AMELIE DANIELS
WE COULD BE EVERLASTING IF THAT WAS THE LAST THING ON YOUR MIND
Posts: 32
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Post by AMELIE DANIELS on Jul 31, 2009 10:22:40 GMT -6
Twenty-one: the golden age many a teenager longs to be after he or she had graced eighteen. Eighteen was quite good enough, back when it meant one had become an adult in the loosest sense of the word. But twenty-one soon usurped the age as the new ‘eighteen.’ It meant legal alcoholic consumption, admittance into bars and clubs, even concerts and sets that were meant only for those who were considered ‘of age’ by law enforcement. Amelie Daniels never really looked forward to either, but knew that each meant a step closer to legal responsibility and, subsequently, danger from opposing forces. The Resistance was recruited heavily, and the Metzger legacy just as desperately. Both anxiously sought members from whom each would profit—not monetarily, but in the matter of strength. But this is digression.
The Cat Club was properly named as such for its reputation, one that preceded it and needed no further explanation. Tonight, a local band was performing, opening for a more renowned one, the former of which Amelie had known in its high school years. When she and her family had relocated to California, she attended the exact school which the members had suffered through for four arduously taxing years. Eyes surveying the burgeoning crowd, Amelie waited for a glimpse of one of the boys so she could show that she had managed to keep her promise. There was always a club on the strip that became notorious for its lack of carding expertise. Therefore, underage humans and supernatural persons alike could enter in a relatively undetected manner. Being acquainted with a few of the bouncers whose shifts were on particularly important days did not hurt either.
Finally, Amelie caught the gaze of the bassist whose name she could never quite recall when necessary. The fair-haired boy with curly locks waved her over, a telltale smirk plastered on his face. It was not, as it may have appeared, a provocative look…but instead an expression he had taken to wearing when overwhelmed with those pesky nerves. He had always been somewhat of a risk taker, but a large audience filled with drunken men and women…and peers, incidentally—all of which had perfectly corrupted opinions due to alcoholic consumption in the form of wine coolers, martinis, and draft beer—terrified him. Amelie had been the one to explain bluntly that regardless of the attitude of the masses, he would still kick some serious rear ends (in those exact words for good, teasing measure) with his ridiculously talented skills.
“Amelie,” greeted the lean boy, eyes slightly moist, though not from tears. “I see you made it.”
“Obviously I did. I am glad to see your observational skills are improving,” Amelie joked lightly. He grinned, replacing his nervous look with one of genuine humor. “You guys should do fine, especially given the state of the world as we know it. Are you the only one out here, scouting the crowd?” The boy, whose name she now remembered to be Oliver, nodded. “Well, I’m going to try and find a seat by the stage. Good luck.” With a hug, she departed for the stools nearest the platform that had recently been rebuilt. The previous stage had burnt down due to failed pyrotechnics, and the replacement had been ordered and billed to the band that had destroyed it quite permanently.
At the bar, she had picked up a can of Sprite ‘on the house,’ after refusing a similar beverage filled and addled with alcohol. The bartender’s assistant, noticeably deterred, had reluctantly served the first drink to a slim redhead with bright eyes and a low cut, slinky violet dress. After taking pity on the poor boy, she accepted the Sprite and flashed him a brilliantly white smile, which contrasted with her impossibly red lips. Smoothing down her simple white dress and adjusting her shoes, Amelie set the can of pop on the platform in front of her seat to move it back in the likely case that something resembling a mosh pit would form. Settling into the cushion of the coffee-shop-like barstool, she sipped from the can, watching her surroundings and allowing small snippets of bubbles to float out of the drink, unnoticed by the crowd slowly filling the vicinity. It was a skill she had acquired, hiding things from sight, along with dressing flatteringly, flattery itself, and spinning intricately, nearly undetectable lies. Now, she just had to wait for someone to talk to her—something that may very well have killed her, what with her talkative, candidly honest, and friendly disposition—or for the openers, her friends, to take the stage by storm. [/size] Status:Complete Word Count: Seven seventy-three OOC Drone: Open to anyone interested in a show. Seriously. Anybody and everybody. Oh, and I hope its quite alright that I inserted a band of my own here...it could open up opportunities for other character ideas or something....meh. [/color][/size][/blockquote]
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Post by ALLY CHEVERUX on Jul 31, 2009 15:57:15 GMT -6
ALTHOUGH I KNOW YOU TURN IT ON yeah, turn it on ahhh I know you turn it on yeah, turn it on[/center][/font][/size][/color][/font] Ally wasn’t much for going out at night anymore. Her part-time job, learning to slay the bad things that lurked in the dark shadows at night waiting for some stupid idiot who decided to walk down a dark alley alone, had kind of taken over any semblance of a life she had once had in her high school and early college years. Not that she really regretted it – most of the time. Bad things were trying to take over the world, she had a kinda special power, therefore she should use it to the advantage of the good side, right? Not that she could read the minds of vampires or werewolves, but she could sense them, simply by the nothing that was buzzing in her head. And, she was actually fairly skilled with the whole fighting them thing. So, she had become a hunter-in-training (although she doubted she should still have the in training part but Marius was so overprotective), and her social life had pretty much come to an end.
