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Author Topic: the familiar unknown | camilla  (Read 179 times)

* Maria Teodora Wittington

    (04/07/2019 at 01:02)
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during breakfast, the steps of palais longchamp

end of June 1956


Morning had broken the horizon, lighting up the entire camp, one golden bit at a time, as it continued to rise. It was pleasantly warm, this early in the morning, and she knew most of the campers were going to breakfast. Téo, however, was hiding (sort of) from her campers, not even in her own area, in fact. She was on the Marseille side.

Sitting on the steps that led up to the grand building that housed Team Cézanne, Téo knew she wasn’t that well hidden or anything. It just happened to be in a corner of the stairs that didn’t get used as much as the more obvious, direct routes did.

She was leaning up against the stone, one leg balancing a large sketchbook, while the other balanced the rest of her on the steps. A step above her was her breakfast: a cigarette, the color, and scent of cacao beans, and her usual mug of her coffee.

France, in this respect, failed to impress her seventeen-year-old self just as much as it did her ten-year-old self (despite that this wasn’t exactly France; it was close enough).

At the moment though, the sharp ended charcoal piece was unmoving, as brown eyes that appeared more amber in the morning sun, examined the statues of the fountain. This, though--the curves, lines, colors, all that France had to offer--that she would be impressed by. Not as impressed as she was by some of the painters from home, but nevertheless.

There was something very familiar about the shadow that suddenly fell over her then.

A smile spread slowly across her face, tipping her head back a little to look Camilla Carstairs in the eye. “Buenas,” Téo said easily, being pleased to see her, especially in this lighting (and her brain was only slightly still uncomprehending how Camilla Carstairs existed without a Vega). “Not hungry?”

Camilla Carstairs

    (04/07/2019 at 20:06)
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She had lost one of her books -- Whitman's Leaves of Grass -- somewhere.

And there was just one problem: somewhere could be many places; for as far as she recalled, she could have either lost it the day before or a week ago. Losing a book was a fateful event that, unfortunately, she was great accustomed too -- nothing irreplaceable, but this particular volume had a small note Bianca had written when she had given it to her. Besides, it was a particularly nice edition.

With a single apple on her head, the second one she had eaten since she had woken up and consequently the second half of that day's breakfast. The girl, unfazed by the fact that perhaps it was a bit too early for such quest, headed to Team Cézanne cabins. Maybe Jeremiah had the book -- she was fairly certain he didn't, but when it came to small things like this, she was frequently wrong.

Wrong, in this case, would be a good thing.

“Buenas,”

A single word was all it took for the girl to forget about what she had came to that place for. "I...," as Camilla spoke, her eyes were fixed on the sketchboon on Téo's hands rather than on the girl herself, "have an apple." As if an apple was an acceptable breakfast, she held it out for the older girl to see.
I CARRY YOUR HEART

(I carry it in my heart)

* Maria Teodora Wittington

    (04/11/2019 at 00:19)
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For a good ten seconds, Camilla Carstairs looked like she was on a mission.

At least until Téo had said something to her, and though she had managed not to laugh, she couldn’t help smiling further. She couldn’t tell if Camilla was just thrown from being interrupted out of nowhere (from whatever it was she so clearly had been doing), or because she hadn’t been expecting someone to be sitting on the steps this early, especially maybe a counselor.

Or just Téo herself, as for a short moment, her brow furrowed, following blue eyes. Or that, Téo grinned then, that was always something extra she had over others - people were always curious about what was being drawn or painted, she’d come to realize. Especially when it was being done by a young girl looking far too serious.

At least, her abuelita always complained about her looking too serious and scaring off boys.

Though she was a little amused now, an eyebrow arched at the apple. It was both unsurprising and endearing, being Camilla Carstairs, so Téo couldn’t help the easy laughter in her voice, “So I see.” she bit her lip then, mostly in an effort to contain the smiling, “Here.”

Téo, without missing a beat, handed the sketchbook up to the Ravenclaw. It was unfinished. A bull's head and upper body were still coming into focus, but the eyes were painstakingly detailed and humanlike in their raw emotion. Weaving throughout the page, even in the unfinished parts, was a gritty rope, flowing freely in one area, then a chaotic, tight knot in others. It wasn’t fully colored, a sketch of dark charcoal with smudged bits of deep red. The rope looked hard and abrasive in texture like it’d scratch if touched (and it would). Though the bull was faded in its still fragmented state, there were the beginnings of short, but glossy hair, the colors of gold and deep copper melding together.

