo is how he isn't smart about lust, relationships, love, sex, or anything of the sort. Perhaps he would be less dependent on sex if he were to not constantly be chasing after whomever he can get with ease and keep on coming back to. Silo has a list — a little leather-bound journal, actually. Not everyone gets their name recorded - hell, half the time, Silo doesn't even know the name of the girl he hooked up with — but the Peacekeeper often takes note of repeat performances, particularly ones with more skill or better looks. He doesn't necessarily like them easy, but if they're just there he will have no objection to scooping them up.

To the completely contrary, the Peacekeeper often finds himself pining over the unattainable: Married women, rich women, gay women, women from far away. Women who have already died. Unrealistic as it may be for him, Silo often can't shake these unrequited infatuations (although, in terms of his love life, they are more on the side — random sex still takes precedent.) They are sporadic bursts of longing for someone he will never, ever have — and while he doesn't typically act on them, the feelings linger for months and cannot be shaken by sex.

While these two extremes take place, Silo has never been able to find the happy medium, never been able to want what he already has. He doesn't fall in love. He can't. There are those who would be completely perfect for Silo, but he neither desires nor makes any efforts to be with them. His actual relationships are unhealthy at best, but he has no interest in finding someone his own age, or a lover who would be appropriate — or, God forbid, good — for him.


Much of the general public sees Silo as something to be feared, at least as much as the next peacekeeper: one of the Capitol's men, built like he's used to power, cold and uncaring. And for the most part, this is Silo. He tries to perceive himself in the same way that others do, and sometimes it works. Sometimes, though, it doesn't. When he's in a particularly bad bout of depression, or his sex life has hit a dry spell, Silo sees exactly who he is.

Or, rather, who he isn't. He's not a cookie cutter Capitol loyalist; to be honest, he doesn't really care one way or another who's in charge. If the Districts were to stage a rebellion — something they weren't even allowed to talk about in the Peackeeper Corps — he'd still probably support his current employer, at least for a little while. He'd jump ship without hesitation, of course, if he felt he needed to. Maybe it would just be to prove to himself that he's not just a good little boy, following orders like he's meant to — because, if it were to happen, it would certainly not be for love or sympathy for the Districts.

Silo is, deep down, emotionally stunted from his Career training. He's kept a one-track mind, chases down one thing at a time. Clearly, he does understand the cruel ways of the world — who, in the entirety of Panem, does not? — but never actually equipped himself to handle them. His parents might've loved him once, or the idea of him as a victor, but he was never really expected to come home. Or know what to do if he came home. The climax of his life was his 18th Reaping, one sharp spike on the electrocardiograph before it all but flatlined.


Once upon a time, there was hope for Silo. He was young, foolish maybe, but he was relatively happy. He hadn't slipped into his promiscuity and need for mindless sex — in fact, he hadn't even joined the Peacekeepers. His parents hadn't thrown him out; he was still a good little boy in their eyes, doing exactly as he was supposed to. This was before his Reaping — before his life reached its terminal velocity.

Silo had his girl, a fellow Career named Macra. She was what he wasn't: good with conversation, witty, pleasant, but forceful. More determined and ruthless than he was, and a hundred times more passionate about everything. If there was someone he'd actually loved, ever, it was doubtlessly Macra. She was his first. They suited each other fairly well, and were together for almost an entire year. But then, as tends to happen in Panem, the Hunger Games cut them short. Silo and Macra were both drawn for the Hunger Games.

He knew then that he couldn't compete in the Games; it would destroy him to be in the Arena with her. Silo really, truly meant to ask her to step down from the Games with him, to give up on the Hunger Games — a scary notion, considering that training for them had been both of their entire lives up until that point. He wanted to run away from the Games with her, run away from society's expectations — hell, maybe even run away from the district.

But he couldn't. He didn't. He'd opened his mouth to ask her, but couldn't force words to come out. Because why? Maybe she had a chance? Because what would she think about him if he were to ask her to throw away eighteen years of Hunger Games training — something she certainly felt more passion for than she felt for him? Always a coward, Silo stepped down without asking her to step down with him. He's regretted it since the day he saw her die.[/justify]


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