Role: She is 'emo teen 3''s best friend. Though truth be told teen 3 is kinda her only friend.
Gender: Well, given the use of 'she' and 'her' throughout this profile, I should hope it's evident she's female. Of course, she does have some masculine physical features, and the way she acts is everything but feminine, but biologically she is, indeed, female.
Nickname(s): 'Isabelle Moraes Vieira' is not a name she, in general, goes by--the first two names do not sit with her. First of all, she loathes the name Moraes--for no reason in particular other than that she hates the way it sounds. And as for Isabelle...well, she reckons that name is just way too fucking feminine for someone like her. So since about the age of ten she's been Izzie to anyone who cares to ask, and in fact hardly anyone knows her name is Isabelle and not Izzie Vieira.
Date of Birth: October 13, 1994, making her seventeen years old. Her mature features, height, and build can easily cause her to appear a good few years older than she is--which she doesn't mind too much. Lends credence to that fake ID she uses whenever she wants to get her hands on some smokes, or alcohol.
Appearance:
The following images are reflective of Izzieâs appearance, but obviously...ignore the rifle :v
At her full height, Izzie stands at about 189 cm tall (about six feet two inches), which is confessedly really tall for a woman her age (especially of Brazilian descent), a fact she is well aware of. Height has always been characteristic of her, and in her youth she used to resent the fact that she stood head and shoulders over most people her age--it made it impossible for her to go unnoticed no matter how much she wanted it to be so; since then, however, she's adapted and uses it to her advantage. Similarly, her strong, firm build seems atypical for a womanâlean, powerful muscles are visible across her arms and abdomen, indicative of considerable upper body strength; she maintains her strength through a daily exercise routine, so that nobody gets the impression that sheâs weak (and, y'know, so that she isn't weak). Her skin tone is immediately indicative of her ethnic origins in Brasil; it is a dark, olive-tan shade, of the kind characteristic of those who hail from SĂŁo Paulo, even though it is her parentage who immigrated from Brazil, and Izzie herself only inherited the byproducts of her parents' origins--a fact which is of ceaseless shame to Izzie, one which she hides obsessively. As far as facial features, Izzie has a rather small face, with dark, pointed features; she has sharp, defined features, with high, prominent cheekbones, a small, slightly pointed nose, and thin, dark lips--often chapped and dry. She also has heavy-lidded, dark eyes of a rich mahogany hue, often encircled with dark rings due to her erratic sleeping patterns. Conversely, her hair is quite possibly the sole aspect of her physical appearance that could be called feminine; it is a dark ash brown in colour, rather wavy in tendency, and falls to her chest when untamed, though she will often tie it back, allowing a few loose clumps to fall around the sides of her head. She used to cut it rather short when she was a little younger, before she decided to leave home, mostly to further distance herself from any feminine impression, but she's obviously matured beyond altering her physical appearance purely to rebel against some ideal she thinks she's up against, and simply does what she thinks looks good: keeping her hair at its current length falls under that category. She could be considered attractive, but years of drugs, violence, and loneliness have taken their toll on her features, leaving behind vestiges of what could have once been a great beauty.
One of the first things most anyone notices about Izzie, however, is that she's covered head to toe in tattoos of all different kinds--focused more in her upper body, however. The most readily apparent, and largest one, would be the Motörhead War Pig across her back, adorned with bullets, chains, spikes, and the name of the band itself in arching letters over it. Some are abstract and/or spiritual in nature, such as the large, flaming ankh on her upper left bicep, the Eye of Horus on the back of each hand, and the Uraeus on her lower back. Others are in relation to her favourite bands: these include Motörhead War Pig on her right bicep, or the Obituary tattoo across her right forearm; she also has one of Death's original logo (in red) at her collarbone, Deicide's '666' on the bicep above her Obituary tattoo, and the Obituary saurian eye tattooed on her left upper arm. And others are frankly simply rather gruesome in nature. For example, she has one across her lower left ribcage of a grievous wound, exuding crimson blood, revealing metallic rib bones (also, as it were, dripping copiously with blood); itâs rather similar to this, except, as said, with metal bones instead of...bone...bones. She has another spanning the upper right portion of her back and running all the way down the back of her right arm, depicting a corpse wrapped in what looks like spiderwebs hanging from a tree of tormented skulls and faces that extends down her arm, eventually devolving into a mass of skulls set against brimstone and blood. The first tattoo she ever got was one of the letters 'IZZY' across the knuckles of her right fist; she did it herself when she was thirteen years old with a sewing needle and pencil lead.
