bellisima

He was fine. This was okay. Eric tried to keep reminding himself, keeping his heart rate (which had skyrocketed) under wraps. Just because this was a potentially dangerous situation didn’t mean he’d have to let it get to dangerous. It was just weed. He’d used to have at least three different stacks hidden around his room and the en suite, just in case. He was fine.

But then again, that was years ago, and he had changed a lot since then. He also knew himself well, thanks to Dr. Jacobs at the Ostroff, who’d sat him down, looked him straight into his eyes and told him just how susceptible he was to addiction. And how he’d have to look at it like an allergy. Most people can be around cats just fine and never have to think twice about it. People who were allergic to cats couldn’t. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t fair, but it was life.

He slid down the wall to make himself slightly more comfortable, but all of his muscles were so tight that he doubted it would do much good. The earthy smell filled the small cabinet, and Eric started panicking internally. What if he’d get high from the smoke? Would that declare his sobriety chip null and void? The very one that was feeling heavier each second? For a second he thought, stupidly enough, that he should’ve been around drugs again much sooner, so that he wouldn’t have been so terrified now that it finally happened. But he knew that wasn’t the right way. From the moment he’d left the Ostroff, he’d known that he’d had to stay away completely if he wanted to make sure he’d stay sober. Maybe he could just … try to hold his breath as much as he could, only breathing when it was really necessary. 

Before he could decide on a plan of action, he vaguely heard her speak and drew himself from the depths of his mind to process it and reply in kind. “No, I really don’t,” he said, though the irony was not lost on him. He knew he was a rarity among his peers, knew that most of his peers at least used recreationally, if just to get through another tedious dinner gala. He was ready to field any questions, when luckily the emergency phone rang and Eric gladly stood up to answer it and dodging any potential follow-up questions.

The phone call was quick - and Talia had been right, white people really did hate the smell of weed. “Well-” he started, still putting as much space between them as he could by standing in the far corner. “She called the technician, he should be here in about twenty-five minutes. She also kindly reminded me that drugs were not allowed on the premises. So.. Maybe..” he said, looked at her joint and hoped - begged- she’d put it out. 

Talia’s thick eyebrows pulled together as she watched Eric.  It was as if her mind could only focus on one thing at a time, and now that her attention had shifted over to him, he was all she zoned in on.  She watched his every movement—how he kept his eyes trained straight ahead, trained on nothing, almost as if he weren’t even really in the room.  

Listen, she understood that; she wanted to get the fuck out of this elevator too, but Eric was acting different.  He had been more receptive earlier, but now it was as if he were just an ornament in the elevator—a statue, of sorts.  His body was stiff, even after he slid down to sit on the floor with her, and for a while he said absolutely nothing.  He didn’t even really look like he was thinking about anything either; his face stoic and unrelenting in the slightest, a mask of sorts.

Right when Talia was going to ask if he was okay, the filing cabinet in the depths of her mind opened to reveal a file titled ‘van der Woodsens.’  She could practically hear her step-father’s voice in her head, debriefing her on the family as he did with all of her new peers when she first came to New York.  He had told her the ins and outs of everyone that she’d be in contact with, and it all felt very Devil Wears Prada-y when Andy and Emily had to study the book with all the guests names for Miranda.

van der Woodsen... Talia’s mind instantly fell on Serena, the adored It Girl of the Upper East Side.  She had heard plenty about the blonde bombshell, but hadn’t said more than three words to her in passing, so Talia tucked the thought away.  Eric, on the other hand, Talia didn’t know too much about.  She knew that he was a little more ‘under the radar’ than his sister—and didn’t he...

Talia was close to forming a coherent, possibly even correct thought when his words pulled her out of her head.  No, I really don’t, he had said, and Talia parted her lips to say something in response when the phone rang.  She was taken aback by the sudden springiness in his step when he answered it—where was this energy for the past ten minutes?  It didn’t matter; they were getting out of here soon and Talia would be able to go home and attempt to hand in her assignment on time.

When he spoke again and suggest that she turn out her joint, Talia followed his gaze down to the clip that was in her hand.  It was about half-way through; the product of a perfect roll, and all the time she had spent in her head caused the flame to go out on its own.  Her interest was his steady gaze on her joint, and suddenly her train of thought began chugging again.

