this blog is a sideblog to strnza - follows & follow-backs will come from that main blog, as this is just a hub for all of eliza's far cry 5 (& anything else relevant) interactions, plots & storylines.
MAIN CARRD (with rules), DNI. 🤍 this blog is private, generally pretty selective and very low activity.
🥀 AFFILITED W/ @allegored.
icons will not be used frequently on this blog in writing. find character aesthetics here.
ALL VERSES / CHARACTER INFO / BIO / STATS BELOW THE CUT.
NAME: eliza cecilia bellucci kardel. AGE: flexible, usually mid / upper 20's. timeline dependent. DATE OF BIRTH: october 26. GENDER: female. SEXUALITY: bisexual. PRONOUNS: she / her. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: italian, ASL & english. PHYSICALITY: just barely 5 foot & 2 inches tall, but no less of a presence to be reckoned with because of her smaller stature. dark brown, thick wavy hair, usually tied back in a loose ponytail, held under a hat or let loose & wild. dark brown eyes. olive-toned skin, freckled along her cheekbones, shoulders, knees & hands. lanky in her stature due to various periods of malnutrition in her life. 70+ tattoos, all along her body. (some listed here.) VOICE: see here. ENJOYS: music, singing, art. cooking/baking. warm weather. companionship. summer storms. writing/drawing more than reading.
VERSE BLURBS →
FAITH – joseph seed appears to her as divinely as he stands. he is the one who saw her potential; he soothed all the crumbled hope that had built itself up in eliza’s chest when she first came to the country. with lackluster gigs and even lower self worth, she soon found solace in drink after drink and similar self-destructive behaviors. but he found her, he saw the light within her – and he promised her the world.
rome, georgia soon became hope county. there were terms set forth, the promise of a new opportunity within a new life on the conditions of an entirely new life – a cleansed body, mind and soul, new name to match – faith seed. he told her that she deserved hymns devoted solely to her smile, she deserved the world – so long as she upheld his word, they’d all reach eden. together. she’d accepted the name faith before she’d ever knew there’d been another. she allowed them to carve her anew so long as they kept their promises – don’t abandon me. i’ll be good, i’ll do what you ask – just love me in return. the seeds gave eliza what she’d been lacking her whole life; belonging, love and purpose.
the iteration of faith had come and gone in other lost, young women — but eliza kardel was the blueprint of true faith. empathy, love, affection and a heart stronger than her mind – she bespoke sunshine into the minds of whoever would listen. she'd never been the perfect picture of blind obedience; what she lacked in doubt and curiosity, she made up for with intoxicating passion & compassion. she evaluates and understands fear, soothes it with the promises of the project in her adoptive brothers names and promises a stagnant fact – whoever you are, she will take you, and she will love you. unconditionally. can her heart still be swayed to see the manipulation she’s fallen victim to? TL;DR … eliza is taken in by the seed brothers and named adoptive sister, faith seed & herald of the project at eden’s gate. she is not the siren, rather, she is known as the angel.
CHOSEN – more info coming soon. jacob seed’s right-hand chosen. elite warrior, weaponized empathy + heart, tired soldier in search of reprieve.
“you’re allowed to have some fun, you know.” the smile on her lips is one of unnatural, uncanny proportions - an amalgamation that strikes between genuine joy and a mask of something much deeper. and yet … the way that she holds herself around the chosen still maintains an air of honesty that faith absconds around those as equally devoted to the father. guy is a soldier as much as she is - she wonders what he’d look like with glazed over pupils, wading through a haze of green. it’s a shame that they send all the pretty ones to the mangy mutt in the woods.
“has jacob scared you straight?” her right arm extends to further inspect the cloak of armor over guy’s silhouette - marks of dirt, dust, blood and scabbed-over, bliss-injected skin reveal themselves as the lacy sleeve of her robe falls past her wrist. her index finger brushes over the project’s logo emblazoned on the fabric over his bicep - how gaudy. faith’s eyes linger along his nose as she rescinds her hands to herself. “you should join me in the henbane - practicing devotion alone serves no god any favors, angel.”
@tndrhrt said: "was that an act of defiance? against me?"
