.chandler--boo--stebbins [pk]

.chandler--boo--stebbins [pk] Dec 3, 2010 19:16:46 GMT -5

Post by Quint on Dec 3, 2010 19:16:46 GMT -5

Chandler.Boo.Stebbins

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Trying to be something that I wasn't at all
Seems I got it wrong
I was chasing after something that was gone
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m a l e
t w e n t y - n i n e
p e a c e - k e e p e r

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a p p e a r a n c e

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For the most part, his body was usually slumped forward, probing the floor for anything interesting. Due to this, he developed back problems, but the pose was nothing new to him. Thin, rather damp dirty blonde hair sloped downward over his forehead and hung above his eyes. Speaking of which, the grey brooding irises were ones that never ceased to dart from one object to another.

He's tall. No other way to put it. Standing at 6'3, his towering stature is only brought down by the lankiness embodying it. It makes him look weaker than he actually is; not to excuse the fact that he is terribly clumsy and often drops things when they are handed to him. Blame this on his long, attenuated fingers, erecting from his rough, sturdy hands, habitually trembling with a certain amount of anxiety that just plain wasn’t normal. He twitches a lot for some reason; and when he does, his unconventionally reddish lips cringe or twist to the side too quickly. Hardly noticeable. Occasionally, his lips used to quiver and a quiet cough would be in order.

For someone as thin as he was, the skinny legs he had that some would believe to be mere skeleton bones were pretty standard. Though for all the other brutes (Peace Keepers) who spend most of their training building up their muscle, he was considered rather freakish and mortifying. Not that he didn't spend time building his muscle, but he didn't quite acknowledge any future involving him and too giant mega-human pillars as arms. And while he wasn't the strongest in his troop of trainees, Chandler (surprisingly) does have a steady hand when taking a shot.

His nose was small and diminutive, not at all like the substantial trunks protruding from the heavy set guys he usually sat next to. Chandler’s nose was the one thing on his body that wasn't completely pale or resembled the structure of a cadaver. In fact, it was the one thing that showed others that the walking skeleton was, in all certainty, alive. As if he were spending every hour of his life burying himself in snow, the dainty young man comprised an ashen skin body and at the tip: a withered red bulb-like nose.

p e r s o n a l i t y

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Chandler doesn't exactly idolize his employers as much as the other Peace Keepers do, but he does admit he holds a half-hearted respect for them. Though, over all the years he has been training under their instruction, he can't help but feel conflicted when it came to siding between the Districts or the Capitol. Of course, it's his job to fight with the Capitol no matter what, but in the long run, whether he would be able to gun down the peasants just as easily as the other trainees were able to was something he always gave a second thought to. However, Chandler isn't always a milksop. There are times where he'll lead the operation and take charge, despite the cost, but for the most part his incentive to precede is limited.

The constant harassment he gets doesn't really alleviate any of his insecurity either. Not that he's abused or mocked, but for the most part, he is played with. He is constantly the younger brother in everything, and when he isn't, he's the pet. The plaything, if truth be told. And not once is he granted the opportunity to ascend up the Peace Keeper societal food chain. To everyone, stepping on Chandler is fun and unfortunately, a common practice.

He's completely indifferent throughout most debates and never chips in his own opinion, mostly because he already knows no one would really like to listen. He'd make for a horrible mediator and in times of pressure, he'd either stay quiet and jog away. Now, he's completely insensitive. He shows no feeling and conveys no form sentience, much to the annoyance of his fellow Peace Keepers who like a good joke or two and much to the discontent of his family, who try to comfort him. They used to love him more, when he was in a time of actual distress, but as he grew more and more robotic, they practically cut him off from the family.

For as along as anyone could remember, he had always been socially inept, making even the funniest of moments awkward within seconds. Even when he was school and had some friends, he never really communicated and developed any sort of bond with them. He was just the outlandish boy on the side who watched and observed. But now today, for reasons later explained, he is the center of attention.

h i s t o r y

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Each trainee in his troop had been assigned a District to inspect for a course of 3 months. Chandler was given 12, considering he was classified as one of the weakest, as in sensitive. Those who showed sympathy for the barely responsive cadet hoped he'd have it easy when compared to the others trainees, who were sent to the higher, stronger districts. On the contrary, actually.

