31 July 1985
Although sexually identified as a woman, Azmarie is androgynous. She has a long face with a very strong forehead and sharp cheek bones. Her eyebrows, when bushy, are manly. However, her voluptuous lips are defiantly a woman's. Brown, consuming eyes is the main focus of her face. It’s strange, though, how unfocused they seem to be. As if she is seeing something else. Her hips are narrower than her shoulders, like a man, too. Her breasts are small, thus wearing different types of clothing will accentuate whether she is a man or a woman. Azmarie is extremely athletic. She was an ultra runner (as in 100 plus miles) or trail-runs in different National Parks. Her dark hair is buzzed down to nothing, and her skin glows a nice mocha color. Oh, I almost forgot about ugly puckering scar on the back of her head that leads on to her left shoulder. Almost three years and it still looks like shit.
We won’t talk about what Azmarie was like before the “incident,” there’s no point. Who she was is dead. Sometimes her old personality might escape the haze consuming her, a flash of a mischievous smile or a nod of complete understanding. Any other time, though, she’s stuck between staring out into space or a frustrated frenzy. She forgets things. When she’s talking she doesn’t always finish a thought before moving on to the next. She’s improved these past years, but in no way up to normal cognitive functions. When she has clear thoughts she becomes irrationally angry at herself and tends to get in a tiff. Give it a few moments because she will calm back down to an impassive state.
With wealthy parents from Brazil, Azmarie grew up comfortably in San Diego. Wild and flying high was her life style. Exaggerated. Exuberant. Enthralling. After sophomore year in high school, though, it got old. Fast. That’s when she started running. And, well, it consumed her life. The years disappear as she moved on to college with a full ride to run in the South East for UNC before graduating with a double major in the Classics (the only other passion in her life) and Sports Management.
She met her partner, Madelyn, when scavenging in a used book store. She was a Park Ranger in Maine. Azmarie found herself much more interested in Maine than she’s ever been. They vacationing, backpacking in familiar woods, when it happened. Even now, after countless trips to psychiatrists, Azmarie’s not entirely sure what “it” is. Only that It ended up with her in a hospital, Madelyn in a morgue, and the Society in her life. So what’s she been doing these past years? She runs, still, but either on a treadmill or if she schedules it ahead with her psychiatrist to okay it. However, any sponsors for running disappeared. She still continued to do some athletic modeling (her physic hadn’t worsened and airbrush covered up her scar easily). She undergoes a lot of tests at the hospitals. Sometimes takes experimental drugs for extra cash. Mostly, though, she works with the Society and takes care of her Doberman, Hershey (he’s a part of her rehabilitation).