Post by Giselle LaMere on Oct 19, 2015 10:11:10 GMT -6
OOC Name: Jenn
Name: Giselle Celine LaMere
Age: 29
Profession/Position: Charms Professor
Hometown: Paris, France
House (if you want, we may choose this for you): Rouerie (Ravenclaw similar)
Face Claim: Jenna Coleman
Personality:
+ Dynamic
+ Charismatic
+ Amiable
0 Determined
0 High-spirited
0 Subjective
- Arbitrary
- Fawning
- Vain
Sample RP (does not have to be a new RP. It can be one you've written from another site; THIS IS EXEMPT IF YOU HAVE ALREADY ROLEPLAYED ON THIS SITE BEFORE):
Name: Giselle Celine LaMere
Age: 29
Profession/Position: Charms Professor
Hometown: Paris, France
House (if you want, we may choose this for you): Rouerie (Ravenclaw similar)
Face Claim: Jenna Coleman
Personality:
+ Dynamic
+ Charismatic
+ Amiable
0 Determined
0 High-spirited
0 Subjective
- Arbitrary
- Fawning
- Vain
Sample RP (does not have to be a new RP. It can be one you've written from another site; THIS IS EXEMPT IF YOU HAVE ALREADY ROLEPLAYED ON THIS SITE BEFORE):
Too many things had happened since the destruction of Camp Jupiter in California. Too many things that had affected Calla on a personal level, and to be honest, the young woman didn't know how much she could take. The legacy of Mars had decided to keep her apartment from last year, and rent it out to one of her friends from school who needed a place to crash during the summer while the centurion knew she was going to be out at Camp. She had a lot of mail coming in to that address...while most of it was bills, and such, but there was something that had caught her eye right when she moved in: a rather large package from the French military. The date on the mail was from about the middle of August, and that made Calla really excited. But, when she opened the box, she saw a uniform with Marius's surname on it. Confusion overwhelmed the Roman. She took it out of the box and found a few more knick knacks, and her letters to Marius. Calla's confusion had grown even more at this point, she didn't want to think of the worst...but the idea kept prodding the back of her mind for weeks since she moved back.
On Monday, Calla had gotten a letter from the French Military, again. The envelope wasn't in Marius's handwriting--the woman knew that right off the bat. She took the letter to her room to open it--knowing that if it was what she was hoping it wasn't...well, she didn't exactly want Ronnie seeing her like that. She opened it, and just read the first sentence. At that point, she lost it. She knew exactly where this letter was going. The box now made sense. Calla looked at the date of the letter, August 6th, 2015. That package was dated August 15th. In a perfect world, the legacy would have had time to brace herself, instead of wallowing in confusion.
Like any good soldier, Calla forced herself to seem normal. The dedication she had to her schooling was important to her. So, she emailed her professors explaining the situation, also saying that she'd try to be in classes, because it was important to her. Calla did just that, but ultimately failed within the first couple minutes of all of her classes (though it did get a bit better as the week progressed). She always held her breath as she was walking back to her apartment, knowing that if she were to breathe normally that she would break down.
When she got back to the apartment, the legacy locked herself in her room, packing up her rehearsal bag to hold some clothes for the weekend, and her homework and all of the stuff she needed for the weekend. At least, finally it was the weekend, and she knew that she could get out of Manhattan. The downside of it though...she wouldn't be able to escape anyone. She could always do the thing where she hides up in a tree for hours, but Calix would probably--most likely--find her there.
On her way out of her room, Calla slipped the letter into her backpack and knocked on Ronnie's door. "I'm going back to Camp for the weekend. Help yourself to brownies, or whatever else is there...I've kind of lost track of what I made this week..." she said. "Annnnd, I'm taking the nutella cookies...so...sorry not sorry," she grinned sheepishly. "See you on Monday." The legacy closed the door again and took off towards her car.
Getting out of Manhattan was always a struggle. Having road rage, and normal rage wasn't really a good thing...let alone in traffic...not moving...Calla loved it. Especially on Friday afternoons. It was Calla's favourite thing. There was nothing she loved more than Friday afternoon traffic. It took her a good hour and a half just to get off of Manhattan Island. An hour and a half alone with her thoughts. That was exactly what she wanted. At least the drive to Long Island isn't bad, she thought to herself, as an attempt of distraction.
Just her luck, the roads were packed. It seemed as though everyone on Manhattan Island was going to Long Island that weekend. Calla was already a short fuse. This extra forty five minutes to get to her personal car park was ridiculous. And then, some asshole cut her off three times. The same car. Thrice. Each time, of course, Calla slammed on her horn and cussed him out in her car.
Finally, she got to where she always parked her car...and of course there were no spots for her little yellow Porsche. She sped off, finding another spot. She got out of her car, slamming the door, and was muttering to herself the entire walk back to Camp. Which, again of course, was elongated due to the Sermon on the Mount taking place on fucking Long Island.
