orion cygnus [d2] [fin]

lyss Tribute [M:1300] 414 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Nov 16, 2021 0:07:26 GMT -5	orion cygnus [d2] [fin] Mar 25, 2014 21:58:39 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by lyss on Mar 25, 2014 21:58:39 GMT -5 Orion Cygnus 17 Male District 2 Appearance: Personality: History: odair
	Last Edit: Apr 22, 2014 20:40:03 GMT -5 by lyss

lyss
Tribute

[M:1300]

414 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 16, 2021 0:07:26 GMT -5

orion cygnus [d2] [fin] Mar 25, 2014 22:35:57 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lyss on Mar 25, 2014 22:35:57 GMT -5

Orion. A hunter. The perfect name for a first-born in Two.
Cygnus. A swan. Beauty; grace. The skills needed to win the games.

I have a name that I'm expected to live up to. It's like a coat-always hanging on my shoulders. My parents expect me to make it big in the world. I'll win the games, marry into a rich Capitol family, and provide my parents with a bushel of beautiful little grandchildren. I'm on the track to live the career dream at this point. But shit, I just want to be a musician.

Nobody makes a living by being a musician around here anymore. Victory is all that matters. Having two victors in the past five games has amped up the morale of the trainers and trainees. I've been training since I was eleven, and the pounding I've been getting since that damn blonde boy won is enough to make me suicidal. Sure, training keeps me in shape, but it's like I'm being trained to win the games and then be head peacekeeper. I can barely wield a weapon, yet my parents found it necessary for me to go through living hell every day.

I should be thankful for the training I received, according to my asshole of a dad. "Look at the muscles on you, boy," he had said. "Top of the class I bet. Come back complaining when you don't have the best bench."

That's basically my relationship with my dad. He's a meathead, and he wants me to turn into his clone. I just want to get a good education and do something I love. I don't want to risk my life for another in the arena; if I went in I wouldn't be winning for myself-I'd be winning so my dad could boast. I wouldn't even win. Even if I had faith in myself, there's no way I could win. I did have years of training and muscles the size of little kid's heads, but I was as far from gutless as possible. I'd be too scared to do anything-including making alliances.

I have always been a shy, awkward kid. In my defense, I've had a pretty fucked up life. By the time I was six, my parents decided I would never amount to anything and kicked me out of the house. They literally threw me on the front porch and locked all the doors and windows. I must have thrown myself against those wooden doors for hours, screaming and pounding. Eventually an angry neighbor came out and found me splintered and soaked in tears. She went inside to talk to my parents, and I could hear my mom screaming, "We don't want him anymore!"

No child should ever hear that from their parents-especially at the age of six. I had felt as if my heart had literally broken. I collapsed on the porch and wailed until the neighbor came out of my house and dragged me to an orphanage. The home was hell. I was so convinced that my parents still loved me that I would unlatch my window every night and sprint over the hill, straight back to my home. I'd pound on that same door day after day, and day after day they called the orphanage and the owners scooped me up and brought me back.

Eventually, they learned I could not be trusted in a normal room. They relocated me to a room with no windows and a door that locked from the outside. I was treated as if I had a terminal disease. I only had a broken heart.

For nearly half a year, I couldn't go anywhere without an escort, including the bathroom. At 9 p.m. I would be given pills that would knock me out cold until 7 the next morning. The adults tried to get me socialize with the others in the home, but it was quite pointless. I was damaged; I was different, and kids never like different.

Needless to say, I never got along with any of the other kids at the home. I went four whole years without speaking more than maybe thirty words. Shortly after my tenth birthday, I was adopted by the family that I reside with now. It was just like my real family, a mother, a father, and me. Because of that similarity, I was so afraid to do anything in the house. My parents did everything they could do to melt the hard block of ice encasing me. Eventually, my dad got through to me by one of the dumbest things I've ever heard. "I like that you're missing an earlobe. It makes you look tough. Like you were in a fight with a convict and they bit it off."

I had never seen my birth defect that way, and I liked seeing it how he did. After that, I was no longer afraid to interact with them, and they began to formulate what they call "the plan." I'd start training once I'd turn eleven. The end result was for me to emerge from the games as a victor, and if the odds at the reapings were against me, then I'd be trained to be the new head peacekeeper. I'd have an arranged marriage, have at least three kids, and die old and respected.

So far, "the plan" was churning out great results. I had become strong in all areas-strong-willed, strong-minded, and strong-bodied. I'd learned over the years to shut up and put up with the crap my parents handed to me. I was grateful for everything they'd given me, of course, but I was given more than I wanted. I would have loved everything about my family if we had been living in a lower district, like three or five. I didn't want some tough meathead bathed in glory. I understood how they wanted fame; it was probably the only view I shared with them.

I wanted the fame associated with being a good musician-not a victor. I had turned to music when the 63rd games came to a close. Training got even worse, and I needed something that I could actually enjoy. I told my parents that I had felt depressed and they let me go wild with their money. I bought a nice guitar and dyed my hair for the first time. As time rolled on, I would pierce various parts of my body and dye my hair a different shade of the rainbow whenever I came to be in the mood. I never had to ask for their permission because they long ago gave me the "we trust you, dear" spiel. It was nice to live life without your parents giving a damn. There was the occasional slamming of broomsticks on the kitchen ceiling-my bedroom floor-when I would wail lyrics and plug my guitar into an amp, but it was a small price to pay for an almost free life. The money from my gigs covered the expenses.

My gigs were never sellouts, but I didn't mind. I usually played for a small crowd in a coffee shop or bar, and that was enough to please me. I had only being doing gigs for a year or so, and I still had some pretty bad stage fright, on the account that I was a shy person. The small cafe gigs were a generally safe place, but when a bar was nearly jam-packed with crazed drunks, I would nearly faint. Lacking the full confidence and self-esteem for an artist played a part in it too. My friend count was next-to-none, so it was an easy thing for both me and my parents to blame my lack of social skills on.

Everything that was deemed to be wrong with me always faded away when the lights dimmed and my name would ring out across the room. My fingers would skim across the strings of my faded guitar as the crowd cheered, my fingers trying to remind themselves how to play. My voice would lilt across the stage and saddle up beside the audience member, and I would smile the whole way through, rarely looking up from my guitar.

"Cool as a cucumber," my dearest friend had once said to me as I packed up one night. "You're quite beautiful you know."

I had blushed and told her that neither were true, but now, I've realized what she meant. Most people's beauty lies in their wide eyes or bright smile, but mine was laid between the calluses of my fingertips.

Last Edit: Apr 22, 2014 20:36:12 GMT -5 by lyss

lyss Tribute [M:1300] 414 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Nov 16, 2021 0:07:26 GMT -5	orion cygnus [d2] [fin] Apr 22, 2014 20:40:26 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by lyss on Apr 22, 2014 20:40:26 GMT -5 yikes done

rook Veteran Member 2,361 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5 who needs another thing to be sad about?	orion cygnus [d2] [fin] Apr 23, 2014 8:53:20 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by rook on Apr 23, 2014 8:53:20 GMT -5 Accepted
	an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside