Isadora Ackerman ;;

[isadora]

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{ A B O U T . Y O U }

Name: Najooj
Gender: Female
Age: 18
E-mail: [e-mail]
Twitter: you has
Years of RPG Experience: 6-7 ionno
Other: Removed by Staff

Oh and there are mature-ish themes in the history. You've been warned

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{ Q U I C K . Q U I Z }

How did you find us? --
What about ISS inspired you to join? --
Do you have any suggestions for us? --

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{ A B O U T . T H E . C H A R A C T E R }

Name: Isadora Sophiya Ackerman
Age: 16
Gender: Female
Year: Sixth
Face Claim: Darla Baker

Canon or Original? Original

Facial Properties: Isadora insisted on describing herself, so here we go. Here's hoping she doesn't lose you.
I'm totally ignoring that crossed out part, and jumping right into it. I'll start off by saying that I am not, and will never, ever, ever, EVER be one of those beauty pageant winners. I do not have the face of a movie star. I do not have shiny and smooth hair, or perfectly straight and snow-white teeth, or a dazzling smile, or beautiful eyes. I am most definitely not the next Madonna or whatever. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I don't want to be the fairest of them all. I'd rather be cute and unique rather than beautiful and boring. I don't want the first thing people think when they see me is "damn, that girl is hott." Of course, most people's thought's whenever they first meet me, I'm sure, is something along the lines of "...damn, that girl is a weirdo." And I'm okay with that too because, you know, following the status quou or whatever really is boring and who wants to be like everyone else anyway-?
Dora, you're supposed to be describing your physical appearance...
I'm getting there, I'm getting there. So, where was I? Oh right, being unique. Well, I think my looks reflect my...unique? personality. I'm not going to sound like a whiney, insecure teenage girl and sob dramatically over the fact that I have flaws. I don't get girls that are like that. I mean, no one's perfect. Even the most beautiful woman in the world has some sort of flaw. I'm sure she has off days where she gets a pimple smack dab in the middle of her forehead. They just hide it really, really well. Which, in my opinion, is incredibly stupid. Why mask what's natural? I mean, really. But I digress.

My features are pretty plain, I suppose. I don't have any particular feature that stands out. My face is oval. My forehead is medium-sized, my cheekbones are kind-of high, and I have what people call a 'button' nose - basically, it's tiny. And then, in contrast, my eyes are huge. Okay, sorry, I'm exaggerating...except, they kind-of are. I'm convinced that my eyes are too big for my face. Or maybe my face is just too small for them. Did you know that while everything else on your face grows, your eyes stay the exact same size they were when you were born? Fascinating stuff, isn't it? I just love those little random facts -- but anyway, before Najooj yells at me again. My eyes are blue-y-green-y-grey-y...yeah, I really have no idea, but somewhere in between those shades. My lips are pretty fully. Not too puffy, but not too thin, which is nice. My teeth...aha. If I were to feel self-conscious about any aspect of my face, I think it would have to be my teeth. They're larger than your average teeth, and not exactly perfectly straight. As it is, I don't obsess over it. If I wanted to, I could probably dig up a Charms book or something and find a spell that can reduce the size of my teeth, but I strongly dislike the idea of altering my looks using magic. Actually, I strongly dislike the idea of altering my looks in general, but especially with magic. Why would you want to mess with what God gifted you with? You were made this way for a reason, and people are always most beautiful when they're in their natural, you know? My goodness, that sounds sappy, I apologize. I would love to say that this way of thinking is the reason why I hadn't cut my hair - which is brown, by the way, - for eight years, but it's not. I honestly don't know why I haven't. Perhaps it was my unusual aversion to scissors. Or perhaps it was the fact that when I woke up all those years ago, my hair was practically mutilated. But I digress. For whatever reason, I did not come near my hair, nor did I let anyone else come near it, and so it grew and grew until it was waist length, and it was a pain to deal with, so I pretty much kept it in a braided bun all the time. Why I'm using past tense? Well, as you can see, it is no longer like that. Quite the opposite. It's a funny story, really. Well...it wasn't funny then. In fact, at the time, it was the most unfunny thing ever. So I'm innocently walking by two people, one of whom was a sort-of-not-really friend at the time, Samuel Raisz, who was trying to make a balloon with some gum. And it's a nice day and everything is peachy keen and then BAM. Gum in hair.

No, I kid you not. Gum. In my hair. I was horrified, of course, and fu-
Dora!
-sorry, sorry. And freaking Sammy skedaddled at once, of course. As it were, I would've been too horrified to pay him any mind then. Because, really. I had fu- freaking gum in my hair, and gum is sticky and it sticks so it was stuck and it was pretty high and so I did the one thing that I could think of: I went up to my dormitory, took out my wand (because me + scissors = no-no, remember?) and tried to cut it myself. Key word here: Tried. I had a little mishap with the Diffindo spell and accidentally chopped off a lot more than I anticipated. You wouldn't believe the feeling, seeing all this long hair just kind-of...fall to the ground. It was awful. And suddenly I have this boy hair-cut. Nope, I'm not kidding. My hair is even shorter than some boys! Have you seen Lucius Malfoy's hair? Mine is shorter than his. No, I kid you not. He has girlier hair than mine! And I mean that in every way possible, because, seriously, I'm pretty sure he spends about an hour in the morning on that gorgeous head of hair of his. Seriously, you cannot get shiny hair like that without spending at least an hour of meticulous care-
Isadora, why are you talking about Lucius Malfoy's hair?
....I'm not sure. Anyway! I'm pretty sure I look like a pixie now. Chicken Leg - that's Sammy Raisz - claimed I look like a boy, but personally I think he was just bitter about my dumping liquid silver on his head in an attempt to prove his werewolfism - and to get back at him for ruining my hair, too, I'll admit. Which, by the way, doesn't exist. He's not a werewolf, I mean. I know, is that not disappointing? I would have loved to meet a real-life werewolf...but before Najooj kicks me off, I'll get back to my appearance. I already mentioned my hair, right? Hmm, what else...oh! I have dimples! Yep. Two of them, one in each cheek, that appear when I smile - and I do smile, because I love myself, weird teeth and all, except not in that I'm-full-of-myself way, but rather in that I-accept-my-flaws way. My chin is kind-of pointy, and I had a bit of a cleft chin. And, oh, oh, here's a fascinating random tid-bit about me! So I was about ten years old and I was running around with my friends, right, and then suddenly I tripped and broke my jaw. Doctors fixed it up real quick but every since then I've been able to fit my -
Isadora, I really wish you'd stop telling everyone this story, it's...weird.
I'm weird, and plus it's not every day you meet someone who can fit their whole fist into their mouth, is it? Okay, fine, I think that's all I can say about my face? Mhm, yep, that's it. Onto physique, right?
Yep! And please try to be more concise, all right?


