๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ >> INGA
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โงโหโง. ๐ท๐๐๐๐ ๐ด๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐: Inga Paola Munoz-Torres
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Ingie
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Kipper Montoya [current identity]๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Over her head, Mother Goose holds her true identity and a contact list. Her childโs life is cradled in Motherโs armsโฆ
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐: Moonknight
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: spy [former], artifacts reseller [current], thief [current]๐๐๐: thirty-five years old
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Guajira Peninsula, Colombia [precise location unknown]
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐: April 27th, October 3rd [false]
๐๐๐๐๐๐: Taurus [sun]๐๐๐๐๐๐: transfemme [she/her]
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: bisexual๐๐๐๐ & ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Colombian and Wayรบu
๐๐๐๐๐: Elysia Crampton
๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐:
#BC5151
#DCBBA7
#DE613F
#F8C39F -
โงโหโง. ๐๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐: Over a decade ago, she stopped chopping her hair. It grew like a weed โ still does. Due to her job, she tends to do her own trimming with a once-a-year trip to some decadent salon for a self-care day. Sheโs tended towards a shag for a number of years, letting her hair become longer and longer as more gray hairs appear.
๐๐๐๐: A smile in a pool of chocolate.
๐๐๐๐๐๐: 6โ2โโ
๐๐๐๐๐: Slender with hard lines. Muscle as a thin viscous around bones that peak out.
๐๐๐๐: A honeyed piece of toast, turning darker with the absorption of sun. A smattering of freckles born from sunburns. Various scars from various missions decorate her body, some self-inflicted and others accidental.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: A simple nostril piercing set with a tear-drop, natural sapphire. 8g gauges, often worn with dangly earrings that only serve to widen the loops, either with or without the gauges themselves put in. A conch piercing she got that was said to open her head chakra. A smattering of tattoos, including bones on her hand, two sleeves [x, x, x, x, x] & [x, x, x, x, x], and finally, a tattoo on her neck [x]
๐๐๐๐๐: Practical, yet always with flare. Her days of espionage demand some sense of obscurity, yet on occasion (more than she should), she opts for something more dramatic. Simple basics, breezy and easy to conform to any climate, and convenient to run away from the cops in. More here.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Gaunt and leatherbound. The corners of her eyes reveal the woman that galivants is itching for a rest. Her mind sputters forward, intent upon finishing the job, before another comes to her attention. Her bones are weary, drooping with a slender curvature found within a painting. A face to sculpt and rival Aphrodite, but she prefers to steal the busts, not sit for one. Her body is notched with her many lives, real and unreal. Intentional and forgetful. However, nothing is accidental
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โงโหโง. ๐ป๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: haunted, mischievous, a recovering menace and hot-head, a governess of calamity, thorough, lonesome, ambitious, daredevil, selfish, guilt-ridden, discrete, determined, practiced, acetic, masochistic, hungry, quick to smile, pleasuring in the little things, a head formed around memories
๐๐๐๐๐: overly guilt-ridden, self-sacrificing to the point of victimization, easy to dwell and hold a grudge, overly ambitious, impulsive
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: calculating, unwilling to start emotional conflict, loyal, sticks to her decisions, blames herself before others, reflective๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: accents, perceiving a room, being aware of surroundings, computer programming/hacking, historic facts, stealth
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: her child, her past, the fact that she has a death wish, ambition๐๐๐๐๐: anthropology, the grime of an unkempt artifact, rush of a job, feeling accomplished, spending time with Azul, Minecraft (on occasion), a new and fresh hotel, cooking, parkour (yes, she has the personality of a thirteen year old boy. Shut up.), true crime podcasts, rainforests, honest-to-goodness adventure
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: reminders of ruin, old photos of herself, any slip-ups, knowing when sheโs over hear head, advertisements and any mentions of capitalistic endeavors, staying still for too long, having to โtake care of businessโ, the disappointed look on her spouseโs face, the longing for home๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: creating pinterest boards for her home sheโs never at, doing her own accounting, stakeouts, reading up on hedge funds and mutual funds, mountain climbing (yes, she climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro; no, she wonโt tell you how), dirt biking, practicing and failing at makeup (other than a cute, smudgy eyeliner look), patching her clothes, cross-stitching, calligraphy for her calling cards that she drops at her various scenes of crime, updating her spreadsheet of items sheโs collected and keeps in a storage unit near her house
๐๐๐๐๐๐: espionage, intel-collecting, computer science, lying, sleuthing, thievery, stealthiness๐๐๐๐๐๐ & ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: on autopilot, she counts the number of people in a room when she enters, taps the side of her leg with her finger or hand (optionally: taps her foot, shakes her left, etc.) to keep the time when she feels anxious, must sit in her computer chair w/ a blanket or else, prefers fuzzy socks over anything else, never seen without her laptop, chews on toothpicks to curb the craving for a cigarette, allows herself to buy one vape a month and she marks on a note in her phone how many hits sheโs taken.
