Shiv Creel {FIN}

Shiv Creel
Twenty-four years of age
Male
The Second District of Panem
odair
FC is Christian Slater
Theme: Detroit Was Built On Secrets by Search The City

The man named Shiv is six foot and one and a half inches tall, and weighing in at two hundred and seventeen pounds. Most often, his muscular frame can be found leaning on the wall of a gym, or spotting someone attempting to lift dumbbells. There are multiple plain black tattoos covering his back and arms, a few animals and words , including a sentence that is a spin on the tattoo his brother had. “The odds CAN be in your favor”, rather than “The odds are in MY favor.” Shiv wears dark clothing most of the time; the garb of mourning he has heard it said a few times. If he’s not helping someone, he can be found wearing workout clothes as he strolls around the district. A far cry from the places he called his usual haunts only a few years ago, the seedy bars and the run down parties.


Sad hazel eyes peer out at careers that want to be the very best, but behind his soft iris’s it looks as if he sees something he does not like, perhaps a reflection, or a similarity that gives him cause to be a tad upset. His voice lends encouraging words, even as he smiles sadly, sniffing with his romanesque nose as he takes in a breath that will become a sigh. The light brown hair that covers his head is kept short and smoothed back when it hasn’t begun to stick up from sweat. Spiny stubble sprouts from his cheeks and above and below his lips; he doesn’t shave very often as the stubble hides the thinness of his lips and the way the bottom one slightly quivers around reaping time.

***

Those that knew Shiv before his brother was reaped would tell you that for an older brother, he was completely immature. A rude boy with a seething undertone of cruelty, guided by nothing but snarky comments and an Ill temper. He was not the kind of person most wanted to associate with, and most agreed that he was headed down the same road as his father. Having started smoking and drinking at a young age, and gathering a seedy reputation, it seemed that his elders predictions would come true, just another disillusioned career that had grown too old to make something of himself. Discarded and forgotten like so many others.

That all changed when his brother died. He had always given Razor a hard time, insults escalating to fistfights where the younger one usually suffered multiple bruises and cuts. But seeing him die in the mud of a graveyard section of Arena gave him pause, and time to think that lasted several months. The death of his only sibling hit him far harder than he could have imagined, especially since victory had seemed to be so close. Faced with his own morality and a mother that had started to use morphling, Shiv became disgusted with his vices, giving up alcohol, not wanting to go down the same path as his father, and quitting smoking as well, hitting the gym repeatedly and desperate to improve himself. Why? Because Razor had done everything the way district two careers were expected to, and it hadn’t worked out at all.

So what could he expect, with his life in no semblance of order? Gone was the jealous grudge holder of his youth. And in its place, a charming young man that made it his business to train young careers in gym. He was no former victor, to be shuttled to the Capitol for tributes, but at the very least, he could give some input to the young ones that still wanted the glory of being a tribute. Perhaps he could spare them some of the indignity his brother had suffered. It wasn’t like other people were looking out for them, no one ever looked out for him, and he... he hadn’t even taken the time to look out for his brother. Where once there was bitterness, there is only guilty regret.

***

The Creel parents were known for their obsession with the annual games, pushing their two boys to be the best careers that they thought they could be with angry yells and the occasional beating. Shiv was the golden boy for most of his teen years, expected to go on and become a victor; groomed for success from the time he was ten, and subjected to dozens of training regimens However, as the years went by, the father started to get frustrated with the unluckiness of either of his sons; the unluckiness of not being reaped. The father instructed Shiv to “help” his younger brother with training, something he grew to like, as he had begun to resent Razor for outpacing him in most of the things they did. Weight-lifting,endurance, even things like smack-talk. The only thing that he could pride himself on was his ability to cozy up to girls, something that his stuck-up brother was hopelessly horrendous at.

When his little brother was fifteen and he nineteen, Their father had done something stupid. Mr. Creel had always had a drinking problem, but around the time that Shiv had turned nineteen, the father had gone out of his way to drown his woes in alcohol, the woes being that his family's shot for a victor had just been cut in half. Shiv was never quite sure what had happened that night, but the reports said that his father had started a brawl, screaming about the worthlessness of himself and his sons, killing a peacekeeper with a knife, and subsequently being killed himself. A dark time for the Creels, especially Shiv, as he found himself the sole breadwinner for his mother and brother, forced to take on a second job to support them.

Enter the year of the 58th Hunger Games. One year after his father's stupidity left him in charge. Twenty years old and watching the reapings from behind the assembled hopefuls, the name of his brother was the last name that he had expected to be called. And yet, so it was. Their mother was so proud, urging him to be more like his brother. She used to say that to Razor about him. That week had started off so well, with Razor quickly becoming a crowd favorite for going after the detestable coalies as well as his unlikely alliance consisting of two very weak girls from poorer districts. It was Shiv’s opinion that he meant to dispose of them as soon as they were no longer useful, but the cameras showed that the boy had a crush on the blind one.

By the eighth day, people were excited. It had been awhile since district two had gotten a tribute to the finale. Shiv found himself a known face around the district; part of the recipe for instant celebrity was to be the sibling of a tribute, and there were several interviews he had taken part in, as well as somehow developing a few fans of his own. But alas, further fame was not to be as his half-crazed and shirtless brother fell to a little slip of a girl from district five. He had never gotten along with his younger brother, and yet, as the camera crew rolled away, after asking the mother how she felt, Shiv could not take his disbelieving eyes off of the peaceful look that was etched on Razor’s face.


Shiv didn’t quite know how to handle that; after all most careers were taught to win, or lose everything. So what could he have been happy about? The next few years were a blur for the elder Creel brother, as he dedicated himself to making the best of his situation and improving himself, working out constantly and becoming a personal trainer, his free time spent in bars where people would ask him for his thoughts of the current tributes. The next year had not been as good for the district, with one tribute dying in the bloodbath, and Midas Farrow making the final eight. The Quell had not been kind either, another day one death and the other limping out of the bloodbath on a broken leg. But... the famous Julian Bryze clawed his way to the top, becoming the victor of the 60th arena, much to the districts pleasure. Not that Shiv cared about the games anymore. It’s been almost four years since his brother died, and he’s come to terms with a bitterly undeniable fact. The only thing that both he and Razor had in common, is that they were both second best.