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Niles Bayou

"I can't be held responsible for how I kill you in the games while you're distracted with my bare chest."

0 · 413 views · located in Panem

a character in “The 25th Hunger Games”, originally authored by Attie, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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Name: Niles Finn Bayou
Nicknames: N/A. He's just called "Niles".
Age:18.
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Birthday: August 13th.
District: Four

Weapon of choice: Trident.
Talent: Fishing / Swimming
Weaknesses:
-His speed comes from water, not land. Watching him try to run fast is laughable.
-Fire scares the living day lights out of him. Quick, put water on it!
Hobbies: Swimming, singing, and playing the make-shift sports of District Four with his friends.
Likes:
-Water. It doesn't matter if it's a river, lake, fountain, or puddle.
-Seafood. Shrimp and Snow Crab are the favorites.
-Music.
-Laughter / Humor
-People
Dislikes:
-Serious minded people.
-The dark. Don't tell!
-Spiders, bees, and wasps. Forget those guys.
-Inhumane treatment to animals or people, especially children.
-The Capitol.
Fears:
-Spiders, bees, and wasps.
-Rejection. He hides it well, but really, rejections freaks him out. What do I do now?
Token: His mother's only piece of jewelry, a ring.

Personality: Everyone is aware of Niles' great looks, his great tan, his great talent of looking fantastic when he's at work in the water... This is no news. What's also no news is that Niles is very aware of this and uses it for his womanizing antics. Sure, as far as he's ever gotten never amounted to having to worry about getting someone pregnant, but he's still had his fair share of 'long nights on the beach'. In addition, he loves comedy. He loves laughter, and aims to make everyone around him feel relaxed and light-hearted. The seriousness that he sees on his parents' faces sometimes bothers him, so he is always looking for a way to make them smile.
History: Niles didn't live on 'the good side of the district', but he didn't let the lower side status bother him all that much, either. With amazing parents like his, who truly loved each other and each of their boys (three total), what more could a person ask for? Well, for starters, they could ask to never have to go through the Games. Both his older brothers evaded the torturous games, and but that wasn't in the stars for their young Niles.

His worth ethic is excellent, his attendance is sub-par. His grades were hard earned. His life was, well... going great. In District Four, it was easy for them to forget the world outside and how messed up everyone else's district was. Not that there's was a piece of cake all the time, but moments like this left you wondering why you should bother opening Pandora's box with a revolt against the Capitol. That's what got the Hunger Games started in the first place.

The best part of his childhood had to be the fortunate friendship he had with Dio, (currently the District 4 Tribute). Growing up, they were very close, very close. You wouldn't see one without the other, and there was always carefree laughter -- Niles' favorite. But then, as they grew older.. Something changed. It was as if they were on the verge of something great, as if their relationship could get any closer without bursting at the seams in to romance, but... Dio made a choice, one that ultimately split them apart, drifting slowly a day at a time. Niles could remember the last time he'd spoken to her, the words said, the emotions turning inside of him, and from her end... It was as if she were a completely different person. He couldn't break through this new barrier she'd created, which said a lot coming from who they were before.

The next time he saw her, she volunteered for the 25th Hunger Games. Immediately, a ping of guilt and regret hit him in the gut. I should have spent more time trying to get through to her. Life is so short. What have I done?

"And the male tribute for District Four is... Mi-Niles Bayou!"

That was the first time Niles began to think, Maybe things do happen for a reason.

Fuck.

Anything else?: N/A
Your reaction to being chosen for the Hunger Games: Expression. They really called my name. Well, fuck. What do I do now? As for housing together, that's just... I can't see the motive behind this, but if that's how it's going to be, I have no choice.

So begins...

Niles Bayou's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Diomache Rayn Character Portrait: Niles Bayou
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#, as written by Attie
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What is it with these fancy trains? And how the hell are we going this fast without falling backwards?

Let's be honest, Niles was no physics specialists, and to further add to the feeling of uneducated, he was baffled as he stood in the bathroom, staring at all the gizmos and gadgets. For one, there were buttons on the toilet. BUTTONS! And they weren't marked, 'flush, cleanse, whatever else rich people have for an option', either. They were blank, metallic buttons. And sure, okay, his district had tooth brushes, paste, and faucets... But in his slums, you were lucky to have the whole works altogether at one time. He'd known how to use each one, but the problem with these were that they were.. electric? How does one make a toothbrush in to a machine? Wasn't it all about your motion, not it's? When he pressed the button, he literally stared at it until it flung the toothpaste back up his direction - splattering his face and clothing.

