amescastaignede

[amescastaignede]

Every word penned to paper, ink leaving a trail in its wake, painted a semi-false picture of what'd happened. Felicity wanted it this way, and with every stroke of her wrist...she felt sickness coiling in her stomach. Amélie was sure the things she'd learnt in recent months had left a deeper imprint on her than most of the attendees who were involved in the deception that was running a muck in her beloved city. The same place she handed coats to those less fortunate, and wondered...why.

Why life had to be so cruel, and why people...had to be crueller.

Stopping her hand, she rifled, until the notes tucked away at the bottom sat ontop. Her real thoughts...the ones she'd made as she walked around and found herself staring at the French, and the loss of all the power she'd managed to find in the last few years. Now gone, as if it'd never exsisted...and a big part of her wanted to claim it back. To do what she needed to, in order to put it right.

Lifting her hand, Amélie jumped when a voice cut through her inner dialouge, the shifting of nylon causing a yelp to release from her voice as she watched all her organization go out of the window as they frantically floated, now lay in dissaray. But she cared little about that, as doe eyes found where the voice had come from...the one she'd comitted to memory, those soft tones she'd always loved and those blue eyes...her resolve had remained iron-strong in the months since their breakup, even when they'd spoken...she'd set the boundaries and the tone of what they were now...but being here...seemingly alone.

Your work, her eyes finding the paper, her hands quickly following. He couldn't see this.

"No, it's uh, you're totally fine. Just -- " she was trying to get them as fast as she could. "Just, uh, stay there," flicking a look over her shoulder as she tried to summon a smile. "I'll, just...get them together and...we, we can talk..." those last words, though, weren't frantic, as she took in that face.

The one she missed more than...anything.

Was she okay? She could lie, she probably would...though, the thought of doing that to him didn't sit right with her. The problem was Gideon seeing right through her, as he so often did. Once the papers were all back in hand, disordered, she shoved them under her pillow and haphazardly stood, and found herself standing before him. "I'm..." unable to look him in the eye now, hands fidgeting. She'd spent so many mornings, afternoons and nights spilling everything to him, "I'm okay. Are you?"

LOCATION — The Rutherford Estate, Kingston Upon Thames. DATE — October 27, 2024. Evening. STARTER — closed for @amescastaignede

In retrospect, he should've given some warning before entering her tent.

The French woman startles – more than he'd even expected, frankly – a sudden jerk and a flurry of notes falling from her lap, scattering everywhere. "I'm-... Lia, I—"

He feels guilty for it immediately, frozen in place, torn between staying exactly where he is to give her space, and the desire to help her pick up her papers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. I just wanted..." Gideon trails off, feeling foolish, suddenly. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

[amescastaignede]

[amescastaignede]

"Where she went?" Amélie repeated, amusement tilting the corner of her lips into what she could only assume was the first beaming smile she'd given since she'd arrived in her own personal hell. Whatever was happening, however, had that amuesment dimming, as she realised that...Ayda might just be serious. "I..." play along, something told her. "I think she forgave you."

Then it hit...she was high.

"I feel like I'm floating. I feel......happy."

For a moment, so brief, it was in the blink of an eye: she wondered what it would be like to be able to let go like that...to be able to enjoy herself so loudly. Amélie had never tried drugs, but her dorm mates definetly had when they'd been living in university accomodation. While it wasn't her thing, and for all sorts of moral reasons...she didn't think it was right: she couldn't deny that it was kinda...funny. Even if only momentarily. "We should get you some water..." Amélie started, "And maybe some food?"

Amélie, at another glance at Ayda, she let her head fall back and released a throaty laugh. "Oh god, how'd you manage this then?"

"My goddess, please forgive me." The sudden need to have the one standing in front of her to alleviate the hardship that plagued her. "I will do no such thing again."

It was a few seconds that passed, and a twist of colours that seemed to throb behind the blonde, that she was able to paint a better picture.

