Vivian Mayhall, District 10

I know it's pretentious and overall false to say so, but I'm hands-down in the top ten prettiest girls in the District. That sounds bad, but you've got to understand my situation. I'm sort better off than the rest of the girls, but more on that later. I'm not the skinniest, I know how to eat. I'm not the most built, but I keep a respectable build. If you were to try to peg me on body alone, I'd point you in the direction of 'Average'. So no; I don't have curvy hips or big breasts or whatever it is you were trying to get me to say by asking me about my own body. I'm no brag; I have flaws. A pretty big one in fact.

My eyes are hazel. But the light kind. The kind of hazel that doesn't do the fascinating 'colour change' when in the right sunlight. They're just dark brown, like my ha- *Clears throat* Like my lips. Dark brown like my lips. No one sees my lips anyway, I cover them with red-tinted lipstick. Yes, the District Ten girl can afford lipstick, I told you I was better off. I have running water and can wash my face every morning and night rigorously before going out to the District square to people-watch. Not only can I wash my face, but I can cover it with make-up as well. Try finding three other girls out here that can do that.

It's not an insult to the other girls; It's a fact of life. They have oily faces, and so do I. *Sigh* Yes, that's my worst feature. My oily face. That's why I wash it so hard all the time and blanket the pores with cosmetics. Sheesh, what else do you want from me? Right. I'm 6'2'' and 130 lbs. 130, yes. I'm not going to skirt around that fact, nor will I acknowledge it for another second. You're still sitting here, expecting me to dish on some big secret, but you're not going to get me to mention a single hair out of pla- *Cough* To mention anything else.

You don't know me. I could have any guy I get in my cross-hai- *Noticeably fake-sneezes* What was I saying? Oh yes, I can have any guy I set my sights on.

What?

WHAT.

My ha...ir? What about it?

Alright. FINE. I'm only saying this once. *Inhale*

I'm bald. Yes. B-A-L-D. *Reaches hand up to hair* Get ready.

*Removes... wig. Yes, wig*

It... it started falling out when I was thirteen. I don't know why, don't ask, it just did. *Puts wig back* I'm really lucky to be who I am, well-off. But the way I got there...

Let's just say luck is a funny thing.

Let's talk about something else.

Umm, I don't like leaving my house without feeling clean. Not because I'm self-conscious, the wig does enough of that, even though no one knows it's a wig. But the dirty face or hands are a distraction. Once I'm out in public, I never pull out a mirror or linger at a shop window to check up on my reflection. Out of sight, out of mind, right? I'm always out in public, greeting shopkeepers or at parties, but my favorite activity is people-watching. I like looking out onto the scene in front of me and predicting what people are going to do or say to one another, with no knowledge other than the facial expressions and their body language. I've actually gotten pretty good at it.

Well, how couldn't've I? I don't work. Of course I have all the time in Panem to sit at a street corner and look on as others struggle to survive. But I try not to look at it that way. We're all interconnected. Being the observant people-watcher that I am, I often lose track of time, becoming so engaged in the distractions of everyone else's lives. It's better than watching a teenage deathmatch; I'll say that.

When people compliment me I thank them and try not to sound full of myself. When they compliment my hair... *Pause* My... 'Hair', I get really awkward about it, but the look on their faces tells me that they are mistaking my emotion for humbleness, which is a pretty convenient trade-off, for me at least.

Alright, I AM insecure about it. But the wigs aren't noticeable. I like them. Nobody knows I'm bald. And nobody will. But what if I trip during a sprint or get into a fight with someone who is jealous for the wrong reasons or what if... What if I'm with a guy and we're finally coming to the intimacy that everyone hopes for and it just slips a bit, leaving gravity to bring it down and me to stand there in shock and him to slip out the door, to some party and tell everyone? What then? The wigs are a part of me, and I own them, but whatever I can do to keep the rest of the District from owning my secret as well, I will do.

Like exuding pure humor and sarcasm from my persona to keep people so far away from the truth that they won't ever know that they don't know. I'm a funny person, I know that, but I kick it into third gear in social situations. It's a precaution and a conversational super power all in one, both defensive and offensive. That's why everyone likes me so much. People are like... Machines. You insert a few kindness coins into their slots, and in return, they give you their good graces. Input, output. People-watching can teach you the most amazing tricks to social conduct.

For instance, let's say a girl has started to dislike you for whatever reason. You can start off by attacking her clothes. You don't want to be a complete mean girl and go for her flesh and bones, but you want to get a dent in. "Oh, Topaz, I wore that style two years ago. So neat to see it again." and then whatever you do, do not look at her face. It will be a hilarious mixture of shock and embarrassment, but if you look at your product, she'll consider it an act of war; And you're only trying to get her off your back.

But let's say she continues to dog at you; That's when you go personal. That's where you take your dagger of wit and stab her psyche with it. "Oh, Topaz, I'm sorry, I didn't hear your latest 'insult', I was too distracted by the fact that one of your eyebrows is shorter than the other." Now you can look. It's best if you add a smirk and raise your eyebrows. This could invite her to attack your body, but if you need any more help after the eyebrow line, you're going to have to find me later, I'm not giving away all my material at one time.

Alright, I know you want to know why I'm so well off; I think I'm ready.

So let's get on with it.

My earliest set of memories are from when I was just six. There's a few things before that, but nothing out of the ordinary, so I'll spare you the 'Typical struggling Outer District girl' story. That being said, I did start out like 'everyone else'. Anyway, six years old. My father began hitting my mother. It probably started before that, but I was six the first time I saw him do it, which to him registered as 'Well, I've done it in front of her once, another won't hurt'.

If you cheat on and beat on someone who loves you, then I'm sorry, you deserve whatever inconvenient series of painful events that befall you. It went on for months. I made sure to attend as many beatings as possible, hoping that he might look over to me and realize how cruel it is not only to torture your wife, but to torture the mother of your daughter. He didn't give a damn. But my mother sure did.

She killed him. Not in an inhumane way like all the times he hurt her, but with the old 'Strangling by pillow' method. I'd seen it backfire in the games a couple times, so I know how risky it must've been for her. But we both stayed up that night. She was calm, calmer than she'd ever been when it was just her and me. That's when I knew; He couldn't hurt us any longer. Looking back now, her demeanor that night might have been the first time I remember myself really watching people and drawing conclusions from their actions.

'Conclusion 0: Maysie Mayhall

Kills husband as prolonged reaction to domestic abuse. Though the knowledge of her daughter's exposure to the several instances of violence was the platform for the murder. She couldn't get beat down and raise her child under the impression that a man is dominant or dominates over a woman. Implications of these actions include Capitol intervention to the effect of either death or imprisonment.'

I know she's imprisoned. The Capitol doesn't just execute District citizens for no reason... She has to be alive. I know what she did was out of the kindness of her heart and not just senseless revenge. I've stayed unwaveringly optimistic since she was taken away and I was sent to live with my grandmother, also named Vivian.

So my father is dead, my mother is imprisoned, and I was the sole heir. I'm better off. 'Better off'. I've gone through every crisis in my life alone. My grannie doesn't talk much, but I take care of her. I don't even think she knew my hair is gone because I bought a wig so fast to cover up whatever happened to it. I have to be positive. It's what drives me. This confidence and sheer determination was instilled into me in the most shock-oriented process I could go through, it wasn't something I picked up one day.

Above all; I fight for me.

I hope it's fine that I submit a character while the games are going on! (It wasn't addressed in the rules and I know from experience that a few RP sites don't like that.) If it's not, I've got her saved and I'll submit when the Games are over! Thanks!