In regards to clothing, Izzie can vary, but for the most part, you'll find her wearing one of two different styles of upper body attire. On one hand, the less extreme choice is a dark green button-up shirt (visible in the images provided...again, without the rifle), which she bought a couple years back at an army surplus store (it's the upper portion of a uniform); for the most part, she wears it unbuttoned over a band tee of some sort, and will invariably roll the sleeves up to make way for her tattoos and her assortment of studded and spiked wristbands. Otherwise, however, you can also find her wearing a beloved leather jacket of hers; it's covered in studs and spikes across the back, with one large square in the centre covered by a huge Ace of Spades patch that reads "Born to lose - Live to win". As far as lower body clothing, she typically opts for a pair of dark blue jeans, sometimes with a tear or two to be found because she simply can't be arsed to go and buy new ones whenever they tear (and anyway, metalheads/punks are all into torn jeans and so on), tucked into or over a pair of leather harness boots. She goes all out with accessories as well: you will often find her with a copper bullet belt wrapped around her waist, with loops of chains hanging from them, just in case it wasn't obvious enough to the average, sane person that she's a metalhead.
Height: 6'2
Weight: 174 lb
Hair Color: Dark brown
Eye Color: Dark brown
Personality: Izzie is without a doubt a very difficult person to get along with, and an even more difficult person to get to know and truly understand--she is, put bluntly, an extremely abrasive woman. Rough, fierce, and stubborn at best, cruel, callous, and violent at worst, there are many who are of the opinion that she's as bad, if not worse, than the football players and the cheerleaders, except that they have a group mentality of cruelty and she's just...cruel on her own. She tosses about swear words and curses as casually as adjectives and verbs, and sheâll turn a verbal disagreement painfully physical at the drop of a dime simply out of what she perceives as a need to protect her pride and dignity. Her sense of humour is dry and sardonic, with a heavy dose of pessimism, and sometimes insulting to those around her if they arenât used to her biting sarcasm in the first place; her tried and true way of dealing with others is highly caustic in nature. Izzie is also highly averse to anything she perceives as an attempt to control her or extend 'help' to her, as she is a fiercely independent and self-reliant woman and believes there is nothing she can't do on her own if she really wants to get it done. She has a love of the âfast lifeâ that never seems to abate, from the drugs to the loud music to the alcohol, she does it all and never slows down. Unfortunately, she is as a result heavily addicted to cigarettes and alcohol, to the point where she goes nowhere without at least three packs of smokes on her, and is literally capable of drinking two eight packs of beer and then go looking for moreâand in times of great stress she will resort to harder drugs. She doesnât seem to care about her drug issues nor her dangerous lifestyle, claiming that she will live however the hell she wants and that she enjoys her lifestyle.
Beneath what resembles an irascible, insensitive, destructive skin however can be found a rather different persona. A persona that is far more vulnerable and conflicted than Izzie would like for anyone to see on the surface. The fact that she constantly warns her friend of getting involved romantically with the football asshole, warning her that nothing good could possibly come of it, the fact that she goes around with a tough scowl, starts fights with any football jock who tries to start shit with her, and is fiercely protective of her one friend, none of it changes the fact that she's probably even more emotionally broken than the 'emos' (damn, she hates that word), and the comfort she finds in loud music, fleeting sex, and drugs is rapidly waning--though her tendency to fall back on them certainly isn't, even though she fears even now that she'll die alone with a syringe in her arm by the time she hits twenty. She's headed straight for self-destruction, decay, and collapse, and knows it. Plagued with fears, disappointment, anger, and pain that stretch back to years that seem to have befallen someone other than herself when she looks back on them now, they fester within her, refusing to grant her a moment of clarity and peace, forcing her to fall back on her vices and lonely, unhealthy lifestyle to cope. Her abrasive and wholly unpredictable personality mirrors her fear of personal pain and abandonment--Izzie has convinced herself that if she keeps others at armâs length with her wild and aggressive attitude, she can avoid making connections, and thereby the pain of the inevitable severance of those connections. She has come to fear the pain of losing those she loves and cherishes, and believes that by avoiding true friendship and love she can remain untouched by this grief.
