⋰⋰ cavalli mclaren {D1} ⋱⋱

⋰⋰ cavalli mclaren {D1} ⋱⋱ Dec 16, 2013 12:49:32 GMT -5

Post by brΔdley on Dec 16, 2013 12:49:32 GMT -5

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{BASICS

Name: Cavalli McLaren
Age: 15
District: 1
Blood Type: B+

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{APPEARANCE:}

I know, by a certain degree, I am completely abnormal and different. I am shorter than most of the girls in the District, standing at around a few inches shorter than they (5’1). My time frame of growth has been long since expired – I have stood this height for many years and I refuse to grow by even more than an inch at this point. My body is rather plump compared to the beautiful structure of the other ladies that live around me here. My neck, for example, is much shorter in length than I believe it should be. My arms are not tones like theirs, and my stomach is not flat like theirs, and I am not like them. My skin is pail and rather unimpressive complexion wise – I see the way the girls on our televisions glow and radiate and smile their happy little smiles. My skin doesn’t shine like theirs, or glow like theirs. I lust after the girls who glisten like tan rubies in the sunlight and distract and mesmerize me, causing an unedited jealousy to boil within my veins.

My face, too, is incomparable to the glamorous beauties that surround me. I like to think that I’m just a piece of graphite that has yet to reach the machine that alters and changes me into the beautiful diamond I know that I can become. My eyes are as blue as the sapphires we develop here in the District. They glow brightly in the reflection of the illuminating light, sparkling at any opportunity. However, the shape is far from normal. My eyes slightly slant upward towards my forehead. None the less, my sapphire eyes are still some of the most beautiful pair of eyes I have ever had the chance to witness. My nose isn’t the thin, perfect specimen that some of the girls here have. It is slightly flatter and slightly more wide. My cheeks, against the pale complexion of my skin, glow like rubies at all times during the day. The appearance of this makes it appear that I am blushing at all moments of time.

My hair drapes down my back and shines brightly in the glow of the sun just like Pietrersite. My brown locks frizz at any opportunity. I persistently focus on keeping my hair straightened and then tied in place with a ribbon. My nails are usually kept cleanly shapen and my mother places a light base of makeup product that is produced in the District on my face to give a false glow that my skin originally doesn’t provide – it is one of the ways I begin to feel like a girl on television. My wardrobe is nearly as flashy and spectacular as the other prominent women in the District. I wear basic colors and fabrics in the style of dresses and other feminine wardrobe choices. I do, however, find myself specifically attached to a specific pair of my mother’s pearl necklace. The silky richness of the white gem glows on my skin, and it makes me feel precious and spectacular. The only time I can sneak a glance at the beautiful jewelry is if my mother is preoccupied or away on business.

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{HISTORY:}

I think that my parents always knew that I would be different. Both of them, originally, were manufacturers of fashionable bags and accessories for the Capitol and other members of the district. From the moment I left the safety of my maternal home and entered the world, my parents had to have known that I wasn’t as normal as any of the other children that they had had prior. As a child, not only did I look different from my siblings and the school children around me, but I seemed to learn differently also. I couldn’t understand the simplest toys and puzzles that my parents had handed me, which led me to throw temper tantrums. They transfixed themselves, I believe, to believe that I would never be like anyone else. Though my brain wasn’t quite developing on track, my communication skills apparently had prospered from birth. I would spout nonsensical words and phrases at them, almost determined to communicate well to the ones that had given me life in the first place.

My infancy grew into a toddler-like phase before they knew it. I would talk in repeated short sentences with a myriad of hand gestures to accompany my communication. This began the stage of hope for my parents during my lifetime. I began to slowly understand particular toys I had never understood at birth. My brain had finally caught up to me to at least appear more normal in my childhood. My parents, once I could speak properly and begin understanding my statements, had me have daily meetings with a speech pathologist to perfect any communication skills that may be lacking. (I can still hear my father talking to my mother while dropping me off at the doctor’s office. “I don’t care how expensive he is, she needs him. She has a lot going against her here, Lapis. You know it and I know it. Don’t take this away from her.” This was the first moment in my life that I truly felt different.

Soon, my poor communication skills and lack of cognitive functions slowly became unapparent. The only thing that truly differentiated me from the other children in the district had to be the way I looked. It seemed that children were pairing off and becoming friends and chattering about nonsensical things from the moment they entered the school. I, however, never felt like I had a friend. I felt like a social outcast from the minute I had truly entered society. After years of being isolated and mentally unstable at the inability to understand why I was excluded, I began to feel more confident about myself. I didn’t need friends like these kids – who felt that wearing their most luxurious items to school was a necessity, and that it was more important to be beautiful than anything else. I just was a little girl immersed in a shallow pool of judgmental society, and I wanted nothing more than to be just like them for the longest period of time. I soon began to see the girls for what they were - whether it the ladies in class or the tributes who volunteered for the Hunger Games for what they were. The beautiful skins and faces and hair that hid the ugliest human beings in the entire world. I was cursed without the luxurious external beauty that many of these girls were gifted with; I, however, was gifted with a heart of golden compassion and love. I was, in some cases, smarter than they were. I didn’t understand arithmetic too well, but my visual skills were far beyond my age rank. I began to see my isolation from these children as more of a gift than anything. It appeared that their beauty, though mesmerizing even to my sapphire eyes, was destroying the inner being that it held.

