repaintress | 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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

sophielicious

(She's home, or close enough. Things she knows, is more than familiar with, brands, cars, places, her country, so forth. The million voices and feelings bouncing around her brain, background noise comforting in comparison to the can-hear-a-pin-drop silence in Etraya. Her sanity is restored, to say the very least.

She arrives in the shop dressed as only she would, extremely extra. Sunglasses up as soon as she sees Clea, fluttering her fingers as a greeting.)

Hey, girlie!

From:

repaintress

[ It's immediately apparent Sophie is in a better mood. There's an ease to her bearing that had been missing in their previous encounter. Clea herself cannot decide if this place is more or less comfortable than Etraya. It's more overwhelming, and giving the average person an automobile is a clear mistake, but there is a comforting anonymity to large cities. To be subsumed in people going about their business and to be able to meld into the background.

In Etraya, they are known whether they want to be or not.

Clea smiles slightly. ]

Madmoiselle.

[ She turns to look in the shop window with a discerning eye. It appears acceptable. Much more so than the place she'd gone to earlier. ]

My legs are my best feature. We should accentuate them.

After this, makeup, non?

From:

sophielicious

Welcome to my kinda-not-really-but-close-enough home, chérie.

(Not that she knows more than that in French, very basic words, but alas. She's taking Clea in her looped arm to dive into the shop, her free hand mindlessly picking things from the racks to have her try.)

Yeah, I'm taking you to Sephora and then... Well, who did they put you with? Or are you alone in here?

From:

repaintress

How does that feel?

[ She's pleased enough to be dragged through the store, adding her own pieces to Sophie's suggestions while vetoing others, and occasionally holding up a garment or accessory that catches her eye up to Sophie if Clea determines it would not suit herself. The two women have quite different color palettes, so if an item does not suit Clea, it would Sophie. ]

An older man posing as my uncle and an adolescent they've decided is my ward.

[ Clea isn't able to keep the slight distaste from her voice, disapproval stemming from two equal annoyances: The first that they'd done this without her consent as she is quite weary of being expected to care for teenagers. The second that Aurora and Echo clearly recognize that children are children and yet still subject them to these 'missions'.]

She's not of an age that would require consistent monitoring. Should an adult's presence be required, she can contact me.

[ Freedom is good for adolescents, especially ones that want to shrink in on themselves. She'd run all over Paris at the girl's age with no available method of contact at all. Clea had her location information and a phone number. That's more than sufficient for a girl of that age. ]

From:

sophielicious

Like I'm going to not be bored for once in months.

(Clea chose to be friends with Sophie, who's very high speed, so the answer to her questions come to her brain as she doesn't want to lose track of the aisle they're walking through, nor the main conversation.

How does it feel? God, she missed it. Comfort, capitalism, entertainment aside, Etraya feels exactly like being in a small classroom during an exam. Every little thing, so heightened, so obvious in the telepathic airways. Here, millions, just how she expected. The headache she had when she first arrived is worth it.

Interesting, though.

Not the people, but the situation that annoys Clea about it.)

Who is it?

From:

repaintress

[ There are few people with whom Clea can bear shopping, and it is a delight to find that Sophie shares her predilection for both efficiency and thoroughness as they move through the aisles with purpose, easily judging what is and isn't worth their time. Clea fingers a hem, 'hmms' disapprovingly, and moves on. ]

Etraya does lack stimulation.

[ Despite the variety of architecture, there isn't much variety in shopping, and with the low number of inhabitants, Clea often feels as though she is living in a quaint seaside village. ]

I do not know if the name they assigned her is her actual name, as is the case with myself, but she is called 'Noelle'. She's quite timid.

[ Her nature reminds Clea of her younger sister. Who needs to learn both to stand up for herself and to exercise better judgement. ]

From:

sophielicious

(It's the wonders of being able to have several types of simultaneous communication at hand. Some of the outfits Sophie picks are also for her own. Her best feature is the hourglass shape of her body, she's thin and she's taller than average at 5'6", 105lbs. Unlike Emma Frost, whose DNA she was copied from, she has no boobjob or other alterations — so, style and making sure her shape is visible along with the long legs she has tend to be the go-to.

Etraya, ugh.)

You have no idea, though. No parties, hardly any people, not a lot of shops, and I come from the largest populated city in this country. We have what, 100 people in Etraya? I can hear everyone in this city in my head. Imagine how I was going nuts.

(All the telepaths must be rejoicing. She's literally the weakest one.)

Don't know her. Good luck being a single mom, though.

From:

repaintress

Is that still New York City?

[ In her era, that is the most populated city in the United States, more populated than even Paris, though Sophie's complaints also ring true to Clea. It isn't simply the lack of shops, it's the lack of life. To exist in a large city is to constantly encounter novelty, to be able to locate a plethora of the world's pleasures and peoples. Etraya is naught but a hollow shell, its diversity surface level.

