finished adventures in babysitting pv camille de verenne

21 Dec 2025, 15:00

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—date. [ 12/20/25 ]——————word count. [ 365 ]——————@Camille De Varenne—

Romélie stepped down onto the sunlit street as the doors of the carriage, provided by the De Verenne's, sealed shut behind her. Antibes felt like a whole different world compared to the cold, gloomy mountains of Geneva—vibrant, hot and painfully bright. So bright, even in the middle of December, it caused Romélie to stumble back a step before pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes. "Holy shit," she muttered to herself as she shielded her face with one hand and began searching for her tube of sunscreen through her baguette bag with the other.

After smearing some of the sunscreen across her face and neck, she finally took notice of the little gremlin she arrived with.

"Oi, would you lik—" she stopped herself mid sentence, noticing his pale complexion. "Actually nevermind, maybe this will be the perfect opportunity for you to get some tanning done, white boy." She threw him a smirk before playfully smacking him on the shoulder.

Camille De Verenne was an unlikely source of entertainment for Romélie. The younger boy was still quite unfamiliar to her; their encounters have always been of incidental nature—long afternoons spent rubbing snow in each other's faces at Château Catamont or, being shooed into quiet corners at De Verenne estate with stern reminders to behave while their papas discuss business behind closed doors. As children, they were left to entertain one another while their financial negotiations dragged on, much like now.

Romélie remembered Camille as a bratty child, with a sharp tongue and even sharper eyes, the sort who she could easily get a rise out of. She smirked as her thoughts flooded with the images of Camille's trembling upper lip and clenched fists. He had been smaller then, all elbows and stubbornness. Years had passed since then, and whatever fragile familiarity they once shared had thinned into something undefined.

"Well," she said at last, squinting down at the gremlin behind her sunglasses. "Try to keep up, pancake"

She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and started sauntering down the street, without waiting for an answer, expecting he'd fall into step beside her, just like he used to when they were kids with nowhere to be.

——— [ notes ] leans on porsche hey princess

( codes by uly. )—

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Last edited by Romélie de Brissac on 25 Mar 2026, 20:38, edited 1 time in total.

28 Dec 2025, 21:22

date: 20/12/2025
location: Elsewhere, Cap d'Antibes

abilities: lovely creature
dialogue: #0a2a28
mentioned: @Romélie de Brissac

The family’s Swiss bankers had arrived that morning— de Brissac’s— to deliver a goblin artifact for the upcoming Hestridge charity gala the following week. Except for catching snippets of conversation here and there, Camille had been largely uninterested in the purpose of the visit, nor was he wanted among the businessmen, had he tried. To ensure that he did not get in the way, Alain De Varenne suggested that Camille show the banker's daughter around the coastal town of Cap d’Antibes, a clever demand for a babysitter wrapped in the disguise of hospitality. Romélie was three years older than him, but her lack of interest in academics and intellectual pursuits made the age gap feel negligible. Camille could easily keep up with her teasing quips, something he’d had to learn early, dealing with another annoying family friend of theirs. It was inevitable, since they’d been forced to entertain each other at various business meetings. With the house crowded by adults, there was nothing he’d prefer doing than spending time with an age appropriate girl anyway. Even if said girl had her fair share of… quirks.

A carriage transported the two children to the town center, which, despite its modest size, boasted a surprising number of cafés, though most remained closed during the low season. With the water near-freezing temperatures, swimming was also not an option, though with the girl’s vigilance against the sun, winter bathing might be more her forte, a torture Camille would never subject himself to. As soon as they stepped out onto the brick street, Camille threw the girl a questioning look from the corner of his eye when she produced a bottle of sunscreen from her bag and began smearing it across her face. For someone supposedly more acclimatized to warmer weather, given her naturally deeper complexion, he found her behavior strangely amusing. The vain French boy was not a stranger to SPF; at this time of the year, however, his moisturizer provided sufficient sun-protection for a simple stroll outside. No one was ever too tan to start taking skincare seriously, he supposed, and could somewhat understand her obsession with the sun. Aging was truly the curse of a lifetime, he couldn’t agree more.

