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Post by isabella on Apr 4, 2009 18:40:15 GMT -5
 superstar, where you from? how's it going?
i know you got a clue what you're doing
--------[/font] Snap. Flash. Pose. Isabella twirled, her creme colored, tutu-like dress fanning out as she did. She wore black stockings and creme heels. Around her neck were beautiful pearls. It was her favorite necklace. Bella waited for the models and other photographers to arrive. She had no idea how many would be showing up for the shoot but hopefully at least one of each. She carefully wrapped a strand of her brown hair between her fingers, something she did when she was nervous. She walked around the room a few paces and did another twirl. Isabella couldn't help twirling every now and then as she waited. She was impatient. Twirling was something Isabella loved to do - if she didn't absolutely adore photography, she'd probably be a dancer.
Bella sat down on the fancy couch she had set up for the shoot. There were many lights positioned around the couch (it reminded her of one of those couches that kings and queens would have in their castles during older times). There was a pretty light-yellowish white colored backdrop set up with a few flecks of gold here and there on it. There were other places around the big room where other shots could be taken too - even a small trampoline was set up by a green screen for jumping shots. The green screen could be used to put in a sky background or something of the like.
Ever since she was little, Isabella loved photography. She'd gotten her first camera at the age of four and she could see how things had progressed since then. Now she had a huge canon camera - the best of the best. Her parents could afford it for her, of course, and she got a new, updated and better camera every couple of years. Isabella had many cameras now and she loved all of them. Even her little Polaroid - which had been the first camera she had ever gotten. A small sigh escaped the brunette's lips and she began humming the tune to one of her favorite classical pieces by Debussy.
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Post by amara on Apr 5, 2009 2:48:34 GMT -5
all i have ever wanted was to shine.
Lying in bed, Amara stared at the roof for awhile. She knew quite well that she had a photo shoot today in her classroom at school but was feeling slightly lazy. Waiting fifteen more minutes, she just hummed along to the latest song that had got its way stuck within her head and not willing to jam its way out of her mind just yet. Tossing her legs up in the air, she had two hours until she had to be there and no time to waste. Amara was a perfectionist when it came to how she had to look before leaving her dorm room. Making her way over to her mirror and dresser combination, she sat down on her chair and glanced in. Urg, she needed to wash her face before doing anything further. Getting up, Amara went to the bathroom and gave in. Showering first, she then got off, dried off and then washed her face, thinking it was still needed even if she had taken a twenty-five minute shower. Getting the blow dryer out, Amara turned it on and faced it towards her blonde hair, letting the heat blow it all over the place, drying it slowly but surely.
Fifteen more minutes passed and she was ready to finally go back to her mirror. Getting out her make-up, she sorted through it until she found what she used daily. It was never anything much because Amara was the type who actually did know she was pretty, beautiful, whatever word you wanted to use and not afraid to show off what she looked like naturally. Placing a thin line of eyeliner and a little bit of brown eye shadow on her face, she took out her lip gloss and placed it on her lips, completing what she was going to do with her hair. Glancing over at the clock by her bed side, she didn’t have that much time left. Getting mad, she never liked to be late and never had been late. Hopefully this would not be a first, as she didn’t believe there was a ‘first for everything;’ that was just plain crap in her eyes. Modeling was important to her and always had been, that and she had competition in the thing and would not look like a ‘loser’ underneath of that girl. This was something she’d never stand for; she had to be at the top of everything.
Finishing with her hair, Amara only had five minutes to spare. She decided curling it slightly would be good enough as she was not exactly sure what the photographers would want her to work with today. One thing was sure enough, though. If Amara had to straighten her hair and she did end up being late, she would in no way be a happy girl and when she was not happy, nobody was happy. Amara made sure everyone she could rub off on got the same mood as her so if she was unhappy, you had a high change of being that way too. Currently being happy but frustrated, she got her bag and slipped on her shoes, making her way out of her dorm and towards Murphy High School. Amara seemed to luck out here because the school was not far from the dorms at all, if they were, how in hell would that even make sense? It wouldn't, so having somewhere closeby was always helpful on days you could possibly be late and didn't want to be. She quickened her pace.
