đđđđđđđđđ đđ đ˝đđđđđđ đđđ đ đđđđż đđ đ˝đ / đźđđż đđđ đ'đđ đ˝đ đđđđđđđđ (đđđđ đđđ đžđđźđđđźđđđ đ˝đđđđ đđ đđđđż)
[XIAO ZHAN, TRANS MAN, HE/HIM] The 74th Annual Hunger Games are upon us and here comes CREST SHEN, a DISTRICT FOUR MENTOR. Word around The Capitol is that theyâre CHARMING and PERCEPTIVE but can also be EXTRAVAGANT and CARELESS. According to sources, theyâre 32 and were once described as light glinting off golden rings, the bubble and fizz of champagne in a flute, forced laughter, standing alone on a stage. What a character! As we always say, may the odds be ever in their favor!
relevant headcanons : notes on appearance.
The eldest of five siblings, the boy who would come to be known as Crest grew up between sea and shore. On some days, he helped his parents care for his little brothers and sisters, as well as two aging grandparentsâŚbut on others, he would leave their home and work their family trade : that of fishing and diving for delicate seafood and, most importantly, the precious abalone pearls capitol stylists would have sold a kidney for.
As the first link in a chain of luxury products destined for the heart of Panem, the Shen family fared better than most, though no one wouldâve gone as far as to call them well-off. At any rate, their work put enough food on the table to feed nine hungry mouths, and in the four years between his coming of age and that fateful Reaping, he could have counted on the fingers of a single hand the number of tesserae he had to claim in order to support his siblings.
The income their trade brought home did not make the work any less grueling, though. Diving into the deep, day after day, was tough enough on him, young and spry as he was ; for the older members of his family, it was another ball game entirely. Every evening, as he chopped fish and rolled dough alongside his parents and watched his grandmotherâs salt-cracked hands bleed as she set the plates on their childrenâs tables, he wondered what it would take to bring them a miracle.
As it turns out, it took an escortâs hand dipping into the glass sphere of the Reaping, moving along dozens of other names before plucking out a single scrap of white paper out of it. When the careers of District Four started to move in to volunteer in his place, the words escaped him before he could think them through. No, let me do it. There was his opportunity, the riskiest gamble he could take, but also the one that would yield the highest reward. if this was where fate had led him, he would not let it slip through his fingers.
Unlike a career-born tribute, he hadnât prepared much of a strategy for the interviews and training phase, or a persona to present to the worldâŚbut as it turned out, he had more of an affinity for the cameras than he knew. While he was neither the strongest nor the most popular competitor, his friendly nature, humor and more-than-respectable performance in showcases earned him his fair share of sponsor attention, which he did his best to cultivate in the days leading up to the games. Crest, a childhood nickname earned by his knack for always catching the top of the waves, became the one he was known by. Time passed faster than he would have thought possible, though, and before long, he was on the podium, poised to run.
In a departure from the usual formula of survival-in-the-wilderness, the 59th Hunger Games took place in a seemingly-idyllic city, full of narrow, winding streets and nooks to hole up in (think the layout of Santorini). This did mean, however, that there were nearly no supplies to be found outside of the Cornucopia and a few select drop points, quickly forcing most of the tributes into confrontation for any hope of food. On top of it, various areas of the city seemed to fall victim to floods and landslides at random, making it extremely difficult to settle in one place to wait the competition out. Crest would later learn his arena was based on the ancient legend of the sunken city of Atlantis, a hit for the Capitolâs old-world enthusiasts and literary aficionados.
Starting out with the rest of the career pack to stock up on food and necessities at the Cornucopia, Crest and his district partner, an eighteen-year-old girl named Maristela, betrayed the rest of the District One and Two tributes by stealing away in the dead of night with as many supplies as they could carry, then leading them in a merry chase around the arena until, wearied and starving, they were caught in a mudslide. The District Four pair eventually agreed to part ways for their own alliances, hoping they would not meet again before the end, for better or for worse.
While Maristela continued to take advantage of the unpredictable terrain by luring other tributes into traps, Crest observed that a single part of the city seemed immune to the disasters that struck it seemingly at random : its tallest tower, the centerpiece of the arena, under which the Cornucopia had eventually sunk and disappeared. Making his way back, he invested it by killing off the couple of tributes thatâd taken refuge inside and barricading every entrance but two, effectively turning the tower into the best defensive position he could find. While he spread his resources across various nearby caches, just in case his theory would not hold up, and often stalked out in search of his fellow tributes, the tower became his main haunt for resting and licking his wounds. Out on the big screen, his lording over the arena from atop his perch earned him a new nickname going forward, the Prince of the Vity.