Oh. How oblivious could she be?  “Right, of course,” She mumbled as she slipped the half-a-joint into the container she pulled it out from.  She wanted to blame the weed for making her into such an idiot, but it was her own fault.  Talia was always too lazy to learn about everyone she’d be in regular contact with in New York—it wasn’t fun to scour Gossip Girl’s old posts and read her crude comments about the elite’s lives.  She also just didn’t like to learn about peoples’ lives without their permission; if they wanted to tell her, they would.  And if Eric wanted to tell her, he would’ve—and yet, he didn’t exactly tell her to put the joint out.  Perhaps this was just more complicated.

“I’m sorry,” she said after some time.  She didn’t want to pry into his private life, but she figured she should say something. “I should’ve realized you were uncomfortable.”  Talia kept her blanket statement as simple as that; there was no need to make his struggles the highlight of their conversation.  “Here,” she said, pulling out a tiny water bottle from her bag and rolling it over to him, “It’s water.”  Talia figured it’d be safer to clarify the contents of the bottle at risk of sounding like an idiot.  It wasn’t like it was uncommon for the younger members of the elite to sneak alcohol in water bottles, though.

When she’d sat down, Nate hadn’t even bothered to turn his head in order to identify who it was. But as soon as she spoke he knew who it was. The way the words slid off of her tongue, the easy tilt of her accent was unmistakable. His head snapped to the side and his eyebrows drew together in utter confusion. “Talia,” he said. It wasn’t a question, or a statement really. Just an acknowledgment. They hadn’t spoken much since their blind date. It wasn’t for lack of interest, but rather a lack of Nate being able to think or talk about anything that wasn’t Chuck. “Don’t apologize,” he told her, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the drink in front of him. “I’m an asshole. I’ve been an asshole.” He sighed, a release of breath from deep in his gut. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated for a moment, turning his head to look at her again. His expression softened. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

When the bartender came around with her whisky, Talia shot him a quick smile before shifting her body in the stool to face Nate.  Delicate fingers toyed with the brim of the glass as her azure hues trained on him, the amber contents of the glass quietly swirling around the singular ball of ice.  Her brows pulled together as he began apologizing, and she tried to wipe the expression of pity from her face before he noticed.  She hadn’t exactly been avoiding him following their date—in fact, she would have loved to see him following their date but life was... Life.  Between her winter classes and the work that came with them, Talia simply hadn’t had the time to reach out. She was going to send a text after the funeral, but blanked—she had seen him and gave him her condolences then, so what else would she say?  It didn’t exactly look like the best time for a second date.  “Hey,” she said, reaching out her hand to caress his forearm, giving it a comforting squeeze.  Her lips pulled up in a half-smile, “It’s not like I’m any less of an asshole.  Don’t stress.”  

@ofxbella

​

 Continued from here.

While he’d been surprised when the elevator had come, Talia had been reacting openly enough for the both of them, so he’d simply waited and watched her until she seemed a bit calmer. He’d actually been stuck in this elevator before, and last time (a few years ago), the technician had told him that there was a faulty… something that caused the elevator to get stuck on the chords every so often. It apparently wasn’t common or dangerous, but he remembered they did really need the technician to fix it - the receptionist would not be able to help them.

He decided to keep that information to himself, for now. As she seemed to calm down, he watched her while a mischievous glint betrayed her otherwise solemn face, and even smiled in response - though he furrowed his brows in confusion as he tried to understand what exactly her plan was. His smile fell flat, his heart skipped a beat, and he had to try his very best to keep his face as neutral as he could.

Ever since his release from the Ostroff, he’d had plenty of practice being around alcohol without actually drinking. It was impossible to attend a social event without it. It had been difficult, at first, but over time Eric had managed to feel comfortable in those settings (save for the occasional longing look). This, however, was different. He hadn’t been around drugs in years. He couldn’t be. He didn’t want to be.

“Oh, I actually-” he started, though by that time she was already smoking. Fixating his gaze straight ahead, he tried not to panic. Because he’d been keeping away from drugs for so long, he didn’t trust himself around them. He had no intention of taking anything, but he’d heard it countless times at the Ostroff - being around drugs just paved a path to do drugs.

