Post by isabella marie winters on Feb 22, 2012 17:27:08 GMT -6
[atrb=style,width: 500px; background-color: B9B9B9; border: 10px dashed #754A4A; border-right: 15px solid #754A4A; border-left: 15px solid #754A4A; padding: 5px, bTable][th] Isabella winters black market vendor/information broker, independent, behati prinsloo | |
 the basics FULL NAME ”these days I go by Isabella marie winters.” AGE & DOB twenty-two | MAY 22nd HOMETOWN bahia, brazil ETHNICITY caucasian LANGUAGES SPOKEN english SEXUAL ORIENTATION straight HAIR COLOR ash brown EYE COLOR blue/green HEIGHT & WEIGHT 5'10 | 115 lbs. DISTINGUISHING MARKS here, any scars, marks, or tattoos. LIKES/DISLIKES like: "Oh yes, well I love guns. Heavy artillery makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. I love knowledge, a good time, men, movies, food, exercise, the beach, skateboarding, surfing, sports - hockey in particular, my business, the criminal world… ya know. I also have an odd obsession with Disney movies. Don’t judge me, or I’ll slit your throat. Um, I like hot chocolate and snow. I’m also a fan of cultures. I love learning about different cultures. The food, the holidays, the clothes, everything. I also love dogs, rice, books, reading, being respected, comfortable clothes, and most importantly… myself." Dislikes: “Bastard fathers, for starters. Alcohol and drugs just aren’t my thing either. I like remembering what I’ve done. I hate liars, cheats, Mario Feirrera, needles, hospitals, women, petty things, people with sticks up their asses, cats, people who take my food orders who don’t speak English, idiots, snooty women, most women in general, being told what to do, being imprisoned in any way shape or form, and oh my lovelies, the list goes on." STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES "Strengths? Too many to name. I have an uncanny way of knowing things though. I just know how to get information. It’s a gift, what can I say. Whether its eavesdropping, bargaining, threats, or inferences (which I’m usually never wrong with), I just know things. I hear things. I’m a go-to girl. I’m also pretty capable of taking care of myself. People look at me and think I’m just a pretty face? Think again. I can plunge a knife into your back as well as I can breathe. It’s second nature. I’m a fighter. As for weaknesses… well I don’t know. I have a hard time trusting people. I’ve probably passed up aid from people who I could trust. I’m picky about who I let in and who I talk to about the important things. Nobody really knows me. I’m also kind of a spitfire. I know it. I can be rash and unthinking and it can get me into trouble. It may even get me killed one day." SECRETS “Well, I am a criminal, so I definitely don’t want that little bit of information spreading like wildfire. It could be bad for a young girl’s reputation, if you know what I mean. And I would like to keep my past a secret. I have a lot of enemies who know me by the name Ambrosia and Rovens, and it wouldn’t be fun if they found me." | in depth |
PERSONALITY
“I’ve been described as a free spirit. I’m my own person, and I don’t do anything for any other reason than because I want to. I’m not easily pressured, and I enjoy going with the flow of life, I try not to get stressed over the worst of situations. I work well under pressure. I’m also often referred to as snarky or sassy, probably because I talk back to anybody who breathes in a very sarcastic manner. I can’t stand some people, and thus am unable to help myself. I’d like to think I’m well bred and well fed, but I don’t know if that counts when you’ve been known as a raging tomb boy your entire life. I’ve always been the girl who wasn’t afraid to get dirty or do something crazy, I was the one even boys were a little wary about pissing off, even though nowadays I won’t deny a grown man could kick my ass. I’m somewhat crazy, and very bottled up. I don’t bring up my past. Why? Because it’s in the past. I don’t see a point in digging up broken bones. I feel like I’m fairly secretive, and people who didn’t know me before my big move wouldn’t know about my past, because I’m a dead girl walking. I’m a missing person who doesn’t want to be found. I’d also say I’m very flighty. I’ll stick around and fight until I know I can’t win, or if it puts somebody I care about in danger, then I’m off. It’s not that I’m a coward, because I consider myself quite courageous, but I mean, if its smarter to flee, if that’s what keeps me alive, then so be it. I’m pretty clever and I’ve often found ways to get myself out of sticky situations. I’m good at planning in the moment, and usually it works. Sometimes I get a little bit of hindsight bias though.”
