[justify].:| Vanessa Taylor Fanlas |:.


"Rather than helping people with horse problems,
I'm helping horses with people problems."
- Buck Brannaman


.:|Basic Information

I have just begun,
A long journey that will run,
The length and width of summertime.
And the cool fall air can blow me home.

Vanessa? She doesn't really have a single place that she can call home- she and her father are constantly traveling. Riding their horses from here to there, they cannot be stilled. It is almost as if they were born to move nonstop, and will lose their mind if they must ever settle down. Some say that they are almost as bad as wanderers, the way they come and go with no rhyme or reason. But they never leave the confines of District Ten, because horses are rare beyond those borders, and the horses are their lives. Vanessa can't really imagine being without horses- she's lived with them for all eighteen years of her life. It seems that everything she does revolves around the majestic animals, from the moment she wakes up to when she finally settles into her sleeping bag at night. Vanessa doesn't mind not having a regular shower or a real bed. Not if it means she gets to be with the horses. She and her dad know that they could leave the district anytime they wanted. Her dad has the connections, and they have enough money to live comfortably without having to get jobs. But they never even considered leaving the district. The gleaming gold and comfortable lives of the lower districts never really appealed to the Fanlas father or daughter. They like life as they have it- simple. She has no siblings; it's just her, her dad, and the horses. She enjoys things that way, though. Having everything handed to her on a silver platter does not appeal to the teenager, for she enjoys having to fight and struggle in order to get what she wants. It is that suffering that shaped her into the very being she is today. No, Vanessa wouldn't trade her lifestyle away for the world.


.:|Appearance

You'll be miles and miles away.
I want to go but I want to stay.
The music's begging me to go,
And your love can guide me home.

It takes only glance to recgonize the Fanlas daughter. Her career is well defined in the way she leans against the old fences of the district's multiple corrals, relaxing in the shade of the trees with her head tilted forward so that the rim of her hat hides her face. It is the position she can most often be found in, one leg bent to rest against the rotting wood while her other stretches out to steady herself with the consistancy of the earth beneath her, arms folded across her chest as if she is preparing the coming of something she dislikes that she wishes to scare away with a hard, cold posture. Often one must say her name before she looks up, but she always taps her left fingers on her right arm in anticipation before, demonstrating that she is aware of their presence. The teenager does everything she can to keep others away during those moments of relaxation- she finds intimidation is the best weapon. At first sight, it is obvious that Vanessa likes to be left alone.

And it works, for should she raise her head from its bowed position and allow the sun to reach around her hat and onto the lower half of her face, one would immediately leave unless they have any specific purpose for approaching. Though shadows would still slink around above her cheekbones, her eyes would burn something fierce through the cool darkness, hazel disks that are almost cat-like in their reflectiveness when exposed to even a hint of light. Framed by a thin layer of lashes and resting under eyebrows that always seem to be drawn together in a frown, they are without a doubt the most noticeable feature on her face. A gaze that can scorch and freeze at the same time, with an intensity far beyond that which a child's eyes should be burdened with, often scares people away. Even in the middle of the corral, with her customers surrounding her and her own horse under her, they still blaze with emotions that her face is too hard to reveal. And yet, if one stuck around long enough to show they cared, they would see that those eyes that can burn more efficiently than the sun can also glow with the delicate light of a firefly on a misty evening. When her fingers strum over the strings of her old guitar, her gaze becomes positively gentle, and the unapproachble cowgirl transforms into the mystified teenager that she truly is. Her eyes melt into those of a child- still innocent, made fresh and new by her youth and by her joy. But give her a moment to remember and she will shift back into stone, uncaring and cold with those eyes that are always watching.

Her face is undoubtably pretty, with a slender nose and skin that is kept smooth and unburnt by the shadow her hat casts upon it during even the most blazing months of summer. There is little evidence of the acne she suffered through in her early teenage years- her skin is silky and soft to the touch. Her cheekbones are high up on her face and rounds underneath those wide eyes, drawing attention to the slightly darker rings around her lower lids that sleep deprivation has painted there. Her jawbone curves elegantly into a well rounded chin that is most often tilted upward in pride, save when she must draw it into her chest in the depths of summertime in order to avoid the sun's intense rays. Her lips are a pretty shade of light pink, plump but rarely pulled back into a smile. If she was to give away a rare grin, one would immediately notice her teeth, so white they are almost unnatural and perfectly straight, though her front two are ever so slightly too large. She next to never smiles, though. Singing causes her to come dangerously close, though. Normally, her lips are pressed together in annoyance or disapproval, but occasionally one will have the opportunity to see those lips part wide to release a voice that sounds like the summer breeze drifting along the hillside. When Vanessa sings, her features relax from their normally hard, judgmental mask that she wears carefully to guard something softer and kinder on the inside. She's really pretty, then, smiling and gazing around at an audience to make a performance truly personal. Perhaps, to most, this is just the normal transformation of a cautious teenager. However, to a select few, curiosity at what could have possible spurred the need to close herself off so completely lingers in the air along with her melodic words and the notes of her guitar.

A mane only tamable by the confines of a braid rests atop the cowgirl's head, wavy strands matching the rich hues of fine chocolate. Anticipating rough horses in the corral, the Fanlas daughter often weaves her hair down her back for demonstrations, trapping her locks in the simple hairdo. She looks younger, then, with her face unguarded and open for everyone to see. All other times, however, she avoids pulling her hair back, complaining that the tight rubber bands cause her scalp more pain than she knew it could feel. When riding her own horse, it whips around behind her like a flag, wild and free. At all other times it curves out from under her hat to frame her face with wavy locks, sometimes greasy from the days she must go without showers and rarely properly brushed, never lacking dust among the dark strands. She tucks it behind her ears only when she must lean her head down to play guitar; at all other times, it is messy and free. Vanessa couldn't care less about her hair, and even if she did think it was of some matter to her, she doesn't have a mirror she could use to take proper care of it. What does she care about her brown mane? She doesn't have to look at it.

