Tupelo Nom D7 [fin]

Tupelo Nom D7 [fin] Feb 29, 2012 6:28:35 GMT -5

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Post by semper on Feb 29, 2012 6:28:35 GMT -5

My name's Tupelo. I'm twenty-two years old and I'm a ~~captive~~ resident of District Seven.

Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah.
I get a feeling that I never never never knew I had before, no no,
I get a good feeling, yeah.

Bitch, I'm fabulous.

What more is there to say? I'm a sex god – an angel given to mankind – any godly metaphor works. You must be blind to now see how sexy I am.

But if you insist, you incompetent, blind idiot. I am a tall, gorgeous motherfucker, about 5’7”. ~~And if you even so much as hint that you think I’m short, I’ll castrate you with my teeth.~~ My weight is good for my body; most of it is muscle, so though the official number may be high, it’s all strength. I don’t have an ounce of fat on my body, and if you disagree with me, I’ll kick you in places that you didn’t even know you had. Anyway, my hair is as black as a raven and always kept in immaculate condition, even if it’s an unkempt style. I won’t do anything to mess up my hair – it’s my most prized body part. My narrow eyes are dark brown, nearly black, and quite sexy. Dark and mysterious, that’s what they are. And my face, it’s fairly angular, and I’ve thin lips and a small nose. But that doesn’t mean I’m still not a giant piece of eye candy.

Anyway, my arms aren’t huge, but there’s definitely muscle on them. Most of it is from my job as a lumberjack, which is pretty much the only damn job you can get in this damn District. My chest and abs are tied for my second most prized attributes, and they’re both well defined and hard with – what else? – muscle! I’m always jumped at the opportunity to strut around with my shirt off. Not many people are used to seeing such a raw form of sexy. But I’ll get to that later. My legs are just as toned, but not as “beefy,” but that’s from lumberjacking, too. Being a lumberjack may screw up my hair, but it keeps me nice and fit, so I can survive.

But I forgot to mention that I have a large, ragged-looking, puffy light pink scar that runs diagonally from the bottom of the right side of my ribcage to nearly my left hip. And because my skin is always tan from being outside, the scar stands out a lot. It’s quite nasty looking, but hey, I sometimes use the pity approach to get the ladies. It’s worked before, too.

I love to wear form-fitting shirts that show off my angelic and chiseled muscles and how they ripple when I move. Attracts the ladies, if you know what I mean. And if I’m not wearing a T-shirt, it’s a flannel button up long sleeve with no undershirt so I can show off my abs at will. Also, since there’s no great clothing in District 7, I’m stuck with these ratty rags as jeans. But eh, as I figure it, it gives me more of a rugged look when I take my shirt off.

Yes I can, doubt that I leave, I'm running with this plan.
Pull me, grab me, crabs in the bucket can't have me;
I'll be the president one day.
January first, oh, you like that gossip,
like you the one drinking that god sip dot com.
Now I gotta work with your tongue.
How many rolling stones you want?

Many people think I’m conceited, but they’re just jealous. My motto is “If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” and baby, I sure as hell got it. If you’re in my way or hinder me even the slightest bit, I’ll take you down, either verbally or physically. Whichever you prefer. I’m not afraid to fight because I know I’m good and I never lose – okay, I’ve lost fights before, but only because of accidents! I’ll slip or something and then they’ll get me. But I’ll always keep going until I win. I have to win – I’m very competitive – otherwise I’ll sneer and throw a fit. Not the sissy kind of fits, but the manly kind where you break things and show off testosterone. I’m always up for a good challenge, but I’ll never do anything to degrade myself.

People think I’m short, too, but I’ll tell you that “short” people have the most spirit. And when you say I’m short, I’ll show you all that wily spirit. I don’t like being made fun of because of my height, so I try to make myself look bigger, like cobras do. Always keep a good posture and bluff, but don’t let anyone ever call your bluffs. If I say a threat, I usually mean it. I’m not afraid to open a can of whoop ass on anyone, even if they’re taller than me – but I won’t ever hit a girl. I don’t know why, but I won’t. I won’t defend her, though, but I won’t hit her. It just ain’t my style. And the same goes for my friends, too: I won’t defend them unless it benefits me in some way. I only do things that have a good outcome for me, just so you know.

And they say that short people can hold their liquor, which is true! I’m a drinker through and through. I love any kind of drink that has alcohol in it and I love to get drunk on a regular basis. It’s really what I waste all of my money on –what little money a shitty lumberjack job pays. When I have a good day, I go drink. When I have a bad day, I go drink. When I have a neutral day, I go drink. Hangovers? Pfft, only the weak complain about them. I take them like a man.

Yeah I got a brand new spirit,
speak it and it's done.
Woke up on the side of the bed like I won.
Talk like a winner, my chest to that sub,
G5 dealer, US to Taiwan.
I hope you say that, I wanna play back;
Mama knew I was a needle in a hay stack.
A bugatti boy, plus Maybach.
I got a feeling it's a wrap ASAP.

So, I don’t remember how young I was, but I just remember going off into the woods by myself and getting lost and not being able to find my way back home because I only knew my mother as “Mum.” No one recognized her when I described her, and since I didn’t know her name – or even my last name, really – no one could help me. I ended up being taken in by this homeless guy and was raised on the streets for a few weeks before being turned over to some guy who knew everything about axes and logging and felling trees. The very first day, the man, John, started teaching me how to be a lumberjack. He showed me tricks to chopping efficiently, how to hit the tree so that it fell in a specific area, and how to cut off the top half of taller trees so that you could fell them easier. He was generally a nice guy, but he obviously didn’t really like having to take care of me, so I guess that’s why I’ve become so self-centered. Oh well!

So I joined John at his work. As I grew up, the other guys made fun of me when my height seemed to stunt at a midget’s height. And it made me mad, so I began to pack on the muscle. Then, whenever they challenged me by calling me “Shorty,” I was able to prove myself by fighting them. John didn’t very much like that, though, so he kicked me out when I was about 17 or so. And there I was, back on the streets. I was homeless for about a month or so until I found some rinky-dink shack that’d been abandoned. No one seemed to have been there for a very long time, so I took it.

I found a job at another logging place, and I still work there. The men there picked on me too, but not as bad. I’d go out drinking with them and do all kinds of crazy things – and speaking of crazy things, I gotta tell you about my scar.

So it was after some of the men and I had gotten drunk. We went back to the lumberyard and fiddled around with the axes. Well, me being stupid, I took the biggest one and started running around with it until I tripped and ended up landing on the damn blade so that it dug deep into my stomach. Luckily I was drunk, so I didn’t feel very much pain, and the other guys thought it was a joke, so we were all laughing and hootin’ and hollerin’, though I was doing more hootin’ than hollerin’. Then when one of the guys came around, he freaked out and took me to a doctor and they stitched me up and sent me home.

That was all about three or four years ago, so now all I have is the giant scar. I still work with the same logging business, and until I find some better job, I’m stuck here.

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((Definitely not a good bio but his needed to be finished. x3 ))

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