( ℓeт тнe gαмes вegιи ) . [ ℓιтeяαтe нuиgeя gαмes яρg ]

[katniss,]

Bump! Please join!

[katniss,]

Bump! Please join!

[katniss,]

Bump! Please join!

[katniss,]

Bump! Please join!

[katniss,]

Bump! Please join!

[katniss,]

Bump! Please join!

[katniss,]

Bump! Please join!

[katniss,]

Bump! Please join!

[111misc]

[ I don't think there is any retribution for the crimes I have committed. And that is only fair. ]
ｎａｍｅ] Kel Krinstone
ａｇｅ] Fifteen
ｄｉｓｔｒｉｃｔ] Two
ｇｅｎｄｅｒ] Female
ｏｔｈｅｒ] None

ｇｅｎｅｒａｌ. ｐｈｙｓｉｃａｌ. ｄｅｓｃｒｉｐｔｉｏｎ] Kel a girl who it is easy to see could have been beautiful. If things had gone her way, in life, she would have been lovely and entrancing beyond compare...but somehow, things didn't turn out like that. The thick brown hair she was born with, the color of chocolate, a substance so rare she's enver even seen it, let alone tasted it, is frayed and split ends plague it. It's oily and matted, never been brushed. The pale skin she has so naturally is burned and scarred from her lifetime. The rebellion can do that to people. Wide set, large eyes made up of some dark color, whether brown or actually black, the depths of it seem to hard to decide. But they are mysterious, ominous, and hateful. Large lips and a small nose finish her face, which, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, should have been pretty. But it's just ugly, for some reason. Maybe it's the hatred that consumes her heart that makes such a beautiful girl so hideous to the eye. Maybe it's the losses she's become so familiar with. Maybe it's just a reflection of her life and her experiences, because when you first glance at Kel, she is lovely. And you smile and think how pretty and lucky she is. But the more you begin to understand her, to know her...the uglier she becomes.
ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｉｔｙ] Many a trait is harbored in Kel. And unlike a landscape to a blind mans eye, they all mean something to her.
Once, Kel used to be innocent, naive, even. She used to laugh, a concept long forgotten in the horrors of her world. It's strange, for she was never pitied by a single soul, they always seemed to think she had it better then everyone, for who her parents are, for the lack of apparent cruelties she's gone through. But what she did go through changed her. It turned a child, a sweet, small soul, into an adult. A spark into a fire, a raindrop to a hail storm. Somehow, all you can see in Kel is brutality and bloodlust, hatred and cruelty at it's finest. She is not cunning, nor is she manipulative, but Kel might be one of the most dangerous people you ever meet. She has a hard eye, that one. And you cannot escape it. With dedication a core building block within her heart, it would be a lie to say Kel doesn't hold a grudge.
But there is self loathing in there, too. Kel does not only feel hatred and malice for the world that has pushed her to be who she is, but she feels it for herself. She knows there is a point of no return at some moment in everyone's lives, where your actions cannot be taken back, where your soul is finally ripped and slaughtered until only the shadows of who you once were remain. And Kel has long ago reached that point. It is as if the girl has stopped caring, has stopped trying; she's forgotten she's a human being. She has forgotten that people can change and become better, all she sees are the worst of her.
Envious easily of others, when she sees their good, kinder qualities, Kel is hard on herself, but she is not blind. Some people are arrogant, blind to their faults, but if anything, her vision is too exceptional. The biggest fault within her, though, is her rashness, and her temper, and her lust. Though she is not the most cunning or conniving, there is something flaming within the soul of this girl that should be feared. Should be watched constantly, for it cannot be trusted. Rage brings with her like a tidal wave, thousands of pounds of force and tumultuous damage. A blur in her gaze, and she looses control of herself. In a fit of temper, it is not unlikely that Kel would shed blood. Would hurt. Would kill.
And the lust. The bloodlust. Somehow, no matter how she has tried in the past to be a good person, the way her father told her to be, the way she tried and tried, bending herself as far as she could before braking, working until she cried...she couldn't change who she was. Sometimes the nature of a person is etched so deeply into their spirit and soul that will stands no chance at all to change them. A leopard does not change its spots. And neither did Kel. From the first moment she hurt a real person, saw the loook of pain and desperation in their gazes, it has been like a drug to her. It's strange, for in a way, she is totally innocent of what a great person she could have been, if her life were different. She is, after all the horrors she's seen, innocent of the beauty of the world, and of the people that live in it.
It's hard to pinpoint a good quality in Kel. She is not kind, nor caring, nor simpathetic. She is cruel and hard and tough, bloody and foul in a fight. But there is a single quality I can say without doubt Kel possesses. Courage. There is something almost admirable, almost worthy of praise, about this girl and the lengths she could go, if she wanted to. The feats she could attempt and overcome just by herself, with her chin high, with her pride in tow and with her arms by her sides; strong. No matter the dangers, no matter the cost, sometimes, the courage that sparkles in her dark eyes is the embodiment of Kel. It sums up her entire being, at least the positive of it. Noble, courageous, brave, self sacrificing, and dedicated. Kel is not a good person, no, of course she's not. But there is something about her, the occasional comment off hand, the glint in her eyes you might catch once or twice...and it leads one to assume that sometimes even the worst of us aren't all evil. That the wicked once had souls, just like everyone else, and sometimes, though wounded and bleeding, though tired and cold, though black and withered, no one's hearts ever quite die.
ｈｉｓｔｏｒｙ] Kel was born into wealth and beauty, but lived that way for about three months. When she was just a baby, her father was demoted, and they were shoved into the hands of the poor. Both her parents took jobs low paying and demeaning, and that's the way Kel grew up seeing them. When she was seven, her father was killed before her eyes as a rebel short him five times. Her father used to be a Peacekeeper, but had just been a lowly construction worker when he was killed. He had been walking in his door to greet his family, when he was short. His blood landed on Kels face, and speckled on her hands. She looked at it in a moment, dazed, and she was too young to understand what had happened. What it meant for them. Her mother committed suicide about seven months later, when Kels younger brother, Kejam, was about a month or two old. She left them alone, but there was no homeless house to take shelter. The Districts were in chaos, everyone was dying around them. Blood fell like rain onto the streets, and watered the flowers. Kel lived with Kejam on the street for two years, and when she was nine, killed her first person. They were sitting in an alley way, against a wall, so they were out of the rain a bit, and there was a cut oozing blood on Kel's face. Her hair was matted and stuffed in a hat that covered her black eye. She held her brother as he slept, and she remembers even now the gritty darkness of that moment. A man came up to them, a rebel, demanded food. Money was as pointless as rocks those days, less so, because you can throw rocks and do damage; money was below useless. The way to survive was food, not funds. He had a knife on him, but he was emaciated, thin and starving and near death. There was the look of desperation in his hollow eyes. Kel shook her head no, and held her brother tighter to her chest. She thought she was protecting him in her arms, warm under her baggy leather coat, away from the hollow eyes of the dying man with the knife. But she killed him. Even today, the girl knows it was her fault, and Kel will never, not in a million nights, a thousand years, forgive herself for it. The man lunged downwards, crying tears of hate, tears of death, the knife his only lifeline. He needed food. This girl was fat, he thought she was, but she held her brother next to her, below her coat...and he stabbed what he thought was her. It was a desperate ploy, a thing that even the kindest people will do on the brink of death, and a stain of red bled through Kels coat, though she felt not a thing. There was a scream as her brother awoke only to thrash for a moment. There was nothing to do, no time, no energy. Kel froze again, just like she had when her fathers blood splattered across her, that first time. Now it was her brother taking his place. He had woken, but only to close his eyes a minute later, forever, now. He had no last words; just a wail.
Kel jumped to her feet, the warm blood that soaked her more painful then any wound, and let the body fall to the ground. Kejam was two. The man had fallen on the dirty ground, his lunge too downwards for the weak body to stand back up from. He was shivering. And it was pathetic; but Kel didn't care. It was the first time she went into the rages all too common today; when the blood of her brother wet her hands. She grabbed the blade and kicked the man in his groin, kicked him in his stomach and in his face, making him wail just like her brother had. She screamed and cursed and savagly beat him; there was no mercy in the girl's soul. And there never was, really. She was always cold, from the moment her fathers blood hit her hands.
The blade slashed him seven times. Blood poured into the streets, mingling with Kejams, mingling with the strangers' bodies that lay around the alley, dead or dying, cold and crying for a home they didn't remember.
And no one noticed a few more bodies in the streets. Kel took one thing from that night with her, besides the memories and nightmares; the little ring that Kejam wore, it had been her mothers. It was too small for Kel, even when she was younger, and she slipped the small, iron thing around a string, tying it around her neck. Even in the most desperate times she never sold it. Ever.
Life was hard after that, for the next two years, on her own. She nearly died several times. That starving man was the only one she ever killed, and his hollow eyes haunt her even to this day. At times, Kel came close to killing more people, when she was in a rage when pity and compassion leave her body like spirits, and all that is left is a cold, cruel shell. Maybe that was all that was there in the first place.
ｆａｍｉｌｙ] Kejam, her brother, and her father, Frind, and her mother, Lilian.
ｏｔｈｅｒ] .None

