#thread: Carmen Hearst

[morrisxn02]

The answer to her question is at the tip of his tongue – where it has lived for over five years. “Sorbonne.”, he says thoughtlessly. And when he does, it is with a subtle grieving melancholy that sounds like he is talking about something that once belonged to him but was abruptly taken away. But there is also a hint of certainty in the immediacy of his response as if he knows he would have been accepted if he applied. Well, he would have. He really would. He had the perfect grades, the resume, and the fluency in French – all three requirements of the ideal Sorbonne application. What he didn’t have was his parents’ permission… Maybe, if he were more like Cara – if he questioned his parents’ actions and rebelled against their impositions, he might have been in France today. Away from all the madness of Ogden College… Perhaps he would be happy, sharing an unnecessarily large apartment with Océane and Lucas and living his best life 3,000 miles away from everyone who ever knew him. But she doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t need to hear how he didn’t have the guts to stand up to his father or to disobey his mother. Or that, at night, he is haunted by this past he did nothing to change and by this alternate version of the present that he would never have. He appreciates that she asked, though. No one ever had. "Was Ogden your dream school?"

Madame Severin had done an incredible job, he thinks, as she recounts the story of how she came to learn French. It sounds familiar. A rich kid whose parents decide they should pick up a new language because they enjoy how it sounds, so they hire a private teacher that offers them the best education money can buy. And there you have it, a child that sounds like a native in any foreign language. Much like his own history with foreign languages, except, in his case, his Madam Severin was a man he called Herr Schulz, who their parents often referred to as a nasty communist but was a hell of a German teacher. “That explains it. Your French sounds very natural.” Again, he avoids complimenting her directly. But still, he feels he cannot let that information go unmentioned. “Before. My mother is French. So, I learned it growing up.” Not with Cherise Morrison’s help, obviously, but his grandparents had been fantastic teachers.

Her remark about the nature of his interest in macabre themes is met with the light-hearted chuckle of someone who knows she has a point. Dr. Helena Reichman, Ph.D. – his therapist, who sometimes dabbled in Freudianism – also seemed to agree with her. The one – and only – time Edward showed her one of his sketches – a depiction of Prince Hamlet holding his father’s decapitated head (instead of the usual skull) in his hands – she wouldn't shut up about how the brutality in his drawing of a father-and-son relationship also reflected on his own relationship with his father, and blah, blah, blah… Whatever. What does she know, anyway? But somehow, when a somewhat similar comment comes from Carmen, he takes it lightly instead of hostilely.

“Oh, well… You know her…” He shakes his head dismissively, a smirk on his lips as Carmen mentions his sister. The memory is still vivid in his head – the day he came home from soccer practice, and Greer had told his parents and Cara that he had been taking theater classes in school without them knowing (their school had a sort of all-you-can-eat regimen, where students could take as many electives as they pleased). His parents were scandalized for a hot minute, thinking their son was doomed to waste his brilliance on something as useless as art and become a frustrated, drugged-up, failing actor. Cara, on the other hand, just called him a nerd and ran back to her room before their father could throw his tantrum. Come to think of it, she had been much more supportive – or rather, less discouraging – than any other relative…

“No, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have come up with anything good. You saved my comic book.” He fires back. His words are overly dramatic, but his voice carries a humorous undertone. There it is again – her unquenching modesty. Personally, he finds it endearing, but he cannot help but wonder if it reflects something about her character. Like an unflattering self-perspective or a feeling that she doesn’t deserve praise for her intellect. “Stop being modest.” He teases, “Promise it’ll just be a discrete acknowledgment at the end, like, ‘And thanks to Carmen Hearst for revealing new words to me.” Though he isn’t familiar enough with graphic novels to know whether they have acknowledgments at the end… “I think it’s something I’ve been doing for a while... It started as more of a hobby…What about you? Anything besides theater you’re interested in?”

He doesn't say it, at least not vocally, but there's something there — a hum that lingers just beneath his words that makes Carmen perfectly aware of what he means to say. He hadn't had a choice. I was bound to come to Ogden. A path that had been pre-determined, and if his parents had been anything like her own, it was a selection made long before their child had been granted the ability to draw up another world, to imagine what their own could look like. She takes the moment he looks away to press her hand to her sternum, swallowing the lump it feels has risen in her throat, collecting one of the broken pieces of herself before it can make itself too apparent.