Likes: First and foremost, music. Anything from the deathgrind of Aborted and Carcass, grindcore in the vein of Napalm Death and AssĂŒck, the technical death metal of Death and Suffocation, straight up death metal like Deicide and Nile, the thrash metal stylings of Megadeth and Slayer, classic heavy metal such as Judas Priest and Motörhead, hard rock legends such as Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath, crust punk in the vein of Doom and Gallhammer...hell, even jazz and blues, such as Art Blakey, Weather Report, and BB King. She listens to it all, most of it (in particular, the metal and the punk) at outrageous volumes that make people wonder how it is she hasn't gone deaf yet. She seems to really like motorcycles like Harley Davidsons, and shows intent on getting one as soon as she...y'know, actually can. Besides that, she seems to rather enjoy alcohol and cigarettes (well, obviously, she doesn't enjoy them...but, well, she's addicted to them).
Oh, and she loves swearing.
Dislikes: Oh hell, here comes a rant. First and foremost, Izzie hates pop music. Hates it with a passion. If you turn on pop music in her vicinity, she will not hesitate to immediately crank her death metal up to even more ridiculously loud volumes. And the same goes for rap. She absolutely detests it. She also hates people (guys especially) who think they're the fucking shit and think they can do whatever the hell they like. Sexists who think she can't fight or handle herself because she's a chick will get their asses kicked violently. Judgemental assholes...well, they annoy her, but she doesn't really give a shit about them. Idiots who play shitty-ass 'faux-metal' like metalcore and nu metal and think they're hardcore. Dumbass emos who wear all black, listen to screamo, and lament how crushing existence is when they've got a loving family and all the opportunity for happiness Izzie feels she lacks. She hates sappy romance shit where the good-natured, perfect guy gets the innocent, perfect girl, and they live happily ever after, because it never works out that way in real life. However, above all she hates liars and traitors. They hold a special place of utter abhorrence in her heart.
Hobbies: Listening to music really loudly. Reading (surprised?). Writing (more surprised?) - mostly short stories, and some lyrics as well, and they tend to be rather morbid and dark. Working out. And she does enjoy the occasional scrap--works off stress and so on.
Phobia(s): Izzie fears above all being abandoned or betrayed by those she trusts--it's her one most crippling fear in life, the one that stands in the way of her ever attaining happiness in life. She can't interact with anyone without feeling that if she gets too close to them, they'll hurt her by leaving, whether of their own accord or due to circumstances outside of her or their control--ie, death. More information under personality. Besides that she's afraid of the ocean. More specifically, being on a ship, in the ocean. More specifically, being on a sinking ship, in the ocean. The source is, frankly, rather simple: as a child, she read about the Titanic, and the combination of reading about how helpless everyone was as the ship slowly went down, as well as pictures of the Titanic's bow, jutting into the air from the ocean, slowly sinking into the dark depths, made her absolutely terrified of being on a ship at sea. Other than that, Izzie is honestly a rather fearless woman. She claims that she has nothing to fear from anybody, because ultimately everyone is human and that means they're as weak and vulnerable as the next person.
Abilities: Well, for one, Izzie's pretty good in a scrap, being surprisingly strong due to her daily exercise routine (fuelled by a determination to never be seen as weak in any way). She's an experienced fighter, and has wiped the floor with dudes twice her breadth. And, much to the surprise to everyone (well, would be, if anyone knew but her teachers), Izzie is a very quick-minded and intelligent woman--as evidenced by her ability to continually maintain excellent grades when she puts her mind to it. And she's a pretty good writer, having an impressive command of colourful (but morbid) vocabulary, and making extensive use of metaphors that tie her writing in with aspects of her own life...not that anyone would know. After all, she'll be damned if she lets anyone so much as know she's a writer, much less read any of the shit she writes.
