At the Edge of the Shore
| C | date: November, 2021 location: Elsewhere, Cap d'Antibes |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Elena Clark |
C |
| CV | Forehead pressed to the window of the flying limousine-styled contraption, Camille gazed at the endless stretch of turquoise beach, the soft waves rolling onto shore looked more inviting than they were. Freezing, at this time of the year. His body ached in that familiar way— painful, but nothing he wouldn’t recover from by tomorrow, the usual aftermath of a day’s ballet training. Despite the calendar winter, this particular November afternoon made one almost forget that Christmas approached in less than one month. Time tended to muddle together for the young boy regardless, for Camille’s days always bore the same routine; get dragged out of bed by seven, be dressed and warmed up at the barre by eight, followed by four hours of dancing until the one hour lunch, pas de deux together with the girls, and jumps with the other boys during the afternoon, repeat. Monday to Friday with only holidays off. Despite the hard work, Camille enjoyed doing something he clearly excelled at. He had the favor of the teachers, though his name being on the school building certainly played its part, meanwhile the fellow dancers either envied him, or praised him. Being praised was more favorsome, of course, though he was used to the conflicting opinions of others. No matter how much he enjoyed it, Camille always looked forward to the weekends, not because the expectations disappeared, but because they offered some variety in the usual routine. Instead of the ballet studio, Camille spent a few hours perfecting his pitch with a vocal coach. For a boy of merely seven years old, Camille lived like few other boys his age, in the pursuit of perfection. After staring out the window, lost in thought, his gaze drifted back to his older brother, playing the role of personal escort and chaperone, in the seat opposite him in the u-shaped cream-colored, leather seats. His expression was serious and unreadable as always, nose-deep into the newspaper he was reading about something mind-numbingly boring that Camille had no interest in what-so-ever. Adult things, as he called it. Technically still a child on the verge of adulthood, only seventeen years old, the boy looked and acted twice his age. Instead of spending his free-time partying and going on dates, or the more casual attitude towards relationships, he served as their fathers right hand. That was something Camille couldn't fathom, why anyone would subject themselves to that kind of life. Studying his features, Camille thought he had never looked more like father than when he did then. Of course, he had a few more redeemable qualities that the senior lacked. Their father would never have accepted that he do this, for example: “Arrête la voiture.”1 Camille demanded suddenly, no real reason behind it except the knowledge that it would forfeit the inevitable a little while longer. Julien teared his eyes off the paper, wondering what was wrong, already sounding exasperated. “Laisse-moi descendre. Je veux aller à la plage.”2 Camille added, stubbornly. “Il fait trés froid,”3 his brother said calmly with a firm undertone, hoping to end the discussion before it had taken root. Everyone knew that once Camille had set his mind to something, few forces on this earth were stronger than his own force of will to change his mind. Camille, ten years his junior, leveled him with an incredulous glare. “Je vais pas nager.”4 Not out of fear of the cold, it was just inconvenient. What followed was a short staring match, ending with Julien caving a few seconds under the pressure of light hazel. “Trés bien,”5 he muttered, closing the newspaper with a snap. “Manteau sur le dos, chaussures sèches, et quinze minutes. Pas une seconde de plus. Nous sommes déjà en retard. Nous ne voulons pas faire attendre père.”6 Then he won't mind waiting a few more minutes, the younger boy thought. Signaling to the driver, the flying limo made an abrupt landing on one of the banks below. With newfound excitement, for nothing else but a few minutes to himself on the beach, Camille threw himself out the magical vehicle and raced up a sandy hill, leaving his older brother behind pinching his nose, fearing it would be a miracle if they managed to summon the young rebellion back in only fifteen minutes. That was none of Camille's problems. Reaching the top, he glided down towards the beach in bold speed, without a care in the world of who saw him, when he a few seconds later lost his balance and tumbled down on his ass in the sand. By the time he stopped rolling, the boy had traveled close to three meters from the spot where he tripped. Already chuckling to himself, Camille threw a glance over his shoulder, half-expecting his brother to be standing on the hill behind him, wearing his signature look of disappointment over his immature brother behaving like a child. Heavens forbid he got sand all over his coat and shoes. Julien wasn't there. He was still alone. With a deep sigh, his head rolled back in the cold sand. For a moment he just laid there, with his eyes closed, breathing in the smell of salt and sea, the soft sounds of waves rolling onto shore lulling him to a state of peace, knowing it wouldn't last forever. 1. Stop the car. 2. Let me out. I want to go to the beach. 3. It's freezing 4. I'm not swimming. 5. Fine. 6. Coat on, shoes dry, fifteen minutes. Not a second longer. We're already late. We don't want to keep father waiting. |