Well, I suppose that's why the stylist kept saying to dress last.

Throwing his shirt over his shoulders and using it to wipe the rest off of his face, he entered back in to the bedroom and tossed it on to his bed. Striding over to the wooden dresser, he noted all of the 'dress up' shirts he'd crammed in there were now terribly wrinkled. I think it's safe to assume that I no housekeeper, and I have no idea how to do all this junk. Worst part? He hadn't brought anything else. Hesitantly, he reached for one, slipped it on unbuttoned, and then walked out in to the hallway, calling down the rows of doors,

"Hey! Who's got a spare shirt?" Before anyone could answer him in that direction, he turned around to face the other direction of the corridor, calling out again, "Anyone? Apparently, they've given us killer toothbrushes in this train! Bout as fast as the damn thing, too!"

Spinning back around, that's when he spotted her leaving her assigned room. He choked up a little, but kept his posture relaxed and carefree, just in case someone else came out and tossed him a shirt. He opened his mouth to say something, but she looked like the last person who gave a damn about what might come out of his mouth. Naturally, he settled with a greeting, instead. Nothing formal, nothing personal, just.. Simple and distant, the way she seemed to want things.

"Hey."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Diomache Rayn Character Portrait: Niles Bayou
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Diomache Rayn


The others were no doubt still a little astounded by the marvel that was the Capitol's technology, but the novelty had long since worn off for Dio. The cameras, and by extension all of Panem, would see that Rayn, the girl from District Four, was the heir to a victor in not only name, but in her composure as well. Her mother had set to her task with a grim determination, twenty years ago. She made allies, formed bonds, swayed others into protecting her, convinced them that she could certainly pull her own weight. And then, in the arena, she took them by storm. No one laid a hand on her for the entirety of the games.

Dio had seen the footage countless times. How she'd made a beeline for the fishing net she saw at the Cornucopia, snagged it, managing to get her hands on a knife as well. Then she'd bolted for the treeline. The tropical forest setting of that year's games had suited her perfectly. She had stalked the jungle, living off the land, mainly a diet of fish and the edible berries. That net saved her life. She caught all her prey with it, in both the animal and human varieties. It had been so hard for the massive boy from Eleven to swing his fists when all tangled up in that.

Of course, Dio knew more tricks than just the net. It was not openly condoned, but of course her mother had trained her. There was no one here that was quicker in a knife fight, lighter on their feet, or as deceptively strong. Her score of eleven with the Gamemakers had proved that. Only one other competitor had scored that high, the boy from District Two, Scipio. Needless to say, she was very interested in meeting him. Their respective strengths would compliment each other very well. Scipio had given away his skill with the mace in his interview. Dio had to say the idea of shadowing someone like him was ideal. He'd draw a good deal of attention. Dio would certainly be willing to watch his back... to a certain extent.

But all that would come later. For now, there was dinner to attend to. As with the other things, Dio was more accustomed to Capitol foods than most. Being the daughter of a previous champion had its advantages, after all. And the train was... well, a train. The one that had taken her to the Capitol from her district was the first she'd ridden on, but still, her mother had prepared her even for this. Occasionally, Dio found herself wishing she were here, as her mentor, but then she reminded herself that this was her time, her chance for glory. Her mother being here would have lessened Dio's achievements.

Her hair had been perfected to a gleaming, shining black, smooth and silky. She didn't worry too much about dressing up; it wasn't as though her outfits were going to intimidate anyone, and her score had done more than enough to speak for her strength. She wasn't here to impress her fellow tributes, she was here to kill them. So she settled on a simple dark blue cotton shirt, a comfortable pair of jeans and... sandals. She wasn't really in the mood to wear shoes today.

Dio didn't really hear the ruckus of her fellow Four yelling outside, or else she probably would have waited longer. But she was a little absorbed in her thoughts as she left her room, and it was only once she'd stepped outside that she noticed him. He gave her a casual 'hey' as she fumbled for the briefest of moments thinking what to do. But nothing needed to be done. He was just another of the tributes. It was stupid that she even had to remind herself of that.

Her face settled into a stony look, not a piercing glare or anything, like the one she'd given him after the interview, when the last question had been about him, and she'd nearly ruined her entire performance. It was indifference, more like. Dio felt that it was important to not show any emotion around him. Or rather, to prevent him from bringing out her emotions, as he was the only one who seemed capable of doing so.

"Niles," was all she gave in greeting, but it was in fact more than he'd given her. Perhaps he was catching on to the fact that she wasn't interested in pretending they were still the childhood friends they had once been, or the teenage lovers they had almost been. That was a different time, and a different girl.

