Malcolm Pritchard D11 [Complete]

An average 5' 8" height-er, Malcolm's ethnic roots originates from an ancient land mass on the other side of the planet known as Asia, which granted him a dark, brown hue to his skin that prevented serious skin damage when time was spent laboring outside in the scorching sun. The heavy-lifting he has endured from his foster father's fierce training since childhood blessed Malcolm with a solid, tone body that has been quite beneficial for his life outdoors.

Malcolm has coarse and silky black hair that he likes to keep short, though sometimes long at the top since he enjoys using molding clay and pomade to style his hair into different shapes, one he particularly molds into is a diagonal faux-hawk that cuts across his scalp and falls into a parted sweep across his forhead. His nose is somewhat flat and round-ish, his teeth straight (besides his naturally big incisors) and gleaming white, and his irises are a deep shade of brown. You can find some acne developing on his pointed, triangular face, but has been managed efficiently by a high intake of tomatoes and other produce rich in vitamin A that Malcolm has learned to consume.

Malcolm prefers the simple touches of a clean T-shirt and jeans which he tries to keep from being tattered so they're longevity doesn't wear out. A colorfully beaded necklace can reliably be found around his thin neck, while a thrifty watch or a distinctly designed bracelet made from leaves, rubber, and other materials can be found around his wrist. He doesn't wear a hat very often, but often sports a white visor on those particularly sunny days. Malcolm wears only his trusty earthen themed Zigs whenever he's out. Otherwise, a pair of sturdy, rubber soled sandals.

Malcolm is a passionate debater whose inquisitive mind fuels fire in any given argument. He takes pleasure in observing minuscule details and exposing them for their larger values. Though very mentally competitive, he hates organized sports, seeing them as 'a reenactment of war on a smaller scale'.

Malcolm finds himself running outdoors every morning because he enjoys the freedom of breaking boundaries in the personal gain of exploring the world. He created a desire for music from hearing his own rhythmic footsteps combined with his breathing and the sonority of natures wild calling out to him. Malcolm has made several of his own homemade instruments, religiously whittling away wood to make strings, percussion, and sometimes wind instruments which he would expressively compose music from.

Though his love for the arts could create an image of a seemingly lax and easygoing character, Malcolm is actually a perfectionist who does everything meticulously and frustrates over the smallest embellishment. But he only applies this persnickety posture towards his intimate life. Things such as status, money, reputation and appearance bore him to death and he lacks all of it, which is why he always accuses it of being said bore.

Malcolm is still as gentle as a mockingjay, his warmth deriving from his worldly outlook that 'every human being is born on this Earth for their own reasons, which is why we must respect and befriend them, especially those who have not found their reason'. He fondly believes in a harmonic existence with anyone who crosses his path that wishes for it. Still, that doesn't stop him from igniting a crossfire in certain cases when he happens to believe that "Bananas will forever be more delicious than apples!". That's just him finding an outlet from the sheer dullness in this locked-up world that's been planned out for him.

Malcolm was born under the care of his foster parents, both who were of a different race than he. His birth parents lived in District 7 living in near poverty while Malcolm's mother, Ariana, had recently become blessed with the signs of a child during her first month of pregnancy. But a few years before this, Malcolm's brother, Tobias, was entered into the annual Hunger Games after registering for so much tesserae for the starving family.

Tobias actually didn't do so bad, making it as one of the last three survivors in the subterranean arena his Hunger Game generation was sent to. Flooding a chamber full of moles with a pick axe and then digging a small pit that could contain a fire and the heat, eating every last morsel for three days in secrecy and swinging the pickaxe he used to activate the flood at every malnourished contestant that came his way, healthy as a horse.

But soon found out he had a lurking spy on his hands. One day, in his top physical condition, Tobias decided to finish off the competition and used the hide of the mole to light the fire with to guide his way through the tunnels. Hours went by without him hearing the bloodlust breath of the enemies he heard time and time before. A cannibalistic yell reverberated through the walls of eternal entrapment as the skin of the mole flickered off against the Earth beneath. Tobias left his parents and his unborn brother that day under the merciless hand of a guy who won, but lost every bit of sanity left in him and was turned into an Avox.