"Amélie?" Her head glances in all directions, still remaining on her knees in front of her friend. "Did you see where she went?" The goddess of course. "Do you think she forgave me?" Please say she did.

"I feel great." The worry that laced her features seconds ago, gone, replaced with a bright smile. "I feel like I'm floating. I feel......happy."

[amescastaignede]

Amélie barely waited for him to finish, taking his wrist in her own hand and pulled him just enough away from everyone that they were alone...she was aware if they walked somewhere else, and it become far enough to think...she'd talk herself out of it. And she didn't have that option anymore. Couldn't.

She gave herself one more second, one last scan of their surroundings: the she spilled the secret she'd been harbouring. Already written, ready to go.

She had to do this...now.

“I’m thinking of doing something…” Amélie said, hands fisted, a glassy look in her eye as she realised what she was admitting. Out loud. It wouldn’t just be a thought in her head anymore, or an encrypted document on her laptop. “Something…out there.” God, spit it out Amélie, she chided at herself. “Career-ending kind of decision.” Or life-ending, depending on how she looked at it. There was a clear shake in her voice, enough that it was obvious that whatever it was: she wasn’t making the decision lightly: she never did. That fear was infused within her, and with that came this innate fear. “Since me and Gideon split…" she sounded paranoid. "they’ve been changing things.” At The London Advocate, she meant.

But as an investigative journalist— she said nothing unless she had the source, the hard proofed information, or first hand knowledge.

And this, she’d experienced herself.

“They amended my contract, pulled me off the French stories— the very reason she hired me in the first place…” she ran a frantic hand through her hair, before a huff of exhaustion left her lips “ — and have me spinning stories for the Rutherfords, now, too.” She shot Samar a look. “Oh, I’m not kidding.” Felicity knew her stand on the mob, how much she hated it…the very reason she’d walked away from Gideon.

She’d started this journey to take them down.

“I’m thinking of dropping a story on the French," finally "…going rogue.” By taking her shot at the French, she'd have taken the leap that everyone kept telling her she wasn't ready to make. “And I need you to not talk me out of it…tell me I’m not off my head and maybe…I’m not as much of a coward as I think I am.”

It was a lot, a dump of information...and a lot to trust to a man that could stab her in the back if he was further involved...maybe she should've thought about that. There was a sinking, as she pinned him with an observatory glare. Friend. Amélie had probably two left now. "I respect you...so I told you."

Despite the way this charity event had been designed to try and make at least some of its guests as uncomfortable as possible with the less than posh surroundings they were accustomed to, Samar was actually having a good time. At least with the people willing to talk to him, and to be fair that number could fluctuate at any given time he was around.

Engrossed in discussion with someone, Samar out of the corner of his eye saw Amélie approaching from the side but with a small hesitation in her body language. It was a familiar aprehension he'd seen a few times before, his co-worker and friend had a habit of doubting herself from time to time and he felt like it was a duty to help her overcome that when at all possible. Her journalistic instincts were generally spot-on, and his respect for Amélie knew no end.

"Not a worry, Ames, and of course." Samar gave a nod to his conversation partner. "We'll finish this later, yeah?" Rising to his feet to match her stance, "Is this a 'need to find somewhere discreet' kind of talk?"

[amescastaignede]

Amélie had been on yet another wander, trying to find a group she could insert herself into, or a friendly face: they'd been hard to come by. She knew loneliness, but this was truly the meaning of being in a room and invisible. She was thankful for people like Isla, Ayda...and that nice girl, what was her name...ah, Nevra. That was it. Such a beautiful one, at that. Instead of sulking in the tent, or crying on the hiking trail tonight (because that hadn't been the smartest decision she'd ever made) — she'd decided to try to venture out.

For how long, she wasn't quite sure.

Sometime later, alone...still. From the corner of her eye, she saw an approaching Ayda, enough to tilt the corners of her mouth enough...until the woman dropped to her knees. Confusion struck her first. A second later...worry? What? Crisps...

What on earth was she going on about?