She deftly slid by him, not making any kind of contact with him, before carrying on towards the dining room, a definite sense of purpose in her step. Sooner or later the subject of her interview would come up, she knew. She had practically (and stupidly) offered him a place in the alliance she was planning to create. And Niles would be a fool to pass that up, for any reason. She was an incredibly strong competitor and a useful ally and, well... if he was planning to get close enough to her to try and develop something these last nine months, that would be the way to do it. But she wouldn't let him in.

She couldn't.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Yossarian Caulfield Character Portrait: Scipio Hardin Character Portrait: Niles Bayou
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Yossarian Caulfield, Niles Bayou, and Scipio Hardin
(Collaboration between AugustArria, Attie, and throne)


The fuck was that shouting?

Yossarian turned his head to see. It was some ways further down the train, towards the dining hall. Figuring he'd stared out the back of the train long enough, and that he wouldn't mind some of that delicious Capitol food anyway, he headed in that direction, squinting to better see the source of the commotion. It was some dude... yelling something about a shirt... killer toothbrushes... and it was Niles! And he needed a shirt. This was brilliant. Such an opportunity. And here Yossarian was starting to think this train ride's only attraction would be the speeding lights and sounds and images of the world going by at ludicrous speed.

He vaguely remembered mentioning something about Niles Bayou in his interview, something along the lines of "could that man's chest look any better?" And as he approached the District Four tribute, he concluded that... no, it could not. Swaggering up to him and leaning on the opposite wall, Yossarian hooked his thumbs into his jean pockets, and stared rather blatantly at the boy's chest, even as he spoke.

"You know, you'll probably do better with the sponsors, and the girls, and the guys, and hell, even the Peacekeepers, or shit, even the Gamemakers, or fuck, even President Argent... if you just go without a shirt. But, uh... I might be willing to part with one of mine, if you'd be willing to do a favor for me."

To be honest, the boy from District Four was still a bit lost in his own world after the brief encounter with Diomache; however, she'd passed him a long while ago and left him shouting a bit more. It was well enough time to get over it, at least for now. It was a voice he'd not expected that woke him back up to reality -- despite the fact that he'd watched Yossarian on his way up the corridor. Niles tilted his head a bit at him, arched a brow as he clearly seemed to be talking to his chest, rather than Niles himself. Okay. That's.. normal, I guess. Just not from a dude. Whatever.

"I would hate to start off with my best show for the ladies and leave them with nothing else to the imagination. I mean, all the muscles you can clearly see - they're going to catch on sooner or later that the muscle continues down south... I'd better save them from losing an appetite for food. At least for the first night or so." He winked at the guy -- What the hell was his name again? -- and with the playful banter, he almost felt... normal. It was almost as if he were back home and his friends would giving him shit about his flawless appearance, and all the girls - no, they were women now. All the women he'd seduced and all their scorned stories.. It was true that Niles' never gone the full mile with any of them, but... The stories just sounded better when it came out that he had. "So, what's your flavor-- favor?"

Yossarian wondered if any cameras were on him at the moment. Well, of course there were, there were cameras on everyone, weren't there? Little flying bug-cameras or something. Even though he was doing this entirely for his own pleasure, perhaps the sponsors would get a kick out of it. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth as Niles talked about muscles and appetites and flavors... it was almost too much. Almost. If Niles went along with this... well, sponsors or no, this would be a fun way to kick off the nine months.

"Wrestle me for it. My shirt, I mean." He unzipped his hoodie and let it fall to the ground. His shirt underneath was clean, white, and probably big enough for Niles. Maybe a little small, but there was certainly no harm in that. Niles was a bit more built in the upper body than Yossarian was. "It'll be fun. Maybe it'll make that pretty girl of yours jealous. Maybe the sponsors'll love it. Maybe why the fuck not?"

Niles nodded with a sly grin on his face, listening to the suggestion with a playful spirit. Just like home.. He gave the guy a look from top to bottom, sizing up the fight before it would began. He looked sturdy enough, or maybe just confident, or maybe just crazy. It was coming back to him, now. His first impression of this guy was, Holy shit, he's nucking futs. Yossarian Something. Part of this didn't seem like a good idea, but at the same time, he needed a shirt. Do I need it that badly, though? What the hell.

