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To kick things off, it seems rather quiet around here which seems a pity. Fictional frolics ahead. - Absinthe in Montmartre

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June 13th, 2005


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oh_meow
05:13 pm - To kick things off, it seems rather quiet around here which seems a pity. Fictional frolics ahead.
Edith has moved to Paris because she has decided to become a Bohemian. Whether or not she is particularly successful at this is open to debate, but she is trying her best and has bought a guidebook on the subject. Currently she is hanging around the local cafe trying to spot artists to become the dazzling muse of. Hopefully her wispy mousy hair and equally mousy face won't put any of them off. To help matters along she is keeping very quiet about mummy and daddy back in Chichester, and the ever so useful money they are kindly sending her.

When she first came to Paris she was shocked at the dirty postcards grubby little boys would constantly try to sell her, but that has worn off; and now her main worry is lice. She swears that there is something unpleasant hiding in the mattress, but is putting up with it because she wants to be a proper bohemian. The un-regularness of the meals also worries her, but she wouldn't dare tell a soul this. So far she has only met one real artist's model, and secretly she found her rather common. Nevertheless she is still on the lookout for her artist.

Feeling terribly daring she has stopped wearing gloves outside. Dispensing with the hats would be a step too far in the direction of savagery she feels however, a naughty thrill at the thought of going outside with bare hands is more than enough. There is a woman named Georgette who is often to be found in the hotel lounge elegantly draped on one of the better placed armchairs. Her circle look terribly exciting but Edith Thomas knows that if she was ever invited to one of their gatherings the anxiety about what to wear would kill her.
Current Music: y teimlad - datblygu

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[User Picture]
From:ohmypersephone
Date:July 15th, 2005 05:46 am (UTC)
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Georgette, too lazy to log into her RPing account, took coffee and laudanum often on Rue Lepic. She knew well the kind of idealistic dimwits who indulged in an overabundance of absinthe, but this new young girl, with her impressionable sniff, was more intruiging than most.

"Miss?" she demanded. "Do you purpote to sit in my seat? I don't doubt you are aware - this is my usual spot. I like to sit where I can see this stage-play of tomfoolery."

Doubtlessly, Georgette thought, as she cocked her head, her own salons were far better.

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