"Ayda...are...are you well?"

who: @amescastaignede

when & where: day two by the poor camp fire

Ayda couldn't contain herself. The second boredom hit her, she found herself on a journey. This time was towards the sparks coming from the fire. The flickers of orange and red hues calling her name, literally. A beacon for her to embark on what adventure that may come.

"I'm coming, don't leave." Worry in her tone, afraid she'd be left behind.

It was the cast of a halo around a head of hair that captivated her, the vibrance drawing her to her knees in front of the figure. "Forgive me, my goddess. I did not mean to steal those crisps." A pause, wondering what happened to the bag. She did not eat them.

"It won't happen again."

[amescastaignede]

"I… I-I—” god, she sounded like a broken record, didn't she? His friends. His life. She was not welcome. Well, it was a good job she was a reporter, and honestly...as scary as Adriana was: Felicity scared her more. Still, like the meek mouse she was, she felt herself partially cower when she heard the harsh tone of her now-ex's sister. The words stumbled over one another, her mouth dry, her voice shrinking. She's shrinking, smaller and smaller...so when the shot arrives. She downs it, immediately asking for another. This was not her. She didn't do this...and yet, now she did. "I'm...actually, uh, here...trying...well I'm working." and she shook, physically. She might be a coward when it came to confrontation — but she knew what she was. "I don't understand..." she looked terrified. "I was invited."

"You shouldn't have come here. I don't care what's your reason, or excuse is . You shouldn't have fucking come here." Adriana placed her empty glass on the bar and turned to the woman. "If you know, then you know this is not the place for you. You've chosen whatever and... You have no right to be here. You have no right to make my brother worry about you or whatever you might see. These are his friends here and I haven't seen you with a single one of yours. I'm sorry, but I think you should leave."

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @samar-sehgal EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: The Firepit, evening.

Amélie didn't want to spoil his fun, and even as she walked over, heart thumping in an off-beat rhythm, that familiar sheepish look in those doe eyes, and it was there, she stumbled...considered turning around. Maybe this could wait, she thought, because this was meant to be a party (something she'd never been good at.) and...the other part of herself, the one that lived in doubt and regret told her that...if she didn't? She never would. That anxiety had been embedded in her very being from the moment she'd screamed as a fresh babe taking her first breath.

But Amélie didn't want to live her life in fear. She couldn't.

"I'm, uh, sorry, I'm sorry for interrupting." a meal smile on her lips. "Is there any chance we could talk?"

[amescastaignede]

"Absolutely, that's wealth and privilege for you." Amélie tried for a smile, the effort that It took was laughable: wasn't it a well-known fact that it took more muscles to frown than to smile? And yet, it felt like an almost physical impossibility. A good cause was exactly what she'd had to remind herself of, even though she was technically being paid to be here by the London Advocate, and she needed any overtime she could take.

It was an expensive city, especially on her salary.

“Oh, well, y'know, I ended up on the poor side with, uh, Isla -- yeah, that's her name, Isla. She seems nice..." She'd heard her name before, in passing. And her affiliation had been clear enough that she'd been initially stunted. But it hadn't taken long to warm to her, in the only way an introvert knew how: slight bemusement at all times. "And very lively." thankfully, that was enough to crack the smallest of real smiles.

"Are you, well, y'know -- thrilled with your partner..." a check of her surroundings to make sure no one was listening. "or are you gonna' be joining some unfortunate soul by the fire?"

Well damn.

So this was the reason Melissa had asked her to check in on the blonde. Maybe she should have given her the spiked drink. It might have calmed her nerves a little bit. Nevra had enough sense to rein in her face and soften it into a friendly smile.

"Oh you know, for a good cause like everyone else I expect. Although between you and me, I think a lot of them are here for the free booze more than the charity part." Even though only half of the attendees were getting free alcohol, the fact still stood. This weekend was a binge fest. "Did you get lucky with a nice tent or end up like me on the poor side?"