SHE WAS AN ANGEL, BEAUTIFUL AND GRACEFUL IN EVERY ASPECT. it was no wonder how easily the converted had fallen in line, especially when she was there with that soft smile, welcoming those who chose salvation with open arms. marisol struggles with it. that need for a sense of belonging. but the reality of the situation shakes her fixation away. her daughter was out there somewhere, hopefully still alive, and eden's gate was getting in the way.
marisol had fought valiantly against the allure and promises of love. she had muted the hymns faith had written, blocking out any attempts at appealing to her more human side. instead, she opted to line up a bunch of explosives to the road and detonated it when supply trucks traveled through. anything to cull their resources, anything to give her a headstart.
she hears her voice, sweet as honey, and glances to its origin. this was just a small hit to eden's gate, but it was the message it sent that spoke volumes. "maybe," she responds, nonchalant. "depends on how you want to interpret it." the detonator clips to the back pocket of her jeans as she moves with intention. "maybe it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with joseph."
she is a walking abomination. can those with such hatred in their heart truly be saved? those who forsake the will of the father, the reality of the cruelty that awaits either fate? faith's voice grows louder than that of joseph, trembling against the walls of containment in her own mind. he’s going to punish her for this - why can’t the deputy see the chain reaction she’s just set off? marisol's defiance enrages her - gut instinct impresses upon her to hurt the woman before her - learned reaction tells her to wait.
"he's going to protect us," there's manic devotion in that statement - perhaps if faith says it enough, the deputy will believe her. (perhaps faith, herself, will believe it, too.) the angel's hands find marisol's arms with a vitriol-fueled force - begging her to see the light. the point of what they're doing: protect those who cannot protect themselves. something slated directly between fear and manipulation stands at the forefront of her allegiances.
"he protected me, deputy - saved me." faith's words bleed into who she used to be - scared ... alone. her grip slackens on the other woman, hands sliding down to her wrists, eyes grazing over the marks her fingernails had left in the deputy's biceps - this ambition can be harnessed for the better, willingly or otherwise. "let me save you."
it's a loaded question, but that's the point, isn't it? it's supposed to stimulate some unfathomable depth of thought. to turn over graves meant to remain undisturbed. to discover and carve something out, a pound of raw flesh, that feels genuine in the midst of the present organized chaos.
the fibers of the frayed blanket catch against his fingertips as he smooths placidly over the fabric. eventually, there will be nothing more to endure other than the final death rattle before the hotly anticipated fall of civilization; according to the father. his beloved younger brother.
what they have is genuine, isn't it? it's a fragile thought. one that might crack at the surface should one choose the wrong tool to chip at it with. she had played the dedicated role of a means to an end beautifully, still does; aiding in the making of what would become his legacy after his planned departure.
he would leave, she would lead, and that would be the end of things. but if she won't do it, someone else will, and so he's made sure of it. his plans are a decade in the making, most of them seen to fruition.
"this. right here, right now," jacob rasps in the dark quiet of the room they inhabit. dingy, paint peeling, dilapidated. what part of his life other than that of eliza hasn't embodied the aforementioned? when he was shiny, new, and full of piss and vinegar ambition? why would she choose now to seek answers? what provocation has she happened upon? questions. so many goddamned questions.
"i believe in you." it's the truth. a half truth. maybe several shades of complicated.
immediately, almost immediately - in the very breath that he strives to tell her what he thinks she wants to hear, or worse - what he wants to be true - eliza sits up straight, the curvature of her spine facing away from him. the breath in her chest feels ice cold - the air shared between them chills at her fingertips; eliza rescinds her touch to rest palm-down along her thighs.
“don’t lie to me.” there is no vindication, no retaliation in her tone - the quiet that eliza holds should be proof enough of her unwavering recognition of jacob: i know you better than that. "if that was true, i'd be exactly who you wanted me t'be. here, in this mess - all of it." but ... she wants more. he wants more - doesn't he? even if he can't find it within himself to say it? they're both believing the idealized versions of one another through their own eyes: love won't be enough to save either one.
shes hurts in a way that she should now be numb to - and in a way, she is. numb to what he’s made her, and yet … that heart remains the same. it’s what he’s wanted all along, isn’t it? the bleeding heart, hand and knife, all in one.
it hurts to breathe. it hurts when she opens the door to the life they’d once shared - where the paint on the walls still peeled, the blankets frayed, the dogs barked and the sun still set - a home where love still lived. it does here, too, but … it’s different. his answer is reminder enough of that. her tongue and lungs are covered in the same smoke that he tastes of - he's coated her in the black soot of his touch, inside and out.
they're nearing the end. @allegored knows it just as much as she does.
"i'm tired, jacob." i don't see a way out of this.
burned fields of bliss blossoms - slaughtered angels, willing tributes taken and slain where they stand. is it anger, paranoia or fear that breaks faith's tone? (rather, is she just an addict losing her grasp on her vice of choice?) it's everything: she's more twitchy than usual. quick to the punch, desperate and angry with the woman in front of her - does she even understand what this means to her?
"all ... all my hard work. all our hard work - !" the bliss emanates from faith's body, and she's already doused her audience with enough to keep them subdued - even as faith grabs her by the shoulders, mania written scribbled into bloodshot eyes, "it's time for you to understand - this is bigger than you. bigger than me - you should be dead."
there’s an inherent intimacy in the silence shared between them. to bleed is human, to hurt is human, to feed, to fuck, to breathe - the humanity of it all is implicit in their everyday function, even in this depraved, war-mongered state. to see - to know one another so enviably, so truly … to see every hidden and ugly bit in a single glance is the true mark of their intimacy.
they’re tangled into one another beneath a ratty old blanket. the air is quiet - even eliza’s breathing slows before she speaks.
