#i thought she changed for the better but she's so self-righteous opinionated & stubborn it's awful

[cheekblush]

i'd rather be friendless than to constantly have my boundaries disrespected

[tothewaterhq]

ACCEPTED // JULES CHURCHILL 

district 7 → tribute → kiernan shipka fc

positive traits: intelligent, ambitious, crafty negative traits: disloyal, callous, self-righteous weapon of choice: traps  token: bronze pocket watch 

did they volunteer? if so, why?: No.

biography:

There was one fact you can never know, can never understand, which might be the tragedy of it all: you never truly had a chance. Despite Father’s grand soliloquies on the nature of power, on responsibility and control, you can never grasp it in your hands.

It is not for you. It belongs to someone else.

But Jules did not know that, then.

***

To understand Jules Churchill, there were three stories. Nothing more, nothing less.

The first story happens before her first breath is drawn, before her name is drawn:

The fact that Aaron Churchill had not gotten a phone call from the Capitol at this point in the night was unnerving. He had been through the in-name-only District election cycles twice now, each time before he had gotten a call around eight o’clock, letting him know how pleased the Capitol was to hear of his victory and of the continued bright future of District Seven. But it was nearing  nine thirty, and the phone that hung by the kitchen door remained silent.

So Aaron paced. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Back and Forth. From her spot on the couch, Edith watched him nervously, but remained just as silent as the phone. She would be due any day now, which Aaron would be more worried about if he wasn’t currently worrying about being the first Churchill in four generations to lose an election.

Election of course, being a funny term. Ages and times ago, it meant something else, but now it referred to the choice of the powers-that-be, the people in the Capitol who decided on more inconsequential things, like the leader of District Seven.

The phone rang precisely at eleven o’clock, and Aaron was informed he had fallen out of favor with the powers-that-be. That the Capitol had just been informed of the victory of his opponent and was looking forward to the continued bright future of District Seven.

Edith went into labor moments after he conceded the election, dazedly announcing empty words to a reporter about “a change in direction,” and “a certainly bright future in District Seven, no matter what.”

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Such an idiot. If I wanted power, I would have–I wouldn’t have been so stubborn on–

I would have listened to–I would have obeyed–

I would have worked through the people with real power, used influence instead of that wide-eyed optimistic shit, tried to–

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

The words echoed through his mind, weaved themselves into every thought as Jules Churchill came into the world red and squalling.

She would be smarter than he was, she would have power and she would know how to wield it. She would have to be better.

***

It took seven years for the second story to happen.

It took seven years from the day of Jules Churchill’s birth for Aaron Churchill to get the mayoral seat back. By then, silence in the Churchill household was a thing of the past, the constant background noise of Jules, her three little brothers and a baby sister creating a constant cacophony of sound.

Jules was the only one who was allowed to stay up to see if her Daddy won, though. The rest were too young at that point, so she got to sit with Mother and the baby on the couch as father placed in front of the telephone, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and–

The phone rang exactly at eight, and her Daddy smiled and said Thank you, and It’s an Honor. He had run over and picked up Jules in a wild hug, kissed Mother on the cheek.

He kept Jules up for the next few hours to make sure she had understood what had happened, to explain how the world worked for people like them. They weren’t citizens of the Capitol, endlessly rich and mindless and more powerful than anyone could understand. But they weren’t completely unlucky: seven was a poor district but certainly not the poorest, and they had enough money to get by, which meant they were downright upper-class in District Seven. People in their position had the ability to get power if they were smart and ambitious and maybe a little bit sneaky.

Jules would never wield power like those in the Capitol: no one would listen to her voice simply because it was her voice, there would be no easy pathways, no relaxing or summer homes or gambling or drinking or shirking responsibilities. She would never be looked at as a leader of the people, even if she was mayor like her father, even if she became famous.

She would never wield power like a those in the richer districts: not with a weapon, not with blunt force. She could never visibly have power, she could never seem like she was asking for it, or like she wanted it.

But–power was still within her grasp, Father promised her.

(promised her.)

Hide in the shadows, be a mindless beaurocrat, hitch your wagon to a star, work behind people who can be more visible than you, who will fall, but you can remain even after they do. The devil is in the details, where you can slip in what you want. Where you can influence the people who hold the sword, the people who are on camera. No one wants to do the work. Offer to do it for them and you’ll get whatever you want. You have to give in to the powers that be, Jules.  No matter how degrading, no matter how wrong.

Better to be a lapdog than a rabid one, Jules, Her Father told her, the words unbelievably clear in her head over a decade later. It’s the rabid one that gets shot.

Jules learned her lesson well.

***

The third is–well. You know what happens here.

Jules Churchill was usually recognized on sight. Who could forget about Churchill’s charming daughter? Pretty, not exactly nice, far too brutally honest and opinionated to be nice, but charming, nonetheless. She was her father’s daughter, his true heir more than any of her siblings. Her perfect mix of ambition, wit, and wily intelligence made her bright future obvious to anyone. It was a given that she would succeed her father as Mayor in due time, sooner or later, she would end up being the one whose name was announced in front of the entire District.

Sooner, then.

Eighteen, almost out, almost home free, almost able to worry about more important things than dying at the hands of those more powerful than her. A sort of shocked gasp had arisen out of the crowd when her name was announced, her father’s face drained of blood in front of the entire district as he sat frozen on his chair behind the escort.

This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen–she didn’t have tesserae, didn’t work in the woods. She wasn’t tough, didn’t have to fight to survive like the poor, less fortunate children in the district did. Jules Churchill’s life was no tragedy.

Until it was.

It was a horrible-awful thing to experience, her name being called, her mother weeping as she said goodbye to her siblings, maybe forever. Her father’s face, stoic and stony hiding the panic in his mind.

But Jules Churchill is no shrinking violet, has never been known to just stand there and take it. She may be a skinny, short little thing with doe eyes and no practicial fighting experience, no raw strength to speak of, not even the axe skills her peers might have gained in the woods. But she was smart. She knew how to play games, and what was this, besides the biggest game of her life? She didn’t like her odds, but there was plenty to win–more power, more prestige, a life better than the one she was born into.

Hadn’t she always been trying for that?

PLAYED BY // BRIDGET