Virga Fulsworth | Capitol

       

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TW TW TW - Body-Image issues (mention of plastic surgery and looking 'perfect'), mental illness (depression, delusion and reality troubles)-  TW TW TW

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Name: Virga Fulsworth

Age: 28

Gender: Man (He/Him)

District: The Capitol
Occupation: Small-time internet show host/commentator that focused on

the Games, who moon-lights as a professional stalker of the Capitols elite

(whether in-person or through their social media) though some might not

consider that a true profession.

Appearance:

Basics:

Height: 5”3

Natural Hair: Dark Brown

Eyes: Hazel

Physical

Build: Barely toned, slim build. 

Expanded:

While he has his plain old 'I was born with this' looks, in the later years of his life he has become fascinated with the bright and colourful eye of some of the top couture artists in the Capitol. He often has his hair dyed exuberant shades of pink, blue and red to match his aesthetic choice in clothing. It’s rare to see him donning a plain suit, it must have thrills and stand out amongst the rest. As his mind has slowly delved deeper and deeper into delusion his appearance has changed along with it. Unbeknownst to most, but his state of mind can be seen upon his sleeve. In spite of his height he will look down at you from the moment he steps into a room, his cold gaze enhancing his intimidating presence. Eyes can tell a million stories all stretching across a million more feelings but when you stare into his eyes you will only see cold wild fury staring back.

He maintains his current physical build in order to ‘fit in’with the ‘ideal’ body standards he sees around the Capitol. He does not see a need to gain any kind of big muscle mass, as it is not needed in his life.However, just like with his outward aesthetic his physical body has also evolved with the ever-shifting colours of his mind. He used to look rather plain when he was in his early 20s, but along came money and power that fuelled him to be the ‘ideal self.’ This has caused him to become enthralled with his looks which lead him to plastic surgery to fix any and all flaws. He may not say it outwardly but he is obsessed with looking ‘perfect’. If he glances towards a mirror he might find himself in a trance waiting for a new flaw to jump out or simply be dazzled by his own perfection. He’s afraid that if he sits idle for too long, or does not preen himself enough he’ll look into that mirror and see the horrendous and frightful monster of his hideously low self-esteem staring back at him. It is not very obvious to casual observers of his medical treatments, unless you have a keen eye for that sort of thing. He is careful to selectively choose what signs of ageing to keep and what others to stamp out violently.

One thing people find of note about him, is his smile. It’s been described as like that of a Cheshire cat. The way his lips curl around his top teeth and up his cheeks is almost otherworldly unsettling. It is made more prominent by his lack of showing teeth until he gives you that proper cruel ear to ear curious smile. His body movements are equally cat like, perhaps more like a cat-snake hybrid as he twists his body around yours to lend you a very heart-felt and sympathetic ear (read as: an ear to listen to your problems to potentially use them against you).

Personality: 

Virga comes across to bystanders as lively, animated and full of zest and zeal for life. He is the first to lend you a hand and help you with your seat and in turn the first to slap your hand and rip your chair out from underneath you should you even conceive deceiving him. His dazzling and almost suffocating presence is nothing more than a wall to keep you out of his true intentions and feelings. He’s often described as a ‘drama queen’ never seen having a normal emotion about anything. He likes a song? He’ll shout it to the rooftops, he wants to talk gossip and spread his dislike for a person? He’ll do so without hesitation and of course exaggerating truly awful that person was. He is always over the top no matter what he is expressing and all of that acting and for what? A smokescreen to hide the ever growing void in his soul that gnaws at his very fabric of his being.

The truth is, despite all of his glamour and boisterous notions he is a husk of a human being. He lost all sense of purpose and true vision for his life long ago and this lack of vision has allowed delusions of a better life for himself to encapsulate every fibre of his being. It was years ago now when the depression that took a hold of his mind was at its worse. How he decided to cope is what shaped the creature that now stands before you. A homunculus, an artificial human, of day-dreaming, soul-destroying consumerism and a lust for all things bright and powerful.