"Where would you have gone?" If you'd been able to choose. "If not Ogden."

"Oh, I...I had a teacher. Madame Severin." A woman who had never been particularly cruel, but who's sternness with a young Carmen, a child who'd wanted to escape the walls of her home and just play, rang more prominently than anything else about her in her memories. "My parents always enjoyed France so they thought it was important I know the language." And for all their faults, it was one aspect that she may have actually been appreciative of; the ability to communicate even when traveling, when visiting a place that she'd come to love for reasons different from those who'd raised her. "Did you learn before Lycée or while you were there?"

"You know..." She leans in towards him a mere few inches, voice softening, protecting a secret despite the empty beach around them. "If I were a psychology major, I might worry that says something about you." Hazel orbs flash to his face with the words, smile slowly etching itself onto her features in a show of teasing. It wasn't something she personally understood, the draw to the dark and less than pleasant parts of their world. There were plenty of artists that did, and despite the ribbing of her words, she knew there likely was a psychological analysis to be made there. It wasn't for Carmen though, who had and likely always would find herself pulled towards the softer parts of the world, to whatever clutches of hope she could grasp onto, white-knuckled and desperate. It's apparent by the way she's inspecting his artwork, however, that there's no judgement and her own version of appreciation for a world not her own.

"Ah, so Edward Morrison was a theater kid." It's somehow both parts surprising and not; surprising perhaps due to his family and what she knew of them, due to his outward appearance and the assumptions that it might bring about, but the more she learned of him, it simply seemed right. "I'm sure Cara gave you absolutely no grief about that." Twins; a bond that everything in media implied should make the two people closer than anything, seemed they couldn't be farther apart — and yet in spite of their many differences, there remained a fondness for both of them inside of her.

"I'm not sure that's entirely necessary. I didn't invent the word after all." She muses, orbs drifting towards him once again, something in her smile and breath saying she's teetered on the edge of amusement. "I'm sure you would have come to it or something better in time. You may yet." After all, it's clear he doesn't lack any creative spirit. The ability to create something as complex as a comic, even one inspired by another piece of media is surely no easy task, and his artwork, made even more apparent as she gently folds the page over to inspect the one before it, was far from a beginners. "How long have you been drawing?"

[eloiseabernathy]

who: @carmenhearst

Eloise had spent the better part of her college days looking up to Greer, trying to be exactly like her in so many ways. It still felt unnatural to not be looking for her in the hallway, to hoping that she would glimpse at her and have an approval nod. Eloise was so used to being adored by everyone, no matter what she did. So, when she met Greer, some sort of overwhelming feeling of the needing to be liked sunk into her. Although she has tried to dim that light down, no matter what she did, it was still a part of her.

With Greer gone, Eloise tried to branch out, to find people with connections to others that would somehow trinkle down to Eloise. The cheerleading team had just gotten done with practice. While Eloise was taking a drink of water, she spotted Carmen. This was her chance to try and get in there. Eloise picked up her bag and made her way to Carmen, a bright smile on her lips. "Hey! I just wanted to say hi, and maybe we could hang out after practice?"

[morrisxn02]

ogden college (un)official class playlist ! available NOW at a therapist near you !

PART ONE: the student body

lacy by olivia rodrigo・henrietta astor

"oh, i care, i care, i care. like ribbons that you wear. my stomach's all in knots. you've got the one thing that i want..."

hurricane by halsey・reina azarolla

“i’m a wanderer, i’m a one-night-stand. don’t belong to no city, don’t belong to no man. i’m the violence in the pouring rain. i’m a hurricane.”

american teenager by ethel cain・ida clarke

“grew up under yellow lights on the street, putting too much faith in the make believe.”

this link is dead by deftones・lincoln crawford 

"pay attention! watch me close! as i decide which way i move"

february 15h by hobo johnson・nova dodson

"she went to columbia and i went to jail. i just wanted another apple when she really wanted yale. and that is the problem where all of this lies. i'm emotionally unstable. i'm a crazy fucking guy!"

