gabriel dysart-stolz, district one, fin

name » Gabriel Leigh Dysart-Stolz. But let's be honest-it doesn't really matter what you call me, honey.
age » Nineteen.
gender » Male. Although that's been called into question before.
district » One.

a p p e a r a n c e » i could say it but you won't believe me

So I'm beautiful.
It's something I've learned to accept by now. People have their gifts, and mine is my body, lean and strong and flexible.
People have their gifts, and I have mine, and I intend to use it in any way I can.
Look at me. I'm six foot six, long limbs, light eyes. My hair's light, and I keep it coiffed and out of my way.
I'll be the first to say it: I'm vain. And justly so.

I wear tight clothes-it's something you have to do in my line of work. Nobody will buy what you're selling if you don't show them what it is. There are exceptions, of course.
Those are the days people don't recognize me-or alternately, the days they do. People are into different things. I don't judge.
Those are the days I put on my lipstick, lace up my heels. I may not be a imposing person, but if you aren't used to my side of town, there are few things more intimidating than a seven-foot-in-heels crossdressing prostitute.
Probably should have brought it up a little more subtly, that. Not as if being subtle will make a real difference.
I am comfortable in who I am. Don't get me wrong-I'm male, and happily so-but if you tell me that I am less of a man than anyone else because of my wardrobe, of all things-I'll fight you. I'm serious. I might be slender, but at my height, even skinny limbs are bigger than the average person's. And stilettos hurt when they're impaling you. That much I can promise.

My lips are full. I know how gorgeous I look when I lick them, bite them, drop my half-lidded eyes down at whoever is fortunate enough to be taking me home. It works every single time.

p e r s o n a l i t y » you say you do but you don't deceive me

I've always been more emotionally invested in myself than anyone else around me. I don't care about my mother. I don't care about the dying babies in the Games. I'm selfish. This is a fact.
I'm not incapable of love. I loved my ex. I love the girls I work with, down in the shady buildings that the good kids don't dare to come near.

Here are my rules: No hickies. No scars. No marks. If I tell you to stop, you stop. That's it. Anything else is fair game.
I'm a whore but I'm selective, and I choose only those I have deemed worthy to bed me. Closeted men in their forties can go find someone else. And lord knows I've been successful enough yet far-there are plenty of young and wealthy in District One more than willing to spend a night with a tall blonde.

I have my ghosts, but if you ask, I won't lie. Momma always told me lying was a sin, which I never really understood as she lied to herself every damn moment of her life-but omission, that doesn't count. Neglecting to mention things isn't the same as pretending they never happened.


When I get drunk, I miss him.
My ex.
See, I wasn't always a heartless bitch.
That's why I don't drink when I'm working-and they offer, believe me. But I never accept, because getting drunk makes me think of the fact that this is all I will ever be.
I'm surprisingly self-aware sometimes.


I'm a dancer.
I started when I was young, preferred it to the alternative my mother gave me (career training). I've been dancing since-though the last two years I've had much less time for it. I still do, when I'm alone, twirling and leaping. I can do just as much as any girl.
If I had the opportunity, I would be hailed as exceptional. Pity there's never anyone around to watch.
My house is small, but it's got a large room with wooden floors-it used to be my mother's, before she died, but now it's cleared of all her religious paphernalia and the furniture's been sold and the heavy curtains pulled back, and now it's empty. Now it's mine to do with as I like-to dance.

h i s t o r y » dead hearts are everywhere

When I was born, my daddy was a deadbeat and my momma was a whore who was still under the illusion of her own innocence. Daddy skipped out when she got pregnant, Momma offed herself the day I turned eighteen. Guess she couldn't bear seeing her baby turn out like she did-even if she would have protested her naivety til, well, the day she died.
I had no brothers, no sisters. I raised myself, really. Momma wasn't good for anything other than preaching about a god I never had intentions of believing in.
She wasn't happy when I turned out gay as hell and a filthy sinner.
But hey, can't pick your family, can you? Not even if you try. And believe me, she did. You wouldn't believe the number of times she tried to get rid of me. I stopped bothering to mention it when I was thirteen.

I was never into career training-it's not my scene. I prefer my boys leaner, the kind that can't benchpress higher than their IQ. Not to say muscle is a bad thing.

I've known I was gay since I was a kid, and my mom probably would've known just as long if she wasn't so in denial. Some people live in denial. My mom was in so deep she died in it.
Daddy may not have stuck around, but at least he knew what reality was.
Maybe that's where I got it from. Mama just had her head so far in the clouds it was basically just up her ass.

I've been sleeping around for a while, but I didn't start charging for it until last year. Maybe that was the final blow for Mom. Oops. Sorry.

I don't really care about other people all that much. Call me selfish.

My boyfriend died when I was sixteen.
Died isn't really the right word. He killed himself. Same as my mom did.
We'd been dating for eight months-he was shorter than me, more muscular, darker. He always kissed me like he was drowning. Makes sense, in a way.
We always talked about running away, but I never thought he was that desperate.
I think I always knew he was never going to stay. His method was different than anticipated, but the rest was expected. When they buried him, there were still bruises from my lips staining his skin.

I think that in the end, it was beneficial to me. No longer having to stay faithful-I'm not a boy that will ever be a fairytale prince. I'm the boy made for quick, dirty fucks in basements and alleyways and bathroom stalls.
I never really deserved him anyway.

codeword:


comments/other: first rp in a long time. i'm sorry. that is all i can say.
lyrics; "The Queen"- Lady Gaga; "Love Sex, Death"- Fall Out Boy; "Without You"- Lana Del Rey
fc; will jardell