Personal History:: Were you to ask Izzie about her life, she would undoubtedly tell you to mind your own goddamn business and fuck off. And if you were, by some miracle of the gods, manage to get closer to her, to the point where that isn't her immediate responce to anything you say, she'll merely respond with "My life has made me who I am. I'm a complete fucking asshole. What kind of life do you fucking think I've had?" She will confirm only that she is ethnically Brazilian (with a powerful dose of pride), but even simply asking her if she was born there elicits a similarly angry reaction at the asker's supposed overtly inquisitive nature.
In actuality, she was born to two Brazilian immigrants who had immigrated at a relatively young age to the US with their own families and, despite their financial destitution, fell in love at the callow age of seventeen. Their relationship progressed rapidlyâtoo rapidly, it would seem, and it is likely that it was that impatience and their inexperienced passion that led to what would occur later in their lives. By eighteen, the woman was pregnant with a daughter, and as a result Isabelleâs parents chose to get married at that point. Despite their poverty-stricken status and their consequential residence in one of the worst slums of their city, they were optimisticâand drastically unprepared for the true stress of the outside world and raising a child in that world.
Especially when that child was Isabelle.
From the very beginning, Isabelleâor, as she was already demanding to be known as, Izzie--proved a bellicose and difficult child, at home and at schoolâand very unstable. When she was dropped off at school on the very first day of kindergarten, Izzie cried the whole time because she believed her parents were trying to get rid of her and that they were going to leave her there forever. After that, the phone calls from school began coming inâIzzie was flatly refusing to do assignments, calling them stupid, she blatantly flouted the rules and instructions of the teacher and the school, and she reacted with sheer antagonism to attempts to exert authority over her, or to communicate with her. Later, teachers told her parents that Izzie was bullying the other kids when they tried to talk to her or get her to play with them, and was known to shove and punch kids that she thought were making fun of her or insulting her when they were only talking to her. Her grades began to fail, not necessarily because she was stupidâin fact, it was noted that when she did decide to do an assignment, or when she took an interest in something, she could be remarkably quick-minded. The issue became that she simply didnât care about school, and didnât give a fuck enough to really try. Her parentsâ relationship, previously one of love and harmony, deteriorated and soured. Young and inexperienced as they were, they began to bicker, argue, and then shout and yell at one another--why did Izzie have to be so damn difficult? What was wrong with her? Whose fault was it? Deep down, Izzie, even as a child, knew she was the cause of it, locked in her room because she hoped that if her parents didn't see her they'd forget about what was happening and maybe things would get better. But she couldn't stop being the belligerent, violent, antagonistic delinquent she had already become even as a child--in fact, the domestic troubles made it only all the worse. It was uncommon that the yelling would turn towards her, but it did happen at times--but most of all it was her parents yelling at one another that truly made a mark on the child, because she knew she had started it all off. In the end her father decided he didn't want to deal with her or her mother anymore, and when she was twelve, he up and left--at least, that's what her mother told her. At any rate, when she came home from school that day, he was gone, and she grew up hating him because she believed he'd abandoned them both. However, the fact is that deep down, she is intensely guilty, because she believes she ruined her parentsâ relationship, that she is responsible for her fatherâs departure, and that therefore, she is responsible for what happened to her mother.
From then on, it got no better. They were forced to move to a tiny, rundown apartment, and even then could barely hold onto that. She remained the delinquent she had become, and eventually her mother just stopped trying to change thatâeventually, her mother just stopped caring about anything at all, and became mired in drugs that made her verbally and physically abusive towards her daughter. She became a husk, a shell of a human, and any interactions with her daughter were either nonsensical rambling, or curse-laden shouting matches. However, Izzie still recalls and treasures those few moments in which her mother was lucid and capable of coherently thinkingâin which they could actually talk. They were few and far between, but they were precious to her.