She had leaned back after handing the book over, resting her arms stretched out over the knee where the sketchpad had once been. “Siéntate conmigo. There's coffee.”

Téo gave a nod to the coffee pot, taking the cigarette back up between two fingers and inhaling briefly. She didn’t think she had to point out the obvious to Camilla Carstairs that the drawing wasn’t finished, though she added, “I’d offer you a cigarette, but I’m not sure it goes with your apple.”

Here, Téo smiled, her usual, more teasing one, blowing the smoke from red lips and away from the other girl. Her belo had taught her, in this area, manners. It was also why there were two terracotta mugs, instead of just one.

Camilla Carstairs

    (04/13/2019 at 19:24)
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Gladly, Camilla took the sketchbook with her free hand. And when she looked at it -properly looked at it- it was with a mixture of softness and harshness burning in her gaze. A something that hinted, perhaps, at the countless hours she had spent caught up in books about art: painters biographies and overly complex descriptions of the evolutions of their styles, books about the evolution of art, the development of different tecniques, the stories behind some of the most renowed paintings.

Camilla Carstairs, when it came to art -and with most things, really- was an expert in theory, not in practice.

As the older girl spoke, she continued analyzing the sketch in silence, quietly occupying the seat by her side. At she was offered a coffee, she shook her head "I'll finish the apple first." The coffee could potentially destroy the lingering, wonderful fresh taste of the apple - and Camilla was not foolish enough to risk that.

"Those things leave a dreadful smell so no, gracias." Camilla's scent was a mixture of a fresh perfume (not too strong; strong perfumes were, in her opinion, distasteful) and the lingering smell of apples and peach. A cigarette's smoke would completely ruin that soft, pleasent balance.

Finally diverting her gaze from the sketchbook as she handed it back to Téo, bluntly and softly as ever, she asked. "Why a bull?"
I CARRY YOUR HEART

(I carry it in my heart)

* Maria Teodora Wittington

    (04/19/2019 at 02:33)
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There were moments in life, that she, as an artist, naturally looked for. Made sure to catch. These moments were often when people were highly distracted by something that moved them, unraveled them, consumed them, or being so effortlessly themselves that they didn’t realize what they were doing; it was that open rawness on their face, in their eyes, that Téo strived to glimpse. Camilla Carstairs was doing just that, as brown eyes focused on blue (so many different shades of blue).

It wasn’t actually something new when it came to the younger girl though, Téo thought, because from what she could tell, Camilla was just always this way.

There was brilliance in the contrasting duality, how it was natural, not forced or feigned, but simply how she was. It was odd to see it contained as a whole, living, breathing person. It was partly why Téo found her so fascinating. There was so much that didn’t or shouldn’t, at least, go with the softer, quieter parts of the other girl, but they did. Like colors that should never be mixed, but shockingly came out vibrant and stunning when they were.

Maybe it was just because Téo had never met anyone that actually managed it--managed it without actually having to manage it--because it was just her. The colors and textures that vibrated off the other girl were nearly tangible to Téo.

But that was as far as she ever got. Camilla Carstairs was the first and only person, chosen art subject or not, that Téo could not quite feel out properly.

"Me parece bien," Téo said easily, understanding that it would disrupt the flavor of a fresh apple. Though an almost coy smile quirked at the corners of her mouth (it was too good-natured to be truly coy), "But, you should have some later. I think you'd enjoy it." To the cigarette comment, Téo couldn't help the laugh, “I know, that’s why I don’t smoke them. These,” she reached into her bag to pull out the silver case, intricate pre-Colombian etching on the front catching the sunlight. Popping it open to reveal two lines of rich, mahogany-hued cigarettes, she continued, “My belo’s own blend. They smell better," they smelled like her grandfather when she hugged him, his studio on a cool night, and sunrises in San Angelo, "taste better too.”

The notes held toasted cacao beans, hot chilis, and an undertone of vanilla weaved through the tobacco. Both the smell and flavor were rich, warm, and complex.