crocodile tears by suzanna son・sassa fiske

"crocodile sitting all alone, painting nails the shade of pink to match princess peach's cheek. maybe they'll think i'm beautiful. maybe i can trick them."

perfect day by hoku・charlie fletcher 

“people say, they say that it’s just a phase. they tell me to act my age. well, i am.” 

the boy who blocked his own shot by brand new・jesse hart 

“a crown of gold, a heart harder than stone and it hurts to hold on, but it’s missed when it’s gone”

happy by marina・carmen hearst

"couldn't relax, couldn't sit back and let the sunlight in my lap. i sang a hymn to bring me peace and then came a melody."

too much by carlie rae jepsen・ollie inoue

"i live for the fire, and the rain, and the drama too, boy. and it feels like you never say what you want, and it feels like i can't get through, babe."

nina cried power by hozier and mavis staples・ mika ishii

“power has been cried by those stronger than me straight into the face that tells you to rattle your chains if you love being free. ah lord, and i could cry power!”

people watching by conan gray・logan iyande

“i’m only looking just to live through you vicariously. i’ve never really been in love, not seriously.”

summer child by conan gray・samantha jimenez 

"and you laugh and you dance in the wind, and you sway, and you hug and you kiss, but there's darkness behind those eyes."

savage daughter by sarah hester ross・ nixie linghui

“i am my mother’s savage daughter. the one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones. i am my mother’s savage daughter. i will not cut my hair. i will not lower my voice.”

mirrorball by taylor swift・roxie marsh

“hush. when no one is around, my dear, you’ find me on my tallest tiptoes, spinning in my highest heels, love. shinning just for you.”

don’t tell my mom by renée rapp・courtney mills

“so don’t tell my mom i’m falling apart. she hurts when i hurt. my scars are her scars. she’ll talk to her friends, impress all of them. at least in her mind, her daughter is fine.”

donttrustme by 3oh!3・cara morrison

“she's an actress, but she ain't got no need. she's got money from her parents and a trust fund back east."

halloween by novo amor・edward morrison 

“more and more with every accolade, i get carried with away with being carried away.”

i did something bad by taylor swift・greer morrison

"they're burning all the witches even if you aren't one. so light me up. go ahead and light me up."

autoestima by cupido, lola indigo and alizzz・ milo navarro

“my mother and my father gave me an extremely nice face. people don’t usually like pretty people like me.”

forsaken by paris paloma・alethea pierce

"i think i've done something to upset the stars again. the moon won't return my calls, but i deserve it. i deserve it all.”

strange overtones by david byrne, performed by whitney・lennon reed

"how long have i been missing? it's getting colder tonight. snowfall's reminiscing... i watched it melt before my eyes."

frankenstein by rina saywama・magnolia rhodes

"put me together, thread a needle so i'm like other people without all of the evil. i'm trying to be normal, but the trauma is immortal and none of this is your fault."

baseball by hippo campus・monty richler

“there goes that moonboy looking jungly with all his leaves a-growing.”

king by florence and the machine・anya saetang

"my empty halls echo with grand self-mythology. i am no mother, i am no bride. i am king."

stick season by noah kahan・nathaniel shaw 

“now i'm stuck between my anger and the blame that i can't face and the memories are something even smoking weed does not replace." 

liability by lorde・natalia vega

"she's so hard to please, but she's a forest fire. i do my best to meet her demands, play at romance, we slow dance in the living room, but all a stranger would see is one girl, swaying alone, stroking her cheek."

satanist by boygenius・jacqui velazquez 

“will you be a nihilist with me? if nothing matters, man, that’s a relief…”

you're on your own, kid by taylor swift・parker walsh

"there were pages turned with the bridges burned, everything you lose is a step you take. so make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it. you've got no reason to be afraid. you're on your own kid. yeah, you can face this..."

river by leon bridges・malik wright 

"as my sins flow down the jordan, oh, i wanna come near ya and give ya every part of me. but there's blood in my hands, and my lips aren't clean..."

tolerate it by taylor swift・mari zuko

“i made you my temple, my mural, my sky. now i’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.”

