★ PAYSON BENTZON -- capitol.

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★ i'm not dirty, but my love ain't clean.[/font][/i][/color]

Another flashy capitolite, it seems. Another black dress coat with studs in the collar, another black shirt tucked into leather, materialistic-looking black pants. A white, checkered belt with a silver buckle. A gold chain serving as a necklace. Straight-up imported from the mines in district two. A pair of pretentious-looking black glasses, pushed up to the bridge of a nose. Leather sneakers, meant to be worn taller, tucked down to look even more grand than originally made. Silken laces run through the sneakers. Accessorized by a martini glass in hand, a yellow olive perched on the edge of the translucent glass, filled with a clear liquid of an alcoholic beverage. The whole ridiculous look is punctuated by a slightly rumpled posture, a smug smirk on not-so-traditional features and a general ignorance surrounding him.

These unconventional facial features are handsome in an nontraditional sense, with an angled jaw line, usually well shaven and not scruffy in the slightest. From the jaw come rather nice cheekbones, shaped in a way that's fairly androgynous, with a face shape consisting of angles rather than roundness. Then there's the forehead, a rather unshapely thing that squares at the top, though is covered by a mass of dark brown bangs. Eyes, small in size but bright in color, sit behind the frames of the glasses. A shade of blue that's fairly usual, somewhere between grey blue and light blue, and would be easily constructed in the capitol if one pleased. A nose that's fairly normal, while a bit big for the face and nowhere near "handsome." Lips that are really nothing special, outside of the profanity that spews out of them on most occasions.

Despite the ridiculous amounts of hair products in the capitol, the hair still manages to be a bit greasy at all times, mussed in certain places and not in others. The bangs hang in the eyes a bit, coming across the forehead in a dark brown curtain. Shorter in the front than in the back, a choppy haircut adds to the general state of ridiculous trying not to care, but really caring, about the hair. Body hair is different, supposedly. Not ridiculous amounts, mind you, this is the capitol.

As for height... Well, that's one thing the Capitol can't fix. Not that anything was fixed, but if one thing was on the priority to be fixed, it may be the simple height. Five foot, eight inches. Impeccably short in an opinion of society. Not particularly short, but when perfection is expected, it might as well just be. A build that is fairly well-constructed, outside of the height issue. An average weight, slight muscle tone, and fingers most suited for holding a martini glass with a pretentious sneer.

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The first word to come to mind may be the word "arrogant." Of course, some may interpret this as a good thing, with their heads held high and so forth, but it also is kind of a depressing and dark thing, for the fact of the matter is this: when you're too above-it-all, you really don't know how to function amongst others. Of course, some social skills are acquired: especially after being showboated as a child, given little mannerisms and nipped any naturally occurring "bad" ones in the bud, and being generally preened from a young age. But still, there are some personality traits that just cannot be removed, and one of those is the holier-than-thou behavior. Of course, there is a time and place where it becomes so terrible that somebody needs to put him on a reality check, but a majority of the time, it's those little snide comments that slowly just start to eat away at you.

But the general slightly spoiled behavior isn't a big "I'll throw a big production". You could say that it's simply the blatant fact that being used to getting what you want is just having expectations of that same thing. And when things don't go the way intended, and things are not set to standard, a sense of irritability that may just explode into a fit of anger. The one time when collectivity can lack, and poise isn't number one on the list of what needs to be presented. If something goes wrong, the right to be aggravated and throw a fit tailored for a twenty-two year old man is generally accepted in his case. And that means that indeed, a bit of anger will be thrown around, and there may be yelling, kicking, general fit-throwing, the works.

Charming may not be the right word for it, but perhaps more confident. A head held high is always a good thing, and being able to muster oneself through a situation and come out rather spot-free. A type of grace required if functioning in a capitol-dominated scene is like. The kind of charming elegance that allows to talk in conversations with people older, younger, but mostly people within the same age group. The eloquent words and behaviors are fairly interesting, and are allowed to be in the high-ranking capitol socialite loop because they are just that: something refreshing, but still forming to the fair ridiculousness that the capitol possesses. Charismatic? Maybe, but not necessarily a likeable kind of charisma. A more... Accepted kind.