CV |
Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
At the Edge of the Shore
xx SECOND YEAR | RAVENCLAW xx 
english ; french ; thoughts │ wordcount ; 561
| xxx | ☽ MENTIONS ; @camille de varenne |
NOVEMBER, 2021 ; DATE ☾ | xxx |
| xxx | ☽ OUTFIT ; bam, with this coat |
"coucou" = "hi" ; OOC NOTES ☾ | xxx |
| XXX |
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XXX |
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ᴍᴏᴏɴᴄʜɪʟᴅ ── ꜱɪxᴛʜ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ | ᴄᴀʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀ 6 ; ᴇᴠᴀ 7 ; ꜱᴛʀ 4 ; ᴡɪꜱ 9 ; ᴀʀᴄ 6 ; ᴀᴄᴄ 8 |
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| ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧-𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.❞ ☘︎ STAFF ACCOUNT ; ᴍᴀʟᴀɪᴋᴀ ᴏᴍᴇɴᴜᴋᴏ |
At the Edge of the Shore
| C | date: November, 2021 location: Elsewhere, Cap d'Antibes |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Elena Clark |
C |
| CV | The granted fifteen minutes were fast ticking by, close to seven of those, Camille spent almost asleep in a sandy bank. While not quite asleep, his consciousness was drifting between different dreamlike images, imagining himself lying on an Italian beach in the summer, sunbathing on a lush sunbed. June, more specifically— his favorite month— when it was neither too suffocatingly hot in the southern parts of the country, yet still warm enough to spend most of his time outside in nothing but breathable linen and flowing silks. His eyes remained closed, long and dark lashes gently brushed his cheek; his chest raised calm and steady beneath his coat, that, despite the colder temperature, especially while lying still on a cold beach, preserved enough warmth for him to feel comfortable lying there. The only thing he could see was the orange tint of the sun shining through his eyelids. Birds could be heard from above, though nothing that bothered him. The blockage of the sun, however, did. Frowning at the sudden intrusion, Camille squinted his eyes open, the outside world tinted in a muted blue color while he adjusted to the new light. The first thing he saw was two large, blue eyes looking down at him with a look of curiosity, those belonging to a young blonde. Not his brother, who he would have naturally assumed at first. Initially relieved that Julien hadn’t returned to drag him back to the vehicle, another moment passed where he realized that said blonde was pretty… and he was still lying in the sand like a homeless person. Immediately flooded with embarrassment over his current position, so improper for someone of his status– and perhaps some excitement to be in the presence of a cute girl— Camille shot up to a sitting position. Misjudging the distance between them, and how far she’d leaned down over him, their foreheads collided with a loud thud. Yelping, “ouch!” Camille tumbled back into the sand. What happened to the girl, he couldn’t tell with the pain blurring his vision, his head pounding where they’d knocked into each other. The boy groaned, raising his hand to rub the sore spot with the palm of his hand. A few seconds passed before the world became clear again. The next time he attempted to get up, he did so slowly to avoid any further injuries. When he finally stood on his own two feet, Camille dusted sand off of the back of his coat, mentally noting that his brother would not be pleased if he left any sand in the car later. “Désolé,”1 he added, smiling sheepishly at her, hoping to soften the impact with a charming smile. “Tu vas bien?”2 Camille followed up with genuine concern, his brows creasing gently as he gazed her over, gauging her own state after the collision. Since he was fine, give or take with the lingering ache on the side of his forehead, there was no reason why the girl would have suffered a worse fate, except for the fact that she was a girl. From his limited worldview at the age of merely seven— shaped largely by the stark contrast between his father’s coldness, his mother’s tenderness and vulnerability, and his sister’s monthly breakdowns that Camille found confusing— girls seemed much softer and more delicate. Upon first assessment, there seemed to be no lasting harm made. Watching her intently for her reaction, he was mesmerized by her cute button nose and pretty, blonde hair. Her outfit, too, suggested she came from a wealthier family, the kind of clothes he’d expect someone from a fine French family to dress their daughter in for a winter stroll. At first impression, Camille liked everything about her. Neither was he shy to voice his opinions. “Je t’aime.”3 The words tumbled out of his mouth with unabashed confidence only a child--- or someone used to adoration--- could muster, meant in the simplest of terms. At seven years old, what he liked about her were her soft, kind features. “Je suis Camille. Comment tu t’appelles?”4 1. Sorry. 2. Are you okay? 3. I like you. 4. I'm Camille, what's your name? |