FAMILY LIFE
”my father was never around, the bastard. my mother was amazing though, as were my grandparents. i grew up with them on a completely different continent than my father. We were quite wealthy, and i was spoiled. i can admit that. i grew up in a world of luxury that doesn’t exist here. it was a good childhood until my late teens. i wouldn’t have changed a thing."
PARENTS/SIBLINGS
pedro ambrosia, father – deceased
analeigh ambrosia, mother – deceased
paolo ambrosia, brother – 25
aria ambrosia, sister – 23
analeigh ambrosia, mother – deceased
paolo ambrosia, brother – 25
aria ambrosia, sister – 23
HISTORY
"Excuse any false information, I haven’t had some third person view of my life. What I know, is what I know. So anyway, I was born to Pedro and Analeigh Ambrosia in Bahia, Brazil about twenty years ago. I don’t know if this is true, but apparently my father used to be quite the catch. He was fun, adventurous, heroic. Oh god, sorry, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. But anyway, he had attended Oxford University to become a lawyer. He was supposed to be a legal prodigy or something. So that’s how he met my beloved mother. They were married and moved back to Brazil after his graduation. Their first child was Paolo, my older brother. He was my father’s dream child, his favorite. Paolo was the beginning of my father’s family dynasty. He’d followed in the footsteps of his father, and he expected Paolo to do the same. They lived happily for three years with their beloved baby boy, and then came the first girl, Aria. She was the perfectionist, the genius, the beauty, the one who they expected great things from. Oh, this dynasty of his was in full swing. Two years later came I, Isabella. I was the fiery beauty, or so my father told me when I was younger. I consider that to be one of the truest things he’d ever said.
My father grew to be one of the most famed lawyers in Brazil. He directed his prosecutions against the mafias. It was one man against an army, and he was winning. There was a lot of hate for my family. A lot of kidnapping threats. That was when we moved to England, my mother, Aria, and I. Hence my accent. Paolo stayed with my father. I was only a child, so I don’t remember much about Brazil when I was a kid. We never even visited. My father would come to London every so often, but that was it. He wasn’t a part of our lives anymore. Not really. So we lived with my grandparents in London, and Aria and I were enrolled in prestigious, private schools. My grandfather is a member of parliament, so we were quite well off. He was a good man, as well as my grandmother. The best people I know. No wonder my mother had ended up so amazing. Anyway, we grew up there, invited to balls and parties, meeting people in higher places. We were the Brazilian beauties who were John and Abigail Abberley’s granddaughters. People knew who we were. It was a good life, I won’t complain. Aria grew up a genius, and oh lord was she gorgeous. She had men looking at her from the time she turned twelve. She was my best friend. She had things going for her. She was going places, I swear. And I, I was the trouble maker. I was a bit of a fiery one in school. I beat up a boy when I was fifteen for breaking up with my sister and making her cry. It was mostly because I was annoyed with having to console her and listening to her cry and whine… but he was also an ass. I kicked the buhjesus out of him. He went home crying, and I was in a lot of trouble. Behind the scenes, my grandfather gave me a bit of praise, but that’s a secret. Hush. My father didn’t like the “bad reputation” I was putting on his name. He would lecture me to be more like Paolo or Aria. I told him to go screw himself. He didn’t want a daughter, he wanted a dynasty. I wasn’t going to be a part of it. We stopped talking for good after that. My grandfather seemed pleased. He had never liked the man who took his little girl away.