๐ ๐๐๐๐: Blue, her child, being hurt, having her private data stolen, having her identity revealed, the past coming to haunt (more than it already does), harm to either her ex-husband or her child๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐: Monaco, the interior of a jet, an unmarked car outside of a billionaireโs estate, climbing a mountain, exploring a nearby museum
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: A plateau of staunch resolution, uncertainty over change, and immobile fear for her past mistakes. Recovering ego-addict, Inga is very much a different woman than who she was recognized as a decade ago. A revved engine, a woosh across the eardrums as she jumped from a second-story building, and the thrill of a late-night rendezvous. While much of her life currently contains the markings of the past, it isnโt the same. The luster is gone, floated away with her youth. She recollects these moments, but amidst the database exist the bothersome viruses of her detrimental ambition. She killed the first and last thing that was ever her own, created from her body, her hands, her love. Now, Ingaโs tongue remains tied. A nomadic knight seeking shelter from the storm, knowing full well comfort existed before her self-imposed banishment. Adventure is what she found, but with it, lonesomeness. Regret pours out of her skin, drenching her in sweat as she works tirelessly to make up for the solidity of her past choices. Choices she had no hand in making, other than a different person embodying the same soul made them. Idiocy is contractual, binding, and sheโll be damned if she attempts to wreck anyoneโs life by trying to make up for it. Including her kidโs.
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โงโหโง. ๐ญ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: A dull set of fangs, grown over with age and lack of bloodshed. Her mind remains a sharpened point, though the arrow head is wisened. She holds her hand open, downward, and letting slip old drudgery. The spindles of a missed opportunity haunt. Rotund lenses, a personal T.J. Eckleburg, and the squeal of a baby. Their innocence is daunting, reminiscent of the last breaths of her own. It will all end in ruin, so she remains a side-character in her kin's life. A wanderer, a drifter, but an honorable one. She stands at attention, guarding the nobility from afar, and finds solace in merry pursuits. A Robin Hood fable plucked from a Howard Pyle spine. She cracks her own. Her fist snaps a neck back, fingers nimble and swift, and another dime to the royal's trust fund. A kingdom forged at the cost of a place on the throne.
๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐:
โ โ Monsters hide under the bed.โ โ The first night Inga slept in North America, she was hidden away in a hotel, stuffed under the bed where the roaches lounged, as an officer flashed a light beyond the man guarding the door. He pestered, mentioned he shouldnโt double park the van, and left.
โ โ Two weeks later, she sobbed and begged her new parents to check under the bed, pointing so as to maintain her muteness. They giggled, laughing at her childishness, and told her no monsters were there. Nothing crept where she couldnโt see.
โ โ They swallowed hard when she asked about bugs. About mice. About bats. About her mother. Where were they? Utah. The name was foreign, as was the language they spoke. They forced her to learn, quickly, as they wouldnโt compromise even a bit by picking up a lick of Spanish. They found her tongue odd, and when she told them her name, a secret that only those amongst her tribe understood, they eyed her as oddly as they found her and told her that her name was John.
