Camilla Schrader-Fairbanks : D7 : FIN
Dec 14, 2014 0:33:59 GMT -5
Post by goat on Dec 14, 2014 0:33:59 GMT -5
[googlefont="Handlee:400"]
Camilla Schrader-Fairbanks
age: 18
pronouns: she/her
district: 7
Line up the Schrader-Fairbanks family. There's my mother and father. Beautiful and handsome in their own rugged ways. Face wizened from time and hands scarred from years of hard work. Jaxon is the golden boy. Never got into trouble, did as he was told. Married the only girl he ever dated, and is raising a perfect son. Ida, the only daughter besides me, is next. She's got men tripping over their own heels for her. Gorgeous and clever, and able to chop down more trees in a day than my father. Next is Bailey, the youngest son. He's got a pretty face, and muscles, and a smile that could win awards. At the end of the line is me. A bird in a cage.
You know what else is caging? Pants. Around my parent's workshop, they make me wear pants. I can't stand pants whatsoever. They're so restricting! I've really got a thing for dresses. They aren't practical for work, and definitely not practical for climbing trees. But god, do I love them. I'll take any dress that I can get my hands on and tailor it so it will fit me just right. At my above average height and questionably thin weight, it can be hard to find clothes that fit perfect right off the bat.
Everything about me is as tall and thin as a wilting forest tree. My limbs seem to be too long for my body, spindly arms hanging at my sides, pale as snow and covered with a few sun spots. My nose is long as well, pointed right at the end. My hair runs in waves right down to my stomach, dirty gold as brittle as used firewood. Eyes near match my hair- golden, when the light hits them just right. I believe so, anyway. Everyone else tells me they're just a muddy green.
Is it a lot to ask that something about me be special? I've never been anything important my whole life. Among my other three siblings, I'm not much. If I want to believe that my eyes are the most beautiful thing since pure gold, let me. People never seem to leave me be. It doesn't make any sense. All I've ever wanted was to be nice to people.
I couldn't hurt a fly, really. It's in my blood to be kind to everyone. Even to people who don't like me, I try to show them kindness like I would anyone else. My mama taught me right from wrong, and being cruel to people is definitely wrong. You should be kind to the plants, the animals, and the people. Anything that lives deserves gentleness.
There is good in the world. Although I seem a little bitter, I swear it to you, I can always find some good. Even in the littlest things, if you look just close enough, you can find the good. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems, in my opinion. People have told me that I'm downright crazy for believing in good, but they've chosen to wallow in their own sadness. They have no drive to dig themselves out, and they won't let me help them. I believe eventually, everyone will come around.
Usually, I'm off wandering in my own world. My mother jokes that I live in my head, and I suppose she's right. I don't really interact with people much. I do enjoy conversation, but I rarely get into it since I'm always off wandering. People are rude about it. They say that I'm ditzy, or insane. I don't have it in my heart to snap back at them, so I just flash a smile.
My parents are wood carvers. Have been since before their first kid. Mom gets the wood, takes it back to the workshop. There, her and my dad carve them into intricate sculptures. They sell the good ones at a little storefront. For my 6th birthday, they carved me a cat. I keep it on a shelf right above my bed. When I'm upset, I take it down and rub my thumb over the delicately carved wooden fur.
My siblings and I were close growing up. We aren't all that far apart in age. Bailey is 20, Ida is 24, and Jaxon is near 30. They didn't take up wood carving like my parents. They all seemed too eager to get out of the house, in fact. They all split up, moved to separate areas and took on seperate jobs. I've honestly no clue what they do. I think Jaxon helps manufacture paper? I'll have to ask him sometime. We still see eachother for lunch on occasion, but since I grew up with them, it's weird not knowing everything about them.
My entire life has been a bore. Since I was a little girl, I've made up my own little fantasy word to get lost in. Hours of climbing up the tree branches, pretending I was a warrior scaling a mountain, or running in the fields pretending I was a fair princess. Everyone expected me to grow out of it, but I didn't, and that's when the teasing started. My parents taught me to be kind, so I never say a rude thing back. Not one single rude word, can you believe it?
