repaintress | Etraya Info/Inbox

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etraya

Etraya Info/Inbox

"Allo. This is Clea Dessendre. Speak."

Age: 29

Height: 5'9" (179 cm)

First Impressions/Things Characters Would Notice - Click to Open

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Etraya Specific Information - Click to Open

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I sigh when I consider my early 20s as well. I am becoming inclined to believe that the sighing never ceases.

[ Perhaps people who lived to be 90 feel the same way about decisions they made when they were 70. Clea gives herself a last overall glimpse in the mirror, frowning slightly. This would seem to be as good as it's going to get in the absence of a proper tailor and seamstress. If she had more time, she'd adjust the garment herself, but she does not.

Decided, she takes it off, folding it carefully. ]

No, I am ready. I am simply disappointed.

[ While she can respect the choices offered by off the rack fashion, it simply cannot reach the heights of the bespoke to which Clea is accustomed. She opens the dressing room door, outfit folded in hands with her chosen jewelry laid atop.

Leaving an utterly demolished dressing room in her wake, Clea looks over her shoulder at Sophie, giving her a small smile.

Disappointing as some aspects of this time are, it is a pleasing distraction. ]

Girl, how old are you even? You look like, 25 at most.

(Talking about early twenties like she's 35, what is the name of her doctor? She looks Sophie's age, whatever number that might be.

It's totally fine, Sophie's own also looks like a tornado flew around when she leaves. Several outfits are in her arms, and she'll swipe her credit card gladly. Look, it's a brand she loves, so there's no big issues for her personally.)

There, there. Disappointed with what, exactly?

Twenty-Nine.

[ She's found herself so much more aware of 'age' as a concept in the last year or two. Of time. Up until one's mid-20s, every year is an uncomplicated improvement, and therefore does not require much thought. Each year had been an expanding of one's horizons.

Never mind the amount of friends she's lost in the last two years to marriage and motherhood. Is it a crime to still wish to explore the world rather than sit in a rocking chair?

Clea rolls her eyes at the over the top 'comfort', as is deserved. She pays using the 'company' card, still uncertain what a SaaS is or why she's creatively directing it but uncaring. ]

I'm accustomed to bespoke clothing. There are garments here that I would not be able to wear due to my height or shoulder measurements. I also lack the time to tailor what I have purchased myself. I appreciate the variety on offer, but given most of it is trash, I am not certain 'ready to wear' is an improvement.

(Good, because it was not a real attempt. She kind of doesn't care, it is still Channel, and Clea, although gorgeous, is not really up to date with the trends of modern fashion. She'll drop some magazines for her later.)

There's other brands too, you know. Nobody does that anymore unless you are like, going to a specific event, or if it's part of your personal brand.

(Emma definitely has everything custom-made to the very details. She does too, when there's a reason for it. Hellfire galas, uniforms, events, what not.)

What now?

I'm aware. I've had the misfortune of stepping into other establishments.

[ Sophie is treated to a visual montage of mismatched hems, unlined garments, unmatched patterns, missing buttons, and other sartorial crimes Clea had witnessed when she'd stepped foot in a 'mall'. Hence appreciating Sophie's suggestions.

She's also quite aware that people are not tailoring their garments. When she walks down the street, she can't help but note where things are not fitting properly. The shoulders in particular are a giant mess in this populace, often hanging halfway down their arms. The arm holes themselves are often oval. A great percentage of what Clea sees screams lazy draftsmanship. ]

You said you would orient me in the matters of makeup and skincare here as well.

[ Matching is all well and good, but Clea does not know which formulations last or apply easily. ]

(Perhaps it was one of the best things for Clea to befriend Sophie. Rich, modern, with great taste, and also someone who doesn't even bat an eye at Clea's attitude. Her own is very similar.

Makeup and skincare is also another point that makes Sophie incredibly happy. Her own style is often simple, featuring winged liner, soft pink eyeshadow, long lashes and mascara, and spot correction, mostly because she wants to draw attention to her black-painted, glossy lips.)

Oh, wonderful thought. Suggestion — I take you there, we shop, we go to a bar and finish the day with you finding out what a Disney princess is, preferably at your place.

Most of my thoughts are.

[ As are Sophie's. That sounds like a delightful afternoon and evening: She'll obtain more things to make her look human, drink to wash away the despair of having to spend time around the aesthetically unsophisticated, and finishing the evening with the familiar: A chance to thoroughly critique a new form of art. One that might help her gain an advantage in this place. ]

I suggest we procure wine in between the bar and the movies. It makes for a more enjoyable viewing experience.