Still, not one to be rude, without a second thought she stubbed the cigarette out in the ceramic tray and moved it away from them. As she took her sketchbook back, a slow, quietly delighted smile curved her lips. There were not a lot of people that asked what her art meant, or what a certain aspect meant because there was many - layers, complexities, symbolism, and even the pressure in which she did the brushstrokes.

Meeting blue eyes, she was not surprised by the question, just as she wasn't surprised by the blunt softness it came on. Another contrast. One she wanted to capture, but even looking at Camilla now, as intense as the glint was in brown eyes, acutely studying the other girl, she still couldn’t quite see. It was frustrating. Her artistic scrutiny and curiosity eased up then, allowing a smile to play on red lips. She wasn’t sure Camilla Carstairs was going to enjoy what came next, but it was the nature of art.

“Why not?” Téo returned, biting her lower lip to prevent too much amusement appearing in her face, even if it was endeared amusement, fascinated even. The bull meant many different things for different people, cultures, countries, all throughout history. She knew what it meant to her, but if she tried to speak about it, the words fragmented. Fragmented into oil paints and crushed through charcoals. “Why is it the bull for you?”

Not entirely sure how the Ravenclaw would take to such an illogical response, Téo brought up her coffee mug, fully prepared to hide behind it.

Camilla Carstairs

    (04/20/2019 at 15:40)
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Bringing the apple to her lips, she nodded. A cup of coffee would, she mused, be quite nice - as she had skipped breakfast and, contrary to what she genuinely believed, an apple was not enough. Even if she showed interest when Téo revealed those cigarettes that apparently smelled better (she always showed interest in everything, interest that never lasted for long) Camilla Carstairs had no interest in actually smoking one. There seemed to he a fixation towards those things among Hogwarts students, as if the simple act of simply smoking one made you earn a higher status in the castle's social ladder. Coolness however, could not be directly related to a thing that smelled that badly, or so Camilla believed.

She had asked Bianca once, as the lioness had been part of Hogwart’s royalty once - a silly thing to be. According to the witch, smoking had been just a bad habit that had seemed impressive at the time.

Camilla Carstairs Aguilar considered herself to have a brilliant mind, and smoking would be a terribly foolish thing to do. “Why do you smoke? Creating yourself a necessity like that is a very stupid thing to do, no crees?” Someone else would have held back such comment - or critic - but the girl had always been quite a raw little thing. It she genuinely thought it, there was no point in keeping it for herself, right?

Téo looked amused, Camilla didn’t - when she made questions, she expected answers, not more questions in return.

“For me,” She pursed her lips as glanced at the bull once again, “the bull is violence; bullfights. Sangre.” More less a year ago, after having witnessed once - her mother had insisted that she would like it - Camilla Carstairs had, and very ungracefully, thrown up. “I hope here the bulls means something nicer.”   
IT'S SUCH A SHAME,
SHE USED TO BE SO DELIGHTFUL

* Maria Teodora Wittington

    (04/25/2019 at 02:39)
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Téo expected nothing less from Camilla Carstairs.

She wasn’t positive the other girl had a less option like she could somehow adjust the brightness, but then it wouldn’t be so vibrant or harsh. There had to be both. It was exactly what fascinated her about Camilla in the first place; it was too palpable to ignore. Even if she was on the receiving end at the moment.

Though Téo had a feeling there were far worse things to be on the receiving end of besides Camilla's opinion on smoking.

Still, she had no problem smiling, an effortless move for her. “All humans do,” Téo couldn’t help it, and bit her lower lip, trying to keep that smile from turning amused. Not that she was poking fun, because it was true, all humans did something to create an attachment, make something into a necessity, be it good for them or not (a lot of the time, being human, it was not). 

“Anyway, it’s not that for me,” Téo started, because it wasn’t, “A necessity, I mean, so much as it’s… a memory.” Which was true, but they weren’t a necessity, she had necessities and she wasn’t about to go telling them to Camilla Carstairs. Especially since that would admit said necessities even existed.

One of her necessities though, she knew, was probably obvious by the charcoal dusted books she carried around, the paint that often stained her skin, and maybe even the way she looked at people. Téo knew for a fact she wouldn’t exist without her art. If all of it just became trapped inside of her, or, she wasn’t sure if it was worse or not, it somehow all faded away from her. Kept forever out of her reach.

