L. Fury ::, one hot piece of Jack >> ass}}

[riddle]

There are worse things than being alone.

Some people never go crazy...
name: Lydia Jane Fury
alias: Lyds, DJ Fury, Dia, and most recently Jane Freeman (in the USA)
sex: Female
age: Twenty-six
birthdate: 10.1.85
birthplace: Ukraine
ethnicity: Eastern Ukrainian; other variants N/A

What truly horrible lives they must live.
height: 6'1
weight: 143 lbs.
eyes: Hazel; gold
hair: Pale blonde, coal white
build: Muscular, in a soft sort of way. She has the build and demeanor of a dancer. Always well toned and in shape. She's recently at her heaviest weight, but in spite of that, she manages to move flawlessly. As usual.
tattoos: An outline of a gold fish in black ink several inchesunder her left armpit, to the side of her breast. Black vertical scripture in Arabic along her spine, fading into her hair line, and sitting on two bold black horizontal inch-long lines, just above her ass.
piercings: None.
scars: Surgical scars along the back of her left arm, rug-burn marks along the side of her left leg and side (ass/thigh, mostly), surgical scars and slightly-visable puncture marks just below her right knee (off to the side of her leg), pellet lodged in the knuckle of her middle finger, on the right hand; recently healed over. Several others that are as of yet unlisted.
disorders: Mild OCD, borderline personality disorder with sociopathic tendencies. Bipolar; schizophrenic. Suffers from infrequent dillusions and severe anxiety.
INJURY COUNT: one severely bruised back, severely bruised face, possibly broken nose, one tendon-gutted knee, one knee blown out from behind via gunshot, one severely bruised ego.

Joan of Arc had style. Jesus had style.
characteristics: Coy, discontent, inconsistant. Bitter, kind, deceptive.
marital status: Unmarried.
orientation: Bisexual; Undecided.
relations:
- Estranged

occupation: Jack Underboss of the Deads; DJ
languages: Russian, German, English, Vietnamese, Japanese, Latin, Spanish, Polish, French, bits and pieces of Greek. Several others, as well.
residence: Inconsistent.

Humanity, you never had it to begin with.
likes: Money, sex, music, children, hot water w/ lemon, dancing; etc.
dislikes: Being taken advantage of; being considered weak; false innocence; etc.
books: Fashion Magz. These days she doesn't read very much.
movies: Fight Club, V for Vendetta, Goodfellas, most movies she sees. Drama, horror, historical genres in particular.
music: Techno; DJ Tiesto, all her own music, Ambient music, Meditation music, Classical when it comes to dancing. Some Arabic. Unkle. NIN. Radiohead.
food: Most anything. She tends to vere towards junk food. Candy. Taffy. Wonka-brand all the way.
drinks: Tequila, Jack Daniels, Bacardi Lemon, Bacardi Razz, SoCo, Absinthe and/or the occasional beer or mixed drink.

I'm becoming softer and s o f t e r.

Born Scarlet Dari Ling, in the east of the Ukraine, it had been thought that she would be one of the youngest women ever to be accepted into the Olympics. A skilled gymnast, from the get-go. She had been born into a fairly wealthy family, and thus, had been sent to classes with the best to help sculpt her skills. Ballet, aerobics, and multiple other methods of dance had all been forced on her at an early age. And while it had first been forced, she had grown to love the arts. Managing to incorporate them into her true love of interpretive dance, more and more, over the years. She had once been a sweet, endearing child. Full of giggles, and optimistic emotions. And such qualities never so much as faded all together, but lingered, even through the rough years ahead.

She had never experimented with drugs. Had never smoked. -- Not in her teen years, anyway. Throughout her childhood, she had gone from school, to class. Every weekday. And had gone from tutor, to practice, or recitals, on weekends. Leaving not much room for error. Life had been very well thought out and planned for her, by her parents. And she had been kept on schedule for the majority of her life. Things only changed ... after the accident.

Having had friends and acquaintances, from each of her classes -- she had been harshly surprised, when not the one of them showed up to visit her while she was in the hospital. Or in bed, for the year after her release. To make the long story of her injury short -- after missing a move, she had landed the wrong way. Twisting her ankle out of the socket, and severely fracturing both of her knees. One of her shin bones had broken in half, and speared through the skin under the pressure. She had been planning on going to the Winter Olympics, that year. And was a tender sixteen years old.

That of course, hadn't happened. Instead, she had dealt with her injuries, and coped with her depression, for all of a year, before starting her life up all over again. Her dreams shattered. It had been assured to her, and her family, that she would never go to the Olympics, and for that matter ... was lucky to be walking, at all. That had changed all her goals. And, while she would never think such -- had probably been the best thing to ever happen to her. While rehabilitating herself, she had chosen to not only renew her skills in the world of gymnastics, and aerobics, but had gotten the chance to explore her love of expressive and interpretive dance. -- It had been in an interpretive dance class, that she had met the girl who would change her life. The girl who introduced her to the art of DJing. Something she had taken a liking to immediately. It was when she was nearly eighteen, that she had chosen to pursue it as a career. Giving out demo's, and the like.


While doing such, she had come across a particular fellow, who had sparked her interest. He had become her short-lived, first love. And for all of a year, had exposed her to his life style. He was a thief. He taught her everything he knew, and claimed it was all in good fun. And then he was killed. Shot in the back with a shotgun, after having set off an alarm in a rich old mans home. -- That had been her first real job with him. She had made it out. Because just before he was shot -- he had hoisted her onto the windows sill, and she had hid.

Sure, that had scarred her. But, hell if it had scared her. She had taken a liking to the thrill of it all, and, over the next several years, had mastered that art, as well. Breaking into homes, museums, research labs. He had introduced her to the buyers market, after having given her a copy of his little black book. Saying.. if ever she needed to pull something off, and get rid of something quick, these were the people she should call. Of course, she had. She had never gotten caught. Has never, to this day.

It had been those connections that had inspired her to move away from her home. Having been taught English and several other languages, as a child. It was hardly a stretch when she moved to Dubai, at twenty-one. Landing several jobs as a DJ, after having left her parents without a word. Soon enough she had an apartment, and a life.

A heart full of broken dreams, and a new name.

But the story, of course, didn't end there.

She was twenty-two, the summer The Flush chose to invade Dubai. Over just a small number of months her entire world had flipped itself upside down. His name was Azreal. His name was Lucas. His name was Leonard. Her name was Maximum.

It started when she made Under boss, really. Leo having taken a solid liking to her way of business. With more power, came more control. More to worry about. More work. More, more, more. What no one had realized was the fact that it would never be enough. Addicted to thrill, and lust, and most of all, money. With the Taylor twins, Sancho and the Maximum close, she easily found trouble. And then a little more trouble.

Dubai.
Rome.
Africa.

The intensity of the months she'd spent with her fellow Deads had hardly had time to settle in before it'd ended.

She found out she was pregnant in Africa. Three months in it. She'd had a break down. She'd become far too aware of the lacking grasp she had on her disorders. She'd waited a little while. Disappeared. Gained some weight.Told the oh-so-emotional father-to-be. Then she'd had an abortion. Or rather... she'd attempted to cut her own uterus out, and been airlifted to a hospital shortly after. She'd lived. And then?

She'd disappeared again.

They'd just gotten to Casablanca, when she made the move. Hardly a minute into the new location, she'd left on business. Cutting ties, to an extent. The Jacks got their orders from a third party, or Leo himself. Lydia worked alone, again. Made millions, again.
She was flawless, again.

Expert.

She'd been living in Northern Russia, for several months. Then Columbia.

Her name was Andrea.
Dre.
The next mistake.

Andrea was a Jack, as well. A business partner of sorts. A fierce kind of woman with a taste for danger, and the pale. Lydia had liked the dark olive tone of her skin. The way she laughed so often, at jokes only the two of them were in on. The sex. The sex had always been amazing. -- To the point where they hardly left bed, some days. It was love. Very sexual, very primal, and very short-lived love.

Where things had never honestly been ended with Mr. Taylor... Things had never really gotten off the ground, with Ms. Andrea Mekai. They'd been together for a matter of two or so weeks. Tied to one another threw work. Lydia's quickest heist to date had been being worked out, with that woman. They'd made it. They'd stolen just over 42.8 million dollars in three minutes and nineteen seconds. Andrea didn't have a bank account that could with stand that sort of deposit, of course. So Lydia did the silly thing, of course. And put it all in her largest account, and put Dre as a shared account holder. -- By the next morning, the 42 mil. was gone, along with the rest of her funds.

As it turned out, Andrea had been living large on Lydia's tab at their star-studded hotel, for their entire two-weeks of glory. Two accounts. Empty. Rock bottom. Broke. There were no more black limo's and Gucci dresses. There was, however, work to be done. New money to be made.

After pawning off the few things she was willing to part with, she was back on her feet. With just enough money to keep her lack of cautiousness to herself and under wraps, she'd made way to new scapes. Back to the Deads. Back to ALMS.

Miami. 08'.

It was through brief encounters that relationships had been seared shut. It was through brief encounters that business was dealt with. It was through brief encounters that promiscuity had thrived.

And just like that, she had moved on to greener pastures. Making back her fortune; or at the very least, a portion of it. She worked for the Deads. She worked for herself. She worked well, and constantly. Regaining her sanity as she did. With the coming of another summer she remains oblivious to the change some viewed in her. So much-so less aware. Where she had been so simple as a dancer, with morals, and heart, now she beleives in the effectivness of the less moral tactics she's aquired over the years.

She has grown into her job. She has grown into a monster, through means of association.

The world is hers for the taking.

Let freedom reign.



``Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.``
- Shakespear

[riddle]