Quest Hertz, District 6 [done]

Name: Quest Hertz
Age: 17
District: 6
Gender: Female

Keep the beat, if you can keep up.

.Imagine.

Being born a ginger has its perks. I’ve always stood out, so I never had to worry about that. There’s no one in my family with red hair, which was always amusing to me. I mean, I get the sense that some things are passed on and that maybe way back when there was someone with it—but I do like to joke that I was adopted. Not that my parents truly would’ve been able to afford another kid even if they wanted one. In any case, it’s usually the first thing people notice about me, before remarking about how pale I am, even in the dead of summer.

Even if they are disgusting and cruel—I’ve always been a sucker for capitol styles. I’ve tried making my own clothes but I’m not district 8. There’s just something about the fabric and the way they make things so asymmetric but sexy—I try and emulate them, but it never seems to turn out quite as I want. It works though, in the underground—as we like to call it—they let you wear whatever the fuck you want without judgment. Doesn’t seem to bother anyone, though I do like to laugh at people that are over the top for the sake of it.

So what would you want to know about me? Other than the fact that people mistake me for a 12 year old boy hiding underneath a hoodie. Imagine their surprise when people see me turn around—it’s like seeing a ghost. Especially the places where I spend my time. There aren’t too many girls that are willing to go to the places I do—I guess that’s because they’re fucking scared of everything. Most people seem to be. They have this whole fear about the type of people that wander after dark—I half think that most of us that actually do aren’t bad. It’s the ones that walk around bravely in the daylight that you really have to worry about.

.Thinking.

Oh I lie around for hours thinking of how it could be made up—arranged, organized, pulsating out of speakers and into the world. You see, I’m all about the way music feels—it’s what gives me life in this shitty little place. I don’t think a lot of people know how great a power music can have on all of us—I mean look at the anthem they play, it’s downright beautiful, but it keeps us in our place. People just don’t think twice about the lovely lyrics when they have a melody they can nod their heads to. Nah, I learned early on that this was in my blood, was something that I needed to take in and be clear and have for myself. You can’t have much power in this world, but you can create if you really want.

I guess I’m more of a solitary creature then. Locking myself up for hours and burning the candle at both ends. Yeah, that’s me. I get by on trying to push the envelope, even though I’ve been let go from a few jobs for my attitude. Apparently people don’t like lip, but the fuck that they have to say. We’re all in this shitbag world and I might as well be able to speak what I want without fear. We’re in it together—or we’re not, as I’m starting to learn. But that doesn’t mean I can’t tell them to eat shit and die when they give me shit. I got let go from a currier job because of the way that I was dressing—I’m sure of it—and they were just waiting for the opportunity to do it.

I’m at peace when I can escape. It’s not really something that my parents have been too keen on—we barely scrape by as is—but they love to see me making things. Sure, we don’t have money for real good stuff—technology that would be out of reach for all of us and for the capitolites—but I’ve dug around to make things work. There are some good people on the outside of this world, if you know where to look. I know there’s the part of the scene where people talk about drugs and all that other stuff but I haven’t been pulled into that. I won’t—that shit is stupid and will mess you up if you let it. I got more important things to worry about.

Maybe it’s a dream of mine, but I’d love for my shit to get noticed—maybe even if it’s just played out into the district. We haven’t got much but that’s the type of thing that I—well, I guess I shouldn’t put too much pride into it but… I just wanted to be able to have something that’s mine. I don’t get a lot of chances, not when my brother depends on me or my friends ask me for something—I got a lot of other things on my plate, is what I’m trying to say. You can depend on me to call it like I see it, and not to just sit back and let you coast on by—if that shit is weak, I’ll tell you so.

.Past, Present, Future.

My mother and father are both nurses. They learned all the tools of the trade in medicine and then some—never could fake being sick even if I wanted to. But they also encouraged me to be smart—to actually care about being educated and questioning things. Not that this hasn’t gotten the better of me. In school I’m usually the girl at the back of the room snickering at people for their stupidity than anything else. As you might have guess, I’m not Ms. Popularity—not that I have or ever will aim to be. Heck, I’d rather be alone my whole life than wind up realizing I’m nothing but a mouth breather. In any case, my parents have been good to me and my older brother Ether.

He’s your typical teenage boy. He smells bad and he has too much to say for his own good. Rather than taking my approach and diving into things that could be created, Ether likes to indulge in hopes and dreams that are a bit more tangible. He’s got this impression that he’ll be a doctor one day—and ever since we were kids, he’s used his skills to diagnose me and tell me what’s wrong with me. I think he’d rather be a psychiatrist, as most of the time his diagnoses were medical disorders. I don’t doubt he’ll be good one day. He’d one of the only people I tell anything of value to, anyway.

So how did I wind up hanging out with misfits and miscreants? Well, being as dumb and moody as any teenager—I wasn’t entirely unnoticed in school. Some people happened to think my verbal barbs are funny, even if I’ve made half the girls in my year cry. So Wilfred—he was the one that invited me to my first warehouse party. I know, it sounds stupid—a bunch of kids in a stinky, abandoned old building that used to house medical supplies drinking watered down beer and dancing to thumping Cap-step music. Well, I thought it was going to be stupid, too—until I got a chance to take it all in… kids like me, forgetting about how shitty the world is outside, dancing to obnoxiously loud music… some of them dropping morphling, some of them dancing a little too rough…

And for me, I just… I wanted to be like Wilfred. I wanted to be up in front of everyone, making music, doing what he did. Sure, all of his equipment is way out of date and practically falling apart. But he’s taught me everything he knows—and we learn from one another now, trying to make this place the best place we can. We even made our own rules—that way we never get caught, and that no one does anything that will make us have to stop. Wilfred can tell you, he’s better at this sort of thing. I can only tell you that now that we have our own neat little family of weirdo freaks—outside of my own family—I’d do almost anything for them. And ripred help them if anything comes between us.

codeword: odair

Comments: So Quest is going to be part of plot I’m making for D6. =)