Post by vicenza maria grazia vizzini on Jan 8, 2010 5:14:45 GMT -6
`VICENZA MARIA GRAZIA VIZZINI!
`YOU KNOW IM NOT MUCH BETTER WITHOUT YOU!
NICKNAMES AGE 28
GENDER Female
ETHNICITY Italian
RELIGON Catholic
SEXUALITY Straight
STATUS Single
OCCUPATION OR GRADE owns an Italian boutique, designs clothes and jewellery in spare time
PLAYED BY Natalia Verbeke
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`YOU STOLE MY HEART THEN YOU KICKED IT ASIDE!
-Independence. Of course, she sees nothing wrong with relying on family if her business gets into a tight spot.
-The colour red. In her opinion, an outfit is never complete without it.
- Putting on a show. Like all proper Italian girls, she was taught that, the second you step outside your own house, you are in front of an audience. Therefore, she should always be on her best behaviour, and always well dressed. Her father seemed to disagree with these flashy ideals but her mother insisted until her face went blue and, in the end, Vicenza is rather glad she did.
-Her small boutique. Though there isn’t much business, and she often dips into family funds to keep it going, every item she sells is unique and, she likes to think, well-appreciated by the buyer.
-Despite their many faults, she loves her family. Her mother is the typical, over-protective mama-bear and gave her and inordinate amount of trouble when she wished to leave home. Her father is the polar opposite and simply gave her a long, hard look and a travel cheque, reminded her of the ten family commandments and bid her good luck. She has two brothers, both younger than her. One is a training priest, and the other is being groomed to the desired standard so that he can join the business one day. Funnily enough, they don’t seem to get on.
-High heels. It was a good way to make an impression and gave her the feeling of power and freedom. She wasn’t allowed to wear any back in Sicily, and so takes every opportunity to do so now.
-The small luxuries in life. If you can afford it, why not have it?
-Tall handsome brunets. After all, a girl can’t ignore the guys!
DISLIKES
-The Family business. No matter what they said and how they tried to persuade her, she didn’t see it as an appealing profession, and though she would never be a pentito, but neither would she participate in what they did.
-Fast Food. She thinks it is an awful excuse for food and it should never be eaten by anyone who could afford to buy a loaf of bread and some ham. Which is almost everyone.
-Ice Cream. This is completely against the Italian stereotype but honestly she doesn’t care and can’t see why everyone enjoys something so sickly sweet, cold and messy.
-Loud noises. They are annoying, especially late at night after a hard day’s work, and the inconsiderate neighbours decide to throw a party. They're obnoxious, they take attention away from what really matters and, when it's been a long night and she feels the family blood in her veins stronger than usual, every crash can sound like a raid and every wailing cat like a siren.
-Stereotypes. The world was full of them and she hated people who abided by them. Not everyone could be stuck in the same category just because of what they wear or where they are from.
-Weddings. It would be better for you if you didn’t mention them. If you do, she'll tell you she hates the frivolousness of the whole affair, the abundant noise and the pointless ettiquette about not upstaging the bride.
-The Monthly Import. That was the only way she was permitted to leave the country on her own. Along with her regular shipments of Neapolitan fashion, there was always the other shipment from her family and their associates. She simply has to collect it, and someone comes a day later to pick it up. She's pretty sure it's drugs, but doesn't dare to ever open the package.
-Dogs. They are noisy and smell when wet. She can't stand anything that smells bad.
FEARS
-The police. It’s a Family thing. Everyone fears the police.
-
SECRETS
Family-Though her name gives her away, she still likes to think she has some anonymity, at least now that she no longer lives in Italy. She is part of the Vizzini family, the great-granddaughter of Calogero Don Calò Vizzini, and unfortunately her family have still stayed in the business he helped to set up. And unfortunately, she was dragged into it as well. She moved away from them when she was 25 after the unfortunate accident her fiancée had with one of the family hitmen.
Jilted-She was meant to have been married by now. But unfortunately, on the day, her father took insult to her fiancée, and declared him unfit to marry his daughter. Obviously it wasn’t her fault for choosing the wrong man, her father later said, so he was the one in the way. So they got rid of him for her.
OVERALL PERSONALITY[/b]
She would like to think of herself as strong and self-assured, unafraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believes, but if she is met with violent resistance she will clam up and refrain from disagreeing, despite what she might think. It is something she has been working on removing from her personality, but something embedded from childhood is hard to uproot.