Musical talent, always something that is appreciated. And while it is there, it may not be the most wanted thing in the situation. Government is something that is directly wanted in the family, but at the same time, what is a larger possibility is the actual music. Music is and always is something of interest to the charismatic creature. Something to be good at, something that ran in the family, then was diffused and fizzled. Yet, a passion remains and a talent exists, so it will be carried and created.

Something of a socialite, being social is something that is taken in forefront. While not sexually promiscuous, nor an addict, there is still some feeling of extremities being taken at any time. ....And that was a lie. Sometimes, the idea of sex or drinking is taken a bit to the extreme. But hey, a bit of vodka here and there wouldn't kill anybody, no? The opinion on this constantly changes, but a majority of the time, it's considered to be less dirty and more socially acceptable of the types of social events and things that go on behind closed doors.

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★ when you look at him, you think of me.[/font][/i][/color]

Peter Bentzon was always an outlet in the capitol society. From his own young years, he was something of a socialite, part of one of the bigger families, wealthier families. The son of the man who set up the trade systems among the districts, who made sure the little industries were up to par to location and such. He forged his own way with running a broadcasting channel through the Capitol, making sure that every single thing that operated around the soap operas that aired when the games wouldn't went smoothly. And Peter got married to Petria Russell, the daughter of the original District One escort and an aspiring pianist. And Peter and Petria walked proudly, arm in arm, despite the disapproval of the choice by Peter's father. Because Miss Russell's family had status but their status wasn't quite high enough and she wanted to be a pianist. They had a daughter, Paisley, a girl who was quiet, even at a young age, who was musical just like her mother, just more in a stay-at-home pace. Two years following, they ended up having their one and only son: Payson Bentzon, the star of the show. The "charismatic" music-maker with a pretentious smirk and a martini glass balanced in capable fingers.

Payson's first years of life consisted of being toted around like a prized showpony, for the Bentzon's were so very proud of their son being born. They loved their daughter, but having a son was a show-boating experience, to think that the Bentzon name would live on! Of course, Grandfather was a bit disapproving of the whole situation, due to the fact that Petria was the mother, and how Payson could have resembled his father more than his mother, but he had a grandson, so his resentment was a bit less prominent. He never quite approved of it, but since the family was continuing on, he couldn't whine about it any more. And he adored his grandchildren in a far-off way. More like a second cousin than a grandfather, but it was the way the family worked. Hugs and lollipops substituted for firm pats on the head and the childrens table.

But Paisley still played that piano, and Payson was the type of child who would wander around the house, restless and moody, even from a young age. The spoiledness of it all was fairly sad, as for his parents were usually doing things that did not involve children, so they were left in the care of their grandfather, who was constantly lecturing them on times before Panem: before the hunger games and all of his life experiences, which were dreadfully dull. Because who wanted to hear about a time when there wasn't a capitol and there weren't the Hunger Games? Who cared about when Grandfather got picked up by a yellow school bus, or how he went to high school dances with football games and grand events.

One day, Paisley got sick. She just simply started coughing, laid down, took a nap and died. No warning signs, nothing. She had a frail body, was disdainfully thin and while that was usually a Capitol thing to do, dying really wasn't. So the family pushed around some of their insecurities about showing actual emotions in public, and buried their daughter after a short funeral in which only the most elite families attended. They made sure of that, at least. It was a small tragedy, a blunder on the way to a big deal. Of course, it just made the families be even more prideful of their son, one who wasn't so frail. It seemed as if the only person who took into a fullhearted sadness was the grandfather himself, as he would run his hands over the piano keys she had played so gracefully when she was alive. Perhaps because he was a person who had lived his life out of a ruthless games-driven environment. Perhaps that, or perhaps because his favorite grandchild was named after a pattern, not a ridiculous-sounding name that was from thin air because it started with a P.

The family moved on, it seemed. Payson studied at an institution for education after his traditional schooling, much to the support and pressure of his grandfather, who was under the impression that he'd bum around and dink around with music. Which was entirely true.

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[ x ] theodore "laurie" laurence.
[ x ] jordan witzigreuter.
[ x ] twenty-two.
[ x ] odair
[ x ] burning up, rich man, end of pretend, talk dirty, one more night, richman
[ x ] capitol.

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