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Margaret Josie Bennett

"No such thing as perfection? Who said that?"

0 · 545 views · located in The New World

a character in “The Lovely Ones”, as played by confidence

Description

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❝ If you're not even going to try to be perfect, then stop wasting my time. ❞




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❝ MORE THAN JUST A NAME ❞





| Full name |
"It's kind of an intimidating name; deal with it." Margaret Josie Bennett

| Nickname |
"Do people even use nicknames anymore? It's not like we have two people with the same name anymore, with everyone dead." Until she was thrust upon royalty, Margaret was affectionately deemed 'Margie.' It wasn't until she was suddenly at the very top of aristocracy that people began calling her Margaret. Most don't call her Margie anymore, as if the name is beneath her status. But in private, Margaret wants desperately to be someone's Margie again. The only Margaret she's ever known was her grandmother, and she was a crazy old woman she hardly cared for.

| Age |
"Early twenties are supposed to be when you're having the time of your life, right?" Twenty-two years old

| Gender |
"Ouch, you can't tell?" Female

| Role |
"Well, I'm not one for titles..." The High King's Sister




[font=century gothic]❝ MORE THAN JUST A CHARACTER ❞





| Class |
Aristocrat

| Occupation |
"Oh, the joys of being around people all the time..." Socialite - though she often wishes she was of greater use. It gets boring, being around people so often.

Likes Dislikes
Flattery Apathy
Winning Idleness
A good book Nosiness
Accomplishing a task The unknown
A meaningful conversation Stress


| Personality |
"Who am I? What a question!" OCD? Not quite. Perfectionist? Definitely. When Marcus is your older brother, and the apple of your parents' eyes, you have to fight for attention in the family. She did so by striving for excellence. In time, everyone around her began to appreciate just how carefully she attended to the tiniest of details. She was the master of making things work, the master of stitching everything together into a masterpiece. It became a part of her, this meticulous planning, this critical eye she had developed. She strives to be the best in all that she does, even if she doesn't attract the public. She's quite fine with working in the background, as long as she's actually working; Margaret can't stand being idle, and feels that if she isn't working towards something, she's a useless human being, merely a human doll. She's very careful and cautious; not exactly paranoid, but she takes in every option and every possible outcome/consequence before making any major decision. She doesn't leave room for mistakes.

Margaret is extremely charming, with plenty of laughter and coy wittiness to her. She can keep a lively conversation going for hours, and is rarely boring; however, she is rather outspoken about her opinions, which does not help her in her relationships; she's far too opinionated for her own good. She's become quite vain after so many years of being considered efficient, proactive, and quite honestly, perfect. She thinks that, with her experience and capability, she knows best, and people oughtn't to fight back. After all, she is a Bennett, and a Bennett is always right. She has every bit of confidence in her abilities and what the outcome will be, but she is extremely insecure about everything else. Everything that is not under her control, she worries about excessively. She is, obviously, a control freak. Margaret isn't terrified of the unknown, but it does make her uncomfortable. She prides herself in being an intelligent, well-rounded young woman, independent, strong, and self-sufficient.

In her relationships, Margaret is quite the strange lady. Her power is so strange that some men are suspicious of her immediately, and she doesn't exactly blame them. She does, however, get extremely frustrated when being accused of something she hasn't done, and doesn't forgive them for such assumptions, either. She is not the initiator of relationships, and is often hostile to those who try. Despite how she acts, she gets fond of people easily, no matter how incompetent or useless she finds them to be. It's easy to think Margaret dislikes you; she's a charming woman with plenty of wit, but she is very critical and sarcastic. Most people think she hates them. But as soon as others make the first move, she continues to seek you out. Her treatment of others rarely change, but the fact that she talks to you shows her affections for you.





❝ MORE THAN JUST A STORY ❞





| Background |
"Oh, you want all the juicy details? Get ready and listen, then." The Bennett family has always been in the center of the spotlight. Marcus was the most natural basking in the attentino, Cyrus followed his parents and looked adorable, but Margaret always had trouble finding her place. She was neither the magnet of the public, and neither was she the adorable little toddler who beamed at everyone and looked fashionable 24/7. By the time of her birth, her parents had found a place for Marcus and Cyrus, and couldn't seem to find a place for their youngest. At first, Margaret tried very hard to be like Cyrus. She dressed up stylishly, smiled for the cameras, and charmed the pants off of people. She learned from Marcus quite well. However, she didn't have the dynamic, commanding presence that Marcus had, so she tried going after Cyrus. But the few years she had spent chasing after Marcus's place had rendered her incapable of being such an 'accessory.' She was decidedly lost.

