The Unglamorous Welcome
| C | date: September 1st, 2025 location: Great Hall |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: Open for interactions |
C |
| CV | More than nine hours after the train had departed from King’s Cross station, Camille was tired, deeply inconvenienced and starving. Included in the ”first class service” he’d expected on the ride, was a hot meal.. or three. He’d eaten a light breakfast that morning and planned on saving himself for his travels, assuming he’d been served something edible. Alas, the only service offered on this criminally long ride, was the candy trolley, and since they sold those vile beans Juliette had informed him about, Camille hadn’t trusted any of it. Whoever thought candy was a viable option for food in the first place needed to seriously reconsider themselves. And their diet. To maintain perfect shape for dancing, and to be camera-ready at any given time, the boy rarely ate candy even on the weekends. Everyone knew that stage lights and cameras added at least five kilos. To make matters worse, when Camille stepped out of the train, behind sore, the Grand welcoming was nowhere to be seen. He walked out to literal crickets. No fireworks, no light show, not even a welcome party with a big sign bearing his name. Just another worn-down platform and a dozen half-rotten jolly’s waiting to ferry them across the lake towards the castle and the sorting feast. ”There must at least be a carriage?” He muttered in disbelief, mostly to himself. At this point, this day couldn’t get any worse, unless a piano fell through the sky and crushed him on the way to the sorting. ”What’s the matter, Cami? I’m sure there will be portraits and a party for you when we get to the castle,” an evil grating voice said behind him, barely containing laughter. He whipped around to face Juliette and her new friends, looking to damn smug for their own good. Laughing, they hurried past him. Camille glowered after them. Between having to listen to his cousin and her loser friends neverending teasing, he’d rather take the piano. Turning back and hopping on the next train to London for another day of nothing but vomit beans was no option; the promise of perhaps a warm, edible meal carried him reluctantly toward the boat. The boy had never been stiffer than when he sat in the dusty wood boat, the ominous dark lake looming below like a threat. Normally he didn’t mind swimming, but the waters he was used to was the turquoise haven of Côte d’Azur, not this pool of sea creatures. Camille didn’t even want to imagine what monsters lurked down there. Not a single bone in his body could relate to the girls in his boat that willingly leaned over the edge, cooing about potentially seeing a giant Squid and scaly fish people. He gave them a skeptical side-eye before slowly turning away in astonishment before they could catch him looking and misinterpret his attention for interest, hoping to avoid those people intirely. He swore, it better not break down while he was in this boat. With everything else that had gone wrong today, that would be his rotten luck. Reaching the docks with everything unharmed except his sanity, the other students jumped out, meanwhile Camille lingered behind in hopes of someone to help him out of the boat. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally fall into the lake and soak his new robes. No one came to his immediate aid. ”Juliette!” He called, whistling sharply for his cousin. ”Get over here!” Almost immediately, Juliette appeared beside him, a teasing grin plastered across her face. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of water now,” she said, reaching for his arm. Camille allowed her brief assistance, stepping carefully onto the dock. Once his feet were firmly on solid ground, he shoved her away and wiped invisible dust from his brand-new, custom robes. Without so much as a thank you or a second glance, he marched up the hill toward the castle, with at least his dignity left intact. The first years swarmed outside of the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted, among them was Camille. Still no welcome worthy his presence. There were a hundred portraits on the large walls surrounding them, though none with his face on it. His lip curled in subtle distain. His only last hope was that he did not get sorted into the same house as Juliette, and that the food was worth the wait. |
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Last edited by Camille De Varenne on 24 Apr 2026, 07:28, edited 2 times in total.
Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
The Unglamorous Welcome
| ────── | @Camille De Varenne 1 September 2025 ────────────────────────────────── #2E8B57 ──────────────────────────────────────────────────── Sophie shivered. How long had she dreamt of these halls? Those silent suits of armour, paragons of gallantry, standing guard beside the entrance? The thick stone of the towering walls? On an impulse, she reaches out to place a palm on the smooth surface of the building, and can feel the remnants of dust it has left there. It is… strange. Everything seems so old, so powerful, as if the eyes of a thousand dead students are watching her as she makes her way up to those great mahogany doors, beautifully decorated in carvings too intricate for Sophie to make out. Her house, in Richmond, although grand in its own right, has the feel of being lived in. Poorly aimed throws have left cracks in the brick, and the dogs’ untrimmed nails have left deep marks in the panelled floors. It seems impossible that Hogwarts has changed in the slightest in the hundreds of years of its existence. Sophie poises herself at the thought of her home, preparing for a surge of homesickness, but none appears. She smiles instead, proud of her own stoicism. No good ever came from reminiscence. But as she revels in her own greatness, she steps onto the hem of her too-long robes, and trips, lunging forward. She is able to stop the fall before she hits the floor, but the sound of her shoes against the stone floors creates a reasonably loud thud. Sophie brushes her robes furiously, cursing Connie (who demanded Sophie get robes one size too big so that she may grow into them) and cursing stones that tripped her in the first place. She turns her gaze to the students around her, daring them to say something. Fortunately, her fall isn’t as loud as she fears, only those immediately around her heard, and the First Years that did hear return quickly to their muttered conversations. Nonetheless, she is sure she can hear the sound of a quiet laugh somewhere in the crowd. She scans the crowd hungrily for someone to talk to, to perhaps restore some pride. Her eyes land on a boy gracing a disdainful expression as he glances at the portraits above them. His robes are crisp and clean, so perfectly cut to his body that Sophie doubts he’d ever trip over the hem. He is not in the right direction of the laugh, and seems too preoccupied in his own thoughts to have noticed Sophie, yet the boy catches her attention. Wavy hair sits upon warm skin and well-cut features. He leeches perfection as a sun leeches light, forming a halo around him, as if to say, this student is not like the others. He is special. Yet Sophie can just glimpse tiredness in his eyes— or is it just a trick in the candlelight? Sophie does not need to gather her courage. She takes a step toward the boy, frowning and unconcerned. “Well,” she asks the boy, “What’s your problem?” ──────────────────────────────────────────────────── |
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The Unglamorous Welcome
| C | date: September 1st, 2025 location: Great Hall |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Sophia Brown |
C |
| CV | None of the endless chatter, laughter or childish tussling around the hall– prefectly expected of a group of immature eleven years olds– reached him, too deep into his own unimpressed thoughts to pick up any of the leftover excitement. All the other students felt all the excitement needed; he could afford to not be excited at all. Not that anyone could tell him otherwise – if they even cared. At this point, he was certain that no one knew of him, which he hadn’t yet determined would make this whole experience better or worse. Better, in terms of no one knowing the full extent of how low he’d sunk to agree to this kind of low-life. Merlin forbid the press found out about his lackluster treatment and decided to humiliate him in the Daily Prophet. The headline floated in front of his mind eye in bold letters: Camille De Varenne’s Fall From Grace. Camille visibly shuddered at the thought, imagining some unhinged witch for journalist hiding behind a statue, waiting for the right moment to jump out and snap some unflattering photos of him. Only to plaster them across every news channel avaliable. Realistically, that wouldn’t happen. The worst thing was that it meant he was practically irrelevant. If there was one thing Camille De Varenne wasn’t, it was irrelevant. Shaking his head slightly, he reminded himself that no matter what these people did or did not know– clearly not much of importance– there was no way in hell that he would ever lose his crown. “Well, what’s your problem?” The sudden higher-pitched, squeaky voice of a girl dragged his mind off his misery, and eyes off of the ugly portraits above them. In hindsight, perhaps she was doing him a favor. Turning slightly to his left, his flummoxed gaze landed on the culprit, briefly giving her a scrutinizing once-over. A plain and average looking girl, wearing too long robes, was staring back at him with a frown. Not the kind of frown that spoke of concern, but more so the judgemental kind. As if she was here to lecture Camille about dragging everyone else down with his shitty mood on a big day like this. If that was her business, he couldn't find an ounce of fucks to give. He wouldn’t assumed anything else by just looking at her, still didn’t, except that she apparently was nosy and had a keen eye. The question didn’t bewilder him as much as the fact that someone had paid enough attention to notice. Camille hadn’t exactly been hiding his disdain all day, but up until this moment, no one had cared to point it out unless it was to tease him about it. Nosiness was not usually a trait he rewarded in people. This instance however, Camille was fed up