Elodie Magpie // D5 [FIN]

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Name: Elodie
Age: 15
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 5
Appearance:

BELOW

Personality:

BELOW

History:

Elodie has never been anything but a cuckoo child in the Magpie nest, adopted because the mother's want for a house full of chirruping children dominated her suspected definite, and abrupt, infertility. This sense of disconnectedness – the differences in her features to those of all her 'siblings' – is something that makes the nights she spends in other people's well paid company all the more relieving. Enduring days as an alien in her own coop, Elodie's midnight meetings in other strangers' beds, anonymous rather than a recognised outcast, are a source of temptation, not of repulsion. The coin, or gifts of jewellery, she takes, and the opportunity to escape the suppressing Magpie cage, are what get her through her difficulties feeling like an outcast.

Codeword: odair
Comments/Other:

FC - Carmen Solomons

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`Elodie Mirielle Magpie~
`Fifteen~
`Female~
`District 5~
`Magpie Family Plot <3~

Look at me. You may think you see
who I really am , but you'll never know me.
Every day it's as if I play a part.
Now I see if I wear a mask I can fool the world,
But I cannot fool my heart.

`Appearance~

Different.

My eyes, my nose, my lips, my hair, my skin - it's all so much different than everyone elses. I like to be unique, that is fine by me (plus it tends to attract more men than the typical prostitutes around the district), but it doesn't help me fit in or belong much of anywhere. My family ... I look nothing like my adoptive family and sometimes I think that I might have fit in better with them had I looked more like the rest of them. But instead I grew up with dark skin, not pale. I suppose that is the biggest difference among the rest - at least the most noticeable feature. Of course there is also my hair - the odd color between brown and red, depending on the day. If it had turned out more brown and a little less uncontrollable curly, I may have been able to make some excuse about my exceptional ability to tan. That may have even covered for the immense mount of freckles scattered across my cheeks and nose, too. But it seems that life doesn't ever really want you to win, so I ended up as I am, looking completely different from the rest of the District 5 Panem the world my family. The only thing I am slightly proud of is my eyes, (yes, yes, my body is nice and does things for me but I like my eyes best) green like your favorite marble or an emerald earring. The only thing that could possibly make them better, at least in my opinion, is if they were purple but I'm pretty sure that would scare a lot of people away - more than my green eyes already do.

But that's enough about my face since everyone knows that my kind of business doesn't require a face as much as a body. Mostly it requires too short skirts and too high heels and strutting about the District with a smile much too big and way too much make-up (unless of course I get lazy and decide I'd rather not wear make-up and just wing it, which may be a bit too often) and basically having too much of everything in order to get too much money for a simple task from a guy who has had too much to drink. Basically my appearance (and frankly my life) depends on one simple question: "How much?" I spend my day picking out my clothing, waiting for night to come. Which skirt, which shirt, what make-up, what shoes, what nail polish - how much longer must I wait for night to come? I try to go out in a different outfit every night, but usually, if I have nothing new to wear I settle for a short skirt and tight shirt and comfortable heels with some simple earrings and fun necklace. Of course, when I'm at home I have to either hide all of these clothes and wear other things (you know the usual figure hiding things) like sweat pants and not-so-flashy shirts and no make-up (which may be the only thing I don't mind too much) so that everyone else doesn't catch on to my nightly adventures. Because if I ever got caught, I would be in some very big trouble and I'm sure my life would be stolen away from me and I would be locked away in my room for all eternity. Which would probably kill me.

Who is that girl I see
staring straight back at me?
When will my reflection show
who I am inside?

`Personality~

Different.

I'm not exactly the most unusual person ever but among such a - shall we say close-knit? - family like the Magpies, my personality just doesn't fit. They all seem to have their own special way of not fitting in, but my way is just incorrect compared to theirs. Justice is the burst of color in the room who insists we are all dead people walking, Meryem is always cheerful but of course in a complete daze from the drugs, Kirk seems to understand all of his sisters as he is a girl on the inside after all, Savoy is the head of household and a total suck-up to every government official he meets, Celeste is gorgeous and gets whatever the hell she wants no matter what, Halle who is an great listener - never mind that her she can't talk to tell us all to shut up, and then there is me, the isolated ... Ha! I'm sure I know more, have seen more, heard more, lived more, than all of them have combined and yet I'm considered the isolated one. The one who is a freakish star lover who talks about past heroes and creatures and does nothing but sit up in her room and paint the walls and stare out the window. I may do all those things but certainly I am the most fun of any of them. (Okay, well, girls don't always find me all that fun but I know boys certainly do.) But I guess I shouldn't care what their opinions of me are. I mean, they aren't my real family anyways ... Some days I wish I was, but that certainly is not today, especially at night.