Thus, she began to actually work. She started following her father to work when she was fifteen, and began stating her ideas, helping her father out, and running a small little business of her own; she would become a little helper to whoever paid $12 an hour. By then, she had established a very admirable reputation of getting a job done with an 'above and beyond' quality. She was a hard worker, everyone told her father. Finally, she had his attention. He was impressed with her abilities, but never did anything to act on it. Still, she never gave up. She kept on working hard and perfecting every skill of hers, taking on new ones when she could and polishing them daily. She wanted to master everything, for the sake of mastering everything. Perfection, by then, was almost an obsession.

The nuclear war changed all of that. The only competition left was worthless; her brothers were already so decidedly individuals with their own talents and flaws that she found no point in competing with them. It wasn't their fault they couldn't perfect every detail like she did; it was who they were. The people left were so limited that she found herself unwilling to compete for first place any longer. So she let this fierce competitive nature of hers go, and instead focused on bettering herself and her abilities. She adjusted to the way of life now, referring to her brother as The High King, being, virtually, a princess... It was all new, but she had to live with it.

Margaret had a healthy amount of friends, but considered them mere acquaintances. In fact, most of her life was spent alone, by herself. She was close enough with her brothers, but the time she had to herself was spent on herself, on sharpening her skills. This left little room for social buzzing, though she was capable enough and experienced enough due to the attention her family received. The private school she attended was constantly praising her for her intelligence, and she relished in it. Finally, someone was complimenting her. Margaret loved school because of this. She worked hard and decided against graduating early like Cyrus. She stayed and took college courses here and there, sometimes dedicating a period to an online class. By the time she enrolled in Yale, she was technically a junior in college. She graduated quickly then, with a degree in Economics.

After the nuclear war started, and before everyone was dead, Margaret looked at her friend's boyfriend and smiled at him as a greeting. Suddenly, he was trying to kiss her, grabbing her in strange places, professing something of love and even quoting some of Shakespeare's worst sonnets. She was shocked and began to slap him repeatedly, trying to knock some sense into him. But nothing was working, and by the time her friend walked in, one of her closest at the time, he was beginning to sing to her. Oh God, sing to her. Their friendship didn't last after that, and for awhile, men were following Margaret in a very, very long line. It shortened once they all died, but Margaret was traumatized. She swore off love, saying if that was the way they were going to act like when they were in love, she didn't want them at all.





*code for CS: ALL the credit goes to desire99600!

So begins...

Margaret Josie Bennett's Story

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    As usual, the day began with death. It was unsurprising, and completely predictable; Margaret was getting tired of it, really. Hadn't her brother learned anything since he took the coveted throne? Soon, he wasn't going to have any subjects to rule over, and she did not want to be around when that happened. His temper was disgraceful, so similar to a child's tantrum. How had anyone fallen for his high-and-mighty tricks? But it was Marcus's way, and his charisma, charm, and good looks were enough to make even a married man swoon. As soon as she heard of one of his fits, she took a walk around the manor. It was beautiful, after all, and it may surprise some, but Margaret appreciated beauty above all. It took a certain accident to stumble on that kind of grace, and she longed for it. She was, after all, the famous Miss Perfectionist. She wanted the perfection that came with the pink petal of a rose, or the straight stem of a daisy. There wasn't much of a garden, though Margaret had silently and fiercely desired one so badly that she was still surprised that no one had seen her wish burning on her lips and chest, but these days, nobody paid attention to anyone but themselves.

    She merely roamed along the wall, running her fingers along the stone, lost in her thoughts. She was still clad in her nightgown; ever since Vivian married Marcus, the whole 'royal' family had been subject to dressing formally, even if they were going to sleep. If Margaret was in charge, she would let people go to sleep in a bra and shorts, like she was accustomed to doing. But she wasn't in charge, and she never would be... being the baby of the Bennett family had taught her that. Not that she was bitter, she had accepted her fate long ago. But still; with the adviser, Vivian, and every other conniving little rascal out there trying to tell Marcus the right thing to do, nobody seemed to ask her opinion. She was just another damned woman, another damned aristocrat. A woman who could make men fall in love with her, but what good would that do for her? It was such a useless power; she didn't need love, nor did she want it.

