happiness isn't happiness without a violin-playing goat.

Your Nickle Ain't Worth My Dime // Sleeping With Sirens
 
OMG, I love this song and Kellin Quinn. My brain can't handle it.
 

 
I though I'd make a set of the people in Elle's life. I'll sit and wait until someone realises what I did with her families names C:
 

 
Cast:
All back in London –
 
Jay Hanaway, 46, Father – Bruce Jenner
One of the strong, silent types whose beyond rich for a seemingly unknown reason. He’s made his own money though, and is constantly reminded that his money is ‘new money.’ He loves his wife and children to the ends of the earth and loves the fact he has a large family.
 
Kaytee Hanaway, 44, Mother – Kris Jenner
Typical overbearing mother who want’s to know all her children’s business. Was over joyed at the fact she had a daughter to dress up and teach the proper socialite ways to.
 
Emmett Hanaway, 21, Brother – Harry Styles
Possibly the most over protective younger brother one would ever meet. Is fiercely protective of Elle and hasn’t liked Adley from the beginning.
 
Enzo Hanaway, 20, Brother – Liam Payne
The most easygoing child in the Hanaway family and doesn’t mind a bit of smoke every now and again. Loves his family more than anything.
 
Otis Hanaway, 19, Brother – Zayn Malik
Recent early-entrant into Oxford University, studying pre med and has the most ambition of all the Hanaway children.
 
Peter Hanaway, 18, Brother – Louis Tomlinson
Easily the most popular guy in his high school, dating the head cheerleader and resting on straight A’s. He’s going places.
 
Cue Hanaway, 17, Brother – Niall Horan
Shadowed by Peter at school and at home, he suffers from a feeling of invisibility. Can only ever talk to Elle about everything, including his boyfriend.
 

Adley Ringer, 25, Husband (technically…) – Josh Kloss
Tall, dark and handsome – check.
Bank account full of money – check.
Perfect in everyway – err, not in private.
At first, Adley and Elle’s relationship was perfect. They looked gorgeous in the social pages of the newspaper together and had fun. Then they got married, and she started acting differently – more natural. He figured a couple of slaps would make her act right again, not realizing it would make her run away to a different country.
 
Melody Caplet, 23, Best Friend – Cintia Dicker
Huge red curls and freckles to match made Melody one of the most noticed girls all through high school and college. Luckily she never shies away from attention. Mel’s been Elle’s best friend since primary school, though even she doesn’t know where Elle is at the moment.

Alive With The Glory Of Love // Say Anything
 
Tuesday: A gala benefit is being held in the grand ballroom of the hotel. This will be a black ties event so come dressed in your best. There will be dancing, gambling, drinking and more.
 

Story to come.
Comment if I can include you!

Nobody's In Love // 2AM Club
 
OMG, I love Diana Moldovan.
 

 

 

 
{Elle}
Age: 23
Country: England
Appearance: Dark hair and light blue eyes, only wears couture, will never be caught in jeans
Bio: A young London socialite who is trying to get away from it all and rumor has it... a husband. Often called a brat by those who have met her, this London socialite has all the money to spend in the world as long as her parents don't cut her off. Elle has sworn off men but "It Happened One Night" at the hotel bar. She met a Spanish writer looking for a muse and an infatuation began.
Model: Diana Moldovan
Taken By: @staybrave
 
First Event: Thursday: Welcome to L'hotel de Paris in Monaco. Check in to your rooms or get busy in the kitchen! Complimentary champagne awaits you by the pool and chocolates have been placed on your pillow. Mingle with the other guests, break out your bikini and explore the many luxuries the hotel has to offer!
 
“Stand tall,” I whispered, quoting the words of my finishing school teacher as the chauffeured car pulls up to the hotel. I had booked an apartment for three months straight in Monaco. There was no reason in particular… Well, actually… My thoughts of the not so distant past were interrupted as I felt the car stop.
 
“Walk straight.” I finished, looking up at the chauffer who had opened the black door of the sleek Mercedes for me.
 
Stretching out one long, tanned leg out the car, then the other to meet it – always keeping my knees together – I stood up and made my way up the marble stone steps leading into the lobby of the hotel. The peplum of my dress brushes against my arms as I take my steps, holding my head up high.
 
