Post by gigi kate deneuve on Aug 8, 2009 10:40:25 GMT 10
[/size]genevieve “gigi” kate deneuve !
natural. nymphet. narcissistic.
Name: Genevieve Kate Deneuve
Nickname(s): Gigi
Degree: English
Major: Classic Literature
Minor: None
Age: Twenty
Grade: Sophomore
Birthdate: September 4th
Orientation: Homosexual
Location: Paris, France
`Appearance !
It’s easy to see why Gigi is one of the top models in the world. She stands at 178 centimetres, has a 24 inch waist, wears killer heels like she was born in them, and her face is, frankly, exquisite. Her piercing blue eyes, shampoo-ad black hair, and her sophistication and poise have been recognized by the gurus of the haute couture elite. Gigi is actually considered “plump” in the fashion world, but among the common populace she’s bordering on anorexic slim.
Wearing runway clothes comes as a second nature to Gigi, but at home she isn’t averse to bumming around in sweatpants and her dad’s baggy t-shirts. When she wants to dress to impress, however, watch out: Jean-Paul Gautier and Marc Jacobs haven’t taught her nothing. Because of her pale skin, Gigi favours dark colours, but she knows she looks equally good in pastels. (White, on the other hand, is a hated concept.) She enjoys layering, stark contrast, and sharp lines; and while she does go for a more elegant, feminine look, she can rock jeans and Converse too.
If there’s one thing Gigi is not, it’s athletic. Like most models, her physical fitness comes from an inordinately fast metabolism. In fact, if she misses a meal, she fancies that her cheeks become that much more sunken. Terribly weak, she’ll be winning no arm wrestles, but her endurance, honed to perfection during international fashion weeks, can rival a professional marathon runner’s. There is the dance part of her, but she was never a stunning performer, simply good enough to be able to highland strut down a runway. Capable of switching from cute to sexy in a moment, Gigi Deneuve is a fashion ideal.
It’s easy to see why Gigi is one of the top models in the world. She stands at 178 centimetres, has a 24 inch waist, wears killer heels like she was born in them, and her face is, frankly, exquisite. Her piercing blue eyes, shampoo-ad black hair, and her sophistication and poise have been recognized by the gurus of the haute couture elite. Gigi is actually considered “plump” in the fashion world, but among the common populace she’s bordering on anorexic slim.
Wearing runway clothes comes as a second nature to Gigi, but at home she isn’t averse to bumming around in sweatpants and her dad’s baggy t-shirts. When she wants to dress to impress, however, watch out: Jean-Paul Gautier and Marc Jacobs haven’t taught her nothing. Because of her pale skin, Gigi favours dark colours, but she knows she looks equally good in pastels. (White, on the other hand, is a hated concept.) She enjoys layering, stark contrast, and sharp lines; and while she does go for a more elegant, feminine look, she can rock jeans and Converse too.
If there’s one thing Gigi is not, it’s athletic. Like most models, her physical fitness comes from an inordinately fast metabolism. In fact, if she misses a meal, she fancies that her cheeks become that much more sunken. Terribly weak, she’ll be winning no arm wrestles, but her endurance, honed to perfection during international fashion weeks, can rival a professional marathon runner’s. There is the dance part of her, but she was never a stunning performer, simply good enough to be able to highland strut down a runway. Capable of switching from cute to sexy in a moment, Gigi Deneuve is a fashion ideal.
Best Feature: “The world says that my best features are my eyes, but personally I’ve always thought that they’re just—blue. Nothing more, nothing less, and that’s a bit boring, isn’t it? It’s a tad difficult deciding what part of my body is the best (it’s about the whole package, in my opinion) but I think I’ll have to go with my nose. Yes, shut up. It’s a nice nose, dainty, delicate, my mother’s.”
Worst Feature: “My mouth seems to annoy a lot of people. Yes, my mouth does close. It’s just that out of the thousands and thousands of photos taken, the editors seem to love the ones where my jaws are hanging open in orgasm mode. All models do that, though, so why pick on me? My lips are actually quite pretty—they’re wonderfully full and I use a lot of lipstick to set that off. People are so cruel—I’m sure they don’t look as good with their mouths dangling open. Oops, rambling. So, I guess my lips and mouth aren’t my worst features, but not everyone loves them.”[/size]
`Personality !
Natural: There is nothing fake about Gigi, which raises the stunning realization that, yes, there are people like her in the world. She can be flirtatious, sincere, cruel, kind, seductive, infuriating, and she changes from one mode to another without batting an eyelash—and without giving a damn. It is hard to pin down such a personality with a few words, so only by saying that everything she does is true can come close to capturing Gigi. There are some characteristics about her that never change, though: her work ethic when it comes to photo shoots is spectacular (not so much in class), she is genuinely geared for being as glamorous and stylish as possible, she is rather self-entitled (which means she only wants the best), and her loyalty towards her beloved dad and the family members she likes is boundless. Everything else is as ever-changing and as fluctuating as the vicissitudes of her life: Paris one day, Milan the next, an editorial for Harper’s Bazaar by day, diamond auction in the Louvre by night. With Gigi, what you see is what you get. She goes with the flow, and who knows where that will take her?
Nymphet: It’s a bit of a no-brainer that as a model, Gigi is intensely physical. Even as a child she was always touching, exploring, playing dress-up, messing with her hair. Adored at a level that hasn’t been seen since the days of princesses, her blossoming beauty coupled with her supreme confidence produced a paragon of feminine loveliness. Past puberty, Gigi knew that her body was almost a weapon that could be used to capture, and kill. She has never been attracted to men (in fact, she finds them vaguely repulsive), but the thrill of adulation is a welcome feeling from both genders—she just won’t kiss the boys, but leading them on is quite the exciting sport. To be a model and a virgin is impossible, but she doesn’t enjoy sex unless it’s with someone she really respects. She doesn’t think of herself as a lesbian, exactly, but the only person she’s ever romantically loved for more than two seconds is her step-sister. Now there’s a bit of a problem.
Narcissistic: Gigi knows she’s pretty; she doesn’t need you to tell her that, thank you very much. As a logical consequence of being the face of Balenciaga and Dior and Yves Saint Laurent, of having been photographed personally by Karl Lagerfeld, of inspiring a line from Vivienne Westwood, she is self-assured to the point of arrogance. The world is at her fingertips, and she’s not afraid to show it in her manner toward others. The perpetual self-celebration is more internal than external, but, still, if you look at her the wrong way, it’s a straight ticket to her hate list. If you’re good enough, you might be at a level that Gigi can tolerate, but be warned: She will never love anyone more than she loves herself.
Natural: There is nothing fake about Gigi, which raises the stunning realization that, yes, there are people like her in the world. She can be flirtatious, sincere, cruel, kind, seductive, infuriating, and she changes from one mode to another without batting an eyelash—and without giving a damn. It is hard to pin down such a personality with a few words, so only by saying that everything she does is true can come close to capturing Gigi. There are some characteristics about her that never change, though: her work ethic when it comes to photo shoots is spectacular (not so much in class), she is genuinely geared for being as glamorous and stylish as possible, she is rather self-entitled (which means she only wants the best), and her loyalty towards her beloved dad and the family members she likes is boundless. Everything else is as ever-changing and as fluctuating as the vicissitudes of her life: Paris one day, Milan the next, an editorial for Harper’s Bazaar by day, diamond auction in the Louvre by night. With Gigi, what you see is what you get. She goes with the flow, and who knows where that will take her?
Nymphet: It’s a bit of a no-brainer that as a model, Gigi is intensely physical. Even as a child she was always touching, exploring, playing dress-up, messing with her hair. Adored at a level that hasn’t been seen since the days of princesses, her blossoming beauty coupled with her supreme confidence produced a paragon of feminine loveliness. Past puberty, Gigi knew that her body was almost a weapon that could be used to capture, and kill. She has never been attracted to men (in fact, she finds them vaguely repulsive), but the thrill of adulation is a welcome feeling from both genders—she just won’t kiss the boys, but leading them on is quite the exciting sport. To be a model and a virgin is impossible, but she doesn’t enjoy sex unless it’s with someone she really respects. She doesn’t think of herself as a lesbian, exactly, but the only person she’s ever romantically loved for more than two seconds is her step-sister. Now there’s a bit of a problem.
Narcissistic: Gigi knows she’s pretty; she doesn’t need you to tell her that, thank you very much. As a logical consequence of being the face of Balenciaga and Dior and Yves Saint Laurent, of having been photographed personally by Karl Lagerfeld, of inspiring a line from Vivienne Westwood, she is self-assured to the point of arrogance. The world is at her fingertips, and she’s not afraid to show it in her manner toward others. The perpetual self-celebration is more internal than external, but, still, if you look at her the wrong way, it’s a straight ticket to her hate list. If you’re good enough, you might be at a level that Gigi can tolerate, but be warned: She will never love anyone more than she loves herself.