CV |
Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
At the Edge of the Shore
xx SECOND YEAR | RAVENCLAW xx english ; french ; thoughts │ wordcount ; 651
| xxx | ☽ MENTIONS ; @camille de varenne |
NOVEMBER, 2021 ; DATE ☾ | xxx |
| xxx | ☽ OUTFIT ; bam, with this coat |
"c'est pas grave" = "it's okay" ; OOC NOTES ☾ | xxx |
| XXX |
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XXX |
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ᴍᴏᴏɴᴄʜɪʟᴅ ── ꜱɪxᴛʜ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ | ᴄᴀʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀ 6 ; ᴇᴠᴀ 7 ; ꜱᴛʀ 4 ; ᴡɪꜱ 9 ; ᴀʀᴄ 6 ; ᴀᴄᴄ 8 |
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| ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧-𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.❞ ☘︎ STAFF ACCOUNT ; ᴍᴀʟᴀɪᴋᴀ ᴏᴍᴇɴᴜᴋᴏ |
At the Edge of the Shore
| C | date: November, 2021 location: Elsewhere, Cap d'Antibes |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Elena Clark |
C |
| CV | Despite his young age and limited encounters with children his own age, Camille liked to believe he was perceptive and clever. Being paraded around under his father’s arm at social events, among important people who censored and stripped words from the judgement of their true thoughts, had taught him that— like the uneasy feeling of a half-remembered cupboard, a secret he hadn’t understood then. While still too young to properly understand the deceit of adults, their lies and cheats, perception was the greatest tool among professional liars. Clever boys, in his mind, were always right. After their heads had crashed together, he’d quickly asked if she was alright, the lingering throb in his temple a reminder that there had been no light impact, one deserving a second acknowledgement. The receiver of his unfortunate collision reassured him that it was alright. Something strained lingered beneath the childish sweetness of the girl’s voice. It was also clear, watching how the girl forced a smile resembling a painful grimace, that it was a lie, an unconvincing one, at that. Why she would lie to him, Camille couldn’t imagine – only that she’d done so poorly, though the regret of realization, regardless of who was to blame, tugged at his heartstrings all the same. The uncomfortable ache only bothered him for a second or two, before his childish impulses overran his attention span: the blonde girl’s fairy tale beauty rendered him awestruck, until the words of affirmation tumbled out of him without regret. Every time he’d used similar words generously, without much meaning behind them, they had been received with awe and appreciation; this time, he imagined, would be no different. Camille watched her, his hazel eyes wide with anticipation to learn her name, likely as beautiful as she was. The reaction was the opposite of what he had imagined. Instead of blushing and smiling at him with adoration, the welling tears had disappeared, replaced by a look of wonder as his words settled. At least she wasn’t on the verge of tears any longer; she was even prettier now, the thought crossed him lazily, but was interrupted by a new, unwelcome sound. A giggle escaped her, followed by hearty laughter that lightly bounced off of the waves rolling onto shore, washing over him in a sudden tide of embarrassment. Camille’s childishly hopeful expression faltered into a confused frown, the heat quickly grazing his cheeks. Biting his lip, he glanced around the empty beach, failing to see what was so amusing. Suddenly, it felt as if he had just finished a solo performance with no applause. The only thing that could have made it worse was if his brother had reached the dune, looking down in disappointment; at least it wasn’t his father. He didn’t like it. Sucking in a breath, determined to understand, he said: “Je ne vois pas ce qu'il y a de drôle,”1 pouting, while crossing his arms over his chest. No one had ever laughed at him before, his previously successful interactions had left him with enough confidence to correct her reaction. Perhaps she had never had anyone utter the words to her before. That would have explained her bursting into laughter, an act of ignorance he could forgive. “Tu n’es pas censée rire quand quelqu’un te dit qu’il t’aime.”2 Still, Camille—emotionally moldable and sensitive—wasn’t impossible, even if she’d been impolite. A few simple words, or even the offer of a kind smile, would have healed the small sting of her reaction. He still held onto the hope of getting to learn her name. 1. I don't know what's so funny. 2. You're not supposed to laugh when someone tells you they love you. |