I've never been anything extremely beautiful, or smart, or interesting. Although I like to daydream that I am, I know that I'm not. It's nice to dream. The daydreams are the good that I mentioned I could find in anything.
pronouns: she/her
district: 7
Line up the Schrader-Fairbanks family. There's my mother and father. Beautiful and handsome in their own rugged ways. Face wizened from time and hands scarred from years of hard work. Jaxon is the golden boy. Never got into trouble, did as he was told. Married the only girl he ever dated, and is raising a perfect son. Ida, the only daughter besides me, is next. She's got men tripping over their own heels for her. Gorgeous and clever, and able to chop down more trees in a day than my father. Next is Bailey, the youngest son. He's got a pretty face, and muscles, and a smile that could win awards. At the end of the line is me. A bird in a cage.
You know what else is caging? Pants. Around my parent's workshop, they make me wear pants. I can't stand pants whatsoever. They're so restricting! I've really got a thing for dresses. They aren't practical for work, and definitely not practical for climbing trees. But god, do I love them. I'll take any dress that I can get my hands on and tailor it so it will fit me just right. At my above average height and questionably thin weight, it can be hard to find clothes that fit perfect right off the bat.
Everything about me is as tall and thin as a wilting forest tree. My limbs seem to be too long for my body, spindly arms hanging at my sides, pale as snow and covered with a few sun spots. My nose is long as well, pointed right at the end. My hair runs in waves right down to my stomach, dirty gold as brittle as used firewood. Eyes near match my hair- golden, when the light hits them just right. I believe so, anyway. Everyone else tells me they're just a muddy green.
Is it a lot to ask that something about me be special? I've never been anything important my whole life. Among my other three siblings, I'm not much. If I want to believe that my eyes are the most beautiful thing since pure gold, let me. People never seem to leave me be. It doesn't make any sense. All I've ever wanted was to be nice to people.
I couldn't hurt a fly, really. It's in my blood to be kind to everyone. Even to people who don't like me, I try to show them kindness like I would anyone else. My mama taught me right from wrong, and being cruel to people is definitely wrong. You should be kind to the plants, the animals, and the people. Anything that lives deserves gentleness.
There is good in the world. Although I seem a little bitter, I swear it to you, I can always find some good. Even in the littlest things, if you look just close enough, you can find the good. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems, in my opinion. People have told me that I'm downright crazy for believing in good, but they've chosen to wallow in their own sadness. They have no drive to dig themselves out, and they won't let me help them. I believe eventually, everyone will come around.
Usually, I'm off wandering in my own world. My mother jokes that I live in my head, and I suppose she's right. I don't really interact with people much. I do enjoy conversation, but I rarely get into it since I'm always off wandering. People are rude about it. They say that I'm ditzy, or insane. I don't have it in my heart to snap back at them, so I just flash a smile.
My parents are wood carvers. Have been since before their first kid. Mom gets the wood, takes it back to the workshop. There, her and my dad carve them into intricate sculptures. They sell the good ones at a little storefront. For my 6th birthday, they carved me a cat. I keep it on a shelf right above my bed. When I'm upset, I take it down and rub my thumb over the delicately carved wooden fur.
My siblings and I were close growing up. We aren't all that far apart in age. Bailey is 20, Ida is 24, and Jaxon is near 30. They didn't take up wood carving like my parents. They all seemed too eager to get out of the house, in fact. They all split up, moved to separate areas and took on seperate jobs. I've honestly no clue what they do. I think Jaxon helps manufacture paper? I'll have to ask him sometime. We still see eachother for lunch on occasion, but since I grew up with them, it's weird not knowing everything about them.
My entire life has been a bore. Since I was a little girl, I've made up my own little fantasy word to get lost in. Hours of climbing up the tree branches, pretending I was a warrior scaling a mountain, or running in the fields pretending I was a fair princess. Everyone expected me to grow out of it, but I didn't, and that's when the teasing started. My parents taught me to be kind, so I never say a rude thing back. Not one single rude word, can you believe it?
I've never been anything extremely beautiful, or smart, or interesting. Although I like to daydream that I am, I know that I'm not. It's nice to dream. The daydreams are the good that I mentioned I could find in anything.
codeword: odair
faceclaim: joanna newsom
faceclaim: joanna newsom
