The Inevitable Oblivion

- - - دارم همه - - -

{ links }

x - plotting set :
x - playlist : http://www.polyvore.com/constance_playlist/set?id=125775844
x - moodboard : http://www.polyvore.com/walking_tragedy/set?id=125776854
x - bedroom :
x - possessions : http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/collection?id=3700741

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{ the basics }

x - full english name : constance bastine lavrati
x - english nickname : n/a
x - iranian name : کنستانس دوست دارم همه
x - iranian pronunciation : \ khof-'neh-shən \ \ bə-ˈstēn \ \ ləv-r'at-ē \
x - age : sixteen
x - birthday : september ninth
x - grade : junior

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{ origins }

x - place of birth : germantown, maryland
x - places of residence : tehran, iran (past) and new york, new york (current)
x - ethnic background : american, israeli (and iranian if you trace the lavrati family way back)
x - nationality : american and iranian

{ family }

x - mother // astala lavrati (آویژه) - deceased - chef
x - father // parker lavrati (ارستو) - deceased - college professor
x - sister // veela lavrati (شجاع) - deceased at birth

x - adoptive mother // miranda miller - deceased - socialite
x - adoptive father // scott miller - deceased - wall street broker
x - sister // lacy evangeline miller - twenty-four - performing arts student at nyu
x - brother // jason belarus bredue - seventeen - unknown
x - brother // lorenzo gutierrez - seventeen - unknown

{ relationships }

x - best friend // rivka bergquist anfinson (عقاب) - deceased - student
x - business partner // carl gravisse - forty-five - co-founder and vice president of anfinson inc.
x - business partner and boyfriend // preston ali slekroven - seventeen - cfo of anfinson inc.
x - business partner // maurice “mars” visteltut - eighteen - cso of anfinson inc.
x - business partner // valerie stucco - fifteen - coo of anfinson inc.
x - business partner // eric campbell - nineteen - chief relations officer

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{ appearance }

portrayed by // behati prinsloo
 
it’s reflected in her style, a bold and striking combination of black heels or booties with a moto jacket, usually accompanied with a bright color to accent it all. you can see the general philosophy she lives; a life of darkness, boldness, and a life without much care for the well-being of herself, or others. it's quite evident in her mannerisms too, but regardless of the cold and nonchalant aura, there is a subtle warmth to her, an understanding only those who've been through so much could possibly understand. it's evidently reflected in her eyes, and her gentle appearance of a striking hidden beauty. you can also see it in the single bright color she wears, it exercises her right for freedom, her right to wear what she wants and whatever color she wants without consequence.'
 
she's been liberated, and through her expressive personality she shows it.

{ personality }

little by little, over the course of constance’s childhood, she strips herself of hopes and dreams and wishes and beliefs. perhaps the pivotal point is when she gives god the middle finger and finally with the conclusion of her biography, she looses it all. as a young child, constance was a bright girl with an outspoken yet hopeful mind, but her personality morphs as life continuously throws her curveballs. she becomes sarcastic and witty, not necessarily bad attributes, but those two traits escalate from simple dark humor to arrogance, materialism, brute honesty, snappishness, and general bitchiness. constance is poisoned by the wealth she’s acquired, and for the most part she acts rather rotten and shielded, even though it pains her within. constance also has a tendency to act on impulse, although she's also patient enough to strategize her decisions, it's what makes her an exemplary business owner, as well as a flamboyant manipulator.

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{ biography }

welcome to my pathetic life.

we start at the very beginning, in the pristine germantown, maryland. i was the second child of a pair of devoutly religious sunni muslims; although my older sister died during childbirth and so i was essentially an only child. my father was a professor of computer science at the u.s. naval academy in annapolis and my mother was the executive chef at the lier’e pletite. we were decently well-off, and regardless of our subtle differences (mostly religious) with our fellow neighbors we got along peacefully. that is, until the morning of september 11th, 2001. from then on, we were met with harsh looks from just about everyone we’d previously known and trusted. living within a thirty-mile radius of the nation's capital, our neighbors were among the most emotional, for their relatives had been in the target range during the attack, and many of their relatives had died in their offices. islam extremists were convicted of hijacking the planes, and the majority of the population had decided to turn their anger and emotions towards the entire muslim population. we were quickly shunned, and my parents didn't particularly enjoy it, but they tolerated it until they were literally pushed out of everything they knew. we packed our bags when my father was fired from his job at the naval academy without further explanation. to this day, i still don’t know why, but i speculate it was because the navy was sending their ships and aircraft to the pointless war in irag, and because he was openly islamic, i’m certain his students feared him, or something along those lines.

what hypocrisy.
 
islam is quite a misinterpreted religion. it is divided into two different belief systems, both deemed islamist. sunni and shi’ite. sunni muslims make up for 85% of the muslim population, whilst shi’ite muslims make up for 15% of the muslim population. there is a fundamental difference between these two branches, and that’s that sunni’s believe in meritocracy and hard work, while shi’ite muslims lean more towards martyrs, self-immolation, and nepotism. i used to be a sunni muslim. despite numerous accusations, islam is /not/ a hub for terrorist organizations and is not an excuse to commit crimes. it is those small few that claim to be ‘true islamists’ that give the entire religion a bad name, especially in the u.s.
 
