Nathaniel Graives - D1 [FINISHED]

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p e r s o n a l i t y » use any means to achieve their ends

Nobody could,
Couldn't help this, no.
The depths that I was brought up,
Brought up.

To put it bluntly, I don't give a damn. About anyone. Or anything, really. Except, well - I do. But I act like I don't. People's whispers crash through my ears and I brush them off without a care in the word, because I do not bother to fuss over stupid little comments from stupid little people. Gossip is, in my honest opinion, a complete waste of time. I don't need to spread falsities about people around to feel better about myself. It's stupid, and petty, and I'm certainly none of these things. Sure, I manipulate people so I can get my own way and don't give a shit about others, but better to feel nothing and be strong than feel everything and be weak. I was one of those kids who made the others cry and laughed at them afterwards. I didn't care then, and I still don't care now.

I like to have fun, and by fun, I mean getting away with everything I possibly can. Drink? Sure. Drugs? Not really up my street, but I'll try anything once. Girls? Hell to the fuck yes. Friday nights have become the epitome of my social life. The best thing is that because my father is such a well-known figure, no-one gives a damn about what I do. Lying comes as naturally to me as breathing does to others. I like loud music and running through the streets at night and not giving a flying fuck. No matter how many of my friends get their heads bitten off by others for 'having that Ripred-awful music blaring too loudly' or 'hollaring about the street at 2am', I just happen to slip by getting told off. No-one want my Dad down their backs, and hey, if you've got your ways of getting out of trouble, who's to tell you you can't use them?

I tend to muck around about District One, going my own way and doing my own thing, because almost no-one can tell me not to - and if you try to, well, you can fuck off out of my way. If I don't want to go to school, then I'm not going to go to school. If I want to hang out with friends, then I'll bloody well hang out with my friends. I surround myself with people like myself. I pick my friends out based on personality and credibility, and how well their families are known in the District, of course. Dad says that to become well-known, you must surround yourself with well-known people. Anyway, I don't have time for weak or bothersome wannabes who have no credibility or brains. They've got to know how to have fun, too. Plain, safe people who have no sense of adventure or a wild time bore me. Where's the fun in staying on the safe side? Take a risk, for Ripred's sake.

Other than doing what I want most of the time, I can be quite formal when I need to be. It's only natural for District One kids to be presentable, and I like to give off a good first impression to anyone. From the way I dress to the way I talk, it's quite the change from with my friends. A snap of my fingers and I can go from rowdy and rude to etiquette and well-mannered. It's a challenge, especially when my friends are around when Dad is at home, but for the most part he doesn't care. Just as long as I'm on my best behaviour around his friends, then it's fine as to whatever I do. To be quite honest, he never really showed an interest in anything I did other than what he asked of me. But without him I am nothing but a cracked, miserable attempt of a success - with him I am something. Better to be something of a success than a complete failure.

I'm a show off - and, again - I don't give a damn. Like I've said before - first impressions are essential. I know I'm good at stuff, be it at school, or Training - I'm an ace with a sword, by the way - and if I want people to know it, I'll let them know. I'm obnoxious, sarcastic and full of it, and if you don't like that, well fuck off. I'm not one to get annoyed easily, but if someone wants a piece of me, they can bloody well have it. I've given many a black eye, or worse, in fights - mainly if they insult myself or my father. They're all jealous, anyway - them and their families. They all think that because I'm rich and my father's successful that I wouldn't know how to fight. I might not lift a finger to get what I want, but Career training has its benefits, I'll give you that. When people try and start a fight with me for no good reason though, man, I don't even bother. Try and get my attention some other way, idiot.

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h i s t o r y » silver spoons

Oh, pretty boy,
Keep batting your eyes.
Cause when you breathe,
You lie.

I was born 18 years ago on the 11th of December, just as the snow began to fall in District One that winter. Born with a silver spoon in my mouth? Pshhh. Please. I was born with the whole damn cutlery set - polished plates included. Since the day I was born, I was given the utmost care and affection. There hasn't been a day in my life where I've had to work for what I want, or gone hungry for a day. Everything's been handed to me on a plate, and I expect it to be so. My mother and father earn plenty more than what we'd need to survive, Mother being one of the head nurses in the hospital and my father owning the business that goes back generations in my family. I guess I'll take over it one day, but I usually don't worry about that right now.