So yes, life was perfect, fit for a queen throughout my childhood. My granddad was my fatherly figure, I had a good mother and grandmother, and I had a good sister. When Aria graduated, she wanted to try modeling. She went to Cambridge, but was always auditioning at modeling jobs when she could. I stayed in school. Tragedy struck at the beginning of my last year in high school. I came home one day to find the house empty, my grandparents had gone out for a visit to some friends, and my sister had a party. I went up to my mother’s room, and upon walking in I saw a man standing over her body, various puncture wounds throughout her torso and a slit in her neck. Most girls would scream or cry or fall to their knees. I didn’t. I don’t know what happened… but it was like some feral beast within me broke free and took over. I couldn’t control myself, so I had grabbed a fire poker near the doorway, deciding to take him by surprise, and charged at him with an uncanny silence. It was scary, to not know what I was doing. I beat him down, but not without him dealing a blow to my face and ribs. I didn’t kill him though. Maybe it was being a lawyer’s daughter, but I wanted answers. I needed to know why. I asked him and he swore he wouldn’t tell. The untamed creature within broke free again and I threatened to kill him, slowly. He said it was my father. He’d found someone new, and he didn’t want to divorce her because there was money in it for him or something odd like that. That, and his new demented lover had claimed killing her was the best way to prove devotion to her. I haven’t a clue if that was a true story, but the fact that my father was behind it seemed true enough. I released the man, and then I heard him mutter, “I’m sure Pedro wouldn’t mind losing the daughter he expects nothing from, the daughter he disowned,” and he attacked me again. He grabbed me and pinned me to the floor. Desperately, I scrambled to find something to hit him with, and when my fingers locked around an object, I clobbered him over the head with a wooden hunk of broken chair and he was dead. That was the first man I ever killed.
I didn’t stick around to attend my mother’s funeral. I left London and went back to Brazil. It was time to get revenge on that bastard. I hoped my grandparents and sister would just assume I’d been kidnapped. I didn’t want to tangle them up in this mess. So I got on a red eye flight and fled the country in the dark of night. I heard the news on the plane, about John Abberley’s daughter’s murder, and the kidnapping of his granddaughter. It was time to disguise myself. I laid low, wearing hoods and caked on make up. Nobody could know I was alive. I did some did when I got back to Rio de Janeiro. My father was, in fact, engaged to another woman. I stalked him for weeks, looking for evidence. I was about to give up hope when one day his little mistress left the house late at night. I followed her into a dark alley, hidden and silent. She met with a man. I heard them talking about how my father took care of his “wife” and even got rid of his bratty daughter in the process. And then she paid him off. I didn’t follow the entire conversation. After all, my Portuguese was a bit rusty so I only got bits a pieces. It was all the proof I needed though. It was time to get some revenge, to bring justice to my mother’s soul. There was one way to do this, and that was to seek the help of my father’s worst enemy – The Brazilian Mafias. It took me a few months, but I finally managed to get in contact with a representative. I told him who I was and my plan. He said I’d better come with him to speak to the head man, Stefano Feirrera. I didn’t trust him, but I needed help, so I followed him. He blindfolded me, God was I desperate because I never would have allowed it now, and took me to these headquarters of theirs. When we arrived, Stefano was waiting for me in a small dark room. “Isabella Teixeira, looking to take down her old man. I love the irony,” he said in his thick accent. He spoke in Portuguese to me, and I tried my hand at it back, and he seemed to understand what I was saying. He approved of my little plan for vengeance, and agreed to help me.
