Finn Parrish [District Seven]

Finn holds herself with a distant frigidity than is often confused with an upright arrogance. She prefers a simple, masculine wardrobe, favorites of hers including dark, slim trousers made of a sturdy material similar to denim, a pair of solid suede-leather boots with several buckles and thick laces, blackened by the dark loam of the foresting areas, and a neutral palate of tunic tops ranging from thick woolen sweaters and cozy buttoned flannels, to the pilfered white cotton t-shirts that the lumber haulers wear on hot days. One constant is the light, worn in denim jacket that was handed down by an elder brother, lost in a previous Hunger Games, of not worn then wrapped around her waist or slung over a shoulder. Unlike the handful of girls in District Seven that could get their hands on make up or other beautifying products, she scorns the use of such and prefers to treat her vanity in a more honest way. She loves the way her eyes seem matched to her pronounced facial features, almond shaped and a hazy grey-blue in color, lending a sly, almost fierce, looking edge to her expressions. Finn wears her strawberry-blonde hair long and free, occasionally surrendering to a hair cut or wrestling it into a braid pulled over one shoulder.

STRENGTHS: Fearless, thoughtless loss of any inhibitions when confronted by any stressing matter, event, or person.
Impeccable physical reflexes.
A straightforward sense of justice.
One clever tongue, quick to lie and do it well.
Fierce sense of family and obligation.
Very handy with knives.
Generally confident in skills relevant to survival in the outdoors; how to identify a clean water source, start a fire, make a waterproof shelter, identify edible vegetation.
Extraordinarily keen ears.

WEAKNESSES: The promise of a good brawl.
Lofty view of her own capabilities.
Straight white liquor.
A lack of surefooted-ness.
Curly-haired boys with honest eyes.
A rare sort of vanity that drives her to be the center of attention, the kind that people cannot identify as either bravery or stupidity.
A vivid imagination that will occasionally convince her of wildly unrealistic things.
Crippling inability to plan ahead.
Eyes that are slowly growing more and more near sighted, coupled with sensitive day vision and strong night vision.
Absolutely NO sense of direction.

LIKES: Stray dogs.
Tea brewed with peppermint and juniper berries.
Red hair.
Clean, dry, thick woven socks.
Rare beef steaks.
Sore pectoral muscles after a long day of climbing trees or swinging an axe.
The smell of camp fire smoke.
Stories and songs from the lumbermen.
APPLES.
Legs and arms cut up from bramble bushes or cat scratches.

DISLIKES: Needles.
Cougars.
Rabbit meat.
Girls that are larger than her.
Rebel revolution-mongers.
Being tickled.
District Two.
Being picked up.
Shin splints.
The sad, weary bodies of kids who work in the papermills.
Long runs.
Wearing shoes.
Having bangs.

Born Finley Lorraine, this girl had a mostly gentle upbringing. Her mother kind and soft, her father respectable and albeit, a little gruff, raised her along with her brothers and numerous cousins in the rustic outskirt village that housed the lumbermen of District Seven. Being the only girl, she wasn't spared ribbons or dresses, but taught to throw knives and split wood and wrestle, and this suited her just fine.
The presence of the Capitol and the suffering of the common man was almost lost to her, as her father was one of the honored few grounds-keepers that tended the lumbermen and the expanse of forests that surrounded the city and continued for the acres into the foothills of the mountains that created a natural boundary for the District, so imposing that the Peacekeepers stopped patrolling the areas that the gargantuan electric fence ended, about ten miles into the woods beyond the city. Nobody could make it out and through the perilous passes of the range without certain death.
Almost blessed the tight-knit community of woodsmen were, losing both a daughter and a son to the Games only once in consecutive years of Finn's early childhood, and one having returned home a victor. The children lost were typically those of the people who worked in the papermills and lived in the sweaty, dank industrial area of the city and lived off of the tessarae the could pull. They held an amiable relationship with the Peacekeepers, who turned a blind eye to the poaching of game in the woods that hadn't been clear cut yet, as it kept larger predators disinterested and they could usually get a fine, fat pheasant once every few days for their cooperation.
This peace and comfort was disrupted during the Reaping of the 52nd Hunger Games. A few years of tree rot and diseases among the game had left a noticeable downfall in the prosperity of those living in District Seven, worst among those were the lumbering families that had to leave and find work in the mills, one of those being Finn's aunt, and her three young children when their father never returned home one evening. The eldest of the three children, still merely 13 and the same age as Finn herself, the only one old enough to work in the mills, was Reaped. Within the expanse of boys down her father's line, only Finn's twin older brothers and one cousin who had lost an arm in the mills were old or strong enough to take his place. Hayden had pulled the boy out of the Peacekeeper's arms without a second thought, and went into the Games himself.
During their goodbyes, Hayden pulled his twin aside to task him with the knowledge of the woods, and to secure a promise that he would keep their long lines in the city from starving, and to keep his hunting quick and quiet, and that their father now needed to let Finley out on her own to pick up the extra work he would leave behind. He slipped his denim jacket off, one of the few things purchased brand-new, and tossed it to his brother, and disappeared into the arms of the Capitol.
Hayden was thrown into the Arena, a vast, frozen wasteland, and was promptly hacked to pieces by the boy from District Two.
Kenley hung himself that night, having watched his other half brutally murdered. The morning they woke to this, Finn found Hayden's denim jacket folded and tucked under her pillow.
Slowly, their family started to grow mute and distant. Finn spent all hours from after school late into the evening in the woods, avoiding her silent home and pouring herself into the leaves and mud and streams and skill at trapping rabbits and running from the occasional pissed off goose.
One day, when bringing some game into the city for her Aunt, a stray began sticking it's nose into her bag, and decided to follow her until he got something out of it. Impressed by the tenacity of the pup after it quietly shadowed her all the way through the outskirts of town and back to her house, she scrubbed down his tawny colored coat, gave him some rabbit, named him Scout, and gave him the spot at the foot of her bed. This worked quite well for both of them, as it turned out he was quite the bird dog, and he kept her feet warm.
Several years have passed like this, and now, nearing the turn of the season back to summer and another Reaping on it's way, it seems as if nothing has changed, and a restless Finn finds herself itching for something new.