But curiously, Tobias' body was never found within the chaotic maze of tunnels since the ear-splitting sound of a cannon's blast never took place. The Gamemakers ignored it and considered it a technical malfunction and listed Tobias Vo as dead from then on. But of course, his parents weren't so sure about this and skepticized the Capitol's honesty after being informed about their son's enigmatic disappearance. Years later, Malcolm would follow in their inquisitions and believe in his own self-assurance that his brother is alive and living in a home he built himself somewhere free of the Districts.

The Vo's 'wealth' diminished to the father's crisis of having to work day and night shifts at construction sites under the pressure of both his oldest son's death and also the lost of weekly income that used to also come from his son's iron-welding career which he had to make up for now that he was gone. One night, he became drowned from a day's worth of toiling fatigue and was working on drilling assignment while no one but the night manager, who was busy talking with the contractor inside a constructor's office, could have been watching him.

With eyes puffed red and muscles clinging like sloths onto his skeleton, Khai Hoang Vo wearily drags the jackhammer necessary to complete the job into position. The switch bursting it to life sends poor Mr. Vo instantly into a rupturing journey towards the after life. Not metaphorically, his body tore apart from the force of the jackhammer shaking him while he exerted no control over the device. The manager had a few words in response to walking into this event taking shape, but only hysterical obscenities are repeatedly howled towards the concrete moon.

Ariana Vo, with nothing but grief and the last of her cash in her jacket, travels to District 11 to have her baby delivered to her outside of the district that murdered both her oldest son and her loving husband. Her tough exterior never broke though, even through the agonizing process of bringing her little miracle out into the world pushed every drop of sweat from every open pore on her skin. Ariana has some of the most dented set of teeth behind her lips in turn for never once crying in the eyes of death's malicious teasing. Gritting her teeth deep into her gums, she bellowed in harmony with her newborn son, witnessing light for the first time. It was bittersweet with salty tears and a fresh batch of well-earned blood.

Malcolm took the day off to visit her mom's grave fifteen years after his birth. He wiped off the stain of frosting off his shirt and swept a wrapped box off the dining table, thanked the guests for coming to his party, and walked solemnly outside, pausing for a moment on the front porch of his house. Chloe, Malcolm's recent relationship hook-up, pushes him forward as he stumbles face-first into the long grass, spitting dirt and shouting, "Thwut thwus sat," he spits out a clump of soil, "for?"

Chloe chuckled and sighed as if Malcolm were the child and she was his mother, asking herself What am I ever going to do with you?. "I was poking around a little bit and Quincy gave me a summary of your, ahem, life story, and I'm interested in what your parents were like, especially your mom. I feel a bit guilty how you've already introduced yourself to my parents and I still haven't done it myself. So, are you gonna let me meet your mom or not?"

God, I hate it when she smirks. She's so freakin' cute when she does that! Tony pats his pants free of grime on his way back up and takes a sarcastic posture, wide-eyed mischievous and retorts to his teenage lover, "I'm not gonna introduce you to my mom unless you put on one of your loser dresses! I felt like such an idiot wearing that get-up you got me to meet your parents! I could have drowned myself in oil and dove into a tanning bed with those god-forsaken khakis just to watch them burn!"

"Haha, you're such a lame poser! I don't think you could act tough for your life! But..." Chloe gravitated towards Malcolm with the aura of a professional actress, "...I guess that's why I fell for you."
The moments these two lock lips are never as exciting as the movies, nor do they ever get any further than a firm press that lasts for a second, but Malcolm never mind. It's her that he's taken for, and a bit of who she was that attracted him. How much he felt the presence of his mother around her.

Malcolm groaned playfully and grasped her arm, yanking her forward while he ran at his top speed. Malcolm was exceptionally swift, but that never awed Chloe. In fact, she could keep up. Sometimes she would make it her business, like today, to try and leap ahead of him. So Chloe broke free of Malcolm's loose grip and ignited right before his eyes into the depths of the forest in front of him. Malcolm couldn't be any happier to have a girl that could keep up with him, even surpass him, and shrieked laughter as he whipped his legs forward.