some brief background on iran’s history: a revolution in 1979 took place in iran. the majority of the world population ignores it, passing through life with no knowledge of the years of war, starvation, and government negligence leading to the year the people revolted to remove mohammad shah pahlavi from the iranian throne. the nation had already experienced eight years in which they were fueled by an unnecessary war against iraq due to our dictator’s feud again iraq’s dictator - saddam hussein. they did it for territory, religion (iraq is dominantly shi’ite muslim whilst iran was dominantly sunni muslim), and of course oil, as this region of the world generates the bulk of the world’s oil. this revolution still readily remains in the minds of almost all residents of iran. what’s more, after this revolution came a worse dictator, ayatollah khomeini, a brutal man who held a strong regime, activating against the west and non-religious people. after his death, a different man came to power promising reform and freedom, this man was ayatollah khamenei, but he turned out to be even worse than ayatollah khomeini in the end.
 
the move wasn’t terribly hard for me, i was four at the time, and i really didn't have too much attachment to germantown anyways, nor did i have many friends, (anymore at least); however, there were many changes that suppressed certain freedoms of mine, and i wasn’t particularly excited to institute those changes into my life. for one, women of all ages were forced to wear a chador (a long cloak that covered their whole body, from hair to the toes), as well, we were forbidden freedom of speech, especially against the theocratic rule (this was perhaps the hardest part for me, i was and still am very outspoken)

iran’s history and dark leaders came to slap the country in the face the instance we arrived. ayatollah khamenei had repealed his previous promises of freedom and used his newfound power to suppress the country more. in addition, president khatami had been elected, his influence wasn't great, but he was certainly vengeful of atheists and agnostics, and anyone that came from westernized countries. my parents were devoutly religious, but they were labelled “westernized pieces of trash” because of their history in the u.s. and because of their western appearance. as a result, all of us were given special attention from the “guardians of the revolution,” regular civilians who were hired by the government to enforce the stupid laws, they were a police force that had been instituted in 1979, hence the revolution portion of their title. my father was fired from his position at the university (completely defeating the purpose of moving), and one week later the university gates were closed. being immigrants from america and appearing the part, everywhere we went we were under the keen eyes of veiled women and men - the government’s secret spies. it was too late to leave and go back to the country that had discriminated against us - the airports had been blocked, and it wasn’t safe to stay either, but we had no choice, and so i would spend the next five years of my life in tehran.

i entered through the doors of public school no. 05 with the same feeling as any regular kindergartner entering school for the first time - nervous. i timidly stepped inside the classroom and found myself a seat at one of the last few empty seats. on my same table was a girl, obviously not natively iranian either. she had dazzling blue eyes, and a single strand of her blonde hair hung loose, outside of her chador. “you may wanna tuck your hair inside your chador, you’ll get in trouble otherwise.” i informed her in persian, fearing that the teacher would whack her with the classroom disciplinary ruler that my parents had told me about before i’d gone to school my first day. she only smirked, “as if, the government already forces me to wear this hideous thing, now they expect me not to even let a single little bit of hair show? never.” she replied in persian with a heavy swedish accent. she seemed to know what she was talking about, so i naturally took a liking to this girl. i smiled, introducing myself as cofnasheen, and explaining that it meant ‘constant,’ as in eternity and never-ending. i was rather surprised by her reaction, “that doesn’t mean anything, nothing means anything until you find a meaning to it. how constant is constant to you?” she said, rhetorically concluding her point with a question. she was pretty philosophical for a five-year-old. the more i continued talking to her, the more i grew to like her, this girl had a point with everything, a remark with everything, it was something that i had always want to have the ability to do, but never got the chance because i’d thought that this government controlled everything. there was just one thing they couldn’t control - the way i thought - and it was something i’d failed to realize before, until i met this girl. we went on talking for a couple of minutes, and it wasn’t until the very end that she introduced herself as rivka. finally, we were silenced by the presence of the teacher, who swooped in with an authoritative aura that reminded me of a hawk, perhaps due to her hawkish features. she was pretty intimidating for a kindergarten teacher, but she wasn’t a very good teacher. rather, quite the opposite, she wasn’t allowed to teach her own beliefs or even allowed to teach actual subjects, the only thing we learned that day in school was that our dictator (she didn't call him that), the ayatollah, had been chosen by the one and only god to rule over iran. rivka was secretly scoffing at the teacher’s antics, laughing at how stupid the teacher had been, and just how much the government was trying to brainwash us all. i followed along. i often heard my parents converse over the government and its idiocy, so i recited a few things i'd heard them say under my breath so that only rivka could hear. she smiled, and we soon declared ourselves best friends in a hushed whisper.