[ogdencollegerp]

MAY 27TH, 2023

There were still a handful of hours left in the evening, when phones begin to buzz....

g: sick of playing my game yet ?? g: come to the commons, then, and this can all stop. g: and don't get caught. xx

What students didn't realize was that some of them their texts said to to go to the first floor, and some of their texts said to go to the top floor. No one was aware that they were all getting these texts, so they snuck their way from Tate Theatre's reception hall to the Commons, hoping no one saw them on their way. Because by this point, everyone knew that when it came to G...

There was always something bigger at play.

PLEASE NOTE: As this is a continuation of the COMMENCEMENT WEEKEND EVENT, you still do not have to pause current threads, and you can still do starters preceeding this portion of the plot drop (as in at the DEAN'S RECEPTION or earlier in the evening of the COMMENCEMENT GALA). However, feel free to do as threads pertaining to this plot drop and your muses arriving at the Commons as you want - but take care not to pass it in the timeline by too much !!! And as always, DM the main with any questions or concerns !!! And finally, see below the cut for the lists of which students got sent to which floor -

FIRST FLOOR

g: come to the first floor of the commons, then, and this can all stop.

Eloise Abernathy

Henrietta Astor

Reina Azarolla

Jesse Hart

Logan Iyande

Samantha Jimenez

Nixie Linghui

Cara Morrison

Milo Navarro

Magnolia Rhodes

Monty Richler

Nathaniel Shaw

Jacqui Velazquez

Leaky Wright

Ronan Zeng

THE NEPO BABY

THE MISCREANT

THE BIG MAN ON CAMPUS

TOP FLOOR

g: come to the top floor of commons, then, and this can all stop.

Ida Clarke

Link Crawford

Nova Dodson

Sassa Fiske

Charlie Fletcher

Carmen Hearst

Ollie Inoue

Courtney Mills

Edward Morrison

Alethea Pierce

Ginger Quinn

Anya Saetang

Emma Thompson

Natalia Vega

Parker Walsh

Mari Zuko

THE COOL LOSER

THE BUSYBODY

[anyaexe]

"What? Ogden, being concerned with appearances above all else? No." They reply, tone practically drenched with sarcasm. "Maybe. But it could also just be something we've been made to believe, to keep society running." No matter how good the rationalisation, no matter how just the reasons - Anya can't find herself ever wanting to work. Paid or unpaid. "Let's go check this thing out, see how sturdy it actually is."

end.

"Investing in the upkeep or merely maintaining it's appearance? Because those are two very different things and one makes me far less tempted to get on this ride." It's not entirely true, words spoken mostly for conversations sake, Carmen likely still going to get aboard lest something concerning were to happen and derail her plan within the next few minutes. "Isn't work practically a part of the human condition?" And not just because they'd made it so. "I mean, even before money or bartering, people had to work to build and thrive and survive."

[ogdencollegerp]

The SPRING CARNIVAL event has now begun !!!

As a reminder: this is taking place on the dash from July 30th - August 9th but IC it takes place April 5th - 8th, 2023.  Current threads may be continued, but all new starters (open AND closed) should be taking place during the Carnival. There will be an interactive element that takes place and is explained in the discord within a day or two. And as always, check out @ogden-inspo for some aesthetics for the carnival !!!

Students who are working the dunk tank or the kissing booth (great idea for a starter !!!) are below the cut:

DUNK TANK -

Reina Azarolla

Bibiano de la Cruz

Carmen Hearst

Kai Spencer

Parker Walsh

Leaky Wright

Mari Zuko

KISSING BOOTH -

Reina Azarolla

Ida Clarke

Charlie Fletcher

Carmen Hearst

Ollie Inoue

Court Mills

Jacqui Velazquez

[melihabalik]

the patience works wonders for meliha's comfort. feeling their shoulders relax as carmen gave them a comfortable amount of time to be able to ask a question. usually meliha would just figure it out herself, but she needed to open up to receiving and giving advice. or, at least her advisor felt that way. meliha had no trouble working alone - she was used to that. almost would rather than the opposite. she followed the social cue to sit next to her, placing the notebook filled with various answers from other's she had asked on her lap. "i'm trying to think of a... fun and interactive way to introduce high school math student's into the new school year. i have the lesson down, but i'm.. unsure of a way to intrigue them."

