Justice Magpie - D5 (FIN) | Hunger Games: The RPG

Justice Magpie - D5 (FIN) Dec 17, 2012 15:45:54 GMT -5

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Post by charade on Dec 17, 2012 15:45:54 GMT -5

Justice Urbane Magpie
Eighteen years of age
The Fifth district of Panem
odair
Fc is Codie Young
Text
Other's Speech
Speech
Thinking

I'm a mess such a wreck don’t forget about it
I drag myself through the dirt
Just to feel a little closer to the ground
Because I've always had my head up in the clouds

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Bright.

This is what has been said about Mother Magpie's eldest daughter. That she is colorful and pleasant to look at as she skips around the district, wide-eyed with a net as she hunts for the only creatures more majestically hued than herself. A pretty hobby for a pretty girl is the general consensus, and the droves of butterflies and beetles that have been caught by her sweeping movements and graceful flicks of the wrist are a testament to the skill of her endeavors. Oh, but I assure you, I haven't yet escaped the Magpie taint. Just ask the winged wonders in my collection. She does not radiate the same coldness that the rest of her family does. Whereas my siblings, poor confused darlings that they are, wear their madness for all to see, I'm more like a shiny new apple that someone bites into, expecting to find something delicious and instead tasting the bitterness of decay and corruption that consumed it from the inside out. Of course, that could be the halitosis, seeing as how I never brush my teeth. She has been known to color her hair a cheery shade of red, perhaps to further distance herself from her sisters darker attire. No silly, crimson is the color of blood, which goes hand in hand the blackness of death the rest of my family wears. It's not standing out when you're really blending in. Don't understand? Oh but you will.

Its been said that few people in the district have more outfits than this girl, and they may be quite correct. It is not rare in the slightest to take a second glance as she walks by the dull grey of the power plants or the grimy black of the oil drills. I love all the colors of the rainbow, which signifies the end of the life-giving rain. I love the oranges and reds and yellows of autumn, the kaleidoscopic explosion of different hues as the leaves on the trees curl up and die. I even love the districts industry. Oil is naught but death itself and yet we use it to power so many things. That's the beauty of it. Justice has pale skin like the rest of the Magpies, but it pops when layered with the many styles of make-up she uses. Red for her lips, purple for her eyes, the list goes on.Yes, I have chalky skin, but the mascara helps. Just because my body knows that it will soon be living in a coffin doesn't mean everyone else has to know that I look like a corpse. Anyway, they do their best to make the dead look alive during the viewings don't they?[/i][/color] Slender are the fingers that grip the nets she carries with her, graceful in their movements.They are far more graceful when I am ushering the insects into a different state of existence. Its such an entertaining ordeal, delicately pulling off each of their wings before dipping them in formaldehyde. Letting them become stiff and lifeless before attaching them to one of the cork-boards above my bedroom wall. The wings I keep pinned to the wall across from them so that they know they'll never be able to fly away from me.

"Did you know that your eyes are just a wonderful hue of green?" "I know right? Doesn't everyone just love the color of possessiveness and jealousy? Just some of the things my mother has taught us. "Er, that's not what I meant... "Oh? My apologies, I must be going now. Have a nice death! "I... what?" People always say to "have a nice life" but from the moment you take your first breath your cells start to decay, so aren't we all dying a little bit more every single day? If you've seen her walking around with her mother, you might decide that her features are a tad softer than the matriarch's. A rounder nose,higher cheekbones,and fuller lips then Urbane. Reminiscent of her aunts, wherever they may be. I suspect she may resent me a little for this. Rosalind and Narcissa were always more attractive than her. Just like I am. At least...on the outside. But that's all anyone cares about anyway right? Justice is a tall girl, taller than the rest of her siblings, yet not as thin. I feel like at any moment my skeleton might decide to burst free from its trappings and join a moonlight dance, ribs clacking together like the cymbals on a drum kit. Which is why I take such care to tie ribbons and strings around certain parts of my body. I shudder to think of what will happen the day I forget to do so.

The biggest mystery about this girl is why she would take such time to get dressed up when she spends so much of her day skipping through the district. There is a certain beauty in death, and I am always trying to capture it. Why hasn't she looked for a job? I live comfortably enough to not have to, but that's really none of your business. Why isn't someone courting her? Who would to date a dead girl? Is she inane and unable to carry on a conversation for too long? Please. I'm not an idiot. But I have come to terms with the fact that a have a few screws loose.The screws that let my thoughts escape and become words the way the rest of me yearns to break free. She wears fruity smelling perfume, but some would say its to mask an odd stench that seems to follow her wherever she goes. A by product of the house she lives in no doubt. Rot has its own sweet scent but it is so unappreciated. It's why I've let my teeth go at such a young age. The aura of decay parades around me, intertwining with the perfumes and creating another amazing contrast; another argument for the artistic side of death. A side that tributes never fully understand.

