France: 2140

[Fifi d'Anges]

Darling Fifi had been taking a leisurely stroll down Champs Elysées, all alone, having a good ol' time. Sounds innocent, doesn't it? Yes, it does. Perhaps you know by now to expect that that is not the whole story, because it certainly isn't.

Had you been standing a mile away, you would still be allured by Fifi's interstellar hairdo and unusual wardrobe. Her usual pastiche of bland clothes and colorless shoes was replaced by something quite extraordinary today. Whether it be a good extraordinary or a bad one, that's up to you. Some might say it looked like her wardrobe blew up and all she had left was her current ensemble, while others may compliment the charming arrangement of, er, extraordinarily unique colors and patterns. Her feet were covered in knee-high boots with a floral arrangement thrown together all over them. It was done in bright colors, with even brighter thread. The flowers were like little starbursts, contrasting greatly against the thick black heel, which elevated her up three inches higher. As proved by the stares she received for her rather imaginative footwear, these were not your average pair of fruity, reflective boots with huge heels. They were also matched with short, string-like accessories on either side. "J'ai le motif des flores!" she had once commented at a store. That was the day she had bought those boots. It wasn't a good day for the world, as she had soon fallen in love with them and wore them everywhere. She also loved the attention she received whenever she wore them. Fifi was also somewhat of an attention addict.

Instead of her average pair of cotton jeans with extra fading at the cuffs (about the only thing she could afford on her crappy wage), she wore a black velvet skirt with about a thousand little ruffles. The hem was bright pink, corresponding with the glowing pinks in the starburst flowers of her boots. The edges were torn slightly, making it look a little burnt. Thank God today her skirt went down to a good height, bouncing against her knees as she walked. The skirt itself was perhaps the ugliest thing in existence. No doubt it was popular back in the 2080s, but it was just pathetic right now. This was surely not the kind of thing people wore around the streets. Again; it attracted attention. Mission accomplished. Her top was perhaps even worse, but not as outstanding. a simple plaid vest with natural blues and greens was worn overtop of a black blouse that stretched across her long arms and ended a little before her wrist. The edges were covered in little gemstones that sparkled whenever she walked. How nice, Fifi. Again, she couldn't settle for just a few attention-grabbing clothes, she needed the whole damn set. Cue the hair.

Bouncing up and down as she walked, her thick orange hair was more curly than ever, the ringlets no longer ringlets, but coming down in full-out crimps. Wait. Not just down, but up as well. Her hair was long naturally, but it seemed double the length now. It was almost like a half afro-puff, rising slowly then falling down and violently stopping at her hips. Sure, she looked scary in her mismatched clothes and huge hair, but she did get her point across (or was there a point to the 'outfit' she wore?); she was beautiful no matter what she slipped on. Her features were more outlined than ever, as she had drowned her face in makeup, completely hiding her many freckles and outlining her sharp jawline and wide-set eyes. She might've been a completely freak, but she was sure a pretty freak.

The freak part completely described her personality too. It seemed like almost all of the beautiful people were nice now-a-days, but not our beloved Fifi.

"Watch where you're going!" she screamed at a rather obnoxious English tourist in a thick French accent. He was obviously amused by her apparel and had been distracted. He had hit her in the shoulder with enough force to knock her to the side, which was exactly what happened. She wasn't actually hurt by it, but she did remember that she had a right to complain about tourists. Back when she was still living fabulously with her parents, this kind of thing happened every once in a while and her father would sue the tourist. Ah, the perks of being wealthy. Now, she couldn't sue the guy because she didn't so much as know a lawyer, nor did she think she'd actually get one to work, considering the government had their own way of dealing with complaints. Technically, she was still a child (under 18, right), so she considered going to the High Council and telling them all of the murderously wrong things that her family did, but she decided not to. Ever since the man from High Council proposed to her at the young age of fourteen, she absolutely hated the entire system of government.

"It's corrupt!" she had said on several occasions. "Paris is dying because of the stupid laws they have imposed on us!" Those, perhaps, were the two most honest phrases she had ever stated in her life.

[Lenore DuPont]

What would life be without clothes? Well, naked obviously. Possibly cold. Most likely embarassing. Lips pursed at the though. Lenore occupied her mind by tugged on her purse to keep it from sliding off her shoulder. The gold foil that speckled the right side like rain glinted in the bright sun. It was a lovely afternoon. Perfect for a boat ride down le fleuve Siene. Too bad she was wasting her time, strolling aimlessly down the Champs Elysées. Her feet hesitated as she came to a corner but quickly turned to the right, down a lane of smaller shops. On the Champs Elysées, smaller shops just meant 2 floors insted of 5.