Likes:
People who adore her
Fruit
Fashion
Being photographed
Black coffee
Ballet studios
Porcelain dolls
Mirrors
French literature
Select English and American literature
Seeing her face on billboards
Being squeaky clean
Rabbits, and other cute animals
Dislikes:
People who dislike her
People who make decisions for her
Directors who nitpick at her
High-waisted pants
Academic environments
Layabouts
Cheats
Cheap-asses
Vegetables
Bright sun
Ugly people
Positive Traits:
Honest: Unassumingly straightforward, Gigi is honest to everyone. There is no purpose for deception in her (blessed child that she is) and if anyone asks for her advice, the answer would be an unfiltered opinion. There is no dichotomous battle constantly going on in her mind—if she doesn’t like someone, or if she realizes she’s made a mistake, then it’s instant recognition, and she immediately plans to deal with the consequences. There’s no waffling about with this girl. Her integrity isn’t from principle, but practicality.
Sincere: Everything Gigi does comes from her heart, whether it be a photo shoot or reading a book. Her boredom is sincere—when she’s absolutely about to drop from the tedious droning of a director, then she’ll show it. When she completely, utterly loves a line a designer has come out with, her giddiness is not faked. There is no façade anywhere in Gigi. Almost nothing is hidden from herself or others.
Observant: Although Gigi may seem like a bit of an airhead sometimes, her observational skills are quite sharp. She is a fast learner, not exactly academically intelligent, but if a photographer tells her to correct a pose, and demonstrates, she’ll master it immediately. She discovers new details every single time she works with another team, another designer. Her ability to observe, adapt, and improvise is of extreme value in a world of ever-changing ideals.
Diligent: When Gigi sets her heart on a task, she won’t rest until it’s completed. Intense without being enthusiastic, a quiet motivation and professionalism will prompt her to complete all there is to be done, as quickly and efficiently as possible. She isn’t the type of girl to be consumed, body and soul, in her work, but in her own way she is as emotionally engaged as her father in his films, and the fashion designers she knows in their creating.
Negative Traits:
Condescending: It’s not blindingly obvious that Gigi thinks she’s better than most people, but if you look carefully at the wrinkle of her nose during class, or the quirk of her eyebrows at a bad team member, the signs are there. She’s self-entitled, but not a snob. It takes too much effort to put someone down, but the quiet self-realization that she’s prettier, richer, and more talented means that if you’re in her way, move.
Selfish: Spoiled by a devoted single father, “sharing” is a concept foreign to Gigi. If an acquaintance desires a pair of shoes in her closet, that acquaintance is going to have to go out to buy them, because she doesn’t understand how anyone would be okay with lending their possessions out to others. On a less material level, she is uncomfortable with her father’s love for her mother. Her daddy should only belong to her.
Apathetic: Emotionally detached from almost everything but herself, Gigi finds it hard to care for natural disasters that wipe out thousands, or homeless beggars on the street. Their existences don’t coincide with hers, so why should she donate money that could be going into the next handbag or scarf? Only to her closest circle does she shed her apathetic demeanour to the rest of the world.
Demanding: Grown accustomed to whatever she wants being thrown at her feet, Gigi does not rest easy on the imperative commands. If a shop doesn’t carry an article she wants, well, they’ll have to acquire it, won’t they? If some incompetent, blustering fool bumps into her, they’re going to have to help her up before looking after their own smashed glasses, right? Whatever she wants, she usually gets, but she doesn’t understand the pain caused in the process.
Greatest Ambition: To get her step-sister in an inebriated enough state so Gigi can push her onto the bed and—okay, seriously. She lives an aimless life, and her ambitions are simple ones. To have work next season, to make sure her father is safe, to happily fall in love with someone who will love her back: that would all be nice, but perhaps not necessary.
Greatest Fear: Maybe it’s a bit irrational, but on certain nights of stress Gigi has the same recurring nightmare. She is walking through a dark, empty building, much like a designer studio, and suddenly a fire starts. She can’t run away, but she feels the fire growing closer and more heated. Suddenly flames are licking at her face, and she can’t beat them off, and the pain isn’t exactly physical—it’s a mental hurt at the knowledge that her face, her life, is ruined. The fire, as quickly as it started, stops, and there’s a mirror in front of her. She looks in the dream, and in real life Gigi usually wakes up screaming.[/size]
`History !