[amescastaignede]

"Two bottles wouldn't leave me too much room to think,” come to think of it. It sounded quite nice, and although his eyes never quite met his, a war raged internally. He was the same as Gideon...but he hadn't been her partner. She didn’t have the energy to offer the polite refusal she might have once. Instead, she took another swig: so out of character, unlike the clean-cut image she usually sported. The hollow space beside her, where he might've been sat had it been different and within her, too...and some part of her, shameful, mocking, felt it was punishment for something she must've done -- was better than she felt she deserved, anyway.

When something kept happening: like history was repeating itself, she wondered if it was her. Was she the problem? “Take it.” she gestured to the ground beside her, clutching her bottle a little closer, nestling it into her chest. She felt... heavy, weighed down by the knowledge of what their family was. Damon, she'd known, and now...she knew too much. Things she wished she could unhear.

To have one more day pretending.

“Y'know, I wish I could say I wasn’t always like this. A mess, I mean." but that would've been a lie, and the laugh on her lips sounded dull, withdrawn. "I thought I was stronger than this…” The words slipped out, unfiltered. She was saying more than she wanted to a man who might run and tell his brother everything.

"Is...Is he doing okay?"

"Uh, no." Not that Damon wouldn't go to absolute bat for Gideon every day that ended in Y, or that he wouldn't become his least pleasant self if his brother was under actual duress, but this girl's demeanor hardly screamed Katherine levels of narcissism. And really, from what he could tell, there'd been no winners in this split. "Suffice to say he's hurt enough. Which isn't your fault so much as the... situation." He twisted his commandeered liquor once over, confident that a broomstick would be more comforting than his presence right now. "You know, they say two bottles are better than one. Mind if I sit?"

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @lararutherford EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: The Firepit. Night Three.

Everyone else had found somewhere better to be, it supposed.

Amélie had attempted to find the one place no one was. Thankfully, as she walked towards the firepit, it looked completely empty. Not another soul was around, as the red and orange melded into one and twisted upwards to the sky, a billow of smoke carried away by a phantom wind.

It wasn't until she rounded the fire that she spotted one other person.

Oh, you've gotta be kidding. Lara. She should've laughed at the irony, of all the people she was trying to escape, of all the Rutherford's, it was either her or Gideon. Not when he was on a manhunt for his replacement. But what right did she have? They weren't together anymore, and it wasn't her place.

Their life never had been. His, yes. But with him came entanglements she couldn't be involved with, no matter how much she wished she could've changed things. She couldn't. But Lara? She'd never been warm, not someone she'd believed she'd ever have a close relationship with.

Knowing of Andrew's and Felicity's friendship — the fact that none of what she'd recorded could be used...meant she'd have to make it up. Because of them. So, she'd admit, with dramatic effect...she walked just close enough to Lara and tossed her notebook into the fire.

A flurry of sparks flying off.

"I'm not stupid." it came out before she could stop herself, and maybe it was because she was a girl who usually felt the need to use a thousand words to get one across: but as she sat down, she realised that was getting her nowhere. "I know your family control..." She didn't even have words to describe the magnitude. "So much." the thick gulp that followed was because she knew whom she was talking to. One of Amélie's greatest skills was her ability to research, to investigate: she now knew. "I made a promise to Gideon that I'd never be public about anything." Because she refused to be like his ex-wife.

She simply shook her head. "But now someones messing with my job."

[amescastaignede]

Everyone was someone to be suspicious of.

That was exactly what her breakdown the night previous had been about: how very out of control she was, secluded in a place, and surrounded by not only those who'd taken her brother from her but those who'd once been her friends too. And, well, to be frank, strangers gave her nope hope, in the same breath. There was a jilting factor of Amélie's personality that was hard-wired in: that kindness.

"I," she eyed it, suspiciously so. She'd been warned at a previous function that Gideon's sister's drinks weren't always just-drinks. "Thank you." and she was slow to take it, cautious. It was the use of her name, however, that had her gaze shot up. Her other hand, currently grasping her notebook, was her lifeline to keep her calm. "Yes, uh, yeah, that's me." she stared and then remembered she was probably supposed to continue the conversation.