“... what do you believe?” she asks the question as calmly as any other - like the amount of ammunition behind it isn’t tenfold what they’ve got hidden in droves. eliza’s eyes are tired, limbs weary - silently pleading for some resignation to what she’s fighting for. (him, she’s fighting for jacob. does he realize that?) “tell me … tell me what you believe.” prove to her that she hasn’t lost herself for an unworthy cause.
in this shared space - within these four walls, held against his bare skin only does eliza’s mind slip. she allows herself a breath of reprieve; if there is a god, jacob will witness her devotion. she willingly gives him her bloody & marred, beating & bleeding heart - places it in his hands and asks him to offer an inkling of his in return for her undying loyalty. her fingers brush over his sternum as she swallows unspoken doubt, lifting to feel for his heartbeat and remaining there. “... - please.”
a sickening green pollutant penetrates pores, infiltrates his nostrils; any surface upon or within which the bliss can be absorbed it suffuses and infects. it's here, in the sunken wound of reality that deputy grimes discovers himself forcibly enthralled. helpless. swimming down instead of up, back to the sunlight.
he is afraid, and has been ever since he'd regained consciousness some odd months ago, surrounded by colleagues in a place unfamiliar to him. the fear and panic had long since set in after realizing his family were among the missing while the cult held the county in a vice grip. he's heard the stories of people never returning from the thick slip of the bliss's influence, never regaining their faculties, and yet here he is; cowed by desperation after having been discovered in a place where he very well shouldn't have been.
"i think—i think you know the answer to that .." rick manages intelligible speech, reaching for clarity in the mist, concentrating on returning to himself with a discernible grief; his eyes wide, rimmed with red, heart hammering. he's out of it, but it's still in him.
it's she to whom he might plead with to return his son to him, at the very least. unaffected. undamaged. alive.
there's something eerily peaceful about him in this state - forced compliance, soured fortitude. if he'd only give her credence, all these theatrics could melt away - they could talk, they could listen to one another. instead, he chooses the path of futile resistance: be that as it may ... there’s something special about him. something so perfectly human.
teeth sink into her lower lip as rosy, petaled skin slips into another smile, chuckling to herself as she turns her back on him. he's somewhere between heaven and earth - rather, it should feel that way. rick sees nothing of the rusted, bunker walls past the grass and overgrown blossoms clouding his vision - a hazy portrait surrounding faith at the center of it. she drags a wooden chair to sit in front of where he remains, zip-tied to a seat of his own.
"i thought a gentleman like you would know how t'be nicer to a lady," she coos, settling into her own chair mere inches from his - bringing her legs up to sit criss-cross and moving to cradle his cheeks in her palms. cold to the touch - bracing. his pupils take up half his goddamn eyes, and she knows that he's wrapped around her finger - perfect.
"look at me," it's more of a demand than a request.
"haven't you lost enough already?" poke, prod, poke, prod - she pushes him further into the amalgamated, faux reality, strokes his skin with her thumbs to tether him to her, "i only want to help you." let me help you.
🍃 just faithliza tings: she always has the bliss on her. in injectables, in vials, ingestibles. keeping a smear of it on her thumb when talking to her captives, ready to swipe over their tongue should they grow too rowdy. being overly physical - not in the most pleasant of ways. pulling your head back by the root of your hair to expose your neck + forcing submission, holding your hands and wrists a little too tightly. bloody noses from overexertion, mood swings from malnourishment and bliss deprivation.
in all fairness, i think that eliza faith was probably the first to settle down in hope county. the first to infiltrate as nothing more than who she used to be, because who she used to be was the perfect balm of normality/humanity to get folks trusting the project. she played gigs, made friends and alliances and slowly converted people into the project. only as they grew with strength in numbers and support did she drop the act of eliza and lean fully into faith. faith’s weapon is her empathy, love and humanity: her greatest strength and her greatest weakness, if you can make her see beyond what the father has offered her.
“what are you so afraid of, rick?” the siren and her song, the black widow and her prey - moth, meet flame. she is everything and she is nothing all at once: eliza kardel has faded as much as all the ink of a past life, scattered across her skin and baked in the hope county sun. she regards him with a specific poise, a particular threat of interest; there’s something more to him than wanton violence, and lord knows he’s lost enough to make him malleable: he’s practically perfect in every way.
as much as her muscles push her forward to preen, faith keeps her hands to herself - mostly. sinewy, lengthy digits fold inward on themselves as she steps forward, an eerily ever-present smile on her features greeting him before she continues, “am i really all that scary?”
