Dalton Raine (District 7)

Dalton Raine (District 7) May 10, 2015 14:58:29 GMT -5

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Post by shrinkingviolet on May 10, 2015 14:58:29 GMT -5

Name: Dalton Raine (Known as Raine)
Age: Seventeen
Gender: Male
District: 7
(FC: Brad Pitt)

Appearance

The body I live in is white-- whiter than paper and equally as plain. It's unpredictable, growing stronger in some places, and weary with others. There'll occasionally be a freckle I haven't noticed, or scar that somehow appeared, a fleck of evidence for the month I've had.
Though like a diary, I'm equally worn and lived-in-- the bind to my existential body is barely creased, and the blood-like ink on every page is sharp in color and consistency. With hair as golden, and eyes as blue, there comes the price of attention, wanted or not.

Heartthrob: a word often used by those surrounding-- though what it could mean, I wouldn't possibly know, or have the urge to. Though once you're passed your initial impression, and you begin to crawl beyond the wary barricades that'll try to keep you out, you may notice it. Shocking, at first, though easily adaptable. A scar, a healed wound, salvaged skin-- something around my neck, usually covered by a shirt, or piece of material. The one torn page out of my living, breathing journal.

Personality

Decent, in the sense of both kindness and caring. Unselfish, and self-sacrificial if needed. The past has changed me into the man-shaped form of forgiveness I am, and through the pain, and torment, I have learnt of the grave goodness in our world. There is no bitterness in me, nor negativity, though there are walls; stronger than steel, and taller than the many trees in our valley. Some are impassable, and too strong to overcome, and with that you must be accepting and understanding, or I shan't stay around much longer.

There isn't a judgmental bone in my body, though there is some stubbornness, intertwined with human greed and a desire to possess. Sadness, happiness, anger, all expected, though most rarest of them all is nothingness. There will be a time where I can't feel, where I'll see without seeing, and hear without hearing. I'll simply slip into a vegetation state, and be emotionless to the world, and then when that period has finished, I'll rejoin and go about the daily necessities life will bring.

The tone of my voice is an unfamiliar drawl, and the scent of me is rare, jacket leather and warm honey-- something I'm now oblivious to. With an extensive past of vexatious happenings, there is fear and torment, like dreading loneliness, and being faced with the unfathomable. There is the question of what occurs after we die, and when will my thoughts be answered? There is me, there is you, and there is the world. What I do with that information, is what defines who I am.

I laugh through everything, and smile to those who don't deserve it. I'll carry someone through the wrath of our world, without nothing in return-- though when the role is reversed, I'll deny any sense of help. Not needing, not wanting. Only wishing to achieve this at my own accord.

Unable to trust easily, though will offer countless chances, life is too short to hold a grudge, especially for us that are aged between twelve and eighteen.

History

During the 53rd Annual Hunger Games, a woman gave birth to a peacekeepers son. She died during the labor, leaving the baby motherless, and the peacekeeper distraught. Unable to father the child (due to his prized profession) he tried disposing of the child. With his attempt at killing, the child was left with a mark-- a scar around the base of it's throat, a sign for mortality.
The peacekeeper couldn't lose the child that way, for his conscience would take a harsh beating in the process. Instead, the man placed the baby on a doorstep, with a small letter attached to it's throat.
His name is Dalton. That was it. The peacekeeper disappeared into the night.

A childless couple took in the baby, raising him as their own. They blessed him with the surname Raine, after the tree that stood tallest beside their sheltered home. The baby was me, and I aged with an outstanding childhood, one much better than the anonymous man and woman could ever offer.

Come the age of fifteen, father took a battered fall, and he couldn't work much longer. I replaced his income with my own, and began working in the family business that centered around crafting furniture. Not long after he was made redundant to walking, I salvaged leftover material, and created a wheeling-chair for him to work in. He returned to work, with me by his side, and our family was blessed with more money than needed.

Come the age of sixteen, I then managed to work additionally with those who lumbered trees, slicing them from their roots and into large chunks, fit for both the district workers and Capitol itself. The smell of ceder and oak is noticeable, as are the scuffs and scrapes that mark the skin on my worn hands. There aren't enough fingers in the world to mark down the remaining days until no more, am I placed into the reaping, awaiting to see if death has finally found me.