Eth Llanes / D8 [Fin]

Alright, thanks for the heads up, and no problem!

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Name: Eth Llanes
Age: 21
Gender: Male
District/Area: District Eight
Appearance:

You want my looks? Mine? There isn't much to say about myself. I've got short, dirty blond hair that sorta sits on my head in a mess. Don't really have much aside from that one old wooden comb my pa gave me to comb it with. The front's a bit longer than the back end, and usually ends up lifting and curling all over the place when I wake up in the morning. I have a small, somewhat round face, and a pointed chin. I've got a little fuzz growing at my chin as well, but not a full blown beard. I've got a little bit of chub on my cheeks, but I'm not really on the fat side.

As for my body, I'm skinny. I don't have much muscle on me, nor that much bone; though my family did feed me well. That was before I had to start making my own money. I'm a little tan, probably the colour of caramel - or maybe a tad lighter. 

My eyes are a light blueish-grey. They sometimes appear to change colours because of the blend of the two colours, and depending on the lighting. My nose is narrow, small, a little on the flat side opposed to narrow, but it isn't all too bad. My lips, on the other hand, are a tad thick in my opinion. People think I'm always pouting or something because of them. Guess they aren't my best feature, but that's alright.

Personality:

I'm not really a social person. I'm kind of an introvert, so I'm pretty quiet around people. I don't mind talking if I really must, but if I had a choice, I'd most likely stay to myself. I am a confident person, and am highly analytical. I'm also confident in myself, and highly stubborn, so I usually believe myself to be right if I'm not convinced of the other person being right. It's gotten me into some arguments in the past though.

As I said, I like to keep to myself, so usually, I think a lot to myself as well. A lot goes on in my mind when I'm not around people, which could be either good or bad, depending on the case... See, sometimes, I overthink things I do or say or how I act. I am a rather sensitive, emotional kind of guy, so overthinking things is pretty much my norm. Can't really help it either, given my job doesn't really allow me to talk to anyone for long periods of time, and I've got to work for most of my days.

Don't really get angry easily either. I'm usually a damned calm person. It's hard to tick me off, even if you're doing it intentionally. I do have peeves here and there, but they're nothing that a little quiet time to myself can't fix. I'll usually calm down after an hour or two, or three... depending. I do have outbursts of anger if it's anything serious, but those are very rare. People say I'm a pretty laid back, nice and quiet boy.

History:

I used to live with my two parents and my elder brother Carney. We lived in District Eight as long as I can remember. Parents would, every day at exactly 5AM, get up and head to the small, dirty factory shop where they would sort fabrics for the jacket sewers to use. My ma knew how to sew, but she wasn't the best at it, and my pa didn't know at all, so the sewing jobs were given to people in our District who had more experience. So, our family didn't have too much money because we simply weren't making enough.

Carney, he was older than me by five years. When I was small - say, around three - he would often play with me in my room while our parents were out working. We had a neighbour who'd come by and watch over us in our house, and make us food. It wasn't the best food, but it was enough to keep us fed. And our neighbour, she was a nice lady, and often let us do whatever, and mind her business. You know, she let us kids be kids.

My brother was nice. He was probably the best brother I could ever wish for. Often, I would cry whenever I fell off the small rocking horse I had in my room. The same one my elder brother had in his room as well. Though, he eventually moved his into my room, and, eventually, his room became ours. He would take care of me. Calm me when I'd get upset. Hug me and give me treats. He looked out for me as a good older brother would. I still remember this one time, after I'd accidentally broken off the head of my horse, Carney had said, "Come here, Eth. Sit on my lap here. Now, you know, I wouldn't leave you crying and do nothing. Hush, now. I'll fix the horse for you later. When we're older, and we both end up in The Hunger Game, I'll make sure to be there. I'll keep you alive with all that I can. That's how much your brother loves you."

Then came the day. Not long after I turned 11, my brother got sick. Really sick. I mean, I don't even know what happened to him. It was in the middle of winter, probably during one of the coldest nights we've ever had in the District. We've been told to stay warm, and stay indoors. We had a bunch of coats, sweaters, blankets and whatnot to keep warm, but it only really did so much. We were usually pretty strong, and were able to survive the winter with only a single fire in the small, crammed living room of our house. But for some reason, Carney's body wasn't keeping him alive. 

See, I was told by an old man I'd met that every human had six levels of defensive energies. These levels protected you from diseases that attacked your body. The more superficial the disease is, the less serious it is, and the faster one is able to be cured from the disease. But for some reason, Carney was suddenly attacked in his deepest layer of defensive energy. From being perfectly fine only a day ago, my brother was writhing in pain under his duvet in his own bed. Eyes widened into an expression I can only describe as pure terror, he looked like he was being strangled by a ghost. His limbs felt ice cold. Even much colder than how they'd normally feel despite it being forty below outside. It was slightly warmer inside the house, so it shouldn't have been that bad.

We hadn't the slightest idea what to do. He couldn't see us. We weren't doctors. My ma shook him, frantic to get her eldest son back, but to no avail. We all knew what would come, but she refused to accept this depressing truth.

Eventually, the unfortunate happened. No one could explain this unnatural occurrence either. It seemed as though all he had left to defend himself from the harsh winter cold had suddenly up and gone that one lonely night and left him for dead.

My ma committed suicide the next day, and my pa, he hasn't been talking since. He doesn't even go to work anymore. He'd hole himself up in his room in our house and lie in bed all day. His food would be eaten though, whenever I brought it to him, so there's that. But I feel like he's trying to kill himself slowly. As much as the deaths upset me, I didn't let them break me. I started to go to work in order to make enough money to keep me and my pa alive for the next few winters ahead. But what for? I don't know anymore.

Other: 

While I started working, I've befriended a girl at the factory shop who taught me how to sew fine jackets that were warm enough to keep me alive during colder seasons. Because of this, I often took some of the factory's left over wool and skins and brought them home with me to practice sewing. Because of this, I was quickly upgraded to a higher position. I love to sew and knit, and would often make coats and hats for my pa whenever I felt he needed something new to wear. Though I still need much more practice, I think I'm getting along well.