Vanessa's long arms have prominent elbows that make them look almost too thin. Her hands are calloused from all of their use, but her fingers remain long and slender, graceful and swift in everything they do. Though the rest of her remains hard and careless, her hands remain delicate and gentle in everything they do, from brushing her horses' manes to carefully holding her guitar pick as she plays. Even when handling especially moody horses, her fingers remain only slightly curled in a way that shows complete relaxation, quick and calm and always easy going. Her hands have indefinitely met their matches in her profession, though, for scars adorn the backs of them and snake around her fingers, thin strips of white against the golden skin. Her nails are ten perfect ovals, though always trimmed short, and never painted the bright colors that some girls enjoy sporting. Her knuckles are rather large from the terrible habit of cracking them, and one will find the occasional bruise along the joints from when she became a bit to expressive in either an argument or a story. She's always used her hands to help convey her emotions rather than words, which she never trusts outside of lyrics and adventurous tales. She can weave a world into her words if she only uses her hands, bringing to life a legend with widely spread arms and fingers curled into claws to emphasize the cruelty of a beast or the beauty of a fair maiden needing rescue. Perhaps it is the perfect harmony of her beautiful voice coupled with expressive gestures that make her such a brilliant storyteller. But at all other times, her hands are usually not so open- they are either grasped into fists at her sides or rests on her arms as she watches the world stare at her in something that can only be awe (or else fear).

Though Vanessa is definitely slender, she lacks the feminine figure that most gain from starvation in her district. Sure, she has curves, but they are very slight. This has never bothered her much, for it goes well with her personality. Any curves would be hidden by the clothes she wears, anyway, and she likes it that way- it makes her seem less girlish, and if there is one thing Vanessa wants, it is to be as different from those chattering, squealing creatures known as the females of District Ten. She has never found those glittering dresses and jangling jewelry to be very enjoyable, and instead finds pleasure in riding and playing her guitar. She often says, to those who aren't too afraid to listen, that she surely would have gone through torture in any other district, where she would have had schoolgirls instead of the horses to keep her company. Some think that Vanessa only does this as part of the act, though, for if she truly wanted to be like a boy she would cut that mess atop her head short.

On the rare occasion that Vanessa goes swimming, one would see that her long, thin back has crisscrossing scars across it, the skin distorted and tightened across her spine in a way that it is impossible to repair. Though this doesn't affect her posture (she remains as straight as a board atop her horse), it still appears a bit painful. Often when she leans back too far or twists around, tiny wrinkles that indicate a slight cringe appear around the edges of her eyes, and she presses her lips together tightly in a telltale sign that she's in pain. Something permanent was done there- something agonizingly cruel and heartless. She'll never talk about the scars, and frankly, people are a bit too scared to ask. Surely they didn't come from her father, who absolutely adores Vanessa, and who has always been a very gentle and quiet man. So then... who did give them to her?

Long, thin legs make up for much of her five feet and seven inches of height. Her knees and shins sport even more bruises and scars than her arms, evidence of her activeness both in the corral and out. Her knees are prominent, like her elbows, and have several pale violet strips and blotches from her strange instinct to always fall on her knees. Her feet are rather petite in comparison to the rest of her, with short toes but nails that are on the longer side. Blisters on the bottom of her feet are evidence that she often wears shoes that are a bit too small for her, but she doesn't mind. Though she is often clumsy, one can see her legs move gracefully whenever her father offers her a dance when someone strums up a nice, old fashioned country tune. She won't dance with anyone other than her father, and then she laughs and jumps and even sings a little as he spins her around. It is an incredible transformation in her, the way the firelight flickers in her shining eyes as her limbs fly out gracefully in all directions in perfect harmony with the tune, quick and easy.

A true cowgirl, Vanessa's clothing gives away her profession in a split second. She takes pride in her white ten gallon, with a rough, fraying rope-like string that ties loosely beneath her chin. She can most often be found in a checkered blouse roughly cut short or tied back to reveal a worn white shirt underneath. She can next to never be found in anything other than blue jeans- during the summer, she slashes them a little higher than halfway up the thigh and folds them over to make her shorts, buying new ones every winter, though she always saves a pair or two for riding. Her favorite boots are white leather to match her hat, though stained in some areas, and climb up her shins so that they almost reach her knees. She's always covered from head to do in a thin layer of dust, making her clothing less bright and her skin less smooth, but she likes it that way. She says that a thin layer of dirt is healthy for the soul, and no one dares to disagree.

Vanessa looks in the mirror and doesn't see a pretty girl. She doesn't see anyone ugly, either. She just sees... a girl. A girl that she's become so accustomed to seeing in that reflective glass that she can't even judge anymore. Isn't it strange, how once we know a person, their appearance doesn't seem to matter one bit anymore? When people ask Vanessa what she thinks of herself, she just shrugs. "Does it really matter? I'm me- my appearance has nothing to do with that. Anyone who thinks otherwise is just stupid." Maybe she's right, but most District Ten citizens find they cannot agree with her- they are constantly trying to way less, to dress nicer, to outdo their neighbors... is it possible that this one child, so plain and simple, could escape that horrible game of beauty and glitter? Perhaps.

Or perhaps not.

Her father says that she's pretty. Her father says that she's beautiful. But Vanessa never believes him because he's her father and he's supposed to say those things. In fact, she gets uncomfortable when he brings it up- most of the time, she just nods and offers a quiet thank you, not wanting to disagree with her father because she's never argued with him before and she isn't about to start. Maybe, to some extent, the cowgirl sees her beauty. But she looks at herself through a lens distorted by her own determination to be humble and never as self absorbed as those silly schoolgirls. Still, call her ugly and there will be consequences. Who are they to say such a nasty word to her face? But then, why does her father call her beautiful? Which is she?

