URQUHART, murphy

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There were fireworks in the sky, the night her mother died. With her fingers clasped in her father's, never knowing how rough his palms were until then, as the two of them never really even spoke to each other. Palm trees arched over her view, but she could still see the glow of the moon above, obscured by the occasional, colorful boom. As they walked hand in hand back to her father's car, she dwelled on her final moments with her mother, and all there was to be felt was gut-wrenching guilt. Because as her mother's hand had gone limp in her's, the first thing she thought was, "Oh, thank god."

They never celebrated the fourth of July again. In fact, from that moment on, there wasn't much to celebrate in their family at all. With just the two of them, and Bruno's increasing distance, an average day in the Urquhart household was Murphy eating a Hungry Man dinner-- still cold in the middle-- beside her father on the couch. He would drink a couple of beers, watch mindless television, go to bed, go to work, come home, do it all over again. They had moved to New York to escape the pain, but a change of scenery didn't quite help him. And losing all their money in the move didn't quite help, either.

But neither of them wanted to say it, what they were really thinking. It was better without Fiona around. And, for once, Murphy felt like she could be who she wanted to be.

Years of suffocation and isolation made her everyday behavior weird to most, where she didn't respond well to her peers and she had a hard time focusing on conversations. But even weirder was her fascination with animals. She didn't quite escape the habit of collecting bugs and frogs, and her fixation on cats was more than simple adoration. "There she goes again, talking to those strays again," Her mother would say, thinking she was out of earshot, "No wonder she can't go a day without getting scuffed up on the playground. Little fucking weirdo."

It took a lot of convincing for her mother to accept the fact that she was a witch. It seemed like an obvious scam, of course, but it was an inescapable truth. It explained a lot of Murphy's nuances, the inexplicable encounters, her "warped reality". Her mother didn't suppress her magic like Murphy thought she would, she let her be who she was with the unspoken rule that Murphy would otherwise follow what she said. But it was through her time at Ilvermorny that Murphy was able to make a place for herself, to discover who she was and what she liked. At Ilvermorny, she had friends and individuality. It helped her through the summers back home, forced into dresses and to summer school so her mother would have that much more control over her.

When her mother died, that wall between what she wanted and what she had to be came crashing down and those halves merged into a rather fearless, but reserved, thirteen year old girl.

From her youth, Murphy was always the one who had to pick up the slack, but she didn't ever really resent her dad for it. She continued her summer schooling, almost habitually (and secretly because she enjoyed it), and she would often pick up odd jobs to help keep the house afloat. It was easy with her leaving for school every year, as her father could live off his paycheck on his lonesome no problem. But she did the shopping, she enrolled herself in school, she cleaned-- albeit, occasionally, and she even learned how to forge his signature for necessities.

It was Murphy's independence that drew people to her. She was a tank, capable of taking on obstacles with ease. Young Murphy was quiet and relaxed, easy to be around and easy to befriend. Her first boyfriend was her neighbor, Donnie, and he was fond of her silence, as "women are meant to be seen, not heard". It was his behavior that made Murphy stray from their relationship, but it was his ego that made her break up with him. And he didn't quite like that.

Murphy's Law. Anything bad that can happen, will happen, and that was what Murphy's life was. There was a reason Murphy showed up to school with her hair cut off, her demeanor sour, her lips pressed against anyone who wanted her. If they wanted a martyr, they would have sore luck trying to find it in her. The bruises faded in time, and the fear of walking pass Donnie's home subsided. Weakness was not something Murphy accepted, and she would rather tear herself apart than admit it was ever there.

Despite what some would think, due to her overall disposition, Murphy isn't a very powerful witch. This is aggravating, as people like to claim no-maj borns aren't as capable. But what she lacks in offensive abilities, she gains in more malicious arts. Murphy can brew plenty a potion to kill a man, but in particular she knows how to shield herself. Not just with spells, but with people. Powerful people. Murphy hides behind a wall of witches and wizards who would risk themselves for her, and she knows this fully well. She's a people person, and she's deeply, secretly selfish. If things don't look well, she'll run. Murphy doesn't help others nearly as much as she helps herself. This is how she survived all her life.