There are no gatherings of interesting minds, no creative inspirations. Nothing. It is akin to living in a snow globe.

Clea holds a pair of earrings up and tilts her head to the side, considering. Does she love them or hate them? The best pieces ride the line between the two. She puts them in the group for trying. ]

You have my sympathies - the constant animal voices are beginning to grate on my nerves.

[ As any place sufficiently away from people and automobiles is also used as such by the animal denizens of the city, who lack any sense of boundaries. A step away to check her phone almost immediately results in several food requests. ]

Luckily, I am not her actual mother. And there is little a girl of that age wants less than a chaperone.

[ At least, that had been Clea's temperament at that age. She'll see to the girl's physical wellbeing if necessary, but anything beyond that is not her responsibility. ]

From:

sophielicious

That's right, yeah. Technically, I was made in London, but eh, it's not like I have ever lived there or anything.

(Made and shipped straight to Xavier's, with a vague backstory and blockers to avoid anyone ever wondering where the Stepford Cuckoos came from, including them. Not clones, quintuples, orphaned by... Whatever. It was not a masterpiece of backstory writing, but it hardly mattered when they just made everyone buy it unconsciously.

Alas. Home, you know? At least now they're by the changing rooms, and Sophie hands Clea the pile of clothes she has hanging from her arm so she can separate what's hers and what's Clea's.)

That's the power you got?

(Sounds hellish to a woman who asked her how does Sophie cope with people. To have one more category of input, if one will.)

I got my mentee as a son, which, I guess it's fine. I already put myself in that position anyway.

From:

repaintress

You aren't missing anything. London is dreadful - a dreary city populated almost entirely by urchins and people without an ounce of taste.

[ Nothing cheers Clea quite like offering her opinions on the English. She holds a dress up, wrinkling her nose at the harsh lighting of the dressing room. ]

What is the lighting situation at a dance club?

[ Outfits must be chosen in accordance with their events. Which means considering both how they will appear in situ and their overall character. Which should be baldly erotic without sacrificing taste. Erotic by her standards, not those of the men looking at her. They're simple enough that their only concern will likely be the amount of skin showing. ]

Yes. I can hear the animals speak. Did they provide you with extra abilities, or was that an addition only for those of us lacking?

[ Though she's not certain animal communication is much more useful than Painting.

A mentee? Clea wouldn't have expected that. She's starting to suspect Sophie enjoys people more than she lets on. ]

You have patience, then. I am a poor teacher. Is he also a telepath?

From:

sophielicious

Oh, God, you are a born hater.

(Which earns her points. Sophie likes London, but she too is a hater of so many different things. Understood, enabled, appreciated.

And while there should be no surprise at the question in place, she remembers that Clea is not from the same time period or experience level as herself. Which means she just sends a mental image of a generic club into her brain, dim lights, colors, dancing, not to be confused to where they will go because she isn't totally sure how it looks like on the inside, but this should suffice.)

Not me, no. I mean, they might have other powered people, but not me. I'm just your ol' former hivemind telepath, telekinetic, diamond-shaped girl. Is that proving useful, or is it just dreary? Are their conversations at least enriching or just plain what you'd expect?

(Thank God for that. She barely uses the latter, is shit at the second, we don't need a forth.)

I don't, not really. The person I was cloned from loves teaching, children, and mentoring, I'm just here trying on her shoes for a little while — and, uh, no. He's got blasts coming out of his eyes, and he just so happens to be a whole leader for us back home and also, uh, my mum's ex. The one here is a different version, a teen, not what we are used to and I guess he needs me, so I'm trying my best.

From:

repaintress

What use is the approval of a person who dispenses it freely to all who would ask?

[ In short: Clea is absolutely a hater. Unapologetically so. If a place, person, or idea does not wish to earn her ire or disappointment, it always has the option of not being terrible. Something she doubts the English will ever achieve.

The picture in her mind is disorienting - it's so clearly not her vision. There's not enough detail, and the impression Sophie takes from an environment is different from Clea. But it isn't an unwelcome disorientation. It answers her question and allows her to ponder for a moment: What range of imagery inhabits the human mind? How could a piece of art represent a single space seen through 50 different minds?

Clea uses the image to sort through the clothing, opting for more shimmer than she would normally. In a poorly-lit environment, the effect will be enthralling rather than overwhelming. Taking a dress off the rack, she pulls it over her head.

It's disappointing that they do not have time for a visit to a decent tailor. ]

Both. The conversations are quite dreary, but animals are fairly easy to bribe if you take care to find ones that can understand what you require of them. Small girls stare at me a fair amount.

[ Which is by far the least objectionable group of people to have do so, so Clea isn't upset. She is, however, confused. ]

What is a 'Disney princess?'

[ The situation Sophie describes makes her own family look simple. Clea doesn't envy her. She 'hmms', a verbal sign that she's listening as Sophie can't see her nod with the wall between their dressing rooms, sitting to begin trying on shoes. ]

An admirable position. Be careful you do not allow yourself to be drained dry.