Physique: Okay so, I have theee most voluptuous body you have ever seen. Really. It’s totally hour glass shaped and-
Isadora!
Okay, okay, I’m kidding, sheeshkins no need to jump down my throat. As I was saying…aha, yeah, I’m none of those things. Not even close. Because, you see, I’m flat as a board. Well, practically. Sort of? I’m just really skinny. And tall. Tall and skinny. Which, you know, really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’d rather be nice and round and you know, have curves, rather than look like a stick. Because that’s exactly what I am. A skinny, skinny stick with a small butt and equally small boobs. Which sucks. Seriously. Anyone who wants to be as thin a rail is stupid and ridiculous and should be shot. Except not really, I do not think shooting people is very productive. But still. My point remains: skinny = not the best thing to be in the world. Trust me, as someone who has absolutely no choice in the matter, III know what I'm talking about. Well, I guess I have a little choice in the matter, seeing as I'm practically vegan. And I say practically because, technically, I'm not reaaally a vegan. I mean, I don't eat meat or chicken or any meat products, really, and I don't exactly eat animal products in general. Except cheese, I like cheese. Cheese and milk, since chocolate contains milk and, well, I kind-of can't go without chocolate, you know? So you would think, being someone who consumes as much chocolate as I do, I'd be pretty healthy-looking right? Wrong! I'm still all skin and bones. It stinks. No, really, I can't wear a strapless shirt or anything strapless, really, without performing a spell to keep it held up. I'd say it was embarrassing, but hardly anything embarrasses me. It's mostly just annoying. Really annoying. Being magical helps a ton, though. Especially with fixing clothing to fit you. Goodness, it's quite difficult to find my size. Thankfully, I'm flexible with clothing. I'm not exactly a fashinista - far from it, actually. I prefer comfort over what looks good. And if it happens to look good too, then great. I'm not exactly the best at matching either, but oh well. I make do. I think.
You know, throughout that whole rant, you've hardly told them anything other than the fact that you're skinny and your taste in clothing is questionable. A little description, please?
Right, right. Uhh. I already said small boobs, right? Which really, isn't so bad since it means I'm less likely to have gropey hands in my direction and-
-Yes, you said that.
And butt?
Yyyyyes.

Hokay. Erm. Aside from that, I have...long legs? Yes. I'm five-foot-nine you see. Which, for a girl, as we all know, is quite tall. I tower over most of the girls in my year group, and even those in Seventh year too. And some of the boys too, ahaha, it's hilarious. Anyway. About ninety percent of that height is legs-
You're exaggerating.
Okay, fine. Eighty-five? No? Umm. Eighty-one? Okay, we're going with eighty-one. So yes, I have long legs. Which is nice, I've heard some boys like long legs. Not that I care very much since I think they ought to keep their gropey hands to themselves and away from me, thank you very much. But I digress. My legs are pretty skinny too, though. Full at the thigh, get even skinnier. If I didn't have personal experience with falling, I'd say they were liable to snap should I fall or something similar. But you know, I have surprisingly strong bones. It's probably all that milk I drink. Because, see, I prefer milk to pumpkin juice. I really don't know why. It's easier to get milk from the house elves than it is to get pumpkin juice? Plus, I like milk. It's healthy and it's not that processed, although really when I think of where it came from it's not really the most pleasant process in which they get the milk...but I try not to think about it too much. It's better than the way meat or chicken is processed, all that blood and the hands dealing with it and...gross, no thank you!
You're derailing again.
But it's just so boring to talk about just my body, you know? Goodness, that sounds weird. I'm talking about my body, aha. Oh dear, you do look rather frustrated. All right, moving on. I've mentioned boobs, butt, legs...erm, my arms are pretty skinny too, although don't let that fool you I can pack a pretty mean punch. Which is surprising. Maybe it was just dumb luck that one time...oh well. As I was saying. My palms are quite small, but I have long fingers. Isn't that strange? Aha. I think I have a pretty nice neck? It's not all swan-like and elegant, but it's nice. And maybe I should have mentioned this in the other section, but oh well. My skin is pale. Like, really, really pale. Just pale, pale skin. The kind of skin that turns lobster red if it's out in the sun for too long. Oh, and I get freckles, too. I love freckles though so it's all good.
You're really taking much too long, you know. *sighs*

Okay, okay, I'm almost done. Umm, my collar bone sticks out a bit. My ribs, however, do not. I'm not anorexic, despite popular belief - and only popular because I hardly eat at the dinner table. I do, however, often go to the kitchens and make my own meals though! I just...don't like to eat food that isn't made by my own hands because who knows who's handling it and how clean are those House Elves' hands, really? I doubt they wash them often enough! And I'm expected to eat that crap? Uh, no thank you! So yes, I assure everyone, I am not anorexic. As a matter of fact, I look down my nose at the people who fret about their looks so much that they are forced to keep from eating to bring their weight down. It's really such a superficial way to look at the world. I mean, since when is skinny beautiful? You could be the skinniest and most beautiful person in the world but the ugliest person inside and the people who matter would react to that ugly person and would hate you, despite how pretty you are. And vice versa. I'm not going to be naive, I know beauty holds a lot in this world, and that makes me sad. Why is it the first thing that someone notices about a person is how they look? Does them being beautiful make them somehow more approachable? Or is it less, because they're so intimidating? People can't control the way they look, it's just wrong. Unless you're a Metamorphosis in which case, kudos to you. Anyway. That's why I dislike people manipulating their looks by magic, or splashing on pounds of make-up to hide all the 'flaws', or forcing themselves to be skinnier by upchucking or not eating anything in the first place just to look good? It's the flaws that make you who you are, people. Don't try to conform into an image that doesn't even exist. Because perfection isn't just overrated - it's impossible. So as I was saying...OH. I have pretty feet. Yes, very pretty feet. You see, I love my feet. They're the most elegant part of my body. It's true! They're just so pretty, and I'm proud enough to say that. If I ever get married, it'll probably be to someone who has some sort of foot fetish. Except maybe not a very extreme foot fetish, because that'd be creepy. See, they're long and my toes aren't too big but aren't too small, just right, you know? And I have a cute little arch and a round heel and everything. And-
Dora please stop talking about your feet.
But-
Seriously. We're moving on now, kay?
But-
Kay, great, onto personality! And I'm doing this one, remember?
Yeah, yeah...


Wand Type: Hazel, 10 1/2", Phoenix tail feather core
Wand Expertise: Healing spells
Patronus: Cat.
Boggart: a pensieve

Personality: Probably the first thing you'll notice about Isadora is her completely and utter lack of a filter. She just seemed to be incapable of holding in her own opinion; seriously. She just does not seem to see the line between "casual conversation" and "too much information". Actually, I think that line just does not exist for her. Or it does exist but she just ignores it. She doesn't understand why she should silence her opinion simply because it might hurt someone. And more often than not, she doesn't realize what she's about to say could potentially hurt someone until she says it. It makes her somewhat crass, and might make her out to be a bitch at times, but she sincerely doesn't mean any harm by it. This also makes her appear to be quite a loud person - and she is. She's certainly not quiet, and she's free-spirited enough that she doesn't care how loud her voice gets, or how far her laughter carries. She's also a firm believer in honesty above all. Her way of thinking is that 'I want to know what people really think of me, so I'm just returning the favor', and she gets confused when people do not react well to some of her comments. It makes her quite socially awkward - she could end up saying something that people just do not say out loud and instead of blushing and laughing it off, she expects people to take her seriously, and is often frustrated when they either stare at her in stunned silence or burst out laughing. She's been known to be quite hilarious, however, and she knows how to laugh at herself, and takes great pleasure in entertaining others. She usually does not become peeved when people laugh at her, although it depends on the situation. Honestly, she doesn't even attempt to hold her tongue, because she simply does not see the point. She thinks that everyone has the right to freedom of speech, and this is the way she expresses herself, so anyone that tries to oppress her should just stay out of her way and...well...

Shut the hell up?

Sure, that. And she's not afraid to tell them that. Actually, she's not afraid to tell anyone anything. That doesn't mean she's completely heartless, though. If she honestly didn't mean to hurt you - and, more often than not, she doesn't - she will regret it and attempt to fix it. Although, usually, she fails miserably at it. As good as she is at expressing her opinion, she pretty much sucks at apologising and making things better in general. It's quite amusing, really. She gets flustered and starts speaking faster than usual and she starts flailing-
I do not flail.
Uh-huh. Sure you don't. Anyway, as I was saying. She usually ends up making matters worse, although there are the times when she manages to surprise a laugh out of the person by making a silly or random comment, which is usually her way of avoiding a sad conversation, or trying to cheer someone else. You learn not to take everything that Isadora says to heart eventually, though. She really does lack the ability to think before she speaks, but she means well. Usually. Now, if she dislikes you, that's a whole other story. Isadora doesn't dislike many people, namely because it's simply too much work, not to mention she has such an open mind that she's willing to give you the benefit of the doubt; she doesn't judge based on House, family, or anything like that. You have to give her a real reason to dislike you, because she won't dislike you for no real reason. If she isn't particularly fond of you for whatever reason, though, then she won't go out of her way to pretend otherwise. With Isadora it's pretty clear cut - it's either indifference, like or dislike. Obviously, there's more than one level of each for her, but those are the basic three categories. Normally, she ignores the people she doesn't like, unless you've really pissed her off. In which case, she has a bit of a mean streak-

Yes, she does indeed. I know firs' hand.
Oh stop being a drama queen. That was an accident.
Ye punched me in the nose!
Accidentally!
Kieran, what the heck are you doing here? Leave right now, this is Isadora's app. Ugh. Where was I? Right. Isadora's mean streak-
I can't believe you think I have a mean streak!
Need I remind you of your plotting against a certain sixth year Slytherin?
....That was different...
Uh-huh. Sure. Anyway, as I was saying! Maybe mean streak is a bit of an exaggeration, but Isadora isn't one to let go of her rights. If you piss her off, she'll probably plot some sort of revenge - normally completely harmless, of course, and she's pretty clever about it. Usually. And she really doesn't show that side often, only if you piss her off enough. In any case, she's a bit of a snarky witch to people who annoy her in general, or at the very least, she's annoying in return. Like I said, not a lot of people get on her bad side. You have to be the biggest douche in the universe to really push her buttons; you have to be someone like You-Know-Who for her to hate you. And since there's only one You-Know-Who out there, I'd say you were pretty safe when it comes to what Isadora thinks of you, if she even thinks anything at all. She's slightly picky with who she chooses as close friends, after all. It's nothing personal, really - well, okay, I suppose some people might find it personal, but still. For Dora to befriend you, you have to interest her, for one thing. If she thinks you're boring, then the odds of her approaching you after the first time you meet are highly unlikely. Unless you perk her interest - whether it's with something you said, or your mannerism, or whatever, she's likely to disregard you as a potential friend.
Hey, okay, now you're making me out to be some sort of judgmental b*tch, and I'm not!
No, no I didn't mean it that way. Like I said, Isadora is probably one of the least judgmental and most open-minded people you'll ever meet. She honestly just doesn't care. You could be heterosexual, homosexual, asexual, bisexual and everything in between and she wouldn't care. She doesn't base her judgment over what you are, but rather your personality. If she finds you engaging, or interesting, or if she believes you have a lot in common with her, she'll quite happily befriend you. If you interest her enough, she'll take to stalking you.

Stalk is such a strong word...

You know it fits, Dora. Yes, she stalks people. Not in the creepy way, though. More in the I-find-you-fascinating-and-I-want-to-learn-more-about-you way. Or in the I-know-you're-hiding-something-and-I-want-to-know-what-it-is way. And she does it in such a way that you know she's doing it. She doesn't hide around the corners and in closets, and she doesn't follow you around everywhere. She just has a tendency to pop up in places you're at and start a random conversation because, see, her version of stalking isn't watching from afar but, rather, watching from up-close. She categorizes the way people react to her, and sometimes the way people react to others, or the way that they act alone, and how they act, and their general mannerisms, and the way they speak, and so on. Some people are just completely fascinating to her, and it's those people that she pays most attention to. You don't have to have some sort of huge secret, or have the coolest personality around - Isadora doesn't really have a type of person she prefers. It's quite strange and difficult to explain, really.
Well, really, I think it's just something about a person that calls to me, you know? Like, something about them that I, for some reason, really like. Something like that.
Yep. It's the same with the guys she tends to crush on. She doesn't have one particular type. There's always something about them that catches her attention, whether it's the way they act towards their friends, or something they said to her. She's a complicated person like that, because it's hard to pin-point exactly what it is that Isadora likes in a person. She believes it's stupid to categorize people, at any rate. It makes no sense to her; every single person is unique in their own way, so trying to lump them all into categories - 'smart', 'stupid', 'bitch', 'jock', and so on and so forth, makes no sense to her. It's how she can befriend many different types of people. She's willing to overlook anything that she might not like if there's more things that she does like about a person. It makes her friendly in a...weird way. When she's not being accidentally insulting and rude with her openness, that is. Because, see, while Isadora might have no problem with most people, some have problems with her. Either her openness makes them uncomfortable or it irritates them, or they find her too 'free spirited', or bitchy. She doesn't pay any mind to them, however. In her own words:
They can all go to hell?
Right.

Isadora is a very curious person. She likes to know everything there is to know about...well, everything. It's why she stalks - sorry, I mean, follows people. If she thinks they've got something to hide or have a secret or are simply fascinating entities, then she likes to know everything about them. And she doesn't hesitate to ask questions - hell, quite the opposite. She'll probably badger the hell out of you about one topic until she knows everything. She doesn't know when to quit, so it ends up irritating people, which leads to them snapping at her, and Isadora dropping the subject - only to pick it up the next day, if not the next hour. She'll do almost anything to satisfy her curiosity -
Emphasis on the almost, please and thank you.
Right, right. Almost anything. She doesn't have any qualms about pissing people off. The thing is, though, she doesn't want to find things out so she can gossip about them, unlike some people. It's simply to satisfy her curiosity. If she were to ever discover a secret, she'd never give it up - literally never. While she has no problem telling people all about herself, she's excellent at keeping other people's secrets. As a matter of fact, she hates any type of gossip. She would rarely believe anything about a person that didn't come from the person him(or her)self. For one thing, she prefers to hear it straight from the horse's mouth, because it's just not as satisfying if you're hearing it from someone else, not to mention she knows how much trust it takes for someone to admit to something important. Secondly, she's fully aware of how convulted and twisted information could get when passed along or picked up through a conversation, and she prefers to hear the truth over gossip, no matter how 'juicy' the gossip might be.
Not to mention I don't care for the juiciness of the topic, just the knowledge. I mean, I really don't care how important the information is. I just like to know it. Is that weird? Well, I'm a weird person so what else is new under the sun?
She also tends to ask why about everything, even the simplest thing. She likes to understand every single detail. It's why trying to tell Isadora an actual joke is practically impossible. A typical example would be the following:

Person: Two guys enter the bar-
Isadora: Why?
Person: ...they want a few drinks. Anyway-
Isadora: But why? Are they having a guy's night out? Has one of them been dumped?
Person: ...Guy's night. So anyway they see a horse at the bar-
Isadora: Why would a horse be in a bar?
Person: It's just a joke!
Isadora: It's a silly and not-very-well-explained joke, is what it is.
Person: -leaves-

I'm not that bad!
Yes you are. Anyways, another thing about Isadora is that she's quite stubborn. It ties in with her curiosity, I suppose, and the fact that she just will not give up until she's discovered whatever it is she wants to discover. Not only that, but Isadora also hates being told she can't do something. Unless she's absolutely one hundred percent she can't do something, she'll keep trying until it becomes absolutely clear that she simply cannot do whatever it is - or she actually succeeds. It's normally the latter, unless it has to do with germs or touching people. That is just something she knows she will never, ever be able to overcome.
Actually, I do have hope that someday I might. Maybe. Probably not. Oh well.
Buut that's going to come later. As I was saying, Isadora is quite stubborn. She's also pretty stubborn when it comes to what she thinks. It's incredibly difficult to sway her if she's convinced of something, unless you have a very logical explanation and your opinion makes more sense than hers, somehow. It's pretty hard to do so if you manage, kudos to you. And now onto Isadora's quirks: and trust me, she has many, many quirks. For one thing, she just has a plethora of random facts. It's not unusual for Isadora to blurt out a random fact, whether because she'd recently learned it or simply to make conversation - or avoid an awkward silence, which, really, is a likely occurrence with Isadora around. It's not unusual for the random facts themselves to beget an awkward silence. She doesn't do it on purpose, of course. She never realizes what she says is strange or awkward until the comment is met with silence or clearing of the throat or uncomfortable shifting - or all of the above - on the other person's part. And even then, she sometimes doesn't get it. But even if she doesn't, she ends up giving a - sometimes exasperated - apology. She doesn't mean to make people uncomfortable. It just...happens. And, until they learn to deal, she would continue to apologize -
Sometimes.
- until they became accustomed to her...er...ways, if you will. So, yes, she's like a walking encyclopedia of random facts. She fills up her nights with reading, and it's not always fiction. What she reads, she normally remembers. Ironically, she has quite a powerful memory - which, of course, comes in handy when it comes to studies. Not that Isadora had ever had a problem in that area. She'd always been a bright child - it came with the curiosity factor, really - but since she has quite a lot of time on her hands Isadora can take her time with homework assignments and studying and thus ends up doing pretty well academically.
I think you should explain to them why I have so much time on my hands, haha.