“Right, thanks,” he eventually said, still not looking at her. He could practically feel his sobriety chip burning a hole in his pocket. “We might be in here a while though, I think they need to call a technician.” His jaw was clenched and his whole body tense while he spoke, but he could only hope that Talia was too invested in her .. activity, to notice.

When the joint in her outreached hand went neglected, Talia proudly pulled her hand back to her and gently placed the jay between her lips to take another pull.  There were a lot of things that Talia knew she was good at, like running track and writing, and she knew for a fact that rolling up her weed was one of them.  It was another talent of hers that she gives credit to her homeland for.  

She’s been hanging around the older crowd her whole life; her aunt Valentina is seven years older than her, and practically raised her; everywhere her aunt went, Talia came along.  Once Valentina was a teenager, Talia was naturally exposed to a lot of things that a kid probably shouldn’t be around.  Of course, Valentina did her best to try and keep Talia from seeing everything but Talia was always both curious and observant—a dangerous combination of traits to have when you’re nine years old and in the presence of many vices.  As a plus, she learned how to roll just about anything; a lot of people out there rolled their own cigarettes, but the rules generally stay the same regardless of what’s in it.

Luckily for Valentina, her niece was never naïve; it was impossible to be that way after living the life she did.  It didn’t take long at all for Talia to realize that her father left because he didn’t care to love her, she’s always known that her mother charmed her way into the wallets of countless men to pay their bills—she wasn’t a fool. 

As she continued to smoke the joint, the ember eventually moved its way up on the paper.  She blew out clouds of smoke, occasionally breaking out into a light coughing fit (she desperately tried not to sound like a hacking elderly man, but she hadn’t expected to smoke the joint alone), and as the smoke danced around her it also eventually began to fill up the mirrored box they sat in.  First it settled up toward the ceiling—a funny thing to think about; how something can settle in suspension in the middle of the air.  Could animals do that?  Butterflies?  Talia was pretty sure even flies couldn’t just fly in one spot unmoving—isn’t that why they sometimes go in circles? 

Wow, she thought, I completely forgot he was even in here.  Her blue eyes, now bloodshot, focused on Eric who was still seated on the floor a couple of feet away from her.  It was almost as if... He hadn’t moved an inch.  His body was so stiff, the paranoid thought of rigor mortis flashed in her mind, but it vanished as quickly as it came when Talia’s eyes settled on his locked jaw.  She could see it tense up and down, despite the rest of his face not moving in the slightest.  Was he even blinking?  Stupid question Talia, her inner voice said, it’s way too smokey in here for him not to blink.

“So I take it you don’t smoke, then?”  She finally said, waiting until she saw a confirmed blink.  Talia took another generous drag of her joint, breaking her gaze on him only to ash the it.  “I hope that’s your answer, at least,” She quipped with a slow laugh, “Because who wouldn’t hit a perfectly-crafted jay like this?”  

MINI SCENARIO GENERATOR

SEND 🗨️AND A RANDOM SCENARIO WILL BE GENERATED FOR OUR CHARACTERS.

Response for: @ofxbella Generator: “Talia and Nate meet on a blind date. Nate wants to go on another date, but Talia isn’t sure.”

                            ━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

This entire thing was flawlessly engineered by their mothers, and while Nate was hesitant and suspicious at first the genuine smile he wore was proof of how he thought the night was going. They went to dinner at Butter Midtown where they shared appetizers and Nate listened with rapt attention as Talia told him stories of her time in Italy. By the time they left, bellies full of Cavatappi Pasta and specialty cocktails, Nate was both pleasantly drunk and equally captivated. He hailed a cab and, having found out that she was a writer, insisted that their next stop be the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. He’d never been, as Nate would be lying through his teeth if he tried to convince anyone that this was his scene, but he’d heard enough about it to trust in its authenticity. 

