Rory Carpenter: District 7

Rory is a sixteen year old male living in District Seven. He stands at a respectable five feet and nine inches tall and has deep brown hair that barely reaches his ears. It lies in a discarded state, with Rory paying it little attention other than to brush it to the side when it gets into his eyes. His eyes themselves are a murky brown, a few shades lighter than his hair. His nose is bent slightly from a break in his youth which he has left as a gentle reminder of the need for safety.

His arms are fairly large due to his frequent use of a chopping axe, but his true strength lies in his shoulders, which bulge largely underneath any shirt he wears. His legs are in a similar shape, toned to near-perfection with days of lifting and moving wood in his father’s workshop. All of his limbs are lightly tanned from days out in the woods, although most of his time is spent in the shade of trees as he chops them down. His clothes are boring at best – largely browns and greys, without anything nice to wear even on reaping days.

Along one of Rory’s calves is a deep scar that runs the full length of his lower leg. Whilst it does not impact his walking or standing, it causes his running ability to be something of a joke. It has been remarked on multiple times that he could walk faster than he runs, as his running speed is little more than a hobble. He doesn’t allow it to put him down, however, and fights through the pain day in and day out to work for his district. Whilst fairly heavy for his age and height, most of his weight is accredited to his increased muscle mass, as well as the larger amount of food that his family receives from his Father’s work.

Rory led a fairly sheltered life within District Seven; he was one of the wealthier of the residents, his father producing furniture for almost every house in the district. His mother worked on a small farm nearby, tending livestock and helping out some of the poorer residents. Due to this, he never mingled with most of the other children, instead taking to entering the woods and incessantly chopping down trees until his fingers bled.

Once you got him talking, however, he was a nice enough guy. His interests were few and far apart, but his real love lay in the working of tools and wood-craft. He would spend hours as a young boy watching his father work, often picking up his many instruments and rolling them around in his hands. Only once did his Father offer him a small job, and Rory gratefully accepted. He spent days poring over his work until it was complete, driven by a single-minded determination. And, when it was complete, he found little meaning anymore until he was old enough to take up his woodcutting axe.

Whilst not generally rude to people, Rory never answered questions heartily, always giving the shortest reply possible. People have said many times that his head is in the clouds, but he prefers to think that his head is in the trees. In the branches, in the trunks, in the leaves. The mere sight of woods sends a smile hurtling onto his rough face, and his troubles are gone for that short time. Once Rory sets his mind on something, he has to complete. Never yet has he found a task that he can’t complete, but he knows that these days can’t last forever. And his next task is his largest to date.

Rory led a sheltered life as the son of the best carpenter in District Seven. His meals were frequent and he never starved, although the suffering of others made him feel so. From a young age he yearned for something to do, something to give his life meaning. And, at the age of 10, he found it. When the woodcutting axe was placed in his hand he felt alive, and from that day forward he chopped every day, with little care for his days off. He chopped and chopped, bringing wood in for the capitol as well as for his father. But, before that, life was different.

When Rory was in school, he didn’t get on well with the other kids. He was quiet and reserved, but not quite shy. If somebody spoke to him he would answer willingly, but he didn’t see the need to have petty conversations day in and day out. It just bored him incessantly. There was only a single person that ever had the patience to talk to him; that he thought deserved his attention.

Claire. A girl his age with long brown hair and blue eyes, the most beautiful thing that Rory had ever seen. For three years she was the closest thing he had to a friend, until it happened. Her very first reaping, her name was called out. Her mother’s scream pierced the air, before silence filled the courtyard. Her steps seemed to be through maple syrup as she walked up to the stage to stand next to the male tribute, and that’s when Rory felt it. A single tear rolling down his face.

And that was the day that he promised himself that he wouldn’t rest until he shared her fate. He would face that which his only friend faced; and he would beat it, or die trying. He would beat it for her. Year on year he took on tesserae, but his name was never drawn. And, when the chance came for him to volunteer, his guts left him. But he was sixteen now, his time was running out. This was the year. He could feel it.