Rue
I don't have a drug problem. I have a pain problem. -- Dr. Gregory House
Isabella is new to L.A., a city full of secrets, though none are deeper than her own. A traumatic head injury a few years back wiped her slate completely clean. She has hunted for any trace of her former life, but found nothing concrete—only fractured images and phantom feelings left behind by a ghost she used to be.
Drugs: She knows about them. She knows where to find them. She knows how to get the best high out of them. She probably knows a lot about all sorts of other horrifying but darkly alluring pleasures, too, if that's your jam. She doesn't judge. Much.
Self-Destruction: There is very little that Brandi won't try that she hasn't already tried. If she thinks there's a decent chance of dying from it, it's not that hard to convince her to give it a go. On the other hand, she's not stupid, and if you're clearly doing it just to screw with her she'll give you the finger and then file your suggestion away for the next time she's too wasted to care.
Partying Like It's 1999: Oh, did someone say 'party'? She'll be there with bells on. Even if you didn't invite her, she might show up anyway because one of her customers was dumb enough to let something slip. If you did invite her, hopefully you knew what you were getting into.
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| Name | Brandi Jones |
| Appears As | Brandi |
| Occupation | Art Supply Store Sales Associate |
| Apparent Age | Twenty-Odd |
| Demeanor | Sensualist |
| Eye Color | Green |
| Hair Color | Honey |
| Height | 5' 6" |
| Drug Use | 🔴🔴🔴⚫️⚫️ |
| Drug Abuse | 🔴🔴🔴🔴🔴 |
| Avoiding Death | 🔴🔴🔴🔴⚫️ |
| Self-Improvement | ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️ |
