The Fourth Annual Writer Games: Canon

District Four Male - Dacre Aldric

Name: Dacre Aldric

Age: 17

District: 4

Sex: Male

Physical Appearance: His skin is smooth, driftwood-brown, perpetually freckled from hours spent in the sun. His hair is cropped close to his head, short curls that dust his scalp like sea foam. In one ear, he wears a single stud of iridescent mother-of-pearl, an homage to his home district. Though Dacre doesn't strike many as a strongman, his arms and torso still show toned muscles that ripple over broad shoulders, the mark of years of swimming and not-entirely-legal training. His height, though uncommon at above six feet, is not the most noticable thing about him by far: that would be his eyes (all the better to see you with, my dear), ringed with layers of thick dark lashes and two different colors. One is dark brown, the color of hidden depths and rich soil waiting for seed; the other, pale, silvery blue, the sky reflecting off the waves after a storm, the color of hope.

Personality: Dacre doesn't make friends easily. It may be the snide look he wears so well, or the rumors that he pretends not to listen to (all the better to hear you with, my dear) about his treatment of the girls who fawn over him, or perhaps he prefers to be alone. He's used to it by now, anyways; not many people would put up with his specific brand of spoiled bitchiness, though there's a crew of girls who seem to think it's an act, that they can change him. Unfortunately for them, there isn't much of Dacre that's deeper than the beach at high tide. At least, not much that he wants to see.

Background: He should have been a normal kid. His father and mother were childhood sweethearts, and they had a daughter, Romy (now 23), a son, Alton (now 22), and then little Dacre. If not for the fact that his father went into the arena at age sixteen, perhaps Dacre would have been allowed his own mind. As it is, his father instilled in him not life lessons or morals, but just one deep, slicing value: Trust no one. Not even family. Despite his cushy lifestyle in Victor's Village and his choice of peers from among the district's finest, Dacre keeps to himself, and focuses only on training, when he can, and perfecting his icy stares and hardened heart. All the better to eat you with, my dear.

Reaped or Volunteered? Volunteered.

Weapon of Choice: A hammer - perhaps not typical of Four, but he prefers crushing to stabbing.

Token: His earring, mother-of-pearl inlaid in silver. Though he holds himself above the mindless masses of the district and their horrifyingly themed lifestyles, he can't bear to part with the simple stud.