enough that he didn’t see why it mattered. There was nothing she could do about any of the information he would give her, and perhaps that's what made it so refreshing, to just... let it all out, so to speak. “What’s wrong? Don’t even get me started,” he scoffed incredulously. Wasn’t it obvious by just looking at him, oddly misplaced. “Everything.” The word came out acidic, and only just the beginning of his rant. Camille lowered his voice, leaning in slightly just for her ears. “First of all, the train was a disgrace. I expected velvet seats, something sparkling, a private compartment! And what did I get? A rattling tin box crammed with children with muddy shoes, and everything served was vomit candies. How is anyone supposed to survive nine hours without a proper meal?" His eyes were wide, unbelievable. "Obviously, I didn't eat any of it, so now I'm starving. But even if I had, I'm sure any courtyard café in Paris would have served better food.” Hell, even that shoe box in Diagon Alley had better catering than this place had offered this far. Straightening and gaining some of his composure back, he nodded towards the large doors, waiting to be opened. " Now you know exactly what's wrong. At least I'm hoping this sorting feast won't be such a disappointment." |
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Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
The Unglamorous Welcome
| ────── | @Camille De Varenne 1 September 2025 ────────────────────────────────── #2E8B57 ──────────────────────────────────────────────────── The boy’s sharp reply surprised Sophie. Not that she is absolved of fault— it is not quite a pleasantry to poke at a stranger’s feelings, particularly if that stranger is a classmate and it is the first day of school. Yet, Sophie had been so entangled in her own hurt she had not realised the imprudence of her question. His reply acted like the sharp bang of cymbals or the acrid smell of smoke, awakening her from the thoughts that clouded her mind. Her feelings abated, curiosity replaced her initial surprise, and as the boy lent in, Sophie turned so that her ear met his face; all to ear the better, of course. But, as the boy expanded on his definition of wrong (including, but not limited to, there not being velvet seats, and a lack of private apartments), Sophie felt a smile creep upon her lips. For a moment, she thought he must be joking, but the injury in his tone is unmistakable. He truly and honestly is incredibly disappointed about his journey to Hogwarts. He truly and honestly believed there would be more than sweets to eat on the train, and that his classmates were nothing but children with muddy shoes. Sophie couldn’t dare consider to have come from the same wealth as this boy. From their brief acquaintance, he seems ignorant to the presence of life’s slightest hardships, and to exist in a place entirely separate from all those that surround him, a beautiful sculpture stranded on a desert island. But Sophie knows wealth, and she knows comfort. Not many years ago, her guardians had hosted lavish parties and dressed only in the most beautiful of gowns. She had often been able to find coins thrown from the upper windows down into the flower beds below, disposable and worthless. Those days may have disappeared years ago, but Sophie can still recall those feelings of eminence. Yet still, she cannot sympathise. It is one thing to live in affluence, and another to expect affluence everywhere you go. Deep in Sophie uncurled a terrible scorn and nastiness ready to mock, but her morals take the upper hand. She has already poked at the boy’s feelings once, and it feels unnecessarily cruel to do it once again, considering she is yet to make a friend at Hogwarts. It would be a horrible thing to be hated by every one of her classmates. She bites her tongue and instead adopts a more empathetic tone. “I’m not so sure about vomit candies and rattling tin boxes,” Sophie said, in a tone more amiable than previous. “But I’ve been told that the feast on the first day is good, you won’t leave hungry, I’m sure. There’s all sorts of foods, pies and soups and everything else. I’ll be looking forward to dessert, though. They’ll have chocolates and puddings and icecreams.” Sophie frowned, and peered closely at the boy, at his hazel eyes and brown hair, in close examination. “Are you really so… so sad to be at Hogwarts?” It’s meant to be a magical place, after all. Did he truly see none of it? ──────────────────────────────────────────────────── |
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The Unglamorous Welcome
| C | date: September 1st, 2025 location: Great Hall |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Sophia Brown |
C |
| CV | Camille listened to the girl counting all the different kinds of foods that would be offered with half-disinterest. While it would definitely be an upgrade from the train, there was no promise of quality until he’d tried it for himself. Good for this girl that someone was looking forward to the evening feast, at least the desserts. He simply nodded, not feeling particularly hopeful that the promised soups and pies would live up to his standards. His experience of English foods was not positive. Better than candy for food, one may hope. Mostly, Camille was counting the hours until he could retreat back to his bedchamber and hopefully forget the less-than-pristine first day, after a decent night's rest. Upon her query, Camille glanced at her, rolling his eyes at the words she chose to describe his mood. “Please, I’m not sad.” The boy couldn’t remember the last time he cried. Few things were worth being sad about when you lived the fabulous, luxurious life of Camille De Varenne. His father would have slapped him for acting so ungrateful for the life he’d been given. He shook his head, gathering the