The next week I relayed a message to my father saying I needed to meet with him. It was important, and I couldn’t explain, but I needed to see him. He showed up with Paolo. Damn it to this day. I was there, with the mafia. Once I saw Paolo, I hid in the car, but I think he saw me, briefly at least. They seized my father. I made it very clear to leave my brother alone, and they did… surprisingly. They said he wasn’t their problem for now. The brought my father back to the headquarters, and I could see Paolo’s hateful gaze in the review mirror. He definitely saw me. I ignored it, and when we returned I requested a few words with the man I hated before they killed him. I confronted him about my mother, and after a good half an hour he confessed to it. Then proceeded to insult me and her, saying I should have been more like Aria or Paolo, more like himself. I left the room, feeling satisfied. I never saw or heard from him again. That night I’d been alone in one of their room, thinking. Mario, Stefano’s son, who was only a few years older than me entered. “Sad about your father?” he asked. I shook my head, “I feel nothing.” He chuckled, and I glared at him. “You’re a cold blooded killer, just like us. If you feel nothing, you’ve lost your humanity. Now you could be an asset.” And he left. That bothered me. Should I feel something? Betrayal, hurt? Maybe. But I didn’t. I felt closure. I didn’t like the idea of being like them though, so I pretended to mope around like an idiot as though I had some internal war going on with myself. They seemed to believe me. What was a good amount of time to mourn or whatever? I didn’t know, so I gave it a day and a half. Then I went to Stefano and told him I wanted in on the business. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to go. I was dead to the world, except Paolo. But either way, there was no other place for me to be. I never even finished high school. To my surprise, he accepted me without argument and without explanation. I learned the ropes from him, and he grew quite fond of me, claiming I was the daughter he’d never had. He would always, but subtly, mention how shocking it was that I was Pedro’s least favorite child when I was the one with all the potential. I did odd jobs here and there for them, and outside their knowledge. One was for a woman named Allegra Mancini. We befriended each other in business, but once I got in deeper with the mafia, I cut off all contact. I was becoming a success amongst Stefano’s ranks. And then, two months later, Stefano died. He was quite old, so it was only a matter of time. I, again, felt no sadness for this ordeal, though I would admit I was going to miss his friendly nature towards me. Not everybody had been so welcoming of the lawyer’s young daughter. Mario took over though, and I suppose that’s what made me miss Stefano most. Mario had always just got under my skin. He was an ass, and I did not like him. At all. When he took over, he treated me like an errand boy, though I did get in on some real action here and there. About six months into this arrangement, I told him I was tired of the crap. He knew I could fight, he knew I could threaten, he knew I was quiet, he knew I was smart, so why the hell wasn’t I allowed to go out and do anything? Right there and then he told me I was going to marry him. He didn’t want his little bride getting hurt. I stormed out in disgust. I didn’t even know what to say. Apparently, this was a be married or die situation.
I spent some time thinking about it though. No way in hell was I going to be Mrs. Mario Feirrera. So I had to break out. I had to leave. I played along with his little wedding fantasies, but all the while a plot was forming in my head. The wedding was to be as soon as possible, because he didn’t want me to change my mind. Smart man. Too bad I didn’t plan on ever marrying him in the first place. The wedding day closed in, and as Mario was waiting at the alter, I robbed the mafia of a ton of money, drugs, and weapons, killed two guards, stole a Ferrari, and booked it out of there. I drove up and out of Brazil, around, and back into Chile. I met a man there who said he could fly me into Mexico with all my inventory. It’d be a hefty fee. I had more than enough o cover it, so I was out. I knew Mario wasn’t going to give up, so Mexico was a decent distance away, and an excellent place to hide. Plus, it wasn’t like whatever illegal crime syndicate was that existed there would be happy about the Brazilian Mafia storming into their territory. Mario would keep his distance. That’s when I began my business. I sold all the drugs, and got myself some high tech stuff. I made some friends, and it turned out some of those higher people I’d met in London weren’t all clean. They helped out, and I got up my business. I started producing fake, but authentic, passports. I made people disappear, right off the map, just like I did with myself. I hadn’t really bothered changing my last name at the time though. Anyway, weapons, drugs, everything. I had become a respected member of the black market. However, I didn’t often meet with my clients face to face. Who was going to respect and eighteen, nineteen year old girl? I was always hidden, cloaked, wearing motorcycle gear, whatever. I became known as the “Shadowbroker.” Not by choice, its just what they called me. I have no idea who started that one, but hey, it worked. So my business boomed for about two years. When I turned twenty a few months back, I was doing a deal and I saw somebody watching from the corner of my eye. He looked familiar, but my client and I quit the meeting and got the hell out of there. I kept trying to think why that man had been so familiar, and then I realized it was one of Mario’s men. It was time to kick it out of Mexico.