[ For her. Not for the Lumière brothers or other audience members. ]

(Whenever Clea speaks, Sophie feels more comfortable, even more so when she's prickly. It kind of feels homely? Familiar, and nothing Clea says really makes a dent on Sophie, and she assumes the opposite is true as well. Too similar to take it personally, perhaps.

Heels click, she just has to Google where is the nearest Sephora for a moment.)

I thought I was the mind-reader. Just give me a second, I'm checking where we have to go to. My preference is bubbly, by the way.

Wine for me and champagne for you. Proper champagne.

[ Many things about this world and this country mystify her, but Clea is very confident in her knowledge of alcohol. It is only proper to ensure that Sophie does not have to suffer the taste of second-rate (or worse: third-rate) champagne in return for her gracious guidance.

Despite her judgements, Clea is enjoying herself. She hadn't had the opportunity to travel that often at home, and everywhere she turns there is something new to catch her attention and to try. The outfit she's chosen, for example. She would have gotten arrested wearing that in public. For all its fault, this time and place is less constrained and she appreciates that. ]

Are we going to the bar to be seen or to work off energy?

[ Are they preening or fighting? ]

Honey, I'm just as picky, wealthy and as rigorous as you, don't you worry.

(Her priorities are just a little different. Perhaps if Clea were from the same times as her, her own would match. Besides, there are other worries that Sophie has that might never be the same as Clea's, but that's fine.

Sophie is enjoying this greatly, too.)

Whatever the mood asks for. I'll figure it out when we get there.

Ma cherie, you are many things.

[ Assertive, possessed of immaculate aesthetic sense, and with cutting insights that warm Clea's heart. She is quite pleased to have made the younger woman's acquaintance, and grateful for her orientations though of course she would never be so gauche as to openly express such a thing.

And yet, alas, nobody else can be perfect. ]

But you are not French.

[ And so Sophie must forgive her a certain amount of preening on matters on which Clea is more than informed. Such as the products of the vineyards. ]

We shall see where the evening takes us, then.

(Perhaps it is a good thing that Sophie knows how Clea feels without her having to say anything. Sometimes, a curse, sometimes, a blessing — Sophie herself is not very much for talking, either.

Although the feeling is definitely reciprocated.)

I mean, you are correct on that. Technically British, mostly American, but in the end, Krakoan. Not that, you know, they have it here. Or that we have it anymore at home. It's a whole ordeal.

(Just one more mutant nation that fell, as it always does. Before she gets angry, she sighs, moving to turn right onto the next street.)

We keep on this subject and the night is definitely going to be me falling into my bad habits, and I don't want to. Change it.

[ The term 'Krakoan' is unfamiliar. Of course. Clea had not pondered the topic before, but nations rise and fall. The world, even if this had been her own, would look different by this period in time. And some people would have lived through that turmoil. That Sophie assigned a term to the situation suggests it is of some import. ]

I will not hold your Englishness against you.

[ She ponders for a moment before continuing. ]

A nation is held in the hearts of its people. Not in the world's assigned borders.

[ And at that, she leaves it alone, though there is a flash in her mind of an example: The Basque are rather...stringent and Clea cannot help but admire them for it, even though she does not understand why anyone would ever not wish to be French.

Clea arches an eyebrow. She cannot say it's common for people to associate with her hoping to stop themselves from acting poorly.

She is, however, adept at the art of not addressing issues. Her parents and siblings have provided wonderful examples. ]

Very well.

I admit to a measure of curiosity: When and why did you start to adorn your lips black?

[ It is such a striking choice it surely must have been purposeful. ]

Good. I'd hate to break your heart.

(They have talked about it — it's just where the tubes she was grown in were. She's never lived there or anything. To be honest, under the ground is where she spent the most time throughout her time, so let's not examine these things too closely.

Wonderful friendship, communication that works, even if the communication given is the wish not to communicate at all.)

Mhm? Oh. It's just the Stepford Cuckoo look. We're five identical girls: haircut, face, demeanour, speech, everything's the same. Our uniform was either black, with one of us wearing the white one, or the opposite. It just kinda pulls everything together visually, I guess? Even with the new uniform, it looks great on us, so we kept the lipstick.

I am touched you believe me to have one.

[ A heart, that is. She does, of course, but many think a person emotionless unless they cry, wail, and make a fool out of themselves. None of which Clea has ever been inclined to, and Sophie strikes her as being similar (and therefore understanding of the joke.) Having arrived at their destination, Clea opens the door, holding it for Sophie. ]

It works well with your coloring, and it is a striking choice. Do you plan the rest of your outfits around it? Do you ever find the stylistic choice limiting?