Not tonight, though! Marius was busy on Resistance, well, business, so she had the night to herself. No matter how much she adored her mentor/father figure/something, it was nice to have a break sometimes. They saw each other all the freaking time, what with her being his T.A. on top of his hunting student, and he was big on the having a lesson every night thing, whether it be history or in-the-field or more psychic training. Oh, and he wasn’t big on her going out at all by herself, so… well, he wasn’t exactly going to find out about this little outing to a bar. But really, it was just The Cat Club, nothing too scary, right? It was run by humans, and it mostly attracted a savory crowd, not like The Ruby. That was a place she definitely wouldn’t go to, unless she was off her rocker. One of her friends, Connor, was a regular there. It was more his kind of scene – you know, the kind where you got bit.
Arriving at The Cat Club, Ally found it much more crowded than she had expected; the line outside had been highly deceptive. Apparently, everyone had already arrived and was taking their seats. With a few polite apologies after elbowing numerous patrons, the huntress navigated her toward the front, neglecting to get a drink first. She wasn’t much for alcohol; it had lost its appeal once she had turned twenty-one. Even before, she had only really used it to annoy her father. When your only daughter comes home drunk, it’s rarely good for a business man’s reputation. But now, alcohol was just kind of… eh. And, Ally wasn’t in the mood for paying five dollars for a bottle of water. Maybe she could get tap water instead… But by the time that thought had crossed her mind, the bar was on the opposite side of the room from her, so she settled with finding a seat in front of the platform. Most people had taken up seats at the bar, but there were still a few stools open near the stage.
Looking down the row of seats, the only appealing one Ally could find was by a dark haired young girl about her age sitting alone. The rest were too near either a touchy-feely couple or rowdy boys. Although she had gotten much better at keeping others’ thoughts out of her head in the last few years due to Marius’s tutoring, her shields were still known to slip when she wasn’t paying attention. And, just in case her shields slipped, she would rather be by people she wouldn’t completely care about hearing the thoughts of. Those boys? Not so much. And that couple? Oh, hell no. So, she approached the girl and decided to do the polite thing. Running a hand idly through her hair, she smiled, tapping the girl on the shoulder to get her attention. “Hi, I was wondering if you were maybe saving the seat next to you for someone?” The clear implication was that Ally would want to sit there if not, and this gave the girl a clear opportunity to refuse her company. Or whatever. word count: 683 status: complete notes: sorry it's not as long as yours! i hope it's enough to go off of...
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AMELIE DANIELS
WE COULD BE EVERLASTING IF THAT WAS THE LAST THING ON YOUR MIND
Posts: 32
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Post by AMELIE DANIELS on Aug 1, 2009 19:00:15 GMT -6
IT'S JUST A LITTLE LIFETIME AWAY Touch: to cause or permit a part of the body, especially the hand or fingers, to come in contact with so as to feel. Well, Amelie was quite certain that when whoever founded the word first, he or she may not have expected the sort of contact that would be exhibited by those fond of touching. Taking a sip from the can, which may have very well frozen to her fingertips from the manner in which it stuck to her palm, she edged away from the couple a few stools down from her and averted her gaze elsewhere. They were undeniably permitting themselves to feel quite publicly. Even in the years when Amelie shuffled through boys in a makeshift cycle, she never allowed any exceptionally obscene public displays of affection like the ones being exchanged far to her left. But those matters, although ridiculously hard to ignore, were not pertinent in the least bit. Amelie had a show to watch and sing along to.