I fled into the United States. All my customers, and of course I knew somebody who could get me in. He took me all the way to Los Angeles. I laid low for a while. One day I went out to get my last name legally changed to Rovens by illegal means. It was the name of a friend I’d had back in London. When walking home that night, I was shot by a man claiming Mario needed to have a word with me. The bullet hit me right in the stomach. That was when we felt the rumblings of an earthquake. The man was distracted and shot him in the chest, and ran. I got in my old car and loaded up all my essentials and started driving. I stopped just outside of L.A. and bandaged myself up to stop the major bleeding. The wound was in a good place, but I needed professional help. I drove and drove, and it seemed a lot longer than what it was. I finally arrived here, in Valkyrie. I found a slummier part of town I heard somebody refer to as “Shaks” though after that earthquake, the whole place looked like the word Shaks could fit it. I saw a for rent sign, and found the landlord. I handed them a wad of cash, and the place was mine, an old apartment. I hauled my essentials up there, and all my illegal goods. I cam back down, and then I walked to the hospital, weak as ever. For a second I thought I might die, but my bandage job did a lot more good than I ever thought it would. When I arrived at the hospital, there was a lot of injuries. A lot of death. A lot of blood. A bullet wound should be nothing anybody would freak over. It wouldn’t cause all that much a fuss when there was so much carnage around. When I walked in, I was surprised to run into Dr. Allegra Mancini, the woman I’d worked with a while back. She seemed surprisingly happy to see me. And I was quite glad to see her, mind you, for I didn’t even have to make up some reason why I had a bullet in my side. She fixed me up, and became my first official Valkyrie ally and friend. I don’t remember much about that night, but as soon as I was sure I’d be fine, I left that hospital without signing out or anything, thankful for all the chaos the earthquake. I stuck around Valkyrie for a while, and I liked it. I ended up really getting along with Maggie Giovanni. She, Allegra, and I had a dynamic threesome going for a while. That was until I was found out.
Apparently some people, A.K.A. Mario’s people, were hot on my trail. Syl informed me of it before they’d arrived, that they’d somehow figured it out, they knew me by Isabella Rovens, etc. I probably should have figured that out when they found me the first time in Los Angeles. I didn’t want anybody I’d grown to care about to get hurt, so naturally, I skipped out of town. That’s sort of my thing. I got a plane ticket to Rome, and I hung out there for a while. I changed my name yet again, mostly because it’s fun, but it’s also helpful when you’re on the run. While there, I ran into some trouble with the Russians, deal gone bad, traitorous. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before, loyalty my ass. After that I was running out of places to run, so I decided to do something selfish and exile myself to the island of Kauai. An exile to the Hawaiian islands sounds miserable, right? So I rented out some dingy apartment down there, and took some time off to lay low and surf, and I’ve basically spent that past few months there. That was when I was contacted by Allegra who informed me that my best friend is pregnant, and what type of friend would I be if I stayed M.I.A.? Surprise.
[/td][/tr]My father grew to be one of the most famed lawyers in Brazil. He directed his prosecutions against the mafias. It was one man against an army, and he was winning. There was a lot of hate for my family. A lot of kidnapping threats. That was when we moved to England, my mother, Aria, and I. Hence my accent. Paolo stayed with my father. I was only a child, so I don’t remember much about Brazil when I was a kid. We never even visited. My father would come to London every so often, but that was it. He wasn’t a part of our lives anymore. Not really. So we lived with my grandparents in London, and Aria and I were enrolled in prestigious, private schools. My grandfather is a member of parliament, so we were quite well off. He was a good man, as well as my grandmother. The best people I know. No wonder my mother had ended up so amazing. Anyway, we grew up there, invited to balls and parties, meeting people in higher places. We were the Brazilian beauties who were John and Abigail Abberley’s granddaughters. People knew who we were. It was a good life, I won’t complain. Aria grew up a genius, and oh lord was she gorgeous. She had men looking at her from the time she turned twelve. She was my best friend. She had things going for her. She was going places, I swear. And I, I was the trouble maker. I was a bit of a fiery one in school. I beat up a boy when I was fifteen for breaking up with my sister and making her cry. It was mostly because I was annoyed with having to console her and listening to her cry and whine… but he was also an ass. I kicked the buhjesus out of him. He went home crying, and I was in a lot of trouble. Behind the scenes, my grandfather gave me a bit of praise, but that’s a secret. Hush. My father didn’t like the “bad reputation” I was putting on his name. He would lecture me to be more like Paolo or Aria. I told him to go screw himself. He didn’t want a daughter, he wanted a dynasty. I wasn’t going to be a part of it. We stopped talking for good after that. My grandfather seemed pleased. He had never liked the man who took his little girl away.
