Larisa Bishop - District 2 - fin

Some people have pretty faces. I'm not a classical beauty, I know that straight off the bat, but it doesn't mean I'm nessicarily ugly. I like to think I'm unconventional looking. With pale skin that is rarely exposed to the sunlight (why would I want to get my skin tan? It makes me look older.) and is rather smooth on the face. The rest is rather stretched and tired looking due to the constant stretching of muscles combined with the Dermatofibroma removal scars, I'd consider the skin that I hide under jackets and lace gloves to be rather unacceptable in a human beings appearance. No, I don't expect to look absolutley perfect but I'd like to be close to it as possible, which means wearing dark, long sleeves during the summer, sporting lace glovelets on most occasions, and wearing long pants on a consistant basis, no matter what. Shoes are optional, since feet are nearly always ugly on a person, so I find myself free to wear whatever shoes I seem fit. And most of the time, it's sturdy shoes in dark colors, just like the vast majority of my clothing.

I don't like my forehead. In my opinion, it's too square and makes me look frankenstien-esque. It doesn't help that my hairline is rather high and linear, but still. I have a rather large forehead that I wish was smaller. My eyes are rather iffy for me, in all honesty. I'm not a fan of the color, since it is oh-so-average in it's tone, but I do rather like the shape, since they are dramatically slanted and make me look a little bit more sly and intellectual than the average person. Or it could be my heavily-made up eyelids. Due to vainity, I tend to smother my eyelids in caked terra-cotta eyeshadow and thick black lines of eyeliner which I like to think makes my eyes have some tint of green to them, even though I'm pretty sure it remains the same, medicore brown. My nose is rather small and straight, giving me something of an impish appearance, and since it slopes up, I consider it to be rather dainty looking. It's not something I'm especially opposed to, but I'd rather not look dainty. My lips are rather large for my jawline, which is rather thin and pointy. I tend to coat my lips in multicolored lip glosses and sticks, leaning mostly towards dark pinks and reds.

After years of career training, some people would call my body fit. Yes, I do assume my body is fit, not slender or willowy or anything outside of that. I'm built with actual muscle tone instead of this "Lean muscle" shit that some people try to pull. Lean muscle is ovverrated. Why have muscle if it's "Lean" or "Scarce"? Well, to say the least, I'm short. In fact, I'm 5' 2'', which I get irritated by on a consistant basis. Why couldn't I of grown two more inches, to an acceptable height? I blame my Mother. And again, I'm not slender or willowy. I'm not overweight either, weighing 110 pounds, which is on the BMI scale, a perfect weight for someone of my height. Most of my height is made up in my legs though, leaving me with an unbelievebly short torso, which agitates me, because it is very difficult to find right-fitting clothing.

I rather like my hair, I consider it to be one of my favorite attributes about my appearance. It's dark brown and rather thick, and is that right consistancy between straight and wavy that makes it rather easy to work with. But that means I don't like doing things to it. I usually curl it, just because I like how curls frame my face. My hair is rather long, meeting the middle of my back. It's kind of a security blanket for me, so I keep it long out of habit.

I don't think I'm the best thing since sliced bread. I mean, I have this self-confidence that I think keeps people away from me, but I'm not concieted. I mean, I really do care what people say about me, I honestly do. I just try not to show it. My default confident attitude usually comes off as someone who is concieted. Obviously, I do not like to think that I am, and shrug off what other people say about me, despite how very true it may be.

The truth scares me, honestly. As a compulsive liar, I understand it may not be the best thing to do, but I lie because it lets me get what I want, or for other people to respect me more than they do. I'd rather have people respect me with lies than not respect me at all, and I assume thats why I lie. I lie because I want to project a self image that is not my usual, and by doing that, I feel more secure about my lies. And they keep on coming, elaborating onto the little things that you may lie about.

