Caterina Sanchez, D4 (Finished)
May 28, 2012 19:36:05 GMT -5
Post by Timtab on May 28, 2012 19:36:05 GMT -5
Name: Caterina (Cat) Sanchez
Age: 14
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 4
Appearance:
Personality:
History:
I love describing things, so I think this we'll be easy. How about I start with my face? It's and oval shape: narrow and tall. I think it makes me look older, and not as innocent as my younger sister, Tara. I have little to no cheekbones. That usually makes my smile small and decrepit, but if you look closely, you'll always be able to see it.
My eyes are set fairly close together, but they don't look strange by any means. They are a light green color, which I like to think is the color of fresh leaves or pale green coral. It makes my pupils stand out a lot-you might even say it's a little hard to see the green-, which I kind of like. I think it makes my eyes look bolder. My eyes are almond shaped, without the smallest slant up, as you would expect from almond-shaped eyes. You might even say they slant down a bit. My eyelashes are actually quite short. That's the one part of my eyes I don't like: all the other girls have long eyelashes that they can wave sweetly at the boys, while if I tried that, I'd look like the room was too bright and I couldn't see.
My eyebrows are straight, quite similar to my eyes. They have a small arch that's barely visible, but yes, it's there. I think it makes me look like a serious, no-nonsense girl who can sometimes be sarcastic. My friends and family often say my eyes alone can tell how I feel. When I'm sad, they say my eyes turn a shade of green-blue, like the ocean. I don't believe them, but I like to think that they do. When I'm curious or interested in something, my pupils often get large, with only a small band of green around them. If I'm angry, they say my pupils shrink to tiny little black dots, and that it makes me look scary. Happy? My eyes tilt upward whenever I smile.
My nose is long and thin, but it widens out near the bottom. Sometimes I wish it were just plain old thin, because I believe it gives one an air of wisdom and knowledge. People say my nose wrinkles whenever I'm smiling or laughing. I believe them, but I have mixed feelings for a wrinkled nose. I think it makes me look young and cute, but then again, my goal is to appear mature and smart.
My lips are very thin, forming a wide, flat mouth. I don't dimple when I smile, and, like my nose wrinkling, I have mixed feelings about that. I wonder what I would look like if I did dimple. Probably younger, so I suppose I'm happy with it just the way it is. My teeth are my pride. I take extra good care of them, and I would hate to go a single day without brushing them. They flash in the sunlight, and they are almost perfectly aligned, giving me a winning smile. Unfortunately, I do have a few teeth at the back that simply refuse to straighten out.
Let's see...my hair is very long, reaching to just above my hip. It's naturally the color of copper, but when we have the money, I dye streaks of blond at the top that taper down to the ends. I always part my hair just above the right eye, never in the center. I think when I part it in the center it makes me look young and childish. My hairline is very smooth and rounded, making a huge arch over my forehead, most unlike my mother. Im very pleased with my hairline, because I think a widow's peak makes one look like a toddler. I like putting my hair up in one long braid over my shoulder, or in a tight bun at the top of my head. It's more often in a braid, though, because who wears their hair in a bun while they're working down at the harbor?
I'm very tall for my age. 6" 7', to be exact. Exactly three inches taller than my mother and two inches taller than father. I'm also very light of weight, built with long, thin legs for running and moving around with ease. I can climb, run and swim fast and across long distances. However, I can't fight hand-to-hand. I've never been in a fight, because I know that if I was, I'd be beaten up pretty bad. My hands are small and slander, though my fingers are fairly long. I don't particularly like my fingers. They're so slender, it looks like I have no bones in them whatsoever.
I always stand straight and never slouch, mainly because when I was younger and I slouched, my mother would come at me like a hawk. She believes posture, manners and the like are very important, and she believes very much on first impressions. My clothes are casual, the usual is a loose shirt or a tank top and jeans. I have a pair of brown riding boots that I always wear around the harbor, though I have no idea where they came from. Mother says a friend from
District 10, but I don't believe her. 10 and 2 are so far apart, and since when are residents aloud to move freely between districts?
I wonder how all this would help me in the games. I would definitely have an advantage in the swimming, climbing and running departments. I could easily out run the others, grab a few things from the horn, and run off before they had a chance to attack me. I'm not afraid to kill, either, and I'm skilled with a range of weapons. A spear, throwing knives, a sword, and a dagger are most comfortable in my hand. I think my face would make the other tributes believe I was smart and sly, and probably untrustworthy.