Glancing back and catching him staring, Romélie started to speak but changed her mind, delivering instead a teasing remark about his pale skin, which was only pale in comparison, and lightly slapped his shoulder. Perhaps aging wasn’t her main concern, then, Camille thought with a grimace. Being called ‘white boy’ didn’t resonate with him, although his winter complexion was far from the bronzed tone he could achieve in the summer. His mother was half Turkish—or so he assumed from hearing his grandmother speak a foreign language, something he’d never asked about and would have been embarrassed to admit.

“I don’t need to tan. I’m technically not whi-” Camille began in mild offense. Before he could finish, she had already moved on. "Well, try to keep up, pancake," she said and then sauntered down the street without waiting for a response, leaving him to glower at her head of voluminous curls for a few seconds. Camille then sighed. With nowhere else to go and no better places to be, Camille lengthened his stride to catch up. Some part of him was curious to see where she’d end up if he just let her walk her own way, but the backlash from his father was not something he’d wished to endure.

Reaching her side, he tossed an offhanded comment. “What’s with all the excessive sunscreen?” Then, remembering himself, he smirked knowingly. “Right. I almost forgot.” With the muggles around them, he knew better than to use the word vampire in public—even if it could be blamed on a child’s vivid imagination or play pretense. It was clear he was referring to her “condition.”

“So, exactly how does it work? Do you turn to ashes without protection? Are you even safe in public?” Camille was obviously not worried—they’d known each other for years—but this was his chance to tease her back. “I’m not sure any cafés cater to your particular tastes,” he added, the smirk practically audible in his voice.

Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny

4 Feb 2026, 19:11

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—date. [ 12/20/25 ]——————word count. [ 344 ]——————@Camille De Varenne—

Camille De Verenne has developed into a weird creature, Romélie concluded. Said creature is purposeful in its step, yet aggressively aware of its surroundings and its mouth always seems to be loaded with something to say. He very much reminded her of a gloating peacock–strutting, peening and probably forever on the hunt to kill something prettier than himself. Romélie had no fucking idea how was she still alive.

Has he always been like this? As much as Romélie tried to rack through her brain for a spark of recognition, she couldn't find it. Camille has engraved himself in her memory as a crybaby it seemed. A fussy one at that too. Then again, it's been years since they last saw each other. And she's surely changed as well, hasn't she? As if on cue, she found herself admiring her reflection emitting from the boutique window. YUP! A scorchingly hot flat black!

"What's with all the excessive sunscreen?" Oh right, the little gremlin was still there. "Right. I almost forgot."

Romélie beamed at him. "Good job, Camille! You're improving with each day," she stated, noticing an older lady passing by, clearly catching a whiff of Romélie's last few words. The pitiful look on the woman's face said it all–she'd taken Camille for a slow child in need of guidence. The thought had Rome smirking to herself.

"So, exactly how does it work? Do you turn to ashes without protection? Are you even safe in public?"

The pancake was clearly on a mission to try and push as many buttons as he could—something he would sooner or later find was useless against Rome. "Aww, you're worried about me? Relax. I'm the reason things go wrong, not the other way around," she said, throwing him a lazy smirk before scanning her surroundings for the perfect boutique to shoplift play dress-up in.

Once catching sight of an array of clothes and jewelry fiting her taste, her eyes sparkled. "Fun's calling, Camille and we're already late!" she announced before grabbing Camille by the arm and dragging him after her.

——— [ notes ] meow

( codes by uly. )—

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Last edited by Romélie de Brissac on 25 Mar 2026, 20:38, edited 2 times in total.

10 Feb 2026, 10:37

date: 20/12/2025
location: Elsewhere, Cap d'Antibes

abilities: lovely creature
dialogue: #0a2a28
mentioned: @Romélie de Brissac

As usual, Romélie seemed distracted: by her own reflection, by the by-passers, and Merlin knows what else. Even when Camille delivered a few, rather creative jabs, the girl barely batted him an eye, shrugging off his comments with provocation herself. Walking these streets for the hundredth time, he paid the common muggles no more mind than usual, generally uninterested. Although, when a random elderly lady glanced in their direction with the sort of judgemental stare only someone who’d spent decades rooting in their own soil had the audacity for, Romélie seemed to find her attention amusing. For his own good, and with little interest in her peculiar hobbies, people-watching and whatnot, he didn’t ask. Knowing the girl, she’d undoubtedly find a way to twist it into a backhanded insult about his character or intelligence. Annoying, yes, though he was self-assured enough to not let most comments aimed to diminish him to heart. Those who dared try, with genuine intent, rarely had enough accomplishments to be taken seriously. Never, in fact.

