Sorrel Ramson (Distrct 4) DONE
Apr 20, 2015 10:19:39 GMT -5
Post by shrinkingviolet on Apr 20, 2015 10:19:39 GMT -5
Name: Sorrel Ramson
Age: Seventeen
Gender: Female
District: 4
Appearance:
Unlike the green leaf I was named after, my eyes are brown, as is my hair, and even my skin under the right temperature. Unfortunately thin, a sign of poor nutrition in the district -- even with all the sea life -- and tall enough to spot the fin of a shark, lurking on the surface, just north of where us workers hunt. An unfortunate scar sits on the lower half of my back, a chunk of skin missing, just another part of me I've lost.
I prefer being barefoot, feeling the sand, crushed rock, and heated pathways beneath me. It'll be only on a rare occasion that my hair will be up, I've grown accustom to having it down and draped, shielding me from the harsh summers that follow. I could be pretty, if I made enough of an effort to embrace my feminine ways, though I have a deeper priority, and it doesn't entail copying the Capitol's current fashion trends.
On my shoulders is where I'm most freckled, small specks leftover from being burnt by the sun. A birth mark -- in the shape of a clover -- perches on the root of my neck, a patch of dark among a flawless sea of brown, indicating I was here, I was born, I'm a living, breathing something. Though if I had to choose, pick a favorite fraction of myself, it would be that one intermingled piece of hair. When concentrating, I curl a strand around my finger, unintentionally of course. Now, it remains a ringlet, curled, defiant, unlike it's brothers. It reminds me of rebellion, not doing what it's told, not listening. It's the perfect representation of me. Untameable.
Personality:
Aware of everything and anything, not to mention stubborn. I can be forgiving, but not forgetting. Fiercely loyal, and self-sacrificial on a daily basis. Unattractively bitter at times, and both walled and isolated, no one will get in.
Prior to the unstable father figure in my life, I've adapted to fill the 'strong and dependent' gap that's missing from our family. I have no interest in men, children, and friends, as I've come to realize they're all either replaceable, or disposable. Unsociable, sarcastic, and typically unlikable. I prefer the world as me, myself and I.
Trustworthy, honest (even if it is harsh) and incapable of tolerating someone I don't like. It's rare that I can hold my tongue, though if I do, it's for the greater good. Be warned, though, the hatred, the bitterness, the unlike-ability, it's all covering something inside, something you wouldn't imagine to lay within the fierce, furious girl from District 4. Frustration and irritation is the perfect armor, keeping out those who want in, whether their intentions are good or bad. What's inside? You might wonder, and the answer is simple enough. It's care, longing, and emotion.
The girl on the inside is deprived of everything she craves, whether it be the scenery of sunset, the taste of frosting, or maybe, just maybe, the yearning ache to trust someone. Does that someone exist? An old woman with paper skin, a young boy who doesn't understand the way of the world, or maybe, someone similar to my age, understanding the ways and woes of sacrifice. Either way, there is a throbbing, pulsing piece inside of me no-one has ever seen, and I never intend on letting it out.
History:
Father was a peacekeeper, though after meeting, and eventually falling for my mother, he was sent to the Capitol where in the mouth of Panem, he was made an avox. Her and I alone, were taken in by a woman who was dying of pneumonia, due to the harsh winter that came that year. She passed, leaving us the house, if you'd call it that. Years came, and as my mother managed to wither away slowly but surely, I took on the need to provide. Salvaging food, and earning what money could be shared, my only priorities lay within the house the woman once gave us.
It wasn't until the age of thirteen, that I began exploring the depths of the sea, and all the shore could offer. A man -- with a name that represented some water plant -- took me aboard his boat, offering me a place to gather resources for the overall district. For three weeks of the year, I'd leave home, sailing through the crystal clear marine, salvaging what sea-born food could be found. I made friends, ones both young and old, fending for their families. During the month of June, the boat crashed, and I -- having to stay home to tend after my barely living mother -- listened as the news circled the district, no survivors, no more friends to confide in. It changed me for the better.
To this day, my mother is alive, barely breathing in her room of surrounding memorabilia. And I, surviving through the self sacrificial days that is life in District 4. There will come a year, month, or moment, when everything I have left is lost, and in it's place will be a broken, crumpled reason to keep going. I try as hard as possible to get back out to the shore, to be as free as the fish, bright as the underwater coral, even as unchanging as the sand, smooth, no bumps in it's golden surface. I have a dream, and it's to leave, flee, experience the blissful paradise that is freedom. One day it will come, and one day, I will be ready.
