Cassedy Magela - party girl in a party world

Name: Cassedy Magela
Age: Seventeen
Gender: Female
District/Area: The Capitol
Appearance:

She, she, she,
She came home late again tonight,
You could see it in her eyes,
She's been up to something.
Oh, whoa, we, we, we,
Don't know what to do with her,
She's from a different world,
And it's apparent now this girl is hiding,
Something in the way she gives a confident excuse,
There's no way they'd ever know she's been —

POLICE REPORT
EYES: Grey
HAIR: Brown
SKIN: Fair
HEIGHT: 5''4.5
WEIGHT: 102 pounds

Well looking at Cassedy and her lovely police reports, you might be surprised by how the girl actually looks. Her hair was brown when that first photo was taken of a fourteen year old rebel on her first 'night on the town,' but now she's a buxom blonde girl with products littering her hair, skin, and face and dyes sprayed about her body.

I'm not going to lie and tell you Cassedy has magical golden hair that falls like silk and is somewhere between the color of corn, and the color of the sun rising up behind those stalks of yellow. Her hair is the product of years of living it "retro style" - that is partying way too hard, teasing hair, cutting but not managing layers, and lets not forget, nobody starts out perfectly anyways. Anybody who DOES have silky corn hair is either wearing an old Hannah Montana wig, or lying to you, kid.

Why start with the hair then, if its such an extraordinary mess, you say? Well just look at Cass. When she dances, her hair thrashes around her shoulders and whips her face to the point that shes actually burned herself. When you're talking about a destructive party girl like Cass, always start by telling people about how heavily armed the girl is. Its for the good of the common people, if they know what to expect.

Under the hair is a head, and under the head is a neck, under the neck is a torso, legs, and feet. Her feet are small, for her height - size six by the standards of our time, gentle reader. The toes are colored and the skin is covered in a layer of perfumed lotion, but beneath that her feet are callused from the many trips home from popular clubs with her heels clutched tightly in the palms of her hands, and her feet brushing up against the "rocky" terrain of streets that have been massacred by tricked out cars with lethal wheels. Yeah, the Capitol is a pretty "ghetto" place, y'know? Multi-millionaires driving flashy rides down alleys and dimly lit streets.

Oooh, feel the shivers in your bones! How intimidating.

Certainly, if you continued to make eyes at Cass, you'd notice that she really doesn't fit the part of a ghetto girl. No hard edge to her eyes, no defined muscle from years of being on the run. The slightest curve to her leg suggests Cassedy is an under worked skinny girl with strength enough to support her body on the stilts Capitolites call shoes (and believe me, they're not just shoes - they are diabolical masterpieces that have left Cass with her feet en pointe for at least four hours a night and six in the day), but strength too little to carry around her on ginormous purse, thank you very much. She has legs with a few dashes of brown on them, little freckles that have kissed her fair skin the few times Cass has bothered to sunbathe. Her skin is usually dyed a discreet tan color that covers up those little 'blemishes' and gives her a radiant vibe. Hippies and hipsters and indie party-goers dig the look, if you catch my drift (word)

Her legs are of much importance, so I'll dedicate a little more time to them. The thighs are larger than the bottom halves of her legs, she has a small percentage of fat that in a healthy person would mean she was of athlete status, but in the Capitol is just the normal ID-card of the bulimic crew of girls who make themselves toss their cookies. Her hair follicles no longer grow, so her legs are always fairly smooth, and she enjoys sticking her body into a small dress that does wonders for her short frame, and puts that follicle-work to good use. (Honestly, whats the point of girls getting work done if they don't intend to show off the finished product?)

Moving on up, one will hit a bump in the road. Or a hump - Fergie never was too clear about what lumps, humps, and bumps are. Her butt is typical of a skinny white girl, and just curvalicious that it offers a contrast between her tight tummy and chicken legs. Her stomach, being of no importance in the life of a bulimic, except to occasionally contract a few moments after every meal, is tight from years of clenching. Eating diseases really aren't pretty things, little girls. Take caution.

Her back is slightly curved, something about genetics is to blame for that, but besides all of that, her torso isn't magnificent or anything. She has teenage girl boobs, which is code for 'a chest in need of Victoria Secrets latest push-up bra' and thats the end of the middle of the story! Her middle really isn't as interesting, not a great asset when it comes to impressing girls with natural beauty, or catching the eye of a cute boy across the room.

