“HEY JUDE, DON'T MAKE IT BAD”
Take a sad song and make it better.

HEY JUDE . Eighteen.
DON'T LET HER DOWN . Male.
YOU HAVE FOUND HER . District Four.
NOW GO AND GET HER . Unwilling Grave Robber.
THE MINUTE YOU LET HER UNDER YOUR SKIN . Straight?
TALKING . Pretty Odd
DOING . Folkin' Around
DEEP THOUGHT . We're So Starving
HEARING . Nine in The Afternoon
THE OTHER GUY . She Had The World


APPEARANCE .

“AND ANYTIME YOU FEEL THE PAIN, HEY JUDE, REFRAIN”
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.

I've lost weight,

It's the first thing he notes when he stares into the mirror with the jagged veins splintering like ice on the lake in the spring. Jude's eyes that are staring so sullenly look almost defeated (But only when they're not around.) Dark and broody like the eyes of a storm, they are usually calm unless he has to do some delegating on his brother's behalf. He's weary, it's noticeable by the shadows under the exotically shaped eyes, exotic to you, yah mean. Shhh, be polite. At first people said that they were shaped like almonds, but Jude's mother always said that they were soft waves she caught from the ocean to shape her first son's eyes. They are framed by long, brown lashes that have a tendency to kiss his skin, tickling him every time he blinks.

No, I have not lost weight, I'm fine kids.

That's the second thought that pops through his head though. (He can't get one thought out edgewise between himself.) But even though he seems to be loath to admit it, it's true. Jude never really was one to work out, but he does have some muscles attached to his lanky body due to his career. Broad shoulders from all that digging lead down into a waist thin from all that running. He stands at the champion height of six feet, and weighs one hundred and thirty five pounds. Being a tiny bit underweight isn't that unnatural in the Districts, but it's not that Jude doesn't have access to food. It's that he wastes a lot of energy hyperventilating, trying to figure out ways to keep his brothers safe. It's not like I freak out that much, it's an exaggeration. Oh please love, you're a ticking time bomb. But he's so concave, as if he's already gone off, and has simply collapsed inwards, still crawling onwards. Eat love, you weren't born to be a skeleton.

He's always been told that he looks cool. Whatever 'cool' means. To Jude, cool means sitting outside in the dark, with no light, and just being calm. But still, he's always been the cool brother, the one that seems to make the word effortless. (Or so say the girls he never notices as he walks by them.) Honestly, it is effortless for the boy, poor thing doesn't even realize how lucky he is. He's apt to simply pull on a cotton shirt, hastily tuck it into some skinnies, and throw on a belt or suspenders. He's got a bit of a thing for suspenders and hats made of straw. Fucking dandy. Shut it. He can't help the fact that some of his old clothes are old fashioned because you take what you can get. Choices are for those with power, and if Jude was on a scale, he might be just at the bottom. But it feels like he's never touching bottom, gangly long legs and arms or no.

And then there is that face, Jude, he looks so damned calm on the outside, as if someone took a photo of him and they really managed to capture his soul. Smiling isn't the reflex that it should be for Jude. In fact, the boy's default seems to be a face fixed in either a grim line or a worried frown. (Those gorgeous lips though, they need to see them grinning.) All the Ripley brothers are pretty blessed in the lip department. But Jude's oval chin, soft nose, and high cheekbones are completely his own. God, finally, It's my own. Don't be rude. The only thing that's off about that pale skin, (The brother's work is done at night, sleeping has always been for the day) is the faint pick scar under his left ear, gained from jumping a fence with too much panic clouding his brain.

And of course, there is that shocked mess of brown hair sitting atop his head. Is it hard to believe that those tawny strands are often in a disarray? It's straight but for in the front, where the longer strands decided to take a different route and curl up into kinks, like a man with a really bad back problem. He's always running his long fingers through his hair, more so when he is stressed out, which is pretty much all of the time. He's never let it get as long as Nino's however, always hacking it off before it can tickle him to death. It has a thing for creeping down his long neck like vines. (It's just the way that hair is once a corpse is in the ground and rotting, It's lost it's life.) The result of the messiness almost likens him to an owl, especially when he's got a paper bag gripped in his hand, and his eyes are all wide. I'm not going to ask who, just give me the answer.

