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Renée Iacaruso

"Please. Smile for me."

0 · 198 views · located in Renshaw Manor

a character in “The King's Gambit”, as played by Arietta

Description

Image

Name (Nickname): Renée Iacaruso
Age: 24
Gender Female
Side & Role: Gamemaster

Personality

A complex young woman with a stoic face, Renée is an oddity who doesn't seem to truly get along with anyone. At the age of 8, she was diagnosed with prosopagnosia - the inability to recognize faces and expressions on the whole, despite being able to make out individual features. Because of this, she adheres strongly to etiquette in speaking with others, unable to communicate to others without them. Her catchphrase - "smile for me" - is also born of this disorder. By memorizing people's smiles - with all the facial features aligned in one position - she can take note of their facial appearance without really having to process their expression as a whole. Renée's other methods (the more normal ones, according to psychology) for remembering others include memorizing their footsteps and stride, clothing style, or voice. She also might remember the appearance of specific features - the shape of the nose, for instance, or the width of the brow - even if the face as a whole is unclear to her.

Despite her social difficulties, Renée is actually quite brilliant in the fields of economics, sociology and psychology. While unable to really attach to human society as a part, she understands it well from an intellectual level, and is glad to dissect and analyze anyone's emotions - including her own. She actually has a very strong (albeit inconsistent) code of morality, which often moves her to the point of hypocrisy. However, she has no conception of the importance of an "individual" - losers are those who must be sacrificed for the growth of others. This is her philosophy in investing, as well as in creating the game. Renée actually suffers from an inferiority complex, believing that as soon as her wealth and power fade, she will be worthless.

Renée is popular - though known for being enigmatic - amongst her neighbors, who only see her polite but standoffish side. Her butler, Rose, and two bodyguards are the only ones to witness her breakdowns and guilt. She does little for her own physical appearance - being unable to see her face herself - but insists that her servants always present her in the best light possible.

History:

Renée is the oldest of four children in an upper class family, but due to her sickliness and inability to remember people outside of her family, she was often babied and treated as the youngest. When she reached age 8, this was finally attributed to prosopagnosia. Her doting parents and younger siblings made huge efforts to help her live "normally," and therapists began to teach her the normal patterns of human interaction and other methods of recognizing and forming relationships with people. Renée became rather cold and stiff in speaking, but this was an improvement over previous years - in which she had thrown fits, unable to express her emotions. Still, she remained physically weak and rather unattractive (her current appearance was largely shaped by cosmestic surgery a bit later in life).

Finally free to pursue her interests and aware of a larger world before her, Renée first dove into psychology with particular interest. However, she only found that humans as a whole were much darker and more primitive than she could have imagined. Frightened but intrigued, she continued her studies, eventually turning her interest in humans to an interest in the economy and becoming a dextrous trader by the time she was sixteen. She finally found her connection to the rest of the world through wealth and exchange, emerging from college debt-free and with a small independent fortune but still estranged. For a few years, she tried philantrophy - but quickly became disillusioned of her ability to make a difference in the world. She married Thomas Rendor at the age of twenty-two to gain access to his computer company, but divorced him six months later because of his views on the "ideal wife." After this divorce, Renée kept the house that would later become the site of her chess game - Renshaw Manor.

Broken and even a bit insane (and disgusted by her incapable siblings and parents, as well as her pathetic childhood self), she began to adopt a new worldview, singling out those who were "useful" to society and wishing to eliminate the weak. Unfortunately, Renée's assurance of her own capability hinged on her extraordinary mind and her wealth - both of which, she knew, were bound to fade eventually. Her "chess game" eventually emerged from a desire to silence the weakness within the world - and within herself - and from years of economic support for more "esoteric" projects. The board and pieces used were an inheritance from her father.

Image References: None

References: Wikipedia on Prosopagnosia

So begins...

Renée Iacaruso's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Renée Iacaruso
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#, as written by Arietta
"Please, Daz. Matt. Be careful."

The two head bodyguards nodded gravely and exited Renée Iacaruso's office, keeping their objections to themselves. The manor's mistress was benign in general, allowing them almost all the privileges she had around the mansion, but dangerous in her disturbed mood. And he had finally sent them out, today, on the mission she had planned for months - a plan that neither Daz nor Matt had expected to come to fruition.

But now it had. And as the guards learned after only five years of working for Ms. Iacaruso, there was little that could be done about it.

"That woman's insane," Matt grumbled, as soon as the pair was out of earshot, "It can't be done. The police are going to find out."

"Not if we do it properly." Daz, the more experienced of the two, strapped his gun to a pack tightly gripping his chest. He smiled a little sadly as he pulled on a pair of boots, glancing over his partner as though to reassure himself. "Besides, we can't be blamed for it. It's still Ms. Renée's fault."

"Even though we're her accomplices?" Matt replied doubtfully, shrugging suddenly as the backpack he carried began to slide down his shoulders. He let go of his doubts - those thoughts did nothing but get in his job's way - as he juggled the straps, finally securing them around his waist in a figure like a cross. There was no point in looking back, when there was no way out anyways. "They're just kids."

And so was Ms. Renée. She acted like a grown woman, but after all these years, she still thought like a kid.

"Show me the charts, Matt. And go wake up the others."

* * *


As the taillights of the guards' car were swallowed up by the horizon, Renée turned from the window to look up at her butler, Rose. The house staff had been busy for hours, preparing rooms for the guests and a midnight snack in case the capture had shaken them a little. But Rose had stayed by her side the entire time, commanding everything flawlessly from the office. It was marvelous - the way he seemed to have eyes and hands everywhere, without even having to move.

"They'll be back in five hours," Renée repeated, looking at her watch. The sense of time, the sense of consistency was very important. "Then you'll meet them in the downstairs foyer and explain the rules of the game to them. Dinner will be next - I'll entrust the menu to you. After dinner, you'll have the servants escort the players to their room, and attend to any of their needs. Please, Rose. See that this goes smoothly."

The butler frowned and smoothed the silk tablecloth that covered Renée's desk. "You won't meet them yourself?"

Renée paused and answered stiffly. "No, thank you."

Rose sighed and took the seat across from her, suddenly more like a friend than a butler.

"If you're to do something of this sort, at least face the consequences. You can't kill people and paint yourself innocent by staying far away."

"That was not my intention. I acknowledge my guilt." Renée paused, at a loss for what to say next - a frequent affliction of hers. Tapping his fingers together under his chin, Rose leaned forward. "Read me their names one more time, please. I claim responsibility for all of them."

"Will you stop, then?"

Renée looked at him through another long silence. His face was impossible to read - nothing special, as all faces were impossible to see for Renée - but his mouth looked sad.

"No, thank you."

The butler pushed back his hair and cleared his throat before beginning. "Deme Ashling."

The pianist, whose sexuality had seemed invisible to all but the most talented information seekers - though the clues were obvious, clear enough for anyone to see. She didn't have any problem with his sexuality - that was something for science to judge, not morality. Still, Renée felt a familiar anger as she heard the kid's name. It had been the drugs and alcohol that drew her to this boy first. A child who had succumbed too easily to temptation,. He thought his life had been hard? Surely hers had been harder.

Yes, Ashling had to be eliminated - but his music was lovely. Perhaps he could play for all of them, one night after dinner. To take their minds off of the game for a while.

"I believe I sent Linde to get him."

Rose nodded and moved down the alphabetized list. "Koray Chandel."

Ouch. The broken prodigy. Renée had kept her eyes on that mission - a space expedition of teenagers - investing in it as soon as it began to gain a public following. She had sold her stocks just a day before the launch, when the anticipation and the money were at their highest, but hadn't expected to pull Koray from it as well. But when the child began to show symptoms of frustration, she had almost demanded him. Wasn't he stupid, to just break down like that? Even if the mission had failed, there was still opportunity to be had. Someone might have hired him as a guest speaker - on motivation and such things.

"Yes. Ling's target."

"Yes. Linde Corett?"

"George, please."

She spent the rest of the evening memorizing the names of her targets, their known mannerisms, and the men and women who had been sent to get them. Still, there was no point in meeting them - Rose sighed, as she said it again. Why would she need to see them, when at least one of them was doomed, anyway?

((See the list of bodyguards here. If you want to write out your own kidnapping, go ahead - or you can start when they all return to the manor.))

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Linde Corett Character Portrait: Renée Iacaruso
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#, as written by Arietta
Character Portrait: says,
 “ In the office, Renée nearly dropped the cup of tea she was drinking as the crash downstairs startled her from her thoughts. As she lifted it to her mouth again, ignoring the liquid spilled on the front of her dress, Rose glanced at his watch - four and a half hours, precisely. Sighing, he fixed his sleeves one more time, as though it might settle his feelings - unsurprisingly, it didn't - and made a move towards the door, where Tom and Daz awaited. The manor's owner seemed either apathetic or unaware of the current situation, and Rose couldn't help but hope that it was the guilt of the situation, finally catching up to her.

He sighed - probably not. It was more likely just another mood of Renée's.

"Should we go check on them?" Tom's voice, anxious but somehow muffled, streamed in through the loudspeaker mounted on the office door. Rose glanced back at Renée, who again gave him only a blank stare. "They might start breaking things."

"Hurry and check. Bring someone else with you, too," Rose's mind cast around, trying to recall those who had returned to the manor. "Take Matt, but be careful."