Virga’s favourite pastime is people watching and even more-so people judging. He could tear you down with a look and lift of his perfectly sculpted eyebrow. His ability to tear someone down in a few words should honestly be considered an Olympic fear with effortlessly it can roll off his tongue. His viciousness only gets worse the more his backed into a corner until eventually he strikes like a terrified snake. That mask rarely gets lifted, but when it does it reveals the twisted coils that build up the persona that springs to life before you.

The person under that mask? A rage induced hurricane that easily has its emotions sucked from it as it does grow from them. They become barely able to be contained and when the kettle finally blows and the steam evaporates what is left is his true ugly face that can no longer be contained by pretty colours and flamboyant gestures. The emotionally manipulative, and deceitful Samaritan who happily bites the hand that feeds it and crushes the heart it gently holds in its clasp. Anything to get you away from getting too close. Because like all things, there is more to this vapid evil persona that meets the eye. His cruelty masks his vulnerability, the pain he feels fuels his disdain for others all of this culminating into the constructed figure that is Virga Fulsworth. 

History: 

Born on a tumultuous stormy summer’s night to a moderately wealthy family, by the Capitol’s standards, he had your typical upbringing in life. His name ‘Virga’ given to that of a dry storm where, from dark cumulus clouds, rain falls but never quite reaches the ground. Which, when given the chance, can lead to the fuelling of storm cells creating dangerous phenomena like tornadoes and life changing thunderstorms

Of course he was just a boy, not creating any natural disasters. He did what most children do, he drew on walls, he climbed up structures he shouldn’t have and he spent most of his time at school learning. Learning what? Who knows he has mostly forgotten what he was taught as a young boy. One distinct thing from his childhood that carried on throughout his life was this feeling of all-encompassing loneliness. His business couple parents were always off gallivanting about, shilling a new idea here, and buying a new penthouse there. When their time wasn’t taken up by work they were doting on his two older brothers who were born closer together then Virga was to the younger of the two. His earliest memories were of him, sitting alone staring at the television creating fantasies of himself being in whatever movie or TV show he was watching at the time.

Then there they were, dazzling, shining and mind-altering to a young boy. The Hunger Games. A show that reminds Panem of its history and a promise to never return back to the savage ways of the Dark Days. While his family was busy socialising in the city, he sat glued to that screen watching the gory scenes play out in front of him and my god were they mesmerising. The horror on the children’s faces as a swift blow from a heavy stone ended their existence. All for the glory of Panem and its continued glorious future. He was often disgruntled when a tribute was killed by something the Gamemakers implemented into the Games. Such as a mutant dog or some wild weather phenomenon. It ruined the excitement for him, it ruined the brutality of it all which he came to enjoy ever since he was that small child sitting alone in the living room. He often pined for a return to the traditional way of the games, before technology became as advanced as it was now.

Eventually he graduated from high school and went to work with his father. His older brothers were off living it up in the Capitol not needing to worry about money or responsibility because their parents funded it all. No, Virga was not going to be like them. He would claw his way up a thorn covered ladder if he had to. Yet, he stagnated. For years his loneliness from childhood had caught up on him and culminated into a deep depressive state. Everyday dragged on and became mechanical, even the Games didn’t excite him anymore. No one around him noticed of course, he learned early on in his life how to hide what he was feeling, for the comfort of everyone else, not like they gave a damn anyway.

Then he saw her, a dazzling sparkle of gold that reflected in his eye of the television screen. Sardonyx. When the glamour, the allure and the unwavering power of her aura gleamed in his eyes, something in him clicked.

He would become a dazzling light, a bright horrible light that shone electric blue and vibrant pink. His name would rattle the walls of the Capitol’s tallest building like the loudest thunder and strike like the fiercest lightning. He took one glance into his reflection left from the now black screen and he saw his future. He would become a star, and with any luck, the host of his beloved torturous show, the Hunger Games. Those fantasies he had as a child began to spin and stir within him again, suddenly he felt alive, more alive than he had ever felt.

He took what money he could from his parents and went and started his own life. He bought into all the glitz and glam, but made it his mission to shine brighter than his fellow Capitolites. He would embody that bright striking red that drowned every bit of memorabilia the Capitol produced. The husk of a human was beginning to form as the creature that formed his personality began to arise in the form of a demented and delusional phoenix.

Face-claim: Jacob Anderson