Fuck, she was bad at this.

"Nevra, nice name." There were two sides to Amélie, the one that spoke so much she might as well had a motor mouth, and then this version. The one that was unsure of herself, of everyone else. "Are...well, I was just..." deep breath, she reminded herself. "What brings you to the event?"

@amescastaignede Date: Saturday Night (night 2 of camping) Location: Firepit

Amélie was as unknown to Nevra as much as she was sure she was to the woman. That didn't stop her from heeding Melissa's encouragement to go check on the girl. Something about Gideon and a hideous shirt and the girl's feelings. Far be it from her to question her boss.

A warm drink seemed the safest peace offering. Nevra sidled up to the blonde and extended one of the steaming drinks. "You look like you need this. Don't worry, there's nothing in it except apple cider and an obnoxious amount of sugar." Her own drink had an extra kick but she didn't say so. "You're Amélie, right? Nevra." She raised her glass in introduction.

[amescastaignede]

REACTION / SELF PARA.

WHERE: The Walking Trail. Night time. EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' SUMMARY: Amélie needed to get away from it all. The shirts, his family, the loneliness when she realised they were all intertwined.

Cut people out, avenge those who need it, and stay strong.

It was a mantra she'd repeated since she arrived, and it was now that realised...she sucked at it. She had no control over anything, or anyone...or herself, or the man she'd loved.

Nothing.

It was an overwhelming feeling.

The crushing in her chest, the clog stuck in the hollow of her throat with its threat to explode every time she opened her mouth and the static buzzing like a live wire in her head: reminding her that having a panic attack in front of his entire family at a festive-styled event was not what was expected of someone on the London Advocate team.

And certainly not of someone linked to his family, and seemingly friends. MPs, politicians, lawyers, filthy rich: the kind of money that allowed corruption to leak into every part of their lives. She was lumping them all together, unfairly so, for some...but the whole thing was piling on top of her like a never-ending avalanche.

Amélie would not give them the satisfaction of watching her break.

Those who laughed when she walked past, others with pity. It was her own fault, that inner voice chided, a repeat offender when she spiralled into this all-too-familiar place. Somewhere she might've made her home if she hadn't experienced what life could be like.

Before she gave it all a way to stick by her beliefs.

Those shirts, though, in all variations of colour...and — and his face.

Amelie gulped for air like a person dying of thirst would gulp down water and begged the high heavens to give her strength to stop the warping in her ears now, her heart beat so loud she could count the rhythmic thumping in her chest.

The people in this place thrived on that, fed on it until they were full, power-hungry. Every person she'd come into contact with had their hands in the pot, someway, somehow. And she was meant to walk around as if their hands were not soaked in the blood of the many innocent lives taken in London.

If she just kept walking, it'd keep her occupied: something to do. In a place like this, where the outdoors was so vast, she'd stuck to the clear path (hoping that the Duke of Edinburgh award would come in hand if she found herself lost.) and peddled forward...but the farther away she got, the more it got harder to breathe.

The grasp she'd barely had on her emotions unravelled in one.

Unable to contain it, finally far enough away that she wouldn't draw a group to her: she let out a yell, so deep and guttural it almost sounded inhuman, so unlike her, so deeply pained that the ground met her knees before she had the chance to stop herself.

It wasn't just Gideon. It was them. The sound of laughter, of yells of a different kind to hers, the free-flowing alcohol...like their country wasn't starving, their people dying: and the wealthy got wealthier, while poor...got poorer. Their money, made on the back of lies, and deals and promises that fell through or ended in the murder of someone who was someone to somebody...

she tried to breathe, tried to calm down the heaving of her chest, but it only worsened. Amélie had received a letter a couple of days before her arrival detailing the new part of her job.

*An amendment to her contract.