Right, right. Isadora doesn't sleep. This'll be explained in the history, but basically she's an insomniac. It's another one of her 'quirks'. Another sort-of-but-not-really quirk of Isadora's is her love to experiment. Being a curious girl, as well as open to trying new things, Isadora loves to mess around with new spells and new potions. Since she reads so much – there's really nothing else to do once you've done all your homework and still have a few hours to kill – Isadora picks up a lot of things from books and, more often than not, she likes to try them. Nothing too disastrous has ever happened to her – yet – but…well, we'll see how long that lasts.
Goodness, that sounds ominous. I like to think I'm quite careful, thank you very much.
Right, because you didn't blow up a cauldron that one time –
Accident!
Suuuure. Anyways. Yet another quirk (this girl is just full of 'em, honestly) is her aphephobia (fear of touch/touching) and germophobia, which really go hand-in-hand. She really has no idea why (although she has a couple of likely theories), but it's just there. The aphephobia has improved a tad over the years - previously, she could not stand to sit near anyone for a prolonged period of time. Now, she can handle small touches (two-second hugs with the people she's closest to, handshakes if the person wipes down their hand first, and so on). If someone were to catch her unawares and touch her in anyway (even if it's just accidental), she tends to jump and, depending on the situation, she has a tendency to shriek a little -
I do not!
- and she's been known to accidentally hurt people with her reactions. Yes, like you, Kieran. Anyway. She doesn't mean to react that way. It just...happens. Whenever someone touches her, even if she did give them 'permission', she starts to feel quite uncomfortable.
It's like this...constricting feeling, you know? Like, my chest starts to feel tight and it's harder to breathe and it's like I'm suffocating. That's what it's like if someone hugs me for too long or whatever. If someone just touches me, like taps my shoulder or something, it...almost burns? I know it sounds silly, but I guess that's just the way it is. I hate that I don't know why I have it, and that the stupid White Coats keep saying that it has to do with my past and then don't elaborate or anything. As if it's not bad enough that I can't remember my past. Honestly. As for the germophobia, that's not too severe. I mean, I can stand painting (although I jump into the shower right after) and I don't mind things like sitting on the grass and getting my clothes dirty, but I guess it's mostly direct contact with skin? Not to mention my dislike of eating food handle by others. I'll admit, sometimes I use germophobia as an excuse for my aphephobia - like, not wanting to touch people because I'm germophobic. It's somehow...less strange, I guess. In my opinion, anyway. Not that I mind my strangeness - I like being unique, remember? But I like to feel a little more normal sometimes. And..yeah, that's pretty much it.
You know, I'm supposed to be describing your personality.
Yeah, yeah. That's, like, the most important part to me, gimme a break.
Yeah, okay. We're done now anyway.
Woohoo!

Likes:
+ Experimenting; I like to see what happens when I throw a bunch of stuff together and see what the outcome is.
+ Vanilla-scented products
+ Her curiosity being satisfied
+ Reading
+ Learning random, interesting facts
+ The orphanage
+ Chocolate
+ Significant/relevant nicknames [giving them/receiving them]
+ Learning new languages
+ Honesty; I don't understand why people feel the need to hide what they really think.
+ Anything artsy [drawing/painting/etc]; The one thing I can do without panicking about getting dirty.
+ Tights
Dislikes:
– Being touched, and the fact that she can't handle being touched;
– Germs;
– Psychiatrists; They flipping don't know what they're talking about half the time. Honestly.
– People stepping into her "personal space bubble";– Anything fake
– Water; Hydrophobia. Yep.
– Nightmares;
– Crowds;
– Condescending endearments; Like when people say sweetheart or - ugh - darling and don't really mean it.
– Being told she can't do something
– Not being able to remember her own parents
– Perfection

History:
Andrew Ackerman and Eleanor Walsh were the most expected couple throughout their whole life; they'd known each other from kindergarten and it's your typical they-grew-up-together-and-knew-they'd-always-be-together. They had quite a lot in common, and were always there for each other - when Andrew lost his parents as a kid, it was Eleanor who comforted him, even if they were at the ew-you-have-cooties-get-away-from-me age. And when she lost her family during a horrific car accident when she was sixteen, he was there for her too. Somehow, the loss brought them even closer together, until there was suddenly no Andrew without Eleanor, just as there was no Eleanor without Andrew. They weren't Andrew Ackerman and Eleanor Walsh – they were Drew'n'Ella. They were best friends, who became lovers, who married straight out of high school – your typical sweet story, really. Sickeningly sweet, almost, to some people. One person in particular: James O'Conner, someone who had spent his whole high school life pining and obsessing over Ella, sitting behind her every class in an attempt to catch a whiff of her scent every time she tossed her beautiful sheet of chocolate brown hair behind her. Time that had also been spent hating and despising the guts of Andrew Ackerman. Who cares if he'd known her longer? James' love was truer. James knew the real her. It was James who had watched her all the time, who was always there even though she didn't know it, who had written her those secret letters gushing about how much he loved her, even though he'd never sent any because he was too scared of her rejection. Because he couldn't handle her rejection. But then she married that git and well…he snapped.

He didn't mean to. He didn't mean to scare her like that. He was only trying to make a point, he was only trying to make her understand that it was him that really deserved her love, that she shouldn't marry Andrew because he was a jerk, that there shouldn't be a Drew'n'Ella, that it should be James'n'Ella instead. But that idiotic fiancé of hers had overreacted, he'd completely overreacted and f*cking called the cops on him and God what a douchebag. It was because of him that James lost eight years of his life. Nine years spent in a dirty cellar because the stupid git had overreacted and called him a stalker and sick and some other incredibly rude lies. And she'd believed them. He'd seen it. He'd seen it in her eyes. She'd believed him, and she'd given him such a look of terror, and God how he hated Ackerman for doing this to him, for putting that fear in her eyes, for making her fear him. Hated, hated, hated him. And if he thought that James was going to let him get away with that, he was wrong. Oh, was he ever wrong. Because James didn't forget. No, he didn't forget. He'd never forget that it was Andrew-f*cking-Ackerman who had landed him in prison. Who had taken away his one true love. Who'd probably filled her head with lies about him. If anyone was a creep in this equation, it was him. Oh, he'd get what was coming to him. He'd definitely get what was coming to him. Because James O'Conner did not forget.

