Villeneuve, Floren

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Lex
Posts: 12
Joined: September 2nd, 2018, 12:17 am

Achievements

Villeneuve, Floren

Post by Lex » April 10th, 2021, 11:31 am

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An old man turned ninety eight. wrote:Name: Floren Villeneuve
Nickname: Flo
Age: 31
Birthplace: Lumiosé, Kalos
Family: None

Trainer Orientation: Lawful Good
Trainer Class: Journalist
Starter Pokémon: None
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Character Theme (Alternative, True Feelings):
Alanis Morissette - Ironic (Instrumental)
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He won the lottery and died the next day. wrote:Slim and slender, such as to comply with the stereotypical view of Kalosian women, Flo stands at just under six feet tall, her eyes a striking shade of hazel, thin but substantial amounts of hair strand down her face to frame it, short but often kept up in a bun or other compilation using various hair accessories. Like a huge percentage of people with Lumiosian heritage, she has a paler skin tone. She is frequently equipped with various contrasts of lipstick.

She wears a pinkish-indigo, long-sleeved, knitted sweater dress with creased cuffs, reaching down to above her knees. Mostly always accompanied is her trusty whale-coloured jacket, also long-sleeved, it has no hood, and minimally waterproof - it raises at the top to form a 'mane' where you would otherwise expect a hood to be. To accompany her dress, she wears a pair of black tights, accompanied by a pair of regal blue stilettos.
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It's a black fly in your Chardonnay. wrote:One of those people whose life has been incredibly unspectacular would be the way Floren would describe herself and to be fair to her, that's probably the truth. She wakes up in the morning and barely has breakfast, slams her door on the way out of her tiny, often too cold flat, struts her way to work mulling over how she'll react to her boss being a twat today and then thinking whether or not she turned her stove off for the first fifteen minutes at work.

She's entirely kind-hearted and probably wouldn't beep her horn if somebody cut her up. Well... not likely, she doesn't have a car. Her solitude, although probably perceived as a bad thing, has almost certainly made her a stronger, more independent woman and this resonates with all of those around her. She can hold her own.

Longing for the day when she can tell people what to do rather than the other way around, it's her ambition and her ambition alone that keeps her going. A perfectly naturally curious person, if something piques her interest, there's no chance she won't explore it and anything or anyone behind it. Floren never showed care in her life about owning, training, battling or catching Pokémon. In fact, the concept of being a Pokémon Trainer to her has always and possibly will always be a foreign concept to her. The entirety of her life has revolved around the actions and consequences of just humans.
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It's a death row pardon two minutes too late. wrote:Born and raised in the Kalos capital, Floren was and is an only child. Her parents had initially planned a younger sister for her, but the idea went out the window. Ultimately, she was much closer to her father than her mother and he was the rock to which she leaned. At the age of eight, her parents split up and her mother left the two and ran off with her new boyfriend. Four years later, her father died in a plane crash, causing her to go and live with her mother and her boyfriend for the next twenty-four months before boarding at college.

The driving force and ambition behind Floren were spurred in her by her father, who had always wanted her to study art. She knew from the age of eight that photography was her biggest love and forte. It was that photographic dream that she would later follow in life, however, journalism was not the professional field she expected to fall into. Still, she was good at it and it paid the bills. Her father, Thierry, bought her first camera when she was eight.

Once her father died, she inherited enough of his money to go to college. As was his wish, she honoured it and stayed to study art by living in. Having spent all of her accessible inheritance on tuition, accommodation and scholarship, she'd run out of money for her supplies and tools. College was hard and she had very few friends there. It was frustrating to be studying art as per her father's request when she could just have easily studied photography at the same college instead.

Once she hit eighteen and graduated from college, the rest of her inheritance was now accessible. She immediately moved into an apartment closer to the centre of Lumiosé and started paying rent. Within a couple of months, she was employed under Ronnie working for La Liberté. The hours were crap and the pay was minimal, but she knew what she was doing and hey, she was good at using a camera.