Genevieve “Gigi” Kate Deneuve has the distinction of being the one and only lovechild of François Sagan Deneuve, the Palme d’Or winning director of unapologetic tragedies, and Caroline Anna Brighton, the sexy older woman in almost all Hollywood films. Twenty years ago, an up-and-coming Caroline was in Paris, shooting a perfume advertisement, and she walked into a young university film student on set, spilling the coffees he was carrying. It was the start of a melodramatic romance: François was charming enough to convince the beautiful American to leave her trailer trash husband; their careers skyrocketed as their first successful film, directed by him, starring her, was released to overwhelming accolades; and they were delighted with their beautiful newborn daughter.
The fast life of the artsy and glamorous rarely creates long-lasting relationships of trust and caring. After the second François-Caroline film was a critical and commercial flop, the marriage disintegrated amid arguments. He wanted to stay in Europe, creating more films, and she wanted to move to California, where they could make a break from the snobby artistic community of Paris. It ended with a well-publicized divorce. François won custody, and has never remarried. (Gigi thinks her father’s obvious and continuing love for her mother is rather pathetic.) Caroline went to Los Angeles, made it big as a starlet and then simply a star, and has remarried three times. Gigi has lost track of the number of step-siblings she has, but she knows that Post-Daddy Husbands One, Two, and Three are the Suave Leading Man, the Israeli Business Tycoon, and the Handsome Young Actor, respectively. (She doesn’t count her mother’s first husband, who was, by all accounts, an abusive bastard with a beer belly.)
Without his beloved wife, François doted furiously on Genevieve, nicknamed “Gigi”—his slip of a girl was all he had left of Caroline. Thus, in their little but luxuriantly artistic apartment in Paris, Gigi grew up, knowing about cinematography, Maupassant, black coffee, ballet, and her own beauty even before she could add and subtract. The one requirement was that she speak English fluently (François was convinced that communication was imperative between mother and daughter; perhaps it was a weak ruse to get her back). Otherwise, Gigi had free reign among the arrondissements of the City of Lights. Self-assured of her own attractiveness, she has never really needed friends, although throughout her life people have gravitated towards her. She only needs a credit card and a mirror for happiness.
Attending girls-only private schools and being invited to all the hottest parties only amused her for so long. At age seventeen, while helping out on the set of her father’s latest movie, an agent asked her if she had ever considered modelling. No, Gigi hadn’t, but the moment she had thought about the suggestion she realized it was perfect for her. It would make use of her considerable aesthetic talents, give her something to work on, and allow her to travel extensively (something she’d always wanted to do, but had never scraped enough resolve to actually do). After meeting with fashion photographer Steven Meisel (a friend of her father’s) it was decided: Gigi Deneuve would model.
First stop after the momentous decision was Tel Aviv, where Caroline was happily ensconced with Husband Number Two, the Israeli Business Tycoon. Never too close to her flighty, sensational mother, Gigi had to sit through dinners where the newlyweds kissed over the table with food in their mouths. Her feelings were shared by her new step-sister, Bechira Hannah Prinsloo, who was smart, sassy, sexy, and instantly idolized. They kept up correspondence through postcards as Gigi started her career. With editorials in Vogue and Numéro, saturated runway timetables, and hours on the make-up chair, she still found time to sit down and write something to Bechira, who was travelling the world as a hands-on architect student. Her step-sister’s clever, witty observations and poignant, thoughtful stories were just steps for falling a little bit more in love every single time. It is too heartbreaking to think that it is an unrequited emotion, so Gigi focuses exclusively on her profession instead.
When Caroline married Husband Number Three she also sent in a university application for her daughter. Of course Gigi was accepted, but as she had no knowledge of the fact until her approval letter reached her in Singapore, it was with a slightly irritated and confused manner that she called her mother. Apparently Caroline had always admired Seattle Bay, and, in her words exactly, “It will give you a place to call home apart from your father’s, darling. You can’t exactly say that he’s been a wonderful parent; like, he’s always away—” (The break denotes where Gigi hung up.)
