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Luan Braithe - District 10 (Done)
May 24, 2019 17:41:22 GMT -5
Post by D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] on May 24, 2019 17:41:22 GMT -5
LUAN BRAITHE Male, Age 18 District 10 |
(edit May 28: removed FC bc it was already being reserved, my bad!)
ARCHETYPE
The Team Player. The Hero. The Rescuer.
There is nothing greater than showing courage in a fight
to hide one's own vulnerabilities.
APPEARANCE
PERSONALITY
All of his fears can be traced to a night three years ago. The night his older brother, Arno, had died. Like Luan, he had worked with their parents on the same Capitol farm. Arno had a love for animals, and he came to care fondly about the various animals on the farm. It was this love that led Arno to his own demise. One of the cows had given birth to a runt, incredibly small and barely clinging to life. The Peacekeepers felt it was a lost cause and moved in to kill it, but Arno had stepped in and convinced them to let him try and bring it up to good health. They begrudgingly allowed it; if he could get the calf to a healthy state it could benefit the farm, but they were displeased with his defiance of their orders.
As the day had gone on, Arno gently but relentlessly worked to try and nurse the calf into good health. His attempts were slowly working, and by the end of the farming day there had been some significant improvements. Unfortunately, the end of the shift meant Arno would have to go home and leave the calf behind. Despite his protests that the calf wouldn't survive the night, the Peacekeepers ordered him to return home.
Luan could remember clear as day when Arno returned home in a state of fury, angry at the injustice of leaving a creature to die when it could have been saved. Their parents tried to calm him down to no avail. Luan watched on as his brother came to the decision to disobey the Peacekeepers and return to the farm. "I have to do what's right!" he had exclaimed as he ran out the door. The last words Luan had heard his brother speak. The last time he had seen his brother alive. The Peacekeepers had found him at the farm tending to the calf and shot him on the spot.
I could have done more. I was weak.
These two thoughts formed Luan's daily mental torture as he thinks about that night. He had sat there, watching. He had done nothing. His brother was dead because of it. His parents grieved the loss in a different way. Already being rather timid in nature to begin with, they now were petrified to ask anything of the Peacekeepers at the farm. They were to be obeyed, their rules to be strictly abided by. For Luan, this death had lit a fire deep inside him, and stoked a burning hatred of the Peacekeepers and their treatment of the people of his District. Arno's death had set his path.
He would always do what's right, and he would never let his fear show.
The Team Player. The Hero. The Rescuer.
There is nothing greater than showing courage in a fight
to hide one's own vulnerabilities.
APPEARANCE
How often a friendly face can hide an inner turmoil.
Luan had always been the kind of person you just felt drawn to. From the moment you met him, you saw that he seemed to exude goodness. He was gifted with a friendly face; his caramel-coloured eyes seemed to smile at whatever he looked at, his wide smile both welcoming and reassuring. His features fit well on his face, the centrepiece his broad, slightly asymmetric nose. His mess of black hair that he kept playfully untidy completed the picture nicely. Altogether, one look at this face was enough to make you want to be close to him.
If it weren't for his face, he might altogether be a rather intimidating figure. He wasn't too tall, standing at 5 feet and 11 inches, but he was 180 pounds of muscle under his olive skin. He could attribute his bulky body and some calloused hands to years and years of helping his parents work on their farm, raising a variety of livestock for Capitol consumption. On Luan this added to his draw; he could be a protector, a fighter, a worker.
Luan had always been the kind of person you just felt drawn to. From the moment you met him, you saw that he seemed to exude goodness. He was gifted with a friendly face; his caramel-coloured eyes seemed to smile at whatever he looked at, his wide smile both welcoming and reassuring. His features fit well on his face, the centrepiece his broad, slightly asymmetric nose. His mess of black hair that he kept playfully untidy completed the picture nicely. Altogether, one look at this face was enough to make you want to be close to him.
If it weren't for his face, he might altogether be a rather intimidating figure. He wasn't too tall, standing at 5 feet and 11 inches, but he was 180 pounds of muscle under his olive skin. He could attribute his bulky body and some calloused hands to years and years of helping his parents work on their farm, raising a variety of livestock for Capitol consumption. On Luan this added to his draw; he could be a protector, a fighter, a worker.
His appearance echoed who he was at his core: good. In any given situation, he was determined to do the right thing. In District 10, this wasn't easy to do. He would sneak what he could from the farm while trying to avoid detection from the Peacekeepers that watched the place like a pack of bloodhounds. It wasn't much, usually only a couple of eggs from the chickens, a lone bottle of milk, a block or two of cheese. But to the families he gave them to, the ones who were unable to work or had too many mouths to feed, it was a godsend.