She still lives in the same apartment, the same job, but with the same ambition. She's still currently waiting for her big break to happen and will do whatever it takes to get it. All she really wanted was a comfortable life doing what she adores, but so far it hasn't and isn't happening.
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It's like rain on your wedding day. wrote:
« Lumiosé. City of love, romance and dreams. So they say. I used to say too - but ever since that day, the day of the murder, I've always associated my beloved Lumiosé... with death. »

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« I was at home having a bath when my editor called. »

"Villeneuve, get your ass over to The Palais-Royale, now. You've got an interview - with Hector Carchon. Yes, the Hector Carchon. No photos, so leave your gear at home. He asked for you personally, don't ask me why. Anyhow, this could be big, so if he makes a pass, don't forget, just smile, say yes and keep taking notes."

« So charming, and so very apt. Hector Carchon was a media king, a national hero - and one of the most infamous adulterers in Europe. He and his wife, Imelda, were just one step down from royalty. »

The exterior of the Palais-Royale was breathtaking. It must have taken years to build, what with every intricate detail and every perfectly laid brick, the window frames were magnificent, but so were the barely visible drapes inside. A large two-door was hidden amongst a small porch, besides what looked like a garage - the entrance to which wasn't visible. A large, unexplainable sculpture was set outside the porch itself. It was like a giant oval, with a line of hollow rhombuses through the middle. It stood on a flat circle base, held upright by two taut and evidently strained wires. The whole thing looked unbelievably heavy and was clearly made from bronze or a similar element.

A previously shadowed figure emerged from behind it, presumably up to no good, until Floren saw the figure in light. There was no mistaking who or what it was.

« Woah! I hate mimes, but unless you humour them, they don't go away. »

With that, the mime slid in front of Flo's path, blocking it. As annoying a hindrance he was, he had his miming skills on par with the thousands of others dotted across the Kalosian capital. The mime looked menacing, actually, as it enacted opening an invisible door with a wicked grin. Feeling like an idiot, Flo ducked down through the fake doorframe and carried on her way with a roll of her eyes.

« Here I was, the palace of the Media King and the Ice Queen. I pressed the doorbell and set in motion a chain of events that would change my life forever. »

She hit one of the six buttons, each relating to a section of the palace, which was pointlessly huge.

"Yes, what is it?"

An abrupt, haughty Galarian accent responded. Floren wasn't expecting it.

"Madame, my name is Floren Villeneuve. I'm here to see Monsieur Carchon."

"Come up, we're on the first floor."

With that, the door unlocked and Floren weaved her way up the stairwell. The door at the top was already open, with Imelda standing in the doorway.

"Madame Carchon, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Floren offered her hand to shake - she sneered at it but was dismissed immediately. How humiliating.

"Yes, I'm sure."

« The Ice Queen was certainly living up to her reputation. »

It was beautiful, everything was beautiful. The walls were a glorious shade of orange, all wooden, varnished, polished wood. Stunning, like something out of a fairytale. The tops were engraved with intricate patterns, a glorious blue-crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling to the top of the doorframe in the centre of the room, decorated with fourteen candles. A perfectly maintained red carpet adorned the stone flooring, golden lace woven into the edges of it, a large golden circle of the same lacing in the centre.

The window closest to the door was accompanied by a majestic loveseat with red satin and polished oak. It even had a matching occasional table with a glass top. A fantastic, old-fashioned black telephone sat above. Next to it, a red and gold privacy divider stood. It looked unused but wasn't even remotely dusty. An easel stood on a corner of the wall, where the carpet joined to another down the corridor. A painting was already in progress, various ink splatterings on the wood and tubes of paint on the bench. 

Imelda led her about four steps into the room and turned to face her again. Past the easel, where Floren and Imelda now stood was a priceless table. Also wooden, it bared various patterns on the legs and mainframe. The carpentry was flawless. The wall in which it faced was decorated with a colossal tapestry, the largest that Floren had ever seen. It depicted a gathering of people outside a building.

"Will you be... staying for the interview?"

"Mademoiselle, I know little of my husband's business affairs and I care even less. I certainly have no intention of watching him pore over yet another pretty little journalist."

"Pretty? You're too kind, Madame."

Flo tilted her head back awkwardly as a giant figure emerged from a room at the end of the corridor.

"Ah, the talented and very beautiful Mademoiselle Villeneuve. Such a pleasure to meet you at last."

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