~ Don't Say You Don't by Maritime
JOIN THIS AWESOME ROLEPLAY OMG.
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=144042
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=144042
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=144042

I know Louise Ebel is kind of two years ago, but I ADORE HER and her looks and her effortless style. My style inspiration omg.

Agnes Faulker, 19
nickname: A, Aggy
current location: Manhattan 
hometown: Provence, France
likes; cigarettes, amherst gems, movement protests, cervantes, the catcher in the rye, manhattan, gaugin, chai, the 70s, red vampy lipstick, reading, rainy days, her boyfriend, emerson
dislikes; racist people, homophobes, anti-feminists, conservatives, righteous people, her mother, the summer, swimming, working out, conformity, fox news.
bio; At first glance, Agnes seems like an chic, ultra-sophisticated French girl who frequents obscure coffee shops with a cigarette in her hand and looks good in everything. She runs the third most viewed fashion blog on the internet and is invited to all the coolest parties and fashion shows. During the day, she is an art student at Columbia with a sarcastic attitude who sleeps too much and often slacks off with her portfolio. She is really just a quiet, inquisitive girl who is curious to learn more about the universe. People also don't know that she's a die-hard romantic, a dreamer, and strangely superstitious. She comes from a port city in France, and her father was a poor fisherman who drowned at sea. Agnes ran away from home for college after her mother sold her into labor. She tries to forget about her past, but when a long-lost brother shows up at her door, she is forced to reckon who she really is and where she came from.
blog URL; the-labyrinthe.com// http://welcometothelabyrinthe.tumblr.com/
model; louise ebel
@emilie-ethereal


It was night, but in Manhattan nobody wanted to sleep. I heard my heels clacking on the cement floor, a comforting sound in the crowd in Times Square. The bright lights illuminated, giving the city an adventurous feel. I simply blended into the crowd...

Or not. A group of girls stopped me, almost tripping me to be stampeded by the crowd of people. I gasped, looking up. Oh. They squealed, "Can we please take a picture with you? We ADORE your fashion blog!" A couple of girls carrying Starbucks jumped right beside me, as their boyfriends took pictures to post to their Facebooks or what not. I felt odd, even though people had stopped me in crowds before. A few passerbys looked to see what was happening and cringed in disgust for blocking the crowd. "Move on, will ya?" A man on a bicycle hollered. 

"I ADORE THOSE SHOES. Can you follow me on Tumblr?" A girl with the similar Givenchy bag, I wore on my last post, squealed. I looked down at my vintage oxfords from a thrift store in Brooklyn. I was appalled. Young people like anything if it's popular. 

"Sure, just give me your link." I smiled. "Does anyone have a pen?"

They dug into their purses frantically. Finally someone gave her paper and a pen. She wrote the link messily and handed it over to me, filled with excitement. "OHMYGOSH! Thank you!" 

"Sure thing. Hey, I have to get going now." 

"Okay! Mention us in your blog!" They yelled as I pushed through the crowd. They squealed and started talking about me. 

"Miss Agnes is drawing up quite the crowd," I heard a voice behind me. I learned around. It was Elliot. I smirked sarcastically and he gave a quick kiss on the cheek. Truth was, I was awful at these kinds of things. Connecting with fans, I mean. I always felt so awkward. Me, coming from a tiny, unknown fishing town in France. Me, the girl who sleeps during most of the day and drowns herself with Oreos when I have to complete my painting (I hate deadlines, creativity only comes to me when I am not set by certain rules.) Me, the one who wears old ratty band t-shirts and my underwear when I'm in my apartment, brewing my coffee while resting close to Elliot's arms. We laced our fingers together, as I pressed my head closer to his. 

"What are you doing here, mi amor?" I asked him, dumping my coffee in the nearest trash can. 

"There was a very bad poetry reading at Battery Park. I was there for the free french fries and onion rings." 

"Oh," I frowned. "Hey, don't worry, okay?" I looked up to see his crystal blue eyes, finely sculpted face, and wavy, messy chestnut hair. He smiled warmly at me. "I know things have been hard us." I sighed. Elliot smelled like cigarettes and coffee and my Lolita Lempicka perfume. Ever since he was kicked out of Columbia for drug possession {a long story}, he was looking for a job so we could continue living in our apartment in the Meatpacking district together. He didn't even care about studying political science, he said. What he wanted to do was be a poet. Except, no one was hiring or was willing to read his genius works.

We walked against the crowd, just the two of us. I took a deep sigh as a breeze passed by the car, a yellow taxi drove past us, the wafts of ephemeral tulips and radishes from the vendor. This was my life. This was my city. Things got complicated and messed up. Little did I know, there was more for me to fix and mend-up...

BOYS
Elliot Gallagher, 23
nickname; none
current location; Manhattan
hometown; Brooklyn
likes; his drugdealer, new york hot dogs, coffee, kafka, spending time with agnes, mythology, 
dislikes; yuppies, 
bio; Elliot is a reckless and c*cky party boy. He has a bit of an ego and can appear sarcastic, witty, and I'm-better-than-you to anybody who doesn't know him well. He has a mysterious and misery-chic aura and is always found with a cup of coffee and a paperback novel. Elliot is only kind to a few selective people, Agnes being one of them. He claims he would do anything for her. They met at a party in SoHo through mutual friends. Elliot came to Columbia for a degree in political science, what his hard-working, Irish-immigrant parents wanted, but he found himself disappointed and spiteful of his work. When his sister died the previous year, he became hooked on drugs. Agnes broke off contact with him, and he became more dependent on drugs, even getting kicked out of Columbia for drug possession. Agnes felt bad for him and let him stay in her apartment. She still has to keep a keen eye on him, and sometimes she misses the old days when they were in Columbia together.
model; adam levine
taken by; @emilie-ethereal

James Rousseau, 22
nickname;
current location; Manhattan
hometown; Paris, France
likes; vodka, art shows, his buddy holly glasses, marlboros, 
dislikes; racists, his father, 
bio; James runs his own well-known fashion blog, the Realist, in which he discusses his own ramblings, musings, fashion trends, and philosophies. He's an art history student at Parson's and is also a French native. He was interested in Agnes's blog and contacted her. James has a kind, serene personality. He is very inquisitive and wise and honest, even pointing out Agnes's flaws and when she's wrong, to her disdain. James is able to see the truths. For one, he doesn't believe that a girl like Agnes deserves someone like Elliot. He's constantly being pushed into the friend zone and doesn't like it. He comes from an upper-class French family who doesn't approve of him studying art in America, and his father puts too much pressure on him to succeed. 
model; adam gallagher
taken by; @emilie-ethereal
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