-----------

While James O'Conner did not forget, Drew and Ella certainly did. It was difficult to think about something too worrying when you were over-the-moon happy – and why should they? They were young, and in love, and then married, and then they had a baby, and then Ella gave birth to a beautiful baby girl on the 15th of August, and they really just could not be happier. You couldn't possibly expect them to think about the psychotic man who had tried to attack Eleanor. No, they'd much rather enjoy their happy life in Ireland, with their little girl, whom they'd dubbed Isadora after Eleanor's beloved mother, second name Sophiya after Andrew's mother. They planned on doing the same if they were to ever have a baby boy. No such luck, though – no matter how many times they tried, Eleanor would not get pregnant again. It was only a minor disappointment, however; Drew'n'Ella were still perfectly content with their daughter, who was absolutely perfect in their eyes, despite the little quirks she seemed to have – unlike the other kids, Dora did not like to run and play and get dirty like the other kids. She preferred to stay clean and, when she was old enough, she liked to stay in her room and simply read and read and read. It was unusual, sure, but it made her parents swell with pride – obviously their daughter was showing signs of natural intelligence. Perhaps they had a genius child on their hands. Perhaps she would end up one of the smartest women of her generation and be one of the first women to be hired in an actual, high-ranking position and oh wouldn't that be lovely? They had high hopes for Dora, to be sure, and encouraged her reading, as well as her natural curiosity – although the latter extended to beyond academia to simply wanting to know everything about everything and everyone. There was nothing wrong with a little curiosity though, right? They trusted that Isadora wouldn't hurt herself, even when she began experimenting – doing things like raiding her mother's make-up bag and trying out all the different shades of lipstick and eye shadow and such. If anything, they found her eagerness quite endearing.

Isadora was almost eight years old when her father acquired a better job in Dover, Kent, and informed them they had to move. Understandably, Isadora was quite upset – her birthday was in a week, and she wouldn't even be able to make a big birthday party and invite all her friends and she wasn't going to get many birthday gifts and oh this was awful, simply awful! She knew better than to express her disdain for the idea, however – her parents were thrilled. They would be moving into the countryside, into a quaint little house, which was miles away from any other house. It was pretty cut-off, sure, but peace and quiet was something Drew'n'Ella enjoyed. And so they moved, and Isadora kept her mouth shut about it, even though her birthday would not include any of her friends. Still, her parents tried to make it as special as possible, even spending a pretty penny just to make it that much more special. The fashioned party hats with "Happy Birthday Isadora!" written in her mother's loopy writing across them. Isadora got to wear a pretty blue dress – she disliked the color pink, being a non-girly-girl and all. Her birthday present was a lovely charm bracelet that had two charms - an "8" to indicate when she received it and an "I" for her initial. They told her that she could build up more charms over the years, little tokens to remind her of the people she loved, or of the places she went, and so on. She promised she'd never take it off, just like she'd never taken off the little silver cross necklace she'd had ever since she was a baby. It wasn't what she had anticipated, but it was still one of the best birthday's she'd ever had.

Well. Until later that night, that is.

-----------

James crouched in front of the window, his breath low and fast, condensing against the cool panes. Dark eyes stared through the glass at the happy little family gathered around the kitchen table, lips curling in disgust, face twisting into a mask of anger when Ackerman kissed his Ella on the cheek. His hands tightened into fists, and it took all of his self-control not to leap into the house at that moment and wrap his fingers around the bastard's neck and just squeeze and squeeze and –

His eyes focused on the little girl in order to distract himself. She looked so much like her mother. Same flowing brown hair, although darker. Same soft brown eyes. Same porcelain white skin. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy red with excitement, and her party hat was skewed from all the bouncing she was doing. She looked so much like her mother. So much like his Ella, it was almost painful. It was almost as good as the real thing. But no, not even this mini-copy could compare to the beautiful Eleanor. His Eleanor. Or, well, she would be his, officially. After tonight. She had to be. But he had to be patient. He could be patient. He had been patient. Nine year. Nine long years.

Yeah, he could wait a little longer. Any minute now. Any minute-

-----------

"Time to blow out the candles!" her mother exclaimed and Isadora beamed, clapping her hands in delight. Her father moved to the light switch and movement outside gave him pause. He did a double take and stared out of the window, a frown furrowing his brow. He could've sworn he'd seen something outside – but no. There was nothing. It was probably his paranoia. He shook his head and chuckled ruefully, crossing the room towards the threshold and switched off the lights as soon as his wife lit the eight candles, perfectly positioned on the snow white cake. He then joined his family in singing Happy Birthday and, as soon as the song was over, Isadora closed her eyes tightly, wished for a bike with blue streamers, leaned forward and blew out the candles.

-----------

-now.

James jumped to his feet and slammed the window open – the idiot hadn't even bothered to lock it, what kind of father and husband was he? The man of the house was supposed to protect his family, not neglect to lock windows and make it easy for them to open. Tsk, tsk Ackerman, looks like your little slip-up was going to cost you your life. He could see the figures spinning around towards the window, a gasp of shock, a cry of Ella take Isadora and run – but oh how silly, they couldn't run, how could they run from him, didn't they know they couldn't possibly run from him?- , and then a gun shot rang out and the revolver jerked in his hands.

"Andrew, nooooooo."

The anguished wail cut through him, knowing that it belonged to Eleanor. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but it was necessary. It was completely necessary because, you see, Eleanor couldn't love him when she was blinded by Ackerman. So Ackerman had to go, you see. It was logic, simple logic. James fumbled with the light switch and snarled with the light revealed her, sobbing over his body. She lifted her head and saw him and he almost flinched because her eyes widened with that same fear, that same terror, God he hated him, hated that Ackerman for brainwashing her like that, he deserved to die, he deserved to die.

"Bastard! You – you bastard! Murderer! You bloody m-murderer!"