She's tucked comfortably at the far end of one of the couches, her right leg folded beneath her and the left propped atop it, body angled so that her eyes can scan over the book resting beside her. The building provided a plethora of seats to choose from but it's clear that Carmen had left enough space that someone else could join her — always leaving room for interaction, for a conversation. It's not long before she's granted just that. Hazel orbs lift the instant she hears a voice, appearing none too troubled at having her reading interrupted, offering a smile and a brow lifted in curiosity. She doesn't pressure the other, doesn't force more talking until she's ready for it and when she does speak, Carmen merely nods. "Of course." A bookmark is tucked between open pages, hands easing the cover shut and tucking the item closer to her, nodding towards the space beside her should the girl wish to sit. "Hit me with your best shot."

[morrisxn02]

An expression of pleasant surprise flickers on his face at the sound of perfectly spoken French, her voice carrying the subtlety and nuance only a few manage to master. Once again, he wants to tell her he is impressed but doesn’t, fearing she will readily dismiss his compliment. Instead, he says, “Pareil.”, guessing that she wouldn’t be able to turn down a compliment if he didn’t offer it directly. His lazy grin turns into a chuckle at her question about his decision to return to America and its fallible education system. His friends at the Lycée also enjoyed poking fun at it back in the day. And, even though he had spent most of his life attending private schools, Edward would choose the European curriculum over their own any day. But, then again, that had never really been his choice to make... “It was my junior year of high school. Had to take the SATs there and everything.” His counselor advised that he go on his sophomore year so he wouldn’t have to worry about the SATs or missing any senior-year events. But his overprotective parents' faulty rationale somehow led them to believe that sending a 16-year-old Edward overseas by himself was a much more responsible decision than sending a 15-year-old. “It is one of my favorite things I've ever done.” He adds, voice harboring a childlike enthusiasm that had become unfamiliar to him lately.  “But I was bound to come to Ogden, so here I am…” He looks away for a second, letting his gaze wander the beach for a second, his thoughts taunting him over what would've happened if he had told his parents he wanted to stay in Paris, that he didn't want to come back... "Where did you learn French?" He finally turns back to her.

Edward watches closely as she scrutinizes his sketches, gaze constantly alternating between Carmen’s face – trying to decode her thoughts through her expressions – and pages of his doodles of monsters and Shakespearean characters. There is something soothing about her kind curiosity, and her gentle non-judgmental way of talking about art that makes him, if not just comfortable, then almost eager to hear her thoughts on his work. It is something he very rarely shares with people, afraid that maybe it will crack the surface of this perfectly pristine caricature of a rich boy he has made himself into. But he and Carmen seem to see eye to eye on a few things, especially in this shared, open-minded interpretation of what art can be. Like recognizes like, isn’t that the saying? “Yeah, they actually did.” He mirrors her smile as she mentions the witches, glad that she, as an appreciator of art in all its forms, understands the reveries of his overly fertile imagination. “Thank you. I really wanted to amplify the creepy factor of the story; it really fascinates me.” Although he too considers himself an appreciator of art in all its forms, it seems as though lately, his mind has been particularly drawn to more macabre types of art – horror movies, gothic novels, baroque paintings… – maybe as a direct consequence of the Ogden zeitgeist finally catching up to him, maybe as a manifestation of his innermost emotions and thoughts or, most likely, both.

“Macbeth is my Roman Empire.” Although his statement is delivered like a joke, Edward couldn’t be more serious. And not just Macbeth, all of Shakespeare’s work tended to occupy his mind much more than it did the average person. “Well, along with the Roman Empire itself, of course.” This, in part, was due to it being a theme in some of Shakespeare’s most remarkable tragedies, of course, but also due to him being a stereotypical white man. “I played Macbeth in school, and I think the creepy, gory aspect of the story stuck with me. And I really wanted to go for something scary.” Back in school, when his unhealthy obsession with the Bard started, Edward would have regular nightmares of headless kings and mutilated princesses, but nothing was ever quite as haunting as the prophetic witches in Macbeth. “Reveal.” He echoes the word, lips turning upward in agreement. A much better fit to adapt the original text into something more modern, but that still carries the same gravity. “That’s a great one.” Edwards's long fingers slide over the iPad screen, readily replacing the older version of the text. “I’ll make sure to give you credit you for that.”