I've got my name on a string
Tangled up in lights despite the fact
I live my life on the line
To find a way to be unforgettable

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It is known that Justice always has a compliment or a kind word for passerby, something to brighten their day, even if it doesn't always make sense. I'm sorry that no one else understands that we are all dying, but that doesn't mean I'm going to mince words.She has a heart for the tributes,sobbing softly and drying her eyes on a napkin whenever one is slain. The district of origin makes no difference, her tender heart bleeds for them all the same. As if. I weep because none of the killers know how to create death correctly. Its a flurry of hack jobs and wretched flailing about that destroys the whole art. No arrangements, no beauty, no understanding. I've seen so few tributes that understood what it means to free a soul and send it floating away. The quell victor or the Aesop boy. The Dempsey girl and her beau. Stark Harper. There are a couple others, but the amount of artistic philistines far outweigh the true artists of the arena. One can only imagine what she would do if she were to be reaped. Tearful goodbyes as she trades her colorful outfits for a two toned tribute uniform. I do not fear something that follows me every day, but neither do I welcome it. Though I know I would paint the arena a fantastic shade of red, the chance of someone destroying my artful strokes with mindless chopping movements is far too high. I suppose I might weep real tears for my brothers and sisters, more for their lack of understanding for what they are really up against. I know I'd feel more than my mother at any rate. Frigid harpy that she is. I'm sure she would have loved it if her sisters had been reaped when they were children.

Like any young person, she has her little quirks and oddities, the most obvious of which is her fear of balloons. Something about them causes her to shy away. Perhaps she is allergic to latex, or bothered by the sound they make when they pop, littering the ground with minuscule bits of rubber. If only. I have a love/loathe relationship with those little helium filled buggers. Because I know that's not all that they are filled with. They are the lost ones, the ones that couldn't find their way home. Its why you see them at happy occasions like birthdays or weddings. They want so badly for someone to get rid of their last tether to this world and so, even though it frightens me to no end, I take it upon myself to set them free, begging them not to take me with them as I cut the strings and watch them soar away into the beckoning sky, growing smaller and smaller until they vanish completely. So far, they have acquiesced to my pleas and left me here, but putting a couple pebbles in my shoes every now and then couldn't hurt to ensure that I don't leave the world behind disappearing into the ether without making a single sound. When I was younger, I used to tie myself to chairs and the like if I was going to be stationary for a period of time. That's when they get you. When you aren't moving, they think that you have passed on and come to entice you to join them. But I won't. No matter how loudly they call for me. I suspect they want me, because they know I'm just like them. That a part of me has already flown away.

Urbane Magpie has a lot of children, but it clear that she holds little or no love for them. Why else would they all seem so... off? A drug addict and a cross-dresser, a suspected thief, a recluse and a mute. Only the boy seems diligent in his doings, and though Justice is by far the most approachable, she is never around enough to hold a decent conversation. As I said before, I have to keep moving, or the balloons will mistake me for dead. Its the reason I've trained myself to sleep with my eyes open, only after I've tied myself to the bed. I have no control over what happens when I sleep. I doubt my siblings understand my reasons, but then, I don't always understand why they do what they do. I can only guess that it is because we are Magpies and it is all we know how to do.I have no need to get lost in a haze, that would only make me more susceptible to what they want. I don't chase boys and neither would I let them catch me. If I have something to say, I say it. I don't take what doesn't belong to me and I wouldn't want to be stuck in the house. Less places to run away to.[/i][/color]

Every girl likes to decorate their room, and Justice is no different. Passerby agree that her room seems to shine when the sun hits it in a certain way. That's because of the mirrors. They assure me that I am still real. Still here. That I haven't faded away or floated away when I wasn't paying attention. It helps to stare at myself until I fall asleep. You'll never catch me leaving my window open, not when the wind could bring one of the lost ones dancing into my room to steal my breath away while I slumber. Besides. When did a magpie not surround itself with shiny things? Every mirror has a story of its own, and every mirror delights in showing me a different facet of my personality. In one I can see my fear, in another my hope. The list goes on for each of the seven mirrors.I will never let someone remove one of them, for fear that another part of me would be lost forever, and I will not add another, lest I spread myself too thin and shatter into a thousand pieces.