When he’d humorously wondered if she was safe in public, Camille had meant safe for the general public, not a danger to herself, which seemed to be how she’d chosen to interpret his question. He wasn’t worried about her, nor did he doubt that she was the reason things tended to go terribly wrong. Twisting his words in that direction almost made Camille sound considerate. He rolled his eyes at her sly smirk, though she’d already shifted her attention to the nearby shops that displayed clothes and jewelry. Most of it was women’s fashion. Naturally, little they came across while window shopping appealed to him, with the exception of jewelry, though he didn’t think jewelry was limited to gender representation.

It was Romélie that decided where and when they were to enter one of these shops, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him inside before he could get a word in. With an expression of mild exasperation, as if he at the age of eleven were babysitting a thirteen year old instead of the other way around, Camille allowed himself to be dragged inside. It was the same kind of feeling of caution he felt during Harlan's visit; constantly on edge, preparing for the moment he'd break something, figuratively or literally. At least inside the store, if something broke, it wasn’t his problem, except for the embarrassment he'd suffer by association.

The store was small enough that he could easily see her hair sticking out over the racks, no matter where in the facility he was located. Inside, Camille tore himself out of her grip, lingering back by the windows to let her browse on her own, eyeing clothes that appealed to her “grunge chic” aesthetic, with a look that he interpreted as concerning greed. The Brissacs were hardly scrambling for galleons based on what he knew; his father was paying no shortage of money for their business, giving him no reason to think she wouldn’t be able to buy anything she fancied. Scrutinizing the pieces of interest with a disdainful grimace, Camille wondered why she couldn’t use her ample amount of wealth to invest in some proper, signature pieces, instead of off-the-rack trends that would be out of style in a month.

Sighing, he turned to a rotating rack of gold necklaces to lazily browse, all of them plated, presumably. Faux, all of it. “We should head to the Chanel store next. Maybe we could finally find you some proper fashion.”

Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny

23 Feb 2026, 11:38

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—date. [ 12/20/25 ]——————word count. [ 576 ]——————@Camille De Varenne—

If she could guess by the look on his face, her dear partner in crime for the day was clearly constipated with disapproval the minute they stepped into the boutique shop Rome had dragged them into. The Italian leather, faux fur, short skirts, and the array of fishnet and sequin dresses were clearly not the little gremlins sense of style. What was his style anyway? Flamboyant rich boy draped in silks and generational wealth? Boring and overdone. She, on the other hand? Oh, she was iconic. However, Camille's likes, dislikes and bowel problems were not on today's list of her concerns—or any list at all.

She quickly slipped between the racks, vanishing into fabric and perfume, her eyes scanning for something small that could disappear into the baguette bag she carried on her shoulder. See, Rome had a slight problem. It started with klepto and ended with mania. Meaning her fingers always itched for something that wasn't hers. Something shiny. Something worth taking a second look at.

Rome found herself eyeing a pair of thin cat-eye sunglasses perched on a velvet stand near the back of the store. Perhaps not all that shiny, but they were black, trendy and something she could pair with every outfit. A perfect replacement for the ones she had currently propped on top of her head.

Her fingers twitched.

"We should head to the Chanel store next. Maybe we could finally find you some proper fashion."

"Hater," commented Romélie aloud as she scanned the room for cameras, being careful to appear casual. A sudden grand idea planted its seeds into her mind—perhaps she didn't actually need the sunglasses. Perhaps she just needed to cause a scene.

With one final survey of her surroundings—noticing the shopkeeper lazily snacking on a protein bar—she swiped the sunglasses from its velvet pedestal and slipped them beneath the sleeve of her jacket in one fluid motion. One thing she purposely didn't bother with was the tag attached to their frame—the kind that made the doors scream. With a contained casual expression, she made her way over to Camille, noticing the bag slunged over his shoulder was wide open. This is too easy.