She didn't know what she was talking about. She was babbling. She was shocked by his presence. Yes, that was it. She didn't hate him, she didn't fear him. She was just shocked, but that's okay. He would help her. He would un-brainwash her. He would. James fingered the knife at his belt. He'd purge her of the thoughts that the bastard had planted into her head. Even if he had to do it by force. Even if he had to hurt her. Because you had to hurt the people you love sometimes. It was for their own good. It was for her own good. It had to be. It had to be.

-----------

"Bastard! You – you bastard! Murderer! You bloody m-murderer!"

Who was she talking to? Isadora desperately wanted to see what was going on. She didn't like hiding in this kitchen cupboard. She didn’t know why her mum put her here. It was so small. Sure, bigger than your average cupboard – she wouldn't have been able to fit otherwise – and sure she had hid here during the hide and seek game they'd played two days ago, but she didn't like it right now. Especially with her mum yelling like that, and why couldn't she heard her daddy? She wanted to hear her daddy, why had he yelled at them to leave, and what was that shot, it had sounded like a gun oh God what was happening. Maybe this was all a prank, maybe everything was okay, oh God she wanted to look so badly but no, her mum had told her to stay, she had to do what her mum said but they were talking and her mum was yelling again, she couldn't really tell what it was, there was only a tiny crack open for her to breathe through but it didn't sound very nice and there was another voice, a male voice, but it wasn't her daddy oh God where was her daddy? Isadora blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears because she didn't cry, she never cried – the last time she had cried had been years ago when a bully had made fun of her for not wanting to play with them because she didn't want to get dirty and then pushing her into the mud and getting her all muddy and gross. She took deep, calming breaths and tilted her head awkwardly, thankful that she was naturally small because otherwise she didn't know if she could stand to stay in here for much longer. But she really wanted to see what wa –

Screaming.

Every particle of Isadora's body froze. Screaming. Her mother was screaming. She was in pain and – and – she didn't understand, she didn't understand, but it was a horrible sound and she wanted it to stop, she wanted her mum to stop, and she wanted the reason for her screaming to stop and oh God she wanted to help, she wanted to help so bad, but she couldn't, how could she help? Her mum had ordered her to stay and she couldn't disobey her and she was scared, she was so scared, she was too scared to leave the cupboard because she didn't want to scream and she didn't want to hear this and she lifted her hands as best as she could, flattening them against her ears to try to block out the noise but it just echoed in her head, over and over, and then – and then -

It stopped.

Isadora held her breath, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. The screaming had stopped. What did that mean? What did that mean? Was her mummy dead? Was her daddy dead? Was she going to die? Isadora let out a little moan and then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, wishing she hadn't because, oh God, there was a murderer in the house and he'd just murdered her father, and her mother, and she'd heard it, and he was going to come after her and oh God, oh God, she didn't want to die, it was her birthday, she didn't want to die, she didn't want her parents to die but what if they were already dead and oh God, oh God, oh God, please save me. Tears streamed down her cheeks faster and she clung onto the cross around her neck, trying to stifle her sobs, but they seemed to be loud, so loud, too loud. He could probably hear her and oh God, oh God please don't let me die.

God wasn't listening today, it seemed.

The cupboard door was suddenly yanked open and Isadora automatically screamed, trying to shrink further into the cupboard, lifting horrified eyes. All she could see were these insane dark eyes and that malicious smile and oh God oh God he was going to kill her he was going to kill her hewasgoingtokillher. Her arm was suddenly grabbed and she yelped, immediately putting up a fight, kicking and screaming as he dragged her out of the uncomfortable cupboard that she suddenly wanted to desperately return to, that she wished she hadn't wanted to leave in the first place because it was safe, it was safe from him. "Please don't hurt me, oh God please don't hurt me, please." She kicked uselessly, trying to yank her arm back but he was holding it up and staring down at her and he was saying something about how much she looked like her mother and how unfair that was and oh God she really did not like the look on his face because somehow she knew it wasn't a nice look at all, no it was an evil look, it was a sinful look, her mother had warned her against that look and she'd told her to stay away but how could she stay away when he was gripping her so tightly, when he was lowering her, when he was grabbing at her pretty dress? Isadora automatically retreated into herself, her eyes rolling upwards as she tried to imagine herself away, any place but here, that what he was doing to her body wasn't really happening, that she was out of her body. Maybe if she pretended she wasn't there, it wasn't really happening. And maybe if she was really, really still he wouldn't hurt her too badly. Maybe. Maybe. And maybe if she pretended that he wasn't holding the knife, he wasn't. And maybe if she pretended he hadn't cursed her for being like her mother, he hadn't. And maybe if she pretended he hadn't hacked at her pretty hair, he hadn't. But he had, he had done all of that, and she felt broken, she felt – she didn't know how she felt, but it was wrong, and it wasn't nice, and the knife was moving closer to her tummy, closer and closer, she could see it from the corner of her eyes, she knew, she knew, and then she felt the point press down and more tears came which was funny because she didn't remember crying again. And it hurt, it hurt, and he was going to kill her, he was going to kill her like he killed her parents –

No!

There was a crash. The pressure was gone. She didn’t know how, but it was gone. Isadora sat up, disoriented. A strangled gasp left her throat. Dead. He was dead. She'd killed him. She didn't know how, but she'd killed him. Oh God, oh God, she'd killed him, she'd killed him, she was going to go to the place that bad people went wasn't she? She'd killed – oh God, but he'd killed her parents and he'd tried to kill her and he'd hurt her and she was bleeding, she was bleeding, it was spilling over her pretty blue dress, slowly, like a paper cut except not really because it was worse and bigger and more serious and she didn't know what to do, but she certainly couldn't start crying again. Sucking in a deep breath, Isadora got to her feet, holding what was left of her dress to her body, where it hung haphazardly as if it were about to fall off her. Her bright blue eyes were resolutely turned away from where she, somehow, knew her parents' bodies were. With surprising calm, she turned around and left the kitchen, as if moved by an invisible force, her legs moving of their own accord. Unbeknown to her, a fire had started behind her.

She didn't stop until she was outside and then she collapsed on the lawn and embraced the darkness.