The deck is stacked against you all the time
Since your life is just a failure by design
Do you feel like you're better without it
Cause it looks like you're nothing without it

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As the oldest hatchling of the brood, it is quite clear that she would remember her vanished aunts quite vividly. But if she knows anything about their disappearance she has yet to say a word. I like to think that I take after Narcissa with my looks. I certainly don't look all that much like my mother, but she shares genes among other things with them, so its not unsurprising when a child can look like an immediate family member. And yes, I remember them quite well. Do I know anything about where they've gone or why they left? Maybe. Maybe not. But that would be telling. Why should I tell people what they want to hear when they won't listen to what I want to say? Why should I speak about the things that I've seen when no one can look at the things that I see? The story of Rosalind and Narcissa is a long one, and I doubt I know of all the details. Suffice to say, I know that they had good reason to leave. And that sometimes, the bonds of love and hate is stronger than the ties between family. For any other information, they'll have to find their own way into my families sordid past, because my lips are sealed. [/i][/color]

From the time she was a little girl, it was clear that Justice sought to be the center of attention whenever she walked into a room. If mother didn't want to pay me any mind, I'd find a way to draw all eyes to me. I would shine. That was my mistake. For that is what drew the lost ones to me in the first place. Whatever I radiate calls to them. I am thankful that the strings that keep them tied to banisters or the arms of little children prevent them from seeking me out all the time, but when I am faced with a gathering of them, I have no choice but to snap every tether with my hands or my teeth and send them spiraling up into wherever it is they go. I'm sure the other part of me is there waiting. I also suspect that that is what sends the balloons to find me. That the lost part wants to be made whole again. The only thing I haven't figured out is what caused that part to get lost in the first place. Was it my own fault? Or the fault of my parents? Is there something sinister lurking in the genetic memories of my family of which I am not yet aware?

It was during her school years that her obsessive hobby with catching insects was first noticed. Blue bottles, orange butterflies emerald green beetles, always the prettiest, the shiniest. Its not just a hobby, I'm keeping myself safe. I can trust birds, because I share a name with one of them, but insects? Nothing that lives for such a short amount of time and is able to fly could be doing anything else with its brief existence but spying on me for them. I tack them to wall not only to beautify my room, but to warn the others that I know what they are up to. I dare not prick one of the lost ones directly, lest the explosion throw me into the air, just as they want. In death, the insects serve me colorfully, their wings and bodies forming an abstract painting that is a better existence for them than the one I took away from them.[/i][/color] All of the magpies seek something like their namesake would, even if the form is not immediately evident. I suppose that's one way of putting it. I love my art, though I doubt many others would see it as being such. People are so close minded these days, so unwilling to see what was right in front of them all along. So ensnared and so blind to the realities they don't want to face.

As a young lady, Justice doesn't seem to be taking after her mother in any way. I should hope not. A girl like her, starting the prime of her womanhood should be courted, lest she miss her opportunity and wind up a bitter old crone bereft of children. I'm more concerned about winding up as a crone with children that I never loved and sisters that I hated to the point of... Hmph. Again, that would be telling.[/i][/color] How the Magpie household is run is a mystery, but only a few of them stay indoors. Justice appears to be free to do as she wills. But appearances can be deceiving and seeing is believing. Savvy? The family has been through a lot, not the least of which isn't because of themselves. The Magpie household is constantly talked about, for the vanishings, for the activities that the children engage in the dead of the night and the like. It doesn't make any difference what time of the day it is. Magpies do as magpies will, and I have long since given up any hope of anyone outside of our family understanding us. Our upbringings were troubled, and none of us know how to be anything other than what we are. No one can hear the lost ones call except for me, and when I tried to explain it to others as a child, I was mocked, looked down upon, and told that something was wrong with me. But If I already knew that, then does that make me more sane?

For someone who wanders so much of the district and wants passerby to stare at her every chance that she gets, she doesn't seem to really want much in the ways of human contact.

I don't look crazy, but then again, the state of the mind is as much in the eye of the beholder as beauty.

If that's the case, then we may never know the real Justice Magpie.

I can assure you that if you did, you'd regret it forever.

Don’t regret it if it hasn’t happened yet
So let's go a tiny spark to set if off and explode
Ignite the dark illuminate the unknown
But since your heads in the clouds

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The best advice I've found is don’t look down

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