As she passed a large glass window, decorated with streamer and glitter, a exceptionally unique pair of shoes caught her eye. They were a pair of deadly looking stilettos. The style and coloring was so simple and so elegant, they practacally mirrored Lenore herself. Perfectly white with gold lining running up and down the sides and twisting up the gladiator styled straps. Her face was so close to the window that her breathe made a small circle of fog on the glass. Those babies would blend gloriously with her purse. Her finger that was wrapped around her purse strap, stroked the leather unconciouslly. Gaze locked on those creations, Lenore pushed though the metallic doors of the boutique. The saleswoman must have seen her marvel over the shoes for she didn't even have to speak a word before she was sitting in one of the velvet chairs with the gladiator straps wrapped around her thin ankles. Her ankle twisted so she could analyze them. They looked stunning, especially on her feet.

Lenore stood ever so slowly. As if she were afraid to break the shoes by putting all her weight on them. But as expected, they supported her, adding another 4 inches to her long legs. As she sauntered around the store she noticed the saleswoman watching her with a nervous expression. Curiously, Lenore wandered back to her chair and checked the price. 240 euros. That was it? To relieve the woman's anxiety, She placed the flats that she had been wearing before into the shoe box.

"carte de crédit, s'il vous plait." She murmered and rumaged around her bag for her wallet. The woman exhaled rather loudly and led Lenore to the register. Just as they were exchanging thier "Merci"s and "Au Revoir"s, a large...no, fat, woman burst through the doors gleaming with perseration..no, sweat.

"Show me those shoes!!!" She demanded noisily, gesturing at the pair Lenore had just bought. The saleswoman gave Lenore a look that said "save-me" before walking off to help the obvious tourist. Lenore sent a lingering look of simpathy after the woman and walked out the doors, wearing her new stilettos. Psh, americans.

The golden straps wound thier way up her calves, stopping a few inches below the hem of her skirt. She had made it herself, light cream colored material that floated above her knees. Sequin sew weaving through the cloth in a windy design. Her top consisted of a silk cami, lace lining the ends. Over that she wore a clean cut, baby blue jacket which hugged her form, complimenting all her curves. Her hair was down as it usually was, and she paid it no attention as the brown waves were lifted by the wind, swirling around her head. As she came to another corner her peaceful being was soon ripped to shreads by a series of english words with a rather familiar accent.

Lenore chuckled as an amused and slightly shaken englishman turned the corner and rushed past her. She could feel his eyes linger on her for a moment before disappeared down another street. Sighing, she took a few steps towards the voice.

"Fifi, he's just-" But her words of comfort were cut off and she stood at the corner in shock. But her surprise quickly disolved into a smile, that wasn't quiet sure if it wanted to face Fifi at the moment.

"Darling..." Her voice was steady, low and calming but she bit her lips, trying to find words., "what are you wearing?"

[Fifi d'Anges]

(( ooc: I had the most perfect response! It got deleted, so here's a last minute one. Sorry! ))

The streets were anything but barren at this point in time; the tourists were hustling to see the many attractions, the citizens were watching them while stifling their laughter. The shopkeepers smiled distastefully at the customers, folding up the purchased clothing and wrapping up it delicately with a long white string, then stuffing it into a shopping bag, which was then shown off galantly to all who came by. Pitiful, she mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. She wouldn't ever be able to work as a clerk in a store, no matter what they were paying, for a few simple reasons: 1. How could somebody as infinetly important as Sofia d'Anges work at a simple store? To her, it was just unnatural, the entire idea of it, 2. Fifi was not in a good position to be thrown amidst a wide array of wonderful products. She had barely enough money to support herself, but having to spend hours surrounded by such merchandise would result in her eventual theft of everything in the store, 3. If anybody dared to correct her math, which was a subject she never really enjoyed nor cared about, they would be in for a patented d'Anges-style lecture. You know, the kind that she got from her parents so often? Her eyes trailed a young couple in the store, buying a pair of boots. The boots were so bland and plain... Or at least they were to Fifi, who's idea of extravagant was the emsemble she had clothed herself with today.

Whipping her head around at the sound of her name, Fifi blinked several times, examining the scene, before seeing Lenore in front of her. Refraining from running up to her quickley, she casually turned the rest of her body to face her friend and waited to be walked up to more closely. Both girls were tall with long and slender limbs and matched each others' height exactly. Lenore was dressed sensibly, as far as Fifi could tell, and was behaving in a much more civil manner. She noted the girl's shoes, pondering for a moment whether to compliment them, or to remember to do so later. She decided to follow the ladder idea, as the focus was on Fifi at the moment, and she wasn't about to let all of this attention fall astray.