So yes, life was perfect, fit for a queen throughout my childhood. My granddad was my fatherly figure, I had a good mother and grandmother, and I had a good sister. When Aria graduated, she wanted to try modeling. She went to Cambridge, but was always auditioning at modeling jobs when she could. I stayed in school. Tragedy struck at the beginning of my last year in high school. I came home one day to find the house empty, my grandparents had gone out for a visit to some friends, and my sister had a party. I went up to my mother’s room, and upon walking in I saw a man standing over her body, various puncture wounds throughout her torso and a slit in her neck. Most girls would scream or cry or fall to their knees. I didn’t. I don’t know what happened… but it was like some feral beast within me broke free and took over. I couldn’t control myself, so I had grabbed a fire poker near the doorway, deciding to take him by surprise, and charged at him with an uncanny silence. It was scary, to not know what I was doing. I beat him down, but not without him dealing a blow to my face and ribs. I didn’t kill him though. Maybe it was being a lawyer’s daughter, but I wanted answers. I needed to know why. I asked him and he swore he wouldn’t tell. The untamed creature within broke free again and I threatened to kill him, slowly. He said it was my father. He’d found someone new, and he didn’t want to divorce her because there was money in it for him or something odd like that. That, and his new demented lover had claimed killing her was the best way to prove devotion to her. I haven’t a clue if that was a true story, but the fact that my father was behind it seemed true enough. I released the man, and then I heard him mutter, “I’m sure Pedro wouldn’t mind losing the daughter he expects nothing from, the daughter he disowned,” and he attacked me again. He grabbed me and pinned me to the floor. Desperately, I scrambled to find something to hit him with, and when my fingers locked around an object, I clobbered him over the head with a wooden hunk of broken chair and he was dead. That was the first man I ever killed.
I didn’t stick around to attend my mother’s funeral. I left London and went back to Brazil. It was time to get revenge on that bastard. I hoped my grandparents and sister would just assume I’d been kidnapped. I didn’t want to tangle them up in this mess. So I got on a red eye flight and fled the country in the dark of night. I heard the news on the plane, about John Abberley’s daughter’s murder, and the kidnapping of his granddaughter. It was time to disguise myself. I laid low, wearing hoods and caked on make up. Nobody could know I was alive. I did some did when I got back to Rio de Janeiro. My father was, in fact, engaged to another woman. I stalked him for weeks, looking for evidence. I was about to give up hope when one day his little mistress left the house late at night. I followed her into a dark alley, hidden and silent. She met with a man. I heard them talking about how my father took care of his “wife” and even got rid of his bratty daughter in the process. And then she paid him off. I didn’t follow the entire conversation. After all, my Portuguese was a bit rusty so I only got bits a pieces. It was all the proof I needed though. It was time to get some revenge, to bring justice to my mother’s soul. There was one way to do this, and that was to seek the help of my father’s worst enemy – The Brazilian Mafias. It took me a few months, but I finally managed to get in contact with a representative. I told him who I was and my plan. He said I’d better come with him to speak to the head man, Stefano Feirrera. I didn’t trust him, but I needed help, so I followed him. He blindfolded me, God was I desperate because I never would have allowed it now, and took me to these headquarters of theirs. When we arrived, Stefano was waiting for me in a small dark room. “Isabella Teixeira, looking to take down her old man. I love the irony,” he said in his thick accent. He spoke in Portuguese to me, and I tried my hand at it back, and he seemed to understand what I was saying. He approved of my little plan for vengeance, and agreed to help me.