By the time they left the cafe, it was nearly 1 AM and Nate was genuinely thrilled with the evening. He thought that the poetry reading was a nice touch, and proved that he was attentive and cared. But she didn’t seem convinced. They stood just outside of the cafe, Nate’s hands shoved anxiously into his pockets as he confessed what a nice time he had. She agreed, but when he asked if he could see her again, Nate thought that there seemed to be something unknown strangely holding her back. “I’m sorry,” he said warily. “Did I.. do something wrong? Was the poetry too much? I’ve never been, I should have looked into it more. It was pretty last minute, you just said that you…” He was rambling now, so he stopped himself short. 

Her mother had played it slick, “Oh per favore Talia, you’re going to love him,” She had said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s a good boy from a good family.” That comment only garnered a roll of cerulean eyes in response from Talia; she knew that really only meant that he came from money.  “Oh, and he’s easy on the eyes, which is always nice.”  

It had only taken a little bit of pressure from Talia for her mother to give up the name of her “not-so-blind” blind date, which resulted in immediate postponement of the date—something that was supposed to happen a little over a week ago.  Nate Archibald, a cousin of the notorious Vanderbilt family, and a cousin of someone she had stupidly fallen for years ago, was taking her on a date tonight.

As much anger she felt toward her mother for not immediately recognizing the stress the date had put on her shoulders, Talia had to admit that her mother was right.  The date went splendidly and although her inherently pessimistic nature initially had her questioning every move he made right (which was pretty much all of them), Talia found herself enjoying both herself and his company by time the check came around.  

When he topped the night off with a visit to a poetry club she had never been to, her heart warmed a bit—it was a great last-minute decision that Talia took as a rather grand gesture.  Not a lot of people were impressed by her desire to be a writer, her own mother included; everyone in New York either wanted to be a writer, or had failed at it already and pursued other interests. 

She was stuck in her head when they stood outside the cafe, the cool December breeze blowing through her blonde tresses.  Did she enjoy the date? Surprisingly, yes.  Did she like this Nate Archibald character?  So far, yes.  Did she trust him enough to see him again?  Her heart was eagerly saying yes, especially when he expressed his desire to see her again too, but her mind was telling her to show some restraint.

Talia noticed that he was thrown off by her vibe now, and if she was honest, she was thrown by it too.  Why the fuck was she seriously considering closing the door on what could potentially be a good thing with a great guy?  She knew the answer to that question but asked it to herself all the same. “No, I’m sorry,” Talia sighed, immediate regret for her finicky behavior lacing her words.  The weight of guilt that washed over her caused her heart to plummet into her stomach; she hadn’t meant to make him feel bad about himself or their night, and felt terrible for making him doubt it all.  “Dinner was great, poetry was great, you...” She trailed off, scoffing at her lack of vocabulary all of a sudden.

“I wasn’t lying I really am a writer, but for lack of a better word, this, you—everything was just so, so great but I just...”  No, she wasn’t going to finish that sentence; she was not going to go there.  Instead Talia’s eyes met his and intently focused on them, hoping that maybe eyes truly were windows to the soul and she’d be able to see whether or not she read everything wrong.  She certainly hoped she didn’t, but it was too hard to tell as she only found herself along with her many questions getting lost in the sea of his ocean eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” She said again after she snapped herself out of whatever the fuck sort of spell his eyes had momentarily put her under.  Talia didn’t know what else to say—an excuse? The truth?  Both of those options seemed scary so instead, she tried to salvage it all and offer him a meek smile.  Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out an expertly crafted joint that she had rolled earlier.  She didn’t know if Nate was a smoker, and she wasn’t intending on revealing that she was one herself, but she hoped it was worth a shot. “How about this: if this proves to be the best post-date-joint you’ve ever smoked, I’m redeemed.”  

Talia didn’t add what would happen if she didn’t satisfy the conditions, but only because she knew she didn’t have to.

Lola took a step back when the stranger shouted at the photographer. He totally deserved it and screaming was what the blonde actually wanted to be doing, but it was still a bit shocking. Good shocking. “Shit,” she muttered as she saw the blood and the ripped leggings. This was turning out so, so terribly. “Look what you did! You need to be careful, we’re not the only two people in the park. You have your pictures and you’ve done quite enough damage, can you just go?” She knew already that her pleas would go unheard, but it was worth a try. Clearly, appealing to his humanity wouldn’t work out. “No, I don’t know him. He’s just some creep paparazzi trying to make a buck by following me around and taking unflattering pictures,” she said with a sigh, trying to ignore the man. “Can I buy you a coffee? To make up for all this.”