Carmen finds a wave of relief in his welcoming demeanor, even if a piece of her brain can't help but wonder if it was nothing more than the same behaviors she'd been taught. To offer niceties even in the times she shouldn't be, when people were undeserving or she wasn't in the head space to entertain company, doing so anyway not just in hopes of lightening the other person's day but to take her mind away from herself.

Regardless she's settling into the space he'd cleared for her, as if there wasn't an entire expanse of beach and the shift in his position was necessary, something both amusing and comforting in the act. The slight chill that lingered in the spring air more apparent in the sand she sinks down into, notably cool beneath her legs, the sun still creeping into position and not yet having warmed it as it would have a later hour.

"Lycée Carnot? Impressionnante." And while the french is used as a lighthearted jest, it is impressive. The school was one of the most prestigious in the country and while her own education clearly hadn't taken her to such places, though she's sure her parents would wish otherwise were they to bear witness to this conversation, she has no doubt it offered a curriculum much different and worthwhile than some of their own schools. "Was Lycée your senior year or did you just decide you missed our glorious education system too much and simply had to come back?"

"I guess I'm an appreciator of art in all it's forms." And she was, apparent not just in her recognition of the source material but in the interest she showed for his sketchbook, something that she's somewhat surprised to find him handing over willingly and rather quickly. She knew that everyone was different with their art, some excited and willing to share whenever they were able and other's, like herself, who had a preference of keeping it tucked away, afraid of what judgement someone might hold. It was merely surprising given his initial embarrassment at being caught, though perhaps their shared interests were enough to have eased that concern. "Besides, the witches helped." Gaze and book tilted his way, a playful smile dancing onto her lips before her focus drifts once more to the paper, taking it in more fully. "It's stunning." She remarks after a moment of quiet, sincerity in her tone. "Creepy...but stunning." Not an insult given such was what he had been going for.

Her fingers dance along the edges of one of the witches, careful to trace the paper and not the lead, to not damage the work. "Why Macbeth?" Not a judgement, simply an inquiry, a wonder about what had him so decided that it was the best. A moments pause as she continues to overview the image before she speaks again. "Reveal..." Carmen offers the word with seemingly no context, her own attempt at the phrase he was attempting to alter, the dialogue he'd been unsatisfied with. "Show me is too...lackluster."

[morrisxn02]

A carefree grin blossomed briefly on his face as she rebutted his response to her apology. He must have seemed quite wary, he assumed. But the initial scare had passed. There really was no reason to worry, he tried to assure her. “Don’t worry about it.” He understood it, though. If roles had been reversed, he would have done the same thing. “If anything, it’s nice to have some company.” He scooted a little on the sand to open space for her. A peace offering, almost.

“Mostly in New York, but I spent a year at a lycée in France.” Asking Edward about his high school experience was like opening a Pandora’s box one could never close again. “Their education system isn’t as Anglocentric as ours, unfortunately.” The light irony in his words indicated a sort of mockery. Not towards her. Towards the French. Like it was their loss that they didn’t have Shakespeare drilled into their brains from their early teenage years. But even in US, most of his classmates never really showed that much interest in learning about the Bard’s brilliant work. “You’re right, though. I think most of us had a Shakespeare overdose in high school. But you heard me what, two or three poorly recited lines? It’s still pretty impressive you recognized it.” He sensed something akin to modesty in her tone, like she had done something any average 20-something would be able to do. So, in response, he attempted to demonstrate that her hearing and quick wit were, actually, quite exceptional.

Attentive a listener as he was, the question did not catch him off guard. Carmen was inquisitive and he figured she might want to investigate. “It’s for an elective, actually.” Lies came out of him as naturally as the truth, to the point not even the most precise lie detector in the world would not be able to tell as such. It was an ability people – mostly criminals – took years to master, but that he had been lucky enough to inherit. Like mother, like son. And, just as she did, he would lie without a second thought. It didn’t mean he enjoyed lying. Not every time, anyway. Not to her. “We’re supposed to come up with a comic book inspired by a literary classic.” He figured the target audience of comic books wasn’t that difference from the one of videogames, so if she had any inputs on his work, he wouldn’t be wasting her ideas. He liked to hear her thoughts, her vision. Lying to her almost felt like disrespecting that. But he tried to tell her something as close to the truth as he could. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for that.” He said, grateful to her kind words about respecting his own artistic vision. “Guess it’s just the pressure of trying to rephrase one of the greatest stories ever written.” He handed her the sketchbook unceremoniously, his voice coated with a hint of excitement.  

