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Post by camillemrochester on Apr 10, 2011 10:39:04 GMT -7
Camille was outside leaning against a tree. It was a lovely tree that fit the curve of her back so nicely; she’d brought her sketch book and oil pastels out and was working on a new piece. It came to her in a Vision, it wasn’t a terrifying one; just a girl next to Jeanne d'arc. The girl had brown hair styled in a bob, she was young too, face lively and full. It occurred to the young artist that she should wonder why the Vision didn’t frighten her, or why she did not question it. Camille supposed it was because of Jeanne, she was comforted by the Patron Saint of France, reminded of home. She dabbed on a soft blue and spread the texture with her fingertips. Art was always soothing for Camille; she could lose herself in the perceptions of lines and color. Nothing worried her while she drew or painted; it was nice. At times, Visions were useful. She gathered things of importance from them; whether to be wary or to embrace something wholeheartedly. This particular Vision had struck Camille so, that she decided to preserve it. It was nothing overly complicated; the two young women were walking their back facing the viewer, their heads hung low and were close together, as if they were talking softly to one another. A light breeze shook the leaves of her tree and Camille hugged her shawl closer. One of her roommates, probably Alison, had commented that Camille dressed very French, but with a Greco flair. The girl supposed that was true, she did gravitate toward rich fabrics as well as light, airy ones. And today she had opted for a pair of comfortable black silk pants, quite loose and lovely but fitted at the waist and just above the ankles. Above that, she dawned a grey camisole and a beautiful muted lavender muslin shawl. Camille had found it in Greece and fell irrevocably in love with the item, that she had purchased many in varying colors. It was her favorite clothing item, so comforting and it tied her to Greece, she felt more at peace with it than without it. Her hands were covered in muddy colors as she reached for the rag to wipe them off. The picture was coming along quite nicely, but Camille was suddenly on alert. Something about this event was all too familiar… She heard soft footsteps on the grass; she turned only to find the girl she had been sketching. The brunette, but… why? Word Count: 421 To: Isa/Dante Notes: Sorry it took so long! |
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Post by Isabella Jillian Avadore on Apr 11, 2011 7:24:40 GMT -7
Spring had sprung and Isabella was outside again. She hadn't been cooped up in winter - a red jacket running through the snow had been a common sight, but now it was back to a pair of loose, mildly baggy jeans and a yellow t shirt. Life had certainly changed for the patron of France (among other things). Literacy, school, no danger of being burned - excepting the time Bonnie Parker had set her on fire - and no wars that she could possibly fight in, no prophecies from a "maiden from riverdale" to worry about.
Of course, some things had remained the same - such as the Voices. They had a habit of asking her to do things from the odd to the extraordinary. It went from venturing into swamps to save lost kids with a smugglers ring to deal with, to the more mundane; such as warning about a chemical mix about to go wrong, to the downright odd, such as leading her to discover a bunch of frogs, meant to be dissected, but were all still alive. Other times, it pointed her out things useful to RSOR...or they were just opened-ended. Like the message she'd received in the shower of all places this very morning. La Pucelle. Jehanne D'Arc. There is a girl, who sees as you hear. Find her.
Okay...
Uhm...
Well.
Joan wasn't sure how to start that one, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. This could point to a reincarnate. If someone was "seeing" as she heard, that could well imply some "seer", some sixth sense. How was she to find a sixth sense - she hadn't heard of anyone with a bizarre, inexplicable situation yet. So she'd decided to take a walk through the grounds. People were up and about. Maybe she'd catch some sort of clue, some beginning to things. Even if she didn't catch much, it would be worth the walk. The message hadn't been urgent; she doubted anyone was going to die even if a walk wasn't the way to begin. Isabella wandered further and further from the school, past the main fields and outbuildings, and into a small copse of trees. Sometimes people hid out there, but today there was no one but a stoner. She kept walking as the breeze ruffled the trees, and came out of the copse a few feet from to the right and behind a girl drawing away. She could make out two figures from where she was. Still, she kept walking; but walking brought her closer behind the girl, and when Isabella changed a look again, she stopped and frowned.
Both figures may have had their backs turned, but both looked like her! One was in the telltale, unvarnished armour she wore as Joan. The other was a bit harder for her to figure out, but it sure looked like her from the back. If it wa,s it was reason for alarm. Her past self being drawn was one thing - that was just something that happened. But drawing one Isabella Avadore next to her was odd. She didn't know this girl! The anti-rsor had already connected Orville Wright to Oliver Winchester, and while it was played off as an obsession, connection to a second historical figure would be terrible news. She changed her direction and now made course for the girl, who must have heard her walking, and turned around.