When she had spent hours laboring painstakingly in a garage and a quaint studio with the boys currently pacing frantically in the back room, nothing had come between them that, after a fight of any size, could not be resolved with a quick, sincere apology and a bear hug. They had listened to the same album for a solid pair of weeks, and had justified it by writing an equally spectacular record several months later that the boys hoped to sell. Amelie was happy she could contribute a medley or three, and even more thrilled when the boys suggested she record her best song with the front-man, Patrick. Their producers and those who ran the studio were hooked just watching the chemistry that had developed in the all-boy alternative group. Amelie had, of course, denied the privilege at least seventy-three times, although the honor would have been tremendous. After all, they were extremely talented and deserved to be recognized as such by the masses. But it was fortunate to know that, somewhere in this world, Amelie had friends who both cared for her and would never allow themselves to let her down intentionally. A smile slowly etched itself into her rather pale face as she mused over the thought. Oliver and Patrick peeked out of the curtain that a bartender had recently draped over the back room door, and gave her a quick wave and smiles each. Waving back swiftly, she might have perhaps lapsed into a reminiscent moment, had someone not suddenly tapped her shoulder.
“Hi, I was wondering if you were maybe saving the seat next to you for someone.” Amelie saved the girl the embarrassment of seeing her jump, and instead began to choke inaudibly on her Sprite. Once the bubbles had subsided, she cleared her throat, leveling bright blue eyes at the girl who looked to be approximately her age. The rather young, unfamiliar girl’s query implied clearly that she wanted to sit here, as did her apologetic gaze…which appeared to be more insightful than humanly possible. Shaking her head once, Amelie returned to the matter at hand.
“This? Oh, of course not. I was sincerely hoping someone would come along and save me the horror of sitting next to a couple of drunken teenagers whose thoughts wouldn’t be focused on the show, if you know what I mean.” Her words were not meant to be charming, but came out as such…and with extra information that reminded her of Aunt Serena, the woman who would tell far too much to complete strangers, including but not limited to delivery men and women, cashiers, and salespeople. “I’m Amelie. Amelie Daniels,” added she, running a hand through long, dark hair, trying to atone for her strange explanation. “Are you here for the show, or just stopping by?” In any case, the girl looked to be particularly harmless and entirely sober, just hoping to escape the outside world what with its wars and other tableside attractions. That, along with the fact that her friends were counting on her presence and undying support, was the reason she even bothered to enter the Cat Club on this particular night, let alone try and slip past the second bouncer that was not familiar with Amelie’s arrivals and departures with band in tow. Shows like this took place more often than not, but truly talented bands graced the stage twice a month at most. Tonight should prove to be one of those nights, in Amelie’s opinion at least.
Status: Complete Word Count: Seven fifty, even OOC Drone: Oh, it's fine. I try my hardest in the first post, and tend to slack afterwards. So, I'm assuming the band idea is okay then.
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Post by ALLY CHEVERUX on Aug 2, 2009 19:44:08 GMT -6
ALTHOUGH I KNOW YOU TURN IT ON yeah, turn it on ahhh I know you turn it on yeah, turn it on[/center][/font][/size][/color][/font] Ally couldn’t help but turn her eyes to the now highly inappropriate couple, looking away partially because she felt a little awkward staring at the girl and partially because… well, it was like a train wreck, car crash, what have you. You just couldn’t not look. Really… No, really? Seriously? Was that allowed in public? Surely there was some law against that, because no one’s innocent eyes needed to see that. If only she had something to throw at them… Maybe it would have been a good idea to cut back across the bar to get some water.