ｗｅａｋｎｅｓｓｅｓ]She's not fast, and can't climb any sort of tree or scale a building. She's not exactly cunning, either. Or caring.
ｓｔｒｅｎｇｔｈｓ] A good fighter when she's in the mind set for it, she's a very resourceful person, with absolutely no hinderance of feelings in a battle.
ｓｉｎｇｌｅ. ｂｅｓｔ. ｓｋｉｌｌ]Pressure points and her strength and knowledge of the human body. It's a strange talent, but when she started, last year, working in the construction companies, there was a man she worked besides, who she would always pair up with. He had been a massage therapist, gone rogue as a rebel, barely survived the torute he was put through afterwards, and then demoted to this hardworking, little paying job. He taught her how to understand the muscles, and what made everyone tick. He taught her the weak points and the healing points, some sort of nostalgia for his younger days making him pass on his information
ｔｒａｉｎｉｎｇ. ｓｃｏｒｅ] Four; there was nothing to show them besides the way she can break a a leg with her bare hands. After all, when Kel's not in a mood to kill, all she is, is a frightened little girl who had to grow up too fast.
ｏｔｈｅｒ] her token, it was her brothers/moms ring turned necklace. It's an iron ring, for a pinkie finger of the smallest child, with small patterns on it like swirls, engraved. It's not very special, techinically, but it means something to her.


ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ] w a n d e r l u s t
ｈｏｗ .ａｃｔｉｖｅ. ａｒｅ. ｙｏｕ] Very active!
ｅｘａｍｐｌｅ .ｏｆ. ｏｎｅ . ｏｆ . ｙｏｕｒ. ｐｏｓｔｓ] The girl across form her, April, said something brightly, beaming simaltaneously. Softly Anne wondered, if not with a little annoyance, how anyone could smile so much and still talk, without their face hurting at the end of the day. She could just imagine the blond haired girl rubbing ice on her cheeks every night, as her mother, who she imagined shortly as an identical blond woman with blue eyes, scolding her for smiling so much. It was a humorous thought, and if Anne wasn't in a situation where she had to try and act friendly and social, she might have smiled, or even giggled in the way all eleven year old girls are capable of.

"Oh, right," she smiled, thinking she should introduce more about herself, too, rubbing the back of her neck slightly, toes curling nervously within her dark shoes. "Well, uh, I'm Anne, and from London." She paused for a moment. There was backround reading she had done on this world...and not all of it was pleasant. Wars and social darwinisms towards those born of "muggles." Apparently that was a word for normal human beings. Well, the lean, dark haired girl had read a lot of nasty things, things that had made her nervous, if not slightly frightened. However, the pause was only for a moment, and with a half smile, sly-like and proud, as if to say in itself that what she was was a gift, not a curse, "and my parents are muggles." She mimicked the order April had started with.

Suddenly, yet another kid opened the sliding door to their compartment, and happened to be, she realized with a mental start, the first magical boy she had ever met. April, she realized, secondly, was the first girl. He looked sweet; that was her first impression of the boy. And automatically Anne liked him. Anne was not a perfect child, she knew she had her faults, one of which being so judgmental, which lost her a lot of potential friends, she'd imagine. However, this kid, with large, light blue eyes, and a shock of dark hair, short and innocent looking, made her feel less socially awkward and more like a kid again, not trying desperately to make friends. He looked sweet, that was what Anne perceived, but she didn't know much else. The girl wasn't the best at reading people, a fact she tried to disguise often, so maybe other's would think her more knowledgable in the ways of the human characteristics.

"Oh yea, I think we have a few more seats left, if you want," she said, glancing around at the half filled cabin. It was pretty large,to fit already five kids in it, with their pets and trunks. Watching the boy curiously more than in suspicion, Anne wondered who he was. What he was. She wondered slightly who everyone was. Weather these people would hate her for what she was. Well. That was just fine with Anne. Let them hate her, and mock her, she would mock them right back. And she had hard fists, to boot. Kids at her old school had learned quick not to mock this girl, and even though it was a ritual she detested going through, if people forced it on her, she could handle the pressure again. She wasn't knew to isolation, though she knew it would be a different type, this time around. But Anne had told herself over and over again in the mirror at home: she would have to be strong and smart, and survive through it.

[katniss,]

I love your character!
Bump!