Isobel

Isobel of the Agony
Seeming:	Elemental
Kith:	Archived-Chirurgeon
Court:	Spring Court ••
City:	Canberra
Title:	Claviger
Entitlement:	[[:Category:Archived-|]]
Group:
Player:	P. Silver
Storyteller:	[mailto: Canberra VST]

Personal Information

"Isobel has gone to Hell;

Someday she’ll be back,

With razors on her fingertips

And hooks upon her -

Oh, no, what have you done?

You’ve called up Ramora;

It’s time now to run!

Don’t sleep,

Don’t walk alone,

Don’t look at your reflection!

She knows who you are,

You’ve drawn her eye;

Best kiss your Mama

Because you’re gonna -

Run, don’t walk

To holy ground,

And pray to Him

That you’re not found -

No priest or nun can help you now;

You summoned her, she made a vow!

She won’t relent;

Your frightened tears

Will run as she rips off your -

Sing a song of sixpence,

A pocket full of lead;

Ramora

Knows just who you are,

And soon now you’ll be DEAD!"

The clapping game is called, "Razor Ramora", and the children play to scare themselves. There’s an urban legend of a beautiful woman with mutilated flesh who appears in the reflection if you say her name, and comes through to tear at you with her hooked or razored fingers. Supposedly, no-one ever survives. The children never think to ask how, if that’s the case, anyone knows the story.

Isobel finds this endlessly embarrassing. That was a different time, when she was fresly returned from Arcadia, and an Autumn Courtier of the Scarecrow Ministry. It was a time when she wasn’t her best self. She’s rehabilitated, now, and a member of the Spring Court in good standing. She’s a recovering person, she insists. Now, she only hurts people who want her to. Or people her Monarch wants her to...

Appearance

Mask:Isobel is exotically striking rather than conventionally pretty, in a manner generally described as vaguely fey, and vaguely feline. Slim beneath broad shoulders, long-necked and fine-boned, she has coolly glittering slanted grey-blue eyes set in a long, angular face surrounded by a halo of soft, platinum hair. Her nails are long, and curved, her lips sculpted and full, but prone to a slightly bruised off-plum shade, and her canines and incisors are just a little more hooked than the average person. When working, she wears the sort of severe, aggressively flattering clothes associated with the modern corporate/academic dominatrix archetype, and high, spiked heels. On her own time, she favours the latex and vinyl garments that are all the rage in fetish and Goth spaces.

Mien:Her skin is bluish-white, waxy and cold, like something long-drowned. The sockets around her eyes are dark and hollow, as if bruised or ill. The hollows of her cheeks are deep, the bone structure pronounced, and her lips alluringly curved though swollen and discoloured. Her graceful fingers narrow to inhuman points, tipped with cruel brass talons, and cold metal hooks hang bloodily from the meat of her back. Disturbingly, she's still beautiful, projecting a cold, nightmarish allure that viscerally attracts the onlooker to her despite all decency or reason; it's profane.

Mantle: Where Isobel walks, and paradoxically to the ominousness of her appearance, she seems to bring a brief, enlivening breeze; a literal breath of fresh air. The heady smell of fresh, blooming flowers follows her wherever she goes; most simply attribute it to a delicate, but particularly persistent, perfume.

Personality

Isobel tries to be friendly, she really does. It's just that she's lost the knack. She's relearning how to be a person, instead of a nightmare. Sometimes her overtures fall short, as she falls back into the creepiness of Ramora, and she frightens people - then she'll catch herself, be horribly embarrassed, and apologise awkwardly for the offense. Due to the difficulty caused by her impaired social skills, she often just opts to keep quiet, and stand in the background, listening and watching; something interpreted by many onlookers as only adding to her sinisterness of her presence.

Mortal World

A sports masseur and physiotherapist by day, and the most sought-after dominatrix working in Canberra by night, Isobel also occasionally moonlights at a fetish model. Her website for "Madam Agony" gets the most hits out of any Google search using the keywords, "ACT Canberra domme dominatrix mistress". She services her sports and rehab clients out of a small suite of rooms she leases, just a short walk her large, comfortable home in down a sunny, tree-lined street in idyllic Manuka, and her night clients - as she calls them - out of a modest but pristine studio in Civic, fastidiously eschewing the social and literal grime of Fyshwick. She also makes house calls, for both professions.

Information Known by Lost Society

Isobel, like many of her Lost brethren, doesn't like to talk about her Durance. Something about being taken far too young, and for far too wrong a purpose.

Timeline

Under construction.

Arcadia

Once upon a time, and far, far away, there was a cherubic little girl whose adoring but domineering parents determinedly steered her around the child beauty pageant circuit, despite all the warnings from their friends, her teachers, and much of society at large, about the dangers of sexualising their child. In time, the little girl's beauty caught the attention of a dashing and handsome Prince of Faerie, and he paid court to her, wooed and won her, and took her away to The Land Of Summer's Twilight to be his lady and his love. And he was beautiful, and heroic, and adoring, and she lived in a plush palace where her every desire was met without question. And she feasted on cakes spun from the tears of flowers, and she had a hundred dresses, each more beautiful than the last, and she wandered and played in gardens lovelier than any storybook could conceive, and at night, she slept in his arms atop a great bed made of pale pink velvet. And if there was pain, sometimes, and confusion, why, it all faded from memory in the earnestness of his comfort. And it was a soft-edged, pink-tinged little girl's dream, for a while. But eventually, she began to grow, as all little girls must. And as she inched towards womanhood - as her hips spread and her breasts began to bud - she found her handsome Prince grew distant, disenchanted. She was aging beyond his interest. But he did not discard or replace her, as he had so many before her; instead, he began to introduce new "games" into their relationship. And, as time passed, and the little princess grew to womanhood under Arcadia's purple sky, the glittering palace of luxury and pleasure became a red-tinted nightmare of vivisection and screams. And pleasure, of course. That was the worst of it; the most corrupt, the most sickening, the most compelling and shameful - Always still pleasure.

Escape

Under construction.

2013

• JUN - Details
• JUL - Details
• AUG - Details
• SEP - Details
• OCT - Details
• NOV - Details
• DEC - Details

Quotes

Quotes By

"Quote."

Whoever, and why.

Quotes About

"Quote."

Whoever, and why.

Conversations

"Quote."

"Another quote."

Whoever and whoever, doing something.

Inspirations and Soundtrack

• Website
• Website
• Website

OOC Information

Member Information
Player:	P Silver
Number:	AU2003100615
Domain:	Canberra