This year, however, began the years that we would be educated in the annual games – The Hunger Games. My mind wasn’t focused on our educators mindless babble, but on the prospects of the games themselves. Even from just living in the wealthiest district, I began to realize that I am extremely underestimated in life. In all relativity, my metamorphosis entailed the creation of a clever, educated moth rather than a dim-witted butterfly. My determination and heart helped me surpass all obstacles that I could avoid in my wake. The moment the prospects of my name being entered in the Hunger Games, I oddly wanted it.

){The girl, who’s disability exiled her from society’s public embrace, wins the Hunger Games. Why can’t I? I’m smarter than most of the people here when it comes to visual stimuli and understanding. I doubt I’ll be performing much arithmetic once in the arena. I have survived the hard ships of being exiled from those that were supposed to embrace me. I can do this. I may not be a strong, muscled volunteer from the District, but I can do this. Could you simply imagine – just visualize it – the fascination people will have with me once I return home from the arena? There will be a parade, of course, and everyone will want to talk to me. It may seem to be equivalently on a level of shallowness that the youth of the district possess, but I’m not simply just doing it for them. I’m doing it for me. All these years of being underestimated will finally conclude when I return home from the arena as a victor. Perhaps it is destined to be this way. I feel that I cannot truly live and embrace life as long as I have the oppressive cloud of society covering my existence. The only way to remove that cloud would be the games.}

We began training almost instantly. My mother, however, refused to allow me to enter the training center at the heart of the district. {“It’s too dangerous for you, sugarplum. You can watch your brothers and sisters, but I refuse to allow you to harm yourself.”} Therefore, I went to the training center and watched my brother swing his sword and my sisters throw their knives and spears. I didn’t need to practice like them. One day, I eventually and sneakily began to steal knives from the kitchen area in our home. I watched my siblings vicious form and repeated it later that night when safety in my room late in the night. I placed a pillow on the door wood and began throwing knives at the pillow. After a few years, I felt like I had mastered the art of knife use better than any of my siblings had. I was a Career, and no one would be able to hold me back – not even my own district.

This moment began my determination to become a Career victor in the Hunger Games. I wasn’t the moth that society had told me I was for so many years. I just hadn’t left my cocoon yet – I had yet to realize my strength and determination that would create a beautiful, diversified butterfly.

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{PERSONALITY:}

social // confident // dedicated // kind

Though the society has isolated me and distanced itself from me, I still find myself to be rather social and outgoing. I feel the need to socialize more with my family than anyone I could meet descending down the town streets. In some cases, when I am at home with my parents, I feel that I am a chatterbox in some ways. This shows that I have grown more confident with my abilities and my disability. I have led a life where I have always been looked at as an outsider by the District, and for the longest time, I longed to be an insider. I dreamed of being a beautiful girl and all my dreams coming true instantaneously. However, I always seemed to reawake with the same body I had the night before. I grew strong in my decisions and my beliefs, and confident with the body and life I possessed.

My determination to be a tribute and victor of a Hunger Games has forced me to grow maturely and mentally throughout the years. I have had to adapt a clever manner in which to practice using knives as weapons in order to become a secret Career. My parents would never approve of my dream in life, always attempting to protect me from the world around me. I believe that they feared that society would crush my pure and kind heart with its ideas of perfection and beauty. However, their protection seemed to only distance my from the idea of normality. While all other children were practicing their weaponry grips and style, I was forced to watch on the sidelines. Cavalli McLaren would never be on the sidelines – ever again.

gullible // artificial // irritable // uncooperative

Even though I feel that I have become a confident young woman with dreams and aspirations, I still can’t ignore my need for perfection. I want to be like all the greats of District 1 – the beautiful women and handsome men in their nice clothing and beautiful, adorable lives. I feel the need to be artificially perfect at some times. This dream of being wanted by all men and lusted after by women, just as I have jealously lusted after some of the girls my age, has never truly escaped my mentality. I find myself rather irritable at some points when told I cannot do things. It caused me, in my youth, to throw temper tantrums at any moment and opportunity. However, as I have aged, I have become more sly and cunning, masking my irritability well.

For the longest time, I find myself rather gullible. My family, usually cousins or young siblings, will tell me the wildest facts about things and I always believed them. Perhaps it was because I didn’t understand why an individual would lie about anything when there is so much evil in the world already, or perhaps my pure heart didn’t quite understand what was being said. My parents always shushed them the minute they spouted their lies, but I never halted from being a gullible little child. I find myself rather uncooperative with a majority of things. It isn’t because I cannot handle what is being said, but I would rather just not go along with it. When you live in a world that makes you an outsider from birth, meticulously agreeing to do things becomes tiring. There was a time when two very prominent figure heads of the district were being married. My mother dressed me up and plastered my face with nude makeup {which, to be honest, I enjoyed}, but I refused to follow her to the event with the remainder of my siblings. {“That woman called me names in whispers whenever we entered her perfume shop, mother. I’m not going, I’m not going, She’s evil and mean and rude.”} She eventually gave up her quest and left my beauty at home.

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