Janet Coyote::District 5

Name: Janet Coyote, but I go by Jane too.
Age: I am 20 years of age.
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 5
Appearance:

Plainclothes. I settle for no more or no less. Dresses? I refuse. Rags? Out of the question. I usually just wear a simple black muscle shirt that is kept in good condition. The pants I wear are either black, brown, or gray pants, as I am not one to be pleased by standing out of the crowd. As daddy always said,The more you stand out, the more likely you'll be dead. Daddy always had a funny way of saying things, as they usually mean the opposite. Still though, I always took his word, and I always got the best of luck. To top off my perfect, flexible, comfortable outfit, I wear black boots that I can run good with and be silent at the same time.

The one thing that I always have to have though, is my ring. It is a bronze colored snake, and it is deeply precious to me. It is how I became who I am today, and I would never let it go--even if it meant killing me. No other jewelry will be found on me, unless I have a specific need for one. If I do have a piece of jewelry on, it surely isn't mine; it will most likely be for protection for the takers who want to have it back. They always take it back.

My dark brown hair is usually put down, but you can sometimes find it in a short ponytail. I do not like make-up, so I do not put it on. Even though I do like to wear my combat boots a lot, inside I am always barefoot. It's quieter that way and less suspicious. I can run fast when I'm barefoot too, which is good because the faster I am, the easier it is to get what I need.

Personality:

There's silence in her steps
No beating in her chest
Without a sound, you know you've been found
When she's breathing down your neck

Silence. That's what most people hear when I make my move. Nothing. No breathing. No footsteps. Dead silence. And silence can be the scariest sometimes; it can even beat out blood-shattering screams sometimes. It's easiest to do in silence.

I know I have a problem. You don't have to tell me over and over. I may have a problem, but I like it. It makes me feel good. It's the only thing I have left in this world. Stealing for me is like getting married or having a baby for you. It's joyous. It's everything. It pushes me through life everyday. Without stealing, nothing would be good enough in this world. Without stealing, my life wouldn't be worth living.

Though you probably don't believe me, I'm actually a nice girl. I'm kind and don't speak in anger or harsh words. My words are as quiet as my footsteps are. I may be greedy, but I do feel shame when I take something. It's not like I feel anger. Unlike most special people, I am fully aware of my problem. I don't want to stop it though. Everything I see is another item to steal. Everything has a need, right? If everything has a need, then why not take advantage of it? If sharing is caring, why is it so wrong for me to share something that somebody has? I know I might not give it back, but I probably have more use to it than the other person. I am using the item more than them. I guarantee it. I see my problem in a good way, like nothing is going to be used for no purpose. If you were me, you would feel the same way too.

I hide my past though. I feel it's the only thing left that nobody can steal, not even myself. I keep my past, and any other important secrets locked in a safe in my brain that even I can't unlock unless it's necessary. Nobody should be able to steal anything from me, not even myself. I'm afraid if I let go of my past, that all the joys in my life would be taken away forever. My need for the things I take. My need for the ring I wear. Everything.

Shiny. Sparkly. Those are the things I like the most though. They're my favorite. Just to look at them and actually have them in my hands feels like a God-given gift. I prefer sparkly, shiny tings over anything I steal. Silky too. Anything that I like touching or looking at I will steal first. I never had nice things as a child, so just having those items is just an amazing sight to me. I rarely see them though, so I have to satisfy my need by stealing twice as many regular items. But once I find something sparkly, shiny, or silky, I won't let it go. I will fight for it. You can't make me give it away. It's mine. And you can't have it.

History:

My mother was a painter and my father was an oil miner. We were born into poverty, as they both worked in the extremely poor part of town. But in District 5, paint was very scarce and very expensive, so she tried to make her own. She finally had to give up her job and soon enough, the only income we got was from my father at the oil rig. He got paid minimum--only getting paid for three meals a day, so that meant only one meal a day for my father, mother, and myself. He tried so hard, but trying wasn't good enough. He never got a raise, a promotion, or even a bonus. We were slowly getting poorer, which was not good.

When I was four years old, my mother got sick. She had the worst type of disease, though the local doctors couldn't identify it, they said that it wouldn't be good. My mother laid in the same bed for so long. My father knew he had to quit his job and take care of mom. That's when he thought of a plan. When I was 5, he finally quit. He was always gone, and I never knew why but I didn't care. We were making more money then we have ever been. We had two meals every day now, and every now and then dad would buy me a luxury. A book or another piece of clothing. I always treasured those moments, and those moments I would never forget.

Mom was getting really sick by the time I was 7. Finally, after two years of hiding, he told me his secret of success. Stealing.

"Stealing?" I asked. "But isn't stealing bad?"

"Not if you're sharing," he used to tell me. "In the end I always use it to help us. And if something bad happens to me, I need you to share too." And that was the very beginning.

My very first raid, I remember it perfectly, was the day before my eighth birthday. Dad took me in the richer part of town, where he told me that these people didn't share and that they were using up everything they didn't need. We snuck into a younger couple's house when they went out on the town and grabbed as much stuff as we could carry. That's where I found the snake ring, lying on the floor. I picked it up and looked at it in beauty. It was amazing. Quickly, I stuck it on my finger, and I haven't taken it off since. It's a memory I have of my dad and how he first taught me they joys of "sharing."

"Good job, Mousy," he told me. I smiled bright. I liked that new nickname. My father always called me that from then on.

Six months later was a crash down for the both of us. My mother, surviving four years with the sickness that was brought upon her, died in her sleep. My father was devastated. He could not move on, and he just mopped around the house for a couple of days. I couldn't blame him. If the love of my life died, I think I would've been worse than him.

But those few days, I stole so many things. I usually waited until night, when striking was easier and people were drunk. I would sneak up on them, use something my father taught me how to do called 'pressure point them' and that would make them not ale to move. It was a really cool thing to watch, and it was easy for me just to grab their stuff and be on my merry way. They would always get up after an hour or so of course, but it was the easiest way to get around town.

When dad got back on his feet, we were unstoppable. We stole from almost every house in District 5. Until, one day, my father wanted to steal from the mayor.

"You can't come with me. It's just too dangerous," my father said to me.

"I'm coming with you! I'm just as good as good as you at being sneaky, maybe even better!" I tried putting up an argument, but I knew it was useless. I could never talk my dad out of anything once he had made up his mind.

Sorry, but this time you can't. I'll be back by supper time Mousy. I promise!" And he left. That was the last thing he said to me.

I don't know what happened to him. Maybe he was killed. Maybe he was captured and made into an avox. I know I'll never know, but I figured the least I could do is carry on his legacy. Being only 14 years old, there wasn't much of a choice to survive. I knew the orphanage wasn't an option. That place is hell. The only thing I could do at the time is lay down low in my comfortable home. Steal only to survive. That was my plan.

But it got worse.

I figured if I was only stealing to survive, why not steal other things too? I mean they were just as easy to steal. The habit came to be, and I started stealing everything in sight. Crumbs, pieces of old furniture, bricks, and even dead mice. Heh, mousy. I get it. But it became a habit. And I couldn't stop.

When I was 17, I walked into a house that I haven't stole from. It was packed with useless things, and I made it home. I have been living at the Mad House for three years, and I feel comfortable with the special people around me. Plus, I have all the free things I want here and I can steal them quite easily from these people.

Codeword: Odair
Comments/Other:

My faceclaim hasn't been accepted yet, but I'm only using this character for one plot.
For the Madhouse Reboot plot.