.... and then the bomb sirens rang.

red lights flashed on and off above the chalkboard. outside, i could hear the pedestrians screaming and running to their designated bomb shelters. bombings were infrequent in tehran, but they occurred often enough for civilians to be cautious. i'd been through three of them in my first year in the city, none of which had affected our lives completely, other than for a few minutes spent in a shelter, but this seemed more urgent. our teacher ushered us out of the doors and into a grassy clearing, passed that and we were led down a stone staircase and through a metal door, which was quickly shut after the last member of our class entered the small, dimly-lit room. i heard some loud booming noises shaking the very foundation of the shelter we were seeking refuge in, and they were close, far closer than i've ever heard them come. a few students began to cry, but i remained resilient, showing bravery. i heard rivka utter a very bad word in english, and smiled, realizing that this meant she spoke english, and that i could speak english outside of the home for once. i didn't speak there though, the teacher was too close, and speaking english anywhere close to someone of authority was suicidal. i did glance at rivka though, catching her eye to display understanding, i thought i saw her light up.

for the next three consecutive days, our city was bombed. on the third day, the library, which stood directly north of our school, was struck into nothing but rubble. we never were able to uncover the wreckage, or identify the people who were stranded in the building.

over the next few years, rivka and i grew closer by the day. we relied on each other for assurance that the government didn't dictate everything, and together we discovered the black market. with this came access to smuggled goods from the west, including iphones, western movies, and other assorted goods that the government had banned in support of its campaign of extreme nationalism and anti-westernism. from the black market, we obtained two identical silver charm bracelets, and we wore them everyday, tucking them under our black chadors so they went undetected. on every birthday of her's, i would give her a new charm, and on my birthday, she'd give me a new charm.
 
on a wednesday morning at the age of eight, i woke up feeling rather ill. instead of sitting up and addressing the issue with my parents, i remained in bed, far too weak to even think straight. my mother came to check on me, and concluded that i was running a fever and therefore couldn't go to school. later the same day, i heard a large bomb, indicating that they'd hit a large building, followed by the sirens blaring in the streets. i thought this was odd, those sirens hadn't gone off in two years. groggily, i got up and walked like a zombie to our bomb shelter, locking the door and sitting on the small chair located at the corner of the room. (my parents were at work; my father had held a job at the community grocery store as a cashier, and my mother had spent the last few years working as a street vendor. which was amazing, unemployment was very high, holding a job at all was a phenomenon.) the bombs erupted for the next two hours, and when i heard the regular noises returning to the street, i stepped out of the bomb shelter and back to the house.

the next morning i woke up feeling much better; i hopped out of bed and got ready for the next school day as i normally would and walked in a casual stroll towards my school. when i arrived though, my jaw dropped. where my school had stood the other day was now a pile of rubble. in a frenzied manner i sprinted towards the wreckage of my school that had obviously been struck by a bomb the other day. i was frenzied not because i actually cared about school - we learned nothing in it - but because as far as i knew, rivka had attended school the day before, and the school might've been the building that i had heard topple before the sirens had alerted everyone of the bombs. i dug through the debris, pushing aside mountains of cement and foundation for a sign, any sign, that rivka and the rest of my class was okay. hours went by, and i still hadn't found anything. concluding that rivka had made it to the bomb shelter safely the previous day, i turned around; however, as i turned around, a bright twinkle my eye. instinctively, my gaze directed towards the source of the twinkle, and my eyes locked on a silver charm bracelet, identical to my own. attached to it was who knows what.

i felt like i'd been stabbed.
my best friend was dead, and the sole relic of her existence was a piece of metal.

the very next year, my parents declared that illegal, dangerous, suicidal, or not, we were leaving the country. my father had gotten in touch with an old friend of his, a pilot who happened to be shipping some cargo to iran that very week, and all of the logistics were taken care of; we’d meet at an old rural farmhouse after he’d shipped off his goods, and he’d fly us to dubai in the old cargo plane, there we’d buy the next available tickets to america. they announced this three days before we were set for departure.

the day of our secret departure, i wore a pair of blue socks in aspiration of freedom and a small form of rebellion.

we didn't take anything with us. just our clothing and some money that my parents kept tucked away in their pockets, for it would be awfully conspicuous for a family to carry travel bags when all ports were closed. i'd made a mistake, though, i hadn't tucked my blue socks in quite far enough into the black shoes i wore, and they were spotted by one of the "guardians of the revolution," who ordered us all to stop. it was a young boy, no older than fifteen. he carried with him a gun, and he seemed to only think of the power he held in his hand. this potential power made him feel fearless, at the very least on the exterior. he had me take off my shoes and show him my socks. i did as i was told, but it wasn't enough for the boy. "you've disobeyed the law. you will be punished for this," he informed me with a cocky grin. it took only a single lashing from the leather whip he held in his grimy hands for my nine-year-old self to cry in pain and fear. i tensed and closed my eyes in anticipation of the next lashing. i heard it then, the whip whistling through the air and about to make contact with my back, but the large lashing sound it made never hit me, instead i saw my mother several feet in front of me, a large red line drawn on her face where the whip had hit her. the guardian merely smiled, partially amused by her motherly act, “and you,” he said with a cold tone that didn’t resemble his expression at all, “your daughter disobeyed the law. it’s only fair.” fair? fair?! my god, that word was all anyone ever said in those days. what was the /meaning/ of fairness? it was no more meaningful than my name. rivka would’ve slapped the man, thinking it was right to punish those that yearned to be free should be a crime over that of wearing blue socks. i heard the man speak again, he was explaining something in rapid persian to my mother, who was speaking in the same tone right back at him. the guardian grew furious, and i saw him point the gun at my father’s head, speaking in a threatening tone to my mother. he gestured at me, and when my mother adamantly refused, he pulled the trigger. i heard my mother’s earsplitting scream, watched her cry over my father’s dead body while i just stood there in disbelief that my father, a living man mere seconds ago, was now solely in the welcoming arms of mohammed. she looked up and a rather sanguinary look i’ve never seen any mother bear in front of her children crossed her face as she kicked him right in the balls, /hard/. i wanted to laugh, but my mother took my hand and told me to run, and so i did, as fast as i possibly could. my mother was right there beside me, telling me something, but i couldn’t hear her over the sound of gunfire and adrenaline running through my veins. i wish i had heard her though, because whatever she’d said then were her last words. i didn’t have to watch her crumple to the ground in the same way my father had to know she’d been hit, i knew that that was the fatal bullet when it first came from the barrel, i don’t know how i knew it, but i just did. i wanted to stop, wanted to look at her face one last time and stare it until my brain would never let go of the image of her face. i couldn’t wait for her there though, there was no use in saving the dead, even i knew that. so i did the most heartless and logical thing i could do, continue running.