    Useless. Just like she was becoming. Oh, dammit, wouldn't Marcus just consider giving her a real job?

    Well, at least there was some sort of ball today. Some glorified party to show off their power, wealth, and Marcus's good looks. Margaret scoffed silently and began to laugh. She just wanted to laugh. It had been a long time since she had laughed. She looked crazy, but she didn't care. She laughed, and she laughed, and she laughed. "Fuck the world!" she whisper-shouted to the clouds, "I'm going to get drunk at the ball tonight and let someone fuck me! Fuck the world!"

    But of course, she was lying. None of that would happen; none of what she ever said in solitude ever did. It was just nice to think that one day, it could happen. Still a little exhilarated, Margaret walked back into the manor and headed towards her own chamber, wondering how a Socialite was supposed to be a Socialite when there was absolutely nobody interesting to socialize with.

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Character Portrait: Margaret Josie Bennett Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II
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Behind, over, under, around and through the hole. Easy enough. Atlas didn't wear a lot of ties, not like his father did. Always with a business suit and tie, 'till the day he died, come to think about it, the old man was buried in a suit; a cheap one at that. For someone who always tried anything to get rich, he sure did die poor, but what do you expect when you make a deal with the devil. Fat bastard, he got what he deserved.

Atlas walked out his closet and looked at the naked girl one more time. With a smile he raised his hand and spanked the womans ass.

"Get up." He said with a laugh, barely audible over the loud squeal followed by a series cuss words.

Atlas continued laughing as he left the angry woman in his bedroom. Making his way down the long hallway, he loosened the red tie around his neck as it became uncomfortable. Maybe a bite to eat, or perhaps he should be reporting to his boss, the head of security. After all, Atlas was only just a security technician, the only one in the mansion. The rest were simple guards taking turns on gate duty and beating up poor bastards deemed traitors by the king. The head of security was an withered old dick of a man with half his face covered in scars and a unnatural deep scratchy voice that frankly creeped the shit out of Atlas.

No, the old man will have to wait; Atlas noticed Margaret walking in from the gardens and towards her bedroom with an amused look on her face. Thankfully, she didn't see him when she turned the corner. He smiled as he decided to follow her, quietly at first, but then he began to whistle a tune from a Disney movie that had dwarfs in it, an almost forgotten memory from his childhood. Atlas was in a rather good mood this morning, probably from fucking one of the maids last night, and he wanted to share is recent conquest with Margaret.

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    The servants were bustling about, as per usual. Margaret glanced at them as they went by, wondering if she had ever met them before. If they had connected eyes before this cursed nuclear war came about, if they had bumped into one another in the street and mumbled an apology without looking at each other. It was a game she played, guessing the lives that they had once lived and loved or perhaps not loved. It was a game she played, creating a story for them. The disgust most of the aristocracy held for the working class was, in Margaret's opinion, a little overrated. They overdid it, that is. Margaret couldn't help but feel a curiosity towards them. After all, there were only so many people in the world left... Shouldn't survival be something to be glad for? The servants, on the other hand, looked miserable.

    Nevertheless, the game was a habit she'd formed. It made the walking seem like a much shorter distance than it really was; why was this place so immense? Her feet already hurt, barefoot as she was. She tried to ignore it, ignore the fact that these servants were seeing her in this state... hair loose and wild as it so rarely was, feet bare and soft, nightgown flowing, her face naked.

    It wasn't that she was ugly, or unattractive, or completely unappealing... Au contraire, darling. Margaret was a beauty, and she knew it. Not in vanity, but in simple truth. She wasn't ugly, and she sure as hell wasn't average. She had an exotic aura, one that even Marcus or Cyrus had. Her dark eyes and dark skin was enough to make her seem foreign, but her attitude was too refined, according to a few, to be of America. She did her best to defy the American stereotype; they were the most foolish of all nations, in her own opinion. She had taken Advanced Placement United States History, but it had only succeeded in irritating her. How foolish were they! It frustrated her to be part of such a country.