"Right on, man. Alright, and what if you win?" He wanted to trust the other tributes. He really wanted to just befriend them and make nothing of it, but there was a nagging since ringing in his ears, What if he's got a weapon? What if it's a trick? What if you die before the games even start? - Or what if he blackmails you with this? Shaking it out as he slipped off his own wrinkly button up, Niles let it slide to the floor with as much care as he'd applied to it that got him in to this mess in the first place. Rolling his shoulders to loosen up, he remained standing upright for the conversation rather than hunching down defensively. The game wasn't on yet, after all.

"If I win? Uh... well, this is kinda it's own reward for me, you know?' He pushed away from the wall slightly, standing straight. Just the agreement Niles had made to go along was reward enough for Yossarian... the knowledge that in a few small seconds he have his hands all over the chest that he had spoken so fondly of. "Right then," he said, stretching a little. "We'll have to make this quick. Peacekeepers will be along to break it up in a bit."

Without any further ado, and without any warning whatsoever, the boy from District Eight launched himelf into Niles, putting all of his weight into a tackle, burying his shoulder in Niles' gut, and wrapping his arms firmly around his midsection. The pair of them rammed backwards into Niles' half-closed door, causing it to blow open and slam against the wall with a loud crack. They tumbled to the ground in his room, grappling for position. Yossarian pressed his advantage, sliding his legs deftly around Niles' waist and locking his feet together behind him. This was not Yossarian's first time wrestling, and it wouldn't be his last. He reached one arm up in an attempt to get Niles in a headlock, the other arm... well, it was wandering a bit. First to the pectoral muscle. Over and around his back, down... until the boy's resistance reminded him he was wrestling, not... something else.

His weight was thrown off balance when Niles pushed back, hard. He was stronger than Yossarian, and had no doubt been in quite a few friendly scuffles himself. Yossarian toppled over to the side, still maintaining the headlock, but his other hand was now focused on defending and preventing Niles from escaping his grasp. He was vaguely aware of a hand on his head, but paid it no mind, instead using Niles' momentum against him and continuing their roll, to the point where they crashed into a stand of bathroom supplies, sending killer toothbrushes and their bottles of paste crashing down. It occurred to Yossarian that he was actually laughing, even as Niles broke from the headlock and gained the upper hand.




Wandering had proven an extremely unproductive use of Scipio's time. The Career Tribute hadn't found much of anything towards the back of the train, but a sort of perverse desire to know thy enemy had led him to explore a bit more than he otherwise might have. He'd been in a room that seemed entirely devoted toward soaking feet in mineral baths when he'd heard footsteps padding by in the corridor, back toward the front. Shaking his head in bemused disgust, he put thoughts of drowning a certain President in three inches of foot water aside and gave chase. Quiet chase, when he stepped into the hall and noticed who it exactly it was. Caulfield, Yossarian, Male Tribute from District Eight, Strengths Unknown flashed through his mind, along with a far less clinical assessment: the mad one.

The faint hum of the train in motion and the soft carpeting of the hallway made stealth a little easier than it would have otherwise been. He kept a good distance back, only losing sight of his prey when the other boy passed between train cars, and then, only for a count of seven. He heard the same dim shouting- dim in the sense that it was quieter, carrying further down the hall, and in the sense that the shouter was proving that he was not entirely bright. Technologically advanced as it may have been, it was still only a toothbrush. Perhaps this year, the male tribute from Four would be left out of the alliance. Bayou, Niles. Apparently an attractive moron. He paused just before the doorway that led into the car the pair now occupied, and watched. One blond eyebrow hiked up as they agreed to... wrestle for a shirt? He had a dozen shirts in his room, and unless the stylists for Four were inept as one of their tributes seemingly was, Niles no doubt had replacements as well. Maybe he can't read, he mused as the show began.

Scipio glanced to his right, as if someone might conveniently appear for him to wager with. Wager what? If you win, I won't kill you until at least the third day. If you win, I'll save you for last. If you win, I'll sing a little song while you gasp your last breaths. They had no currency save for time, and when the arena came, it would be precious indeed. His brow creased faintly at the first impact after the toussle, and then they were inside the room, out of sight. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he strolled along down to stand outside the doorway and watch, making note of Yossarian's... technique. His eyes flicked back down the corridor, watching for the inevitable white-garbed interlopers.