I know that some see it as undesirable and even some who participate are only in it for the money, but for me, hunting the night streets and underground clubs and bars for men is the best part of being me. You may think I'm crazy for wanting and thoroughly enjoying the selling of my body but I the truth is, they are giving me everything I could possibly need: Money, sex, and attention. There really is no true exchange in it. Each night I get to sneak out of my bedroom window, crawl across roofs, and then jump down into the streets, ready for a night filled with drinks, music, and of course, sexy ass men. (Not all of them are sexy, but if they wave enough money in my face I will take anyone gladly.) I mean, what girl doesn't enjoy an evening of flirting and the D? drinks? But really when someone is willing to pay and keep paying for my company, I finally feel like I belong somewhere. Why not talk to my family? Why not just get a puppy or a stuffed animal to talk to? Because nothing will ever beat out human contact and the feeling like you are wanted, needed even, in a persons life.

I am now in a world where I have
to hide my heart and what I believe in,
But somehow I will show the world
what's inside my heart
And be loved for who I am.

`History~

Different.

All I can remember about my home is star room. I was young when I was left on the orphanages steps, but I can still remember the room painted entirely black - except of course for the white and yellow dots that matched the night sky. I can remember laying on the ground during the day with my mother, her voice singing me a song - or perhaps it was just a poem, or maybe she was only just talking to me ... I may not remember her voice or her hands of her smile or even her eyes, but I can remember the star room and the stories she used to tell me. She told me of heroes from long ago, the memory of them being left behind in the sparkling dots in the sky, put there in the hopes that everyone would remember them forever. She told me there names - Orion, Perseus, Taurus. She pointed them out upon the wall, showing me exactly what the night sky looked like. I used to wonder why she never just took me outside to look at the real stars - why she never really took me outside at all, but looking back now I can see she must've been ashamed (I have a hunch that she was terrified of prostitutes that roamed the streets ... She knew all along I'd turn out to be one I guess) of me or something. Or perhaps hated me completely. After all, she did leave me at an orphanage, whispering sweet things in my ears, promises that would never truly be fulfilled - or in other words, lies. And let's face it, broken promises shatter a child's heart into billions of pieces, leaving it scattered across the ground, with no possibility of repair. But of course those shiny pieces of heart shine in the light, no matter how dead they may seem. And everyone knows that the shiny and bright get stolen. But that isn't until later ...

For years, my precious heart remained inside me, beating on in the hope that one day the woman with the star room would come back to me. I believed it too. I told everyone who came into adopt me that I would only be here until my mother came back for me, so there was no point in taking me with them. I would tell all the other kids that I didn't need to try to be adopted because I already had a mother who loved me and would come back for me when she could. All the kids laughed at me, thinking me a complete fool (and looking back on that now, I can see that I was) and adults you came in looking always looked as if they were about to cry - sometimes they actually would - or, when I would ask a single woman if she was my mother, they would look at me as if I were an alien from one of those far away stars and not a human. But I knew she was coming back, I held her words to me in my head and just knew that it couldn't have been a lie. So when parents came in looking for another child to adopt instead of looking for one they had left here long ago, I wouldn't even pay them any attention. I was young when my mother dropped me off on the steps, perhaps only three or four, but I can still remember her words perfectly and I knew that there was no point in trying to get other families to like me because I already had one. So I always ran up to my room (it was actually a closet that I emptied out and moved into on my own) and painted. I could only see by the light of a tiny bulb in the ceiling, but it didn't matter to me. Sometimes kids would try to come in, either to beat me up for being so stupid or to tell me about some parents I needed to come try to impress, but I would never let them in, no matter how hard they pounded on the door. I would only lock door and continue on my journey to fill the whole room with painting after painting. It started with a star. Only one, and not like the little dots in the sky, but the five-pointed ones. I painted it in a lumpy black color from a paint can I had found in the dumpster, pretending that it was purple (it's still my favorite color to this day - it's the color of the sky when night and day collide) instead. I continued to get paint, more colors, eventually stealing the paints that I needed in order to fill my room with beautiful things - flowers, stars, swirls, a mother and daughter, a sunset, a lake and river, kittens, puppies, butterflies, and of course, the words. All I needed to keep myself going were the words. "I will always love you. I will be back someday, I promise." But that never ended up happening. At one time I believed it had, but now I know that it never had and certainly never will.

Who is that girl I see staring straight back at me?
Why is my reflection someone I don't know?
Must I pretend that I'm someone else for all time?
When will my reflection show
who I am inside?