โ โ The first thing she understood by her father was โOr Jose if thatโs more your style.โ He thought it was funny, and she never spoke her true name to anyone ever again.
โ โ Until she met him.
โ โ A family, a clan akin to the one she only knew in a vague sense. Only the general landscape, though sheโd understand the plains even if she saw them now. A language she barely practiced but could slip into without falter. Thatโs what we were. Infallible, a rhythm unfound in anyone else. A balm to cradle her sleepy, worn frame. Thatโs what he was.
โ โ They met when she was innocent, still dressed in navy slacks and a quirky tie. Her body was unmarked then. Clean, fresh, and almost ready to be born from her Bachelorโs program for computer science at the University of Central Florida, she spent an abroad program with the CIA, working as a counterintelligence data analyst. Her astute understanding of technology allowed her to flourish, years of pretending to be interested in robotics and hours spent coding her own Pokedexes paid off in favor of prestige. It was exactly what her parents wanted.
โ โ Even then, the nagging reminder of the Iran-Contra affair, the Nicaraguan conflict, the recent occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan, all weighed heavily. Was she helping or hurting? Wait and see.
โ โ Fast-forward, the sunshine boy forgotten for a moment, and instead, days of bleary blue-light and weary brown-eyes. The NSA hired her out of university, just as she and a team of college buddies sold an anti-virus software startup to MccAffrey. A whirlwind of indoctrination only to blow up in her face as a new virus settled into her stomachโs pit. She worked almost exclusively with the databases, sorting and manufacturing algorithms for data analysis. Project Trailblazer. She knew what she was doing, and a few months before Snowden leaked exactly what she knew, she cut and ran. Erased her presence, scrambled the data regarding her involvement, and sold what she knew of a select individual to the right people.
โ โ The tape keeps rolling to reveal her twenties: days spent on surveillance missions, bribery, extravagant โvacationsโ to collect intel from unknowing victims. She met the man again. Kismet, truly, and the pair found themselves perfect for working partners. Souls collide as stars do, and a delicious blackhole forms. A quiet, all-consuming blur of flame. A rush of mission after mission, countrymen killed for the right price, privatized businesses looking to limit competition. There was no morality to it, nor is there now. No matter how much she tried to enact a sense of Robin Hood, there is none to find. A girl, swimming just above water, too determined to fly.
โ โ Then, the pair became pregnant. A child. A baby. Something innocent, the way she once was. A bundle of something that felt almost immortal, inhuman. A sculpture to admire. Her hands knew the thrill of a punch, how it felt to hoist a body through the air, and the blade against skin. Iโll break them.
โ โ A trailblazing end with a sharp spiral downward. Can she climb the stairs back up? Who knows, as sheโs too afraid to try. A small cheating scandal led to mistrust, the paranoia concerning their child rampant, and the question of Ingaโs identity too much to bear. Their relationship fractured, becoming dust, and it was the one artifact she could not steal back. Being other people was her identity, and giving it up meant she was no longer whole.
โ โ It wasnโt until she lost all that she had made, all that she had gained in this life, that she realized how pitiful it was. A life manufactured out of the threads of thievery and falsity. Even how she currently lived, when she was awake from the espionage, she lied. The person she presented as was not who lived within. Ego held her back, only to snap her forward past the collection of life sheโd made.
โ โ So now, she finds solace in the choices she made. The thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of filling her childโs trust fund one job at a time. Sheโs Kipper Montoya, a carefully protected identity that will allow safety for the ones she loves. Safety from her and her slippery slopes.
โ โ Her long watch is self-imposed, yet she cannot return home from her post. She canโt even dare to ask.
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โงโหโง. ๐ฐ๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐:
โ โ jailbroke her phone + operates on a servers she breaks into; steals from cell-towers to ensure her data + her familyโs is safe
โ โ donโt ask how she keeps her tattoos hidden while doing missions; its a mix of being choice about her clothing and a lot of foundation
โ โ first day the team is brought together and assigned her mission, she chokes down a whole blueberry-mint Breeze
โ โ chose her call name because of her love for the comics and feudal European knights๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: here
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: here -