She has quite a loud authoritative voice, yet tends to speak little, choosing her words carefully rather than speaking her mind. Obviously, all her words are accompanied by some form of hand gesture, the Italian trait impossible to cease.
She doesn’t mind meeting new people, though prefers to stay among a circle of well-known friends, seeing strangers as threats until proven otherwise. Also, she prefers to meet new people by being introduced to them through someone else, even though she doesn’t have to follow the set rules of her family while being so far away from them but, unfortunately, some things you cannot change.
Whatever you think, don’t expect her to simply give in and accept it as her own. She might not reject it or disagree, or even voice her own opinion on the matter, but that does not mean she agrees with what you might say of think.
Having had quite a sheltered childhood, despite who she is, she never had any traumas or changes in her life. She never moved, there were no tragedies (at least, not within the family. That was all she ever cared about when she was young) and so she isn’t one to accept change easily. The move to Canada had been very difficult for her, and even though she never complained once to her family, she found it hard to adapt to this new lifestyle. The city was also a change for her. She had lived in a big country house, and had had tutors brought to her for her education, instead of having gone to a school. The hustle and bustle of the city was intoxicating, but also overpowering, and she found the downgrade from a great house to a small two bedroom apartment a bit hassling to get used to.
She isn’t a party animal. On the contrary, she would prefer to sit at home with a good movie and a glass of wine rather than go out to one of the various clubs scattered around the city.
OVERALL APPEARANCE[/b]
She has the common Mediterranean appearance, with dark hair, tanned skin and dark eyes. Her hair is wavy, and cut straight past her shoulders. Eyes are dark brown, almost black. She has quite a tall yet slim stature, and likes to wear clothes that highlight her figure.
She has a couple of thread-thin scars up and down her arms and legs from when she was younger, when she used to climb the trees in her yard and got her arms scratched up. Also from playing with the cats that often stalked about the house chasing the field mice that got inside.
She wears what she likes, but that usually consists of a skirt/shirt combo, or a dress. She has only ever worn trousers three times in her life, and sees them as very unfeminine. The colour red always features in her garments, and she has had the obsession with that colour ever since this boy she had liked back at home had given her a red poppy. She had been twelve at the time, but yet the flower made such an impression on her that from then on she always wore the colour, or at the least, the motif. The small crush soon withered away, but the liking of the colour lingers to this day.
She prefers to wear well cut items, rather than designer labels, but won’t think twice if something she likes happens to have been designed by someone famous. She simply doesn’t wear labels out of necessity.
She still wears the engagement ring she was given by her fiancée, despite the fact that because of that, it has been difficult to find that someone special again. Not that she feels she can’t move on, but simply wearing it makes her seem unavailable.
She has no tattoos, seeing them as unnecessary and to be frank, quite ugly. Jewellery was better than something injected under your skin. You could change one, yet never the other.
She has her ears pierced, yet nothing else. She sees it as ugly when someone walks around with their face full of holes and bits of metal sticking out.
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`WHEN HES INSIDE YOU KNOW THERES NO ROOM FOR ME!
[/font]This is something from an app for a different forum, hope it's ok~
For what could be the hundredth time in his short life, six year old Saturn found himself swathed in clean bed sheets, with a drip in his arm, in a hospital ward. He was in there, once again, because he had fainted. He was a weak, sickly child, always with a runny nose and headache and fainted often, though nobody worried too much, as medical tests had proven he was fine, apart from a rather weak immune system. Had his parents cared, perhaps he could have become better faster, but they were too busy with their own little problems to worry about one more. They hadn’t cared for him at all since the day he was born, but simply made sure he didn’t die. After all, a death would be yet another problem for their already messed up lives to deal with. So every so often, he would end up back in the same whitewashed room, in the same bed, catered by some stranger.
He resented them for that. His carers. His ‘saviours’. Why did they keep helping when it was obvious his parents didn’t care? Just let him alone. Let Fate take its course. “Che sera, sera”, right? But no, they all had to interfere.
He’d lie there, resenting them all, while they bustled about, ‘saving’ him. And once they turned their backs, he’d be gone. Tugging the drip out of his arm, despite the pain, he’d leap out of the cold metallic clean bed and simply walk out. Every time nobody paid much attention. And every time he was back they would all ‘tut’ at him and say he shouldn’t do that, say it was bad, he would be ill and on and on and on… he’d ignore them, as always, and be gone again the first chance he got.