Her collar bones jut out, and Cass has a peculiar habit of reaching her fingertips up to trace her bones, as a way of assuring herself that she is in her own body and her mind isn't completely screwed up by whatever drug of the night she's been on. Just think of Leo DiCaprio's little spinning top in Inception - her collarbone is how Cassedy knows shes true, and that she is real. That life is real, for that matter.

Her arms are skinny, but Cassedy is self conscious about the small amount of jiggle on her upper arms, which is the hardest part to sculpt for a woman. No sleeveless dresses for this smooth criminal. Her veins shine blue under florescent lights, because her inside arms are the one part of Cassedy that she will not dye, for fear of looking too overdone and "plastic." Conformism is not becoming when you're trying to be a ghetto rich girl with hippie style and glossy-paged magazine-style wit.

Her hands are as well taken care of as her feet, but less rough, and therefore, more smooth. She keeps her nails at a precise length that allows for cat-scratching, but does not inhibit picking up an instrument and "jamming" with her epic, super-oober cool musician friends. Cassedy could play a tune to save her life, but she lives in the Capitol - what threats are being sent her way?? besides the Uprising threats?

Her face is cute, and Cassedy won't ever admit it but she's had a few features "corrected." (In the Capitol, you never ask a lady if she's had work done, just like how you never ask women how old they are) Her once solemn, speechless grey eyes are a more glistening, aquamarine shade now, and her lips are stained a different color each week (when you have to constantly toss your cookies, dying lips is easier that applying and reapplying topical products) Her make-up is done flawlessly, mostly because her features are meant to be streaked in banners of red, pink, blue, green, and any other color that suites club lighting. (Hint: think neons) The shape of her lips have been left untouched, but the pushy-pouty part is a product of cold, hard lip-plumping magic. Her nose has been worked on, her eyes recolored and her hair-line messed with throughout the years, but for the most part Cassedy does not dwell so long on the looks of her face. She prefers her body, the unchanging mass of "clay" that was formed and designed before birth, and has remained relatively untouched throughout the years of discovery and surgery.

Sneaking out at night,
She's dancing at the night club,
Yeah, she got a fake ID,
And they'll never know she's 17.
Oh, and she's drinking with her friends,
And they're all 21,
I wonder how much longer she can get away with —
Her dirty little secret.

Personality:

Mom and dad,
They don't seem to understand,
She's got so many older friends,
They pick her up every Wednesday night.
She breaks the rules,
he makes a fool of everyone,
She won't give up until she's done,
And it's apparent now this girl is missing,
Something in the way she gives a confident excuse,
There's no way they'd ever know she's been —


Cassedy is a destructive girl.
Shes a martyr dying for the loss of an age of innocence, when girls and boys traipsed around in flimsy clothes kissing behind closed doors and pretending to be things they were not to parents who did not care.

She's never hurt a fly in her life, but her skin-dyes aren't just to erase and rework a flawless tan of golden brown. They're to cover up whatever damage she inflicts upon herself, whether its the scrapes of nails that cover her hips, or the occasional burn that brings her to life.

Cassedy has no difficulties telling between what is real, and what is not. She isn't very confused by the state of the world, or her life but she is concerned. Usually, people aren't supposed to see so much unreal as she does - usually the seeing and delusional flickers of unreality are meant to be experienced through the gentle touch of a pill on the tongue, or an injection to the glossy white inner arm, straight into the deep blue see of arching, tree-vine veins. Beauty is skin deep, darlings. Beauty is in touching, and feeling, not seeing and un-believing, one after another. Cassedy is scared of the jumbo-mumbo visions in her head, but she's afraid she's addicted to the touch of a pill slipping down her throat, and the easy way that needles cut skin.

Cassedy is afraid of the effects, but addicted to the sources. This makes for a back-arse-wards mix-up in her head, and in her core.

But anyways, this is the personality section, not the 'psychological diagnosis and mental health' file. It's time to get down and dirty, lets look at a day in the life of a party girl.