i ran for god knows how long, at the very least several miles barefooted. i was lost, and my legs were wobbling from exhaustion, so i sat down on the dirt and examined my surroundings. i was in farm country now, the sun was at fall blast, and the blistering heat was making me dizzy.

i stood up, not for the sake of continuing on, but for the sake of necessity. if i stayed sitting in that patch of dirt any longer i would’ve laid there and died from exhaustion or starvation. but, i was lost, and by now i was getting rather angry. if god was supposed to punish the wicked and reward the good-hearted then why had he killed my parents of all people? they’d loved me when no one else would and they cared for me so much that they’d been willing to arrange such a daring attempt at getting us out of the country. it was time to show this god a piece of my mind.
 
"i've lost everything!" i screamed in english, crying into the afternoon daylight on the deserted street. "what more do you want from me?" i demanded, glaring at the sun.

no response came.

daringly, i showed god the middle finger, half expecting to be shriveled into flames on sight.

still, no response came.

from then on, i stopped believing in god.

with no god left to confide in, i just started walking, wandering through the streets with a hollow look in my eyes. there was absolutely no chance of finding that pilot that was going to help us, i only knew what the farmhouse looked like, apparently a faded red, with lots of paint peeling off the walls, and a large yard with a runway in the back, i hadn’t a clue where it was, that was something my parents knew, but both were dead now. so i just kept walking, not really knowing when or where to stop, or where i was going, but i guess i must’ve had some incredible epiphany in the back of my mind or something because i just began running, there was only one road to follow, so i just ran along that, and poof! minutes later a faded red farmhouse with lots of paint peeling off the walls and a large yard with a runway in the back appeared into my view, at the front of the deserted house was a middle-aged, american man wearing an old t-shirt and khakis and an american pilot captain hat that didn’t suit the rest of his apparel. i approached him shyly, breathing hard from my brief run, “my name is constance lavrati.” i said in persian, the man gave me a strange look, so i repeated again, “my name is constance lavrati,” in english. he smiled, revealing a flawless set of white teeth, probably from years of luxury and security in the u.s. “ahhh,” he said, nodding in recognition, “i’m carl. where are your parents?” he asked, i looked down. that was all the explanation he needed. five minutes later, i was in the cockpit of an old crop-duster. “it isn’t much,” carl informed me, “but it’s enough to get us to dubai in three hours.”

as promised, three hours later i was successfully in the bustling and oil-rich city of dubai. the first thing i did was throw off the dreaded chador and buy some new clothes from the $100 carl had given me so i wouldn't be penniless in the u.s., so now i looked like a regular person wearing a pair of jeans and a purple t-shirt. carl escorted me to the airport and walked me up to the gate. having no plane ticket, he couldn’t fly with me to the u.s., but he had winked at me before i went on board the flight, saying "enjoy first-class!" before disappearing from view. i had absolutely no idea what the hell that meant, but i would soon enough, a.k.a. the minute i got on and saw the cushy seats that reclined all the way back and came in their own row. it was perhaps the greatest luxury i'd ever seen since my days in washington d.c., but it really couldn't compensate for the two unoccupied seats in the plane.

about fourteen some hours later the airplane landed in kennedy international airport. $85 in hand (after spending $15 on the clothes i wore), i walked up to one of the nicer-looking ladies in the tsa and told her everything, from the very beginning back when 9/11 struck, and to the very end up to where i stood at the very moment. i think some point at the end of my story i started sobbing and the lady told me to come with her, the next thing i remember is being at the state social services office where all of my files were unearthed. i was already a u.s. citizen, being born in the country, so really no turbulence came with my arrival to u.s. soil and i was adopted shortly by a family residing in the wealthy staten island.
 