He's seen a life of work, this boy. His long fingers crack and pop when he flexes them due to hours of being dragged out into the night to dig with an old rusty shovel. His hands are calloused from the falling apart ropes of the district, which seem to have a certain vendetta against Jude personally. (Because he's gotten so many rope burns it isn't possible that the things don't have sentient thought.) His skin might be pale and smooth on his face, but that isn't always the case for the rest of his body. Jude collects the pens they sometimes get because he likes to draw. Should be selling those. I know. When there is no paper, his body becomes inked with notes and drawings of things that were supposed to stay in his head but slipped out through the tip of his pen. These words and images usually, if not always become ruined and muddied with the dirt of graves, a mixture of sand, ash, and mud. But that's okay, Jude never meant for them to last.

And it's not so much that Jude looks like he's been defeated, but it's the way he looks like he's six feet under a little beforre his time. The boy seems to have the world on his shoulders, like every responsibility falls on him. It brings his height down almost two inches when he's upset, although his go to posture is tall as a tree. His roots go unshod at home, bare feet slapping against hardwood like the sound of drumbeats when he runs through the small house. The only time Jude's body posture is at ease is when he sits inside one of those pockets of happiness. That's usually time spent with his brothers and none of them arguing. But it's the sum of Jude's parts that try to give away how he really is. That maybe if one were to simply sneak up behind and blow softly on his back, he might just topple over, no matter what he pretends to be.

PERSONALITY .

“FOR WELL YOU KNOW THAT IT'S A FOOL, WHO PLAYS IT COOL”
By making his world a little colder.

When your father wakes you up in what feels like the middle of the night, and tells you to be quiet and go with him, you don't ask questions. When he's got you digging graves up, and opening the rotted wood to reveal a body inside that's only half there, maybe then one asks questions. But not me. Because Jude was too busy with his mouth being clamped shut at the terror of seeing a corpse full of worms smiling up at his seven year old self. More like too scared to question Daddy. There's a quiet finality to seeing a dead body laying quietly in a coffin, and Jude's seen them in all stages. The ones he hates most are the freshest ones because he knows now that no one sleeps six feet under.

When Jude finally did ask, he found out that he was digging for his baby brothers. Suddenly there were too many Ripleys, and all in quick succession, and Mr. Ripley had found himself out of a job. His brothers were too young to be digging for gold in the middle of the night. Besides, it was good to let them think that they still thought their dad dug for buried treasure. Jude used to tell his brother that he and their dad were pirates, and that's what they went digging for so late at night. Truth was, that Jude only dug for them, because he loved his brothers ever since he first saw them, all wrapped up when the doctor came out of mom's room. He would dig a hole right through the Earth for them.

After eleven years of digging, running, digging, and selling, you'd think he'd be used to it all, think he'd have it under control. But, oh god, what am I doing? He hates it, so much, the running and digging. The stealing, because that is what it is, it's stealing to take things that aren't your's, and Jude's pretty sure that if the person loved the item so much that they got themselves buried with it, it wasn't good to take. You're surviving. But Jude would pull the capped teeth, and the now loose rings from any bony finger just to keep things running. Because he's the man of the house, well, the eldest, and he has to make sure everyone stays alive, and keep the Peacekeepers off of their backs. I'd kill myself before letting anything happened to them.

Maybe when they see him walking around, hands in his pockets, looking slightly rumpled and suave at the same time, he looks cool. He's got a reaction like the wind, and eyes like ice, but it's like someone took him and dunked him in stone because it's like he can't figure out how to communicate anymore. Somewhere along the line, Jude lost the ability to relay his feelings along to people. Maybe it was when his father died, there was no longer anyone to express his concerns to than himself. Suddenly, he found it hard to breath sometimes. Air would get caught in his throat like bubbles in a straw, and he'd feel like he was choking, everything pressing him in and down. He would fall straight into the earth, and then his brother's would dig him back up and steal everything off of his body. Because he'd be just another corpse, and they'd have just a little more money.

