The Writer Games | Once In A Lifetime & World Edition

District Eleven Male: Custer Mudd

"I always love to see a  new tribute join us... We never know what they'll be like, or what  they've got up their sleeves." -Fillius Ravenscar

Name: Custer Mudd

Age:18

Gender: Male

District: 11

Physical Description:  Dirty blond hair sprouts from Custer's scalp in spontaneous and unkempt  "fluffs." His impish face and flitting, blue eyes seems out of place on  his fairly well built frame. His lanky build is covered in tight  muscels.

Personality: Custer is  one of those kids who were born "perfect." He has the perfect strengths,  looks and if he ever bothered to use it: Brain. He even has a sense of  humor, although it is random and crazed. The two things he isn't perfect  at is work ethics and personality. Work Ethics; he has none.  Personality: is a heaping pile of smelly garbage.

Craft: Working to get out of Work.

Skills: Strength, Agility, Charm

Weapon: A pot he found at the cornucopia which he also uses as a hat.

Token: A deck of cards which he hope to play "When things get dull in the arena." (idiot)

Backstory: Custer is the  only child of two parents who are as rich as you can be in Eleven. He  lolls around, skips work and hangs out with friends.

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Custer Mudd: District Eleven

CrocodileRocker

Volunteer, or not to volunteer; That is the question.

I sit out on a sun clod hill, aimlessly gnawing at a stalk of wheat. My fingers frustratedly combing through the sharp grass.

"CUSTER!"

"Custer you sack of  earth apples! Get up here and do something useful!" My mom hollers from  the porch, staring me down with a crazed eye.

"Yes Mrs. Dictator." I moan as I walk up to the dilapidated cabin.

"Hush now! The capitol  might hear you say that." Her wry grin of self appreciation turns to a  facade of horror as the realization that she forgot something dawned  upon her."

"THE REAPING!"

She screeches pushing me away as I smile cockily at my little victory.

"Don't worry I'll make you help in the field when we get back. HONEY GET OUT HERE!"

My grin droops from the melancholy of failure.

If I get back.

Yes; if...if is a good word.

So that sets that straight. Im going to volunteer.

The name slides through pursed neon lips.

"Royal Antrim!"

She shouts eyeing up the  shuffle around me. A rough looking fellow saunters out of the pen and  strides to the stage. When he turns around the people can see the angry  bravery beneath his eyes.

He would be ready.

Im not saving the weak.

I will not be a hero.

Yet, when volunteers are asked for, my hand is waving in the air.