“Pictures?” Talia muttered.  Was this guy serious?  Talia could appreciate a strong sense of ambition, but this was taking it to a whole other level entirely.  A brow raised as the blonde woman pleaded with the man, her face contorting into a pinched, almost disgusted expression.  Not only was this man harassing this blonde woman in broad daylight, but Talia herself, an innocent bystander, was literally assaulted... And yet this apparently important woman met him with benevolence.  

“Um, yeah...” She trailed off, deciding that she’d ultimately have to take matters into her own hands.  Exhaling a sort of sarcastic scoff-laugh, Talia reached into the pocket of her leggings to retrieve her cell phone, snapping a quick picture of her exposed, bloody knee.  “No, this guy is leaving right now because I’m taking some pictures of my own.”  She then extended her hand up to get the paparazzi in frame before snapping three or four pictures of him.  After a short moment, the man with the camera quickly began hiding his face even more than it was already hidden under his baseball cap and retreated away from them.

“Wait ‘til I find out what publications you work for, sfigato!”  She called after him as he began to blend in with the many other people that had joined the park’s path.  Talia then turned to look at the woman yet again, her anger subsiding enough to allow her to vaguely recall her face.  

“You tolerate too much,” Talia said bluntly.  She didn’t know the woman, nor did the woman know her, but that was something she knew for sure after this interaction.  “But I’ll take that coffee.”

Eric nodded as she spoke and smiled when she talked about adjusting to life in the city. Even though he’d been born into this life, had never known anything else, he knew that New York was like its own brand, and it even took many Americans some time to find their balance. It must’ve been even harder for a foreigner. “That must’ve been quite the change,” he replied with a polite smile. 

Then, just as he contemplated whether they’d already met or not, she asked him for his name and he slid his right hand out of his coat pocket to extend it to her, keeping it there was he waited for her to mirror his action. 

“Oh, Eric van der Woodsen. And - you are?”

Talia chuckled lightly as her shoulder perked up in a light shrug, “Yeah, but you socialiti aren’t so bad.” Although Talia could say a lot about her peers in the elite, she couldn’t deny that they did make life interesting. There were times where the lavish life they led could be a bit too, how do you say... Excessive?  While she didn’t mind the opulence of it all, the strong sense of entitlement that often came with wealth was something that never sat right with Talia.  But the elite certainly had their charm and their interminable wealth could easily create a good time, so like yin and yang, the good and bad of the upper class balanced out for Talia.

“Talia Bellini-Hamill,” She said breezily, her name being something that she used to practice in the mirror when she first arrived to New York.  She remembers repeating it so many times, trying to avoid accenting her step-father’s very English last name right after accenting her mother’s very Italian last name, while still ensuring it flowed. “My step-father’s name is Gregory Hamill, he works with the mayor as the commissioner of finance.” 

Her free hand extended to meet his, before stepping forward to give him a greeting kiss on the cheek.  “van der Woodsen... You have a sister too, no?”  It was hard to keep track of everyone she’s met throughout the years at the various events and gatherings, especially since Talia was also a bit younger than most of the other children of the elite, but she knew Eric’s name now that he said it.  It seemed as though a lot of people spoke of the van der Woodsens, and she’s sure she was picturing the right girl in her mind. “Very pretty, long blonde hair, great fashion sense.”  She nodded as she recalled some of the beautiful outfits she’s seen his sister wear—or at least, who she thought was his sister—and breathed out an appreciative sigh.  She loved a woman with a good sense of style, though she supposed it a wasn’t difficult trait to have when you’re rich.  

MEME GENERATOR // @evanderwoodsen

Eric and Talia get stuck in an elevator together. 

And to think, if it weren’t for the tiring combination of stiletto heels and a dress with a long train, Talia would’ve been in her private car headed home already.  It was a little too early to be leaving the charity event—some people were just showing up as she exited, but her attention span was weak and her patience was wearing thin for the night.  She had a deadline for midnight for her journalism class, for a profile piece she hadn’t even started writing yet and now it was looking like it would have to be submitted late. Why? Because now she was stuck in an elevator.