I exaggerate everything. I've been told that I make mountains out of mole hills, and I like to think that I do. It's rather interesting to watch myself change the small little truths into huge, exaggerated messes. It's something I like to think I do rather well, and it's interesting to watch the peoples reactions when they realize that I am not lying, but bringing a small truth and blowing it out of proportion.

You see, being raised in district two has made my parents resort to making me into a career. Mostly because they want respect and all that, but I like the games strategies and such. I'm not offensive, though. I tend to be more of the person who only retaliates with a knife blade if agitated, and thats fine with me, because if you mess with me, you get venom. If you don't, it's fine, I will ignore you and I will be on my way. But be warned, I am possibly one of the best self-defense attackers you may find. Or that could be my conceit kicking in.

Some people call me vain, and I like to take that as a compliment. I mean, it does mean that it seems that I care about my appearance, which I do, which is a truth, and after lying for so long, it's rather nice to have a truth thrown at you. I do care for my appearance, and in some respect, yes, I am a bit vain. I spend a lot of time in the morning getting ready, and I like to look nice. Is there anything wrong with that?

I like to think I have a complex of moving on quickly from relationships. I'm not exactly a heartthrob, I'll admit that, but I am rather picky and like to damage anybody that gets in my way of accomplishing my goals, especially lovers and all of that stuff. I'd rather just get it over with and leave them on the cold, hard sidewalk if they are going to try to latch themselves to me. To say the least, my affections are few and far between.

I can sew decently. I can do that, mostly because my mother owns a tapestry shop, and before I began career training, she wanted me to take over it. It's dreadfully boring, but I am fairly skilled at it, not naturally, but by precise practice and the promise of receiving a reward after I finished sewing something when I was younger.

I'll admit to it, I'm a little bit of a nervous wreck. I'm paranoid about everything coming back and biting me, and even more paranoid that it will just right off bite me and not give me any time for retaliation. So, basically, I'm scared that I'm going to screw up. Constantly.

My parents met during a reaping. Mother was one of the socialite types, someone who's parents were invited to the capitol frequently and Father was the career tribute that was supposed to go in the year that they met. But no, my father was too much of a wuss to suck it up and actually volunteer, so some scrawny kid of a clockmakers son went in and died on the second day. Continuing on. So, according to my mother, it was "LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT!" so, a year later, the two got married. Mostly because my mother was pregnant with me (Well, teenage romances are fairly common in the districts....) but somewhat because they wanted to.

So, I was born in October, on the twentieth of the month. I was born a week later than I was supposed to, so I was a healthy baby, to say the least. I was doted upon by grandparents and aunts and uncles. The only people who didn't seem to have any real interest in me were my actual parents, but I don't think my relatives minded, mostly because they wanted something in their life that was a descendant of my whiny parents and their childish antics. They were fine taking care of me as my parents jumped off cliffs and went to detention centers. They were fine with it.

Well, then my mother opened her sewing shop, a secret love she'd had ever since she was a little girl. So, when she opened this said shop, she wanted me to be involved in it so much. As an eight year old girl, I had to reluctantly agree to attempt to try sewing, which was something she almost pressured me into doing. So, to make my mother happy as an eight year old, I learned how to sew well enough that I could finally ask for career training. My parents agreed. Probably to get me out of their hair, since I was such a stubborn child.

At the age of twelve, I had somewhat perfected the art of retailiation, but by that time, my parents were going down in sanity. Mother was having nervous breakdowns whenever she messed something up with the sewing shop, and father was retreating to alcohol due to our financial woes. To say the least, my family was spiraling downhill. And as a twelve year old citizen of district two, I had nothing to do about it except for sit there during dinner and listen to the heated arguments between my parents about money and alcohol.

By the time that I was sixteen, my parents had finally just given up on fighting and while living in the same house, didn't ever talk. It was rather frustrating to be the communication center between an alcoholic and an ex-socialite with spending issues. It was rather difficult, until I just gave up on them and didn't talk to them either. The best they would get out of me was a note saying if I wasn't in the house. The house was and still is silent.