Natalie Brandt || District Eight || FIN

lance Librarian 3,638 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him/His last seen Apr 19, 2024 1:25:51 GMT -5 gay and chaotic? call it gayos	Natalie Brandt \|\| District Eight \|\| FIN Mar 26, 2016 0:51:31 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by lance on Mar 26, 2016 0:51:31 GMT -5 Natalie Brandt Seventeen Female Eight Karsyn Bartruff Apprentice seamstress from the eighth District.
	Last Edit: Apr 11, 2016 1:20:30 GMT -5 by lance credit to darsypoo uwu credit to fireflyz! credit to stare!

lance
Librarian

3,638 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him/His
last seen Apr 19, 2024 1:25:51 GMT -5

gay and chaotic? call it gayos

Natalie Brandt || District Eight || FIN Mar 26, 2016 0:54:53 GMT -5

Post by lance on Mar 26, 2016 0:54:53 GMT -5

A warm breeze rustles the treetops, blowing through blonde hair like a warm caress from Mother Nature herself. Pale skin glows in the moonlight, turning a milky pigment into a luminous beacon. Eyes sparkle with mischief and the sky alike, flashing pools of blue that capture any, every detail they shine upon.

A delicate, almost frail, frame betrays your life of poverty and hardship. You stand at five feet six inches but weigh a mere 115 pounds. Slender arms and legs complete the picture, looking awkwardly long on your body, to your disdain. Your hands, however, have a magic that makes up for their appearance. Working with a precision honed by years of practice, fingers fly like magic, creating nearly any article of clothing thought to man, whether it's a simple scarf or a fancy white Peacekeeper uniform. It is long, arduous work, but it's enjoyable, somehow.

You are content.

A crippling shyness envelops your being, limiting communication with parents and mentor and the odd acquaintance. You keep to yourself for the most part, preferring to engage in quiet, solitary activities. Designing is easily one of the most enjoyable; it's time consuming, entertaining, and results in a limited sense of independence in a District where a concept such as freedom is merely a dream. There's something captivating in creating items of beauty, even if they never make it past the planning stage. Though in a land full of weavers and fellow seamstresses, there is a surprising lack of creativity in that regard. Therefore, combined with a natural timid nature, you mostly keep your creations to yourself.

Though human interaction might be an everyday struggle, you maintain a curious, inquisitive mindset. When you are not in class, you are usually found in what passes for the school library, reading whatever literature you can get your hands on. When you are not working, you are experimenting, trying out new designs with the limited amount of scrap material and time present before and after hours. When designing gets repetitive and old, you head to the roof, climbing out your window and onto the hard surface. There, you spend hours gazing into the sunset and eventual night sky, body at rest but head active with deep thoughts and complex formulas regarding life and beyond.

On the rare occasion that you do find yourself partaking in a social interaction with someone else, you are aloof, cold, even apathetic, to an extent. It's not their fault, really. You just operate under a certain philosophy, one that discourages forming attachments beyond casual acquaintances. By closing yourself off, not allowing yourself to get close to any save a select few, you are devoid of distractions. You are able to avoid pain and heartbreak whenever something happens to them.

You made that mistake once. Never again.

Your childhood was a happy one. Though poor, your mother and father did the best they could for you growing up. Occasionally meals would be skipped, and you rarely got more than the basic necessities, but it felt right. Complete. Whole. A family unit.

In a world of crushed dreams and shattered wholes, yours was miraculously untouched.

Alas, like all good things, this one could not last.

You're not entirely sure when it happened, but you do know that at some point after your tenth birthday, your father changed. He started getting more shifty, distant. Where there was once an aura of love was now one of of repulsion. Where once kisses and hugs and laughs had been received, there was now just a cold stone wall.

When you were eleven, you learned what alcohol was, and things started falling into place.

Suddenly, your father's sudden mood swings and abrupt personality shift made sense. According to your mother, it started out as one particularly stressful day at work. Your father, hoping to relieve the stress, had drowned himself in a drink he had until then consumed sparingly. He had stumbled around for a couple of hours, mean and incoherent, before finally passing out on the couch.

The next day, he woke up complaining of a headache, but otherwise seemed back to normal, to your delight.

Until the stressful day became a week. Then, the week became a month, which in turn became a year.

Gone was the loving father you had grown up with. Instead, he had seemingly been replaced by a demon from hell itself, spouting words filled with hateful anger and leaving marks upon the mind and skin of you and your mother both. Then, the next day, the demon would retreat, and the man you had grown up with would reemerge, apologetic and remorseful. He would beg for your forgiveness by daylight, sending you off to school and work with a hope that maybe, maybe this time he meant it.

Then the sun would go down, and the demon reemerged to wreak its havoc yet again, smothering you in its wicked embrace.

You were twelve when your father picked a fight with a Peacekeeper squad.

Though you were not allowed near the scene, it didn't take long before the story reached your ears. Apparently, your father, dead drunk as usual, had been stopped by a squad of the white clad enforcers, who had quickly realized that something was off. After requests from the Keepers and swear words from your father were both ignored, your father had decided it was a good idea to smash his empty bottle over the head of the lead Peacekeeper.

The would hadn't been fatal, but regardless, the Peacekeepers had seen it as more than enough reason to open fire.

It had been a mixed blessing, really. On the one hand, you were no longer smothered by your father's influence, no longer used as a punching bag by the demon that inhabited his flesh.

But at the same time, you felt hollow. You had heard stories of similar situations both literal and metaphorical, of the recovery process feeling like "an infected piece of tissue had been hacked away, causing great pain but ultimately healing to a stronger form."

Yet while it was true that the infected part was cut away, you didn't feel stronger.

In fact, you barely felt anything at all.

Though, you do have to admit, there was one thing that worked in your favor. No longer did you have to suffer your father's abuse. Once again, you could live in the doting embrace of a parent without fear, even if the total number had been halved. And best of all, though your father had disappeared along with it, the demon tormenting your life was finally vanquished.

You were free.

Last Edit: Apr 11, 2016 1:18:03 GMT -5 by lance

credit to darsypoo uwu

credit to fireflyz!

credit to stare!