iris o'nyle || district eight || cb || fin

A dab of makeup does the trick. A line here, a bit there, and you're ready to greet the world.

Ever since that fateful day, there's never been a shortage of side-eyed glances and too-long stares sent your direction. It's no secret that losing a relative to the Games makes you akin to a minor celebrity back home, whether your last name is Leviane or Moon or whatever. O'Nyle falls into that category too, especially when the name wasn't attached to bloodbath fodder, but a charismatic young man who drew the world in with his dumb charm and broke their hearts by bringing fists to a gun fight.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all before. So what. You never mourned the guy, for he had it coming from a long ways away well before he ever got reaped. If it wasn't going to be the Games, it would be from head injuries from one too many fights, or a gunfight, or simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. So what if he was your older cousin? You always did have the brains in the family. That's why he was the one fighting battles he couldn't hope to win, and you were sitting in the background making a profit off of each and every one.

Okay, there is one thing that he did to annoy you. Getting reaped and dying did put a wrench into that lucrative business. But you are nothing if not adaptive. And hey, it's not your fault that dumbass was more use to you in death than he ever was in life, was it?