Every Rose Has It's Thenardier (Azelma)

[earlybird]

The smell of fresh air was once Bellamy was hardly used to. He could feel the effects being confined to such unventilated spaces beneath the city had on his breathing; Every time he visited the Luxembourg Gardens, it had seemed as though nature had given his lungs seemingly new life. No matter how clean Bellamy had made himself to be, he had always felt as though his presence somehow dirtied the Gardens. He felt as though everything green would start to brown, the colorful flowers would dull, and even the sky felt as though it would begin to gray. Surely, he wasn’t worthy of witnessing such beauty, but each sketch he made seemed to make each poisonous visit just a bit less toxic than the one before.

Bellamy posted up near one the large octagonal pool of water just outside the Luxembourg Palace. Bellamy could tell with one look that the palace had a great deal of history; but his lack of any formal education disallowed him to know most of it. Instead, he appreciated it’s magnificence and beauty; a beauty worthy of being inscribed into his journal. Bellamy opened his journal to the next empty page, inhaling the air as if trying to store up as much oxygen as he could before having to leave for his home in the cavern somewhere below his current location. He took his pencil from his pocket and glanced between the palace and the children sailing boats in the water. Questions flooded his brain; which angle should he start at? How heavy should the strokes be? Did he want to draw the palace by itself, or did he want to include the busyness of the gardens on a warm summer’s day?

Bellamy didn’t exactly enjoy the company of other people, especially if he had no plans to steal from them. Most of the time the people he dealt with were either thieves or common-folk who were brazen enough to look down upon those in a slightly more misfortunate situation than they had worked themselves into. But here in the gardens, everyone was too busy doing their own thing that no one shot any dirty looks at Bellamy, at least none that he could see.

Before Bellamy had answered most of his self-proposed questions, his pencil began moving against the page as if it had a mind of his own. As he continued to draw, time seemed to slow down; everyone and everything around him was irrelevant until he was finally able to finish his drawing. Ultimately satisfied with his work he laid back on the concrete border of the octagonal pond, looking up at the sky. His journal remained open by his side, waiting for his next project to be started. But for now, Bellamy just wanted to relax, for he knew his next few days would be spent in search of more food.

[azel]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 440px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i495.photobucket.com/albums/rr311/rpimages101/4d42afb8-0281-4e56-b1c4-49bc811ed8f2_zps0f4985f5.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] THE SCAR REMAINS For once Azelma had nowhere to be. Her father and mother were both out cold from the drink. Well, she had somewhere to be. She should have been out doing her parent’s bidding, but she made sure their cups stayed fill the night before in order to give herself some free time. Azelma was a sweet, honest girl deep down, but the world had not allowed her the luxury of the more genteel qualities in her nature. No, her life had allowed her for very little on all accounts. Her tiny form was easy to make out underneath a dress that was at least a size too small. It had clearly been a beautiful dress at one point, but it had seen dirt, dust, and alcohol stains to last a lifetime. Despite the look, her smell was rather flowery as her feet carried her through the gardens. Azelma learned at an early age to freshen at any cost. She was one caught mid snatch due to the stench she put off. Ever since, Azelma went out of her way to smell fresh in one way or another- or horrible if the area required it. Today, she was fresh as she strolled about enjoying every second of the sun on her skin and the beauty around her. The quiet girl enjoyed walking anywhere, but the gardens were particularly alluring as they set her artistic brain to stirring. Her fingers itched to draw, but she was unprepared. Her father had found her last sketch book and threw it into the fire in a drunken rage just the night before. The thought stung her. She bent to pick up a curled leaf that had fallen in her path. Its appearance echoed the sight of her beloved book succumbing to the flames, curling, burning, and turning to ash. Her thin, bony hand closed around the leave and crushed its innocent beauty in her grasp. As they wrapped around tight, her fingers stung from the slight burns she received while reaching into the fire in an attempt to save her drawings. Her anger had caused her to speed up her steps. When she snapped back to reality, Azelma was surprised to see herself closer to the palace. A slight smirk curved her lips as she stared at its opulence. Beautiful- yes, but for who? That beauty did nothing for her. It stood to mock her misfortune. Flowers did not do that. They shined their colorful faces on rich and poor, good and bad alike. Out of the corner of her eye she spied the pools of water. Quick skip-like steps carried her to the water’s edge. Azelma took a seat on the edge and skillfully removed her shoes. Playfully, the young woman bounced up onto the border and began to expertly skirt the outline of the pond. A smile lit up her features as she played and allowed a carefree spirit to infect her. Soon, she found her path blocked by a man laying upon the concrete. Her smile faded, and her walls went up. Azelma would never be heard asking someone to move. Hell, it was a surprise to truly hear her talk at all. Some even believed she was a mute. Before she could turn back, Azelma noticed a sketch book lying open displaying a sketch of the palace. The lead on paper held more beauty than the palace ever could. It was raw, rough, and real. That was life. That was the reality Azelma was familiar with. Her small form crouched to perk for a better view. She was silent as the night, but her foot slightly brushed the clothes of the distracted man without her notice. Her eager eyes studied the artwork unaware of her surroundings- a mistake a trained girl like herself never should have made. there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[earlybird]

The wind began to pick up, carrying a wide variety of smells into Bellamy's nostrils. It had seemed the concentration of flowers had increased, as the pungent but pleasant odor enveloped him. Had it not been for the slight bristling of his pants, Bellamy's eyes would have remained shut. Bellamy opened one eye, careful not to make any sudden movements. He wasn't sure what kind of person or creature remained at his feet. His eyes were still slightly glazed, but he could make out the shape of a thin young girl. He remained wary, but he knew she posed know real physical threat. He remained still, curious to see what her next move would be. As far as he could tell, she seemed to be admiring his journal. His feelings of anxiety quickly turned into fuel for his ever growing ego.

Bellamy sat up to get a better look and threw his hands onto his lap. He wasn't sure what to say; Bellamy didn't often socialize with someone he had no intention of stealing from. "Eet's not bad," he said, "But not my best." He scratched the inside of his knee, underneath his shorts. It must have been bugs, he thought. He turned his head to get a better look at the girl. She wasn't much younger than he was, but still, he wondered why a girl so clean was here with no supervision. The girl remained silent for a while, Bellamy looked at her with extreme curiosity, something about her seemed vaguely familiar. But above the catacombs, everyone looked to same to him.

"Do you talk?"