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Camden Lannon - District 1 (Done)
May 25, 2019 15:30:01 GMT -5
Post by D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] on May 25, 2019 15:30:01 GMT -5
CAMDEN LANNON Female, Age 16 District 1 Career |
ARCHETYPE:
The Sensualist. The Lover. The Intimate.
When you seek the love and desire of those around you
you risk losing your own identity.
APPEARANCE
My name is Camden Lannon. More than anything in the world, I wish to be adored.
There's a certain thrill about seeing people look at you and knowing they think you're beautiful. I see it so often at the school; anyone who meets me either wishes they were with me or that they were me. I don't blame them. I mean, look at me. Everything about me screams seduction. My long brown hair, soft as silk, perfectly frames my face. I just have to give one look with my heavy-lidded brown eyes and I become the object of any boy or girl's desire. Oh how they love me, how they want to hear the sweet nothings come from my cupid's bow lips, how they want to memorize the freckles scattered on my nose like they never want to forget. I never want them to forget.
My face invites people in to me, to visit the idea of loving me, and my body convinces them to stay. At just sixteen I've already developed a figure comparable to the models they have in the Capitol. Thin, demure, but with curves in all of the right places. Hell, I could've been one of those models. Except while i'm only 5 feet and 7 inches tall, they all stand above six feet. How desperately I wish I was taller. But no matter. Even at this height I know I'm desirable. Even grown adults aren't immune from my desirability. I don't care, as long as they adore me.
There's a flower that grows here in District 1 called the foxglove. It's my favourite flower; so enchanting with its delicate bell-shaped blooms. If it were to be consumed it becomes toxic, as it contains a deadly and potent poison that targets your heart. I am a foxglove, ready to win the hearts of anyone who wishes to love me.
PERSONALITY
Sometimes my looks alone aren't enough to win me the desirability of others; some can get jealous of my looks, the attention I get. Some people can despise me because of it. I can't have that, I must be adored by all. For these people I need to appeal to them, make them hear the things they want to hear. Make them feel beautiful even when they aren't. I make them my marionettes with the sweet little lies I sing in their ears, and then I make them dance. They dance for me, ready to do anything to keep my approval. I make them adore me.
I wonder how other people can live with themselves without this adoration. I can't even bear to imagine it. Being unloved, unwanted... I shudder at the thought. I've come close to it though, at least what I think it to be. I've surrounded myself with the friends and admirers I've created, my own personal paradise. But there are moments where I'm struck with a horrendous thought about whether any of them, who adore and desire me so incredibly much, actually like me. If you strip away the people around me, what is left of me? Who am I without their devotion? It springs up on me out of the blue, and I have to distract myself. Anything to stop thinking about how lonely it would be if the answer was no. It's so much better to never question the adoration I get. How happy I am to be so loved.
I dream of one day being in the Hunger Games. I've seen the way the victors are treated by the nation after they win. The Capitol loves them, District 1 loves them. Think of the adoration I would get if I won the Hunger Games. Me! I'd win not only the hearts of my district but the hearts of the Capitol residents, of the President, of all of Panem. I dream of this every day, and I train as hard as I possibly can to learn the skills that make a victor a victor. So far I haven't had luck on my side when reaping day comes. Each year I enviously look on at the girl who does make it to the games, listen to the praise and support she receives, and wish it was me on the receiving end. Even when they die all that is heard is how much they were adored. It wouldn't be a bad way to die.
HISTORY
The desire to be in the Hunger Games runs in my blood. Both of my parents were once fierce "Careers" too, tirelessly training for their chance at glory. Obviously, neither of them made it to the games, so now they spend their time coaching all of us current Careers so that we can be prepared to be victors ourselves. As long as I can remember they've been getting me ready for the games. My dad is an expert at wielding blades, knows how to best move to get the blades to hit vital points in the body. My mom excels at hand-to-hand combat; how best to block your opponent's moves, what you should do to counter.
I think both of these skills are rather stupid, and I'm not just saying that because I can't seem to get the hang of either of them! It's just so silly how much my parents base my value on whether I can excel in these skills. A disappointment, they call me. I hate them for it, and they hate how I'm their only child. Their only chance at continuing the legacy they dedicated their lives for.
But It's whatever, I'm not mad about it. Honestly! The other Career trainers love me. I'm great with long-range weapons. I can identify a poison better than anyone else. All I'll really need in the games is a bow and arrow and some poison to become breathtakingly deadly. I'd truly become a foxglove, so elegant and so toxic. The image a good victor needs. I'd be a victor people would remember. Nobody would remember me if all I could offer were the skills Mom and Dad were so focused on. Get me in the arena and they'll rethink how much of a disappointment I am. They'll see just how much I am adored as a Tribute.