Cassedy wakes up every morning, feeling like crap. She likes to have herself a good time every night, and she's content to go to bed knowing when she rises, her head will be a pounding, thumping hurt-locker. Party girl.

Cass usually eats breakfast before throwing it right back up into the glossy white bowl in her absolute favorite room. Bulimic, skinny bitch, and if we must bring it up, an eccentric - who loves the bathroom so much as she?

She laces up her daytime boots, and takes a stroll around the block, letting herself take in the state of a city that never changes, never rusts and for some strange reason, never gets old. She likes to watch the world go by, and the eyes in her head elude to a foolish way about her.

Cassedy walks with grace, up and down the street with a pet cat in one arm, and a designer purse on the other. Grace and balance are necessary in her life.

Upon arriving home, she is greeted by some friend or other, and they go together to an appointment - whether it be at a doctors shiny, clean office, or a musty old store of furs and ratta-tat garments, a neon-colored music-pumping daytime club, or a House of Some Prissy Designer. Friendship is so very important to Cassedy. Its the people in life that count, not the activities. She could just walk around the block with her daily friend, and feel as content as she had if they had gone on to an appointment instead.

Walking back up town and the sun goes down, Cass allows herself to ponder the deep things in life - like whether or not men are sadists for having created heels and make-up, and whether or not women would have created them at some later date if the men hadn't been cruel enough to have done this at the Dawn of civilization. What a deep thinker! In school, Cass always makes good grades... when she bothers to attend.

Her afternoon nap allows for Cassedy to unwind, as avoxes flood into her high-rise apartment and gently rouse her from her sleep with tickling foot-rubs and the smell of paint being recoated on her almost-French nails. She's rather "chill" - and a calming influence on even the habitual ecstasy, eye-ball licking users at the most hardcore of clubs.

Mademoiselle Magela is cultured and a complete cosmopolitan who is on top in the word of fashion - and likes it that way. Her instincts for the things that count in life are finely tuned, honed instruments of her own creation, egged on by her designer mother and social adviser, Rexa

Cassedy is a girl of habit and when she leaves for the night, she turns the lights off like a good eco-friendly freak, Cass never bothers with eating animals when she knows she's just going to throw them back up again, and she enjoys a good time with friends, but is just as introverted as she is an extrovert.

Oh, and she loves the most confusing truths she can tell. Cassedy takes pleasure and thrills in telling half-lies, half-truths as a way to test her friends wit and cleverosity. She thinks highly of herself, but is self conscious of her ability to flounder about in High Class Social Situations.

The hipster designs and prints that (oftentimes barely) cover her body, are disguises for her ineptitude for social situations of the highest order.

Her carefully composed mask of painted lips and doll-wide eyes hide an inner need to open those pretty lips and scream because no matter how hard she tries, she can't close her eyes to how bad the world is, nor the visions that haunt her every day.

She is a girl within a girl within the shell of a girl, and she sees fit to break through a layer a day, but Cassedy doesn't really care. She doesn't care much for anything, which is self-evident whenever she does open her pretty little mouth and really says something, rather than just chattering on about the latest gossip.

Cassedy is just scared to death or her own potential to fail at succeeding. You can't be told you're going to be something great in society so many times as a child, without coming out of your childhood thinking you're a failure for not already conquering the world. Thanks a lot, mommy and daddy issues - Cassedys lack of care is what drives her suicide-mission. Her long, hard trip into the deepest pits of her mind where she no longer has to think about trivial things like her future or drugs, or anything else - she can simply dispose of all that potential, whatever she has left anyways.

After all, she's just a party girl who can hide her hangover. The world won't miss another girl like that, when she's gone.

Sneaking out at night,
She's dancing at the night club,
Yeah, she got a fake ID,
And they'll never know she's 17.
Oh, and she's drinking with her friends,
And they're all 21,
I wonder how much longer she can get away with —
Her dirty little secret.

History:

She said she doesn't need anyone at all,
They say she's living way too fast,
I wonder how long she can last before she falls —
To the ground.

She was born, now shes lives, then she'll die.

Life is divided into simple categories. The past, the present, and the future.

Family is divided into simple roles, the mother, the father, and the children.