[ Although the advice is verbally curt and blunt, it's accompanied by flashes of memory: Shaking hands, full of worry. Glimpses of Clea seeing herself in tall, ornately decorated mirrors with visible bags under her eyes.

The advice is well meant. Once someone needs you, they tend not to care about the cost of their neediness. She is growing fond of Sophie and wants the younger woman to care for herself as well. ]

From:

sophielicious

(Hater status confirmed, which happens to be great, means they have the same petty disposition for absolutely no reason at all.

She's sneaking them into a high-class VIP club, so there is definitely more to be considered, but Clea asked specifically about the lighting, hence what Sophie gives her as a mental image. Truth be told, she hasn't sneaked into this one yet, but she's excited about it, so much is clear. She misses lights, prestige, riches, all things she had to let go of in Etraya.)

Of course they do. A Disney princess are from movies made by, uh, Disney. They tend to talk to animals, break into song, that kinda stuff. So, that's why they're comparing you to one, not to mention your hair helps the imagery.

(Fair warning, but also, there's a shrug from her. Look, it might not be what she would usually do, but Scott's been fairly warned that she's going to fuck this up sometimes, and he's fine with it. She's fine with it.)

Less admirable, he's so moody sometimes. Makes me glad I got out of the test tube at his age, didn't have much time to deal with teenage brain myself.

From:

repaintress

[ At least Clea understands what a movie is, so that doesn't prompt any questions. They're not particularly impressive, particularly next to a Canvas, but there are certainly worse things to be compared to than people in a film. Well-loved films, apparently, as the comparison has come up multiple times independently. ]

I see. And that is why people smile when I have birds on my shoulders.

[ Another benefit. The birds show up somewhat regularly, particularly the smaller ones. Apparently being around a non-hostile, communicating human is safe.

Clea examines herself in the mirror and frowns. No, not this one. She takes the dress off and leaves it in a crumpled heap on the floor, reaching for the next option. ]

All the francs in France could not convince me to be 16 again.

[ Sophie's age? Yes. Clea is starting to be aware her body is not functioning as it had even five years ago. She gets hangovers now. What utter nonsense. But below the age of 20? No. She'd been so angry most of the time. Nobody had taken her seriously, she hated how she'd been watched in the streets, and she'd felt like a pot whose lid was boiling over. ]

That is very lucky. Is he loudly moody or quietly sulking? Somehow my brother was both.

[ Whereas her sister was the quiet version. She complained of feeling isolated and utterly rejected any attempt to reach out to her. Quelle suprise. ]

From:

sophielicious

Exactly. It's a pretty sight, you do have a certain aesthetic that could match it.

(She'll just make Clea watch a few movies later, once she figures out which. She could also just shove the images into her head, but then again, what's the fun in that if she gets to hear Clea be a whole hater in real time as it happens?

Sophie is pretty sure about her outfit, a dress with an open back and she has a few ideas on how to make it more interesting once it's in her body. She's definitely taking it.

Also, she hears that though and laughs a little — she's not 16.)

Oh. Clarification. I was made into a lab, aged and released to the world around the age of sixteen or fifteen. Then I died. My resurrection came complete with matching me to my identical sisters' age, so I guess the moral of the story is, my age is bullshit and hardly matters, and you shouldn't worry about it. Point being, I'm glad I was not a teen for too long. Or, well, much of it ever.

(Sorry, Clea. You chose this friendship with a woman whose entire being brings out confusion, nothing making much sense, but also it being just normal things to her and everyone else she knows.)

Oh, definitely both.

Edited (grammar) Date: 2025-07-27 02:53 pm (UTC)

From:

repaintress

I will be certain to keep that in mind.

[ Wear her hair in a manner that shows its length and encourage the little birds. If Clea is offered an advantage, she will take it without hesitation. Though it's an unusual advantage to have - Clea isn't used to appearing harmless or approachable. Pretty, yes, though that is more a side effect of her high standards for herself than a concentrated effort.

The second dress is better. Clea stands on her toes, then reaches for a pair of heeled shoes to try. She looks at herself at multiple angles, internally sighing at the lighting. Whomever decided the light should be this glaring and blue in a change room should be tied to a desk and subjected to a seminar on lighting. ]

I had said sixteen as it was my personal peak moodiness.

[ Which had been of the loud sort, and involved a lot of running around Paris with no supervision.

Yes, this will do. Clea starts on accessories, holding up two different earrings to compare. ]

I confess to some manner of jealousy. If I could have skipped from 11 to 21, I believe that would have been best for everyone, including myself.

You're old enough to attend to yourself and young enough that your tastes have not ossified.

[ Which is all Clea cares about. Sophie is not a child, but neither is she elderly and looking backwards, judging everything around her based on its comparison to a time that no longer exists. ]