In time spent not robbing from those so poor in life, Jude does art, It's what I am, first and foremost. Are not. Am too. There's something about clutching a pen between his fingers that makes Jude truly happy. Whatever he can get his hands on to draw with and draw on, he'll use. Even the small brown paper bags that he carries around as a preemptive measure against his inability to breath. Sketches and abstract pieces end up all over the bags, works in progress lining the walls of his room, each one a doorway, as if he tried hard enough, he could take one out of there. The art is always linked by brushed lines kissing the surface of the paper. as if the artist is almost afraid of the stuff. As a result however, paper bags with art and lines of grime end up living all over the district, courtesy of Jude.

The bags he carries around. It's like they hold magic, or something because when the oxygen leaves the room it seems to get stored in the little bags and if Jude tears one open and breathes in that paper bag smell, everything works again. It's not that he doesn't know how to breath, it's that when gravity pushes too much, he loses it, all that air. It's suddenly gone. Come back, please come back. When everything leaves, gets sucked out of the universe, all he wants is for it to come back. Every time they take it, please just give it back, I'm hungry for it. Looks like he can't make up his mind, because no matter how much pain the world gives him, he'd always take the weight of it on his shoulders rather than leave his brothers behind.

I could just sink away, you know. Oblivion looks pretty fancy free.

Right, then who would take care of those hooligans. When his parents passed, Jude was the eldest son. The weight of the family fell on his shoulders, suddenly it was his job to run things, keep his brothers safe. No one would know, even I don't, no I do not, the strain it puts on Jude every single day. Maybe that's where his anxiety came from, the strain of it all. Ever look at a piece of rotted wood? Looks lovely on the outside doesn't it. But press with even the tap of a finger and you can make a dent. He's fragile, Jude is, but so very strong. He's stood resolute through so many windstorms, but maybe one more gale would do it, would send him over the edge of the world. Not that he isn't already dangerously close.

See, Jude needs someone to talk to, to confide in and argue with. When there is no one else, who can he go to but himself? Who's that other guy? The guy in the green? It's simply Jude. Simply Jude. Everything's so simple baby, why can't he just tell his brothers, why can't he just talk to them? They wouldn't understand it, they wouldn't get it. Because they might be tainted too, but if they were glass bottles in a window, they would be bright yellows and pinks. Jude would be a deep maroon, with something dark lurking down at the bottom, until one day the rot explodes it, and they all end up stained glass in a church window. The ground belongs to those who deserve to go there, and Jude would rather be swallowed in the sea, then pretend that he does.

HISTORY .

“AND DON'T YOU KNOW THAT IT'S JUST YOU? HEY JUDE, YOU'LL DO”
The movement you need is on your shoulder.

When Jude was born, it was to a couple in turmoil. Really, they shouldn't have been having a child with their financial state, but all you need is love apparently. That's what Jude's mother used to tell him anyway. He'd fall over and cry over the angry red skin, and she'd kiss the place, repeating the words over and over. It didn't matter if Jude was in pain, or he was sad, as long as they had love, things would be fine. At some point, Nino showed up. Jude used to think that Nino and him were twins until he was five or so. The only time he does remember his parents telling him he would be getting a brother was when Fitz, and then Noah were born. By the time Noah popped out of the oven, Jude was three, and already a mama bear in training.

He remembered how his father had sat him down when he was five, and told him, "Your Brothers are your treasures, if anything happens to us, you keep them shining like gems." It was only later that Jude found out what gems were, but the words stuck with him, and have stuck with him forever. They came in use when Jude turned seven and he finally found out what his father really did. He used to play 'pirates' with his younger brothers, believing his father to be out digging for buried treasure at night. When he found out what it was his father actually did, he still played at pirates, letting his brothers pretend that the things his father and him brought home were really treasures, and not some things stolen off a body. It was nice to pretend for a year, until Nino found out anyway.

It was so funny to Jude sometimes how Fitz and Noah would beg to go along too, to find buried treasure. They didn't know that what they were doing was extracting precious items off of a dead person's body. Probably the only nice things they owned. That's where the nice things came from, not the ground in a big old chest, but from the sighing skin of an ancestor. It wasn't that I did not understand. Jude knew that they did it for his brothers, like his dad said, they were precious gems. Besides, it be worth it when Mama Ripley's face would light up with joy at the sight of the things they brought home on good nights. Or when they were able to get something nice for Fitz and Noah, then it as worth it. All the calluses, dirt, and scratches.