As she went through the years of her adolescence, Izzie was witness to many people simply disappearing from her life, one way or another. When she was only eight years old, her only friend at the time disappeared, and she never found out the true reason--that he had been killed in the midst of a drive-by shooting between two local gangs. Such patterns repeated themselves as she matured--friends and loved ones disappeared, moved on, departed, leaving her behind. Each time her connection to someone was so quickly removed, it brought about pain and sadness, causing Izzie to eventually come to the conclusion that in order to avoid such pain she had to ensure she never made such connections in the first place. From that time on, she became even more reserved than ever, reacting with hostility and rejection to attempts to interact with her from just about anyone. As a result of her self-imposed lack of contact with others, Izzie began to use cigarettes, easily accessible to a young teenager in that area, to relieve stress and anger, progressively getting into other drugs such as alcohol when cigarettes began to lose their effectiveness. Drugs would continue to play a significant role in her life from then on, as she eventually was never to be found without a pack or two of cigarettes on her at any given time. At the same time, Izzie sank into the poverty-stricken, destitute underworld that existed in the slums their apartment was located in, getting into fights constantly, and in general making life all the worse for herself.
It was around this time, or shortly before, Izzie began to discover music--specifically, rock music, and then metal. She can't remember how it was she got that first CD--Motörhead's 'Overkill'. But she does remember that from the second the double bass drums kicked in, and then the bass, and the guitars, Izzie had found something she'd never had before--a feeling she couldn't describe. But for a moment, while, as Lemmy Kilmister sang in the song, "when the music's good and loud", everything that was going on in the world around her just didn't matter. From there, it was just a matter of going through more and more CDs, more and more bands, more and more styles. She went from Judas Priest, to Megadeth, to Deicide, to Nile, to Carcass--from heavy metal, to thrash, to death metal, to grindcore, to crust punk, and beyond, her musical taste evolving and giving her something to feel beyond the desperation of the situation. The abrasive, distorted guitars, heavy assault of bass drum beats, and furious, vicious vocals, they all appealed to Izzie; it was like all the rage, sorrow, anguish, and fear she had been feeling all those years suddenly was put into a form she could hear, understand, relate to.
It became a lifeline. If not for that one Motörhead CD, all those years ago, maybe she would have lost hope and perished long before she had a chance to make it out of that life. Maybe she would have become like her mother--a hollow, lifeless shell, a mere reflection of what might have once been a human being, driven not by soul and feeling but by alcohol and drugs. The music gave her a soul, a voice, a breath, and she never stopped listening from that day on. She scrounged together money to buy band tees and to buy new CDsâoverall, she suddenly began to emerge from the destitute, angry shell she had become, and realised that she was steadily beginning to find happiness in her life.
Of course, I'm sure you're all expecting the all-too-cliche 'BUT ONE DAY...'. Sadly, I must indulge this cliche--but read on.
One day, listening to the vicious assault of Carcass's 'Corporal Jigsore Quandary' through an old CD player she had managed to scrape money together for, she returned home. She was almost sixteen years old, soon to be in her second year in high school (when she felt compelled to attend, anyway), at the time. She walked into the apartment, the lights dim, casting the rooms in an ominous shadow. That wasn't altogether unusual. Her mother didn't tend to bother with lights when she was too busy drinking, smoking, or injecting herself into a mindless stupor.
Her mother wasn't in the main room, so Izzie called out--when she got no reply, she knew it already. Her mother was passed out. Probably on the floor again. Which meant Izzie would have to pick her up out of another pool of alcohol and rest her on her bed so that she wouldn't seem completely lacking in...any kind of dignity at all.
She walked into her mother's bedroom--it was just as dark as the rest of the apartment, of course. The reek of alcohol and smoke was heavy in the air. She flipped a lightswitch, and was greeted with a familiar sight. Her mother was sprawled across the bed (for once, Izzie noted irately, on the bed, and not the ground), surrounded by bottles of beer and cigarette butts that had been tossed aside. A syringe was sticking out of her arm--apparently, Izzie thought with annoyance, she had passed out before removing the goddamn thing again. Figures.
