Name: Olivia Louise Thressa
Hair: Blonde, changes with the seasons, darker in winter, lighter in summer.
Build: Small, petite, toned
Personality Traits: Smart, stubborn, witty, quiet, thoughtful, dreamer, comic, brave
Skills: Swimming, rock and tree climbing, knot tying, good at hand to hand combat, passable with a bow and arrow
Tribute token: bone necklace in the shape of a whale's tail
Model: Emma Watson
I stared out to the vast never ending blue on the horizon, the lapping water at my feet that had an calming effect on me. Sighing I made an effort to pick myself up along with my bag and boots, slipping them on as I walked back towards home. The worn leather protested with several high pitched squealing noises as I pulled them on my wet feet but I couldn’t care less.
I just wanted to go home.
I wasn’t usually in this foul of a mood but tomorrow was a metaphorical inky black cloud hanging over my head. The Reaping. As I am from a career district I know that we had it better off than those from say district 10 or 12, but sometimes people forgot that poverty was universal, except of course in the Capitol; where I’m sure poverty is as rare as seeing someone’s real hair or even eye colour.
I looked up and saw in the distance my home, surrounded by wild flowers and a small collection of chickens clucking happily in a pen to the side. I smiled, home, I hope I’ll never have to leave.
From here I could see the smoke rising from the chimney, the boys were back then. I’m the eldest of six children. There was myself, then Carey my grumpy teenage sister, Heston and Taerm the twins, who were complete momma’s boys; Sage our five year old sister and last but not least the newest edition to our family, Trent the bouncing baby boy at only a few weeks old. For our district our family was big, but I knew of others, baring in mind that they were all from poorer backgrounds than that of the majority of district four’s population.
Just as I reached the door I heard a voice call out my name,
I grinned and turned around to see my youngest sister smiling at me from beside the chicken pen.
“Sage, what are you doing out here?” I asked, hoping the five year old hadn’t wondered off during one of her dreaming walks again.
Mother was starting to worry about her, I just thought she had made up an imaginary friend to keep herself occupied while we were all busy. Trent was, after all, too young to play with her and the twins thought girls were icky, even their own sisters. Just turning twelve they were young enough to still retain some innocence but they were old enough now to be picked during the Reaping.
I walked towards her, dropping my bag beside the door. She was muddy, her hands coated, her grey dress slightly torn at the hem and seems, with grass stains where she had knelt down; probably to pick daises. Which she held in her small slightly podgy hand.
“Chicks!” she exclaimed while pointing to the chickens.
Oh, she had been out here talking to them again. My sister had the oddest mind; even at five she tried to have full conversations with chickens. When Father told her they couldn’t talk back she responded with,
“But they make a noise. We make noise to talk.”
Even Father had to admit she was smart, though maybe not in the most conventional way.
I smiled at her and bundled her up in my arms.
“Liv! Liv!” she cried out in protest.
“What was that? Did I hear Sage?”
She giggled at my antics.
“Liv! Down Liv! Down!” she cried out in hysterics.
I laughed at and with her in this moment of gleeful happiness. I span her about, both of our hair wiping in the wind, our clothes flapping like the sails from the old boats that Grandfather said would dock in the harbour just below us.