I remembered the typical speech I heard everyday from Mrs. Pharr back when I was only seventeen, “You stand tall. You walk straight. You hold that chin up. Even if your dirt poor or filthy rich. No one’s going to touch you if you keep your act up. You’re confident, so act it.”
 
Despite her voice ringing in my head, walking into a completely unknown motel in a place I had yet to visit was hitting away at my confidence slowly but surely. I didn’t know anyone in Monaco and that alone was something I wasn’t used to. Being part of the family I was from, I had contacts in nearly every country in the world. Sure, we knew people in France – Paris mainly – but not in Monaco. I had never stayed anywhere less than five stars, even for a night, so coming here required plenty of research and secret phone calls. My family had money, lots of it, and we didn’t like missing out on luxuries. That was the easiest part.
 
All of that, combined with the language change and everything else was taking its toll on my body. I was tired from the plane trip, even if it was only one and a half hours, and the stress of everything was getting to me.
 
After what seemed like an eternity, I made it up the few stairs in my favourite Dolce and Gabbana black wedge heels without tipping over from tiredness or clumsiness and entered the lobby. Like every 5-star place, almost instantly someone was right by my side offering me service. I always took it as a compliment. Well, ever since I sat in the lobby at another 5-star in the heart of London for an entire afternoon. Bellboys had been taught to run after those who looked like they had a lot of money. People with a lot of money always tipped a lot of money; they always had cash to spare. So when a waiter or bellboy came up to me in the first few seconds of my entering a room, I took it as them thinking I had a lot of money, which I did.
 
“Good afternoon, Miss,” The young man said with a thick French accent. It was deep and pretty sexy, despite the fact he would have only been about 18 years old. What a pity.
 
I replied shortly, in a warm tone, “Hello.”
 
“Can I help you with anything at all?” He asked me kindly.
 
I turned to him and offered him a small, polite smile, keeping my chin up. I reached into my purse and pulled out a fifty-dollar note, pressing it into his hand and gesturing back to my car sitting in the driveway. “You can help my chauffer with my bags, then bring up to my room once I’ve checked in. Thank you.”
 
“Oh, of course miss,” He says quickly, not bothering to look at the money I had given him.
 
He had learnt the facial expressions of people well enough to know it was more than he deserved for such a menial task. He hurried of to the do the task I had given him, leaving me to make my way up to the check in desk.
 
It wasn’t long until I was in the apartment suite I had booked. It really was beautiful. 5-stars didn’t hold its reputation for nothing. Right now, it was exactly what I needed to get away from everything back home.
 
“No thinking of the past,” I told myself firmly, walking over to the color to ceiling bay windows that looked out over the city, “Even if it was only a few weeks ago...”
 
-:-
 
Waya! It’s lovely to meet you all, I’m Elle – pronounced like the letter – and I’m from London.
Please get to know me, I’m a bit cold to start off with but it’s been ingrained in me to be overly polite.
Currently I’m living in at apartment suite in the Hotel de Paris.
I do try my hardest with people, so introduce yourselves and hopefully we’ll be friends.
Xo, Elle.

What Makes You Beautiful / One Direction
 
Don't judge me, I love this song.
+ I always go a bit crazy on auditions, so this is a bit long.
 

 

 

{Sabrina Fairchild}
Age: 21
Country: America
Appearance: mousy, drab, in need of a makeover, bunette
Bio: Young and shy "Sabrina" has come to study under the head chef in the kitchen at the Hotel de Paris. This mousy American girl has a long way to come if she is ever going to catch a man's eye. A little makeup and some new diggs might catch the eye of a young playboy who has never given her the time of day, even though her father has worked for his family all of her life. Sabrina has always admired the fabulous lives of the elite. Her time in Monaco might give her the chance to mingle with the beautiful people if she can ever get out of the kitchen.
Suggested Model: Mila De Wit
Taken By:
 
Why should you be chosen?
I can relate to Sabrina all the way man. She’s me, basically. Except I bury myself in my schoolwork instead of the kitchen. Sure I’ve been with guys, but I want to mirror her life to how mine has been so far. I’ve got a great storyline planned out for her, for which I would love to put dibs on Leonardo Dicaprio. I’m thinking she needs a rich and totally sexy older man to lure away from the kitchen. I imagine her thinking and talking like a teenager and being swayed by people opinions really easily before realizing that she needs to stand up for herself more often. I want her to be an amazing cook and know everything about French cuisine and I want her to get lost in her thoughts way too much.