[ With her lips as a statement, balanced presentations would require either everything be so striking to match or that the lips be allowed to stand out. ]

I'm willing to bet that you have a big one, but if I keep calling this out, you'll probably puke like I would, so I'll leave it at that.

(It's difficult-to-difficult communication here, and perhaps that's why it's easier to make these sorts of comments, too.

She thanks her for the door, beelining towards new releases with laser-focus attention, hands instictively going for the most expensive products before she even looks at the price tag.)

I wear other looks and colors, but this one is my favorite, so it is not like I wear black lipstick with everything. You'd love to talk to Ms. Frost, aka mum — her whole thing is having extremely extra, white, sexy outfits.

I'm already being exposed to the general public and their idea of what passes for taste, so I agree it's best not to add any additional nausea-inducing components to our day.

[ 'Thank you for understanding.'

The store is...overwhelming. Clea has never seen this many products in her life, but at least there are 'testers' scattered about. Following Sophie, she picks up a product and starts reading its marketing copy. Color changing foundation. ]

This is the worst idea I've ever seen.

[ And she's from a city without modern safety regulations. The pigments in this couldn't hope to be able to replicate a skintone decently. ]

I understand. I think a variety of colors would suit you.

[ Sophie would have the ability to wear a true red, for example, whereas Clea could not. Instead, Clea starts to swatch sheer and semi-sheer tints and glosses, holding her hand up to the light and moving it with a frown. Why is the light so blue? ]

Does no one in this city understand lighting?

(She's got you, baby girl.

With the comment she makes, Sophie moves to take a look at what she has in hands before she laughs.)

Yeah, that? Total scam. They usually have like little patches of pigment that when you rub it in, they break and tada, whole new color. Pure bullshit.

(Sorry, Clea, it's not that deep, welcome to the land of lies and hype and Tik Tok.)

Pfft, babe, I can rock red. I could rock a potato sack and still look gorgeous.

(And she'd also stay humble, as they know.)

Nope. Although I think you can change it? Hold up.

(If she's not mistaken, there are different hue options behind the light. She'll just show Clea.)

Ah, by the way, just so I know. If you meet someone cute, do I let you live your best life, or do you want me to hold you by the collar?

[ Ah. So it changes color, but in a way that leaves the product utterly useless. Clea's lips press into a line and she puts it back. To be fair, anyone with the barest understanding of color would be skeptical of the item, as she had been. She supposes idiots also enjoy shopping. How blissful their lives must be. ]

That's likely true.

[ Not too much red, though. It would be overpowering. An accent color or color worn on Sophie's lips would be best. Clea's always enjoyed considering sartorial and aesthetic choices for others, and what suits Sophie is quite different than what suits Clea: The bold colors that Sophie brings to life make Clea look like a clown or a mime, but the subtle autumnal colors and simplicity Clea favors would drain Sophie.

The introspection is broken by the light. For a moment, Sophie is subjected to a feeling of pure covetousness as Clea watches the light change color. This would be so useful. Her fingers reach out to mimic Sophie's, getting used to the switch and changing the light to a more suitable soft white hue. She then reholds her arm up to the light, moving so she can see how the swatches behave.

That one. She plucks a lip tint and puts it in the basket.

Clea considers Sophie's question as she moves over to a new brand, this time reaching out to swatch the blushes. Something sheer would be best.

What does she want? It has been months, and Clea would be lying if she said she didn't miss it. The small population of Etraya doesn't bode well in that department either. On the other hand...]

Most people are the equivalent of that color changing foundation.

[ Not up to her standards, which she will not be relaxing.

Clea enjoys her time with Sophie, and that can hardly be assured by a first time erotic encounter. And Sophie herself is not going to find a paramour: As far as Clea can observe, the people here are human and therefore not to Sophie's taste. The idea of abandoning Sophie after they'd agreed to an evening does not sit well with Clea.]

I'd rather spend the night with you.

[ It feels indulgent, to spend an evening with a friend watching moving pictures. Relaxing. Which Clea must admit is at a premium in her life as of late. There is no pressure: To perform, to instruct, or to be something she is not. A relaxing, uncomplicated evening with a friend, art, and some good wine sounds divine in its own right. ]

I find myself very curious about the moving pictures: An extraordinary amount of progress has been made in such a short time for me that I can scarce begin to imagine what they could accomplish now.

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Etraya Info/Inbox

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Ugh migraines can kiss my butt

there there

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