    Lost in her own thoughts and contempt, she nearly didn't hear the sound of a ruckus from a few feet behind her. The sound of falling to the ground startled her, and she turned sharply with a scowl, only to find no one there. Only Atlas, trying to get himself off the floor. A pang of sympathy pulled at the insides of her stomach, causing Margaret to grimace painfully. He was obviously in pain. The rare moment of pity took over Margaret's physical body, and she walked over to him and stood, calmly, looking down at him as if she was studying him. Really, she was stalling; she had no idea what to do. So she did what came to her first: she held out her hand and said nothing. What could you say to a man who has lost a fight? Whose pride is wounded? No, it was better to say nothing. She had learned that a long time ago.

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Atlas was piecing together the possible details of killing Edwin when he noticed a hand reaching out to help him; a womans hand. His eyes followed her hand up her arm to her shoulders; her neck, her lips, and finally his eyes meet hers. Atlas forced a smile across his face as he said her name. "Margaret. I didn't see you there." He reach out for her, gently holding her soft hand as he brought his head in closer to her and kissed her slender fingers. Atlas never missed an opportunity to flirt with an aristocratic woman, even if he just got beat up by an old man in front of her.

To him, the women of the aristocracy were lake fine wines; only to be enjoyed in small sips and only on special occasions. Margaret was no exception, a strong, smart young beauty with an allure unlike any of the others. Atlas was always drawn to her presence and often enjoyed their conversations together, however brief they were. This attraction towards the high kings sister was unexplainable, unpredictable and therefore dangerous, so he never stayed in the same room with her for very long.

The young man released is soft grip on Margarets hand before helping himself up with an unexpectedly loud grunt. His stomach was tender to the touch, a pain he had felt before, but the embarrassment he felt from the presence of a lady was almost unbearable. Atlas solidified his decision to kill that old fucker tonight. There was no point in holding it off for this stupid dinner party. Ed was a dead man. The young security technician stood up and brushed his suit jacket even thought there was no dirt on it.

"Well, I'm glad to see your face. I was wanting to tell you about my night last night, but that's not really important anymore." Atlas said glancing at her breast and then back at her eyes. He had often bragged about his sexcapades to her, partly to annoy the woman, partly to keep himself uninterested in her. It was an odd strategy, but one he felt worked well enough. Atlas wanted to move up from sleeping with the servants to sleeping royalty, but Margaret wasn't ready for this jelly. Besides, he wanted his introductory-fuck into the women of high class to be with the Queen herself. Atlas was nothing if not ambitious.

"Did you enjoy your stroll in the gardens?" He asked Margaret before clearing his throat as he adjusted his sleeves of his dress shirt, unaware that his tie was loose, his collar was crooked, and his hair was a total mess, in fact his sleeves were just fine before he messed with them.

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    Atlas wasn't 'royal.' He wasn't of high class, and he wasn't someone of her caliber. But Margaret had never been one for social classes, and Atlas had always been one of the more refined commoners in the estate. His good looks certainly help, Margaret thought playfully, allowing her thoughts to appear in the curve of her lips as she smiled. His voice reminded her of a purr, and his vocal chords seemed to twist around her own name until it was completely enveloped by it. He was one of the few who made her name seem... well, who made her name seem a little less elderly. Margaret was the name of a grandmother, not the young woman she was. Being flirted with was always rejuvenating, even if she did little to encourage it, and made it clear to each male that she was off limits. Atlas pressed his lips to her fingers, as gallantly and charmingly as a prince would be expected to, though the two of them knew very well that he wasn't anything close to a prince. In fact, it amused her how he acted so gentlemanly when he was little more than a commoner. He worked with security, for God's sake. But there was little harm in having fun and going along with his little act. He was something of a joke to Margaret, taking on such high airs and trying to integrate with the aristocrats. "Margaret," he said, "I didn't see you there."

    Well, of course he didn't. If he had, then he would have avoided making such a fiasco, such a scene, such an ass of himself. Margaret nodded her head at him and smiled wickedly, warning him of the teasing jabs that were sure to come. "I'm sure you didn't," she said lightly as he rose to his feet, taking note of the soft grunt that came from his lips, "or else you would have maintained your, ah, your cool." She raised her eyebrows at him and giggled in spite of herself. It was an uncharacteristic move of hers, but Atlas did look so silly at the moment, unkempt and untidy due to the little rustle he had encountered with another commoner. It contradicted his stately mannerisms so harshly it was humorous. She did find Atlas more interesting than some of the other commoners, whom she had attempted to speak to, but had been firmly bored by. Why did servants complain about being low class when they acted as such? If anything, Margaret longed to meet the maid who spoke her mind and asked her to stop throwing her lady delicates on the floor.