What are you top five character choices?
1. Sabrina, or me but older c:
2. Jo Stockton
3. Elle
4. Manina Bardot
5. Ilsa Lund

What are your top three model choices?
1. Mila De Wit, obviously c:
2. Valerija Sestic
3. Julia Saner
 
Audition Story:
 
I’m stuck.
Literally.
I’m not allowed to leave the kitchen.
This is starting to feel like one of those really bad anti-feminist jokes about how women should always be in the kitchen, yet here I am, unable to leave the kitchen.
For once it actually wasn’t the restaurants manager forcing me to make him dinner before he left. It was an actual customer. This, and only this, made it bearable. If it was anything else, I doubt I would still be here. I’d be in my cramped, little apartment, cuddling up with tea and a book. And the macaroons I made before work this morning. Any my cat.
Joy, what a great life.
 
“Earth to Sab,” I hear faintly from the doorway. At least it sounded like it was coming from the doorway. I turn to see who it was calling me, only to come face to face with Betsey, the smallest, quietest waitress at Hotel de Paris.
“Oh, Hi Betsey.” I stuttered.
“You okay?” She asked softly. Why oh why was this girl so sweet? Surely there was a rule on the level of cuteness and niceness and such that a person can possess.
“Yeah, Just tired. “ I say, sighing. “It’s nearly midnight, is that table clear yet?” I ask.
“Nope!” I hear brightly, this time the voice actually coming from the doorway of the kitchen.
I sigh again and lean over to rest my elbows on the bench. I was really starting to crave those macaroons now. Great.
“Yo, Earth to Sab!” Jennifer called, putting the plates she was holding into the dishwasher. The plates from the fourth course of the one table still occupied. The fifth and hopefully final course had just been sent out and I was done with cooking. If they wanted anything else they could come in here and cook it themselves.
“Saab!” Jennifer called out again.
“What?” I said depressingly.
“Cheer up, buttercup! Did you hear what I said?”
I stared at her waiting for her to realize what she had said. She didn’t.
“Obviously not Jennifer,” I told her, not changing my tone.
I loved Jen, She was one of my best friends, but I had been working for fourteen hours without a proper break and I really needed something comfortable under my feet. Like better socks, or a carpet, or maybe my bed.
“I was talking about what a lush that young guy out there is.” She gushed, coming over towards me and tugging on my arm, obviously wanting me to come and look out the round window of the kitchen door.
“Seriously Jen?” I ask after peeking through the window and seeing two men sitting at the table. One, who was facing us, was older – though not bad looking – while the other one, who wasn’t facing us, was clearly younger. Sure, the back of his head was nice looking…
“What?” She said, shrugging her shoulders and flashing her brilliant smile at me.
“How am I supposed to know if he’s actually lush or not?” I shot at her.
“By trusting me,” She shot back, showing that smile that the customers love. “Now change, I want you to go introduce yourself!”
She tried to push me into the back room where our lockers were.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I whispered worriedly, trying to resist her. “Why me?”
“Because I’ve got a boyfriend and she’s only 16.” Jen said, gesturing behind her at Betsey who was sitting quietly on a stool nibbling a carrot she had cut and peeled for herself. “Plus I want to look at this guy some more, so go, go go! Hurry!”
 
