ashe vindicta | district nine | wip | Hunger Games: The RPG

ashe vindicta | district nine | wip Oct 27, 2016 14:00:54 GMT -5

Post by ali on Oct 27, 2016 14:00:54 GMT -5

ashe vindicta

But there's a fire burning in my bones

Some little girls have mothers and some have dreams, some have both. Ashe lost both of those a long time ago.

The other girls tell her that she once had a mother, before she was born but the labour was long and hard. It almost took Ashe's life, she came into the world weak and feeble, only alive because she'd torn her mothers life from her as the midwife tried to save them both; sometimes there is a sour taste in her mouth when she thinks about her mother, venom pools in her mind as she thinks 'what if I hadn't been saved' or 'what if the midwife had tried harder?' or 'what if Warrick had paid for a better midwife'? Hell knows he had the money to do so.

She did not grow up without a parent, however. At least she was blessed with a man she could call father, though he would never be winning a prize for that. When Ashe thinks back, to the far ends of her own universe, a time when she was still a freshly forming being in the darkness of the world, she doesn't remember her father; the only ones she remembers giving a damn when she was young were the woman her mother had been friends with.

Growing up in a whore house meant that people were always leaving, including those she was placed in the care of. The faces of her many mothers changed frequently, some where kind, some where horrid and would beat her when she did something wrong, some would let her sit with them while they did their makeup in cracked and ageing mirrors in the haze of cigarette smoke but all of them died. One way or another and eventually, when she was old enough, they left her to her own devices.

But that was not always the best thing. Mischevious and brash, Ashe often found the buckle of her fathers belt hitting against the skin on her back when she stepped out of line, went where she was not meant to and see things that she was not supposed to see. Ashe used to cry when her father beat her, but she slowly formed a thick skin; she would grin and bear it until her father just beat her harder, locked her in closets until he got the response he wanted. When she would cry, he would be satisfied she was punished enough.

Ashe used to wonder what her mother was like. Like many, she never had a photo of her mother to cherish, instead she only had the descriptions of what the other girls told her. It was stereotypically what everyone says to the child of the lost parent, and as the years progressed, Ashe developed a habit of rolling her eyes whenever someone said "you look just like your mother". She used to wonder, her mother looked like a scrawny, 5 foot 9, 11 year old with dark brunette hair messily chopped into a bob making her look like a boy? She did not think so.

That was years ago, so long since then. Since she had filled out, grown to have a womanly figure that had not gone unnoticed by her father. When once she had simply merged into the wood work, she now stock out like a sore thumb. No more was she spindly, her curves rang alarm bells in fathers mind. And so she became one of them. At age 15, Ashe was forced to please men and when she did not comply, she was beaten by the men who had bought her body with money or terresae or she was locked in the closet.