Naturally, I lived in a large house far too big for three people, parties and meetings hosted in the extra rooms and dining halls that I was never allowed to attend until I turned 16 and my father believed that I was old enough and mature enough to meet the men of my intended future. It was easy for me, as I had the system drilled into me since I was a child - and charm is certainly one of my strong points. A smile, a few well thought out comments and a laugh at jokes was all it took to be respected amongst them all - all to do my father proud and not shame our family name. Nothing much interesting happened to me as I grew up. I went to school, excelled in my classes, and I decided not to go any more once I'd reached seventeen, because quite frankly, I'm smarter than the rest of them that attend. It was terribly boring, having to sit there and not learn a thing. And they call that place a school? I'd learn more watching paint dry.

My father taught me to stand on my own two feet and to plan my goals out thoroughly, chipping away at each and every problematic situation or complication until it was perfected. He taught me a lot, actually. Shaped me into the person that I am today. I guess I'm a lot like him - which my Mother hates, I know that. It's funny; I'm quite the different person when I'm around each of them. With my Mother, I appreciate that she listens. She understands, accepts. Because that's just the sort of person she is. Kind. Something that I could never, ever be. I admire that so much in her, her ways of treating everyone so goddamn well all the time, no matter how they treat her. Despite her kindness and sincere heart, I am aware that family comes first, and she would do anything to keep me safe. She puts up with my father and his off days to protect me. How could I ever repay her for all she's done for me? And how do I attempt to? Staggering into our house after hours of being missing, barely able to keep myself straight up, let alone get my words right. She does not mind if I come home and complain for an hour about some idiot I'd had the most displeasure of meeting today - or when I come home slathered from a night of blurred memories that stain and blotch in my head like an overload of ink on paper. No matter how bad I get, or how late I come home, she simply leads me to my bed, pulls the covers up around my limp body and bids me goodnight with a kiss on my forehead; just like she did when I was young. I believe that it was only her who had raised me, I would have turned out quite the different person to who I am.

With my father, on the other hand, it's imperative that I impress him. That I do well. That I am the son that he always wanted, the son he planned out from the day that I was born. He has spent my entire life devoting his time and effort to building me up, brick by brick - as if he's silently telling me don't you dare fall down on me. Mother says that he's guilt-tripped me into being the perfect son, and I don't like to admit it, but she's right. My father is a strange, complex person with layer after layer of integrity and discipline that he drilled into me as a kid. You can never be quite sure who you're speaking to when you're with him. But without me, he has no-one to teach, no-one to tutor, no-one to pout his wisdom and years of experience into. I respect him, being a man of importance, someone I strive to be. I may muck around when I'm around with my friends, but it's imperative that I am who he wants me to be. People say it's sad, but how can you compare that when it is all you have been brought up to believe? He is respected in One, as is my family name, and thus I am, being connected.

'Well of course you should be a Career, boy!' my father had boomed, and with that, I skipped off to Training at age Twelve and never missed a single day for 3 whole years. I quickly adapted to the regime, gaining skills and upping my fitness. I stopped going daily after I turned fifteen, only going every week or so, but I reckon that 6 years of survival tactics and knowledge drilled into my head is plenty enough to manage to survive.'You can never be too careful' is another wise set of words my father had uttered when I reached the age capable to submit myself to training, and I almost live by those words. If there is ever a chance that I miss that cathardic release of knowing that I am free on the day of my final reaping, at least I'll have the skills and mental capacity to survive. And you can bet that I won't be one of those stupid kids that wanders into a trap, or lights a fire in the middle of the night. I'll come home to my Mother and keep her safe, and come home to my father and prove that I'm the son he wanted. Nathaniel Graives - Victor and Best Son Ever.

Yeah. That sounds about right.

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comments/other:
lyrics; broken vs. the way we were born - emarosa
fc; penn badgely

describing [e0bda1] thinking [EDFAF1] talking [8B5C7A]


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