She supposes she's living proof that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.



.:|Personality

Starry nights and summer sun,
I think you just might be the one.
But this mountain path keeps winding on,
And I wonder if your love can guide me home.

At first meeting, it is immediately evident that Vanessa is almost completely an open book. She doesn't keep secrets (except for the scars, of course), and isn't afraid to let her personality shine. She answers questions thoroughly and easily, never one to hesitate or lie when something is asked of her. Vanessa can always be counted on when it comes to comes to straight forward answers- she doesn't beat around the bush and is always perfectly honest, though this isn't always a good thing. She's blunt, especially when it comes to talking to people about their horses. She will not hesitate to tell people that their moody horses are a reasult of horrible and irresponsible treatment on the human's part. She always can tell a lot about a person by their horses, and she isn't afraid to tell them exactly what she knows about them, which is sometimes a painful thing for the person. But Vanessa always says that she's a horse whisperer, not a therapist. If people want someone to pity them, they had better go somewhere else- Vanessa doesn't feel sympathy, especially for people who raise their horses badly.

Perhaps, when someone first meets the teenager, they see her as cold. Annoyed. Maybe even a little harsh. The thing is, Vanessa has little patience for anyone except the horses. If someone wants to tell her something, they better do it quick and simple. She doesn't like it when people take too long to get the message across- she believes that one should give people straight forward information or else only end up confusing them. If something is worth her time, than it will be delivered swiftly and boldly. Everything else can wait. She often interrupts a person in the middle of rambling by claiming that she's getting bored and walking away, leaving the person's sentence hanging on their lips as they watch her retreating form. But then there are the people who Vanessa tolerates and who tolerate her, and she always has time for them. The Fanlas daughter won't just give her friendship away. People have to earn her patience, just like they have to earn everything else they want from her.

Seeming unapproachable at times, Vanessa radiates maturity and authority, even though she is only eighteen years of age. It successfully keeps people away from her unless there is an emergency or if they are patient enough and brave enough to try and befriend her. This efficiently weeds out any disloyal or cowardly friends- a very successful system, in Vanessa's opinion. If someone is simply going to judge her by her first appearance, then they are not worth her time. The Fanlas daughter is cautious when it comes to friendships; the list of people she truly trusts with the delicate thing known as her heart is very short, and a great deal of the names are those of her horses. Even then, some of them don't make the cut. Perhaps it is less a lack of trust of other people and more of a lack of trust toward herself- Vanessa doesn't believe she can deal with the pain, and so she attempts to weed it out of her life as best as she can. But then there are the people with the warm, wide open hearts and the gentle smiles that she cannot help but love. Her father, as one example. And those people make Vanessa vulnerable in a way that she hates.

In demonstrations and clinics, the horse whisperer is very firm and very confident, delivering the message loudly and easily. She was a born teacher, making her lessons so thorough that it's hard to get confused. Never does she shy away from a question from one of her students- she is always very straight forward in her teaching, believing that holding back any knowledge is only hurting the horses and their riders. She is an expert at relating the emotions of the horse to the emotions of humans. When people leave, they don't have questions. They feel like they understand the horse better and perhaps understand themselves better, because Vanessa managed to put that connection into words. When people leave Vanessa's clinics, they don't come back because they don't understand. They come back because they want to feel that bond with their horses again.

Vanessa understands the horses in a way that people didn't really know possible until she showed them. She talks a lot about trust, and a lot about raising horses. Often, she can tame the wildest of the wild without having to cause it any physical pain. When the Fanlas daughter trains the horses, a whole new side of her is revealed. An understanding, patient, gentle side that one wouldn't guess she had within her when they first see her. She's humane and she's thoughtful, and she just gets the horses and their pain. Something ancient comes alive in her eyes when she sees a scared horse- something tortured and something real. She often tells people that breaking the horses isn't the answer. You should a raise a horse like you raise a child; not through force or pain, but through compassion, trust, and a bit of firmness here and there when you need it. But never, ever hurting, because if you hurt that horse it's going to think it's okay to hurt you right back. She says that it's not acceptable to raise a horse that way, and if you do you'll find that your horse will disobey you every chance it gets. It's just trying to protect itself, and Vanessa somehow knows what that feels like. "I feel their pain," she says simply. "I feel their pain because I'm just like them." But then, of course, she never explains.

When she rides, Vanessa comes alive. She just becomes one with the horse, and they move together in some kind of arcane dance that man once knew but has long since forgotten. Some people think that she knows some sort of secret- a way that she can control them in ways that other people can't. But upon hearing this, Vanessa simply shakes her head and responds that she doesn't control the horses. She just moves with them. The deep connection that she has with these animals and her complex understanding of their emotions and their instincts is beautiful and cloaked in a kind of elegant mystery that few can understand. Most just accept that she knows and she loves, and that is enough for the horses.

And maybe, through this deep understanding of the creatures, Vanessa gained some wisdom herself. In a fight, she is always neutral, and has the argument settled in minutes. She's fair and she seems to be able to come up with solutions on the spot that equalizes the benefits and downfalls for each party. She never breaks down and shows emotions, even in this kind of high emotional strain. Some people don't like that- they think that her cool, hard attitude is unnatural. Unreal. They don't want to believe it, and perhaps they are right in doing so.