But then the other girl spoke, and Ally’s attention was distracted away from what other thing she could possibly throw at them to get them to just stop. “Would you happen to mean perhaps that horny couple over there? But they look pretty sober by the way they’re going at it…” Shaking her head at the couple but offering the girl a smile, she sat down on the surprisingly comfortable stool. Were these new? Geez, it had been a long time since she had gotten out. “But I get what you mean. And it’s nice to meet you,” Ally replied, scooting around until she was comfortable on the stool. “I’m Allison Cheverux. Actually, it’s Ally. I really hate the way Allison sounds, you know? All formal and such. But now Ally has become kind of a bimbo name.” Right, too much information. Now the other girl was going to think she was a total spaz. Wait, but wasn’t she? Oh, well. Good to let your true self out, just in case whomever you were talking to wanted to run away at top speed right? Still, Ally offered her an apologetic look. “Sorry, automatic spill. All my teachers in high school wanted to argue with me about silly stuff like that. I went to one of those annoyingly stuck-up schools.”
At least Amelie didn’t seem too worried with Ally’s spaz-like behavior. “Actually, I just came wandering in here. I haven’t gone out in awhile, not like I used to when I was younger.” She paused. “Wow, that made me sound old. I’m only twenty-one, but I guess going out lost its appeal once it was so… accessible, or something.” And so it had. Now that she didn’t have to use her fake I.D. to get into the cool places (or the ones that only let in the twenty-one plus crowd), it really had lost the appeal. Half of the fun had been worrying that she might get caught or kicked out. Lucky for her, Connor had been good at making fake I.D.s, having done it since he had been diapers, probably.
“So the band playing, are they good? I’m definitely not in the mood for any scream-o groups. Now those, I need to be drunk to watch.” From the crowd, though, Ally assumed that this wasn’t a heavy metal group, and those were rare at The Cat Club from what she could remember, anyway. Having remembered the crowd, she couldn’t help but scan it again for the couple. It was, perhaps, like the aftermath of the car crash. Maybe they would be fighting by now because she caught him checking out some bimbo with fake boobs. Oh, how she hoped so –
Wait, nope. They were still at it. Great, just great. Couples and intense PDA had to be one of Ally’s pet peeves. “Okay, so when I first spotted those two over there,” she began, nodding her head in the direction of the couple, “I was shocked and offended… And then I decided I wanted to throw something at them. Have any ideas? Because I’m at a loss…” word count: 650 status: complete ooc: oh, yeah, band thing is definitely cool.
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AMELIE DANIELS
WE COULD BE EVERLASTING IF THAT WAS THE LAST THING ON YOUR MIND
Posts: 32
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Post by AMELIE DANIELS on Aug 5, 2009 20:03:31 GMT -6
IT’S JUST A LITTLE LIFETIME AWAY Amelie snorted uncharacteristically, shifting once in her barstool. These had to be new; the last time she had been here—which was ages ago, mind you—the seats were much less comfortable. Her bright eyes followed the girl’s gaze towards the now extremely intimate couple down the row, where she had to resist the urge to send rain their way from the conveniently located emergency sprinkler.
“Would you happen to mean perhaps that horny couple over there? But they look pretty sober by the way they’re going at it… But I get what you mean. And it’s nice to meet you. I’m Allison Cheverux. Actually, it’s Ally. I really hate the way Allison sounds, you know? All formal and such. But now Ally has become kind of a bimbo name.” It was already evident that the two had more in common than a hatred for all things involving the words ‘uncensored,’ ‘public,’ and ‘displays of affection.’ Immediately, Amelie traveled mentally back to a turbulent night spent in Aunt Serena’s quaint home. Thunder had effectively drowned out all hopes of watching reruns of beloved TV shows with plots that never grew old and movies in the ‘illustrious’ HD, so the two settled for piecing together what had to be the largest puzzle known to mankind. Over two thousand pieces, the damn thing had taken hours for Amelie and Serena to simply dump it into a pile that didn’t take up far too much of the living room. And it did not help that the lights kept flickering. A pitiable UPS man had arrived twenty-five percent through the puzzle of doom, drenched and shaking with a package that had been addressed, by mistake, to Amelie rather than the coffee shop where she was then employed. He had asked a simple question: “What are you working on in there?” Serena had taken it upon herself to divulge the poor man in a lecture involving what may very well have been the history of puzzle-making and the downfalls of buying such games that came in a number of pieces that was larger than the number of years the lovely States and several other independent had been around. It was hilarious now, but sad at the time. After all, life stories were meant for those other than complete strangers delivering a dozen boxes of assorted coffees and espresso mixes.
