enzo had been wandering the venue out of boredom more than anything when he caught sight of his little sister at the cookie decorating booth, standing over trays of plain shapes and little bowls of icing and sprinkles. it had been a while since the two had really talked or spent time together and he didn’t want to let the chance slip by, so he came up beside her, easing in at her side without announcing himself. when it seemed she finally made up her mind and chose a shape, he tilted his head in amusement. "bold choice," he remarked lightly, finally making his presence known. "the star's probably a safer bet but i kind of want to see what you do with that."
Nora doesn’t look up right away. She finishes outlining the edge of the cookie first, slow and deliberate, like she refuses to be startled into a mistake. Only then does she tilt her head slightly, eyes shifting sideways to catch his reflection in the glass display of sprinkles before turning to him fully. A small smile tugs at her mouth. Not surprised. Just… softened. “Mm,” she hums, glancing back down at the cookie in her hand. “Safe is boring. And stars are for people who want plausible deniability when it goes wrong.” She finally looks at him then, really looks—taking him in the way she always does, quick and quiet and more thorough than he probably realizes. There’s a beat where she seems like she might say something else, something heavier, but she lets it pass. “I figured I’d commit,” she adds lightly, lifting the cookie a little like she’s presenting evidence. “If I’m going to fail, I’d rather it be obvious.” She shifts to give him space at the table, an unspoken invitation, her shoulder brushing his just briefly. Familiar. Careful. A pause, then, softer: “You decorating too, or just here to supervise my artistic choices?”
𝐰𝐡𝐨: open ( @rescriptedstarters ).
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞: downtown, bayside valley.
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧: winter in la festival.
ϟ she squints at the gingerbread man like it's personally wronged her. ❝ listen, ❞ she whispers to it, adjusting her grip on the piping bag, ❝ you and i are gonna look adorable in our matching outfits whether you like it or not. ❞ a careful squeeze before the pop of an air bubble is heard; the splatter of red icing rivaling that of a crime scene. avery gasps, thankful her mess has stayed contained to her work area. she glances at the person next to her, shoulders lifting sheepishly. ❝ is it just me, or are these things fightin' back? ❞ a nervous laugh. what if she ruins the experience? everyone knows she's not meant to get it wrong. ❝ please tell me you're havin' better luck, because negotiatin' with royal icing is not part of my skill set. ❞
Nora pauses mid-motion, the piping bag in her hand held with almost surgical calm. She looks down at her own gingerbread figure—neat, symmetrical, entirely too composed—then over at Avery’s icing-splattered situation. One brow lifts, not unkind, more curious than judgmental. “They always do,” she says quietly, like she’s letting Avery in on a secret. “Royal icing thrives on intimidation. It senses fear.” She sets her bag down, wipes her fingers on a napkin, and shifts a little closer without making a show of it. There’s a faint smile there now, soft and reassuring. “You’re not doing it wrong,” Nora adds, steady. “You’re just squeezing like you’re asking permission. Don’t negotiate with it. Decide.” She demonstrates—gentle pressure, controlled, unhurried—then nudges the gingerbread man toward Avery. “And for the record,” she continues, voice low, almost conspiratorial, “if they were meant to look perfect, they wouldn’t let us eat the evidence.”
Nora stands just off the main walkway, wrapped in a camel coat that’s probably too nice for cider and food trucks, hands curled loosely around a paper cup she hasn’t really touched. The music is distant, the crowd loud in that warm, harmless LA way. She watches people pass more than she participates. Couples arguing softly. Kids with sugar-high laughter. Someone spilling cider and apologizing too much. She shifts her weight, glances up when someone pauses near her, and offers a small, polite smile that doesn’t ask for anything. “Is it always this crowded,” she says lightly, voice calm, observant, like she’s commenting on the weather, “or did we all collectively decide tonight was the night to be outside?” It’s an opening without pressure. An invitation that can be taken or ignored. She takes another slow sip, eyes already drifting back to the lights, waiting to see if they stay.