The 3 brutal months were hell for feeble boy. His job was to monitor the miners; make sure they were doing their work. However, the physical abuse he didn't receive from the other trainees was branded on by the under estimated and few well built colliers. They laughed and beat him while he whimpered and wasn't able to bring himself to use the gun he was told to use no matter what, even if no one stepped out of line. It was completely rare the District people overcame any Peace Keepers, and when they did, the authorities usually put up a fight. But no, they used whatever they had in their hands to take advantage of the dangerously lenient trainee. From the butts of their pick axes to the hard coal itself. They even almost killed him once. With a strong kick to the head, he would've been done, but the senior officer had come in time to shut them up. Evidently, spraying a group of miners with bullets does keep them quiet.

Before the 3 months of abuse from the people of District 12, he had led a seemingly normal training process. The usual. He had taken his physical, where they had regarded him as "bony, functioning, healthy" and managed to extract some blood in spite of his "idiosyncratic fear of sharp things". Then, he had followed up with moderate intelligence scores and prominent marksmanship, whereas in hand to hand combat, he showed no sign of dexterity whatsoever. It was the fact that he could handle a gun that kept him past the cut, but it seemed he only exhibited skill when firing at plastic mannequins.

This led to questioning. Why would someone who's afraid to shoot at people sign for a high level authority gig? The answer is ambiguous, even to Chandler himself. In all of the years his family had spent living in District 2, they had never shown any significance or contribution to society. They were just there. The Stebbins had no line of trade and when it came to occupations, they took whatever was offered at the time because any sort of job was hard to come by for each and every member of the family. 43 years ago, after Chandler's step grandfather had protested against the Games and the mistreatment of some of the Districts, the Stebbins name had become one not frowned upon, but considered traitorous. And the reputation stuck, however, they remain ignored and unacknowledged throughout society. Their local community followed a utilitarian approach and they were seemingly forever left as unimportant. All that changed with the crash.

Not but three years ago, Chandler had been onboard a hijacked hovercraft. Fortunately, it had crashed into the more rural part of District 2. Unfortunately, only he and 2 others had survived; all three were in a coma, mentally unresponsive for several weeks. The other two had died in the early stages of their prolonged sleep. Only Chandler remained, showing no sign of consciousness and his skin burnt into grotesque form. And if those problems weren't enough, the hospital bills began piling up. Those who had run the Peace Keeper administration refused to pay for them, leaving his family to scrape up every cent they could. The money payed off, seeing as he had finally woken up after 13 weeks, but the Stebbins still remained with the insurmountable debt piling on their shoulders.

It took months after his awakening to rehabilitate enough to function in any sort of proper manner. However, the damage from the crash was too much, even for the best of doctors. It was the bottom line of beyond repair. However, they had a plan. They had the suit.

The suit had been relatively easy to make. The Capitol had had District 3 working on it for a while, but who was to know their next guinea pig would be the sole survivor/burn victim of a Peace Keeper hovercraft? Within days, they had him suited in. The helmet masked his face and the tousled wires around him were rather complicated to work out, but in time, he grew used to it. A few night shifts on patrol and he was ready and set. He could shoot, run, jump, and fight just as he used to, but the smoke from the crash had left him with a hoarse, gritty voice; not the weak and subtle one he had had not long ago. The suit had changed his life for the worse, but for his family, it couldn't have been better.

Chandler had become a nationwide phenomenon. He was nicknamed Boo because of the frightening image under the helmet. They filmed him everywhere he went. They interviewed distant family and friends that somehow managed to reconcile with him out of nowhere. At first, he had requested his resignation from the Peace Keeper business and had wanted to be relieved of his duties, but they refused to let him go. They forced him to work with them and used the giant hospital debt against him. In order to pay it off, he'd have to continue working for as long as he lived.

odair

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