"You're a good artist." Isabella said by way of explanation. Time to be careful, but yet still find the root of the issue. For now, shed pretend she didn't recognise herself. A girl with brown bobbed hair could be a lot of girls, after all! Maybe it was just a lookalike, but Isabella was going to figure this picture out so as not to take chances. "I was just walking by and I happened to glance at it."
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words| 690
tagged| Camille / Ccals
notes| None
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Post by camillemrochester on Apr 11, 2011 9:09:15 GMT -7
Camille attempted to shield her work as best she could while she turned around. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking a breath, “You just startled me a little.” She cocked her head a little, scrutinizing the figure only to find it was the girl she’d been sketching. But no, it couldn’t be. Tons of people have brown hair styled in a bob, it was merely a coincidence. Camille shut her sketch book quickly and moved to stand up, “I’m Camille Rochester, and I just transferred here form Provence.” Scarcely, she wondered why the girl was wandering about, in an area quite deserted. But then thought better of it, anyone could clearly walk wherever they please; what was she thinking? “I just came out here to sketch, as you saw, and I uh…” And now she was panicking, great; that is exactly the impression she’d meant to give, that she was insane. In her defense, Camille really only chatted with Alison, her roommate. “Would you like to have a look?” The artist offered her sketch book up for inspection; it was full of paintings, sketches, and a few ramblings in Greek or French. Nothing too incriminating though. It was the least she could do, since socializing wasn’t her strongest suit. “I’m sorry; I forgot to ask your name.” She gnawed her lower lip, what else could she possibly say? If Camille didn’t calm down soon another Vision would probably happen. But this girl, whatever her name was… She’d seen her before, she was now sure of it. How could she possibly explain that? The Vision didn't frighten her, but then again it didn’t have much discernable meaning. As a rule, she never talked about her Visions – as Cassandra she learned that no one would believe her anyway. It was safer to keep those to herself, it was not the healthiest mental option but she had no other choice. The Visions were her burden to bear. The wind blew again and a stray hair fell in Camille’s face, she brushed it out of the way and offered a small smile. Grabbing her oil pastels, she closed the case and threw them into her satchel. Camille studied the girl, it was so much better than sketching from memory. Her face had a faint flush to it from walking and the sun. Her brown eyes had a certain gleam to them that she couldn’t quite place. Camille pursed her lips in thought and then spoke, “Would you mind terribly if I sketched you?”Word Count: 419 To: Isa/Dante Notes: None |
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Post by Isabella Jillian Avadore on Apr 13, 2011 12:21:34 GMT -7
Perhaps being so forwards wasn't the best of ideas, but there was no way to simply launch a conversation than to, well, launch one. This girl seemed skittish at best, though. A good artist, but not so outgoing as some other artists she knew. Despite the initial impression she gave, the girl began to speak. It wasn't the "thank you", the "you startled me a little" that made Isabella raise a brow, but how the girl said it. She was French! And from a different part of France than Joan had seen in her short lifetime. Accents did alter over time, but it wasn't the same as one she'd hear in Domremy. The girl shut her sketch book and stood, making Isabella look up, rather than down. This was nothing new in either life. Isabella had gotten used to it, and held herself in a way that didn't make her seem smaller. Straight-backed and confident, she gazed up at the girl. "Nice to meet you, Camille." Isabella said with a smile. "Provence?" She asked. "I heard it is lovely there. I've never been to that region, myself." Isabella added. She could say where she had been, but she was going to wait on it a little. After all, she had been depicted by Joan. Chances are, a French girl would know what region she had been born in, and the places she had been. Stating them now was too risky. It was funny, in a way, the games she had to play for the sake of her secret. Couldn't expose too much, couldn't say too little, had to hit just right and when, and then there was no accounting for the other guy all the time.
After the introduction, the girl seemed to be panicking. Isa held back a frown, but she had to wonder why the poor girl was. She seemed to not know what to do. Maybe it was her English? But it had seemed very good. "Oh, thank you." Isa wasn't sure what to do but accept the sketchbook. She opened it up, and looked casually at a couple drawings. She didn't read the notes, even though she could (she'd been taught in this life). That didn't feel right. Randomly rifling through soemone's sketchbook didn't feel right, either, so she handed it back when she was asked her name.
"I'm Isabella Avadore. Isa for short." She said, cheery as could be, in an attempt to put the girl at ease. "I should have introduced myself sooner, given I was randomly looking at the pictures, so don't worry about it, Camille." Pictures. Seeing? Nah. That was crazy. If that was the case, Chess would see more than Errol. Isabella didn't know what to do about the silence that followed. She'd like to inquire some more, but was going to wait on Camille; though in doing so got an unusual question. "If you want, to, sure...do you want me to be doing anything, or standing here...I've never been sketched before." She had been painted once, but that painting had ended up destroyed way back when. Needless to say, Joan hadn't a clue what to do. At least this would give her a chance for a conversation.