Jen finally succeeded in pushing me into the locker room and shutting the door, calling out, “I’ll open it after you’ve changed out of your chefs uniform. It’s unflattering and you’ve spilt food all down it.”
I sighed, wishing there was a window I could escape from. The only clothes I had were the ones I had come in wearing, and they weren’t exactly nice. Just a pair of orange high-waisted shorts and a dark grey t-shirt. Not exactly the most flattering outfit either.
I change anyway, leaving the tie on my shirt untucked and hanging over my shorts. I have to say – I was pretty glad I had shaved my legs this morning.
“Okay, I’m changed.” I call out, waiting for Jen to open the door. It took a few seconds but she let me out eventually. I was free from that room, but not free from her scrutiny. As soon as I walked through the doorway, she looked me up and down. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at my clunky black shoes.
“I only have this pair here.” I offered weakly as an excuse.
“I have come prepared for situations like this,” Jen says confidently, striding past me into the locker room and opening her locker, pulling out a pair of strappy golden heels.
“Really Jen?”
“Yes really. I wouldn’t even be seen in those shoes so I’m not letting you be seen in them either.” She thrust the heels at me. “These. On.” She ordered.
I did as she told me and stood up awkwardly, at least three inches taller than my normal height of 5”8. I didn’t wobble. By now I was used to having girly nights with Jen and trying on her heels and her making my practice walking in them. For that I was grateful.
“Oh, you have such great legs.” Jen sighed jealously.
I bit my lip nervously, “What am I supposed to say to them? Or him in particular?” I ask her.
“Oh, just be yourself,” Betsey said, drifting towards us in a very Luna Lovegood-esque way. “We all like you in here, so he should do the same out there.”
“Yeah, what she said!” Jen said, flashing her kilowatt smile at me for a confidence boost. “Now off you go, make the Hotel de Paris look good!”
 
I stumble out of the kitchen doors louder than necessary, drawing the attention of the only other people in the room. Slowly, I make my way over towards them, trying not to look at the younger one until I had to, yet still knowing that their eyes were following me.
As I reach the table, I flash them one of Jens famous smiles. “How are we doing tonight?” I ask brightly, meeting the older gentleman’s eye before looking over at the younger one.
He was still slightly only that I was, maybe around 30 and just like Jen said, a total Lush. The capital L was needed. He had tanned skin and light hair with ice blue eye that squinted slightly when he smiled up at me.
Oh.
That smile.
Instantly I was weak at the knees.
“Just fine thank you,” He replied in a deep, smooth, American accent. I couldn’t help but notice those beautiful blue eyes of his scan the length of my legs in Jen’s shoes. “You’re the chef I presume?”
“The apprentice chef,” I clarified, “But I was in charge of all your courses tonight.”
“Well the food and service was excellent, albeit slightly dampened by business talk.” He laughed softly, making the other man chuckle as well.
“Surely it could be brightened by a cup of coffee?” I offer, noticing the empty dessert plates on the table.
“Sounds perfect,” The gorgeous man said, shooting me a half smile. “Won’t you join us?”
“I’d love to.” I say, looking from the older man to the younger one. “I’ll clear your table and be right back.”
Leaning down to taking the plates off the table I caught the eye of the younger man. He shot me a sly wink, making my giggle.
Suddenly, I really didn’t want to be at home anymore.

Need to save these pictures

http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=126816
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=126816
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http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=126816
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=126816
 

“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family.”

In the heart of Philadelphia lies Whitakers, a culinary institution that has lasted generations. Owned by the elderly John and Marie Whitaker, the unadorned restaurant has acted as the family money box from the day it opened, and keeps the Whitakers close. But this is much more than your average nuclear family; it’s a group of completely different people, many who have nothing in common beside their heritage. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles still meet at the restaurant every Sunday night for their weekly family reunion. In this family, there’s a lot more than Christmas parties and graduation gifts – money, power, jealousy, sex, lies. And everyone has those little secrets that make us who we are – things we hide from even those closest to us. So this is your family, and blood is thicker than water. You may not like them. But you’re stuck with them.
 

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I bought lingerie today, it's baby pink and lacy and beautiful and I feel wonderful wearing it. Now I just need someone to wear it for.
 