He was pretty sure his parents didn’t even realise he was gone. They were either apart, enjoying life‘s virtues, or at home, at each other’s throats. Or on each other, upstairs. He’d hear them, and they wouldn’t know. Or care. That was the point at which he’d go out, to get away.
He went to school almost religiously, curious of everything around him, always on time, always eager to learn something new. Always quiet, unlike the other kids running around, attacking each other with crayons and rubbers, while he’d sit there with his first book, looking at it and smiling as the strange scribbles on the page began to make sense, as the letters strung themselves together into words, words into phrases, and then finally full sentences. But he stood out. And when you stand out, you attract attention. And attention attracts violence, as he soon found out.
They were siblings of some of the kids in his class. They didn’t like him being better, and so decided to beat it out of him. One would hold him, while two or three others slugged punches at him. He never complained. What would it help? He never even cried. The grudge he bore against the nurses intensified, and turned to the bullies. Of course, he never did anything about it. Not then. But later…later was later. Things changed later. But three times a week, he’d get his dose of pain. Then back at home, nothing would change, nobody would notice him. So he’d go out, trailing across the neighbourhood. He’d often go to this one place he’d found, off the rail tracks, where there was a patch of wild grass growing. There he’d break down and cry. He’d let it all out, then once his tears ran out, he’d sit there until after dark, and make his way back home.
ooc:if you want something for Vicenza, I'll type something up and change this~
For what could be the hundredth time in his short life, six year old Saturn found himself swathed in clean bed sheets, with a drip in his arm, in a hospital ward. He was in there, once again, because he had fainted. He was a weak, sickly child, always with a runny nose and headache and fainted often, though nobody worried too much, as medical tests had proven he was fine, apart from a rather weak immune system. Had his parents cared, perhaps he could have become better faster, but they were too busy with their own little problems to worry about one more. They hadn’t cared for him at all since the day he was born, but simply made sure he didn’t die. After all, a death would be yet another problem for their already messed up lives to deal with. So every so often, he would end up back in the same whitewashed room, in the same bed, catered by some stranger.
He resented them for that. His carers. His ‘saviours’. Why did they keep helping when it was obvious his parents didn’t care? Just let him alone. Let Fate take its course. “Che sera, sera”, right? But no, they all had to interfere.
He’d lie there, resenting them all, while they bustled about, ‘saving’ him. And once they turned their backs, he’d be gone. Tugging the drip out of his arm, despite the pain, he’d leap out of the cold metallic clean bed and simply walk out. Every time nobody paid much attention. And every time he was back they would all ‘tut’ at him and say he shouldn’t do that, say it was bad, he would be ill and on and on and on… he’d ignore them, as always, and be gone again the first chance he got.
He was pretty sure his parents didn’t even realise he was gone. They were either apart, enjoying life‘s virtues, or at home, at each other’s throats. Or on each other, upstairs. He’d hear them, and they wouldn’t know. Or care. That was the point at which he’d go out, to get away.
He went to school almost religiously, curious of everything around him, always on time, always eager to learn something new. Always quiet, unlike the other kids running around, attacking each other with crayons and rubbers, while he’d sit there with his first book, looking at it and smiling as the strange scribbles on the page began to make sense, as the letters strung themselves together into words, words into phrases, and then finally full sentences. But he stood out. And when you stand out, you attract attention. And attention attracts violence, as he soon found out.
They were siblings of some of the kids in his class. They didn’t like him being better, and so decided to beat it out of him. One would hold him, while two or three others slugged punches at him. He never complained. What would it help? He never even cried. The grudge he bore against the nurses intensified, and turned to the bullies. Of course, he never did anything about it. Not then. But later…later was later. Things changed later. But three times a week, he’d get his dose of pain. Then back at home, nothing would change, nobody would notice him. So he’d go out, trailing across the neighbourhood. He’d often go to this one place he’d found, off the rail tracks, where there was a patch of wild grass growing. There he’d break down and cry. He’d let it all out, then once his tears ran out, he’d sit there until after dark, and make his way back home.
ooc:if you want something for Vicenza, I'll type something up and change this~
`YOU LIFT ME UP AND THEN YOU THROW ME BACK DOWN!
NICKNAMES Havoc, Fuzzie, Oribia
WHERE CAN WE CONTACT YOU? oliviasivelli@yahoo.co.uk havocensures@hotmail.co.uk
WHERE DID YOU FIND US? through nickbo~
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