    Atlas was many things, some of them unflattering, but at least he could hold a conversation.

    "Well, I'm glad to see your face. I was wanting to tell you about my night last night, but that's not really important anymore," Atlas said. It was a compliment in its own right, Margaret knew, but its smooth edges were cut jagged with a single glance towards her bosom. Oh, he wasn't trying to look into her heart, she knew that. The fool thought he could undress her with his eyes. She calmly adjusted her nightgown so that it came to an inch below her neck, concealing the breasts she had been blessed with. It revealed more of her ankles and calves, but what man was fascinated by those? No, men wanted the goods, and Margaret took care to keep what they wanted from them. No man wants to join a club everyone is invited to. It was what made aristocracy so interesting; people only withheld themselves of a higher position because they found them unworthy, because they had been tricked by the aristocracy that they were better. Only Margaret acknowledged and readily admitted that it was nothing more than an illusion. Of course, no one knew that, though Atlas seemed to. He pursued aristocracy enough.

    "I am pleased to come across you as well, Atlas," Margaret said, saying his name for the first time. She made a point of not connecting with most of the hired, and someone's name, essentially someone's identity, was something very personal indeed. But seeing him in such a helpless position had softened her heart towards him. Atlas made a habit of boasting of his sexual encounters to her, and she often amused him lightheartedly, holding him at arm's length without dispatching completely. But anyone can make an exception whenever they feel inclined to, Margaret thought calmly. "And you're right; last night isn't particularly important, in light of the ball being held tonight," she continued lightly.

    "Did you enjoy your stroll in the gardens?"

    Margaret raised her eyebrows at him, trying to withhold her surprise. She didn't know anyone knew of her daily stroll. But of course, he was in security; he had all the cameras he needed to spy on the aristocracy. It sent a chill down her spine, knowing she was being watched. Before the nuclear war, she had been weary of surveillance, had wanted to protest but as a Bennett, couldn't express her opinions on anything for fear of offending some of Father's clients. But now, she was open with her mind, and her tongue, disregarding the line aristocracy often drew. "So you do know everything," she commented, making intense eye contact, conveying with her eyes that she disapproved. But she said nothing afterwards concerning her walk, or his duties, or his use of the privileged his duties came with, and instead held out her arm daintily.

    "Escort me to my chambers, Atlas; I'm going to need plenty of rest to be in the right state of mind for tonight's ball."

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Character Portrait: Margaret Josie Bennett Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II
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“So you do know everything.”

Atlas smiled at Margaret when she gave him a disapproving look. His cameras were, in a way, his one and only power and he so loved to remind the aristocracy of that fact. Of course his power was limited, the cameras didn’t have sound and they were in black and white, most of them were grainy images so it’s wasn’t like he could read lips or notes that were written. Besides, if anyone truly wanted their privacy, they just needed to simply unplug the damn things. That was probably what was wrong with the camera in the main hall.

“Well, I don’t everything,” he admitted, “but I do know a whole lot more and your usual commoner.” Atlas was angry that he just labeled himself in such a way, he hated that word. To consider himself ‘common’ was a bit of an insult to the young man. It reminded him of the dark ages when the royalty you live in their castles and the rest of the people were- who was he kidding; they were living in the dark ages and he was a simple serf.

“Escort me to my chambers, Atlas; I’m going to need plenty of rest to be in the right state of mind for tonight’s ball” the beautiful Margaret insisted.

Atlas, still smiling, dipped the upper half of his body in a low bow. “Of course my lady, it would be my pleasure.” In his mind, he hesitated to walk with her any further; her voice was so comforting it makes him forget where he is at times. Besides, he had a murder to plan. But he could manage to multitask. Atlas stepped beside Margaret and wrapped his arm around her hand, he had never been this close to her before; he could smell her sweet scent and in was intoxicating.

“So Margaret, do you actually enjoy this sort of events?” he asked her trying to remain focused as they started down the hallways. “I hear this one is going to be especially exciting."

As they walked around the corner, Atlas listed all the possible ways to kill somebody in his head. And once Ed is out of the picture, Atlas himself would be a perfect candidate for the position of head of security. And when it comes to it, he would blame it on one of the maids or a cook. There's going to be so many new servants, he just would need to find one who has a vague connection to the recent rebel and they would execute them the very same night. So now, not only does he need to find a way of killing someone, he also needed someone to blame it on. Murder is hard work.