"Alright Camille. Let's ditch this place," she announced, tiltling her head towards the street, the movement making her wild mane of ringlets cascade over her shoulder.

"Right after you," she said, dipping into a slight bow—stepping to the side in an elegant sweep of her hand to let him through the doors first. As he moved ahead of her, she managed to slip the stolen object into his bag. This is going to be fun, was the last thing Romélie thought to herself before all chaos unfolded.

The security gates by the door began shrieking, the sound cutting through the boutique like a siren. Heads snapped towards them and the shopkeeper came sprinting, almost leaping over the counter, blazing eyes zeroing on Camille. She managed to almost topple over him as she rushedly shouted in French, "EXCUSE ME! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?" Half munched bits of protein bar came flying from her mouth, right onto Camille, causing Romélie to stifle a laugh behind a cough.

Without hesitation, the distressed lady gripped Camille's arm, one hand tightly holding onto him while she fumbled with a small box (?) with the other. "I'm calling the police kid. How dare you?"

To Rome, this might as well have been the best day of her life.

——— [ notes ] holy yap

( codes by uly. )—

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Last edited by Romélie de Brissac on 25 Mar 2026, 20:38, edited 1 time in total.

2 Mar 2026, 23:34

date: 20/12/2025
location: Elsewhere, Cap d'Antibes

abilities: lovely creature
dialogue: #0a2a28
mentioned: @Romélie de Brissac

A snarky remark and flash of clear judgement later, they were heading towards the exit. Readjusting the bag slung over his shoulder, Camille was wholly unprepared for the shriek that detonated the moment he stepped between the security gates. The loud siren cut through the air like a public execution bell, currently deafening him and anyone within a ten kilometer radius. He jolted, instinctively turning to Romélie for answers. Utterly bewildered to what was going on, he clutched the strap of his bag tighter. Obviously, Camille had never stolen anything in his life with his ample wealth, likewise, he hadn’t been to any ordinary muggle shops where they couldn’t afford live security guards to keep pests out. The experience was foreign to him for several reasons. He might have just darted out the door, if the woman working the front desk hadn’t screamed, demanding their attention. Turning his head, he saw her leaping over the counter with her wild eyes set on him, a stranger sight he’d never seen.

Camille stared back like a deer caught in headlights, until the woman had reached him and seized him by the arm. Frozen in place by the assault, he glanced at her outgrown manicured acrylic nails digging into the fabric of his coat, then back at her mouth. Her thin lips twisted in anger, flecking his face with pieces of half-eaten protein bar, prompting the first reaction out of him. He could smell the faint scent of chocolate, and feel the leftover saliva on his skin. The disgusting sensations made his whole body tense. Barely containing a wretched gag, Camille wiped his face with his free arm. Baring his teeth in a scowl he recoiled back, though her grip didn’t budge despite his attempts to tear himself free. How fucking dare she touch him! The woman had been average, he supposed, but in her current manic state, practically staring up into her wide, hairy nostrils, she resembled a hag more than a regular muggle. She threatened to call the police while waving some blinking muggle device in his face. Camille had never been more confused, insulted by the pure insinuation that he would steal something from this shoddy store, and most of all: disgusted by her uncouth behavior.

“Are you insane? Let go of me, crazy woman!” he barked, before lecturing her on manners. “What sort of unprofessional establishment is this? Perhaps you should focus less on accosting customers, and more on learning fundamental manners. Like, chewing with your mouth closed.”

When he tried again to tear himself free, her grip loosened just enough, though she was still within too close proximity, still waving that device in the air like a weapon. Out of all the things she’d done to insult him, that was the thing that concerned him the least. “I’ve got cameras everywhere! You’re not getting away, stealing from my shop!” she spat once more, not accompanied by spare food this time. Her words made him none the wiser, the crease between his brows deepening.

“Stealing?” Camille echoed, then barked a humorous laugh. “You must be joking. Why on earth would I steal any of the garbage you’re selling?” Gesturing vaguely, he glanced around at the nearby wares, not even real gold, to make his point clear.