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words| 610
tagged| Camille / Ccals
notes| None
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Post by camillemrochester on Apr 13, 2011 21:29:55 GMT -7
Camille nodded, flipping to fresh page in her book, “Whatever you feel most comfortable with is fine.” Luckily she snagged a charcoal pencil before heading outside; digging it from her purse she waited for Isabella to get comfortable. Yes, she did realize it was an odd request; but the girl had such soft yet striking features, like the way she held herself. Isabella was short in stature but walked with the air of someone twice her size. Sitting again, leaning on the tree, Camille rested her sketch book against her thigh and began a rough outline of Isa. She knew that when drawing, she was at ease; this was her most relaxed state, which wasn’t really relaxed at all. Camille liked to focus on something, to have some obtainable goal. “So, you’ve been to France. Whereabouts, if you don’t mind me asking?”[/b] She didn’t want to pry, but she couldn’t not talk to the girl either. That would just be rude. The light was just perfect at this time, giving a sort of soft focus affect. Camille was found of portraits, she wasn’t much for landscapes or still life. There was a je ne sais quoi about sketching someone; it was as if for a scant moment, you could see snippets of their lives. Granted, Camille was more than fond of these snippets, she saw them nearly every day. She shifted, leaning forward to examine Isabella’s face, “You look so young,”[/b] she murmured to herself, “but it's as if you carry more wisdom than your years would grant.”[/b] It was a puzzle, Camille liked puzzles. But she was also used to being young and knowing too much, that’s how she could spot it so easily. It was a relief, of sorts, to find someone like that; like her. The artist still wondered how it was that Isabella came to find her, when Camille just so happened to be sketching her and Jeanne d’arc. It meant something, surely; she just didn’t know what. It was frustrating, yes, but Camille wasn’t one to push things of such a delicate matter. It wasn’t uncommon for her to lapse into Visions and continue on with her work, it happened all the time. But she found herself hoping that she would stay focused on her subject this time around. “Sorry, I’m not too talkative currently,” she chuckled, “I tend to focus on one thing at a time, but if you’d like to ask me something I’m not adverse to answering.” Because truth be told, Camille liked Isa; she wanted to get to know her, possibly build a friendship. She was just stuck in her own head more often than not; but starting today, Camille was going to make an effort and fix it. Word Count: 455 To: Dante/Isa Notes: None. |
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Post by Isabella Jillian Avadore on Apr 16, 2011 9:12:20 GMT -7
Isabella wasn't sure how to pose, so she kind of just stood there, hands in her pockets and at ease. She didn't let her posture slump, but she didn't stand rigid, either. After all, she had no idea how long this would take as she watched Camille take out a charcoal pencil and begin to draw. Isa felt a little offput by Camille's eyes, a bright a blue as they were. They were very nice, but very bright. There was something about them, but Isabella had no idea what exactly. Something back there, but no idea of having "known her before", like she got with (just her luck) the creepiest teacher in the school. It made her went to inquire further, and maybe she'd get her chance.
When Camille asked where she had been in France, Isabella first chugged, then hoped she hadn't shifted too much and potentially cause problems for Camile. "The north, really. Lorriane, Champagne-Ardennes, Burgundy," Burgundy was said with a hint of distaste. Joan couldn't say she liked Burgundians much, though of course she knew her concepts of said people were antiquated, "Though the center of France and Paris and High Normandy." She listed with a smile. It would be interesting to see if the connection was made. This girl didn't seem like a Tamara for from it, and while the risk was high, this was why she spoke. Saying noting could well discourage Camille from speaking to her. Very counter productive, yes? But what, oh what to say to her next words? Isabella watched as she got replicated on paper, Camille doing a far better job then Isa knew she could ever do, unsure how to respond to the comment about her age.
"I've heard that before," She replied softly after a moment's debate. "But I'm really just a commoner. You know...I haven't got an artist's eye, but I'd say you have the same look about you." She'd either come off a little bit nutty or made progress, or both, who knew? Just another conversation at Riverdale, always several layers deep. There was a moment of silence as Camille sketched on, and Isabella didn't mind that. It was a lovely day for silence. Maybe later she'd go find an even more remote part of the grounds and pray, she if she got any more ideas about how to begin finding someone who saw.
Camille seemed to be warming up to the conversation a little; she'd gone from very jumpy to slightly more at ease, even stating that questions were okay. If that was the case, Isabella decided she may as well ask a few."If you'd like to sketch that's fine with me, but I do have to wonder; why did you come to Riverdale?" Riverdale was nice, but France was a whole lot prettier. Isabella wanted to go back to her hometown someday, and Orleans, and Paris and many of the places she'd been to before as well as new ones when she got the chance.
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words| 555
tagged| Camille / Ccals
notes| Sorry this took so long. x.x
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