She walked towards her mother, and then stopped. There was something wrong this time. The body was ashen, the skin pale and colourless, and, to the touch, so cold it was like all the frigid air of the underworld had been forced into one human shell. When Izzie pressed her hand to her neck and felt no sign of the familiar faint but present pulsing of blood, she realised her mother had overdosed and died hours ago, alone and in pain.
Her immediate thoughts afterwards, Izzie can't really remember, because she doesn't try to. She remembers being violently sick, and soon after, the blaring of police sirens, flashing red and blue lights, being led away by people she didn't know...it was all like some sort of surrealist movie, a blurry dream that one wakes up from and only remembers bits and pieces of. Except she never woke up from it, and she remembered it all, no matter how much she forced it out of her mind.
The police informed her that she was to be assigned to a new foster familyâand at that point was it that Izzie was awoken from the shell-shocked stupor she had sunk into since the death of her mother. A foster familyâno, that couldnât happen. Izzie realised she would rather have died than be forced into someone elseâs family, with people sheâd never known and would never know her. The idea was so loathsome to her it almost made her want to vomit again, but she didnât let herself lose hope at this point.
When she saw the opportunity was right, Izzie simply fled. She ran away, from the police, from her past life, and submerged herself in the underworld of the slums. She was able to use connections in the gang world of the city to get a new ID forged for herselfâone that gave her a new name and a new age. She took up work in a local garage, working as a mechanic and laying low while the police made a thorough search for her. It was at this point that Izzie changed her hairstyle to the way it is now, in order to avoid the police.
Ultimately, though her quick mind and fast impulses enabled her to remain undetected for a few months, the police tracked her down and found her. When she was caught, however, Izzie was not immediately arrested, nor was she put into a correctional facility. In fact, she was given a simple choice: she was sixteen, of age to be emancipated. She could either be placed into a foster home, be sent to a correctional facilityâor be allowed to live on her own, with one caveat: she would be required to attend school regularly.
Well, with those choices, it wasnât too hard for the juvenile delinquent to make up her mind. Midway through the school year, Izzie was transferred to the school in which our tale takes place, and immediately garnered a reputation for being an irascible, temperamental, violent loner. Didnât take long before people decided to just leave her the fuck aloneâwhich she was just fine with. Izzie spent the majority of her time at school on her own, and she would have had it no other way: she had rapidly decided nobody here was probably gonna like her anyway. However, by the time of the beginning of her third year in the school, sheâd somehow ended up making a friendâa friend who was dating the captain of the football team.
Izzie warned her to get out of it while she could. She could tell what kinda guy the football captain wasâsheâd come across his kind way too many times in the past, and she knew her friend was headed straight for pain and misery. But at the same time, Izzie was torn between just bluntly saying it, no gentleness, no frills, just the straight up truth, and putting it as gently as possibleâshe feared that if she was as brutally honest as always in this case, her friend might decide to give up on Izzie and snap their friendship in half, and Izzie was deathly afraid of losing the one friend sheâd had in years. So when it finally did happen, Izzie squarely blamed herself. Sheâd been selfish, she decided. But most of all she was absolutely enraged at the football captain and his bevy of retarded cheerleader girls. She wanted to beat the everloving shit out of all of themâespecially after she discovered her friend was cutting herself as a result. Izzieâs fury knew no boundsâbut her friend didnât want her to do it. She didnât want her to go headfirst into the football team and gouge the captainâs eyes out with her bare hands (which she direly wanted to do). It just didnât make sense to Izzieâhow could she let something like this happen, and refuse to let the jackass get what was coming to him?
Theme Songs: Death - Empty Words. dem lyrics
Suffocation - Mental Haemorrhage. also dem lyrics
Carcass - No Love Lost. also also dem lyrics
Other: She's bisexual, known to lean slightly towards women. Fluent speaker of Brazilian Portuguese, with some command of Spanish.