Just before entering the room, Amara stopped where she was, not bothering to glance it. It seemed a little busy but not overly around her - normal in other words. Flipping open her open, she saw she had one minute to enter the room before being late. Stuffing her self-phone back within her bag, she opened the door and walked in, trying not to speed walk as she didn’t want anyone to know she had the thought of appearing late. Seeing a girl in the distance, she had not really seen her before, or at least didn’t recall it. Being Amara Harper, she was known for not paying attention to the people around her. If there was one word to describe her it would be self-absorbed though she was also not the type who wouldn’t admit it. She loved herself, how hard was that to catch onto?
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Post by brigette clare bliss on Apr 22, 2009 1:22:34 GMT -5
stop the bombs before they start, this one's heading for their hearts.
It took a while for Brigette to wake up. Last night she had spent hours in the mirror, picking apart herself. Sometimes she had trouble sleeping - often, in fact. And her mother had taught her that no one was perfect - but not in a good way. Madame Bliss wasn't the most supportive mother. She spent years mastering the art of being beautiful - surgery after surgery, makeup and anti-aging creams. And if her family wasn't picture perfect, too, then she couldn't be happy. Brigette grew up believing that pleasing her mother was the ultimate goal. This could only be achieved by her success, in her mothers eyes - marry rich, always look beautiful, end up with a strong career in looking beautiful. So at night, when she couldn't sleep, Brigette would examine herself in the mirror above her sink. Each flaw, each mistake in her creation, was tallied up in her head. It couldn't be healthy, but it was routine, and Brigette lived on routine. Now, as she woke up, she knew that she would follow the routine of her mornings - wash the sleep out of her eyes, cover up her dark circles, paint her face and fix the mistakes, pull her hair into a ponytail, and so on.
There was a photoshoot that day - as usual. She made her way out of bed, stepping lightly over the neat piles of clothes in her room, climbing towards the bathroom. First, she showered and blow-dried her hair; plain routine, same as always. She didn't mess with it - her dark curls blew-out straight, and she left them that way. The photographers and entourage came with the job, they decorated as they pleased. She put on a bit of mascara, brushed her teeth and covered up her beauty mark - if the photographers wanted it, they could have it. She plucked her eyebrows, flipped her hair, added a bit of eye shadow and eye liner and dabbed on lipstick. Deciding that she looked okay, if not pretty, she walked back into the room, tripping towards the dresser.
Modeling was what Brigette lived for - it was everything to her. Originally, she had followed it because her mother had decreed it so. All the Bliss children modeled, Michael included. Her sisters, who all looked almost identical, were just models on the outside. Holly was a dancer - a ballerina. And Noel wanted to elope with a nice British boy and join an all-girl band. Chloe just wanted to please everybody, so she just did what they told her to. Michael was spoiled, being the youngest, and the only boy, and his parents let him do what he wanted. But Brigette was a model. She started out hating it - modeling was for sissies, all the girls had eating disorders or were funny-looking. But once she realized that people liked her appearance and wanted to see more of it, Brigette started to pursue modeling with a passion.
She threw on a pair of shorts, denim and tiny, and a white tank top. Her shoes were gladiator sandals and she wore a silver chain around her neck with a little cross on it. She grabbed a piece of toast, buttered it, and tiptoed out the door. She walked towards Murphy Academy of the Arts, hurrying desperately so that she wouldn't be too late. Brigette always took too much time getting ready in the mornings; it didn't bother her to arrive after everyone else. It was chilly, and goosebumps prickled on her pale forearms. But, then, quickly, Brigette was at the school and entered its warm halls.
Brigette always felt weird at these congregations. She was the odd one out - dark haired, wide waist and shoulders, dark, thick eyebrows, big jawbone. She wasn't a typical model - starved-skinny, airbrushed and perfect. She noticed the photographer and smiled politely, then looked around the room. She knew a few girls, including Amara Harper. That girl just didn't sit right with Brigette - not many people did, of course. But they were polar opposites, at least appearance wise. And Amara so obviously adored herself which got on Brigette's nerves. Brigette put on this mask, one that showed the image of a self-absorbed, bitchy girl who loved herself. But being raised the way she was, Brigette was really a soft-hearted, suffer-in-silence kind of girl, even if she treated everyone else like they were trash. It was all in the way she was raised.
She turned her attention to the photographer - a pretty, familiar looking girl. This was about the camera - the pictures. She would have to concentrate.
miracle makers and heart breakers - -
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