miranda miller was a beautiful women in her late-thirties, a very elegant and refined women of great esteem. scott miller was a stern yet kind wall street broker in his early-forties, he had a smoking problem but he never showed it in front of the kids, although you could always get a waft of the cigarette scent from the vents of the large estate he owned and lived in with miranda and his three children; lacy, jason, and lorenzo. lacy was seventeen when i first met her, she looked like a younger version of her mother; the same blonde hair and blue eyes. jason and lorenzo were the same age, ten, and both adopted. jason was adopted from minnesota and lorenzo was adopted from arizona, both had a fairly distant personality to them that many adopted children bear, as did i at this point. i was still overwhelmed by my escape and my parent's death, so i really didn't open up to the family and left myself within the confines of my new room. over the time of six months, i gradually opened up, suddenly realizing when i did that my personality had dramatically changed over the course of the past few months: i used to be an innocent yet outspoken child before my parents' death, now i had a hard shell of iciness and spite, though that was only a hard casing. i still had emotion, perhaps too much of it, and i was still just as, if not more, outspoken as i had been. i had an air of arrogance, but i was very conscious of it, so it was always contained inside of myself. i spoke coolly, with a light aura of superiority, i really didn't know why, perhaps it was because i'd been through so much compared to other people, who seemed to have happiness handed to them on a silver platter.

jason and lorenzo became my friends, unsurprisingly. they were both adopted, so we already had obvious common ground from the beginning. both were rather sarcastic about everything and as was i, it was a dark sarcasm but it got us along just fine. the three of us also found a stash of lacy's joints when she left for college a year later. lorenzo and jason quickly wanted to test it out but i shied away from the task, i had no intention of smoking or shortening my life for any purpose. my parents had died so i could live, and i wasn't going to repay them by becoming a drug addict. despite my opposition, my two brothers smoked it anyways and became high within a matter of seconds. i was terrified. i didn't want to be around lorenzo and jason when they were high, which was a lot, so i had nothing better to do than my homework. i was behind in school anyways, so it made sense just to do it all. i quickly caught up, and realized i had a natural gift for business and finance. i stopped concerning myself with all other useless subjects and completely devoted myself to numbers and dollar signs.

on my fourteenth birthday, miranda and scott were killed in a car crash on their way to see lacy at nyu. i had liked miranda and scott, they'd been very nice to me in the short three years i'd known them. i was devastated to know they were gone, but i was unfazed because life was a cruel place that did cruel things to innocent people. i essentially took this as a sign from the epitome of evil that is life that nothing in my life would ever be permanently etched into stone, and so i really stopped caring about everything at this point.

in an effort to avoid social services, i quit school (not like i needed much of it in math or economics) and said good-bye to my brothers, (who were also running away, but in a different direction), and set off on the streets of staten island, new york, to find some other meaning to my life than an orphan runaway whose birth and adopted parents were dead. for some odd reason, my first conversation with rivka was ringing in my ears, more specifically when rivka had said, "that doesn’t mean anything, nothing means anything until you find a meaning to it." i wanted to find a meaning. yes, i did not believe in god anymore and yes, i did not care much about anything else other than myself at this point, but i needed a way to leave a mark on the world, no matter how small a dent or how deep a crevice, i was determined to make a name for myself.

i ran right into someone due to my deep train of thought and contemplation. "sorry," i muttered in a cold tone that emphasized the fact that i /wasn't/ sorry. it was his fault he hadn't stepped aside while i was walking. my eyes widened a moment later after recognizing who i'd bumped into. "carl?..." i asked, appalled that out of the population of over 30 million people i'd run into someone that i happened to know. "i thought you lived in dubai..." carl looked at me, confused for a moment, perhaps i'd grown too much for him to recognize me now. but after a moment, a look of recognition crossed his face and he smiled, "i live in manhatten; i had a job in dubai." he replied, "what brings you out here, alone?" he asked, peering down at my tory burch flats and up to my gucci sunglasses, as if mocking the temporary wealth i’d acquired with my adoptive family. “death seems to follow me wherever i go.” i replied, it was a very broad statement, but i guess carl must’ve been exceptionally good at reading expressions or something because he appeared to contemplate the whole thing in an instant. “i’m in debt to your father,” he began, “i promised him that i would get the three of you to the u.s. safely and what a miserable failure, your parents didn’t even make it to the farmlands alive. so, i guess it’s time to repay a small fraction of that debt.” he finished. i understood him almost immediately. of course, it wasn’t his fault my parents had been shot to death at the cold-hearted hands of a mere teenage boy, but i wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. the question now was what to ask for, and then it hit me. as far as a way to find a meaning to the world and form a deeper mark of my existence, this was my golden ticket. “you can completely wipe away this… debt, of yours. i just ask one thing of you.” i said with an increasing smile, carl raised his eyebrows, hinting for me to continue.
 
