Starting Life Where It Ends(Open In-Character Role
May 10, 2012 17:55:01 GMT -5
Post by Gortan Cande on May 10, 2012 17:55:01 GMT -5
District 4, described as the only coastal-based District among the dozen others. Their industry is known for their Fishing, and the residences' and workers' skill to catch seafood. But the focus is placed specifically down by the shoreline of District 4. Where the many docks and piers line-out from the sandy beaches into the vast open sea. The waves on this day were small, and it was low-tide. The sun had begun to set, setting a golden haze over the horizon.
Alone down on the beach, was a 17-year-old male named Gortan Cande. He was currently sitting down on the shaded sand beneath the pier, his legs laid out in a V-line in front of him, his arms structured back with his large hands keeping his leaned torso up. It appeared as if he had been swimming in the last hour, because his hair and black knee-length shorts were fairly damp.
At his side was an old tangled up fishing net, dried and tattered. But tucked inside was 2 old spears, and a carved block of wood which was shaped like a sword.
His hair was a dark brown tone, much like his eyes, and was no longer than an inch, being naturally spiked up. He had a muscular build, having trained most of his life for The Hunger Games. His 6-pack abdomens were also visible from the lack of a shirt despite it being dry and laid out beside him over his net.
Before it would get any darker from sunset, Gortan would stand up from his placement on the ground, dusting off the excess sand from the back of his legs, as he would then reach down and pick up his sleeveless tan-shirt which almost matched his Caucasian complexion if not for his well-tanned skin after many hours spent in the sun.
Gortan would now be wrapped the shirt over his head, poking it through the collared-hole as he would then bring his arms up through the sleeve-holes. Lastly he would bend back down and pick up his fishnet bag, slinging it over his broad left shoulder which was resolute to his right. His left hand firmly gripping the neck of the bag to keep it from coming undone though it was also tied by a few laps of threaded yarn.
Soon the sun was lowered so much that even the small waves of the day would mask it when conjured. So taking a last look at the dying light over his right shoulder with his dark optics, Gortan would walk along the sands of the beach until he was out from under the pier. He would trek his way up the incline and back into the crowding streets.
The Supplies and Food Market was just off of the coast, which is where most of the people got their wears and meals. But at the time Gortan had not a single bit of money with him, and what he had with him was essential to his training. So today he had no reason to barter with the keepers of the shop. He would just walk along, barefooted through District 4, which thankfully there wasn't much to step on because the streets were well-swept throughout the main areas, and even-so Gortan always watched where he was going so he was careful.
For now he would return to the group home which he lived in, not to enter but to walk behind and stash his bag of training gear into a wooden box which he had to move several others like it off of, but neither were filled with anything important with the exception of the bottom boxes which other people besides Gortan also had hidden away. This was the only secret he kept from the Peacekeepers of his District, but his weapons weren't sharp enough to kill so it wasn't as if he harbored dangerous materials.
But afterwards he lifted the 30lbs wooden boxes and would begin to individually stack them up again one, sometimes two at a time. So from there he would walk back out into the open streets, wandering aimlessly to hopefully and finally get acquainted with a few fellows residences of District 4. Because The 61st Annual Reaping for The Hunger Games was soon, and he had full intentions of volunteering. Not only because he was ready, but because he felt he should rightfully take the place of a randomly-drawed male who probably didn't deserve such a fate.
But with 7 years of seclusion, and another 10 years of confinement, Gortan had no one to remember him appropriately if god-forbid he was to die in The Arena. So he just wanted to be remembered, or even have friends to cone back to if he won.
But instead of suspiciously venturing around, he took a spot down by the market where he passed through moments ago, sitting down upon a sturdy crate which had just been unloaded of today's catchings and was being prepared to be hauled off to The Capitol. Gortan never had put much though into how he feels about. The Capitol, or the people of it. In fact, he never really though of life outside of Training, not even concerned with his District until now. And that is why he was where he is, just waiting for the right person to pass by or catch his eye.
Alone down on the beach, was a 17-year-old male named Gortan Cande. He was currently sitting down on the shaded sand beneath the pier, his legs laid out in a V-line in front of him, his arms structured back with his large hands keeping his leaned torso up. It appeared as if he had been swimming in the last hour, because his hair and black knee-length shorts were fairly damp.
At his side was an old tangled up fishing net, dried and tattered. But tucked inside was 2 old spears, and a carved block of wood which was shaped like a sword.
His hair was a dark brown tone, much like his eyes, and was no longer than an inch, being naturally spiked up. He had a muscular build, having trained most of his life for The Hunger Games. His 6-pack abdomens were also visible from the lack of a shirt despite it being dry and laid out beside him over his net.
Before it would get any darker from sunset, Gortan would stand up from his placement on the ground, dusting off the excess sand from the back of his legs, as he would then reach down and pick up his sleeveless tan-shirt which almost matched his Caucasian complexion if not for his well-tanned skin after many hours spent in the sun.
Gortan would now be wrapped the shirt over his head, poking it through the collared-hole as he would then bring his arms up through the sleeve-holes. Lastly he would bend back down and pick up his fishnet bag, slinging it over his broad left shoulder which was resolute to his right. His left hand firmly gripping the neck of the bag to keep it from coming undone though it was also tied by a few laps of threaded yarn.
Soon the sun was lowered so much that even the small waves of the day would mask it when conjured. So taking a last look at the dying light over his right shoulder with his dark optics, Gortan would walk along the sands of the beach until he was out from under the pier. He would trek his way up the incline and back into the crowding streets.
The Supplies and Food Market was just off of the coast, which is where most of the people got their wears and meals. But at the time Gortan had not a single bit of money with him, and what he had with him was essential to his training. So today he had no reason to barter with the keepers of the shop. He would just walk along, barefooted through District 4, which thankfully there wasn't much to step on because the streets were well-swept throughout the main areas, and even-so Gortan always watched where he was going so he was careful.
For now he would return to the group home which he lived in, not to enter but to walk behind and stash his bag of training gear into a wooden box which he had to move several others like it off of, but neither were filled with anything important with the exception of the bottom boxes which other people besides Gortan also had hidden away. This was the only secret he kept from the Peacekeepers of his District, but his weapons weren't sharp enough to kill so it wasn't as if he harbored dangerous materials.
But afterwards he lifted the 30lbs wooden boxes and would begin to individually stack them up again one, sometimes two at a time. So from there he would walk back out into the open streets, wandering aimlessly to hopefully and finally get acquainted with a few fellows residences of District 4. Because The 61st Annual Reaping for The Hunger Games was soon, and he had full intentions of volunteering. Not only because he was ready, but because he felt he should rightfully take the place of a randomly-drawed male who probably didn't deserve such a fate.
But with 7 years of seclusion, and another 10 years of confinement, Gortan had no one to remember him appropriately if god-forbid he was to die in The Arena. So he just wanted to be remembered, or even have friends to cone back to if he won.
But instead of suspiciously venturing around, he took a spot down by the market where he passed through moments ago, sitting down upon a sturdy crate which had just been unloaded of today's catchings and was being prepared to be hauled off to The Capitol. Gortan never had put much though into how he feels about. The Capitol, or the people of it. In fact, he never really though of life outside of Training, not even concerned with his District until now. And that is why he was where he is, just waiting for the right person to pass by or catch his eye.