Or was it?

Cut to Jude aged sixteen. All of the brothers dug now, and there was no such thing as playing pirates or anything anymore. Because they all new the reality. They weren't pirates, they were just desperate people stealing from those that couldn't strike back. One day, on a run, Mr. Ripley tore his flesh open on a nail. Jude was already a panicker at that point, and knew his way around medical supplies. Luckily Mom knew everything, and took care of her husband herself. Everything was good and fine, we were all good. Days later, Mr. Ripley has a fever, he can barely move. The wound is all pussy and red, angry looking, like someone scratched that nail against his body on purpose in revenge for all their things stolen. Jude and his mother devoted themselves to taking care of their father.

It was shaky for a while, but then things didn't look to bad, his fever began to go down, they thought. It was Jude's turn to stay up with him. But he was so tired, oh god he was so tired. It had been so long without a good rest, Just for a second, I'll shut my eyes. Just maybe he could get a moment. Maybe if for just a moment, then he could pick up his shovel and go out into the night, and sound his great yawp, but he had to take care of his daddy. The daddy with the precious jewels, that Jude had to take care of. He was the eldest, his job. He'd wake up and give his father water, or clean the bed sheets, or hold his hand. Jude's dad left early in the morning a week after contracting the fever, but Jude gave him water anyway, trying to push it down his throat, he looked drowned and dead. But not like those in the coffins.

With that, Jude became the man of the house. Things were grimmer than before after that. Their mother sill tried to smile for them, to get them to smile, but it never seemed to work right. One morning she didn't get out of bed. They thought it was depression, heartbreak even. They didn't know, for all the things the Ripley boys had done and seen, they were only boys. Not long after, she stopped eating the food Jude desperately tried to give her, growing weaker and weaker. A month after the death of their father, Mrs. Ripley ran out into the rain and got herself lost. After some frantic searching, they found their mother digging up their father's grave, maybe trying to dig back up her treasure, just like the Ripleys were so good at.

It took a lot to get her out of the hole, to lead her back home and get her dry. She contracted a fever anyway. It didn't matter what Jude did this time, she didn't want to live, so she didn't fight it. I tried to make her. Jude stayed up day and night with their mother, trying to keep her alive long enough to see the coming spring. Spring had always made her happy, maybe she'd try for spring. But when he made her tea, she refused to drink it. When he cooked her broth, she wouldn't have it. She was too far gone in hallucinations, that one time she mistook her son for her deceased husband. "Oh love, I'm coming," she'd whisper at him, and he'd take her hand in his and say that he was happy, when he felt like his insides were literally burning away in sadness.

Until then, I thought sadness was supposed to be wet. But it hurt. It /burned/. I was wrong before.

She was buried beside their father, their graves fresh, and suddenly territory to be untouched by anyone. They had been buried with nothing, as the brothers knew that they would have wanted their four sons to have everything they could. Jude left a scratched notch on the back of their gravestones to show that they were already dug up, a sign to anyone anywhere that these graves weren't for digging. There wasn't time to be sad after that. Jude pushed it all down, all those raw burning feelings. He was the man of the house, he had to deal with everything, keep their lives on track. He had to keep digging, keep cooking and cleaning. His brothers needed him, he reassured himself daily.

Somewhere between then and eighteen, Jude developed his anxiety problem, and the habit of talking to himself. They never happened when mommy and daddy still lived. He still can't decide if he was always this fucked up, or if he's just stepping closer and closer to the edge, fearless as a daredevil.

ANYTHING ELSE ?

Jude's purple neked cray cray boi shovel is named Surge.

OUT OF CHARACTER .

FACE CLAIM .

JUNG YONG HWA • JUDE RIPLEY

OTHER CHARACTERS ?

Oh, that's right, I have this.

I, ELEGANT .
am a cat. Deal. I have many nicknames, feel free to make one up for me if you wish. I've been called, Ele, elephant, mama goose, etc.

CODEWORD . odair

[justify]You are completely effing brilliant. I love everything that you are. I swear I want to quote every other line of this bio and write them down on little slips of paper so I can carry them around with me, because even though it's super angsty, it makes me so happy. Omfr. Gurlllllllll.

ACCEPTED[/justify]