“go into business with me.”
 
and it was settled. for the next month, i stayed tucked away in carl’s modest apartment on the west side of central park while we planned out the details of the operation. he had certain connections with people who could alter my official age in the u.s. census and give me a real i.d. using that change of age, that would be useful, not just because it was extremely hard for minors to earn business licenses, but teenagers aren’t exactly deemed trustworthy as bosses. we applied for the business license of what was to be anfinson incorporated. how thrilled rivka would’ve been to know her last name was now the name of a business that would soon be a fortune 500 company, i will never know the extent of. but i’m certain if she knew that anfinson inc. was rather questionably legal she’d be ecstatic. she’d always been rebellious against almost everything, i was positive she’d love the idea of such a company.
 
a weeks after we were granted a business license, we opened up in carl’s living room with no sign, no logo, and absolutely no implication of anfinson’s existence at all. that was no matter, it wasn’t like we were selling anything other than pieces of paper over the phone. our business was a brokerage, we sold company stocks to wealthy people and then persisted to selling penny stocks, stocks of which belonging to newly-made businesses that i had carl deceive into signing a form that gave us - the brokers - fifty percent of the sales commission.
 
anfinson bloomed in a brilliant light in a matter of two months, the two of us had gained a total net gain of one million in the company’s name through wealthy suckers that we’d manipulated into buying penny stocks. we used this money to buy the tenth floor of an office building on wall street to serve as a headquarter for anfinson inc. by this time, i made the executive decision as chairman and ceo of anfinson to begin hiring a board of trustees. i had carl administer the interviews and hid within the confines of my office whilst he questioned the applicants, aware that no person in their right mind would wish to work at a business knowing that their ceo was but a child. i would listen in on the interviews to understand more about the various applicants and their assorted backgrounds, both impressive and less-than-extraordinary like my own, but none seemed particularly striking to me. a month passed, then another, and still no applicant seemed worthy of any position on the board of trustees.
 
i almost gave up looking. /almost/.
 
the day i turned fifteen was the day i decided that it was time to use my hard-earned money to buy myself my own apartment. on official papers, i was a twenty-one year old entrepreneur, but in appearance, the oldest age i could possibly pass for was seventeen, if i was lucky. i’d been browsing through a very particular apartment in manhattan, it was very small but located a mere two blocks away from wall street - the perfect location. i called carl and asked him to represent me. around three hours later i held the keys to the tiny but suitable apartment. as i stuck the key inside the apartment door's brass handle, i thought about how many kids in the world owned their own apartment and it suddenly hit me. none of the applicants for the anfinson board of trustees were qualified because none of them, no matter how awe-inspiring, were teens like myself, and teens were the only people that i could truly trust with my actual identity, but not just any regular teen, gifted teens that also had shady, and horrible backgrounds, like me.
 
it was a very hard and grueling process to find young teens eager to begin their careers early, but there’s always a supply, no matter how small.
 
i sat in the black leather office chair with a satisfying feeling of superiority. i was a fifteen-year-old self-made millionaire and i could finally expose that to a small portion of people other than carl. the door opened slowly, but with a very smooth flow to it that belonged only to the intellectual elite, behind stood a handsome boy, visibly intelligent, but his leather skinny jeans and baggy t-shirt gave off a completely conflicting personality. i quite liked it, he seemed just as torn between two controversial personalities as i was, i was immediately impressed, but i didn’t allow that to show on the exterior. i invited him to sit down and gave the single order i needed to in the very unconventional interview: “i’m cutting the bull shlt. i don’t care about anything except this…” i began, plucking a gold fountain pen from a ceramic cup, “sell me this pen.” the boy looked at me with a raised eyebrow, obviously amused, i gave him the same look, showing that i was dead serious. he looked back at me and chuckled, taking the pen in his hands and looking at me in the sincere way any good sells man would, “write your name down on that piece of paper you have in front of you.”
 
“i can’t, i don’t have a pen.” i replied.
 
“that’s why you need this pen.” he answered with a growing smirk.
 
this boy’s name was preston slekroven, a sixteen-year-old boy with a history of selling drugs at his school. he became the chief financial officer and director of the board at anfinson inc.
 
shortly after him followed maurice “mars” visteltut - our chief sells officer, valerie stucco - our chief operations officer, and eric campbell - our chief relations officer, all of whom were under the age of eighteen and hired based on their ability to sell a pen.
 
whilst our board of trustees consisted completely of minors, all of our actual employees working on the phone were ambitious adults, that was where carl stepped in, he was the actual boss of all of the lesser employees while i, along with the board of trustees, made all of the behind-the-scenes decisions with the business.
 
one month passed, then another, then another, and i watched the business thrive with the same happiness of a mother watching her child grow. anfinson was generating profit on an exponential level. everyone with a position on the board of trustees and most of the higher-level employees were multi-millionaires. i was perhaps the wealthiest, earning a startling half million a week. i soon moved out of my tiny apartment and into a glamorous penthouse in the infamously wealthy upper east side of manhattan. not only did i purchase a new residence, i also bought a yacht, and my very own private jet, because it had been my dream for a very long time to travel the world and see all the places i never was able to in iran.
 
i was vacationing in milan when preston called me to new york for a board meeting. reluctantly, i set off for my private jet and arrived in manhattan twelve hours later. i wasn’t surprised to see the rest of the board already there, i was six minutes late because i’d stopped for coffee. “what’s the matter?” i asked.
 
“for good news, we’ve officially been added to the fortune 500 companies list, replacing alcoa.” preston began, he always began with the good news, i wasn’t sure why, i just wished the bad news would be pushed out there so i could catch my breath again.
 