 

 

 
mtw~
 

Name: Tiffany Hero
Age: 20
Hometown: England
Currently City: New York
Job/School: Scholarship student at Columbia
Style: Eclectic, colorful, full of short dresses, lingerie and vintage pieces.
Bio: Pulling herself and her dad out of the slums of England wasn’t the easiest thing for Tiff to do, especially with a drunkard for a father and a no show for a mother, but she managed it. She’s wise beyond her years, having pretty much raised herself from the age of five, and cynical about love, men and their intentions. Tiff adores nature in every form, flowers, trees, animals, everything. She’s fiercely independent and hates asking for help from anyone. Instead, she makes ends meet my working at a classy strip club in the central business district of New York. No one knows about her job, and Tiff wants to keep it that way, but will her independent lifestyle be her downfall or will she continue to live her life without the help of anyone?
Model: Erika Bowes
http://staybrave.polyvore.com/
 

 
“Will you ever leave me alone?” I sighed as I shut the door of my single dorm room and turned around to see the six-foot-plus tall, perfect, blonde-haired physique of Henry standing at the door and waiting.
“Never,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his gorgeous blue eyes. “Not until the day I die.”
I sighed and walked down the hallway, thinking about heading to the park to people watch before I had to work.
“To the park then?” Henry asked, reading my mind and falling into step next to me.
“How did you know?” I narrowed my eyes and pushed my hand into the pocked of my worn jeans to avoid the constant bumping of Henry’s hand.
“I know you well,” he explained easily.
“That’s creepy that you know that,” I retorted, pushing both my hands deeper into my pockets and walking under the arch into the foot path that eventually led to Central Park
 
Unlike other people at Columbia, who were perfect and beautiful and had bank accounts full of their father’s old money, I had my own back account full of my own earning from working semi-illegally at a high end bar in the business district of the city. It wasn’t far away from school. Just a five-minute bus ride off the school grounds into the city at whatever time I could get off campus allowed me enough time to get there, duck into the back room, change into whatever outfit they’d picked out for me that week and I was then ready to serve scotch neat to angry businessmen who had spent a long day making more money for their blonde, plastic Barbie wives to spend on Chanel and YSL in order to forget that their husbands went to a place like my work after business hours. I earn my own money and kept it in my own account for fear my father would spend it on advancing whatever damage was done to his body from alcohol and the other illicit substances he insisted he ‘needed.’
 
I figured, my money, my spending. Or lack of spending. I had saved nearly all of the money I had earned for the future. I paid for what I needed, food and clothes obviously, things for the weekends, my phone bill, my fathers bills occasionally, on the times when he decided that he couldn’t go without another case of his favorite liquor and so the electricity bill didn’t get paid and he was left in total darkness. Being the lucky winner of a full ride scholarship meant I didn’t have to pay for the academy. I thanked God for that everyday, knowing I could ever afford it and my father didn’t have the money either.
 
I didn’t really enjoy the visits I had with my father. The first few weeks I was in New York, I was able to tell him that we had to stay at school during all breaks and that there was no time for me to go see him, even during holidays. If was a half-truth. But then the lovely teachers had to go and ruin my master plan and call him as the longest holidays started and I was still at school, to ask if I was expected home for the summer. Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly in his good books for those few months. That was the summer I started working at the bar, I was only eighteen but they didn’t know that. Travelling back and forward was expensive though. I liked to this my frequent phone calls home helped keep my father alive.
 
-:-
 
My mind raced rapidly as Henry and I walked down the path to the park, as it always does. I was thinking about the events of the most recent summer that we had experienced and how my father’s health had gotten so much worse. Alcohol affects all of your body, but mainly your liver and after years of abuse, his was shot. The night I came home from work and found him passed out on the kitchen floor with that little trickle of blood running out of his mouth was both the single scariest and most relieving moment of my life. It was scary because he’s my father, and c’mon, I do sort of love him. Not in the way most nineteen-year-old girls love their father, you know, the always being there for them and looking out for them. I like the fact that my father never asked me questions about where I went during the days and nights or how there was always food in the house when I was growing up. I liked it that he kept to himself mainly and that he wasn’t a violent drunk. He was an unhappy drunk, most nights he would just sit and drink and cry. But finding him on the floor was also relieving because I knew he would have to go to the hospital and he wouldn’t be able to drink. I hoped that his hospital stay would finally put him on the path I couldn’t. That it would lead him to recovery.
 