“You have one, I’m sure.” she wasn’t, because Camilla Carstairs wasn’t like any other human being she’d ever met. The coffee mug came up then.

“For me,”

After taking the drink, she set the mug back down, teeth finding her lower lip again, tasting the rich, bitter flavor there. She leaned back a little more once Camilla started speaking, crossing her arms with one propped up, resting her hand lightly near her lips, in a considering pose.

“the bull is violence; bullfights. Sangre.”

Téo was considering - but only of the girl across from her. “I thought it might,” it was soft, as Téo let her hand fall back down, fingers splaying out over her drawing so far, where she had set the book off to the side. “There’s a little bit of that here too.” For a moment, the intensity deepened, talking about what she was trying to put onto paper. “It’s not them that are violent. We brought that.”

“But,” a quiet smile slowly formed then, “With all that pain. Sangre,” she met Camilla’s eyes, and hers were just as sharp, “The bull stands its ground. Fiercely determined.” A finger had followed the rope she’d drawn, started really, it still had shading and angles to be done. “If you look into it,” which the Ravenclaw likely would if she hadn’t already, “the bull can mean very different things, but they’re all contained in this one being.”
« Last Edit: 05/04/2019 at 14:08 by Maria Teodora Wittington »

Camilla Carstairs

    (04/28/2019 at 09:35)
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What Camilla Carstairs wanted to say was the following: that if a memory involved the necessity -because she was till convinced it was a necessity- then it was a stupid memory. Instead, she chose the softer version. "If it's a memory then, remember it and stop smoking. That's what memories are for."

She, like every other human, had many memories. She had memories of her father behind his desk, memories of his father sitting on the edge of her bed - talking to her about the latest case he had been working on, when she had just wanted him to read a chapter of whichever book she was reading at the time. Memories of her mother sitting alone at night in their bedroom, waiting for hours for the man that would not return home until the next day.

Yet, none of those memories had made her feel the urge to place a cigarette between her lips - so, clearly, she had done something, hadn't she?

“You have one, I’m sure.”

Camilla shrugged, a smile -almost proud- tugging at the corner of her lips. "Of course I do," Some necessities, like smoking, or the need of constant attention or praise perhaps, were detrimental. Her necessity --or at least the one she acknowledged for there were countless things Camilla Carstairs Aguilar ignored about herself -- was good. "apples, obviously."

And any other kind of fruit, though.

As she listened to Téo, her eyes were wholly fixed on the drawing - trying to see what was behind it: it was not easy, for a girl that felt too deeply but refused to speak in emotions and chose facts and logic instead. "They are not violent... well, they might be, but it's part of their nature. They are the ones that make that violence bad." They -- other people, other humans -- not her.

It was only after thirteen seconds that she opened her mouth once again. "I like it... you're good."
RAW
just wanna be, just wanna be


* Maria Teodora Wittington

    (05/13/2019 at 04:13)
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Téo couldn’t help the amused smile then, not because she thought Camilla was being funny, but because she was just endeared by the girl’s unyielding persistence. “Fair enough,” she answered, unable to keep the affection from tinging her voice. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

She meant that, but she also knew that if she felt like it, she’d pick up one of her belo’s cigarettes. It was the smell, really, that did it for her. Téo’s gaze was on her unfinished work and on the girl in front of her; she wasn’t started, not yet, but as brown eyes remained acute, studying, she had a feeling she would be soon.

Téo could just see something that was there, but didn’t exist yet.

A light laugh interrupted her artistic musings suddenly, something else she had been unable to suppress, as she gave Camilla a look as if to say, really? While she was not surprised by this because Camilla Carstairs always had some sort of fruit on her general person, the delivery had been so dead on that Téo couldn’t help the response.

Obviously,” she agreed, shaking her head a little, but her gaze was drawn back to the bull, incomplete, except for the eyes, as Camilla spoke. Téo’s head tilted a little, glancing at the other girl, conceding this point on violence with a small nod.

“I like it... you’re good.”

Seconds later, a quiet, but open smile played on red lips, and brown eyes lifted from the page to meet (different, always different) blue eyes. “Thank you,” a beat, then she gave Camilla Carstairs her full, unwavering attention. “In that case, maybe you’ll let me paint you.”

It wasn't really a question.

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