This was incredibly risky for him to do: once he had been caught by one of the Peacekeepers after the bottle of milk he had been attempting to steal had slipped from his hands and shattered into a mosaic of glass on the floor. Perhaps it had appeared as though he had merely been transporting it to a crate of milk bottles, ready for a journey to the capital. Or maybe the Peacekeepers knew nobody could work with a Sickle as well as he could, bringing in the highest yields of grass to feed the animals on the farm. Whatever the reason, no accusations of stealing came his way. Breaking the bottle, however, had earned him ten lashes. Still, he did not stop his courageous act. To him, it was worth the self-sacrifice to do what he believed was right by the people he helped. He was not afraid of what the Capitol could do to him.
His greatest fear was his own vulnerability, not that he'd ever admit it. While it's true that people adored him, and he was sincere and kind towards anyone he met, he never let people get too close to him. Never let them get close enough to see that he was afraid, so afraid, of his own weakness. Afraid to let down the people who counted on him. Afraid to do the wrong thing. No matter how much he managed to smuggle from the farm he would only think about how he could've taken more. How he should've taken more. But he was too afraid of what the Peacekeepers could do to him, and how that would affect the people he helped. How it would affect his family.
HISTORYThis was incredibly risky for him to do: once he had been caught by one of the Peacekeepers after the bottle of milk he had been attempting to steal had slipped from his hands and shattered into a mosaic of glass on the floor. Perhaps it had appeared as though he had merely been transporting it to a crate of milk bottles, ready for a journey to the capital. Or maybe the Peacekeepers knew nobody could work with a Sickle as well as he could, bringing in the highest yields of grass to feed the animals on the farm. Whatever the reason, no accusations of stealing came his way. Breaking the bottle, however, had earned him ten lashes. Still, he did not stop his courageous act. To him, it was worth the self-sacrifice to do what he believed was right by the people he helped. He was not afraid of what the Capitol could do to him.
His greatest fear was his own vulnerability, not that he'd ever admit it. While it's true that people adored him, and he was sincere and kind towards anyone he met, he never let people get too close to him. Never let them get close enough to see that he was afraid, so afraid, of his own weakness. Afraid to let down the people who counted on him. Afraid to do the wrong thing. No matter how much he managed to smuggle from the farm he would only think about how he could've taken more. How he should've taken more. But he was too afraid of what the Peacekeepers could do to him, and how that would affect the people he helped. How it would affect his family.
All of his fears can be traced to a night three years ago. The night his older brother, Arno, had died. Like Luan, he had worked with their parents on the same Capitol farm. Arno had a love for animals, and he came to care fondly about the various animals on the farm. It was this love that led Arno to his own demise. One of the cows had given birth to a runt, incredibly small and barely clinging to life. The Peacekeepers felt it was a lost cause and moved in to kill it, but Arno had stepped in and convinced them to let him try and bring it up to good health. They begrudgingly allowed it; if he could get the calf to a healthy state it could benefit the farm, but they were displeased with his defiance of their orders.
As the day had gone on, Arno gently but relentlessly worked to try and nurse the calf into good health. His attempts were slowly working, and by the end of the farming day there had been some significant improvements. Unfortunately, the end of the shift meant Arno would have to go home and leave the calf behind. Despite his protests that the calf wouldn't survive the night, the Peacekeepers ordered him to return home.
Luan could remember clear as day when Arno returned home in a state of fury, angry at the injustice of leaving a creature to die when it could have been saved. Their parents tried to calm him down to no avail. Luan watched on as his brother came to the decision to disobey the Peacekeepers and return to the farm. "I have to do what's right!" he had exclaimed as he ran out the door. The last words Luan had heard his brother speak. The last time he had seen his brother alive. The Peacekeepers had found him at the farm tending to the calf and shot him on the spot.
I could have done more. I was weak.
These two thoughts formed Luan's daily mental torture as he thinks about that night. He had sat there, watching. He had done nothing. His brother was dead because of it. His parents grieved the loss in a different way. Already being rather timid in nature to begin with, they now were petrified to ask anything of the Peacekeepers at the farm. They were to be obeyed, their rules to be strictly abided by. For Luan, this death had lit a fire deep inside him, and stoked a burning hatred of the Peacekeepers and their treatment of the people of his District. Arno's death had set his path.
He would always do what's right, and he would never let his fear show.
(FC: TBD)