Unfortunately, a week after she threw the letter in the trash, François finally raised enough funds to jet off to the Amazon to direct a film. Not exactly easily accessible, Gigi was just going to continue living in the apartment during her breaks, but her worried father thought it would be best if she weren’t staying alone. “You should go to that school your mother wanted you to go to, pet,” he said, and although she hated the idea of living in such a fashion-backward city, and she knew he just wanted to please her mother, she did it because her daddy had asked.
Her attendance at Seattle Bay has been sporadic at best. As a classical literature student, it’s easy to read books on planes (although it’s a bit harder to write essays on them). In between fashion weeks, editorial shots, and long trips to Paris where she just drinks coffee and eats waffles, Gigi has come to grudgingly admit that the relaxed university and her interaction with it is quite calming. She hasn’t thus far stayed long enough to make any significant friends, but as she has asked her agents to book a less intense schedule this year—something along the lines of a much-needed break.
Genevieve “Gigi” Kate Deneuve has the distinction of being the one and only lovechild of François Sagan Deneuve, the Palme d’Or winning director of unapologetic tragedies, and Caroline Anna Brighton, the sexy older woman in almost all Hollywood films. Twenty years ago, an up-and-coming Caroline was in Paris, shooting a perfume advertisement, and she walked into a young university film student on set, spilling the coffees he was carrying. It was the start of a melodramatic romance: François was charming enough to convince the beautiful American to leave her trailer trash husband; their careers skyrocketed as their first successful film, directed by him, starring her, was released to overwhelming accolades; and they were delighted with their beautiful newborn daughter.
The fast life of the artsy and glamorous rarely creates long-lasting relationships of trust and caring. After the second François-Caroline film was a critical and commercial flop, the marriage disintegrated amid arguments. He wanted to stay in Europe, creating more films, and she wanted to move to California, where they could make a break from the snobby artistic community of Paris. It ended with a well-publicized divorce. François won custody, and has never remarried. (Gigi thinks her father’s obvious and continuing love for her mother is rather pathetic.) Caroline went to Los Angeles, made it big as a starlet and then simply a star, and has remarried three times. Gigi has lost track of the number of step-siblings she has, but she knows that Post-Daddy Husbands One, Two, and Three are the Suave Leading Man, the Israeli Business Tycoon, and the Handsome Young Actor, respectively. (She doesn’t count her mother’s first husband, who was, by all accounts, an abusive bastard with a beer belly.)
Without his beloved wife, François doted furiously on Genevieve, nicknamed “Gigi”—his slip of a girl was all he had left of Caroline. Thus, in their little but luxuriantly artistic apartment in Paris, Gigi grew up, knowing about cinematography, Maupassant, black coffee, ballet, and her own beauty even before she could add and subtract. The one requirement was that she speak English fluently (François was convinced that communication was imperative between mother and daughter; perhaps it was a weak ruse to get her back). Otherwise, Gigi had free reign among the arrondissements of the City of Lights. Self-assured of her own attractiveness, she has never really needed friends, although throughout her life people have gravitated towards her. She only needs a credit card and a mirror for happiness.
Attending girls-only private schools and being invited to all the hottest parties only amused her for so long. At age seventeen, while helping out on the set of her father’s latest movie, an agent asked her if she had ever considered modelling. No, Gigi hadn’t, but the moment she had thought about the suggestion she realized it was perfect for her. It would make use of her considerable aesthetic talents, give her something to work on, and allow her to travel extensively (something she’d always wanted to do, but had never scraped enough resolve to actually do). After meeting with fashion photographer Steven Meisel (a friend of her father’s) it was decided: Gigi Deneuve would model.
First stop after the momentous decision was Tel Aviv, where Caroline was happily ensconced with Husband Number Two, the Israeli Business Tycoon. Never too close to her flighty, sensational mother, Gigi had to sit through dinners where the newlyweds kissed over the table with food in their mouths. Her feelings were shared by her new step-sister, Bechira Hannah Prinsloo, who was smart, sassy, sexy, and instantly idolized. They kept up correspondence through postcards as Gigi started her career. With editorials in Vogue and Numéro, saturated runway timetables, and hours on the make-up chair, she still found time to sit down and write something to Bechira, who was travelling the world as a hands-on architect student. Her step-sister’s clever, witty observations and poignant, thoughtful stories were just steps for falling a little bit more in love every single time. It is too heartbreaking to think that it is an unrequited emotion, so Gigi focuses exclusively on her profession instead.
When Caroline married Husband Number Three she also sent in a university application for her daughter. Of course Gigi was accepted, but as she had no knowledge of the fact until her approval letter reached her in Singapore, it was with a slightly irritated and confused manner that she called her mother. Apparently Caroline had always admired Seattle Bay, and, in her words exactly, “It will give you a place to call home apart from your father’s, darling. You can’t exactly say that he’s been a wonderful parent; like, he’s always away—” (The break denotes where Gigi hung up.)
Unfortunately, a week after she threw the letter in the trash, François finally raised enough funds to jet off to the Amazon to direct a film. Not exactly easily accessible, Gigi was just going to continue living in the apartment during her breaks, but her worried father thought it would be best if she weren’t staying alone. “You should go to that school your mother wanted you to go to, pet,” he said, and although she hated the idea of living in such a fashion-backward city, and she knew he just wanted to please her mother, she did it because her daddy had asked.
Her attendance at Seattle Bay has been sporadic at best. As a classical literature student, it’s easy to read books on planes (although it’s a bit harder to write essays on them). In between fashion weeks, editorial shots, and long trips to Paris where she just drinks coffee and eats waffles, Gigi has come to grudgingly admit that the relaxed university and her interaction with it is quite calming. She hasn’t thus far stayed long enough to make any significant friends, but as she has asked her agents to book a less intense schedule this year—something along the lines of a much-needed break.
Best Memory: An entire day when she was seventeen in Tel Aviv spent in Bechira’s company is one of Gigi’s best memories. They rode around on the chef’s scooter, visiting the sites, laughing, eating the food of street carts, kicking around soccer balls with the kids. The weather was perfect, not too hot with just the right amount of breeze. It ended on the beach as the sun was setting: Gigi dipped her feet into the Mediterranean Sea and imagined that it was perfection.
Worst Memory: When Caroline decided to remarry after her divorce with François, Gigi remembers the tearful pleading of her father, and the equally theatrical but so much less sincere whining of her mother. After she left the apartment, François broke down, and as a five-year-old the impression of hurt and betrayal and wounded love was traumatizing. Sometimes she hardly remembers how the exact sequence of events goes, but for Gigi it was a blemish of pain in her otherwise flawless life.
[/size]
`Writing Skill !
“Be careful, Dad.”
The remonstration was hardly needed. François Deneuve was a middle-aged man, perfectly able to take care of himself. Nevertheless, Gigi said it, twirling a lock of her hair as the crackle and pop of the lousy connection transmitted her message from her Seattle cell to his Amazon land line. The thought of such an existence, without modern amenities, without properly cooked food, without plush beds, almost made the model frown, but the thought of wrinkles reduced it to the slightest downturn of the corners of her lips. What she would do without her daily cup of black coffee, she had no earthly idea.
The message finally got through, and finally enough time had lapsed so she could hear her father’s loving reply: “You too, pet.” The warmth in his tone reignited Gigi’s hope that he wasn’t getting bitten by too many life-threatening insects, or being speared by tall Amazonian warriors with war paint made from tree roots splashed on their faces. “Au revoir,” she said back, and hung up slowly. Her father would have gotten the message, and besides, he was probably in the middle of an important scene. His voice had the distracted quality she could, from long years of experience, associate with inspiration. She hoped that the movie was going well. Apparently it was hell filming in a wild jungle, but she could have told anyone that before setting foot in the godforsaken place.
Belatedly, Gigi wondered what time it was there in Brazil. Oops. Perhaps the slur in her dearest daddy’s tone wasn’t because of artistic muse, but maybe interrupted somnolence. For a moment, she toyed with looking up the time in the Amazon on her iPhone, but it was a useless exercise. Her father wouldn’t mind being woken up if it was to hear his little girl’s voice. The fact brought a smile to her face, and wrapping her scarf snugger about her neck, she walked a little further from the café she had decided to try out, dumping the coffee she’d just bought into the trash can two doors down. She missed Parisian cuisine. Seattle, for all its claims of beverage superiority, had nothing on her favourite spot near la Seine.
Did she have a class today? Her phone told her it was Thursday, and if she remembered correctly there was an upcoming seminar on Fitzgerald. It was silly of her professors to expect her to retain information for so long, though. How was she supposed to discuss character traits if she had read the books two editorials and a fitting ago?
Nevertheless, like a dutiful student, Gigi walked towards the campus, looking around to admire how hideous Seattle was. The Space Needle drifted above all, illuminating the perpetually cloudy sky. The buildings to the left and right were equally revolting. It was a city of gray wonders and magical sewers.
Seattle Bay wasn’t a disgusting place, in comparison. It was still gross by merit of its purpose (American post-secondary education, yuck) but it was okay when held up to the rest of the city. Stepping across campus, she remembered that her agent would probably know if she had the seminar today. Manoeuvring her phone out of her bag without breaking stride, Gigi was pleasantly surprised when it chimed in her hand, indicating a new text message. “Seminar today, 9 AM, remember!” it said. She would buy her agent’s little boy a toy car or something for the next time they met; too bad she was already late for her class.
When she finally knocked on the door of the lecture hall, with a small smile of bored apology on her face, the professor waved her in through the little window. “Your agent e-mailed me,” the man said, “so you can just sit back and listen this class.”
An entire toy car track seemed in order now. Gigi slid into a seat at the back of the classroom, pulled out her books, and started to reread.
[/size][/center]“Be careful, Dad.”
The remonstration was hardly needed. François Deneuve was a middle-aged man, perfectly able to take care of himself. Nevertheless, Gigi said it, twirling a lock of her hair as the crackle and pop of the lousy connection transmitted her message from her Seattle cell to his Amazon land line. The thought of such an existence, without modern amenities, without properly cooked food, without plush beds, almost made the model frown, but the thought of wrinkles reduced it to the slightest downturn of the corners of her lips. What she would do without her daily cup of black coffee, she had no earthly idea.
The message finally got through, and finally enough time had lapsed so she could hear her father’s loving reply: “You too, pet.” The warmth in his tone reignited Gigi’s hope that he wasn’t getting bitten by too many life-threatening insects, or being speared by tall Amazonian warriors with war paint made from tree roots splashed on their faces. “Au revoir,” she said back, and hung up slowly. Her father would have gotten the message, and besides, he was probably in the middle of an important scene. His voice had the distracted quality she could, from long years of experience, associate with inspiration. She hoped that the movie was going well. Apparently it was hell filming in a wild jungle, but she could have told anyone that before setting foot in the godforsaken place.
Belatedly, Gigi wondered what time it was there in Brazil. Oops. Perhaps the slur in her dearest daddy’s tone wasn’t because of artistic muse, but maybe interrupted somnolence. For a moment, she toyed with looking up the time in the Amazon on her iPhone, but it was a useless exercise. Her father wouldn’t mind being woken up if it was to hear his little girl’s voice. The fact brought a smile to her face, and wrapping her scarf snugger about her neck, she walked a little further from the café she had decided to try out, dumping the coffee she’d just bought into the trash can two doors down. She missed Parisian cuisine. Seattle, for all its claims of beverage superiority, had nothing on her favourite spot near la Seine.
Did she have a class today? Her phone told her it was Thursday, and if she remembered correctly there was an upcoming seminar on Fitzgerald. It was silly of her professors to expect her to retain information for so long, though. How was she supposed to discuss character traits if she had read the books two editorials and a fitting ago?
Nevertheless, like a dutiful student, Gigi walked towards the campus, looking around to admire how hideous Seattle was. The Space Needle drifted above all, illuminating the perpetually cloudy sky. The buildings to the left and right were equally revolting. It was a city of gray wonders and magical sewers.
Seattle Bay wasn’t a disgusting place, in comparison. It was still gross by merit of its purpose (American post-secondary education, yuck) but it was okay when held up to the rest of the city. Stepping across campus, she remembered that her agent would probably know if she had the seminar today. Manoeuvring her phone out of her bag without breaking stride, Gigi was pleasantly surprised when it chimed in her hand, indicating a new text message. “Seminar today, 9 AM, remember!” it said. She would buy her agent’s little boy a toy car or something for the next time they met; too bad she was already late for her class.
When she finally knocked on the door of the lecture hall, with a small smile of bored apology on her face, the professor waved her in through the little window. “Your agent e-mailed me,” the man said, “so you can just sit back and listen this class.”
An entire toy car track seemed in order now. Gigi slid into a seat at the back of the classroom, pulled out her books, and started to reread.
`Behind The Character !
Name: Lidell
Age: Almost eighteen
Role-playing experience: One year of forum roleplay so far, two to three years before that doing pet site RP (yashudduplol)
How you found us: RPG-D
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