The next week I relayed a message to my father saying I needed to meet with him. It was important, and I couldn’t explain, but I needed to see him. He showed up with Paolo. Damn it to this day. I was there, with the mafia. Once I saw Paolo, I hid in the car, but I think he saw me, briefly at least. They seized my father. I made it very clear to leave my brother alone, and they did… surprisingly. They said he wasn’t their problem for now. The brought my father back to the headquarters, and I could see Paolo’s hateful gaze in the review mirror. He definitely saw me. I ignored it, and when we returned I requested a few words with the man I hated before they killed him. I confronted him about my mother, and after a good half an hour he confessed to it. Then proceeded to insult me and her, saying I should have been more like Aria or Paolo, more like himself. I left the room, feeling satisfied. I never saw or heard from him again. That night I’d been alone in one of their room, thinking. Mario, Stefano’s son, who was only a few years older than me entered. “Sad about your father?” he asked. I shook my head, “I feel nothing.” He chuckled, and I glared at him. “You’re a cold blooded killer, just like us. If you feel nothing, you’ve lost your humanity. Now you could be an asset.” And he left. That bothered me. Should I feel something? Betrayal, hurt? Maybe. But I didn’t. I felt closure. I didn’t like the idea of being like them though, so I pretended to mope around like an idiot as though I had some internal war going on with myself. They seemed to believe me. What was a good amount of time to mourn or whatever? I didn’t know, so I gave it a day and a half. Then I went to Stefano and told him I wanted in on the business. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to go. I was dead to the world, except Paolo. But either way, there was no other place for me to be. I never even finished high school. To my surprise, he accepted me without argument and without explanation. I learned the ropes from him, and he grew quite fond of me, claiming I was the daughter he’d never had. He would always, but subtly, mention how shocking it was that I was Pedro’s least favorite child when I was the one with all the potential. I did odd jobs here and there for them, and outside their knowledge. One was for a woman named Allegra Mancini. We befriended each other in business, but once I got in deeper with the mafia, I cut off all contact. I was becoming a success amongst Stefano’s ranks. And then, two months later, Stefano died. He was quite old, so it was only a matter of time. I, again, felt no sadness for this ordeal, though I would admit I was going to miss his friendly nature towards me. Not everybody had been so welcoming of the lawyer’s young daughter. Mario took over though, and I suppose that’s what made me miss Stefano most. Mario had always just got under my skin. He was an ass, and I did not like him. At all. When he took over, he treated me like an errand boy, though I did get in on some real action here and there. About six months into this arrangement, I told him I was tired of the crap. He knew I could fight, he knew I could threaten, he knew I was quiet, he knew I was smart, so why the hell wasn’t I allowed to go out and do anything? Right there and then he told me I was going to marry him. He didn’t want his little bride getting hurt. I stormed out in disgust. I didn’t even know what to say. Apparently, this was a be married or die situation.
I spent some time thinking about it though. No way in hell was I going to be Mrs. Mario Feirrera. So I had to break out. I had to leave. I played along with his little wedding fantasies, but all the while a plot was forming in my head. The wedding was to be as soon as possible, because he didn’t want me to change my mind. Smart man. Too bad I didn’t plan on ever marrying him in the first place. The wedding day closed in, and as Mario was waiting at the alter, I robbed the mafia of a ton of money, drugs, and weapons, killed two guards, stole a Ferrari, and booked it out of there. I drove up and out of Brazil, around, and back into Chile. I met a man there who said he could fly me into Mexico with all my inventory. It’d be a hefty fee. I had more than enough o cover it, so I was out. I knew Mario wasn’t going to give up, so Mexico was a decent distance away, and an excellent place to hide. Plus, it wasn’t like whatever illegal crime syndicate was that existed there would be happy about the Brazilian Mafia storming into their territory. Mario would keep his distance. That’s when I began my business. I sold all the drugs, and got myself some high tech stuff. I made some friends, and it turned out some of those higher people I’d met in London weren’t all clean. They helped out, and I got up my business. I started producing fake, but authentic, passports. I made people disappear, right off the map, just like I did with myself. I hadn’t really bothered changing my last name at the time though. Anyway, weapons, drugs, everything. I had become a respected member of the black market. However, I didn’t often meet with my clients face to face. Who was going to respect and eighteen, nineteen year old girl? I was always hidden, cloaked, wearing motorcycle gear, whatever. I became known as the “Shadowbroker.” Not by choice, its just what they called me. I have no idea who started that one, but hey, it worked. So my business boomed for about two years. When I turned twenty a few months back, I was doing a deal and I saw somebody watching from the corner of my eye. He looked familiar, but my client and I quit the meeting and got the hell out of there. I kept trying to think why that man had been so familiar, and then I realized it was one of Mario’s men. It was time to kick it out of Mexico.
