I don't own The Hunger Games, or the Universe it takes place in. Just the characters in this story are mine.
Beauty is overrated.
These Capitol citizens see too much in me. I don't understand why I have to parade around in a frilly dress to impress them all. Can't I just show them my fighting skills and be over with it?
Some would call me a Career. I am an assassin, ready to kill. At least, that's how my mind works. What Caesar says doesn't really register in my mind.
"Pardon? Could you please repeat that?"
I get a laugh from the crowd. I'm not trying to be funny, why can't they see that?
"Are you ready for the games, Jezebel?"
"Caesar, I am more ready than any other tribute."
"Well, I wish you good luck in the games, Jezebel."
With that, I'm whisked off the stage, and the bumbling idiot of a 'partner' I have is walking on stage. Seems he's charming the crowd. Lovely.
Jezebel Mora Marchand is my name. I'm from District Two, and I've been training since I was 11 for the Hunger Games. Now that I'm 17, I'm here, I almost got in last year, but I volunteered too late. After the Gamemaker's assessment, they gave me a score of 9. I'm happy with it, but I think I could have gotten better. I don't really want the other tributes to be too intimidated by me yet anyways. I want the blood of other tributes on my hands. And when I'm Victor, I'll celebrate like there's no tomorrow.