He’s still in the hospital now, right on the bottom of the liver transplants list. I could give him mine. Hell I would if he asked. But he hasn’t. So instead, I start my school year, I walk in the park, I do my homework, I waitress and I get eternally harassed by one of the best looking people I’ve ever met.
 
We reached the park and my mind stopped racing and began to focus on one thing. Once we had reached the conservatory garden I spoke softly. Half to myself, half to my surroundings.
“Lovely,” I called softly, a smile in my voice. I sat down on the grass and put my hand out behind me. “I missed you this summer, there’s so much I need to tell you.”
“So much, hey?” Henry commented, sitting down on the grass beside me. I was so lost in my thoughts on the walk down that I had nearly forgotten he was there.
“For the garden, not for you,” I retorted, not looking over to him.
 
I rolled onto my stomach and lay there peacefully, enjoying the sun on my back, all the while feeling Henry’s eyes on me. I never actually felt creeped out by the attention he gave me, despite telling him so on a regular basis. We’d been sort of friends for as long as I’d been at Columbia and I don’t really know how it started. Every term since we met, he’d be the first at my dorm to greet me and even though it changed every year, he always knew which room was mine. I never asked him how he knew this or how he even knew my name since we never properly introduced ourselves. I never asked him anything. All I knew abut Henry was that he was strangely illusive and very mysterious. That’s how he liked to appear, at least. He asked me things constantly and I always managed to avoid answering them. Our relationship was strained. We weren’t exactly friends because we didn’t ‘hang out’ together outside of school and we hardly talked, but we weren’t, not friends either. I didn’t complain to him or about him mainly because he was easy on the eyes. Even a girl like me, who prefers to be alone, can appreciate the general appeal of a man with a fine body and a strong jaw.
 
I started up the path back to school after admiring the garden from the spot on the grass. Henry got up and started following me like a little lost dog again. I figured I would talk freely to the garden, as weird as it was, when I was actually alone.
“Lots of things to talk about?” Henry questioned again.
“Yes,” I said quickly, flicking my eyes across the perfect features of his face.
“Care to tell me?”
“When do I tell you anything?” I shot at him, biting my lip afterwards and regretting my mean choice of words.
Henry reached out an arm across to stop me before I walked right past my new dorm room. “Are you okay?” He asked gently. “I know you and I don’t really talk, but you seem different today.”
“You really want to know?” I asked, glaring up at him.
“Of course,” he replied, still keeping the gentle tone.
“Well my father went to hospital a few weeks ago and he’s two sick to come home. On top of that, if he doesn’t get better or get a liver transplant soon he’ll die or I’ll have to give him part of my own liver.” I blurted out. I clapped a hand over my mouth, shocked at my outburst.
“I- I’m sorry,” Henry stuttered, reaching out for my hand.
“Forget it,” I said, brushing him off and waving his hand away. I turned around quickly and let myself into my room, shutting the door in his face. Leaning against he back of the door, I waited until I heard his footsteps leaving down the hall, wondering what could have possibly over come me to tell him all of that.

Part Two~
 

Ari leans towards the standard black and white when choosing color palettes for her rooms. She loves the coolness and serenity of stepping into a room with a definite color scheme. However, that feeling never stops her from pulling out all the stops to fill the room with color. She likes her rooms to each feel unique and prides herself on never buying the same item twice.
Because of this, she’s popular with the younger clients who lust for originality and color. Being a senior associate, she’s had to deal with a variety of different clients and has found her passion working with large spaces, lots of light and color.

I've needed this for a long time.
 

 
Arizona Fire Delby
Age: 24
Hometown: Beverly Hills, CA
Style: A bit of a tomboy. Loose tops, skinny jeans, fedora, and lots of accessories
College: Syracuse University
Position: Sr. Associate
Bio: A true product of Hollywood, Arizona or Ari to her friends is the daughter of a famed movie producer and an A-list actress. Shadowed by her parents’ achievement, Ari tends to be awkward and shy around people. But she’s creative and has a good head on her shoulders.
Model: Alexandra Spencer
Design Set: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=37587338
 
Choices~
Arizona Fire Delby
Jocelyn Emily Cauldry
Elisa Kenna Tsao

Because she deserves her own collection.