I fled into the United States. All my customers, and of course I knew somebody who could get me in. He took me all the way to Los Angeles. I laid low for a while. One day I went out to get my last name legally changed to Rovens by illegal means. It was the name of a friend I’d had back in London. When walking home that night, I was shot by a man claiming Mario needed to have a word with me. The bullet hit me right in the stomach. That was when we felt the rumblings of an earthquake. The man was distracted and shot him in the chest, and ran. I got in my old car and loaded up all my essentials and started driving. I stopped just outside of L.A. and bandaged myself up to stop the major bleeding. The wound was in a good place, but I needed professional help. I drove and drove, and it seemed a lot longer than what it was. I finally arrived here, in Valkyrie. I found a slummier part of town I heard somebody refer to as “Shaks” though after that earthquake, the whole place looked like the word Shaks could fit it. I saw a for rent sign, and found the landlord. I handed them a wad of cash, and the place was mine, an old apartment. I hauled my essentials up there, and all my illegal goods. I cam back down, and then I walked to the hospital, weak as ever. For a second I thought I might die, but my bandage job did a lot more good than I ever thought it would. When I arrived at the hospital, there was a lot of injuries. A lot of death. A lot of blood. A bullet wound should be nothing anybody would freak over. It wouldn’t cause all that much a fuss when there was so much carnage around. When I walked in, I was surprised to run into Dr. Allegra Mancini, the woman I’d worked with a while back. She seemed surprisingly happy to see me. And I was quite glad to see her, mind you, for I didn’t even have to make up some reason why I had a bullet in my side. She fixed me up, and became my first official Valkyrie ally and friend. I don’t remember much about that night, but as soon as I was sure I’d be fine, I left that hospital without signing out or anything, thankful for all the chaos the earthquake. I stuck around Valkyrie for a while, and I liked it. I ended up really getting along with Maggie Giovanni. She, Allegra, and I had a dynamic threesome going for a while. That was until I was found out.
Apparently some people, A.K.A. Mario’s people, were hot on my trail. Syl informed me of it before they’d arrived, that they’d somehow figured it out, they knew me by Isabella Rovens, etc. I probably should have figured that out when they found me the first time in Los Angeles. I didn’t want anybody I’d grown to care about to get hurt, so naturally, I skipped out of town. That’s sort of my thing. I got a plane ticket to Rome, and I hung out there for a while. I changed my name yet again, mostly because it’s fun, but it’s also helpful when you’re on the run. While there, I ran into some trouble with the Russians, deal gone bad, traitorous. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before, loyalty my ass. After that I was running out of places to run, so I decided to do something selfish and exile myself to the island of Kauai. An exile to the Hawaiian islands sounds miserable, right? So I rented out some dingy apartment down there, and took some time off to lay low and surf, and I’ve basically spent that past few months there. That was when I was contacted by Allegra who informed me that my best friend is pregnant, and what type of friend would I be if I stayed M.I.A.? Surprise.
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the player
ALIAS becs
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE two-hundred.
OTHER CHARACTERS no.
HOW'D YOU FIND US? inspiration from Buddha.
RP SAMPLE
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE two-hundred.
OTHER CHARACTERS no.
HOW'D YOU FIND US? inspiration from Buddha.
RP SAMPLE
poop.
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template created by anna of the industry. do not take without permission!
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