CV |
Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
At the Edge of the Shore
xx SECOND YEAR | RAVENCLAW xx english ; french ; thoughts │ wordcount ; 406
| xxx | ☽ MENTIONS ; @camille de varenne |
NOVEMBER, 2021 ; DATE ☾ | xxx |
| xxx | ☽ OUTFIT ; bam, with this coat |
translations at the bottom! ; OOC NOTES ☾ | xxx |
| XXX |
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XXX |
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ᴍᴏᴏɴᴄʜɪʟᴅ ── ꜱɪxᴛʜ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ | ᴄᴀʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀ 6 ; ᴇᴠᴀ 7 ; ꜱᴛʀ 4 ; ᴡɪꜱ 9 ; ᴀʀᴄ 6 ; ᴀᴄᴄ 8 |
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"You're not supposed to say I love you to someone you don't know."| ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧-𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.❞ ☘︎ STAFF ACCOUNT ; ᴍᴀʟᴀɪᴋᴀ ᴏᴍᴇɴᴜᴋᴏ |
At the Edge of the Shore
| C | date: November, 2021 location: Elsewhere, Cap d'Antibes |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Elena Clark |
C |
| CV | Sensing his declining mood, the girl found enough restraint to stop laughing by pressing her lips tightly together, though a strange-looking smile lingered. “You’re not supposed to say ‘I love you’ to someone you don’t know,” the girl countered his grumpy statement, sticking her tongue at him. Camille’s eyes widened at the gesture, wondering how her parents allowed her to do that, or if she perhaps only dared in their absence. If he had done the same, he wouldn’t hold it against his father to return a swift slap. But those were only speculations based on the man’s strict authoritarianism, consequences conjured in his mind that he hadn’t dared test. She spoke in such a childishly confident and matter-of-fact way that Camille sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, faltering in his judgement. He was almost inclined to believe she was right, albeit it felt fundamentally wrong to question the adults around him, who had never done anything but encourage him to be openly affectionate. Why would his mother lie? Admitting he was wrong, even if in that moment it hadn’t felt wrong to say the words, was almost as embarrassing as being laughed at straight to his face. Instead of saying anything, he continued to sulk with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning deeper as his chin tucked further into his scarf. Lowering his gaze at his sandy shoes, he dragged his feet against the surface, tracing a circle in the sand. In the moment of humiliation, regardless of how mild the correction had been, Camille wished his brother had come to fetch him back to the vehicle just then. With no such luck—and knowing he’d have complained in the car if he’d left unresolved—the girl took a few steps toward him. He regarded her with a questioning expression as she leaned in, an eerily wide grin stretching across her face, nearly losing her balance in the process. A finger poked his shoulder, initiating a chasing game with one simple exclamation. “CHAT!” she yelled and ran to the opposite end of the beach. While he might not have formally played the game more than once or twice in his life, the natural impulse to chase hit him immediately, knocking the last sulk out of him. In an instant, he was already pursuing her in a game of cat and mouse. A brief stumble gave him enough of an advantage to catch up on the distance created between them, laughing when he quickly closed in on her from behind. His oxford lace-up shoes were hardly made for these conditions, making it more difficult to gain speed, but he was close on her heels as they raced along the shoreline. Stretching an arm forward, reaching for her blue coat that was just out of reach, he taunted her with a laugh: “Tu es trop lent.”1 With a determined groan, summoning all the speed and strength he could muster, he exclaimed, “Je t’ai!”2 and lunged forward. Wrapping his arms around her waist, they toppled together, slowly tumbling into the cold sand. Landing stomach-down, pinning the girl beneath him, he lifted his face up towards the sky and laughed. Snaking his arms free, the boy pushed himself up on his elbows and jumped to his feet. His coat was covered in sand, the lower part of it partially damp, yet he barely noticed, too caught up in play. “C’est toi le chat!”3 he said in triumph, darting back the direction they’d come from. 1. You're too slow. 2. I've you you! 3. You're it! |
CV |
Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
At the Edge of the Shore
xx SECOND YEAR | RAVENCLAW xx english ; french ; thoughts │ wordcount ; 668
| xxx | ☽ MENTIONS ; @camille de varenne |
NOVEMBER, 2021 ; DATE ☾ | xxx |
| xxx | ☽ OUTFIT ; bam, with this coat |
translations at the bottom! ; OOC NOTES ☾ | xxx |
| XXX |
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XXX |
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ᴍᴏᴏɴᴄʜɪʟᴅ ── ꜱɪxᴛʜ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ | ᴄᴀʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀ 6 ; ᴇᴠᴀ 7 ; ꜱᴛʀ 4 ; ᴡɪꜱ 9 ; ᴀʀᴄ 6 ; ᴀᴄᴄ 8 |
