Post by cameo on Jul 5, 2017 19:44:10 GMT -8
Layla Locke
28 years Old
Female
Capitol
Capitol
Thomas
Swirls of smoke sketch from her lips, a cigarette dangling delicately between her middle and pointer finger on her less-dominant right hands. The knuckles of more strength must be reserved for the vital tasks. “You wish to hear about me?” A tint of laughter intertwines with her tone, sounding uninterested by the requested though she adores this selfish topic. “Sympathy for others has never plagued me. My parents ripped away any chance of that from the start, being too engulfed by floods of negativity.” The ash of her cigarette flutters to a tray, before she continues.
“Their pity-parties used to nauseate me. Their distaste in themselves would disgustingly direct towards my older Brother, as if verbally destroying him made them any better. Though still I contain no respect for the ones who would rather be pessimistic… my poor Brother.” Though the words of her speech are truthful, he voice contains a hue of humor - especially towards the end. Immediately from birth she erupted headstrong, a blaze that hasn’t settled in the least over the years.
A straight spine elongates her short disposition, even while sitting down. Tiny heights have carried her-her entire life, though no one would ever guess such. A stance of 5’3 has halted her from any further growth, while most assume she’s probably 5’8. Her powerful, snarky attitude has easily managed to raise her length to deceivable eyes.
Lucious blonde locks frames features most Capitol Citizens pay ridiculous amounts for. Fortunately for her, mysterious genetics have graced her. Certainly her Parents did not gift her with such; though her family must contain some keen heredity - as her Brother’s awfully stunning as well. Dazzling light eyes capture anyone’s attention continuously throughout her days. And both Men and Women alike never refuse an invitation to her bed. The single flaw to her perfection is extremely thin lips, that she consistently gets injected to remain her pristine image. Anything can be fixed within the Capitol, so why must some decide to wallow in sorrows?
“Yes, I’m a Dancer.” Her cheeks spread for her beaming smirk. “Have been since I could walk. So many in the field are awfully jealous of me due to my talents. But I’ve been killing myself for hours a day to be where I am. In their innocent years they’d play after being released from school; when I gave up my childhood to the art of dance - they did not. So of course I’m perfect, they shouldn’t hate me for it.” This subject she’d gladly spend eternity upon, though another question decides to irritate her. “I don’t remember what my Brother does! We scarcely speak anymore. He went down our Parents’ path of hating life.” Surely she’ll always love her Brother; but was she not brought her to speak of herself?
Another puff inflates her lungs, calming her down drastically. “Free time? What’s that? I dance, that’s my Life - and I couldn’t love it more.” This is quite true, though not entirely. “Okay, I enjoy some liquor every now and then at a club. Someone sexy to bring back and keep my bed warm. But who doesn’t enjoy that?” That most definitely is the full truth, which glides a guilty grin across her lips… that is until another interjection fuels her with anger once more.
“I don’t know what he does now, after his daughter died, and his wife divorced him.” However at this point rage doesn’t contort her pitch. The sole time agony ever inflicted her heart is when her Niece passed away. Before then she was actually close to her Brother - was teaching his little Girl how to dance. Then sorrow encircled her heart, and she had to get away… “No, I’m never going to get married nor have kids.” Happiness is an oath she swears by, and she won’t risk anything to lose that. “Move onto a different topic.” Is demanded.
A second cigarette is lit. Often she never chain-smokes, but for this instance she must. A nearby liquor bottle even fills an empty cup, which she declined earlier. “So that’s why you want me to become a Maze-Maker.” Her fingers clutch the brim of her cup, swirling it around as if the pure vodka needed to be mixed. In a single gulp she devours the double shot. “Sure, I’ll watch my big Brother - make sure he doesn’t go over the deep end again.” A reforming grin accepts the offer as well, along with a handshake.
“Then Welcome, Maze-Maker Layla.”