I remember the day she came to get me. I was just painting in my room, the beginning of a rainbow that would encircle the room, when a few kids came pounding on the door. They told me to get out of the closet so they could pound my stupid, ugly face in. I cannot recall the boys name (Ha! Back when boys weren't interesting enough for me to remember their names .) but I do remember him accusing me of taking his toy sword. It was true, I had taken it, but I had only stolen because he had been poking me with it the day before, making a jest of my ugliness. Sure he was a big kid, older than me at least, maybe the oldest one at the orphanage, but I never really expected him to bust through the door. The door had taken much abuse over the few years I had spent there and I guess I should've realized how weak it was growing and how flimsy and cheap it had been from the start but as an 8 year old most of these common sense things never occurred to me. So he broke through the door, twisted the knob from the outside so he could get him, flung the door open, causing a few of my paint cans to spill across the floor, and all I could manage to do was get paint all over him while he punched and kicked me until I cried and blood dripped from my mouth (I bit my tongue so it really wasn't a big deal honestly) and all I could do was slash around in the paint on the floor and lash out with the brush in my hand and wait, hope, that it would eventually stop. Luckily for me, one of the adults looking for a child decided to venture upstairs to have a look at the children. I had never been more happy in my life to see someone looking for a child to adopt in my life. The boy was pulled off me, thrashing in anger but leaving me all the same, and I was curled up in a ball, paint of all colors in my hair and across my back and on my face, mixing with the blood that I spat from my mouth and the tears falling from my eyes. The lady that ran the orphanage was mad at me for spilling so much paint all over the nice floors (as if that was the worst thing I've ever done - I put about 5 mice in her bed one time) and painting monstrosities all over the closet walls, but the woman that was with her only smiled. She did trick me into thinking that she was my long lost mother, and I hate her for that, but she did save me from that boy, and for that I will always be thankful.

I followed her home, thinking that I was being taken back to the family I never had, meeting the people that I never knew existed and they would love me and I would love them and that perfect family that everyone always talks about would be mine. I fell for it all - that I had a twin, that the Magpies were the long lost family I had been waiting to be brought back home too. I asked questions, but never got straight answers - it was always something cryptic, a puzzle that I needed to solve in order to uncover the truth. It was years before I realized that Urbane Magpie had stolen the shiny broken pieces of my heart and taken it back to her nest of children. It was all so wrong - everything I did. I just didn't fit in, all of my siblings shut my out, knowing of my adoption and my odd ways. Charting stars? Painting all over the walls and ceiling? Talking of heroes and mythical creatures? That wasn't what a normal child does. That isn't how the Magpies are. (Okay, they are all a bit odd but they have a sort of way of being odd together, y'know?) For close to a year I tried to become something else, a human being that fit in with them, but no matter how hard I tried, my quirky self managed to slip through and I was forced to retreat to my room with my broken heart and my paintbrush. And no matter how much I wished upon a star, my real mom never came - and now I know how stupid I really was to believe the woman that made me feel like I belonged so long ago. Trust is a silly thing, ridiculous really, something I just don't have any longer. It shattered along with my heart. (Oh and my virginity if you couldn't guess that already.) But even a girl with a broken heart who has lived by herself for years gets lonely eventually. Eventually a growing girl wants someone to talk to and a place to fit in.

Normally I had looked up into the night sky at the stars. But on that magical (Ew ... okay it certainly wasn't magical but yeah, I guess it did change my life) night I decided to turn my head to the ground where a whole new world was open to me - a real world, not the ridiculous one where my head was caught in the stars. I watched girls strut around in skimpy outfits, freezing in the winter air, but laughing all the same - especially when some guy walked up to them and grabbed them around the waist and walked them down the street until they either disappeared around a corner or behind a door. Whores, prostitutes, bimbos, sluts - whatever you feel like calling them, it doesn't matter. Because what I could see was men tripping over themselves just to take a girl home for the night. Men waving money around, throwing coins in the air, giving away their watches away just to have a girl warm their bed at night. (Or their counters or dressers or tables or toilets or showers or couches or - okay, yeah you get the point.) Sure the wives hate us, as if it is our fault that they can't please their husbands, and others walk by and spit on us or feel bad for us and toss us a coin, and then of course there are those annoying creeps who seem to think they can "whoo" us and get away without paying but their is always a pay off for so much horrible - men and boys and everything in between. They all want us, no matter how hard they try to resist, eventually they give in and give us all the money and jewelry we could ever wish for. Because they enjoy our company - my company. With them, I just fit - I finally fit in somewhere. (Under them? Ha, aren't you a funny one ... I also fit on top of them if they prefer ...) So what more could I ask more? I get to have fun all night long, go on adventures that help me escape the cage I live in, and I get paid for being a playful company. So I climb out the window of my house every night, skimpy skirt, see through shirt, heels and make-up every night, and sit in my room painting by day, coming out only when I am required to (and frankly when I'm hungry - which is probably more often than a normal person) and make sure that none of them knows that I leave at night to live out a life that is better without them and their stupid family matters - disappearances and such.

A place where being different is exactly what they are paying for.

Why must we all conceal what we think, how we feel?
Must there be a secret me I'm forced to hide?
I won't pretend that I'm someone else for all time.
When will my reflection show
who I am inside?

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3B3140 - accent
BFB8A3 - speech
F2E0C9 - other
F2B9AC - emphasis
D97E7E - text

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Ha! Done! YAYAY!

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Accepted!

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