「 in character ; isabela merced. cis female. she/her. bisexual. 」
┊ ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧ ┊ LUNAR COVE WELCOMES YOU … have you heard about camila pardo? the twenty-three year old is a/an veterinarian! they are a resident and can currently be seen in and around the streets of laguna sands. they have been in lunar cove for two years. it says here they are pretty determined and quick witted, but at the same time have been described as stubborn and emotionally guarded. our mission this summer—is to chase sunsets, secrets, and eternal happiness. "dissolve" by absofacto plays on loop when i think of them. they have that polaroids on a- lothesline, rain soaked scrubs, coffee at midnight vibe to them. we’re dying to see what kind of drama unfolds on these cobblestone streets and coastlines.
full name: camila pardo nicknames: mila, cami. age: 23. date of birth: september 18, 2001. gender: female. pronouns: she/her. sexuality: bisexual. FC: isabela merced. occupation: veterinarian.
style: effortlessly rugged — vintage band tees under scrubs, combat boots she swears by, denim jackets covered in enamel pins and stitched patches. off-duty: earthy tones, cargo pants, oversized flannels, always a beanie nearby.
body mods: multiple ear piercings (four on the left, two on the right).
scent: earthy and warm — sandalwood, dried tobacco leaves, and a hint of citrus.
distinguishing features:
a scar above her right eyebrow from a childhood bike accident.
deep, expressive eyes that always seem to carry a story.
a sharp, crooked smile when she’s about to say something she knows she shouldn’t.
hobbies:
sketching people she meets (on patient charts, napkins, anything).
playing acoustic guitar — she writes songs but never shares them.
late-night motorcycle rides to nowhere.
reading old medical journals and horror novels with equal interest.
gardening — her apartment windowsill is a jungle of herbs and succulents.
positive traits:
fiercely loyal and protective.
emotionally intuitive — she reads people like charts.
adaptable under pressure.
witty, with a dry and disarming sense of humor.
bold — she’ll call out bullshit in a heartbeat, no matter who’s talking.
negative traits:
stubborn to the point of self sabotage.
struggles to ask for help — wears independence like armor.
prone to holding grudges.
can be reckless, especially when emotionally charged.
a bit of a lone wolf, even when she craves connection.
PERSONALITY
camila pardo is warm hearted, quick witted, and fiercely loyal to those she considers hers. she’s the kind of person who masks hurt with humor, trauma with tenacity. camila is tough without losing her softness—she’s the first to crack a sarcastic joke under pressure, and the first to offer a blanket to someone shivering. life’s weathered her edges, but it hasn’t hardened her heart. intuitive to a fault, camila picks up on emotional shifts like they’re part of her job. she can’t help but care deeply—about animals, people, the world—even when it bites back. her impulsive streak sometimes leads her into trouble, but she owns every decision, even the messy ones.
HEADCANONS:
she never takes the elevator if she can avoid it. after a childhood experience of being stuck in one for hours with her younger brother, she prefers the stairs — even if it’s twelve floors up.
carries a tiny sketchbook in her back pocket and fills it with quick pencil drawings of patients, coworkers, and fleeting moments. most of them are unfinished, raw, and deeply emotional. no one’s ever seen it.
she has a playlist for everything. “sutures & sadness” is her go to for tough days at the vet clinic, while “drive until the sun rises” is reserved for long, late night rides on her motorcycle.
camila’s guilty pleasure is cooking shows. she can’t cook well herself (burns rice constantly), but she watches them religiously to feel grounded — something about the routine, the warmth, the idea of home.
keeps an old voicemail from her dad saved on her phone. she never listens to it, but she can’t delete it either. it’s only a few seconds long and cuts off before he finishes the sentence.
she’s lowkey great with kids, even though she pretends to be awkward around them. her softer, goofy side slips out when no one’s watching.
never calls in sick. ever. it’s partly pride, partly fear of being seen as unreliable — but mostly because staying busy is how she copes with her own mental health struggles.
has a tiny scar on her palm from smashing a window to rescue a stray dog in college. the dog — a pit mix named zoe — still lives with her and sleeps on her bed every night.
BIOGRAPHY:
camila pardo grew up in the humid chaos of miami, raised in a two bedroom apartment that always felt a little too full — of people, noise, tension, and things left unsaid. her father left when she was eleven, vanishing with nothing more than a mumbled goodbye and a voicemail that still lives, untouched, in her phone. her mother worked double shifts at a laundromat and her abuela taught her how to hold pain in one hand and kindness in the other. from a young age, camila learned how to care for people — tending to her little brother’s scrapes, soothing her mother’s migraines, staying quiet when the apartment walls grew too thin for arguments. that early exposure to survival shaped her view of the world: no one’s coming to save you, so you’d better learn to do it yourself.
her mother, a nurse, and her grandfather, a retired ranch vet, instilled in her a sense of care and duty early on. animals were always her safe space, her way of making sense of the world when people didn’t. she moved to lunar cove at 21, after graduating early with her veterinary degree and a stubborn desire to prove she could do it on her own. the town's quiet rhythms offered her something santa fe couldn’t: a fresh start with just enough distance from everything she was running from. but lunar cove isn’t just a backdrop—it’s grown on her. the late night emergency calls, the scruffy strays, the neighbors who bring her empanadas after rough days… it’s messy and real, and she finds herself settling in ways she didn’t expect.
camila lives quietly, a contradiction in motion. her off hours are filled with sketchbooks full of raw, inky portraits; guitar strings worn from quiet songs she’ll never perform; plants thriving in mismatched mugs on her windowsill. she has scars she never talks about, and a pit mix named zoe who sleeps in her bed like a weighted blanket. she’s the kind of person who keeps people at arm’s length but will fight like hell for them anyway. there’s still a part of her that believes connection is dangerous — but there’s also a flicker of hope, the same one that got her into medicine in the first place: that maybe healing isn’t just for other people or animals. maybe it’s for her, too.
