Delphine, District 7 FINISHED

Delphine Kinkade
Age: 20
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 7
Appearance:

What I see gazing into the mirror isn't what you'd call stunning. Maybe more like normal or average. I've got light brown hair, that in dull lighting looks almost grayish. In the sun, though, it has tints of red. I normally pull it back in a pony tail, and then clip the stray strands back.

I have high cheekbones, just beneath my eyes and my cheeks are not full at all. The skin curves down from my cheekbones to my chin in a steady line until it reaches my small rounded chin. I have dimples whenever I smile. My teeth are white... ish. As white as I can keep them anyway without visiting a dentist (not enough money) and they're not very straight. (Never had braces; not enough money). My skin is a bronze sort of tone, but I don't see the sun much so I'm still pale. I don't burn easily; I tan.

My face is a little odd, actually, if you look at it carefully. I have a small nose; a little to small, and too round. My eyes are a little wider apart then most people's and I have a thin mouth with a bigger lower lip than top lip. But most of this isn't noticeable unless you look carefully. My eyes are dark brown with natural untouched eyebrows. I never wear make up; too much trouble.

I'm about one hundred and five pounds and I'm 5'1". I normally wear capri pants because they're airy, easy to move around in and they keep you cool. White, skin tight with elbows length sleeve shirt. I always wear tennis shoes. I don't have anything to do with those flimsy sandal things that give you blisters.

Personality:

I wouldn't quite know how to describe myself... I suppose you could say I'm a nice person. I try to act kindly to everyone and I try to keep my temper with people who aggravate me. If I get mad, I simmer on the inside and remember my anger. I don't burst. The only person I burst with is my brother, but he's matured enough where it's not a problem anymore.

I've also been called cynical before, and maybe it's true. I do always expect the worst of everything and I don't think much of stuff like true love and winning the lottery. That stuff all belongs in stories. It's called being realistic though, not cynical. Optimists are idiots who sit around thinking that everything will be all right without trying to do anything to alter the future.

I believe in creating your own fate. Like I said earlier, optimists just sit there and point out the good stuff. I like to make the good stuff happen, instead of just looking at it and say "Well, whadya know!".

I've always been scared of throwing up. Odd fear, I know. But when I was little I got sick and started throwing up a lot. And then my friend threw up when she was at my house a couple days after recovery. After that, I was always scared I was going to throw up. For a year, my stomach ached nonstop as if I was sick. I lost a lot of weight that year. It's better since then, but I'm still left with fear of bad foods, and high fevers.

It's weird though. I don't mind spiders or rats. I just hate vomiting.

History:

There really isn't much to say. But I said that for the top two groups also, and somehow I managed to make an essay out of both of them, so here goes.

My mother and father are still alive and kicking. I live with them and my older brother who chops down trees. I've been spared the task of cutting down trees because I run the family's bakery.

My father was the baker and he has this ancient baking recipes book that's been passed down from generations ago (or so he says. Some of the recipes look like he made them up and added them trying to pass them off as ancient traditional recipes.). So my father ran a bakery when he was younger. One day he met this beautiful young woman and immediately fell in love with her. My mother liked to say that she did not originally like him. She was dating some good looking poor man who was destined to become a wood-chopper like my brother. Eventually, however, my father finally won her heart and she married him and moved into his bakery (which was considerably nicer than her family shed).

Their first child was a girl, Charlotte, who died when she turned eight months old from SID. Then they had my brother, Alexander who, obviously, lived to become a twenty four year old, happily chopping down trees to make a meager living and dating a pretty blonde girl who he'll probably marry eventually.

Four years after Alexander, I came. I could tell you an entire book about my younger life, but honestly, none of it is important. Just me selfishly stealing other kid's dolls or crying over a dead lizard, or bruising my knee. Nothing that really mattered. Just the things that stuck out to me when I was little. What does, however matter, is how much I loved and learned about baking.

Soon when my mother could no longer help my father with the baking (she was too busy and tired and didn't wish to work any longer, I took her place. Still too young to get a job, I would go to school, and when I came home I'd help in the bakery. I would make it look as if mom was still working, even if she wasn't.

Eventually my mother and father became old enough to not have to work. My father does go out and help Alexander with his job sometimes to earn some extra money and sometimes everyone chips in with the baking.