Amélie's relationship breakdown with Gideon hadn't just affected her personal life, but her work had very much changed in the months that followed. Less time on the French, more time spinning stories. That was what they'd expanded on. She was here on Felicity's orders to write a piece that showed the Rutherfords in a favouring light — and make sure the French were shown to be exactly what they were.

Her notebook, stashed in her tent, was filled with information she'd spotted on her wonders: and none of it was useable. Regardless. It implicated more people than she cared to admit. It was a farce.

The lot of it.

And like a fool...she was, unfortunately so, forever entwined.

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @spencerberkeley EVENT: The Camp Out, 24'. WHERE: Day Two. Out and about.

For obvious reasons, she'd kept her distance.

It came with great difficulty. It seemed everywhere she'd turned on night one, there'd been such a mass of them that she couldn't escape. In the end, she'd resolved to spend a good portion of her night sat on a log, some way up the trail trying to get herself into something akin to coherence.

This time, however, she'd have no such luck. A one-on-one encounter. Wonderful, she internally jibbed at herself, forcing what looked to be the fakest attempt at any smile, ever. "Spencer, it's nice to see you." she prayed that Gideon was close by because she wasn't sure she could handle the both of them right now. "I see you've got a better fashion sense today."

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @damonrutherford EVENT: The Camp Out. WHERE: Close to the firepit, but far enough away from people.

"If you've come to warn me about hurting your brother, too, you don't have to bother." A hiccup broke free from her lips, as she turned her head towards Damon, and offered a weak smile that bordered on...confused. Amélie didn't know how to act with the things she knew...didn't know how to feel. She didn't wait, taking another swig. It was some part of self-pity, the other was gut-wrenching guilt.

For being here, around these people. And doing nothing about it.

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @mobscene-starters EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: The Main Bar.

If Felicity hadn't forced her hand, Amélie wouldn't be here.

And the realisation of her dire situation had begun to set in. Felicity's friendship with Andrew started raising questions after Gideon's revelation, and now she realised just how corrupt everything she was involved in was. And that letter, the one tucked away in a box at home: stating certain stories would be better portrayed in a favouring light of the Rutherford's as she began her takedown of the French. It was all in effect. The first domino had fallen — and while she wished to be anywhere else in the world.

Nothing had prepared her for those shirts.

It hadn't taken her long to trudge over to the bar and order the first thing she saw: very out of character for a woman who found herself giddy after just two wines. Alone was one way to put it: and without her phone, she wanted to riot.

A notebook clutched in her hand, a way to make notes for the story she had to write on the weekend. The real reason she was here: because none of them would've invited her now she was no longer his. "A shot, as well, please."

[amescastaignede]

AMÉLIE CASTAIGNÉDE : THE CAMP OUT, 24'.

[amescastaignede]

Does she still love Gideon?

Absolutely.

There isn't a part of her that doesn't, and that's what's made this so difficult. Even though she knows walking away was the only option she had in light of the information, he divulged to her — that doesn't mean she doesn't think Gideon is one of the best things that ever happened to her. Yes, she's mad. Rightly so, because he kept things from her: but she understands that people don't trust easy. She doesn't. And as time passed, she's very aware that he's a good person. She knows him. But she cannot, and will not, be with him.

It goes against who she is, her fundamentals. If he actively had no connections to them, had walked away and didn't associate...it might've been different. But she'd been around them, spent time with them — they'd been so different from her. That much she knew. Different lives...but Gideon had never treated her like an outsider. He'd loved her, pushed (gently) for her to break out of that suffocating cage she'd been stuck in.

It was that struggle...between the man she'd fallen in love with...

and his family.

And that was not something she was willing to ask him to choose between. She was not that kind of woman and never strived to be. It was for that reason she grappled with herself every night when she was alone in her apartment. All this anger, this bitter loneliness, had crept into a girl who'd always seen positives in the darker times. Now she struggled to smile when the sun rose, or when her coffee was just right.

But of one thing she was certain. She still loved him.