"Except...it kind of is." And while the words and expression upon Carmen's features are lighthearted, it remains the truth. Also true was the reality that Carmen would likely find herself apologizing even if the scare hadn't been her fault — something that doesn't feel worth mentioning. "I don't think most of this campus is on the beach or...really anywhere for that matter before at least noon on a Sunday and since you were here first, well...it kind of makes it on me to not try and ruin your morning with a heart attack." It's the next words that have that familiar blush heating her face, too often left wondering if words that are remarked in the form of compliment or purely recognition are somehow actually a dig. It never felt intentional, not the same as the pointed criticisms meant to wound that she'd experienced before, but somehow still feeling as though it presented negatively upon her, meant there was something wrong with who she was. "I'm not sure where you were for high school but I think most of us had it drilled into our minds quite heavily." Not that he was aware, but it failed to explain why she'd so easily recognized exactly where the words came from, the rest of the dialect from the scene unfolding in her mind like they were running lines in class. "Even if you don't properly understand the language, you'd be...almost skilled to misidentify it. No one spieled quite like Mister William Shakespeare." Likely, in large part, because he'd all but created and molded a language into one all his own.

"The general public?" Dark brows knit downwards in confusion, orbs hesitating on him before they drift back to the paper, analyzing it yet again, like if she looks hard enough she'll be able to see into that piece of his mind. "What for, if you don't mind my asking? I can't imagine this qualifies as a computer science project unless the curriculum has seriously changed." Not that Carmen had first hand experience with the contents that made up the major, but her assumption was that it didn't revolve much around classic literature. Her features seemed to have shifted with some tenderness when her gaze finally returned to him, smile and tone in line with that softness. "Art is made for interpretation. The last thing you should be doing is apologizing for your vision." Even not her own, scarier as he'd intended, it intrigued rather than offended. "May I?" Nodding both in reference to the sketchbook and the space beside him, hoping he'd allow her to immerse herself in his world a step farther.

[morrisxn02]

“No, you’re fine. There’s no need to apologize.” The initial wariness that coats his voice is instantaneously washed away as the once mysterious, lurking threat reveals herself as the friendly face of one Carmen Hearst. His first reaction, provoked by an acute fight-or-flight instinct felt exaggerated now. But one could never be too careful when roaming around campus alone given the current circumstances. The modest smile that briefly lit up his features was a gesture of assurance to her that he did not mean for such an abrupt greeting. He, of course, does not mention how insecure he is about being alone sometimes, or how he is scared he might be the next on a murder’s blacklist, or how he feels like he is walking around with a glowing red target on his back. Instead, his tranquil eyes and his tender smile denote he is as confident and composed as one can be. So, in place of complementing with something along the lines of ‘With everything that has been going on it’s easy to get jumpy’, he says “It’s not your fault you were sneaking. I’m the one uttering lines to myself at–“ He looks down at the Vacheron Constantin on his wrist for the time, “Seven thirty-five on a Sunday morning.” He is almost surprised that almost two hours have passed since he had left his room. “You were quick to figure it out, though. Kind of impressive, actually.” He would be lying if he said he was surprised. After all, Carmen Hearst was one of the people he would imagine would be able to recognize classic literature when she saw it. What impresses him, though, is how she manages to pinpoint it from just a few lines. It is not an impossible task by any means – other friends of his like Parker, or his arch-nemesis, Natalia Vega would also be able to tell. He just never knew she was as enthusiastic about theatre as they were… That is one funny thing about Carmen Hearst. She knows everyone, but it feels as though very few people know her as thoroughly as she does them.