Some people say that Vanessa is fearless. She'll enter the corral with a horse that has seriously injured people before without breaking her stride or even hesitating a single step while she approaches the creature. Perhaps it is blind confidence or some sort of deep trust that she shares with the animals but no one else- either way, all people know is that she has the wild horse saddled and ready to be ridden in just a few minutes. But to face something that terrified and ready to protect itself... she knows what she's getting into. She knows that some of the horses she works with could very well kill her. And yet she doesn't shy away from them. She doesn't approach them with caution. She certainly doesn't run, and she's got the scars to prove that. Vanessa's fearlessness changes the animals in a way that a shy person couldn't even hope to achieve. There was one time when a horse got her on the head, but she refused to get medical attention until she had patiently guided back into its stable. Vanessa is bold and perhaps stupid, but it is this that makes her the best horse whisperer around.

But there is one thing that Vanessa is terrified of, and that is clear to see. It isn't spiders or the dark or thunderstorms that terrify the poor girl, but rather, bees. Hornets in particular. Her fear of the stinging bugs goes back deep into her childhood, when a wasp stung her behind her ear and promptly got stuck there, buzzing and squirming and unable to get out. It had to be forcefully yanked out from behind her ear, and the little girl didn't stop crying for an entire hour. To this day, she'll scream at the sight of one, that childhood memory still crystal clear in her mind. Stupid bugs.

The Fanlas daughter loves her father. No one could possibly deny that the normally cold, uncaring cowgirl has a soft spot for her old man, demonstrated in the way she leans against him for comfort without hesitation, seeking his guidance and sturdiness more than anyone else's. She'd do anything for her father- pay any price, dance any dance, live through her horrible childhood a million times... anything for him. She loves him more than anyone else. She loves him more than the horses, and that's saying something. He has always protected her and been there for her, and that was something she didn't have when she was a little girl. He's been more than she ever could have hoped for- loving, understanding, caring. She doesn't want that love to ever end- she wants it to be infinite, and go on and on and on because she's never felt that kind of bond before. He was her savior and she will forever be in his debt because of that.

Sometimes, when Vanessa stands to dance with her father to the tune of an old country song, it seems like the idea of a cowgirl was formed around her. Hair swirling around her ten gallon hat, moving more gracefully than one would have thought possible in her white leather boots, people realize that she is the true horsewoman, right from the ancient legends. A girl born to live a country life, born to live with horses, born to be a cowgirl. One can't imagine Vanessa anywhere else doing anything else- her being born in District Ten couldn't have been a mistake. No, it must have been a beautiful act of fate that put her among the horses, for as she sways her hips and steps back and forth and laughs as she spins under her father's arm, it is clear that Vanessa has no doubts about who she is. Nothing less than a regular cowgirl.

Having lived the life she does for so long, Vanessa has grown used to always moving. She can't stand staying in one place for too long- after four days, she gets sick of where they are staying and is ready to move on. They do have a home to stay in during the winter months, but Vanessa hates it there. She likes her surroundings to be ever changing, finding new excitement in new locations all over District Ten. She was born to live on the dust road, easily passing by the hours it can sometimes take to ride from one area of the district to another. Sure, she has to sleep in unfamiliar hotels, old abandoned houses, and tents. But she is a child of nature and none of these things have ever bothered her before. It is, in her opinion, a minuscule price to pay in order to live the wonderful life that she does.

At night, when a campfire is set up not too far from the corral, if one were to beg long enough they would be rewarded by Vanessa smiling and pulling out her old guitar, a gift from her father several years ago. She softens, then, fingers gentle as the strum across the strings, the firelight reflected in her hazel eyes as she begins to play. The Fanlas daughter has a voice like an angel, hitting every note perfectly. She mostly sings songs that she's heard from her father, but a select few are her own originals. Vanessa gets lost in her music, becoming sweet and soft and perhaps even vulnerable. Her walls drop and Vanessa becomes more open, pouring her heart out into the music. Vanessa was born to sing just as she was born to ride, her voice drifting through the valleys and up the hills and between the trees, filling every possible space is can until she has sung the final verse and the world fades into darkness, lulled to sleep by her tunes. Music has a special place within Vanessa, a place very few people are allowed to see.

Somehow, little kids manage to snuggle their way into her heart, too. Her eyes always soften when she's around them, melting in the same way that she melts for the horses. She'll often tell them wondrous tales of knights in shining armor and fair maidens in need of rescue, her voice just as clear and sweet as when she sings. Vanessa can pull an adventure out of thin air, with suspenseful twists and turns and beautiful romance. The children become enchanted by her tales, and often bring her flowers or drawings, though she almost always refuses these gifts. For the kids, Vanessa seems like she wishes to do nothing except give. Some say that she will make a wonderful mother someday, but then they remember who their talking about. And they laugh for saying something so foolish.

No boy in his right mind would attempt to ask Vanessa out. As hard as nails and practically one of them, the Fanlas daughter is well known for being an impossible prize. Though pretty and strong willed, Vanessa has never been good with boys. Sure, she's had a few crushes, but hasn't everybody? She never acts on them. She's too afraid of the heartbreak to do anything than try to become friends. She's torturing herself with this and she knows it, but Vanessa doesn't like the way her legs feel weak when she's around someone she likes. Most of her friends are guys- they go riding together and play different sports they make up and have fun. But there are only a select few who have ever managed to get past friendship, and then Vanessa quickly shied away, terrified of the idea of her life being changed by silly, insignificant boys. Everyone knows that she'll never marry- no, Vanessa will grow old and die alone, though no one dares tell her that to her face.

Home schooled by her father, Vanessa is undoubtedly smart. She excels the most in reading and writing, and her least favorite subject is history, because her father can rarely do more in that lesson than ramble on about how much everyone is in debt to the Capitol. Vanessa knows her father hates the Capitol just as much as she does, but he plows through the lessons in order to keep her out of public schools so they can travel together. She pretends to listen, but more often than not she'll start daydreaming, bored to tears by the lecture. In writing and reading, however, Vanessa can create her own worlds, bringing to life something out of nothing, sculpting an entire universe out of her own imagination and the words on her tongue. When she reads, the Fanlas daughter can transport out of her life and become a whole different person, going on wild, amazing adventures. She's half decent in math and not too bad at science. Really, the lessons are pointless- everyone knows that Vanessa won't ever quit her job, and even if she does, she has enough money to last her a lifetime. But she enjoys the time with her father, and so she tolerates the more boring lessons that seem to go on forever.