Honestly, the legacy couldn't have been bothered by anything. She was pissed off beyond belief, Marius was killed, and everything was just peachy fucking keen. The centurion stormed into her cohort, and just dropped her stuff on the floor by her bed with a big thump. In the same way Calla came in, the legacy of Mars exited--feet heavy, not quite to the point of stomping, but damn near close. On the way out, she slammed the door again. Her shoulders were tense, and she could feel the thick atmosphere.
Calla made her way to the Principa, ignoring anything that got in her way. As she entered the building, it seemed as though every door she encountered was slammed. She looked in all of the rooms that she knew Calix might be in. The reason why she was looking for him was because she knew that he would try to help her. She needed something positive. And, she knew that--in all honesty--only Calix and Cicero could have helped her with that. Since Cicero went missing along with that Greek girl (which Calla was still salty about, even just thinking about it made her more frustrated than she was.
The legacy looked in all of the rooms she knew. And, still, there was no sign of her best friend. Calla went to the other praetor's office. Opening and slamming the door with enough force to make him at least acknowledge her presence. "Where the hell is Calix?" she demanded, walking closer to the Praetor's desk. Every previous encounter Calla and Elijah had had gone south. Those memories flooded back into her mind, and her atmosphere just kept getting thicker and thicker
On Monday, Calla had gotten a letter from the French Military, again. The envelope wasn't in Marius's handwriting--the woman knew that right off the bat. She took the letter to her room to open it--knowing that if it was what she was hoping it wasn't...well, she didn't exactly want Ronnie seeing her like that. She opened it, and just read the first sentence. At that point, she lost it. She knew exactly where this letter was going. The box now made sense. Calla looked at the date of the letter, August 6th, 2015. That package was dated August 15th. In a perfect world, the legacy would have had time to brace herself, instead of wallowing in confusion.
Like any good soldier, Calla forced herself to seem normal. The dedication she had to her schooling was important to her. So, she emailed her professors explaining the situation, also saying that she'd try to be in classes, because it was important to her. Calla did just that, but ultimately failed within the first couple minutes of all of her classes (though it did get a bit better as the week progressed). She always held her breath as she was walking back to her apartment, knowing that if she were to breathe normally that she would break down.
When she got back to the apartment, the legacy locked herself in her room, packing up her rehearsal bag to hold some clothes for the weekend, and her homework and all of the stuff she needed for the weekend. At least, finally it was the weekend, and she knew that she could get out of Manhattan. The downside of it though...she wouldn't be able to escape anyone. She could always do the thing where she hides up in a tree for hours, but Calix would probably--most likely--find her there.
On her way out of her room, Calla slipped the letter into her backpack and knocked on Ronnie's door. "I'm going back to Camp for the weekend. Help yourself to brownies, or whatever else is there...I've kind of lost track of what I made this week..." she said. "Annnnd, I'm taking the nutella cookies...so...sorry not sorry," she grinned sheepishly. "See you on Monday." The legacy closed the door again and took off towards her car.
Getting out of Manhattan was always a struggle. Having road rage, and normal rage wasn't really a good thing...let alone in traffic...not moving...Calla loved it. Especially on Friday afternoons. It was Calla's favourite thing. There was nothing she loved more than Friday afternoon traffic. It took her a good hour and a half just to get off of Manhattan Island. An hour and a half alone with her thoughts. That was exactly what she wanted. At least the drive to Long Island isn't bad, she thought to herself, as an attempt of distraction.
Just her luck, the roads were packed. It seemed as though everyone on Manhattan Island was going to Long Island that weekend. Calla was already a short fuse. This extra forty five minutes to get to her personal car park was ridiculous. And then, some asshole cut her off three times. The same car. Thrice. Each time, of course, Calla slammed on her horn and cussed him out in her car.
Finally, she got to where she always parked her car...and of course there were no spots for her little yellow Porsche. She sped off, finding another spot. She got out of her car, slamming the door, and was muttering to herself the entire walk back to Camp. Which, again of course, was elongated due to the Sermon on the Mount taking place on fucking Long Island.
Honestly, the legacy couldn't have been bothered by anything. She was pissed off beyond belief, Marius was killed, and everything was just peachy fucking keen. The centurion stormed into her cohort, and just dropped her stuff on the floor by her bed with a big thump. In the same way Calla came in, the legacy of Mars exited--feet heavy, not quite to the point of stomping, but damn near close. On the way out, she slammed the door again. Her shoulders were tense, and she could feel the thick atmosphere.
Calla made her way to the Principa, ignoring anything that got in her way. As she entered the building, it seemed as though every door she encountered was slammed. She looked in all of the rooms that she knew Calix might be in. The reason why she was looking for him was because she knew that he would try to help her. She needed something positive. And, she knew that--in all honesty--only Calix and Cicero could have helped her with that. Since Cicero went missing along with that Greek girl (which Calla was still salty about, even just thinking about it made her more frustrated than she was.
The legacy looked in all of the rooms she knew. And, still, there was no sign of her best friend. Calla went to the other praetor's office. Opening and slamming the door with enough force to make him at least acknowledge her presence. "Where the hell is Calix?" she demanded, walking closer to the Praetor's desk. Every previous encounter Calla and Elijah had had gone south. Those memories flooded back into her mind, and her atmosphere just kept getting thicker and thicker