「 MATILDA DE ANGELIS.〳 CIS WOMAN〳 SHE/HER. 」 you haven’t heard about ELEONORA “NORA” VISCONTI in town yet? let me fill you in! their birthday came and went this year which makes them TWENTY SEVEN years old. i’m 100% certain that they’re A SCORPIO. when you’re walking in town, you could spot them working as A CRISIS & REPUTATION STRATEGIST . they live over in SUNNYVILLE POINT. and from what else i’ve gathered, they’ve got a reputation for being known as THE CIRCUMSPECT. this means that they can often be GUARDED AND SELF-SACRIFICING. while remaining COMPOSED AND PERCEPTIVE. whenever they come to mind i always think of: FINGERS TIGHTENING AROUND A WINE GLASS WHILE THE ROOM BUZZES, SMILING AT THE RIGHT MOMENTS, THINKING THREE STEPS AHEAD, SECRETS KEPT LIKE LEDGER ENTRIES. they also happen to be MUSE B within well, i’m glad you’re here. i didn’t want to be alone either.. that’s all the info i’ve got for you as of now! i’m sure we’ll be learning more as time goes on!
GENERAL DETAILS.BIRTH NAME: Eleonora Visconti
NICKNAME: Nora, Nori
AGE: 27
DATE OF BIRTH: November 2 (Scorpio)
GENDER: Female
PRONOUNS: She/Her
ORIENTATION: Biromantic
OCCUPATION: Crisis Communications & Reputation Management Consultant (specializes in high-risk public image containment, celebrity/client crises, corporate scandals, and discreet political clean-ups.)
HIGHEST EDUCATION LEVEL: Master’s in Strategic Communications Undergrad in International Relations
MANNERISMS/HABITS: Fingers tightening around a wine glass when tension rises. Pressing her lips together before responding. Pausing a beat too long when thinking through all possible outcomes. Slipping into silence instead of confrontation. Rewriting emails three times before sending. Keeping her phone on Do Not Disturb even when she’s awake
MYERS BRIGGS: INFJ — intuitive, observant, calculated with emotions, driven by meaning and responsibility.
ENNEAGRAM: 1w9 — controlled, morally anchored, deeply self-regulated, seeks harmony and correctness while suppressing conflict.
ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral — prioritizes structure, reputation, and order before personal desire.
FEARS: Being a disappointment, losing control of a narrative, emotional exposure, becoming the problem instead of the solution.
Fingers ghosting over the stem of a glass while conversations hum around her. Soft, neutral palettes—taupe, ivory, charcoal. Apartment lights dimmed low enough to blur the edges of everything. Smiling at the right moments; nodding at the expected ones. Thinking three steps ahead of everyone in the room. Secrets kept like ledger entries. Espresso over ice sweating on a marble countertop. A stack of unread newspapers she still insists on keeping. City lights reflected on glass walls at 11 p.m. Untouched lipstick on the rim of a porcelain cup. A quiet luxury aesthetic edged with tension, restraint, and the softest hint of melancholy.
STYLE.
Elevated minimalism: tailored trousers, silk blouses, structured coats in muted tones. Gold jewelry—thin hoops, delicate chains, nothing ostentatious. Low buns, soft waves, clean makeup. Shoes always practical, elegant, and silent on tile floors. She dresses like someone who knows she’s being watched but refuses to be read.
ROUTINE.
Early riser. Makes her bed with precision. Reads three news sources before speaking to anyone. Pilates twice a week, a therapist she sees monthly but never opens up to fully. Commutes to her office or a client’s crisis room with an iced espresso in hand. Evenings are split between networking events, crisis calls that run past midnight, or solitary dinners eaten at her kitchen island while the city lights flicker below. Weekends are for resetting—errands, skincare, long walks, structured nothingness.
DIET.
Balanced but particular: coffee for survival, salads with clean protein, Italian comfort food when she’s overwhelmed. Keeps a bottle of white wine chilling “just in case.”
GROOMING.
Flawless but understated. Neutral nails, expensive skincare, perfume she applies sparingly but purposefully. Hair always neat, even when she’s tired. No one ever sees her disheveled.
SUBSTANCES.
Caffeine regularly; alcohol socially but controlled. No drugs.
BOOKS.
Nonfiction: politics, psychology, crisis case studies. Occasionally poetry when she’s feeling brave enough to confront her own interior world.