"Why, isn't is lovely?"

Her voice was gentle and soothing, as it always was, but her gaze was fiery and piercing. She wouldn't take any more insults, as she had already endured quite a few from random passerbys, and one from Lenore was not going to make it any better. Of course, she doubted Lenore would actually insult her because she was just that nice. Maybe after a nice, rational explanation of why she wasn't allowed to publically humiliate herself in horrible clothes, Fifi would change and go for another leisurely walk to another location

[Lenore DuPont]

[[ooc: sucks when that happens...especially if it's really long.]]

It wasn't that Lenore didn't care if Fifi was angry with her, but they had been through this so many times before that it had become somewhat routine for them. Fifi, who had the more fiery temper, would somehow get pissed off and would usually take it out on Lenore, if she was around. At first, Lenore was not used to that kind of treatment and held grudges on Fifi wich could last for weeks. Soon she learned there were other sources of this anger and did her best to calm her friend if not ignoring it. Right now, she had visual evidence of Fifi's first aquaintence. A touristy looking man, obvious not accustomed to fashion victims. Chuckling slightly, Lenore strode closer to her friend and took the material of the out-of-date skirt between her forefinger and thumb. She analyzed it with the top and brought her eyes up to match Fifi's.

"Oui, très belle..." she said as if the ensemble was one of the prettiest things she'd ever seen. There had to be an explenation for this, non-Fifi wardrobe. She turned on her heel so she was right next to Fifi and pushed her waist gently, as if to say walk, we are going to talk. and finished her scentence, "...dans le 2080s."

They were off to a slow start, walking with small steps, Lenore was still causious about her shoes. As they walked down the street, many heads turned and a couple women (obviously Americans from thier white basketball shoes) whispered to each other. A couple little boys giggled as they ran past but were shut up, probably with a piercing glance from Fifi. Lenore wasn't sure wether to feel sympathetic for Fifi. Surely she would have known the consequences of wearing something like that in public.

[[1. yes, very pretty. 2. in the 2080s. gah! so short!]]

[Fifi d'Anges]

Throwing a rather unwieldy look at those who dared snicker at her, she kept going, collecting the glances and smiles thrown her way and using them to feed her enormous ego. Really, what did it matter why people were smiling and looking as long as they were. She ran a finger down the pearl necklace she had put on, examining the various whites and pinks and their interesting impact towards the pendant, a translucent cross with the edges embroidered intricately.

The air was cool and crisp, pinching at her exposed skin and reminding her that she didn't have a jacket with her. Oh well, what can you do, right? The placement of her feet was very exact, her toes were always to be pointed slightly outward, her stance was always to be postured and her steps were to be close together. Perhaps she was not rich anymore, but that didn't mean she had to abandon her wealthy upbringing full of posture and etiquette classes. Fifi may not have been a very booksmart girl, but anything to do with positioning and poise was to be instantly hailed in her mind as something extraordinarily important for her life. To somebody who lived off of her appearance and nothing more as Fifi did, it was crucial to stand tall and gracefully.

Her red hair fluttered in the wind, hitting her back lightly. Usually, it would've been slapping her shoulders in the wind, but the thick and long 'work of art' that she had made sure to take great care of was very gentle today, the curls limply touched her upper back; nothing more.

"Merci beaucoup"

She smiled in spite of herself, remembering how she was sure that everybody would like it that morning. It was the little people who did not understand her developed and unqiue sense of fashion! Her heels clicked a little louder with the extra energy that Lenore's lit up face supplied for her, but then they came to a complete stop as she added the second part. She was a little extra sensetive to insults today. Of course, who could tell with such a confusing personality as Fifi's when to say what? It was just impossible, as was she.

"Ce qui?"


Her voice was a little raspy now, and she bit her lip to keep herself from igniting a series of lectures that would surely make Lenore do a double take. She could save that for later. She erased the mental note she had taken to compliment Lenore's amazing new shoes, as it was quite pointless to do something so nice for somebody who utterly missed the point of an eccentic outfit the way Lenore did. She was quite fired up, all over a single comment. She kept walking, even though she didn't want to. This was the cycle of arguments and disagreements that she'd had with Lenore for quite a while now. It was only the knowledge that ther would be a period of peace in between that kept them going.

(( As is mine ))