Edward tries to find a way around mentioning he was trying to adapt Macbeth into a horror game. Not only did no one know, he did not want anyone to know. At this point, his ideas were nothing but messy drafts of dialogues and sketches and a few 3D models in Nuclino. So if they never came to life, nobody needed to know how miserably he had failed. “I’m sort of targeting the general public here. So, it needs to be more… democratic.” He talks about it with an unexpected confidence as if Shakespeare is the most interesting thing in the world. It was how he dodged the nerdy-intellectual stereotype. By acting as if his cultural hobbies were as cool as the athletic ones. “And also, I want it to be a little scarier than it is. So, that’s why I kind of butchered that Weird sisters scene. So, from one reader to another,” A hand goes to his chest in a comical gesture of apology. “ I’m sorry if you hated what you heard.”

It's not a rarity for Carmen to be up before much of Ogden's student body, an internal alarm that rarely allowed her to enjoy a late sleep even on the days that classes didn't demand her presence. The year before it hadn't bothered her but this year, everything was different, something eerie in the silence of the school's dorms and grounds that often made it hard for her to remain there. The journey to the park was much closer to Waverly, far easier than having to find a ride to the beach but with the warming weather, it was hard to resist the opportunity to enjoy the area's rare moments of tranquality. Her feet are bare, shoes dangling with her grasp as she traveled towards the water's edge, prepared to enjoy the view until she spotted the other person settled in the sand — or rather, recognized the other person settled in the sand. A part of her mind insisted that interrupting his morning was discourteous but the other argued that merely ignoring his presence would be more so. The silence isn't intended to scare, rather out of respect, but the closer she draws, the more intrigued she becomes and Carmen forgets just how quiet she's being, somehow jolting as he exclaims, as if she's the one who should have been caught off guard. "Sorry." The apology tumbles past her lips instantaneously, remorse washing over her features. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just..." Her eyes drift towards the drawing and she's not sure what explanation she can even offer. "I got wrapped up in the story." Or perhaps, his depiction of it, changes to the words and what she, herself, would have sketched in a telling of the witches. Hazel orbs move from the image to his face, offering a warm smile, as if it acted in place of a proper greeting. "Pretty sure Shakespeare only makes sense if you know the language so I suppose it all depends on your audience."

[eloiseabernathy]

eloise weighed her options, and if her mother had taught her well, eloise would always pick the coffee option. "rumi sounds good to me!" eloise stated, following the direction that carmen had gestured, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. eloise had been much of a people pleaser herself - truthfully, eloise didn't exactly know where her personality was, it was hidden deep behind the facade that she so carefully created. "i've been well! you know, busy with finals and the ladder. i'm excited to have a bit more time to fulfill my growing to-read list over the summer. how about you? have any exciting plans?"

"Yeah, you wanna hit Rumi? Or the juicery — lucky for you, I'm not too picky." In other words, Carmen was a people-pleaser who would sooner find herself in a place she hated than simply tell someone no — however, stating such sounded far less welcoming. "Shall we?" Her head and hand both gesture in the direction of the exit, steps beginning that way once she's sure that Eloise is in tow, though her orbs stay cast onto the other girl even as she begins walking, making sure to stay beside rather than in front of her. "How have you been? Relieved that the year is almost over?"

[eloiseabernathy]

if eloise had put anything else on her schedule, she wasn't sure if she would be able to have a quick conversation, always running off to her next extracurricular or class. the girl needed time to breathe. a smile rose to eloise's lips as carmen agreed to hang out with her for a bit after practice. "okay, great! uh," she wasn't prepared for this part - of what they would actually be doing. "do you want to go grab a coffee, or something?" she questioned. she wasn't sure if the other liked coffee, but she assumed that was a good medium ground.

It's far from unusual to find Carmen in this exact spot, lingering after practice, exchanging pleasantries with other members or whoever else might be loitering about, seeming that she'd rather spend the entirety of her day in such a position rather than returning to the solace of her dorm. And such was the truth, she'd always preferred it; being surrounded by people, being able to discuss their lives, topics far more intriguing than the pages of a story or episodes of a show would ever be to her.

It also meant she spread herself thin, that she sometimes failed to be aware of people who were attempting to get her attention. It's only when she's settled her bag onto her shoulder, when she's finally moving from the nearly abandoned room and the other girl calls to her that hues lock onto the familiar face, features mirroring Eloise's own as her steps lead her in her direction. "I don't see why not. My schedule's quite clear so unless an unexpected emergency arises in the next few hours, I'm all yours."