The teenager loves to spend time outside, be it dangling high up in an apple tree or lying in the dewy grass mapping her dreams out into the stars. She's always been mystified by the natural world. How do dandelions make wishes come true? Can a person catch a shooting star? Where did fire learn how to dance? What do the rivers ramble about? She spends a great amount of her free time searching for these answers, guiding her horses into beautiful meadows and away from civilization so she can go exploring. She loves to hop across streams using slippery stones and pick a dozen of the bright blue flowers that are the first to grow in the spring. Some nights she goes out into the woods, guided only by the dim light of her flashlight and the moonlight's shadows as she searches for the source of the mystical beauty within the nighttime.

A temper? Perhaps Vanessa has one, though it's not the one that everyone seems to expect. It isn't sparked by mistakes or rumors or anything of that sort. No, Vanessa's anger snaps whenever she hears that familiar crack, that horrifying sound of pain... when she sees the whip snap out, she'll do whatever it takes to stop it from hitting the glossy coat of a horse. And if she's too late, she'll scream. She'll scream at whoever dared to use such a cruel weapon until she can't scream anymore. But she never, ever threatens a person with physical pain. Vanessa gets strange when it comes to that kind of thing- she leaves the table when the Games come into conversation, and often avoids medical centers she knows of so she doesn't see all the people in pain there.

Maybe Vanessa isn't as open as she seems. Sure, she'll be completely honest and blunt about the present- she isn't afraid to hurt anyone's feelings. But when it comes to her past, Vanessa closes herself in and throws away the key, desperate to keep everyone out of a childhood she is never willing to share. The way her eyes darken and her eyebrows draw together... it makes one wonder just what happened to her all those years ago.



.:|History

I have just begun,
A long journey that will run,
The length and width of summertime.

Edward Jones, also known as Barbwire Jones, was a born performer. From country dancing to trick roping to riding, he was perhaps the greatest cowboy in Panem. But greatness, in Barbwire's opinion, could only be achieved through hard work and intimidation, both of which he was very good at. An extreme perfectionist, he did whatever it took to become the best of the best, earning his nickname. His face was on posters and fliers, because the things he could do were almost unreal. His trick roping was professional and amazing, his riding stunts daring and terrifying. And, for the softer crowd, perhaps little kids, Barbwire was an excellent country dancer. He became well known throughout the district- Barbwire Jones, the best of the best, bending reality with some of his stunts. When people went to see him, they expected excellence and were impressed even further.

But Barbwire was a hard man, merciless and cruel, which is why everyone was surprised when he fell in love with and eventually married Sophia Roberts, one of the sweetest, softest, prettiest ladies in the district. And she loved him too, as anyone could see, in the way she smiled at him and danced with him. For a while, it was almost as if she believed he had a heart. Things went well in their marriage. Sophia was a waitress in a nice little restaurant not far from Barbwire's most common performance area. They made good money and lived a comfortable life. But as the gray hairs began to appear, Barbwire knew he couldn't keep up performing his whole life. He needed someone who could follow in his footsteps, carrying on the Jones family name. And Barbwire knew exactly who.

They say that everyone has a purpose in life. In Barbwire's eyes, Vanessa's purpose was to perform. The moment after they realized Sophia was pregnant, he was planning how to raise his child, how to make them every bit of the performer he was. Barbwire could not let them be a failure. Discovering that the baby would be a girl was a minor setback, but Barbwire got over it quickly. He'd just have to make the girl as tough as nails, as strong and stiff and straightforward as he was. And while Barbwire was making these plans, Sophia came up with a name for their little baby. Vanessa. Barbwire, after a bit of convincing that it would fit on the posters just fine, approved of the name.

By then, the entire district was talking. Some were excited- another performer, this one young and able! She'd surely put on the greatest of shows, surely every bit as agile and strong as her father, if not more. Others shook their heads sadly. That poor child, That poor, poor child. She'd be raised to be one thing and one thing only, no choices on what she wanted to be. They knew that Barbwire would not hesitate to work her until she was practically dropping of exhaustion. A few had confidence that perhaps Sophia would be able to save her from the disaster that was sure to come. Sophia seemed the only one able to control Barbwire, and surely her motherly instincts would tell her that Vanessa must be raised right. Yes, Sophia would protect the little girl. They were certain of it.

The child was born before sunrise on the morning of February 11th, screaming her head off. Sophia passed out a short time afterward, but Barbwire was wide awake when he held his daughter for the first time. Something was shining in his eyes as he stroked her face, and while today it is said that the shining was that of greed, the healer that watched would know that perhaps, for one moment, Barbwire had a heart, for that emotion was pride. Maybe in that moment he forgot about the performing, about the training, about having a daughter as hard as nails. Perhaps, for a single split second, Barbwire was just happy to be a father. Happy to have a daughter. Happy to have a little girl who, in all her innocence and beauty, was perfect.

But then that split second ended.

As a baby, Barbwire could do little with Vanessa, and so he promptly ignored her, leaving "the screaming thing" in the arms of Sophia. The District Ten citizens were right about one thing- Sophia made a wonderful mother. She got up in the middle of night every night for a year to take care of her baby while Barbwire slept on, not to be bothered with Vanessa until she was old enough to ride. He didn't care that her first word was "dada" or that she couldn't have certain formulas because they hurt her stomach or that she was a curious little baby that pulled all of the pots and pans out of the cupboards that she could reach. But Sophia... Sophia loved Vanessa so much that she made up for it all. She laughed at her and she hugged her and cradled her and rocked her in the creaking old rocking chair, singing to her with a voice that was so sweet and clear that it could lull the little girl into slumber almost instantly. But the strain of being the only real parent to Vanessa was clear on Sophia's face in the wrinkles appearing on her forehead and the always increasing number of gray hairs amongst the blond.

