Roman Rowan - District Nine

Name: Roman Christopher Rowan
Age: Twenty-two
Gender: Male
District/Area: District 9
Appearance:

The Rowan family is known for producing tall sons, but Roman's the exception: as the only one in the family that's been under six feet in the last three generations, his paltry height of 5'9" is often a source of embarrassment. Despite this, he's quite stout and muscular and both powerful and quick, though on no occasion would you describe him as 'graceful.' His skin is a deep tan - you-can-practically-see-the-future-melanoma tan - and dotted with small, insignificant scars and moles. Roman has large, callused hands experienced with creating a snare or gutting a catch, though they're typically scratched, scraped, and smeared with dirt. When it comes to wardrobe, he won't win any awards, aiming for practicality over appearance: he's almost always wearing jeans and boots, and his idea of formal is a shirt without holes and too many stains. The man is rarely cold

If you examine any of his features on their own you would consider him plain, though together they combine to make a rugged sort of handsomeness. Dark chocolate-colored hair that's nearly black pokes just past his ears, complementing his coffee-bean eyes. Roman has a strong jawline and a clefted chin, and he's almost always clean-shaven. The hunter's constantly smiling; his teeth are slightly crooked and more yellowish than white - there are, after all, more important things to buy than toothpaste. The most obvious flaw is his slightly-crooked nose, broken from a schoolyard brawl several years ago. A faded scar is also partially hidden under his left eyebrow, curling precariously towards his eye - one centimeter more and the minor incident that caused it could have left him blind.

Personality:

Roman in a nutshell? Easygoing. Always relaxed and cheerful and almost always wearing his imperfect grin, it seems like very little short of the apocalypse could phase him. He's also optimistic, to the point of foolishness - he presumes that nothing will happen to him just because he's Roman Christopher Rowan and tragedies only happen to other people. This extends to the point where he will ignore anything that he even thinks might hint at something negative and will continue on as usual, never saving cash for rough days or thinking ahead. He's never met a stranger and treats everyone, from a cousin to a Peacekeeper, with the same casual kindness and forgives just as easily. At the same time, he's naturally protective; while fighting isn't his idea of a good time, it's the preferred alternative to a loved one being harmed. His temper isn't easy to rouse, but during his rare bouts of anger he tends to lash out at anyone and everything in the area.

You would think that a citizen of Panem would hate the Capitol for assigning their job based on where they live - something they can't even control - but Roman genuinely loves it: the outdoors, the thrill of the hunt, all of it. He's most at peace in the fenced-in forests and hunting grounds instead of in the ramshackle home he shares with a caustic little brother. The pickings might get thin in the winter and it might not be particularly honorable, but it could be worse. If he exceeds his quota for the week, Roman has no qualms with sneaking a skinny pidgeon home - he caught it, after all, and what would the Capitol do with a scrawny bird? Grind it into dog food? Speaking of dogs, the man loves canines, but he's very comfortable with handling any animals; when he was a child, his mother often joked that he should have been born in District Five.

Roman is happiest when in a large group of people; though the people of Panem might not always have much to celebrate, he treats every gathering as if it were one. The man can certainly hold his liquor, those he isn't a drunk. Personal space? He doesn't even have the vaguest idea of that concept and will throw an arm around anyone. He also apparently doesn't understand 'breaking news gently' and is blunter than a fifty-year-old axe, though he tries to avoid being the bearer of bad news whenever possible. When it comes to plans for the future... he honestly doesn't have any. Though the hunter is vaguely certain that he eventually wants to get married and start a family, he's never actively sought out a young woman to wed. He seems perfectly content with his bottom-of-the-pecking-order life.

History:

Roman chose an unfortunate time to be born into the Rowan family; not only had his mother's last pregnancy ended in a stillborn, a bizarre virus was infecting the prey in District 9. His father couldn't make the quota of prey that the Capitol expected - sneaking even a meager piece of prey back to his family was out of the question. His mother's milk ran dry and he nearly starved. Eventually the plague faded and the prey began to slowly return, but bitter arguments remained between his parents. He was too young at the time to remember what they were about, but every time he heard the boiling discontent in his home he would scuttle over to his aunt's home - just next home - and watch her mend clothing or complete other household chores.

In the autumn of his fifth year, a baby brother joined the family: Joshua. Roman had very little interest in the infant, seeing him as only a small, pale creature that would whine insistently but rarely cry. Occasionally a family member would teasingly mention that Joshua looked nothing like his father; though they certainly didn't mean anything by it, the subtle mentions began to add up and make his mother uncomfortable. Before Joshua turned one, their father was living away from the home; though the man still felt obligated to send the trio he'd abandoned a portion of his earnings, the meat that Roman was accustomed to was replaced by cheap grain and greens. (The boy was eleven before he finally broke the association between his little brother and virtually everything unpleasant that had ever happened to him.) The years continued to trickle by, and his father eventually re-established communication with Roman; they were never close and never would be, but the man taught his son a bit about hunting, occasionally giving a small gift. Roman's most prized possession soon became a rust-choked pocketwatch that had stopped working years ago; all the polishing in the world couldn't remove the canker of age from it. He took on a government job as a hunter at the age of fifteen; though he started out with nothing more than clumsy snares, his father eventually gave him a bow to use. Guns, of course, weren't available.

Roman made it through the Reapings unscathed; he started taking tesserae when he was fourteen, and though his stomach would work itself into knots every time a name was chosen, it was never his. He gave Joshua the watch before the boy's first Reaping, though that didn't soothe his little brother's nerves any. He was remarkably lucky - he rarely recognized the children chosen for the Games, and when they were his age he would only recognize them from passing them in the hallway or sharing a class. The closest connection he ever had was the little sister of a girl he fancied, and that didn't really reach him on a personal level. Sure, a twelve-year-old being picked was always a tragedy, but... as guilty as it made him feel to think it, better them then him and his kith.

His mother had never been in good health, but around the time that Roman reached adulthood, both her mental and physical condition began to deteriorate rapidly. Joshua, who had become a chemist's apprentice, tried to treat their mother's dementia with a few different medicines, but nothing was effective. About a week after Roman turned twenty-two, he came home one day to find his dishevelled mother trying to start a fire alone; her nightgown - and much of the furniture - was smeared with gasoline and other flammable materials. If she'd succeeded, she and possibly the entire house would have gone up in smoke.
Needless to say, neither he nor Joshua were going to take that risk.
They passed their mother over to their aunt, hoping that the woman would be able to take care of her; so far there have been no more incidents, and he's hoping that it'll stay that way.

Codeword: muttations
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