appropriate words. “Just deeply inconvenienced and disappointed with the welcoming this far. That’s all.” No one had warned him about what was to come, making him, with his very different living standards from what he’d seen this far, a fish out of water than just merely a spoiled brat. There was still plenty of time for him to be a brat later. For now, he could be given the benefit of the doubt. Of course, someone who was familiar with the type of person he was, would know that Camille’s brattiness and entitlement did not end by failed disclosed expectations. It was very much a core part of his personality, and would not change overnight. Not feeling positive, but willing to at least pretend for the sake of his company, he sighed. “I’m sure that I’ll end up being… positively surprised, at some point.” Whenever that would turn out to be. “I’ll even try one dessert, and if it’s disgusting, I’ll blame it on you for giving me high expectations. Miss…?” Camille teased lightly, while inviting her to give him her name. |
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Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
The Unglamorous Welcome
| ────── | @Camille De Varenne 1 September 2025 ────────────────────────────────── #2E8B57 ──────────────────────────────────────────────────── Sophie smiled sheepishly as the boy rolled his eyes. She had grappled blindly for the right way to say it, a hand grasping in the darkness. Perhaps it had been the wrong word — Sophie would be the first to admit she lacked any admissible skill of observation. Still, she could not help but admire this boy and his derisive reply. She admired the way he held himself proud, sure of his own dignity and deserving. She admired the way he did not fear to dismiss her careless speech, unafraid to say the truth. “I’m sure that I’ll end up being… positively surprised, at some point.” Sophie caught it — not sarcasm, not scorn, but… a falsehood. His sigh was too heavy, his eyes were too downcast. Nonetheless, he kept his head commendably high as he committed himself to one dessert. I could never, Sophie admitted. Her temper had always been quick, and her stubbornness unyielding. Never could anyone persuade her to change her ways, and even if they ever did, she stuck to it all the same, for she could think of nothing more dreadful than being forced into defeat. His lies bled doubt into her thoughts. She did not know how to act. Her pity for his despair had transformed into admiration for his steadfastness. She first understood the boy as strange, distinguished and elegant, bothered by unexplainable troubles, someone to be dismissed. But as the boy softened, Sophie could not tell if she particularly liked the boy, and if he particularly liked her. She could not be sure if the boy’s pleasantries came from trained but disingenuous courtesy or true amiability. “My name is Sophie Brown,” she told him, her tone cautious, as if stepping on stones beneath a river stream, unsure if they are smooth or sharp. “I’m— sorry if I was rude before.” She swallowed. It was hard to admit wrongdoings, but she knew deep in her heart it was the right thing to do. “And, your name?” ──────────────────────────────────────────────────── |
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The Unglamorous Welcome
| C | date: September 1st, 2025 location: Great Hall |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Sophia Brown |
C |
| CV | Sophia Brown. A simple, unremarkable name for an unremarkable girl, at least that’s what Camille told himself when he considered her. It didn’t mean anything to him, no assumptions attached except a vague image of ordinariness that seemed almost designed to lull him into disinterest. Perhaps her parents were the type to wake up, go to work nine to five, come home, cook dinner, nod politely at each other, and repeat it all until retirement—maybe even with a little holiday travel thrown in, if fortune favored them. Perhaps it was a loving home, but it always sounded boring to him. Usually when Camille reflected on people and their worth to him, it was based on family name, prestige and achievements or beauty, sometimes all of them combined. Yet, something about her ordinary presence, challenging him to some degree, was a nice distraction among the chaos. Distracted enough to continue to engage with her despite himself, nothing he would care to analyze further. At least until the doors opened and they’d go their separate ways. When Sophia apologized for her rudeness, Camille blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Perhaps she had been rude, though he couldn’t remember noticing at the time— his mind had been too busy spinning through his disarray of thoughts to bother with her tone. He had decided, in passing, that she was nosy and a bit judgmental, though neither label carried it’s usual weight, coming from someone without any social status to mention. Nothing she could have said or done to him in this hall, not without a series of unfortunate events beforehand, could have offended him. And yet here she was, speaking to him as if it mattered. "No offense taken." He reassured her. Having to inform someone of who he was, the importance his name carried in arts and culture across Europe, was a foreign concept to Camille, before he’d arrived to this school and had his self-important world turned upside down. Hence why it was with a bit of reluctance he introduced himself, like some random stranger without cause. He loved talking about himself, of course, but not when he was stripped of his value and importance. “Camille De Varenne,” he answered with an air of practiced importance. “I reckon you’ve never heard of me before.” If this school couldn’t convey his worth, he’d have to advocate for himself. The suggestion that he was someone more than just the average student, the