Cassedy is the second of the third category of the family heading. Her older brother, named Oedyian (pronounced Edy-Ian, and called Oedy for short) was Rexa and Jamesons first child. He was a true mess, at the first look of him, his parents were confused to realize that they had birthed such a down-right failure. He just seemed to be pulsating with the sort of vibe teachers would later frown at, peers would be confused by, and drugs and therapy might one day cure.

But he was brilliant, and by the age of five, Rexa and Jameson knew they had been wrong - that judging a child by its first appearance is wrong. Children aren't books, people! You have to learn to love and appreciate the package they come in, because their insides are truly magnificent. And when I say insides, I mean, yes - Oedy was a prodigy thanks to his body.

He'd been born with a rare disorder that was not commonly seen in the Capitol thanks to the controlled atmosphere and living style. By the time doctors picked up on his special abilities, it was too late to cram abortion-inducing pills down Rexa's throat. He was a three year old boy with the muscle and brawn of a teenager. And he just kept getting better and better. The Capitol honored the boy-warrior with all sorts of videos being broad casted on the news, the world fell in love with Oedy and he was set to work at five years old in order to cultivate his very own potential, and be tested for a possible drug that would give average men the same strength as him.

He was a weapon of mass destruction that might lead to the end of rebellion. The Capitol considered him a blessing, but small Cassedy of two years old saw him as a distant figure of her imagination, and at an age too young to remember, cameras caught her first word to Oedy, her first word to anybody.

"Bye, bye!" she wailed from her spot in Jamesons arms as Oedy was escorted onto a plane that would take him to his bright future as a highly controlled specimen of the government. Her voice croaked the word, and her baby giggle was filled with wet dribble as Oedy turned around and yelled back "BYE BYE, CASSEY, BYE!!!"

Cassedy fell for her brother that day, and deep in her mind she knew she wanted to be just like him. She wanted his potential and his destructive power.

And her wish was granted.

The younger Magela was a clever child with a lot to offer to the world, she had been born with a creative streak that had not been seen in her family since Rexa the II first became a designer. Her mother was thrilled to have a new collaborator in the works for their House of Rexa design line, somebody who could really imagine up fresh new looks for Capitolite youngsters season after season instead of just going to District One and paying off up-and-coming District designers to hand over their best work.

Cass did well enough in school, but did better by night - she hung with an older crew of children that had known her brother, and decided that they one day wanted to be known as friends of Oedys, by going through his fast-aging, pretty sister. She was twelve years old when Oedy, a young man, came home for a three month span. She started getting into trouble with her star-struck friends, and by the age of fourteen had been arrested for some sorts of things she'd never actually done. Oedy had noticed her friends alright, just as they had intended, but rather than earning his positive attention, Oedy developed a protective streak and began to watch over his little sister like a personal bodyguard.

She rebelled.

And the idea of being just as destructive and lethal as Oedy still sparked in her mind. Being arrested was the start of her spiral into the chaotic world of self-inflicted stupidity. She made bad choices which Oedy scolded her for, and shielded her from the worst affects of her behavior. He became like a father to her when Jameson was off at the hooka-lounge too many nights a week, and Rexa was feeling muse-inspired light-headed designs for her new collections.

The family was rich enough to pay off and support the two troubled children of the family, and Cassedy was content to act out if it earned her superior brothers attention.

Her dirty ravings for attention turned to bad habits and addiction. By seventeen she was drinking, sneaking into older clubs and was the belle of the ball.

Cassedy had fulfilled her potential to be the most incredible super star in the flashy, night-world of the club-going Capitolites. She was a socialite, and a twinkling new star on the horizon of the social page in all the well-know magazines.

And that's all.

If she cracks, we don't know.
If her brother will be called back for more testing, is unknown as well.

Cassedy Magela is a well-known up-and-coming of the Capitol world, but her future is utterly... unknown

Sneaking out at night,
She's dancing at the night club,
Yeah, she got a fake ID,
And they'll never know she's 17.
Oh, and she's drinking with her friends,
And they're all 21,
I wonder how much longer she can get away with —
Her dirty little secret.

Ba, ba, ba, di, da, da, da, da, da
Ba, ba, ba, di, da, da, da, da, da
Ba, ba, ba, di, da, da, da, da, da
Ba, ba, ba, di, da, da, da, da, da

Codeword: i dont care
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