Michael Ridgefield D1 -FIN-

[charade]

Michael Ridgefield
d1
18
FC is Edward Wilding (currently reserved, pending claim after check)
"Anyone you can do, I can do better. Wait, that's not how the song goes...but it should."
(Italics are inner monologue)

Better hope your body is ready for this.

The first thing that you might notice about me is that my bed is comfortable as hell. Because if you’re breathing and of the female persuasion, you’re probably in it. This is the part where I smile like I haven’t a care in the world. You know you like it. Sorry gents, no homo here. I kid, I kid, (but seriously.) I’m supposed to be describing myself here so I guess I better get on with it. I let out a commanding sigh.

Basically I’m God-like? Hitting the gym all day every day, Hitting it hard like the hottie last night. Up high! No? No high-five, You’re really going to leave me hanging? Low blow bro. But yes, I lift. Got to do what I can to maintain this physique. I’m a muscle bound adonis from my steel corded chest to my iron calves.

And that’s not even taking what’s in between those into consideration, heh.

If you have a sister, you should have her check out these biceps. Watch me flex. Wait for it, wait for it…

POW! Oh yeah! I don’t just have tickets to the gun show, I have an all year pass to every single one!

Hmm? You want to describe my face?

I mean…that sounds like something only chicks do.
But if you insist.

Where to begin?

Uh, my hair is…cool.
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Fuck, describing this shit is hard. It’s so much easier to describe girls, like the one with the legs that go all the way up and eyes that smolder with longing from across the room once they see what I’ve got going on.

Oh yeah, I’m poetic too. There are sooo many layers in this package.

Heh. Package.


Okay, let’s try this again.

I usually get my hair done in that style, you know the one. You don’t? God, you need to get out more.

Uh, well it’s the one that kind of swerves or swoops around the top of my head and makes me look that much more attractive? It’s kind of a dirty blond by the way, just like the way I like my women. Still no high five? You’re killing me man. To be honest it leans more towards the brown end of the spectrum though. You heard that right. Spectrum. My wide vocabulary is just one of the many things that show how intelligent I am on top of being this goddam attractive.

Honestly, I swear it’s a burden sometimes. You think it’s easy having eyebrows this sharp? Having bright baby blues that a girl could get lost in? A jaw she could cut herself on and a voice like melted butter? Some people just don’t appreciate the effort that goes into being me. They really, really don’t.

You ever research the name? I’m God’s gift to women. That should tell you all you need to know right there.
But since you feel the need to waste more of my time (I’m really putting myself out there telling you all of this), I guess I can attend to your second question and talk a little about my personality.

Chicks dig that right?

You see, thing is, I’m not just brawn. I’ve got brains too. And looks. So in short, I’m better than you in every area. You just can’t compete. I don’t care if your name is Justice Fray, you just can’t compete. I mean, c’mon, the guys a victor, but he’s got one leg. And since he’s not a girl, it’s not a hot battle scar like it is for Opal Score. Heh, See what I did there? And then there was that weak sauce heart to heart he had with the torso from four. Er, well, I guess that could apply to either of them, they were both pretty much meat logs at that point.

Heh. Meat Log.


Man, I’m hilarious.

But seriously, if he starts showing up at parties and ruins my chances with some hotties, I’m going to be fucking pissed. Good thing he has no idea who I am. Or is that a bad thing?

Hmm? Oh sorry, I was just…thinking. Yeah. I do that sometimes. Deep thinker, that’s me. Heh, deep. Uh well, anyway. Obviously I care a great deal about myself. This is a good thing. You’ve got to look out for number one, because who else is going to? If you act important, eventually people are going to start treating you importantly. What, you want them to treat you like you don’t matter? Some people might call it vanity. I call it practicality. But I mean, if you think being full of yourself is a bad thing, then you’re not being filled by the right people.

Ahaha. Wink.

Anyway, I’m usually pretty easy to get along with. Unless like, you’re a wuss or something. I can’t hang with dudes who don’t have my back and are no good in a fight. I have a reputation to maintain. I train hard, party harder, you’ve got to be able to keep up. Of course, if you’re a girl, you don’t have to worry about any of that. No ma’am, you’ll get the old Michael Ridgefield charm instead.

Milady. But see, between you and me, If there’s one thing that momma taught me, it’s that girls just can’t be trusted. They do what they want and we just gotta roll with it. Why else would she have a revolving door of lovers? They just aren’t loyal. And Pops, well I mean, I don’t blame him for not sticking around. Who wants to get saddled with a kid and deal with an unfaithful wife while in the prime of their life?

I sure don’t.

That’s probably why I’ve had like seventeen girlfriends since the time I was fifteen. Yup, all in the span of three years cause I'm eighteen now, that’s like… carry the one… five girls a year? Yeah. Okay, so maybe it’s closer to nine. Or eight. Well, five if I’m being honest, but they don’t need to know that. It sounds better and it maintains the illusion of superiority. So…yeah. Seventeen it is. Of course, that’s not counting dalliances and one night stands. Nobody counts those. Or should I? Would that make the number seem more impressive?

