Tempest Bronach | District 2

As Tempest Bronache lowers herself from the stage after her first dance, a graceful smirk pressed against her lips as the small desolate crowd of men applauds her, a soft mask covers her hungry blue eyed gaze as she scans the crowd for her next claim. As the music fades and the next girl comes on, the young woman sauntes away from the stage, her legs long and lean with dancing, Tempest allows herself to scan the room once more before she spots him- the beacon calling her name, the ration ballets shoved into a mans back pocket.

She has done this hundreds of times before- longer than she cared to remember. Since she was of reaping age- perhaps even before- while her parents bickered and thought with their words and their fists, her mother a drunk and her father simply perpetually angry, she found herself on the streets- hungry and desperate for anything that would make her life the fraction bit better. She remembers her first snatch, the wallet left on the counter top while a woman rummaged through her bag. She doesn't recall what drove her to reach out, skinny, skin draped over bone hands grasping at the fabric- but then she had slipped from the store and darted down an alleyway without a second glance- as she crawled under a fence she had heard the woman say "where is my purse?"

It had not always been as easy as that first time, there were times when she was caught, where she only just escaped the owners of the wallets she stole but it got her by. And now- she was an expert. Drapping herself over the bar, the blonde stretched like a cat, back curving as she leans all her weight onto her arms a chest as her eyes lock on the prey, her eyes scanning the gentlemen. A gentlemen. Yes, thats what he is...she thinks to herself. He is dressed well, too well for a bar like this. A suit, navy blue with black tie half undone- stressed. He glances over, and Tempest realizes he's probably old enough to be her Dad but she still smiles softly, eyes fluttering softly as she chewed her lip.

Tempest reaches out with a single finger, beckoning him over to her as he stares at her in a haze of alchol that fills his mind- her grin spreads, hungry and joyful, as he slides from his stool and staggers over, his eyes hungry too- but a different kind of hunger that racks Tempest's mind. "Hey there," she purred patting the stool beside her, practically shoving the man into the seat before he can even comprehend setting himself down. The blonde smiled, tilting her head to the side, allowing her long crisp golden hair to drape over her shoulders as she wraps her arms around his neck "what's a guy like you doing in a place like this? I know cheesy....here let me take that for you..."

Before he can respond, she slips the drink from his hand and puts it on the bar. As she draws her hand back, she slips the ration ballets out of his back pocket and slips them between her first two fingers. She giggles, arms looped around his neck as she, her smile hauntingly beautiful against her gaunt face- despite the money she's paid for her dancing, she still goes hungry and still has to loot the men and woman who frequent the bar or pass too close by her on the street. Her hands perpetually twitch at her sides when she is in crowds and on reaping day she struggles to keep still- the twitching grows worse, more erratic when she can't get a hit.

Her vice- she calls it. Her vice- the thing that her father built his empire on and bought her mother to an early grave. The thing that left her shivering as a newborn, hungry for the drug that had flown sickly sweet through her mothers veins- it was a miracle she survived and for many years she grew up without a second thought, without the hunger she so often felt deep in her bones, the shiver that wracked her body when it had been longer than a week since her last hit. Then, when she was 14, she got into the wrong crowd. It was bound to happen, she was not popular at school and suddenly- out of the blue- these people appeared who seemed cool, who wanted to be her friend. They invited her to parties- they gave her belonging- and they gave her the eurphoria in a little bag.

They had felt pity for her, their ring leader had wanted to get close to her father, but Tempest did not care. She had never cared- perhaps she had lost that ability long ago when she watched her parents tear into each other as a child or perhaps the hits were taking away her humanity, turning her into a shell of a girl with a voice box and a string. Tonight, though, Tempest had already had her eurphoria- now she was just looking for something to keep her heart beating until the next pay day.

Looking over her shoulder, the man still whispering in her ear,Tempest grimacing inwardly as she feigned to hear her name elsewhere in the bar. "Sorry darling...gotta go..." she said with a pout, pressing a kissing against his cheek, trying her best not to flinch away from the stark sour stench of his breath as she pulled away, slipping her hand- and the ration cards- to her side, pressing the cards into the palm of her hand as she placed them on her hips. She turned away, slipping into the crowd.

He wouldn't notice the ballots were missing until he woke up the next morning.