As soon as she could walk, though, Barbwire took control of her upbringing. At three, he had her dancing, pushing her more and more each day because her chubby little arms and legs weren't ever graceful enough. As she stumbled over her own feet and fell, Barbwire got angry. His dreams were slipping right through his fingers, all because his spoiled little daughter wasn't good enough to dance. When words didn't work in shaping Vanessa into the little dancer Barbwire wanted her to be, he hit her. That helped, snapping Vanessa onto the right path almost instantaneously. Her young mind reasoned that if she remembered her steps, she wouldn't get hurt so much. And it worked, for a while. Vanessa could dance so well that people didn't even notice the big red stripes on the backs of her little legs- the were too fascinated by how much more graceful she was than all the other little toddlers. Her father had enrolled her in a dance class, and she was placed with girls older than her because she was so good. If she did well, she was rewarded with a painless day. If she performed badly, however, she could expect agony back at home.

By the age of four, Barbwire had added trick roping and riding to Vanessa's stresses. Though Vanessa was as natural riding as a bird is flying, trick roping was especially hard for her. So her father taught her the same way he taught her how to dance- through pain. Except she couldn't learn as quickly, resulting in more beatings. Eventually, she got the hang of it, and things got easier. But during those early years of her life, Vanessa learned to fear her father. She learned how to fear her father more than she feared anyone else in the whole world, including the Capitol. Her mother was her only savior- when Sophia was around, her father didn't hit her as much. There was less pain for Vanessa. When her mother would leave for her job, the little girl would sob, terrified of the idea that she would be alone with Barbwire for the entire day. She would pull on her mother's skirts and cry for her to not go, and her mother would cry, too, but in the end she always left.

Things got worse for Vanessa at the age of five. Her father had begun to brag about her to anyone who would listen, talking about all the brilliant performance tricks she could do and describing in detail how amazing she would be when she started performing. Of course, Vanessa knew none of these tricks and couldn't possibly be ready to perform the in time, and this made her father angry. He shouted at her, calling her worthless and stupid and causing her even more pain. And so Vanessa learned those tricks. She became ready, always in fear of her father's harsh hand. She became the best because if she was anything less than perfect she'd only gain another scar. And of course, she learned how to perform in front of an audience. Wide smiles. Big hand gestures. And never, ever show real emotion. People have enough pain in their own lives- they don't want to be burdened with that of others.

And it was at the age of five that Vanessa made her first friend. Jenny. A little girl who lived across the street, they would play together in Jenny's backyard and pretend to be fairy princesses. Jenny didn't understand why Vanessa would never invite her over to her house but didn't question it- something about the fear in Vanessa's eyes whenever she brought it up told Jenny that it was something not to be asked. But then her father found out, and he was enraged. Jenny was a distraction. He refused to let her spend anymore time with the girl across the street and instead refocused all of Vanessa's attention on training. He would not have his dreams stolen away by some little girl- Vanessa didn't need friends. She needed practice so she'd be ready to perform soon. He pushed her harder and harder, hitting her anytime that Vanessa asked about going over to Jenny's. Somewhere in the back of the little girl's head the idea eventually formed that friends meant pain, and so she shouldn't have any. Still, a part of her longed for companionship.

She found it in the horses. Her father couldn't deny her time riding or in the stables, so the horses became Vanessa's best friends. After her father hit her she'd run to the stables, seeking the comfort of the understanding creatures who didn't care what she'd done but only cared that she was hurting. The horses loved her almost as much as her mother did, and so Vanessa formed a great bond with the creatures, only feeling truly safe when she was around them. They didn't save her from beatings, but they were always there for her afterward, and that was all that mattered to Vanessa. She would spend hours brushing them and washing them and sometimes just pulling up her little wooden stool and talking to them about her daydreams and describing imaginary worlds from the story books her mother got her. Vanessa had a special place in her little heart for the horses, and as she grew older, it only grew.

When Vanessa turned six, Barbwire made her into the youngest performer the district knew. No one could believe that the little girl was trick roping and riding and dancing at such a young age. She was a natural on stage, and bright posters all around the district announced her name and that she was perfect for events of all sizes. Sophia was nervous about these shows and the fame, but could do little to stop them. Barbwire had stopped listening to her a long time ago, and the best the mother could do was cheer her child forward and hope that the flashing cameras and cheers weren't too much for her little girl.

And they weren't. In fact, Vanessa liked the attention. She loved the nights she got to perform in front of big audiences, being a kid celebrity. They applauded her and were amazed by her, and no one had ever done that for her before. Her father had always been very strict, never satisfied when she put on a perfect performance. But these people... they adored her. Finally, she had something other than the fear of pain to push her forward through life. At the age of six, Vanessa was learning how to be loved for what felt like the first time. The beatings slowed down, almost ceasing completely because she was doing so well. People were most impressed by her trick roping, but her riding was also excellent, and no one had ever seen a more graceful little girl. Life was good for one Vanessa Fanlas- finally, the pieces of her life were beginning to fall into place.

Which is perhaps why it hurt all the more when it shattered again.