Personality:
Oh, this will be interesting. I'm a very complicated person, if you understand my real personality. I don't like to show how I'm feeling, so unless you look at my eyes, I'll always be the light, bubbly Cat that everyone knows. I'm funny, sarcastic, creative, self-controlled, annoying at times, impatient, calm, artistic, reliable, friendly and responsible. Yes, it's true, I'm an artist, as well as a writer. I love going down to the beach, picking up a starfish or shell, and then sketching it. My favorite shells, sketches, paintings and stories are kept in the drawer of a little desk in my room. Technically, it's not my room, because I share it with my you her sister, Tara.
Tara is a year younger than me, and we have totally opposite personalities. Many think this would make us bad friends, but we get along perfectly. We go down to the beach every day with mother to gather shellfish, seaweed and other food. We all have a great time, laughing and finding the food. Tara and I really enjoy scouring the beaches for shells, and sometimes we're lucky enough to come upon an empty crab shell. I have one in my room that measures five inches across. Both Tara and I shudder when we think of what the crab would look like in it's shell.
Though my outer personality shows that I can easily make friends, I don't. I only have two real friends: Tara, and Hailey, a tenth-grader at our school. Sometimes Hailey will come over we'll go for a walk on the beach with Tara. I remember when we were young, we used to build huge sandcastles and then decorate them with shells and driftwood. Once we tried to build a raft with the drift wood, but it turns out it was too small for us.
I am obsessed with charts and lists. I make lists of all the people I know, I make charts for their personalities, their looks, and likelihood of becoming my friend. I keep all my lists and charts in that drawer in my desk, just for safekeeping. I have a few charts in my head that I always think about when I meet someone: How do they look? How good is their personality? Are they funny? Will they be my friend? Hailey rates a 7.6 on the appearance scale, while Tara rates an 8.3. I don't want to rate myself, because I'm worried I'll rate myself too low or too high.
I always carry around a little piece of rope in my pocket. This may seem weird to many people, I know, but I couldn't live without that rope. Whenever I'm nervous, sad, angry or anxious, I'll take out that little string, tie a knot, undo it, tie a knot, undo it, and so on. Tara has been trying to rid myself of the rope, but I know I would go insane without it. I need something to do when I'm feeling anxious. My hands have to move. One time I forgot the rope at home, so I played with my own fingers instead. I ended up dislocating my pinky instead.
In the Hunger Games, I would definitely be a good strategist. I like making up plans, and then following through with them. I'd likely run to the horn, grab a few essential items, kill one or two tributes, then run for it. I wouldn't make an alliance right away. Just because it's tradition for the Careers to team up, it doesn't mean I have to join the alliance. First of all, I would watch them in the training center. Size them up. Decided which ones I can kill, but are also useful to me, and someone who I won't get attached to. Then in the arena, I would watch them again. See what their strategy is and how trustworthy they are...unlike myself.
History:
3 Years Old: Finders Keepers
My earliest memory is from when I was three, I believe. We were at the beach. At first I had been jealous of Tara, but now I had lost all signs of jealousy, and Tara and I were best friends. Mom and dad had the cloth out again, and they were watching the sunset. It was a beautiful one, with shades of pink and yellow near the top, and darker colors of red and orange at the bottom. Tara and I were holding hands, walking along the shore. My speech development had come to a stand-still, though Tara's was still improving. Her curls were growing, and now they reached her shoulders. My hair was almost at my hip, just like it is today. I had come to learn that black was not an exotic color, as I had first believed. It was actually a very normal color in District 4.
I saw Tara point her little finger at something and take a step back. "Crab," She said, her voice full of fear. I squinted my eyes, looking where she was pointing. It was true. There was a crab buried in the seaweed, it's beady eyes stating at us. But there was something wrong with it.
I saw no claws, and the eyes didn't have that spark of life as most animals do. Cautiously, I walked over to it and gently pulled away the seaweed. I smiled. "It dead." I say, pulling Tara over. She picked it up curiously and turned it around in her hands. It was just the shell, without the body or the claws. She turned her eager blue eyes towards my green ones. "Let's keep shell!" She said excitedly. I nodded, and we both ran back to mom and dad to show them. They let us keep it, and so our shell-collecting-career began.
I saw Tara point her little finger at something and take a step back. "Crab," She said, her voice full of fear. I squinted my eyes, looking where she was pointing. It was true. There was a crab buried in the seaweed, it's beady eyes stating at us. But there was something wrong with it.