There was a lot of fun to be had in this. Of course, Niles was oblivious to the feels of Yossarian, and oblivious that another boy joined them in same area, just as he had been oblivious that while Yossarian had been feeling on him, he'd managed to really lock his head. It was beyond impressive - even if it was a bit disgusting in Niles' perspective of how he'd accomplished it. However, now his head was back in the game - and a little lighter after a lack of circulation. Whatever he'd attempted to do with a handfull of Yossarian's hair, it was lost to him as they began rolling like a boulder that was too big for the doorway, catching their elbows, knees, and toes. The sense of pain was all lost to the adrenaline rush, though, and when they smacked in to the stand and it's contents flew like missiles from a until then neutral country, Niles overheard laughter escape from Yossarian. It took breath to do so, and with that crack in the wall, Niles rolled the opposite direction from which they came, his head free, and Yossarian's weight lifted from him and against the neighboring wall just a foot away. The space between them didn't last. Niles let out one of his own laughs - something he'd have shared with a buddy or two back home when skirmishes broke out on the docks and led to drenched shirts in the river - before hurdling himself in the same manner Yossarian had initiated the whole ordeal, attempting to carry the force of his weight through his shoulder's impact to Yossarian's stomach.

Yossarian yelped in a pleased sort of surprise when Niles charged at him with full force, not daunted in the slightest by how their confrontation had began. They flew backwards together again, this time Yossarian on the receiving end. His back rammed into the side of a dresser, tipping it over, cracking a window slightly. Yossarian shifted his weight, tipping the pair of them over onto the next nearest object... the bed. They thrashed around for a few seconds, the sheets getting tossed about and tangled as they struggled. Eventually Yossarian found himself on top. It perhaps made sense that his wrestling skill was multiplied seemingly threefold when he was in a bed. It was a comfortable environment after all. In any case, Yossarian had straddled Niles once more.

And there they were; heavy, rapid footfalls indicated that the bout would soon be over. Perhaps it was his internal resentment toward the Peacekeepers as a whole, or simply some natural flair for showmanship, but either way, Scipio wasn't letting them be the ones to spoil the boyish fun. Three long strides had him clearing the doorway, and he came up on Yossarian from behind, hooking his arms underneath the other tribute's armpits and then hauling him bodily off of Niles and the bed. "Now now, boys. You should save this sort of thing for the arena." The smirk he was wearing could be heard, if not seen, as he sought to restrain the feisty tribute from Eight.

Yossarian had just been about to go for another headlock when he was taken from behind by a pair of powerful arms, hooking under his armpits and yanking him forcefully away from Niles. He resisted for a moment, before recognizing that whoever it was had a serious strength advantage, and that there was no escape from this one. Damn fucking Peacekeepers, he thought as his feet were set on the ground. He turned to glare at the white clad man, only to find that--

"The fuck?!" he shouted, upon seeing the boy from District Two, Scipio, to be the one that had broken up the fight, and his fun. "You some kind of fucking Peacekeeper now, Two?" Scipio released him; well, it was more a half-shove. "I'm as much a Peacekeeper as you are a wrestler, apparently," he replied dryly, and not without amusement. At this point, the two actual Peacekeepers entered the room, looking annoyed. "Ah, fuck it," Yossarian said, before he swiftly removed his shirt and tossed it to Niles, still on the bed. "Thanks for the ride, you can have it. There's no problem here. Just trying to enjoy ourselves is all. Guess that's too much for a Capitol fuck like you to let go," he said, directing the last bit at Scipio. He then made his way from the room and slipped back into his hoodie, zipping it up about halfway. One of the Peacekeepers trailed him as he headed off towards the dining car without another word.

Scipio didn't bother pointing out that his intervention had probably saved Yossarian from being roughly dragged to the dining car. Then again, maybe a messed-up individual like him would have enjoyed that sort of thing. While Niles dressed, he let his gaze travel lazily to the remaining Peacekeeper. "Duty discharged. You really don't have anything better to do at the moment?" How's that, Panem? Scipio Hardin, breaking up fights and talking down to Peacekeepers. He glanced to Niles. "We might as well head down now, mm?"

Finishing the last button, Niles smoothed his hands over the tighter shirt, numbing over the parts of him he was sure would be sore in the morrow. Running a quick hand through his hair, he offered a laughing smile at Scipio, having ignored the outburst from Yossarian. If it wasn't directed to him, he didn't have to worry about the crazy coming after him. "Yeah. Sounds about right." There was really no reason to point out what was really going on. Yossarian had already done that, and everyone who didn't catch on was more of an air-head than Niles at this point. He let out a sigh, keeping his smile hanging from his lips as he offered a hand-waving gesture to the door to see them out and shut it behind them. Sure, the Peacekeeper could have done it, but damn it, if Niles had already given up his life, his family, and his realy home.. He was going to kindly see him the fuck out of his last bit of space. Until they got to the Capitol House, that is. They couldn't get there fast enough, in his opinion.

Scipio moved to saunter along at his side, shaking his head. What would the actual dinner have in store?