- Messages
- 87
- OOC First Name
- Cole
- Blood Status
- Mixed Blood
- Relationship Status
- Interested in Somebody
- Sexual Orientation
- Heterosexual
- Age
- 01/19/2031
"Stand up straight, Amella. Remember, kick walk. Tuck your hair behind your ear, and remember girls do not shake hands they curtsy."
Amella Macksimov's mother was insistent on telling her what was important to remember as they prepared to enter the Shannara Charity gala. The fact that the young Veela was attending was only to save face. Her mother insisted they would think her children were hooligans if at least one didn't show up - and she was the lucky winner. Her manners and soft spoken personality made her an easy choice, and Amella ever patient and agreeably did not say no to her mother or father. After all, the charity was important to her father, her mother was even distrustful of it and seemed anxious and unwilling to go, but she put on her best face, so why couldn't the young Veela.
Amella had only just turned 15, but her impending adulthood and need to carry herself as a proud member of her namesake led to her mature responses when she was greeted. She gave a charming smile, speaking back proudly the phrases she was taught, hoping more of them were English or French speaking - she wouldn't push her luck for Russian. Walking carefully, kicking the dress out as she did, she tailed her parents, a small smile plastered on her glossed lips. Her lashes were weighed heavily down with too much mascara, and her mother had insisted that she wear a diamond necklace close to her throat, that occasionally caught on her loose updo. She desperately craved punch, but knew better than to leave in the middle of conversations, and thus she waited until the event was well under way to pry away from her parents and search for some water, punch, or an escape for some night air.
In her search the blonde walked close to the walls, trying to stay out of the way of those mingling, those dancing and canoodling. It was quite sweet to see the love in the room, and the blonde romanticized the day she might meet love. It wouldn't be for years she was sure. Finally coming across refreshments she took sparkling punch in her hand and glanced around the room, steel colored eyes eventually falling on a figure against the wall, much like she had been earlier. Trying to blend in maybe, or gathering a moment of silence. Regardless the boy wasn't fitting in elsewhere, and his familiar face drew in the Beuxbatons student. She made her way across, hand holding up part of her dress to make walking much easier. Finally once she had crossed the room to him she tapped him gently on the shoulder. "If you are trying to blend into the walls, your suit is the wrong color." She said, obviously joking - breaking the ice quickly she hoped.
Amella Macksimov's mother was insistent on telling her what was important to remember as they prepared to enter the Shannara Charity gala. The fact that the young Veela was attending was only to save face. Her mother insisted they would think her children were hooligans if at least one didn't show up - and she was the lucky winner. Her manners and soft spoken personality made her an easy choice, and Amella ever patient and agreeably did not say no to her mother or father. After all, the charity was important to her father, her mother was even distrustful of it and seemed anxious and unwilling to go, but she put on her best face, so why couldn't the young Veela.
Amella had only just turned 15, but her impending adulthood and need to carry herself as a proud member of her namesake led to her mature responses when she was greeted. She gave a charming smile, speaking back proudly the phrases she was taught, hoping more of them were English or French speaking - she wouldn't push her luck for Russian. Walking carefully, kicking the dress out as she did, she tailed her parents, a small smile plastered on her glossed lips. Her lashes were weighed heavily down with too much mascara, and her mother had insisted that she wear a diamond necklace close to her throat, that occasionally caught on her loose updo. She desperately craved punch, but knew better than to leave in the middle of conversations, and thus she waited until the event was well under way to pry away from her parents and search for some water, punch, or an escape for some night air.
In her search the blonde walked close to the walls, trying to stay out of the way of those mingling, those dancing and canoodling. It was quite sweet to see the love in the room, and the blonde romanticized the day she might meet love. It wouldn't be for years she was sure. Finally coming across refreshments she took sparkling punch in her hand and glanced around the room, steel colored eyes eventually falling on a figure against the wall, much like she had been earlier. Trying to blend in maybe, or gathering a moment of silence. Regardless the boy wasn't fitting in elsewhere, and his familiar face drew in the Beuxbatons student. She made her way across, hand holding up part of her dress to make walking much easier. Finally once she had crossed the room to him she tapped him gently on the shoulder. "If you are trying to blend into the walls, your suit is the wrong color." She said, obviously joking - breaking the ice quickly she hoped.