Shit, I should start keeping track of these things.

They can’t hurt you if you’re the one doing the loving and leaving first, see? Pops had the right idea. Kinda cool of him to leave me the last name though. Don’t know why he did it, don’t care either. Why should I? Definitely gets me a little more recognition than I would otherwise.

I guess this is the part where I wax nostalgic about my childhood or some shit? Alright cool. Yeah, I can do that. Deep breaths Michael. Deep breaths. Okay so, my earliest memory is the door swinging shut on Pop’s way out. I didn’t really understand what was going on at that age, but eventually I learned he left because their bedroom had a revolving door installed on it. I dunno why he didn’t take me with him, but that’s his business. I wouldn’t have taken me either. Too bad I had to grow a bit to figure out who all of mom’s friends were.

Mom was never really there for me. I mean, sure I didn’t starve or nothing, but I might as well have been a piece of furniture for all the attention she paid me. Too busy with her boyfriends, too busy trying to look good, too busy trying to be something she wasn’t. Sounds like someone else I know, but let’s not dwell on that. Of course, that all changed the day that the peacekeeper showed up holding a piece of paper. See, Pops had passed away. Some freak accident. But it turned out that he had a will and was rich, and lo and behold, the name mentioned the most times on it?

Michael. Motherfucking. Ridgefield.

Okay, so maybe not the middle part, I don’t have a middle name, but if I did, it’d be something cool like that. Or, or, defenestrated. No idea what that means, but it sounds badass. Hey, I said I was smart, I didn't say I was some kind of word nerd. 

He left me everything? Suddenly, I could pay for anything. It wasn't a lot lot, but it was more than enough. Jeez, pops never married again, never had any other kids. See, I knew mom broke his heart, even if he was kind of wussy to let that happen to him. I mean, damn, at that point, I didn’t even know he still knew I existed. Get money, get paid. Wish I’d known him though. Which was great, considering that the only thing mom ever left me was alone.

This is depressing, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I clap my hands together and look at this interviewer like they’ve annoyed me, which they have. But enough about them, let’s talk about me. After Pop’s left me his stuff, I got my own apartment and never looked back, he didn’t leave any of it to Mom, and so what was the point in sticking around? Wait for her to con me out of it? Hell no.

Moving on to more about me. My favorite subject. Like everyone else who matters in district one, I study and train for the games as a career. I mean, shit, who doesn’t? It’s the in-thing to do, even if it took literally my whole life for Opal Shore to bring a victor back. Major props for at least like, trying and shit, unlike the irrelevant fossils who won before her.

Long range is my specialty. Turns out on top of being a walking example of what all guys should aspire to be like; I’m actually pretty damn good at archery. Bullseyes like eighty-five percent of the time. It’s a gift. Screw that noise about it being a coward’s weapon, I mean, if I can tag an opponent from twenty feet away, without them getting anywhere near me? That’s safe.

That’s fantastic! Who wants to be swinging swords and axes and crap right up next to each other, where you’re getting blood and sweat in each other’s eyes and wounds, when you could take someone out with little to no effort instead? There’s always someone better, except when there’s not. So you, (excuse me) me, has got to be the best. Or is that I? Whatever, it’s not like grammar is important or anything.

Not like, going down in history important, which if I ever do, I’m definitely going to do it with more style than anyone else ever has. Good luck to everybody else. Except not. Luck’s got nothing to do with it.

Hmm? Fears? Yeah, I guess we can discuss that. Briefly.

If I have one fear, I guess it’d be that no matter what I do, just like my parents I’ll end up, well…

Alone.

Tragic, I know. Know anyone that can console me? I don’t need some shrink to tell me about all this shit through psychobabble, I’m my own man. Pops gave me the money, Mom’s gave me the looks and I’ve done my best to fill the gaps in between. You feel me? And I know a couple a people I want to feel, ahaha. Give ‘em the grin, yeah. There’s nothing that can’t be fixed by a pretty face and a sturdy mattress. At least, not until they become the problem.

Anyway, you may still be wondering what makes me such an attractive and likeable guy. But I mean, if you are, then you haven’t been paying much attention, tsk. Not that I blame you, I’d rather look at than listen to me too.
The simple answer is that I’m hot, smart,amazing and have money; I know we covered this earlier, but you might need a refresher.

If you’re one of those dreamer types, you might think it’s because deep down, I’m still that little kid whose parents didn’t love him and that somewhere underneath the layers and layers of everything else there exists a nice guy.

That’s a load of bullshit. I’m not nice, and I’m okay with that.

You know why people like me?

It’s because I’m fucking awesome.
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Not to be confused with Amber or Autumn, although I am f- heh, you see where I'm going with this? 

Man, I love twins, cheating is twice the fun with half the guilt. Y’know, cause they’re essentially the same person?
That’s how it works right?
Right?

Anyway, I’ve got things to see and people to do, so…we done here or…?

[charade]

Kay called dibs <3

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

You are actually very funny and I suppose we can be done here... for now, Mr. Ridgefield ; )

ACCEPTED!