chrys webb | district 1 | done

They really can't stand silence, the way it creeps up into your ears and rattles around in there like little ants and - ugh - they really aren't a big fan of bugs. Gross things in general, but bugs are at the top of the list. Their mom once told them you eat eight spiders a year in your sleep and was shocked to find them sleeping with a bag over their head the next night. She probably yelled at them for a while about it but Chrys certainly wouldn't know. You can't see someone's hands with a bag over your head.

Too literal, too loud, Chrys exists in the space outside maximums and minimums. Alls or nothings. Blacks or whites. Born a misfit in their own family, it was live or let live and Chrys isn't one for holding grudges. Their parents couldn't understand them, Chrys couldn't understand their parents - there was always more separating them than the sound barrier. (Ha, get it? Cause both of them are deaf?)

If you don't, that's fine. Chrys can laugh at themself, it's probably the only reason they remember how to laugh at all.

Really, you should see the Webb family portrait. Four bland little mallards all in a row, their greased hair and buttoned collars only accentuating the ugly sheep awkwardly slouched behind them. Or was it black duckling? Chrys might have gotten their metaphors mixed up somewhere in there.

Haaaa. You get the point.

Strangely enough it wasn't the ant farm they broke in the kitchen that one time that did them in, but a pointed lack of interest in the family business. Can you blame them? Who gives a shit about finances and accounting. Chrys is pretty sure they flunked gradeschool maths anyway.

Obviously there were a lot of fights about trying harder and making an actual effort.

So they moved out at eighteen and never looked back.

Well except for holidays, they don't hate their family that much. It kinda felt shitty that everyone was so much happier after that, though.

It's just not easy to be a scrappy, awkward kid in a district full of Careers desperate to skewer themselves over a fire pit. Well, until it is. They ran a fight ring two years past nineteen and that shit was profitable. What is that saying about a Jill of all trades breaking her crown on a hill? Yeah, that's Chrys.

They're homeless but it's like, a lifestyle choice. There's a lot of the world you can experience on other people's couches. They've created a vast network of friends, most of whom have so much money they don't really notice them crashing on their couch for a week. It's all good, Chrys is just that charming.

Sometimes it's hard to tell who's a friend and who's a 'friend', y'know? But Chrys figures if they move on quick enough the dust will never have time to settle on that particular issue. That strange emptiness that's constantly gnawing at them? A soul crushing loneliness that is somehow hidden within a snowstorm smile and still all-encompassing? Yeah, Chrys has no idea what that feels like. If you could make a living off running from ghosts, they'd be a fucking millionaire.

Now Chrys might be a conman, but they're not a liar. The truth can be stretched into thousands of pretty shapes, long as the holes you tear doing so aren't that big you won't get caught. Not to brag or anything, but they haven't been found out yet.

Luckily they never experienced the whole ex-career burnout at nineteen, just the regular kid burnout. If such a thing even exists in One.

God, it'd feel real nice to belong somewhere someday.

On the bright side, you gotta have a whole heart for it to get broken.

Chrys figures they're pretty safe.

C H R Y S W E B B