“I assure you, I do not mingle with your sort of clientele.” Except, of course, Romélie, a fate he regretted immensely.

“Open the bag!” The saleswoman demanded, reached for the strap and tugged so hard he feared the leather would tear in her hand. While Camille seethed at the uncourteous treatment, he believed he had nothing to hide and let her rummage through. The woman reached inside and not more than a moment later, fished out a pair of generic, off-brand sunglasses that he could not remember buying, even less wearing. Deeming it as enough proof, her eyes narrowed at him, holding them up like that damned device.

He blinked, confused as to how those had gotten inside his bag. “This is unbelievable. Why would I—” Camille stopped mid-sentence, realization flashing over his face. Of course. He turned his head towards Romélie with a scathing, all-knowing glare. This scheme bore her signature.

Collecting himself, acting strangely calm considering his previous outburst, the boy turned to the woman with a forced smile. "I see now. Please excuse my accomplice for causing so much trouble. She's got a special condition..." he leaned in, lowering his pitch to suggest he was sharing very delicate information. "A rare affliction, you might say. She cannot help herself in public. Sometimes, things end up where they should not, and she has no clue how to behave afterward. It's tragic, really," he said, sighing in feigned sympathy.

"I trust you'll understand this misunderstanding."

The woman blinked, uncertain, caught somewhere between incredulity and doubt. Camille’s smile widened as he placed a hand lightly on Romélie’s arm, speaking to her as though she were an errant child. "Come along Romélie. It's not proper to take things without paying. Your parents will be terribly disappointed in you."

Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny

22 Mar 2026, 21:31

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—date. [ 12/20/25 ]——————word count. [ 492 ]——————@Camille De Varenne—

Romélie leaned on the rack of clothes behind her, her hand lazily supporting her weight as she watched the altercation with amusement, making sure to throw disapproving looks Camille's way while nodding along in agreement to everything the fuming shopkeeper threw at him. And then—a scathing glare snapped towards her.

She offered it an innocent smile, all soft edges, like she wasn't the one behind all of this. "It's okay if you want to be the center of attention, Camille," she said sweetly, tilting her head, "just…maybe not like this."

Much to her surprise, Camille didn't take the bait. He had already seemed to calm down and refused to give her a reaction. Dammit, an unsuccessful ragebait. However, Rome had a sneaking suspicion he was seething on the inside if his tense movements were anything to go by. The thought of somebody like him barely restraining his anger made her face split into a dazzling grin.

Next thing that came flying out of Camille's mouth felt suspiciously familiar—as if he'd taken a page out of her own playbook. It made Rome's eyes narrow in intrigue. The more he spoke, the more she recognized it—a carefully crafted insult dressed in nothing but politeness. The same kind she used about ten minutes ago to make a passerby woman outside the shop start looking at Camille like he was…a little slow. No way. Could it be? Was Camille idolising her?

For a split second, she just stared.

And then, her lips curved, smugness blooming in a self-satisfied manner across her face. Ah, so that was it! He wasn't angry—no, no. He was performing. Camille was secretly looking up to her, learning from her while playing difficult for the sake of it—at least, that's what Rome told herself. She completely understood him, of course. After all, from what she knew, he was an only child, with no older sibling to look up to. And she…well, she was just truly amazing, wasn't she?

Romélie let the little gremlin lead her outside, strolling along with effortless ease, while the slightly still irritated shopkeeper locked the door behind them and flipped the dangling sign on the door to CLOSED. What a fantastic turn of events!

"Learning, are we?" Rome commented, her tone teasing.

But that was far from the end of it for Rome. The young dhampir decided she needed to make Camille admit just how much he idolised her, and so by the time they stepped onto the sunny streets of Antibes, another idea had already sparked in Romélies mind—one promising nothing but trouble and, naturally, absolute entertainment. She spared Camille no mercy. Glancing behind his shoulder, her eyes widened in feigned concern and fear. "Camille, they're after us! RUN!" she yelled before yanking his arm and taking off, dragging him down the street with her as if they were in the middle of some grand escape, running from whoever the fuming shopkeeper ordered to chase them down.

——— [ notes ] meow

( codes by uly. )—

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