I saw no claws, and the eyes didn't have that spark of life as most animals do. Cautiously, I walked over to it and gently pulled away the seaweed. I smiled. "It dead." I say, pulling Tara over. She picked it up curiously and turned it around in her hands. It was just the shell, without the body or the claws. She turned her eager blue eyes towards my green ones. "Let's keep shell!" She said excitedly. I nodded, and we both ran back to mom and dad to show them. They let us keep it, and so our shell-collecting-career began.
6 Years Old: I'm an Artist
It was my sixth birthday. I could speak full sentences, walk, run and swim, and hold a knife in the training center. Tara was quickly following behind me, but hadn't yet gone to training. But none of that was important right now, because it was my sixth birthday! My first gift was the sketchbook that I still have today. It was the end of my bed, in the room I now shared with Tara. The fish tank was still there, only it now had three different fish. I had names for them: Shelly, Mermaid and Pearl. Mom told me they were all boys, but Tara and I liked the names anyway. Alright, back to the sketchbook...
It had a worn leather color, as if it had been used before. The parchment was thin and yellow, but I liked it that way. I really liked old stuff, even at the age of six. It had a piece of black ribbon attached at the top, to mark my place. I think it was originally meant to be a journal, but I use it for a sketchbook. It came with a small box of ten pencils, a charcoal pencil, two erasers, a sharpener, and crayons. 64 crayons, to be exact, all a different color. My first picture was of a fish. It was a blue one, with big red fins, a green nose, and lively black eyes. I called it Shelly, after one of my real fish. I wrote the date, signed my name, folded it neatly, and placed it in the little drawer of my desk. It was a whole year before I put another picture in there: one of a sand dollar. They were both very good sketches, if I do say so myself.
It had a worn leather color, as if it had been used before. The parchment was thin and yellow, but I liked it that way. I really liked old stuff, even at the age of six. It had a piece of black ribbon attached at the top, to mark my place. I think it was originally meant to be a journal, but I use it for a sketchbook. It came with a small box of ten pencils, a charcoal pencil, two erasers, a sharpener, and crayons. 64 crayons, to be exact, all a different color. My first picture was of a fish. It was a blue one, with big red fins, a green nose, and lively black eyes. I called it Shelly, after one of my real fish. I wrote the date, signed my name, folded it neatly, and placed it in the little drawer of my desk. It was a whole year before I put another picture in there: one of a sand dollar. They were both very good sketches, if I do say so myself.
8 Years Old: Drowning!
It was in the afternoon when it happened. Tara and I were out on the beach, alone. Mom and dad had let us out ourselves for the first time, and we were both very excited. We had been collecting shells for a while, and the tide was rising, when I asked Tara, "Mind if I wade a bit in the water?" "Sure," Was her answer. I smiled and ran out into the water, splashing and spinning in circles with sun on my face. Then suddenly, my feet couldn't feel anything.
I screamed and went under, my mouth filling with water. At the moment I couldn't think, but later I realized there must've been a hole somewhere on the sandy floor. I thrashed wildly, arms flailing and and eyes filling with mucky water. I was starting to see black dots, and I was only half conscious in a matter of seconds. My movements were becoming weaker and slower, and I was just about to give up, when I saw a cloud of bubbles beside me. The cloud cleared away, and was replaced by a girl. That's when I blacked out.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the beach, and Tara was telling me what had happened. Some girl saw me and dove in. She saved my life, and obviously I owe her a lot. Tara says the girl brought onto the beach, put me down and ran away. She's not sure why. When I asked her what the girl looked like she could only remember three things: she was tall, had bright red hair, and was a little older than me. I didn't see the girl again until a whole year later.
I screamed and went under, my mouth filling with water. At the moment I couldn't think, but later I realized there must've been a hole somewhere on the sandy floor. I thrashed wildly, arms flailing and and eyes filling with mucky water. I was starting to see black dots, and I was only half conscious in a matter of seconds. My movements were becoming weaker and slower, and I was just about to give up, when I saw a cloud of bubbles beside me. The cloud cleared away, and was replaced by a girl. That's when I blacked out.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the beach, and Tara was telling me what had happened. Some girl saw me and dove in. She saved my life, and obviously I owe her a lot. Tara says the girl brought onto the beach, put me down and ran away. She's not sure why. When I asked her what the girl looked like she could only remember three things: she was tall, had bright red hair, and was a little older than me. I didn't see the girl again until a whole year later.
9 Years Old: A Small Piece of Comfort
I was nine years old when Tara got sick. Very sick. She had some certain case of pneumonia, and was not likely to live. This was very hard for me, because Tara was my only real friend. Yes, even the , I had on my fake personality. I spent my days by her side, holding her hand and talking to her. She was white as a ghost, with a wet face and sweaty hands. Her eyes were big, with black marks under them from little to no sleep. It made me break inside to see her like that. Dad had stopped work at the harbors, so he could come home and help mom and me. After about two weeks of this, the doctor said we weren't aloud in the room. Her condition was getting worse, and if we went near her, it was Lilly that we too would get sick.
I left the house that day and wandered the streets, fiddling with my own fingers. I needed something to do. I just had to keep moving. I looked around with an anxious face, my eyes wide and unblinking. After about an hour of wandering, I sat down and leaned against the wall of an old abandoned house. I turned my eyes up to the darkening sky, my cheeks wet with tears. "She's going to die." I whisper to myself. The truth lands on me like a rock, and I wanted to retch. Before I could, a girl was sitting next to me. No, not a girl. The girl. The one who saved my life.
"She's gonna live." She said. I'm so surprised, I don't say a word. "You know why? 'Cause she's got an amazin' big sister who loves her with all her heart. She's gonna live 'cause she's got you." I smiled at her, the tears clear on my face. Those were just the words I needed to hear. The girl had an almost western accent, and it gives a friendly ring. She pulled something out from her pocket. A piece of rope, about ten inches long. She pressed into my hand, never taking her eyes of me. "Whenever you're anxious or nervous, tie a knot and then undo it. Just keep tying and untying. It'll take your mind of all your problems." Ash she spoke, I did what she said. Tie and untie. Tie and untie. I stayed there for the whole night, tying and untying knots. Mom and dad came the next day, found me, and brought the news. Tara was improving.
I left the house that day and wandered the streets, fiddling with my own fingers. I needed something to do. I just had to keep moving. I looked around with an anxious face, my eyes wide and unblinking. After about an hour of wandering, I sat down and leaned against the wall of an old abandoned house. I turned my eyes up to the darkening sky, my cheeks wet with tears. "She's going to die." I whisper to myself. The truth lands on me like a rock, and I wanted to retch. Before I could, a girl was sitting next to me. No, not a girl. The girl. The one who saved my life.
"She's gonna live." She said. I'm so surprised, I don't say a word. "You know why? 'Cause she's got an amazin' big sister who loves her with all her heart. She's gonna live 'cause she's got you." I smiled at her, the tears clear on my face. Those were just the words I needed to hear. The girl had an almost western accent, and it gives a friendly ring. She pulled something out from her pocket. A piece of rope, about ten inches long. She pressed into my hand, never taking her eyes of me. "Whenever you're anxious or nervous, tie a knot and then undo it. Just keep tying and untying. It'll take your mind of all your problems." Ash she spoke, I did what she said. Tie and untie. Tie and untie. I stayed there for the whole night, tying and untying knots. Mom and dad came the next day, found me, and brought the news. Tara was improving.
11 Years Old: Meet Hailey
It was another two years before I really got to talk to the girl who saved my life. I was out a few meters in the water, spearing fish. I had a small bucket next to my feet, holding three little fish. Not big ones, unfortunately. They were about five inches in length. I stood still, the spear in my right hand, poised to strike. The water flowed around my ankles, as if I were a rock in it's way. Of course, nothing can stop water. It simply moved to the side and carried on. Farther out on the horizon, the lake sparkled in the sunlight. My shadow drew fish toward me, so they could cool off a bit. I saw a bright golden flash, and my spear landed in the sand with a thunk. The golden fish wriggled for a moment, then stilled.
As I pulled up the spear and gently took off the fish, I didn't notice the girl standing behind me. "Careful not to fall in a hole." I grinned, knowing that western accent right away. I tossed the fish in the bucket and turned around. There she was. The girl I owed so much. She stood with her legs apart, hands on her hips, and red hair turned to fire in the sunset. "Hey!" I said with a small, waving. She grinned and sloshed through the water to bucket. "Nice catch." She said. I nodded. "Thanks. My dad used to take me down here and taught me to spear fish. I'm aloud to go alone now." I watched her circle the bucket, then stop and look at the sunset. It seemed like an eternity before she turned her head back to me.
"So what's your name?" She asked. "Caterina Sanchez, but just call me Cat. You?"
"Hailey Fisher." We talked some more and became fast friends when we discovered how much we had in common. We both liked sketching, collecting shells, and swimming. I found out that Hailey has her own little rope she uses when she's nervous. I'm so glad she saved my life that one fateful day.
As I pulled up the spear and gently took off the fish, I didn't notice the girl standing behind me. "Careful not to fall in a hole." I grinned, knowing that western accent right away. I tossed the fish in the bucket and turned around. There she was. The girl I owed so much. She stood with her legs apart, hands on her hips, and red hair turned to fire in the sunset. "Hey!" I said with a small, waving. She grinned and sloshed through the water to bucket. "Nice catch." She said. I nodded. "Thanks. My dad used to take me down here and taught me to spear fish. I'm aloud to go alone now." I watched her circle the bucket, then stop and look at the sunset. It seemed like an eternity before she turned her head back to me.
"So what's your name?" She asked. "Caterina Sanchez, but just call me Cat. You?"
"Hailey Fisher." We talked some more and became fast friends when we discovered how much we had in common. We both liked sketching, collecting shells, and swimming. I found out that Hailey has her own little rope she uses when she's nervous. I'm so glad she saved my life that one fateful day.
12 Years Old: My First Reaping
My first reaping day was terrifying. I had used four tesserae. Four. That meant my name was in the reaping five times instead of the required one. I couldn't help feeling guilty, because Hailey had here's in eleven times. She has a huge family, with three brothers, two sisters, her grandmother and her uncle. Nine tesserae, plus the required two ballots. I shuddered as I stood in the group of twelve-year-olds, at the very back.
Hailey was directly in front of me, her fiery hair flashing brightly. She had put it in a braid, like mine. I taught her how to do it a few days ago. She looked back at me and winked. I smiled weakly. Effie Trinket, the crazy Capitol lady, was going on and on about what a pleasure it was to be there. I tuned her out until I heard the words, "Ladies first!" My head jerked up. I saw her waddling across the stage, much like a penguin. That pink dress was way too tight on her.
My heart pounded, and my hands were getting sweaty. I looked around for Tara. Unlike Hailey, I couldn't see her in the sea of black-haired people. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my hands into fists. "Please not me, please not me." I whispered. Hailey turns around again and puts a finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet. I notice a couple of the other kids staring at me. I must have been talking too loudly. I look up to see that Effie has already pulled out a slip of paper.
"Baylee Spencer!" She says gleefully. I let out my breath. It's not me, or Hailey. It's someone else. Someone I don't know. I won't care so much about their death. I try not to look at the girl as she walks on stage, because I don't want to know what she looks like.
Over the next two years, I became more accustomed to the reaping. I wasn't so terrified about being reaped, and the more I trained, the more confident I became. I'd like to be a tribute when I'm sixteen or up, but never younger. I know if I were any younger, I wouldn't have the smarts to survive. I could make it a few days, sure, maybe even a week, but to be the victor? That takes skill.
[/blockquote][/color][/justify]Hailey was directly in front of me, her fiery hair flashing brightly. She had put it in a braid, like mine. I taught her how to do it a few days ago. She looked back at me and winked. I smiled weakly. Effie Trinket, the crazy Capitol lady, was going on and on about what a pleasure it was to be there. I tuned her out until I heard the words, "Ladies first!" My head jerked up. I saw her waddling across the stage, much like a penguin. That pink dress was way too tight on her.
My heart pounded, and my hands were getting sweaty. I looked around for Tara. Unlike Hailey, I couldn't see her in the sea of black-haired people. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my hands into fists. "Please not me, please not me." I whispered. Hailey turns around again and puts a finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet. I notice a couple of the other kids staring at me. I must have been talking too loudly. I look up to see that Effie has already pulled out a slip of paper.
"Baylee Spencer!" She says gleefully. I let out my breath. It's not me, or Hailey. It's someone else. Someone I don't know. I won't care so much about their death. I try not to look at the girl as she walks on stage, because I don't want to know what she looks like.
Over the next two years, I became more accustomed to the reaping. I wasn't so terrified about being reaped, and the more I trained, the more confident I became. I'd like to be a tribute when I'm sixteen or up, but never younger. I know if I were any younger, I wouldn't have the smarts to survive. I could make it a few days, sure, maybe even a week, but to be the victor? That takes skill.
Codeword: oDair
Comments/Other:
[/font][/center]Comments/Other:
N/A
![Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] Avatar](https://timberline-adventures.com/wp-content/uploads/Rain2-250x250.jpg)
