Midas Moros; D1; Ready
Oct 18, 2017 21:20:28 GMT -5
Post by * on Oct 18, 2017 21:20:28 GMT -5
Name: Midas Age: 17 Height: 6'3 (FC will be uploaded later due to fc restrictions) Interesting facts: He has two uncles and six aunts and he himself has 5 brothers. Big family. Interested in the blackmarket and the art of making 'Snake Wine'. Three A.M. runs in the brisk cold of the morning never made someone feel so alive. The mist like fog caressing the delicate skin of the face, cleansing the pores. The moon infused dark igniting a certain amount of fear inside the heart of the runner, urging them faster. The ground proudly taking the harsh, yet flowing steps as the lungs inhale with heaves of every bone chilling breath - making the hair on the arms stand up. Goosebumps litter the legs of those bare skinned individuals to whom dare to challenge the rising sun saying "I am better than you". The earth takes pride in its children, no matter what the outcome is. I am no different as each pounding step digs into the dirt and ground. I know this path like the back of my hand. The fog is always so thick it seems the early it is in the morning. All around me grapes grow wildly with coils upon coils wrapped around metal, branches sticking out. Barely enough room to pass through each row of the delicate fruits without disturbing the merchandise. For years and decades, my family has been the sole caretakers of this brilliant vineyard here in district one. Passed on from my grandmother to my mother and from my grandmother's mother to her, wealth has just found us. It took hard work and years of dedication to the ground and the art of winemaking to make it possible to maintain. I am only one of six boys in my family that was born with silver spoons in our mouths, but mine shone the brightest of them all. I was born Midas Coln Moros. I am the third son of the third son. What that did to me was to put this entire business and vineyard in my name, hence the reason why I was named as such. There was a story that my grandmother used to tell us about the bearer of the name in old times that had an ability to turn everything that he touched into gold. It's complete rubbish, but her stories were meant to be fun, and whose to say it couldn't be true? Before my grandmother died, she make my father promise to make his third son, if it was meant to be, to bear the name to carry on the family traditions. Not long after she was put to rest, that my mother found to be pregnant with another child. That is how I came to be. My parents believe that she went on to the higher power and special picked me to come in her place and keep the traditions alive. A miracle child who was so believed that I, too, was made to follow after my fathers special treatment growing up. I am not allowed to work in the fields but to oversee everything about it. Though, my father was the lucky son of this time. His family bore so many children to wait on him, and he had practically everyone waiting on him hand and foot. Rarely did he lift a finger to tend to the vineyards, but instead tended to the books and receipts for the profits. He had all the special training that he could want and all the support and management to his daily regiment. Tasks and meetings and visiting to the peacekeepers with their private selections of the homegrown wine before the shipments were sent off to the capitol. What that entailed though was that his life was deemed 'perfect'. I didn't realize that being 'perfect' was the most daunting thing ever. Aggression resides deep within my belly for this special treatment. While my two older brothers and three youngest get to mingle and have fun in the fields all day long, working with each other, learning about one another, I am under my father's watchful eye. I long to be like them though. I yearn to touch the grapes and see the vines they are plucked from. To get dirt up and under my nails and grow callouses on my palms would make the work seem all that much more worthy of this title. At least one thing has come good from this, I get all the training there is as a career. All the time in the world to spar and fight and whittle my way to outsmart each opponent. Anger tends to come boiling to a head so easily on the mat that most of the time, my father's face will replace the trainer. I fight for my freedom. I fight to exclude myself from whatever silver plated spoon I was born with. If anger was a color, it would be gold. The relationship with my brothers isn't on bad terms, though they do resent my position. Everyone in the family resemble each other in one way or another. Whether it's the height that draws us up, or the semi-blond locks that tear us apart from others in the district, that is what to be expected. Long fingers run in the family and to offset that from my own appearance, I wear rings on almost all of them. My trademark is the jewelry to signify my status because who else wears rings working out in the sun? I don't. Jackets and long sleeved shirts make up half of my wardrobe and worn only on days when I do business with those of wealth. I'm a business man in training when I'm with my father, but when it's just me, at three a.m. in the morning and no one is around, I wear jeans or shorts depending on the temperature. A t-shirt covers my naked chest and flat physique before my father figure can attest to my appalling sense of fashion. Sweat decorates my face and paints my back, soaking through the fabrics and calling upon a more chilling air to kiss my soul. Freedom is what I seek but I'm a rose under glass. I'm not fragile enough to break but I am a model display for the world to see. And see me they will one day, when I will escape this fate that has been thrown onto me. If my brothers can work in the fields day in and day out in order to give me the life of luxury that my so called father deemed me for, then I will throw my life away for the games one day to protect them from such a thing. They are the ones that take care of the family business, not I. The back breaking labor and love and passion for the roots and wine is what drives the Moros's to glory. Not I. However, with the games, there will be glory galore if I were to come back with my life intact. My soul would be broken, sure enough, but to earn something, and I mean to truely earn it would put my soul to ease. I know I can do it as well. There isn't a weapon I've not handled and there's not a technique that my father hasn't paid enough to have it taught to me, so when it comes down to it all, why do I fear that I have never paid enough attention to really learn it? Do I really not care that much? I have a deep passion to feel pain one day. I truely want to seek out that pleasurable discomfort and feel that burning sensation to come back home enough to change who I raised to be. I honestly wonder if I'll be able to honorably kill another human in front of thousands just to prove myself worthy to live. I wonder if I'll have that affliction to cause an open wound just to please the crowds eye like I've had to do with my own father. What would someone think of me then, at three in the morning, if I'm no longer found running to escape my torture only to torture someone else? The vineyards will live for a hundred more years, but I will not and I want to live my life how I want to. The story of Midas, the one who had the ability to turn everything into gold, would release that anger upon the world and paint the arena gold. "Shiny." |
PAT: 1412