"It will be fine, Rose," Renée spoke for the first time in the last half hour, peering at him expressionlessly over her cup. "Please calm yourself. They are only five children."

"Only-!" Rose resisted the urge - the very powerful urge - to scratch at his smartly-combed hair in frustration. If only Renée could be a bit more consistent in her logic - they were only children, indeed, when she wanted them that way. Otherwise, they were evil filth, or weaklings, or whatever excuse his mistress felt like using on that particular day. He eyed her peripherally as the guards' footsteps faded away, and sighed.

"No. On with the plan, yes? How exactly do you want me to explain to them this - this kind of a game?"

"Please excuse me, Rose. Would you bring me some more tea?"

* * *


Blinking, Linde tried to sit up, his knees seeming to crack with some pain that he could not remember. Strange, that his arms didn't move to help the process, either. This space was dark, and gray and somehow very small - no, that wasn't it. Focusing on his face, Linde realized that he was wearing something. Something thick, strapped across his eyes like-

A blindfold.

His insides succumbed suddenly to gravity as he processed this. And the thing inside his mouth - cloth, also - a gag? Arm bindings?

What? Linde suddenly spun on his knees, disoriented by a hit that had seemed to come out of nowhere. He hadn't seen the motion, or even the attacker, but he had proof of someone's presence here - someone who he still couldn't quite place, even though that "someone" had both his arms bound behind him and a foot in his back. It was eerie; he couldn't even hear this person breathing hard.

There were people like this? He smashed his hand into the ground, searching for something tangible. And why should they come after someone like him? As Linde's mind spun, the attacker pressed down hard with his foot, forcing his nose to the ground. He felt vomit rising in his throat - vomit, that unfortunately was held back by the gag and exploded in the back of his mouth instead. Sick - he couldn't even cough it out.

I'm going to die!

The pressure on his back lifted, but Linde felt a rush in the air as the person moved - she was in front of him now, lifting the blindfold.

Wait.

A girl. He had just been completely beaten - by this girl.

"More awake now?" she asked, pulling him to his feet - a difficult task, since Linde was both nauseous and tied into his kneeling position. "You should be grateful. I got you in your sleep, you know. Didn't even have to draw blood."

"Let go of me!" Linde tried to say, but it came out in syllables that sounding more like thick bubbling - gross. A little vomit trickled out from behind the cloth, and Linde flinched away as the woman stepped in to wipe it from his face.

"A lot of them tried to fight, I'm guessing. But you were good." Not that his "goodness" seemed to please her - she was frowning a little, not quite the sadist that he would have expected from her words. "Come on, let's go."

As the kidnapper - that was what she was, right? - grabbed Linde by the shoulders, he caught a glimpse of the car to his left - the vehicle he had arrived in? There was no license plate. This was completely unreal. He felt as though he had left his body a long time ago, and was watching himself get dragged away. His own guardian angel.

"Look up."

He obeyed - because she had jerked his head back by the hair - and nearly forgot to breath out. The stuff in his throat began to slide back down; Linde coughed wildly to stop it.

The house was magnificent - no, it couldn't really be called a house. A castle perhaps, one of the medieval sorts without any lighting. Linde caught his breath and continued to stare. It was made of what seemed to be white marble, with little gold details on the side - who could afford to gild a house with gold, anyways? A stone dragon rose from one of the gardens, seeming to eye the arrivals imperiously. Coldly.

Was this a cult sacrifice or something? He winced, eyes trailing down towards his own throat. How would they do it?

Would it hurt?

What a dumb question.

But she pushed him in the direction of the house and not the dragon - a place that seemed no more inviting, for all its lavish details - and he tripped again, over his knees still tied to his hands. If he wasn't paralyzed with fear, he might have glared at this woman. Or something. It was a classic, to escape by biting - but not a distinct possibility. So the girl managed to herd him up, over rows of jagged rocks through what seemed to be a monochrome picture of a house, unfolded in 3D.

It was like one of those grand theatres his old teacher had shown him - flawless in the brochure, but only real up close. The building was the same, but the sky wasn't as blue as he imagined, and the throngs of tourists obscured his view. It was exactly the same here - he could see the cracks in the walls, and the dirt creeping up the sides of the white as she brought him to a stop before the front steps. The twin pillars that seemed to reach to the sky bore brown, water-shaped marks as though they had just been washed and dried.

It was no less imposing for that - perhaps more so, since it was so real. Linde gulped - and spat again, as the stranger kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling across the last steps to the double doors.

"There seems to be some disorder in the foyer, George, you should hold him out here for now."

George. So, that was her name.

"HEY, BASTARDS. YOU BETTER LET ME OUT IF YOU WANNA FUCKING LIVE."

George shrugged. Linde felt a chill run down his spine, his fear suddenly skyrocketing along with the other boy's - or whoever it was in there's - voice. ”