Amelie turned her attention back to Ally, who happened to be growing on her as she continued to speak with an oddly apologetic expression. “Sorry, automatic spill. All my teachers in high school wanted to argue with me about silly stuff like that. I went to one of those annoyingly stuck-up schools. Actually, I just came wandering in here. I haven’t gone out in awhile, not like I used to when I was younger.” Ally paused. “Wow, that made me sound old. I’m only twenty-one, but I guess going out lost its appeal once it was so… accessible, or something.”
Amelie set down her drink, running a hand through her hair. “I would happen to mean the couple over there, although you’re probably right. I think they’ve drained whatever alcohol they had in their systems quite effectively. Someone’s going to have to research that, though, to see if it’s a new detoxification method. But yes, it’s nice to meet you too. If anyone were capable of finding a nickname for me that was mildly interesting, I wouldn’t go by Amelie, but I work with what I’ve got.” That pushed the smile edging its way onto her lips up, an expression that was apparently endearing, or so claimed Patrick and the rest of the band. They happened to make so many unusually useful observations when she hung out with them. “As for sounding old, I do it all the time. I suppose it’s possible that you’re working undercover to bust the juveniles and such that overpopulate this joint, but I’ll say it anyways: I’ve got a year before a place like this would be legally accessible. The thrill just escapes me now, so I’m here for the boys.” It was Amelie’s turn to pause, mid-tirade. “Wow. I just made myself sound like a bimbo all on my own.” Her smile turned mildly sardonic, though with traces of humor from seconds before; this was her second signature smile, or so she considered it. Sarcasm, though a fickle fiend like love and other four-letter words (hate…mind…spud?), was a welcome addition to her attributes.
“So the band playing, are they good? I’m definitely not in the mood for any scream-o groups. Now those, I need to be drunk to watch.” Ally had turned her gaze back to the crowd, presumably checking the audience for signs of head-banging fans donning metal regalia. Amelie resisted the urge to laugh again, though not at Allison—err, Ally, just at the notion of the boys being a heavy metal or glam rock group. She’d have to mention—damn. Amelie was doing it again. I have a life outside taking care of the boys, she repeated, exactly as if it were her mantra. Sure, they needed someone for inspiration and to prod them along, but she had to do some things for herself. Oliver had quite bluntly explained it to her weeks before this show.
“Oh, they’re good. And I’m not just saying that because I know them. I wouldn’t call them scream-o, but there are some harsh edges to the vocals on occasion. Overall, it makes the songs sound better. I know it sounds weird and nonsensical, but it’s true. You’ll see, or hear, what have you. I’d say they were…oh…more indie alternative than heavy metal.” Her eyes drifted back to the couple—an involuntary action she immediately regretted. Was that even possible with clothing on?
Apparently Ally had done the same in her all-crowd scan, for she then said, nodding in their direction, “Okay, so when I first spotted those two over there, I was shocked and offended… And then I decided I wanted to throw something at them. Have any ideas? Because I’m at a loss…” The satirical traces left in her smile vanished entirely.
“I’m going to be honest: when you first strode up to me and asked if you could sit there, I was worried that either you would be completely intoxicated and would speak unintelligibly for the remainder of the night, think that I was mental, or would be mental yourself. But now I’ve decided that getting to know you—in a strictly friendly way, with no creepy strings attached, of course—would be nice. As for what to throw at them, I have to admit I was briefly considering the same thing. I’ve got Mentos,” replied Amelie. “I know they’re tasty and all, but I refrain from eating them as often due to too many incidents where I’ve downed two with a sip of Coke. Not too fun, I assure you. And I’m quite positive tossing them one at a time would prove to be entertaining.”
Status:Complete Word Count: Eleven seventy-two OOC Babble: Wow. I outdid myself...but then again, a lot of it is your dialogue, so it doesn't really count, does it? Awesome. I'll see what I can do about a name for them.