Murphy can pack a hell of a punch, both with her fists and her words. Criticism falls right off her, and she will come barreling back if she feels like someone deserves it. And she won't feel bad about it, either. People call her an Ice Queen, and perhaps that's true. But Murphy is actually quite kind, she just doesn't have a lot of patience for those who rub her the wrong way. And people just love to rub her the wrong way.

Her SoHo apartment is a haven for stray cats, and people can find her with a caravan wherever she goes. Even when she bikes down the road, she keeps her pace steady and slow enough for them to jaunt after her. Murphy's best friends are cats, and it's well known nowadays that she has an affinity for them. Some call her a cat whisperer, but Murphy doesn't tell her secrets. Nox, her first ever friend at Ilvermorny, crashes on her couch as well. The building is owned by a witch, rendering it an affordable place, but Murphy often wonders if Nox influences that in some way, as he's not the cleanest wizard in terms of honesty.

Murphy, on the other hand, got herself a job as a deliveryman. Her existence is an enigma to some, as she keeps to herself and no one quite knows who she is or who she works for. Some people don't even know what her gender is, which is something she immensely enjoys. A wordless courier followed by a hoard of cats, showing up on people's doorsteps with strange packages. The truth is that Murphy doesn't work for just one person, but multiple people, and she knows completely well she's doing possibly illegal things. But people pay well for people like Murphy, and Murphy handles herself well.

She can be seen with a different person hanging over her often, and she gives free haircuts out of her apartment at the end of the month. She likes people who are rough around the edges, and she likes free booze and old literature.

Her passion, however, is photography, and that's why she picked a job that requires a bit of travelling. Her collection has more scandalous pictures than a teenage boy's hard drive. The more macabre, the better. She's fascinated by blood and decay, but she mostly just photographs cats and people who don't know she's looking.

LIKES |
Animals, especially cats :: blood and gore including her own blood or gore :: painting and art in general. She's the type who can stand around in an art museum for hours. :: getting free gifts from her rich honeys :: challenging authority :: dark rooms :: collecting awful photos of people :: collecting n00ds :: tiny candles :: tarot cards :: divinative arts :: magical creatures :: any sort of music, literally anything :: moths throwing themselves at windows :: inexplicable shadows :: eating mints and then drinking cold water :: burned frankincense potpourri :: horticulture :: the inability to tell whether or not that’s blood on her arm or if she splattered red paint :: falsely advertised bath soaps :: bugs that have died by natural causes :: alive bugs :: werewolves, vampires, cryptids; she's dated a few, after all :: anatomy of all kinds :: zucchini :: nail polish, especially when it's applied perfectly smooth :: curly hair :: cutting hair :: when her friends ask her to cut their hair :: quartz crystals :: plants, collecting plants, botany in general :: scientists and the like, those are her favorite to slip into bed with :: cat's eye eyeliner :: old books, hard cover books, collecting books; she almost always has at least one tome on her that looks like it could curse someone into oblivion :: watching friends play video games :: smoking, drinking, partying.

DISLIKES |
Prejudice in general :: unwarranted arrogance used to make other people feel bad :: harassment, especially toward the weak or the small :: when candy melts in her hand :: most sweet things :: when there's someone else's mess and she's expected to clean it up :: the smell of canned goods :: when someone's insult isn't even that witty but responding with silence would make them feel like they won :: people who are drowning in their own cynicism :: admitting sentimental feelings (in a "I'm too bashful for this" kind of way) :: men who manhandle women in a possessive or otherwise violent way. :: she adjusts her socks to the point where they wear down very quickly :: bites her nails and the skin of her lip off when she's upset :: stays up all night and regrets it the next day :: when people ask way too much from her and then get mad when she isn't flawless :: most men she comes across, I mean?? In her line of work?? It's a miracle she keeps her shit together :: old sitcoms :: that thing people do where they act like they have any right to comment on her partners when she Did Not Ask Them :: boys who only call her when they're drunk :: most drugs, they don't sit well in her, but she doesn't care if other people use them; in fact, she's a safe haven for those who need it :: girl hate.