-----------

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Where was she? What was happening? What was that beeping noise? Why were people telling her to wake up? They were telling her to open her eyes, but she didn't want to. She wanted to sleep some more, but they wouldn't quit. Groaning, Isadora opened her eyes and was met by a worried face peering into hers. Automatically she pulled back, her head sinking into a soft white pillow. Funny, she couldn't remember being in a bed. Actually – actually she couldn't remember anything. Where was she? What was she doing here? Where were her parents? Wait, wait, parents? Did she have parents? Oh God, she couldn't remember, why couldn't she remember, oh God, oh God –

"Isadora?"

Yes! That was her. Isadora Sophiya Ackerman. Yes, that was her, she remembered that, but nothing else, she couldn't remember anything else, why couldn't she remember anything else? She was scared, so scared, and the people in the white coats were peering at her like that and one of them reached out to touch her and it burned. It burned her. Isadora yelped and automatically yanked her arm away from them, shouting "Don't touch me!" He took a step back, looking shocked, but she didn't feel sorry, she was too confused to feel sorry about anything. What was happening, where was she, why couldn't she remember? She began to sob pitifully, and she suddenly felt the needle that was in her arm and it hurt too, and it scared her, and the people in the white coats scared her and she was wrapping her fingers around the tube that was poking into her skin, she just wanted to yank it out, but they were touching her again and she was screaming and then a needle poked through her skin and her old friend darkness embraced her once more.

-----------

Amnesia. That was what they told her. She had amnesia. They didn't know from what. They sent her to shrinks who tried to figure her out, who tried to wheedle out of her any information, but it was simple: she couldn't remember a thing beyond her name. And the fact that, apparently, her birthday was on the 15th of August. From there, they could only assume - her parents might have died in the fire. It was too simple, though, because she'd been bleeding. They didn't tell her, of course they didn't. But she'd been bleeding and when she'd been sedated they'd had to do a check-up. It was obvious she had been violated. The doctors had shuddered at the discovery. She was only eight. Only eight. And now she wouldn't let anyone get too close because of some twisted creep.

Secretly, they hoped he had died in the fire, too.

They didn't tell her any of this, though. They couldn't. How could you tell an eight year old that she was raped? That she might have difficulty having kids because he'd physically messed her up? More importantly, because he'd mentally messed her up. Because, even she couldn't remember any of it, she started trembling when anyone got too close, and screamed and lashed out if anyone touched her. Yeah. They really hoped he was dead.

-----------

An orphanage took her in. The owner, May Dawson pitied the girl who couldn't remember her past, and seemed to have no problem with the fact that she was 'special'. She didn't realize just how special until the first night when Isadora woke her roommates with her horrifying screaming at night. Nightmares, she said. She couldn't remember them, didn't even know she had them. Ms. Dawson was concerned, of course, but brushed it off as a one-time thing. But it happened again, and again, and again – fifteen minutes after Isadora had fallen asleep, she would start screaming. The other orphans complained, of course, even as Isadora tried to convince them that she had no control over it. She couldn't understand; how could she not remember them? It didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense anymore, and she hated that. She hated waking everyone up with her screaming, and she hated sleeping. So she stopped. It was more difficult than she'd imagined, not sleeping. It was hard to fight sometimes. Her eyes would just get so heavy and she'd need to close them. But she taught herself not to need it so much. And she managed, eventually. When everyone else fell asleep, she would stay up and read in the library and then, when it was close to the time when they had to wake up, she'd sneak back into the room and crawl into her bed and pretend she was sleeping all along. No one really knew – everyone thought she was over it. It was better that way.

The boys and girls were nicer to her then. Now that she was no longer waking them up in the middle of the night, they allowed themselves to feel sorry for her. Whereas they had lost their parents, she couldn't even remember them. Not to mention she couldn't play like normal children. She kept everyone at arm's length. She didn't know why, but whenever anyone came too close, her throat started closing up and she started panicking and if anyone touched her it would burn – another one of those things that just did not make sense. But other than that, life was…pretty good. Hey, she was alive, and she had her health, and all that. Not to mention about half a year after she'd been admitted to the orphanage, she met one of the most amazing people that had ever walked the Earth.

But that was just a matter of opinion.

[/color]

[isadora]

Johnny Myers. He was eleven when they first met. His mother made him volunteer at the orphanage for some strange reason, and that was the only reason why Isadora would ever feel the slightest bit of gladness towards Mrs. Myers. He wasn't like the other kids. She didn't know what it was, but he just wasn't like them. He liked to read and draw, just like she did. He came every weekend and they would read together, and sometimes draw together. She called him John-John and he called her Izzy, but then suddenly one day he told her he was going away to a special boarding school and couldn't see her for a few months. It was hard not to cry when he told her. She didn't want her best friend to leave her. She automatically hated whoever had sent him to the boarding school. Who had forced him to visit her only during the holidays.

Until she went to that same special boarding school, that is.

Isadora hadn't really shown obvious magic abilities. At least, nothing obvious to her – she often put them down as mere coincidences. So when Professor Dumbledore came to talk to her and told her she was a witch and that she was going to a magical school – the same one that, apparently, John-John went to…well, suffice it to say, she was pretty stunned. It wasn't that much of a surprise after the initial shock, though. She'd always known deep down that she was special. And not just because she couldn't touch people, and not just because she had insomnia. She was a witch.

And thus Isadora joined Johnny at Hogwarts. Now she's going into her sixth year and honestly, all things considered?

Life was still pretty damn good.

^{__________________________________________________________}


{ C O N T R A C T }

I solemnly swear that I, NAJOOJ, have read the rules, understand clearly what my responsibilities are now that I am joining ISS, and will abide by these standards set by the staff.

PS: ROSE ISN'T DELETED YET. I GOT OVER-EXCITED. I AM SORRY. I'LL UNDERSTAND IF YOU DON'T SORT IT YET YOU GUYS <333

ALSO SORRY IT BARELY FIT INTO ONE POST, MYYY BAD ><[/blockquote]

[Professor Albus Dumbledore]

accepted !

woooooonderful application, girl, like... wow <3