Though he made a few alliances after Maristela for shelter or medical knowledge, all of them were short-lived, with Crest often choosing to betray those whoâd chosen to trust him before they themselves could decide to turn on him. On her side, Maristela picked most of her adversaries off fair and square, but as they promised, did not attempt to seek him out until the two of them were the only ones left.
In a confrontation long-remembered, the Gamemakers forced them together one last time as the city crumbled away into the depths around them. Maristela was older and had superior experience with wielding weaponsâŚbut as they tumbled, wrestling, into the churning water, diver-born Crest gained the advantage. He remembered little of the ensuing struggle, only that he saw little of it and heard even less. Their flailing made them sink all the faster, and he could only think to hold her underwater for as long as he could. At some point, she must have grabbed onto the arm choking her off and dug her teeth into it ; the immediate memory of pain blended in among all the others. The audience waited with baited breath for nearly a full three minutes before the boy broke the surface again, gasping for breathâŚand alone. ( He would remember the sound of that last cannon for the rest of his life. )
Crest woke up in a white room, so neat and devoid of life he thought for a moment he had died after all. It took his mentor, his escort and no fewer than three of his attendants assuring him he had indeed survived for him to believe them. He felt as battered as if heâd been tossed inside a barrel full of rocks, and the Capitolâs doctors kept him in observation for a couple more days after he woke up. Still, heâd lived - and heâd won. The Capitol hailed him as a champion, and for a moment, their adoration worked to soothe him. Even so, he longed to leave, to reap the rewards of the choice heâd made.
When he went home after the Gamesâ closing ceremony, to his parentsâ overjoyed tears and his siblingsâ embrace, he truly believed the hardest part was over. He held them close as usual, laughed off their concerns and tried to resume his life as if heâd never left in the first place.
He made it about two weeks before they found him out. The arena had left him with his life, but also a crippling fear of the depths. He could not stand to live in their new home, not when it squatted so close to the sea, nor help their parents dive as he used to despite his best efforts. The water closing in over his head sent him into a panic, and every night, he woke up in a cold sweat, expecting their home to cave in around him. not only that, but every time he tried to spend time with his siblings, their faces would morph into that of younger tributes, a ceaseless reminder of the blood on his hands. When an invitation from President Copperhead rolled around shortly after his victory tour, he found himself almost glad to leave district four behind. The Capitol was garish and decadent, and he could barely begin to understand how its inhabitantsâ mind workedâŚbut after a year of struggling to take even a few steps out of the Victors' Village, the foreign land it offered was a relief. He could bear with the unwanted attention and the loneliness, he thought, if he could simply live again.
Just some eight months after the Games, Crest featured in an exclusive interview. In it, he talked at length about the new opportunities his victory had afforded him, the way the Capitol had opened his eyes to his true potential, and concluded it with the announcement heâd be staying in the city for the foreseeable future.
His fans eagerly welcomed the news, and soon enough, he had more invitations on his hand than he knew what to do with. Each party introduced him to vices he didnât even know existed : liquors that painted the world in new colors and smoke that could dull pain, pills to kill his fear and make his heart beat again. He could not have told you whether he chose them or simply fell in, and perhaps it didnât matter in the end. They allowed him to pass for a whole person, someone who could still quip and joke effortlessly ; someone who, if he could not be the boy his family knew, was more lively than a shell. Standing in the limelight made him feel warm, and before long, crest found himself chasing after it. He changed his body first to try to erase the Games, getting rid of nearly all his scars, then to keep up with the Capitolâs trends. After all, heâd made his home there, for better or for worse. Although he occasionally went back to visit his parents and siblings, he could never bring himself to stay for very long, both because of his old fears and the newer shame he felt at the betrayal of his own nature. The money heâd earned from his victory would keep them safe and sound, and that would have to be enough.
What choice did he have, after all? Heâd dug his grave sixteen years ago ; the least he could do was lie in it.
  Deceive - 2    Fight - 1    Lore (knowledge) - 2    Notice - 3    Physique - 1   Provoke - 3    Rapport - 3    Resourcefulness - 1    Stealth - 2    Will - 1