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"My deepest apologies, sir."| ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧-𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.❞ ☘︎ STAFF ACCOUNT ; ᴍᴀʟᴀɪᴋᴀ ᴏᴍᴇɴᴜᴋᴏ |
At the Edge of the Shore
| C | date: November, 2021 location: Elsewhere, Cap d'Antibes |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Elena Clark |
C |
| CV | Distracted by the chase, neither had noticed a new presence arriving on the beach. Camille realized first, only because his head wasn’t turned the other way. Laughing, his eyes lingered on her face, tongue shoved past his lips in a teasing grimace. A towering silhouette of a man appeared behind her. The familiar figure drained him of excitement. His mouth parted, as if to shout a warning, but no sound emerged. Their game came to an abrupt end, figuratively and literally, when she ran straight into Julien. Meanwhile, Camille came to a halt just a few metres away, watching the interaction unfold with a wary expression. Tension had settled in his brother’s shoulders, his hands had also raised, gently grazing her shoulders to keep them both steady. It was clear by his posture that he did not approve, yet the child remained clueless when her head tilted back to look up at him and offered her silly apologies. Monsieur. A title better suited for someone at least ten years his senior. Yet, Julien, only seventeen of age, painted quite a picture in his tailored suit and the golden sigil around his finger. Maturity had been forced on him early. The girl could impossibly know, and exactly that misconception regarding his age amused him. Despite himself and the severe expression on his brother's face, Camille stifled laughter, and failed. In return, he earned a sharp glance in silent warning, one only Camille would register, though he did not otherwise react. Julien was always proper, of course. Even when a girl with sand all over her coat had carelessly rammed straight into him, he never raised his voice, merely gave her polite attempt at an apology a nod in acknowledgement. “Ne vous inquiétez pas.”1 A crease appeared between the teenager's brows when he glanced up at Camille. Most of his scorn was reserved for Camille, for not returning to the car in proper time. After giving the younger boy a disappointing once-over, Julien realised he’d been wasting his time rolling in the sand with a stranger while knowing Alain was expecting their return. Camille’s lingering amusement quickly faded, his lips pressing together into a subtle pout. Already knowing what his brother must be thinking, he threw an awkward glance down at his dirty and wet coat. His shoes were not in much better shape after the game of chat. Clearly unaware of the tension in the air and the unspoken bloodbond between the two boys, the girl turned back to him, judging by her expression, expecting the play to continue. Unfortunately, he could not mirror her enthusiasm. His fun was over. “J'ai besoin d'y aller,”2 Camille muttered apologetically, still managing to throw his brother a sour look from beneath his lashes. Believing he had no need to repeat himself—words that had never been outwardly said at all— Julien began walking back up the dune, expecting the young boy to follow. Taking the chance while he was not looking, Camille darted forward and stopped in front of the girl to grab her by the shoulders. He leaned in, brushing his mouth against tousled honey blonde hair by her ear and whispered a promise, louder than the oblivious child realized. “On se retrouve ici demain.”3 With no time for logistics, he thought the location alone was enough; it all made perfect sense in his mind. They’d meet here tomorrow. Camille didn’t even wait for her approval. Sealing the promise with a quick kiss on her cheek, Camille pulled back, his eyes sparkling in mischievousness. Before his brother got angrier, he released her and ran in the direction where his brother had just vanished behind the dune peak. Only once he’d reached the car did he remember that he still didn’t know her name. 1. Everything is fine. 2. I have to leave. 3. We'll meet here tomorrow. |
CV |
Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
At the Edge of the Shore
xx SECOND YEAR | RAVENCLAW xx english ; french ; thoughts │ wordcount ; xxx
| xxx | ☽ MENTIONS ; @camille de varenne |
NOVEMBER, 2021 ; DATE ☾ | xxx |
| xxx | ☽ OUTFIT ; bam, with this coat |
translations at the bottom! ; OOC NOTES ☾ | xxx |
| XXX |
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XXX |
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ᴍᴏᴏɴᴄʜɪʟᴅ ── ꜱɪxᴛʜ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ | ᴄᴀʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀ 6 ; ᴇᴠᴀ 7 ; ꜱᴛʀ 4 ; ᴡɪꜱ 9 ; ᴀʀᴄ 6 ; ᴀᴄᴄ 8 |
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"Tomorrow."| ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧-𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.❞ ☘︎ STAFF ACCOUNT ; ᴍᴀʟᴀɪᴋᴀ ᴏᴍᴇɴᴜᴋᴏ |