type who could pass through these halls without a second thought, was woven into his French-laced voice. A name that usually gathered more of a reaction, though for once, he didn’t expect any revolutionary outburst. Behind the scenes, the chatter stopped momentarily as the large mahagony doors pushed open, allowing the first years entrance to the great hall. Camille turned his attention to the moving group of students, beckoning Sophia to follow the masses inside. “Well, Sophia, chances are, we’ll be scattered to different corners of the school tonight.” Most likely they’d be sorted into different houses, then it would be up to shared classes to determine if they would meet again. Camille didn’t really mind either way, even if the conversations had been… pleasant enough. “From what I’ve gathered, I’m expecting to be sorted into Ravenclaw. I hope you’ll enjoy your desserts, wherever they place you.” |
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Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
The Unglamorous Welcome
| ────── | @Camille De Varenne 1 September 2025 ────────────────────────────────── #2E8B57 ──────────────────────────────────────────────────── De Varenne. Sophie recognised that name. She had attended too many of her guardian’s soirées, listening as they discussed the comings and goings of all reputable families in pure-blood society, not to know it. A blurry face came to mind—a man with dark curls neatly styled—or was she only imagining an older Camille? It had been so long since Sophie’s family had walked among the pure-blood elite. The memories of old bosom friends had long turned to dust, relics of another time. But De Varenne—yes. Everyone, pure-blood or not, knew that name. That was no surprise. Everything about the boy—his manner of speaking, the intricacy of his features—screamed royalty. Sophie gritted her teeth stubbornly. This Camille would not succeed in making her feel lesser than him. He’s a fool, she told herself, a fool, a fool, a fool. Sophie was not a fool—the De Varenne’s were perhaps the most distinguished family in all of Europe. To have a De Varenne as a friend—now that would be something. And yet… “It’s Sophie, not Sophia, if that’s any consequence to you. Nobody calls me Sophia; and it may seem a small difference, but I’m sure you shouldn’t like to be called Camilla.” Her tone grew firm—perhaps even unabashedly impolite—and courtesy slipped from her voice. “I'll see you around, Camille De Varenne.” She spun on her heel, ignoring Camille’s beckoning hand, and plunged into the shifting crowd of First Years, eager to lose herself among the bodies and leave behind that strange boy with his strange name and strange curls. She pressed forward, squeezing between shoulders and elbows, until she emerged on the far side of the Entrance Hall. Only then did she allow herself a smile. Had she been stupidly rude, stupidly impolite? Perhaps. She might even have to duck and avoid him if they ever crossed paths again—God forbid they shared a class. But for the moment, all she felt was pride. Stupid, stuck-up pride. Sophie leaves the thread. ──────────────────────────────────────────────────── |
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The Unglamorous Welcome
| C | date: September 1st, 2025 location: Great Hall |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Sophia Brown |
C |
| CV | Inconsiderate was a word that you could, in most situations, confidently use to describe the youngest De Varenne son, though this time when he was accused of it, it had been an accident. Camille didn’t even register that he’d gotten her name wrong: Sophie and not Sophia. Sometimes, when he was in a foul mood and the company was an insult to his very being, he butcher people’s names simply out of spite, but this time could not be considered one of those instances. After having a rather pleasant conversation, enough that he willingly beckoned for her to come along, and wished her a further good evening, there was no reason why Camille willingly would choose to offend her at this time. Rather, the information came as a shock, when Sophie angrily corrected his mistake. Of course he didn't want to be called Camilla. There was a huge difference between his little, one-letter mistake, and to be completely misgendered. Camilla was a girl's name. Baffled, Camille stared after her when she stormed off, though made no effort to stop her or run after. Why would he? He honestly couldn’t tell if she was right or had deliberately told him that he was wrong, just to have a reason to be mad at him and storm off, even after the fact. He was certain he’d heard Sophia. Apparently not, he thought with a shrug. It didn’t have much consequences, except that he just made an involuntary enemy. If that would be an inconvenience later was left to be discovered, but for now, he just thought Sophie had severely overreacted. If she hadn’t ran off in a dramatic display, Camille would have told her it was a genuine mistake. Perhaps even apologized, which was not words that he generously offered to just anyone. Granted, Camille didn’t think he was in the wrong, he hadn’t acted very smooth this time, sure, but he’d just always been terrible at names. Especially names of people that were insignificant to him. If they did see each other around, Camille made a mental note to let her know then. That was a big maybe, if he still cared enough by then, otherwise, he’d just call her for what she was: a drama queen. However, the most likely scenario was that he'd simply proceed to ignore her. With one last shake of his head, he abandoned the girl– Sophia, Sophie– or whatever her name truly was, from his mind, moving towards the great hall alone. Thread finished. |
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Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny