Name: Indicolite Dean
Gender: Female
Age: Sixteen
District: One. That’s right, she’s a career!
Weapon: Hand-on-hand
Description:
She has a pretty, soft-looking face, and anybody who didn’t know her would expect her to be a flower of a girl. Her lips are full rosebuds which open to reveal straight, white teeth. Her voice is high and even, though somewhat steely and reflective. Her nose is slender and unremarkable, her skin light and supple. Dark lashes frame Indi’s eyes, which are green flecked with amber spots and seem to reveal inner misery. She has straight, light blonde hair that brushes down to the bottom of her slim shoulders. The rest of her is equally slender, so one might be surprised to see that she is all muscle. Indi is neither short nor tall, but she rests somewhere in between.
An eternal state of unrest sits upon Indi’s shoulders. While she usually has a face made of stone, she is known to occasionally extend the hand of friendship. She would not be called cold, however the circumstances of her life made her very distant and afraid. Those same circumstances also made her a determined personality. She is horribly twitchy and possesses white scars across her body. Indi is trained to kill.
Biography:
Indi was shooting across the course for the last time that day. Her father had promised that is would be her last- he had promised!- but he was often full of empty promises. The man did not feel the need to keep his word, yet she had to keep hope. Indi had to believe that her horrible life would end, she had to keep hope, but she knew it was in vain. He would make her run it until she could no longer physically run, or until she passed out. So she continued to run, even though her stomach was roaring ferociously and she could hardly breathe.
For hours, her endurance had been tested. Had been running through mud and jumped over three-foot-high obstacles for hours. She woke, ate quickly, and trained. That was her life. No school, nor down time, no social life, just training. There was never any salvation. She could not quit, because no matter how much it hurt to run, he could hurt her more. The scars across her body were not accidents, they were totally intentional. Indi’s fear was all that kept her going.
That was the only thing that kept her going: her father’s abuse. He wanted so badly to have a strong, fit son that could run for miles and jump to the moon and kill ten men with only a paperclip, but instead he got Indicolite: a girl who was limited in how much muscle she could grow, too small to kill ten men with a paperclip, and whose only real skill was her extreme flexibility. She was the fittest girl she knew, but she could never be good enough.
Indi turned a corner in the course. There was a low hanging branch coming up, so she dove under it, into the mud. She slid through and began running again immediately, not stopping to wipe the mud out of her eyes. She knew the course by heart, so she did not need to be able to see to finish it. The ending was coming up, she knew, after the pool. The pool was a half-mile long and twelve feet deep.
She felt the terrain change to concrete under her bare and tired feet and she knew the pool was only a few feet away. Indi jumped, forming a perfect diving position that allowed her to slice through the water like an arrow. She swam off like a bullet, her breaststroke impeccable. It was exhausting and she found herself retaining a good deal of water. After a while, she knew that she had gone more than a half mile. Her father had extended the pool, she realized, and that’s why she had been weight and weapons training lately instead of running the course. Indi did not know when it would end, and her eyed were to full of water to see anything in front of her. She was swimming blindly.
Ten more minutes of swimming passed, and Indi felt every second of it. She swam to the side of the pool and pulled herself out. Water spilled out of her mouth and she hacked desperately to remove it from her lungs. She was able to pry herself off of the cold, wet ground, only to suddenly have the urge to vomit. She did so, spilling her meager lunch and a gallon of water, into the bushes. She stumbled away and fell back on the ground, tears mixing with the chlorine-tainted water.
Indi did not finish the course. Her father would kill her.
With the knowledge that he would be coming for her if she didn’t finish the course soon, she took advantage of that moment and rested her muscles. It was out of her hands. She merely laid there in a puddle of water, crying and choking until he entered sight. Indi pushed herself up and sat on the ground, analyzing the hem of her soaked pants.
He came and the beatings followed soundly. She was a disappointment, a waste of food and energy. Backhanded across the face. Indi was weak, she couldn’t even finish the course. Spat at, cursed at, her arm was grabbed and she was shaken like a rag doll. She was too stupid to realize that modifications were being put on the pool. Her head was held under water until she fell unconscious. She was yanked out of the water, threw up what little food was left in her stomach, along with the water. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If the Hunger Games didn’t kill her, he would. Her screams went out unheard.
And then there was a knife, he called her names. She pleaded, but she was weak. Blood mixed with the pool water. Indi screamed and pleaded. He hit her again, and then again. She was useless and would never be good enough. She was useless. She was so weak, she couldn’t even fight back. Names, curses, underwater again. Her arm was sliced at again, more blood. Then, once he’d had enough, he dragged her back to the house, threw her in her room, announcing that they would be running the course again then next day. Indi wished she was dead.
She would never be good enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her heart was pounding in her throat. It’s pulse was ringing in her ears. This was the moment she had been training for ever since she could walk. Years of pain could finally be escaped, but only for a new sort of pain. Her time was nearing to partake in the Hunger Games. Her father was next to her in the crowd, looking at the raised stage with a sharp look in his eye. Indi took every possible opportunity to be in public, because she knew that he couldn’t hurt her there.
Thousands of excited teenagers were all vying for two spots as the District’s Hunger Games participants, but none of them were like her. None of their lives depended on it, only their honor. Hers did. One day, Indi’s father’s knife would slip. One day, he would kill her. If she won the Games, Indi was sure he would love her and praise her. Maybe she would finally be accepted into his heart. If not, she could run away, get married, fake her own death, do anything to escape his tyranny.
Before drawing names, the mayor asked for any volunteers. It was common in District One that people would volunteer as a tribute. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a flood of eager volunteers flung themselves at his feet. Indi lurched forward, and her father grabbed her by her shoulder.
“Make me proud.” That was all he said before he released her. He didn’t look at her, didn’t wish her luck, just told her to make him proud. She nodded emotionlessly and ran forward, shoving others out of the way. She was battering other hopefuls away forcefully. She flung herself at the stage as the mayor surveyed the mass of them, looking for which looked the most eager to contend. Exasperated, Indi climbed on top of a boy in front of her and managed to actually get onto the stage.
“This one! What’s your name, kid?” He said, throwing his hands in the air, a wide grin on his face.
“Indicolite Dean. I’m going to win the Hunger Games.” She panted, looking up at him.
Gender: Female
Age: Sixteen
District: One. That’s right, she’s a career!
Weapon: Hand-on-hand
Description:
She has a pretty, soft-looking face, and anybody who didn’t know her would expect her to be a flower of a girl. Her lips are full rosebuds which open to reveal straight, white teeth. Her voice is high and even, though somewhat steely and reflective. Her nose is slender and unremarkable, her skin light and supple. Dark lashes frame Indi’s eyes, which are green flecked with amber spots and seem to reveal inner misery. She has straight, light blonde hair that brushes down to the bottom of her slim shoulders. The rest of her is equally slender, so one might be surprised to see that she is all muscle. Indi is neither short nor tall, but she rests somewhere in between.
An eternal state of unrest sits upon Indi’s shoulders. While she usually has a face made of stone, she is known to occasionally extend the hand of friendship. She would not be called cold, however the circumstances of her life made her very distant and afraid. Those same circumstances also made her a determined personality. She is horribly twitchy and possesses white scars across her body. Indi is trained to kill.
Biography:
Indi was shooting across the course for the last time that day. Her father had promised that is would be her last- he had promised!- but he was often full of empty promises. The man did not feel the need to keep his word, yet she had to keep hope. Indi had to believe that her horrible life would end, she had to keep hope, but she knew it was in vain. He would make her run it until she could no longer physically run, or until she passed out. So she continued to run, even though her stomach was roaring ferociously and she could hardly breathe.
For hours, her endurance had been tested. Had been running through mud and jumped over three-foot-high obstacles for hours. She woke, ate quickly, and trained. That was her life. No school, nor down time, no social life, just training. There was never any salvation. She could not quit, because no matter how much it hurt to run, he could hurt her more. The scars across her body were not accidents, they were totally intentional. Indi’s fear was all that kept her going.
That was the only thing that kept her going: her father’s abuse. He wanted so badly to have a strong, fit son that could run for miles and jump to the moon and kill ten men with only a paperclip, but instead he got Indicolite: a girl who was limited in how much muscle she could grow, too small to kill ten men with a paperclip, and whose only real skill was her extreme flexibility. She was the fittest girl she knew, but she could never be good enough.
Indi turned a corner in the course. There was a low hanging branch coming up, so she dove under it, into the mud. She slid through and began running again immediately, not stopping to wipe the mud out of her eyes. She knew the course by heart, so she did not need to be able to see to finish it. The ending was coming up, she knew, after the pool. The pool was a half-mile long and twelve feet deep.
She felt the terrain change to concrete under her bare and tired feet and she knew the pool was only a few feet away. Indi jumped, forming a perfect diving position that allowed her to slice through the water like an arrow. She swam off like a bullet, her breaststroke impeccable. It was exhausting and she found herself retaining a good deal of water. After a while, she knew that she had gone more than a half mile. Her father had extended the pool, she realized, and that’s why she had been weight and weapons training lately instead of running the course. Indi did not know when it would end, and her eyed were to full of water to see anything in front of her. She was swimming blindly.
Ten more minutes of swimming passed, and Indi felt every second of it. She swam to the side of the pool and pulled herself out. Water spilled out of her mouth and she hacked desperately to remove it from her lungs. She was able to pry herself off of the cold, wet ground, only to suddenly have the urge to vomit. She did so, spilling her meager lunch and a gallon of water, into the bushes. She stumbled away and fell back on the ground, tears mixing with the chlorine-tainted water.
Indi did not finish the course. Her father would kill her.
With the knowledge that he would be coming for her if she didn’t finish the course soon, she took advantage of that moment and rested her muscles. It was out of her hands. She merely laid there in a puddle of water, crying and choking until he entered sight. Indi pushed herself up and sat on the ground, analyzing the hem of her soaked pants.
He came and the beatings followed soundly. She was a disappointment, a waste of food and energy. Backhanded across the face. Indi was weak, she couldn’t even finish the course. Spat at, cursed at, her arm was grabbed and she was shaken like a rag doll. She was too stupid to realize that modifications were being put on the pool. Her head was held under water until she fell unconscious. She was yanked out of the water, threw up what little food was left in her stomach, along with the water. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If the Hunger Games didn’t kill her, he would. Her screams went out unheard.
And then there was a knife, he called her names. She pleaded, but she was weak. Blood mixed with the pool water. Indi screamed and pleaded. He hit her again, and then again. She was useless and would never be good enough. She was useless. She was so weak, she couldn’t even fight back. Names, curses, underwater again. Her arm was sliced at again, more blood. Then, once he’d had enough, he dragged her back to the house, threw her in her room, announcing that they would be running the course again then next day. Indi wished she was dead.
She would never be good enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her heart was pounding in her throat. It’s pulse was ringing in her ears. This was the moment she had been training for ever since she could walk. Years of pain could finally be escaped, but only for a new sort of pain. Her time was nearing to partake in the Hunger Games. Her father was next to her in the crowd, looking at the raised stage with a sharp look in his eye. Indi took every possible opportunity to be in public, because she knew that he couldn’t hurt her there.
Thousands of excited teenagers were all vying for two spots as the District’s Hunger Games participants, but none of them were like her. None of their lives depended on it, only their honor. Hers did. One day, Indi’s father’s knife would slip. One day, he would kill her. If she won the Games, Indi was sure he would love her and praise her. Maybe she would finally be accepted into his heart. If not, she could run away, get married, fake her own death, do anything to escape his tyranny.
Before drawing names, the mayor asked for any volunteers. It was common in District One that people would volunteer as a tribute. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a flood of eager volunteers flung themselves at his feet. Indi lurched forward, and her father grabbed her by her shoulder.
“Make me proud.” That was all he said before he released her. He didn’t look at her, didn’t wish her luck, just told her to make him proud. She nodded emotionlessly and ran forward, shoving others out of the way. She was battering other hopefuls away forcefully. She flung herself at the stage as the mayor surveyed the mass of them, looking for which looked the most eager to contend. Exasperated, Indi climbed on top of a boy in front of her and managed to actually get onto the stage.
“This one! What’s your name, kid?” He said, throwing his hands in the air, a wide grin on his face.
“Indicolite Dean. I’m going to win the Hunger Games.” She panted, looking up at him.