“as for bad news, that means we’ll be under the keen eye of the fbi.” carl finished. i didn’t need any further explanation to know the severity of that statement. although i was a minor, it would still leave a very ugly mark on my resume to have been convicted of money laundering at the mere age of fifteen.
 
we continued discussing future plans, the usual, and then the meeting ended. i was typing our discussion on my macbook when i was interrupted by preston, who had lingered behind. we were now the only two in the room, which had never happened since the day i’d interviewed him for his job. “yes?’ i asked innocently, turning towards him. “would it be considered inappropriate to invite my boss out to dinner to… discuss confidential information between the ceo and director of the board?” he asked. i blushed just a little, quite flattered by that notion because preston was /hot/, and even though i was his boss i was still a teenage girl as well. “oh don’t be such a flirt.” i replied teasingly, and for a moment, i was just a regular teenage girl with regular feelings. “dinner really isn’t your style, or mine, is it?” i questioned, knowing the answer full well. “just wear something casual and i’ll pick you up at seven, don’t forget to look hot though.” he concluded with a hint of amusement.
 
that night i wore a tight, red blouse and leather jeans paired with black, crystallized christian louboutins and a leather jacket - my usual everyday outfit, changed only slightly with the matte red i’d pigmented my lips with. preston knocked on my door promptly at seven, his regular smirk implanted into his expression, except for a brief moment, in which his eyes opened in pleasant surprise, “it’s not that you weren’t hot before or anything but you look… smokin’ hot.” he opined, offering his hand. i took it and we set off of whatever it was that we would be doing.
 
it turned out to be a date. and a rather good one at that. i guess after that you might say i fell head over heels for him, and even as a young little romance it still means a lot. from then on, we were a rather odd couple, slightly strange in the sense that we didn't talk terribly much, just made a few sarcastic and dark comments about the world, which was completely fine with me. i hated the world, the only truly good thing about it was the few people in it that were willing to help me, even if only for a short period of time and for their own, personal gain. i couldn't expect much more than that. people are cruel, selfish beings with little care for the rest of their kind. i have no faith in them, they're deceitful and cunning. in which case, it also means that i have the constant need to be just as such to even up the cause.
 
one month after anfinson became a newly-appointed fortune 500 company, carl cracked and spilled the entire thing to the police, and anfinson closed its doors. i haven't seen preston since. he went on the run. but i remained to pick up the pieces of my small dent in this world, that would soon grow bigger as one of the most successful cases of money laundering there ever was.
 
police questioning:
 
" i took the guilty plea, it was a mere twenty hours of community service work and a mere one million down payment. that was nothing. and it was incredible, the things children/teenagers can get away with.
 
“why did you need carl as a business partner?”
 
i thought that this was perhaps one of the dumbest questions i’d ever been asked in my lifetime, but i rolled my eyes in a childish manner and answered anyways, “no plan on the degree of anfinson would ever have succeeded with a single minor that was orphaned and alone. but carl came in and promised me one thing, so i went along and asked him to become my business partner. he helped me get a fake id and alter my official age on the census because, let’s face it, absolutely no one, no matter how twisted in the brain, would ever trust the word of a twelve-year-old, or even a sixteen-year-old for that matter."
 
“why not make the business completely legal?”
 
“we began anfinson inc. in 2010, just two years after the big stock market crash. the market was still recovering and the job security of a broker was close to none and no place was hiring. i needed money, and i needed it fast because i didn’t want to completely rely on carl for funding, so i decided to employ myself. of course, no business would ever make it in that sort of market legally, so i decided to pull a few strings to get the ball rolling.”
 
“how did you become such an expert on finance?”
 
“simple: school. my adoptive brothers became drug addicts and i was too scared to join them, my solution was catching up on all the school i missed from my years without an education. after a while, i figured out i was pretty decent with numbers, manipulation, and just generally business, so i devoted all of my time and effort to it.” "
 
after anfinson closed its doors, i left the financial trade center of the world, and instead went into isolation in montana. with its pristine mountains and clear lakes, it has a very picturesque view and sense of escape that, at the time, i needed very much.
 
preston visited me, of course, every now and then for brief periods of time, but i've learned not to remain entirely faithful, it only leads to painful situations, and so it was also at this time that i began to experiment, finding serenity in brief hookups with others. however, it wasn't until valerie stucco, anfinson's coo, visited that i truly found complete solace. i had my first girl-on-girl experience with her, although it was merely kissing, i realized i was bisexual after her visit, and that forever changed my world into one where my mind was completely open to new ideas.
 
my oasis ended with the authorities insisting i attend school. longing for the city again, although still needing the tranquility of nature, i settled on a quaint private school in orange county, california, known as cape grove high.
 
many years ago, my best friend, rivka, told me that there is no meaning to anything unless you find a meaning to it. well, darling rivka, those were the only words you’ve ever told me that weren’t correct. you see, it is not that there is no meaning to anything unless you find a meaning to it, it is that there is no meaning to anything at all. we are all people living in a world with seven billion of the same species, some can be deemed good, others bad, but in all truth, there is no good nor bad because there is no meaning. someday, all traces of our existence will die. we say rocks are eternal, permanent, a symbol of infinity, but even rocks change, metamorphosize into something completely different over the course of millions of years. someday, there will be no reminder that there ever was a galileo, einstein, or a monet, let alone myself. we will all fade eventually, be gone without a trace. there is no meaning to our existence. we are here to be here. that is all.

so why fight the inevitable oblivion?