MUSIC.
Soft electronic, mellow indie, quiet classical. Music that blends into the background and smooths the edges of her mind. Rarely anything with lyrics that cut too deeply.
Eleonora “Nora” Visconti grew up in a family where perfection was expected and vulnerability was a liability. She was taught simple rules: appearances mattered more than affection, control was a form of power, and silence was its own version of loyalty. As the youngest and only daughter, she survived by becoming the composed one—the quiet one—the one who never created problems. She learned early how to move through rooms without disturbing the air. Her brothers were the heirs; she was the soft face of the family—polished, poised, and expected to excel without ever causing trouble.
Approval was everything, and she chased it subtly, carefully, never letting anyone see how much it mattered. Craving her father’s validation shaped her entire adolescence. Nora became the kid who blended discipline with decorum, who learned to swallow emotions before they fully formed, who figured out how to make herself indispensable without taking up too much space.
Now 27, she presents as polished and soft-spoken, carrying a constant tension beneath the surface. Nora knows more than she ever admits—about her clients, about her family, about the people she loves. She’s loyal but cautious, affectionate but withholding. She fears rocking the boat, so she steadies it, even when it costs her. And while she’s carved out a life, she can’t quite outrun the instinct to protect everyone but herself.
Her work reflects what she’s always done best: containing fires, controlling narratives, absorbing tension without letting anything break the surface. In crisis communications, she manages reputational disasters for celebrities, CEOs, and political figures. She’s the person people call when everything is falling apart—calm, sharp-eyed, unshakable. Fixing reputations feels familiar; she’s been doing it since childhood.
Composed, subtle, and unreadable to most, Nora lives with a quiet ache under all that restraint: a longing for softness she doesn’t trust, honesty she’s afraid of, connection she keeps locked behind a guarded heart. She’s a woman defined by silence and shaped by loyalty—quiet in the way that holds a story, the kind you only hear if you lean in close.
₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of character analysis/headcanon questions to learn more about your character and your partners'! writing/headcanon prompts requested by anonymous. feel free to edit these as you see fit.
[ 🖐️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ?
[ ☂️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they crave touch or fear it ?
[ 🎐 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a sound, like a song or voice, that they associate with peace ?
[ 🕊️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen did they feel the safest ?
[ 💤 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they sleep ? curled up, sprawled, holding onto something ?
[ 🦇 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a fear they never talk about ?
[ 🔒 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a secret they’ve sworn never to tell ?
[ 🪢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they broke a promise ?
[ 🫳 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they feel they owe, but never paid back ?
[ 💼 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do they always carry with them ?
[ 🧨 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the quickest way to set them off, even if they hide it well ?
[ ⛓️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does guilt feel like to them ?
[ 💢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho have they never forgiven and never will ?
[ 🩸 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there something or someone that, if lost, would break them ?
[ 🌧️ ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a pain they refuse to heal from ?
[ 🪞 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen have they looked at their reflection and hated what they saw ?
[ 📿 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat superstition or ritual do they cling to ?
[ 🌊 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they cried ?
[ 🐾 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo animals like them instinctively ?
[ 🪶 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they laugh ?
[ 🫀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho taught them what love is ? did it hurt ?
[ 💭 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they believe they’re worthy of being loved ?
[ 🎀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is their main love language ?
[ 🔦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they search for ?
[ 📜 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a story they love sharing with others ?
[ 🌒 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a dream or goal they have given up on ?
[ 🕯️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat memory do they replay when they’re alone ?
[ 🌪️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the one choice they regret (not) making ?
[ 🧩 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s a truth about themselves they refuse to admit ?
[ 🍻 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of drunk are they ?
[ ✉️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of letter would they write but never send ?
[ 🗡️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a scar that they have but never talk about ?
[ 🕸️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a favourite lie they like to hear ?
[ 🪦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat would they want on their gravestone but never admit aloud ?
[ 🎱 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of future do they crave, and who’s in it ?
[ 🌀 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a recurring dream or nightmare ?
[ 🍃 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they feel like they belong ?
[ ⚓ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does “home” mean to them ?
[ 🧭 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhere would they go if they could disappear tomorrow ?
