Post by persephone vasile dalca on Oct 5, 2013 22:18:33 GMT -5
The seer had no idea how she got to Paris: Persephone had been seeing the Champs-Élysées every time she closed her eyes, the whisper of French crowds in the back of her head. It was a soothing image, Paris being one of her favorite cities in the world, but she was still surprised to be walking along the boulevards. What was the last she remembered? Drinking with Fae the previous night in the Leaky Cauldron with the few coins she had made playing and reading the cards... Perse assumed she had gone home with the girl, as she usually did when staying in England, but she was not exactly sure. Hopefully her friend had learned to not worry anymore about her disappearances. This was normal for the seer, despite the inconvenience of never really knowing where she was going to be the next day, it was the life she loved. The woman had always had a knack for languages and making friends, her adventures were never truly dire.
Finding a pretty little park with a picturesque bench, she sat down and enjoyed the twittering sound of French around her. After spending so much time in England it was practically musical to hear the language spoken by everyone around her. Sure, she was technically Romani but had always considered herself French, the language she had spoken since birth, the language that came to her in her most disconnected moments.
Not too surprising, the gypsy pulled out her ancient guitar, setting up her case for any generous patrons walking by. Persephone played through a few songs she had learned on her more recent travels, even a few of her own she had written over the years. She was glad that, even in the state she was in when she left England she had the good sense to grab her guitar. Playing lightly, singing in her light alto, Perse grinned, thanking her good senses for taking her to Paris.
Outfit: Here
Finding a pretty little park with a picturesque bench, she sat down and enjoyed the twittering sound of French around her. After spending so much time in England it was practically musical to hear the language spoken by everyone around her. Sure, she was technically Romani but had always considered herself French, the language she had spoken since birth, the language that came to her in her most disconnected moments.
Not too surprising, the gypsy pulled out her ancient guitar, setting up her case for any generous patrons walking by. Persephone played through a few songs she had learned on her more recent travels, even a few of her own she had written over the years. She was glad that, even in the state she was in when she left England she had the good sense to grab her guitar. Playing lightly, singing in her light alto, Perse grinned, thanking her good senses for taking her to Paris.
Outfit: Here