coodies in an unfamiliar house

The room (she would eventually learn that it was called an antechamber) was filled to bursting with all kinds of expensive-looking things; similar to, but of higher quality than, the flimsy second-rate "antiques" her mother enjoyed wasting time and money on. Without knowing why, she had the unshakeable impression that these objects had been in this room, arranged in this order, long before her mother had even been born, let alone come into her own connoisseur-ing (of sorts). The room smelled like old sunlight and dust, the little couch was upholstered in velvet and sighed contently under her weight. The cluttered mess of decor so mismatched that it DID match, the feeling of antiquity, the sense of extravagant homeliness (someone LIVED here, in this home furnished like a castle!), all but forced her to relax.

That is, of course, until the-boy-with-the-unpronouncable-name's bony shoulder poked into her back as he sprawled beside her, and Theodore "Call-Me-Theo" Aldercy ruined the enchanting silence by opening his huge mouth and rambling about the histories and names of the pictures on the walls ("The Secret" that later became her favorite, "The Black Stallion in a Dark Field at Mignight," the "Bust of King Elihue Aldercy III" that hung by the harpsichord), which under different circumstances she would have found fascinating--but the magic was gone. She was just a scruffy little stick of a girl with dirty shoes sitting in a tiny room a thousand times grander than her mother's front parlor, which under no circumstances was she allowed to enter. What kind of parents, she wondered disapprovingly, sitting ramrod straight and frowning at her toes, would encourage the kinds of behavior that involved slinging legs over ancient armrests and resting dirty sneaker heels on luxurious seat cushions? What a farce.

--

From the ettiquette-stifled mind of Miss Ophelia Michelle LeTourneau (Fifi to her mother--who is a flake--and Omelette to her friends--of which she still has none at this point). Fear not, she loosens up as the story progresses.

Left to right: Akhenaten Haas-Besant, Ophelia, and Theodore "Theo" Aldercy (his real name is Tesfay Sjoerd Vermillion Aldercy d'Fayr-Almez, so you can understand why it has been shortened for everyday life. Ah, the disadvantages of being named after people). This is the antechamber before Sarette's room in the Joppatowne apartment, not to be confused with the Lighthouse.

BUT WAIT! You cry, and look back over the other Joppatowne stuff! These kids are wearing contemporary clothes, not old-fashioned period stuff! Yeah. This part of the story takes place about 200+ years after the original concept. My stuff is epic. It spans EONS. Suck it up.

In case you can't tell, I have a Victorian-era fetish. Furnature, decor, fashion, etc, etc. It excites me. One day I will live in a Victorian mansion, just watch me. And it will be AMAZING. I will cosplay for it everyday, too. Bustle and all. And I will be alone forever because no guy wants to put up with that level of eccentricity :3 I'm cuh-RAY-zee.

Ballpoint pens (2 of 'em) on computer paper.
3 days of cross-hatching and continuously added detail. And there could be more. That couch is looking mighty bland. But I'm not quite that crazy. At least not yet.
Mad crazy detailing makes me happy. It almost covers up all of the other blaring mistakes, like the fact that there is no perspective or that Aten is floating above the couch, not sitting on it. And that thing on the right is a mirror, not a picture of a harpsichord. In case you can't tell.

/end rant