The funny part was, Talia didn’t even like elevators.  She almost always took the stairs, but the wobbly, (very) high heels and the fifth of gin she had consumed in the two hours she spent at the event made her limited in her exiting options.  She decided she could handle it—the unsettling feeling of her body fighting for equilibrium as the elevator moved between floors, the constrain of being in an air-tight, mirrored room with a maximum capacity of 1000 pounds.  

And of course, the one time she willingly opts to rely on the mechanical death box that was the elevator, it stalled and trapped her in between the 10th and 11th floor.  She was internally panicking for the first fifteen minutes—so much so that she hadn’t even bothered to talk to the other person in the elevator with her: Eric van der Woodsen.

It wasn’t until she moved to take off those damn heels that she actually looked at him.  With her hand rested against the glass wall of the elevator, her other hand moved to undo the clasps of her heels; first her left, then her right.  She very ungracefully slid against the wall to take a seat on the ground.

“So I take it you’re done freaking out now?” Eric asked with a half-smile.  “Was it the realization that this is probably more fun than the actual event that did it?”

Talia shot him a lazy smile and reached around for her clutch.  “I think what did it,” she drawled as she shuffled around with the contents of the bag, “Was the realization that I know exactly how to get us out.”

She pulled out a slim cylindrical container with a bright green cap and a black Bic lighter.  Unscrewing the cap released the pungent, skunky smell of nature’s finest: Mary Jane.  Talia reached into the container to pull out a rolled joint, and she rested it in between her lips as she flicked the lighter on.  “You don’t mind, do you?”

MEME GENERATOR  // @romeebcss​

Talia has offended Romee in some way but doesn’t realize it.

Like most Friday evenings on the Upper East Side, Talia found herself getting dragged to yet another elite event.  Someone was erecting a monument in Central Park or getting a hospital wing donated in their name or something along those lines, she didn’t really know.  At this point, Talia was really only coming to show face for the sake of her step-father and to take advantage of the open bars.  

In typical Talia fashion, she had made her way over to the bar in an attempt to find some amusement at the party.  It was a relatively active occasion; there were a lot of faces—some that she knew and many that she could vaguely place in her memory.  Everyone eventually sort of blends together for Talia; they were all just a bunch rich people. While the bartenders shuffled around behind the bar, she slid into a stool and turned her head to survey the event before ordering; it definitely wasn’t a tequila sort of night—perhaps rum would be better suited for tonight?

“A Malibu bay breeze, please.”  Talia said to the bartender when he came around to her end of the bar.  As he went to fix her drink, the room quieted as someone in a suit stepped up to the podium to welcome everyone and introduce the “star of tonight.”  

She turned to the blonde woman sitting to her left, who was actively listening to the speeches, “I wouldn’t get too invested,” Talia said as she lifted her freshly made cocktail to her lips.  “This is just another over-the-top charity event to stroke the ego of some already old, rich douche who’s about to get richer and probably only threw this party for the tax write-off.”  The comment wasn’t a drunken one, it was merely a blunt one that she’d put together based off of her previous experience.  These things were always the same, and generally the only true entertainment was to poke fun at it all.

Apparently Talia was of the minority in that regard, because the blonde merely turned her head to shoot Talia a distasteful look. With a shrug, Talia turned her attention to the others that sat at the bar as she lifted her drink to her lips yet again and took a generous sip through the straw.  She had come up with another witty comment to say to the woman a few moments later, but when Talia turned her head to voice it, the woman was gone.

Instead, the blonde stood on the stage in the front of the room, accompanied with an older woman and a man—and the announcer at the podium.  

BOLD what applies to your muse.

PLACE IN SOCIETY

financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty.

medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged.

class or caste: upper / middle / working / slave / unsure.

education: qualified / unqualified / studying.

criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no.

FAMILY

married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single / divorced / separated.

has a child or children / has no children / wants children.  

close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased.

orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s).