It was sudden. There was no way for them to prepare for it. The pain didn't come gradually. It was a hit to the stomach, a heart broken in a single instant. Vanessa remembers all too clearly waking up one morning, before dawn, to her father's shouts. She leaped out of bed, absolutely terrified, still in her wrinkled pajamas, and ran into the living room. No, everything seemed to be in one piece, which meant her father wasn't drunk. He wasn't going to hurt her. She then heard an agonized wail coming from her parents' bedroom. Something so pathetic and weak and dying inside that it couldn't possibly be her father... could it? She had taken a few cautious steps forward, and creaked open her door. And there was her father, a heap on the floor, back shaking as he sobbed. Her mother was fast asleep on the bed. She must have had a hard day at work, for her to not awaken at Barbwire's cries. Knowing she couldn't comfort him herself, Vanessa went over and shook her mother's arm. Nothing happened. "...Mama?" Vanessa shook harder, and then took her Sophia's hand in her own. It was ice cold. "Mama?" Vanessa used both hands and pushed her mother hard, no longer caring about gentle. "Mama! Mama, wake up! Daddy's crying! Mama!" She had shrieked and she had cried and still, her mother did not awaken. Eventually giving up, Vanessa crawled into bed next to her and clutched her icy fingers, tears silently streaming down her face. "Oh Mama... Mama..." she had whispered. And after the sorrow had passed, terror replaced it. Her protector was gone.

Vanessa's life was over as she knew it.

Most of the scars on Vanessa's back were created that night. Her father had gone and gotten drunk and he was merciless, because the sorrow wouldn't leave him no matter how hard he tried to force it out. They had both cried their eyes out that night. She was gone. Sophia was gone. Barbwire lashed out at poor Vanessa again and again. It had to be her fault, in some way, because if couldn't possibly have been his own. At some point, Vanessa had fled, leaving a trail of crimson drops in the snow behind her. She couldn't take another hit. She just couldn't. Freezing cold, the six year old ran to the stables, cuddling up against one of the horses as best as she could. The warmth didn't remain, and she was eventually forced back into the house. Thankfully, her father was fast asleep. Vanessa had tiptoed back into her room and fallen asleep. The next day, she was grateful for the intense training. Though her back was in a lot of pain, it took her mind off of the absence of her mother.

Things did not get better for the six year old little girl, though. If anything, they only got worse. Training got more intense as she entered her seventh year- she learned dangerous new tricks, was forced to twist her limbs into unnatural shapes in order to improve her dancing, was on a horse for most of the day. Though the money was coming in fast, Barbwire was spending it all on drinks for himself, and so their living conditions got worse. He refused to clean, leaving all the housekeeping to Vanessa, who could barely keep up with her already tight schedule. Cobwebs formed in the corners, the cupboards were only full when Barbwire remembered to go to the store or when Vanessa had the time, and the furniture fell into disrepair. Performances that had been decent in her father's eyes before became horrible, and beatings became more regular for the little girl. Vanessa was clinging to her life by a thread, knowing that if she made even the smallest of mistakes, her world would crush her under its weight. She began pushing herself harder, because they needed every penny they could get. School became a waste of time, and so she often skipped it. She rose before the sun rose and collapsed into be long after it had set, aching from morning to night, often hungry. But they were alive, and in Vanessa's eyes, that was success.

But late in the night, her father would often pull her out of bed and sit her down at the table, rambling on and on about things that didn't make sense because he was so drunk. Vanessa quickly learned that even to look at Barbwire during those nights was trouble and meant pain, so she kept her eyes down, memorizing the patterns on the table and the backs of her hands. Her father's temper became more and more violent. The young girl could see that, though she was trying to keep the world together around them, things were going to fall apart very soon. She became absolutely terrified. She couldn't do it anymore- she couldn't hold the family together or pay the bills or feed them. For Ripred's sake, she was eight years old.

Luckily for her, she wouldn't have to for much longer.

It was on one of the rare occasions that she decided to go to school that Vanessa's life was saved. During gym class, they were instructed to do cartwheels and other acrobatic techniques. These were easy for Vanessa- she practiced them on a daily basis. Not hesitating, she took off and a running head start and performed a perfect round off. For a split second, her shirt slipped down ever so slightly. But the coach's eye was fast. She saw a bright flash of red underneath. Wanting to be sure, she asked Vanessa to repeat the move. Again, Vanessa moved, and again, her shirt slipped down, this time a bit farther. The coach was sure of it now. Horrified, she ended class early and pulled Vanessa into her office, instructing her to lift the back of her shirt up. And there they were, the many wounds that twisted and tightened the flesh on Vanessa's back. "Where... where did you get these?" the coach had whispered. "My daddy hits me when I don't perform so good," Vanessa had responded, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Or when he misses Mama. At night, mostly. It helps him not miss her so much." The coach had spun Vanessa around then, horror clear in her eyes. It scared Vanessa a little. "Vanessa... Vanessa, your daddy will never hit you again. I promise." Vanessa had been quiet for a moment, dropping her gaze. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Coach. If it helps him feel not so angry, then it's okay. I'll just perform better and it'll help. It's okay."

But it wasn't okay. Not to the coach and certainly not to the Keepers. That afternoon, they wouldn't let Barbwire pick her up from school. "We just need to ask her a few questions," they had told him, and they took Vanessa away. The following is an account of what questions they asked and how they answered:

Peacekeeper Smith: How old are you, Vanessa?

Vanessa: I am eight and a half years old, sir.

Peacekeeper Smith: Do you go to school?

Vanessa: Not usually. I have to stay home and train.

Peacekeeper Smith: Train for what?

Vanessa: For the performances. I have to train good so I can perform good.

Peacekeeper Smith: Do you have any friends?

Vanessa: Daddy says I can't have friends. He says that friends will distract me. But the horses are my friends. And we have a little dog named Penny- she's my friend, too.

Peacekeeper Smith: Do you love your father, Vanessa?

Vanessa: ...well, I'm supposed to, right? 'cause if I don't, he'll hit me?

Peacekeeper Smith: Are you afraid of your father?

Vanessa: I'm more scared of him than I am of anyone, sir. That's why I'm such a good performer.

