Welcome to Gaia! ::

Name :: Ilsa Ivanovna

Age :: 33

Birthplace :: Timonium, Maryland

Height :: 5'7"

Weight :: 98 lbs

General Appearance :: If only Ilsa didn't work so hard! Sometimes she worries that she's going gray already. It isn't true, through - her hair, in it stylish helmet-like bob, is still the dull blonde that it's always been. Her hair is rather brittle, though, from her constant malnutrition. Her eyes, eternally ringed by unflattering dark circles and pale, sallow skin, are somewhere in between gray, green, and blue.

Coworkers have commented, jokingly, on the fact that Ilsa doesn't wear the make-up she promotes. She simply doesn't have time, between press conferences and board meetings. To be honest, though, the company does force her to sit down and have something slapped onto her face before most public appearances. For appearances where she can avoid being close to the people, they've invested in new, state-of-the-art instant airbrushing software. While this makes her images look amazingly fake and plastic-y, it saves time on Ilsa's part. Reports show that some customers believe Ilsa is computer generated.

Ilsa always dresses in suits, or some variation on that theme. She tends to gravitate towards slightly-above-the-knee skirts moreso than slacks, pairing them with stockings, pumps with perhaps a one-inch-heel, a fitted jacket with a medium lapel, and some form of white undershirt. Most are the conventional button-up collared shirts, but every once in a while she breaks out a high-necked soft turtleneck or cravat-included-ruffed shirt. Pattern-wise, she tends to favor either solid, dull colors or small, faint pinstripes.

Whatever the clothing, Ilsa has a good understanding of how to dress her frame. You get that, working in a high-class business environment like the upper echelons of Epheres Cosmetics for years. Still, her body is quickly dwindling in size. She's getting dangerously thin, and her body is sore and tired all the time. Ilsa is used to slight fluctuations in her weight during new projects, but this time... things have gone a little too far.

Ilsa's in danger of dying.

Personality :: There are two sides to Ilsa, just like there is to any person in the glorious realm of advertising. Ilsa's on-screen demeanor is energetic, passionate, and rather forceful. She could easily be a motivational speaker.... or a political activist. Reviews have often commented, post-rally or press conference that she possesses an almost incendiary way of speaking. Many jokingly thank God that she's only working for a cosmetics company.

When not behind a podium, however, Ilsa becomes much more subdued. It isn't that the passion is an act, per se... only speaking with it is. Usually, that passion is quiet, subversive. It drives every single thing she does.

Working at a cosmetics company isn't something that usually inspires a person to the level Ilsa is at. But there's something about being needed, being the voice of a company, being the person who pulls the company up from the ground... it thrills Ilsa. It's what makes her spend long hours putting together prediction graphs and presentations, filling out paperwork, arranging meetings, and talking to product testers. She redoes others work, triple-checks everything, and generally ceases all bodily functions to do it.

Recently, Ilsa started a "Food and Sleep" journal to record what little amount of each she gets each day. It was at a co-worker's, Liz's, suggestion. Like anything work-related, she fills it out obediently.

On her latest project, Ilsa's obsession with work took a darker turn. She was getting almost no sleep each night and ate maybe a power bar and some coffee each day. If she was at a lunch meeting, she picked at her food, took a bite or two, or ignored it all together in favor of getting down to business. It wasn't just that the job was the hardest yet... it was also a fundamental deepening of Ilsa's existing pathos.

When taken off the job a short while ago, Ilsa went down-hill sharply. Her personality shifted, probably because of malnutrition and lack of sleep. She became paranoid. Very, very paranoid. And that's where we enter now.

History :: Ilsa was born into an Eastern European medley of a family. Her father, Ivan Prokovitch Ovstronsky, was Russian through and through, of serf ancestry, and was rather against immigrating to the United States. He may or may not have been of the Communist persuasion. Ilsa's mother was German, a very pretty lady named Adalia Eichel. The two met on the boat coming over, as so many young couples of those days did. Ivan was not much taken with Adalia, except for the fact that she was attractive. Adalia was much too self-willed in those days, and that just didn't sit right with a traditional Russian man. Eventually, though, he got over it and the two married (though mostly for the convenience of two salaries and tax cuts once they were full citizens).

Ilsa's name is German - Adalia insisted on it - but her patrynomic and surname are both proper Russian. She grew up in a strict household, but instead of turning to rock or drugs or sex to rebel, she instead turned her mind to work. Work soothed her spirit and gave her purpose. It was something she knew she could handle and pour herself into without fear of hurt.

Ilsa demanded that her parents send her to college, although they were more inclined to send her two brothers. She probably would never have gone if it weren't for the scholarships she received. She put herself out into the wide world of competition for money, and it paid off.

(It is important to note, somewhere, that Ilsa does not go by her father's last name now that she is out of the family house. She contemplated taking her mother's maiden name, but settled on her patrynomic.)

In college, Ilsa started out majoring in political science and minoring in business, as a fall-back. Part way into her second semester, she realized that perhaps politics wasn't for her. But as she wasn't one to shirk work or drop projects, Ilsa made a very insane decision: she would double-major in communications.

After a nice long college career, she was approached by a group of students she had met in her business classes. They were planning on starting a new company based in some of the girls' training in cosmetology. They were going to open Epheres Cosmetics.

At first, Ilsa couldn't care less about their plans. She had her own. But as she saw the small, fledgling company struggling along, the desire to assist, to raise the company up, to really work and not just sit at a desk and do mindless drudgery grew and grew. In the years following her decision to join the company, Epheres Cosmetics grew in leaps and bounds. Soon, it was one of the premier national cosmetics companies, poised to begin international business.

During this time, Ilsa fell for her boss, the jovial, kindly Jonathan Breyer. They shared a short, sweet, whirlwind romance that ended when Jonathan confided that he was seeing somebody else. She never asked who it was.

That was perhaps the catalyst for a new, startling habit. Ilsa had always thrown herself into her work, yes, but she had always kept in mind that she had to be in good shape for her work to be in good shape. After Jonathan's confession, however, this knowledge seemed to take the back seat to her overwhelming drive to work to the point of exhaustion.

At first, she worked long hours with little food or sleep to push Jonathan out of her mind. But within a month, she was over it. She was over the betrayal, over the pain, and over the awkwardness of working with him. Even so, her dangerous methods stayed with her. It was almost like she'd developed an addiction.

There weren't many complaints for the first year or so. When a product was near launch, Ilsa would go into overdrive. Her work would be top notch, always, and done in a timely manner. Perfect. But after that first year, things began to go downhill as the company moved closer and closer to it's international debut. She forced her body to stay up with caffeine far longer than it was meant to, and only ate salads and small, quick meals for weeks on end. Then she'd crash, barely be able to pull herself to work. But she'd do it. On the eve of the big launch, though, it got even worse. One or two hours of sleep a night at most, usually much less; a power bar for the day, maybe some vitamins, and tons of coffee.

When taken off the job by Jonathan and Liz and her other concerned, old friends, it only got worse. When Liz came to visit, Ilsa collapsed. Taken to one of the best local hospitals (NOT GBMC, from person experiene. blaugh ), Ilsa is deemed unlikely to survive due to malnourishment and severe sleep deprivation. Luckily (or maybe not so luckily), the hospital is in some way, shape, or form affiliated with Feral Labs, and Ilsa is informed she'll be sent to an island resort to recover, out of the public eye.

Once there, as time goes by, Jonathan and the other are informed of her "death" - and knowing Ilsa, they accept that she wanted to be cremated without ceremony. While they may not be happy, they can understand why there's no funeral...