And when I win, they'll have no choice but to adore me too.
(FC: Lotta Lindgren, A.K.A. LÉON)
The Sensualist. The Lover. The Intimate.
When you seek the love and desire of those around you
you risk losing your own identity.
APPEARANCE
My name is Camden Lannon. More than anything in the world, I wish to be adored.
There's a certain thrill about seeing people look at you and knowing they think you're beautiful. I see it so often at the school; anyone who meets me either wishes they were with me or that they were me. I don't blame them. I mean, look at me. Everything about me screams seduction. My long brown hair, soft as silk, perfectly frames my face. I just have to give one look with my heavy-lidded brown eyes and I become the object of any boy or girl's desire. Oh how they love me, how they want to hear the sweet nothings come from my cupid's bow lips, how they want to memorize the freckles scattered on my nose like they never want to forget. I never want them to forget.
My face invites people in to me, to visit the idea of loving me, and my body convinces them to stay. At just sixteen I've already developed a figure comparable to the models they have in the Capitol. Thin, demure, but with curves in all of the right places. Hell, I could've been one of those models. Except while i'm only 5 feet and 7 inches tall, they all stand above six feet. How desperately I wish I was taller. But no matter. Even at this height I know I'm desirable. Even grown adults aren't immune from my desirability. I don't care, as long as they adore me.
There's a flower that grows here in District 1 called the foxglove. It's my favourite flower; so enchanting with its delicate bell-shaped blooms. If it were to be consumed it becomes toxic, as it contains a deadly and potent poison that targets your heart. I am a foxglove, ready to win the hearts of anyone who wishes to love me.
Sometimes my looks alone aren't enough to win me the desirability of others; some can get jealous of my looks, the attention I get. Some people can despise me because of it. I can't have that, I must be adored by all. For these people I need to appeal to them, make them hear the things they want to hear. Make them feel beautiful even when they aren't. I make them my marionettes with the sweet little lies I sing in their ears, and then I make them dance. They dance for me, ready to do anything to keep my approval. I make them adore me.
I wonder how other people can live with themselves without this adoration. I can't even bear to imagine it. Being unloved, unwanted... I shudder at the thought. I've come close to it though, at least what I think it to be. I've surrounded myself with the friends and admirers I've created, my own personal paradise. But there are moments where I'm struck with a horrendous thought about whether any of them, who adore and desire me so incredibly much, actually like me. If you strip away the people around me, what is left of me? Who am I without their devotion? It springs up on me out of the blue, and I have to distract myself. Anything to stop thinking about how lonely it would be if the answer was no. It's so much better to never question the adoration I get. How happy I am to be so loved.
I dream of one day being in the Hunger Games. I've seen the way the victors are treated by the nation after they win. The Capitol loves them, District 1 loves them. Think of the adoration I would get if I won the Hunger Games. Me! I'd win not only the hearts of my district but the hearts of the Capitol residents, of the President, of all of Panem. I dream of this every day, and I train as hard as I possibly can to learn the skills that make a victor a victor. So far I haven't had luck on my side when reaping day comes. Each year I enviously look on at the girl who does make it to the games, listen to the praise and support she receives, and wish it was me on the receiving end. Even when they die all that is heard is how much they were adored. It wouldn't be a bad way to die.
The desire to be in the Hunger Games runs in my blood. Both of my parents were once fierce "Careers" too, tirelessly training for their chance at glory. Obviously, neither of them made it to the games, so now they spend their time coaching all of us current Careers so that we can be prepared to be victors ourselves. As long as I can remember they've been getting me ready for the games. My dad is an expert at wielding blades, knows how to best move to get the blades to hit vital points in the body. My mom excels at hand-to-hand combat; how best to block your opponent's moves, what you should do to counter.
I think both of these skills are rather stupid, and I'm not just saying that because I can't seem to get the hang of either of them! It's just so silly how much my parents base my value on whether I can excel in these skills. A disappointment, they call me. I hate them for it, and they hate how I'm their only child. Their only chance at continuing the legacy they dedicated their lives for.
But It's whatever, I'm not mad about it. Honestly! The other Career trainers love me. I'm great with long-range weapons. I can identify a poison better than anyone else. All I'll really need in the games is a bow and arrow and some poison to become breathtakingly deadly. I'd truly become a foxglove, so elegant and so toxic. The image a good victor needs. I'd be a victor people would remember. Nobody would remember me if all I could offer were the skills Mom and Dad were so focused on. Get me in the arena and they'll rethink how much of a disappointment I am. They'll see just how much I am adored as a Tribute.
And when I win, they'll have no choice but to adore me too.
(FC: Lotta Lindgren, A.K.A. LÉON)