(Face claim: Nikki Reed)
CODE WORD: ODAIR
Age: Seventeen
Gender: Female
District: 4
Appearance:
Unlike the green leaf I was named after, my eyes are brown, as is my hair, and even my skin under the right temperature. Unfortunately thin, a sign of poor nutrition in the district -- even with all the sea life -- and tall enough to spot the fin of a shark, lurking on the surface, just north of where us workers hunt. An unfortunate scar sits on the lower half of my back, a chunk of skin missing, just another part of me I've lost.
I prefer being barefoot, feeling the sand, crushed rock, and heated pathways beneath me. It'll be only on a rare occasion that my hair will be up, I've grown accustom to having it down and draped, shielding me from the harsh summers that follow. I could be pretty, if I made enough of an effort to embrace my feminine ways, though I have a deeper priority, and it doesn't entail copying the Capitol's current fashion trends.
On my shoulders is where I'm most freckled, small specks leftover from being burnt by the sun. A birth mark -- in the shape of a clover -- perches on the root of my neck, a patch of dark among a flawless sea of brown, indicating I was here, I was born, I'm a living, breathing something. Though if I had to choose, pick a favorite fraction of myself, it would be that one intermingled piece of hair. When concentrating, I curl a strand around my finger, unintentionally of course. Now, it remains a ringlet, curled, defiant, unlike it's brothers. It reminds me of rebellion, not doing what it's told, not listening. It's the perfect representation of me. Untameable.
Personality:
Aware of everything and anything, not to mention stubborn. I can be forgiving, but not forgetting. Fiercely loyal, and self-sacrificial on a daily basis. Unattractively bitter at times, and both walled and isolated, no one will get in.
Prior to the unstable father figure in my life, I've adapted to fill the 'strong and dependent' gap that's missing from our family. I have no interest in men, children, and friends, as I've come to realize they're all either replaceable, or disposable. Unsociable, sarcastic, and typically unlikable. I prefer the world as me, myself and I.
Trustworthy, honest (even if it is harsh) and incapable of tolerating someone I don't like. It's rare that I can hold my tongue, though if I do, it's for the greater good. Be warned, though, the hatred, the bitterness, the unlike-ability, it's all covering something inside, something you wouldn't imagine to lay within the fierce, furious girl from District 4. Frustration and irritation is the perfect armor, keeping out those who want in, whether their intentions are good or bad. What's inside? You might wonder, and the answer is simple enough. It's care, longing, and emotion.
The girl on the inside is deprived of everything she craves, whether it be the scenery of sunset, the taste of frosting, or maybe, just maybe, the yearning ache to trust someone. Does that someone exist? An old woman with paper skin, a young boy who doesn't understand the way of the world, or maybe, someone similar to my age, understanding the ways and woes of sacrifice. Either way, there is a throbbing, pulsing piece inside of me no-one has ever seen, and I never intend on letting it out.
History:
Father was a peacekeeper, though after meeting, and eventually falling for my mother, he was sent to the Capitol where in the mouth of Panem, he was made an avox. Her and I alone, were taken in by a woman who was dying of pneumonia, due to the harsh winter that came that year. She passed, leaving us the house, if you'd call it that. Years came, and as my mother managed to wither away slowly but surely, I took on the need to provide. Salvaging food, and earning what money could be shared, my only priorities lay within the house the woman once gave us.
It wasn't until the age of thirteen, that I began exploring the depths of the sea, and all the shore could offer. A man -- with a name that represented some water plant -- took me aboard his boat, offering me a place to gather resources for the overall district. For three weeks of the year, I'd leave home, sailing through the crystal clear marine, salvaging what sea-born food could be found. I made friends, ones both young and old, fending for their families. During the month of June, the boat crashed, and I -- having to stay home to tend after my barely living mother -- listened as the news circled the district, no survivors, no more friends to confide in. It changed me for the better.
To this day, my mother is alive, barely breathing in her room of surrounding memorabilia. And I, surviving through the self sacrificial days that is life in District 4. There will come a year, month, or moment, when everything I have left is lost, and in it's place will be a broken, crumpled reason to keep going. I try as hard as possible to get back out to the shore, to be as free as the fish, bright as the underwater coral, even as unchanging as the sand, smooth, no bumps in it's golden surface. I have a dream, and it's to leave, flee, experience the blissful paradise that is freedom. One day it will come, and one day, I will be ready.
(Face claim: Nikki Reed)
CODE WORD: ODAIR
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