TRAITS + TENDENCIES

extroverted / introverted / in between.

disorganized / organized / in between.

close minded / open-minded  / in between.

calm / anxious / in between.

disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

cautious / reckless / in between.

patient / impatient / in between.

outspoken / reserved / in between.

leader / follower / in between.

empathetic / unemphatic / in between.

optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

traditional / modern / in between.

hard-working / lazy / in between.

cultured / un-cultured / in between / unknown.

loyal / disloyal / unknown.

faithful / unfaithful / unknown.

BELIEFS:

monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic.

belief in ghosts or spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in an afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in aliens: yes  / no / don’t know / don’t care.

religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious.

philosophical: yes / no.

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual.

sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable.

romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable.

sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious.

potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

ABILITIES

combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

HABITS

drinking alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. 

other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

medicinal drugs: never / sometimes  / frequently / to excess. 

indulgent food: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. 

splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

“I was sneaky enough to avoid water-fused hot chocolate,” he responded nonchalantly as he shrugged. His playful smile then turned into a more neutral expression as she spoke, not entirely certain what the right response was to a sentence like that. Mail order bride didn’t exactly have a positive connotation. 

Instead of responding, he simply skipped over that part and instead laughed when she envisioned what she apparently assumed what all Americans were like. “I tend to just prefer the tri-colored cake,” he joked as he pointed towards the display behind he, knowing full that probably only helped the cliche. 

“But anyway, you must’ve been here a while, no? I mean - your accent doesn’t sound new.” Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thought that he’d seen her before, maybe at a gala of some sorts? But then again, there were so many people at the charity dinners, they all just seemed to blend together. 

“Yeah, I moved here almost ten years ago,” Talia replied with a nod of her head, her eyes trailing upward to look at the skyscrapers against the blue sky.  “I actually took a year off of school just to learn English, and to you know, like, adjust to life here.”  It was more than simply learning English—she had up and sprung from living a lower-class life in Europe to suddenly becoming a part of the elite.  Everything was different; the people were certainly an... experience, there was at least one upscale event to attend weekly where everything was done to the nines.  Life was definitely more lavish here, and as much as Talia enjoyed it all at times, she couldn’t help but criticize it too.  She shot him a smile, "But yeah, the accent really only comes out when I’m angry.”

Her eyes narrowed as she lifted her hot chocolate to her lips, trying to scan his face and place it somewhere.  “What’s your name, by the way?”  She asked as she pulled the drink away from her, “You look familiar.” 

Eric smirked at the comment of the girl, she completely unaware of what his next words would be. “Yes,” he said, a hint of laughter on his voice, “I know. My mother is one of those people,” he replied as he dipped his head. Too much dairy is bad for you, he could still hear her say. But little Eric and Serena just kept their mouths shut until Lily was out of the room and then let whichever nanny was on duty fill up their cups with steaming hot milk. 

“Don’t worry, I’m in camp milk, all the way,” he added once he’d glanced over to her again. “Preferably topped off with a nice full spoon of whipped cream,” he added, nearly able to conjure the taste at will. “I take it you’re not, then – American?” There had been a slight linger of disdain in her voice as she’d said it - the way many non-Americans could speak about the USA. Eric didn’t mind, he wasn’t that patriotic. Fourth of July was the best, though.

Talia’s eyebrows raised at Eric’s response, huffing out a quiet laugh, “How did your tastebuds ever recover?”  Her mind always drifted back to Italy whenever she thought of food and drink; although America came pretty close with their luxury restaurants, nothing truly compared to the freshness and flavor of authentic Italian food.  She lifted her drink to her lips yet again and took a sip of its chocolatey splendor.  “I’m glad you converted; we’re more fun on this side.

“Initially, no.” She dipped her head as she tried to think of the best way to answer his question, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.  “But I am a part of the package deal of an Italian mail-order bride, so now by default, yes I am now American.”  She shrugged her shoulders. Talia loved to tease her step-father about the nature of his marriage to her mother—he was clueless that her mother didn’t really love him, but it was entertaining to poke fun all the same, even if the jokes went over his head.  “I take it you’re a pure-bred American, then?” She quipped, “Do your veins bleed red, white, and blue?”