{ secret }
 
constance's entire life is a secret, from the very beginning after 9/11, and to the present of today.

- - - دارم همه - - -

{ possessions }
 
http://www.polyvore.com/oh_girl_youre_shining_like/collection?id=3700741

{ theme song }
 
glory and gore - lorde
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOks2HArHf0&list=RDsOks2HArHf0#t=10
 
{ clique choice }
 
winthrope
 
- - - دارم همه - - -

{ activeness }
9.9

{ polyvore username }
@attitudediva

{ additional information }
not applicable

- - - دارم همه - - -

{ copyright }

x - 2014 attitudediva. lily alliene emerson.
x - i came up with this enrollment. any inspiration i have credited below.

x - partially based on the book "persepolis," by marjane satrapi.
x - all information on investment corporations and scams from "the wolf of wall street," "american greed," and from assorted online sources via google.

x - most of the facts about the government (the names, the dates, the war, etc.) are factual and really did occur.
x - most of the bombings, etc. don't really occur in iran anymore, it's relatively peaceful and democratic, even. although, there are still some oppressions like pop music, calls for secularity, etc. couple of weeks ago some kids got arrested for dancing to "happy."

x - also note that there is a beautiful 'we're the millers' reference with jennifer aniston as a miller. ^-^
 
- - - دارم همه - - -

20 comments

lazylily
Wrote one year ago
@capegrovehigh i agree in a way.
 
although in order for me to play out everything i've planned she'll need to be in winthrope, so thank you. x
 
perhaps for the next cycle?

capegrovehigh
Wrote one year ago
i know you said winthrope in the enrollment, and that’s where i will put her.. but i think you should consider york, i think it would suit her imo ^-^

lazylily
Wrote one year ago
@endafirlif
 
I don't want her in elites, mostly since she would resent it there and she never really had much of the rich life, anyways.
 
I'm thinking Winthrope, or York.
 
^-^

endafirlif
Wrote one year ago
what are you thinking, clique wise?
 
i could see her in york, or elites.
 
also, this is truly exceptional.

lazylily
Wrote one year ago
in my last copyright/additional info statement i mention, "most of the bombings, etc. don't really occur in iran anymore, it's relatively peaceful and democratic, even." and you're right, the latest bombing should be around 1980, right after the revolution, as well as the one in 2012; however, the articles never account for the allegations of bombing during the nuclear campaign, (i think from 2002-2006), none of which have been confirmed. i mostly based the bombing of constance's school after that.
 
constance i can see looking rather similar, as /most/ persians have dark eyes/dark hair. but rivka would still seem striking in comparison. i didn't mean to phrase the sentence in a way that would imply the trope you've mentioned, but that's how it turned out. i'll work on revising it.
 
@neuxi

neuxi
Wrote one year ago
Sorry for the really late reply.
 
I wasn't aware that any bombings occurred in Tehran around 2002 or 2003; could you prove me wrong? Because I did some quick research and all I could find were articles detailing events that occurred in the early 1980s and 2012.
Also, how were Constance and Rivka obviously not natives of Iran? Not all Persians have dark skin and/or dark eyes; some are even white-passing. The 'foreigner that sticks out like a sore thumb because of their blonde hair and blue eyes' trope is really overdone.

lazylily
Wrote one year ago
@priviel @idealistic-princess alright ^-^

idealistic-princess
Wrote one year ago
I really don't know much about iran so I can't help you with the stereotypes and stuff but i will read it as soon as I have time :)

priviel
Wrote one year ago
Holy fu ck. I'll get back to you on this. I actually need to read it first.

lazylily
Wrote one year ago
need help.
 
pretty much i've made the final adjustments but i'm not sure if i stereotyped anything and i'm very worried about that. i've learned quite a bit about iran in school but if i slipped something even mildly offensive /please tell me/.
 
@xoxotiffanii @idealistic-princess @dreams-and-tranquility-xox @rabaab @slytherintomypantsdracomalfoy @foxiesriot @vivalafrance @muzix-luver @neuxi @priviel

idealistic-princess
Wrote one year ago
Ughhhh
I'm working on Wren's right now
(by the way how bada-ss is the name Wren? I'm actually in love with it)

lazylily
Wrote one year ago
#constancemakesmedepressed

lazylily
Wrote one year ago
@idealistic-princess hahaaaaa. i think constance is pretty much done. her enrollment is as long as viva's which is... pretty damn long.
 
i just need to work on adrien's and i'll be done. ^-^

idealistic-princess
Wrote one year ago
I haven't even written Wren's bio yet...ugh
The only person who's enrollment I'm technically done is Imogens and there's stuff I plan to add to hers gahhhhh

lazylily
Wrote one year ago
@idealistic-princess me too.
i just added in a portion where she discovers she's bi. not very well-written but it'll do for now. xD

idealistic-princess
Wrote one year ago
I ship her and Wren so hard <3333

momagrl
Wrote one year ago
very convoluted and well written.

hiddensparkle
Wrote two years ago
it's so good!

hiddensparkle
Wrote two years ago
damn lily xD

dreams-and-tranquility-xox
Wrote two years ago
THIS IS AMAZING LILY <3 xx

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