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Post by ALLY CHEVERUX on Aug 7, 2009 22:44:20 GMT -6
ALTHOUGH I KNOW YOU TURN IT ON yeah, turn it on ahhh I know you turn it on yeah, turn it on[/center][/font][/size][/color][/font] Ally shook her head and considered Amelie’s statement. Actually, that kind of interaction between those two people in public, which Ally had decided was probably legal in every state but California, probably could drain any alcohol from the system. Yuck. “Hmm… I can work on attempting to figure out a nickname. But you probably don’t want to hold me to that. Names aren’t my forte.” She laughed a little, trying to imaginer herself as a cop or whatever undercover agent would try to bust kids in a place like this. “Yes, I suppose they would hire me for my expertise at sneaking into numerous different clubs and bars only just a few months ago.” She returned Amelie’s sardonic smile with one of her own. Of course, the last thing Ally believed was that the girl she was sitting next to her was in any way a bimbo. Bimbos were easily spotted, like the girl who had just bumped into her on her way back over to the bar where she was surrounded by drunken guys. She had been wearing a tube top (hadn’t those gone out of style forever ago?), Daisy Duke shorts, strappy heels, and her fake blonde extensions fell down to her waist… Yup, that was a bimbo. Shaking her head slightly, and feeling a little bit like a bitch, the copper haired girl turned back to her companion.
“Oh, they’re good. And I’m not just saying that because I know them. I wouldn’t call them scream-o, but there are some harsh edges to the vocals on occasion. Overall, it makes the songs sound better. I know it sounds weird and nonsensical, but it’s true. You’ll see, or hear, what have you. I’d say they were…oh…more indie alternative than heavy metal.”
“Wait, back up for a second. You know them? Okay, so I definitely picked the best person in the place to sit next to,” she said, returning a bit of the compliment Amelie had paid her when she had first asked the brunette if she could sit next to her. “Now your sort-of bimboish comment makes sense.” Ally offered her a smile to show that she was joking. “So you’re here supporting them? That’s nice of you… Do you get to go to many of the practices? You know, hear them when they sound their worst and all that? Always good for mocking purposes or when they start to get a little conceited. Boys need that, you know, or they just go crazy with arrogance.” Ally was talking from experience, of course. She had been the type in high school to hang out more around boys than girls, partially because she was a huge flirt, partially because she just felt more comfortable around them. Guys rarely seemed to judge someone because of their fashion sense, or if they had the right hairstyle, or whatever mundane things some of the girls she hung around talked about. Of course, she even caught herself doing that sometimes, and she tried to be better about it. But some people just deserved it, like that couple. They really deserved to be judged. Seriously.
Listening while Amelie, quite simply, told her as it was, Ally watched the other girl with a small smile on her face. It was really nice to come across someone who was so blatantly honest. And so willing to prank some couple who was way too into each other. “Well, I can’t promise you that I’m not mental. Actually, I’m pretty certain that I am very mental. Most people think I’m about ten different kinds of crazy, but I like to think that it’s a – how should I put it? – enduring kind of crazy,” she replied with a smirk, running a hand through her hair. And then, with a falsely serious tone, she continued, “But I feel the same way, and I believe the best way to get to know each other is to annoy the hell out of that couple. Whether it be by throwing Mentos or perhaps a drink, even a glass if our other options don’t pan out. And how did someone convince you to do that? Because I’m sure that would get me off of eating those completely.”
Ally rifled through her own purse for a moment, trying to find something that she was willing to be rid of. There were a few pens; she’d keep that in mind. Wallet, book, journal, make-up bag, a crushed pack of crackers… “Alright, I’m pretty much coming up empty. I do have a couple of pens, most that ran out of ink at least two years ago, and a pack of crushed crackers. Who knows how long these have been in here… At least if we throw these, we have the added mold factor!”
Biting her lip, the telepath glanced past Amelie’s head, took aim with one of the pens, and threw it… missing by a good five feet, hitting an imposing, tall figure instead. “Eeep!” she squeaked, ducking behind her companion. “Okay, your turn,” she practically whispered, scared if she spoke too loudly the man looking over his shoulder would hear her. Ally was sure hunter training would have at least given her some sort of aim, but sadly, she still had the same horrible aim she had had when trying out for softball in the seventh grade. word count: 891 status: complete tag: amelie! ooc: ack, naming is always the hardest part for me. tell me if you need any help.
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