Peacekeeper Smith: Thank you, Vanessa. That's all we needed to know.

Indeed, that was all they needed to know. After that interview, Vanessa was taken away from her father, along with Penny and Vanessa's horse that she rode most often. Her father put up little argument, but anyone could see that he was enraged. But Vanessa was beyond his reach, and so all he could do then was sit around feeling sorry for himself. As for his daughter... well, she was finally free. Free of her father's cruelty and harsh hands, free of performing, free of all the worrying. She didn't even have to go to an orphanage, for someone immediately claimed her. A single man who could find no wife but was longing for a child he could call his own. And Vanessa was that child.

Upon their first meeting, Vanessa greeted John Fanlas shyly. At 6'5", he towered above her, and she was terrified. Vanessa had learned to fear fathers, and here was one that was even bigger than the first, and probably stronger, too. Every time she moved, Vanessa cringed, sure that he was going to hit her. But he didn't. Instead, he talked to her. "My name's John, Vanessa. It's very nice to meet you." "And you, sir." "So, what do you like to do in your freetime?" "I like to talk to the horses, sir." "You like horses?" "Ay, sir. I love horses so much it hurts." "What a coincidence. Me too." It took a while for Vanessa to learn how to trust again. The last person she had trusted and loved was her mother, and that was two years ago. Now, she found she had built her walls tall in order to prevent herself from feeling pain like that again. But John found his way into her heart easily. It only took a few weeks for them to talk to each other freely. It only took a few months for her to start calling him dad and adopt the Fanlas name.

And things got brighter from that point forward.

John showed Vanessa the part of life that wasn't cruel or terrifying. At nine years old, he took her to the ice cream shop and they went swimming together and he helped her make friends. She went to school every day and got an excellent education, with John helping her and teaching her more than the average student her age would know. As it turned out, Vanessa had an excellently complex mind that was an empty container just waiting to hold knowledge. He taught her how to play guitar, singing to her at night and having her listen to as much music as possible. To no one's surprise, she fell in love with it instantly. With a voice even more beautiful than her mother's and fingers that could make a guitar come to life, little Vanessa showed great skills in areas other than trick roping and riding. She gave up the former entirely, in fact.

And the more she fell in love with the world her father introduced her to, the more she came the hate the one she left behind. Performing seemed to blinding, too deafening, too painful for her. She hated it so much she vowed, at the age of ten, to never perform for anyone ever again. At school, other children would beg her to show them some of her tricks. They had seen her perform them before and they wanted to see those incredible things again. They didn't understand why she refused- why she always arched her back slightly at the very mention of her previous life. People knew that Vanessa's father had hit her, but they didn't realize that she had automatically connected that pain to performing.

She was eleven years old when her father decided to take her on the road with him. She had made friends and had social interaction with other kids- now, it was time for her to learn about the real world all around District Ten. He didn't like that she was always anchored down to one area, to one part of life. After much bargaining with the school and many promises that she'd still be schooled as they traveled, they finally agreed. John had come home overjoyed, and had happily told Vanessa to go pack her suitcase. "With what, Papa?" she had asked curiously. "Everything!" he had answered, picking her up and spinning her around. "We're going on the road for a while. You can teach little kids about horses, Vanessa! You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Of course she'd like it. In fact, she'd learn to love it.

But things can't always start off perfect. Vanessa hated the bugs. She hated the cold air at night. She hated the lonliness, for it was just her and her father, going around the district to teach others about horses and their advantages. The first year was rough- they made little pay, were not well know, and slept in the most worn tents. But they were with the horses and with Penny, and that was enough to satisfy little Vanessa. And yet, had it been any other family, it is certain they would have given up. But John was determined and confident, with Vanessa cheering him on. He had faith that things would look up in his business very soon, if only he kept pursuing his dreams. And eventually, they did.

It wasn't one of those miracles that happens in a single instant. No, this was much more gradual, much more quiet. You see, John had a way with horses. He was a natural horse man, meaning he understood them better than most and didn't use force or pain to control them. Slowly, more people discovered this method. They saw it was more effective in training their horses, and it seemed far more humane. Vanessa, too, was facinated by this kind of teaching. She watched every session, entranced, and eventually learned it herself. More people began showing up at lessons, and paid more. Suddenly, they could afford more tents. They could afford better food and better clothes and (thank Ripred) bugspray.

As business improved, people who enjoyed the seminar asked for internships. More people joined the Fanlas team on the road. Vanessa enjoyed their company, and life got easier. Summer nights were spent outside, in front of a roaring bonfire, with Vanessa joining her father in playing their guitars and people dancing and laughing and clapping. And yet, Vanessa didn't trust the new future. The thirteen year old girl had experienced too much in her life- she knew joy never lasted. And when one of her closer friends in their traveling group died of a mysterious disease, Vanessa knew she had been right all along. It didn't matter if she was under her father's protection with Penny by her side and her guitar in hand. The pain would find her no matter where she was.

And so the young teenager began to build her walls.

Intimidation. She had seen her father use it often enough. She reasoned that intimidation would keep the people away. She was too weak to stop them anyway. It wasn't easy. Vanessa spent a long time trying to learn how to act cold and uncaring- just when she found love, she realized she had to give it up again. It wasn't easy, for Vanessa liked loving and liked caring. She didn't want to give it all up. But gradually, she did it. She didn't spend much time with others. She went out riding a lot. She built up her walls and became frigid and hard as stone. Sure, a few still managed to find their way past those defenses and into her heart. But most didn't, and Vanessa liked it that way. It made her less vulnerable, and singled out her most loyal friends. She found she couldn't give up friendship completely, though. You want to befriend me? she would think. Fine. Prove you're worthy and we'll talk. By the age of fourteen, Vanessa was almost completely unapproachable.