mvdcleines

[mvdcleines]

to call marie-madeleine displacing her possessions a frequent occurrence would be one of history’s greatest understatements. the victims of her chaotic, alcohol and drug-fueled nature were never items of such importance that losing them would pose any real risk, to her personally or, heavens forbid, the chastity club — merely ones that made life just a tad annoying with their disappearance. such was the case with her new lipstick, a wonderful reddish shade of brown, which she seems to have left at the cathedral during the night of the halloween party.

sighing, she roams around the remains of the great — perhaps a little too great — fun they, and their guests, of course, had last weekend. the tidying up must not have started yet. an unidentified object sporting a similar color to her lipstick, almost completely hidden beneath a pile of various more or less disgusting objects catches her eye. as she kneels beside the waste and begins to dig through it, a noise coming from behind causes marie madeleine to rise to her feet in a fraction of a second, her eyes narrowing. ❛ penelope. and you’re here to…? ❜ @pcppvs​

[mvdcleines]

 ✧ 𝑭𝑰𝑲𝑲𝑰𝑹 .

“A wet disgrace,” she repeated softly, appreciating the collection of words arranged in a way she hadn’t heard before. Was that a common saying? She liked it either way and didn’t doubt she’d find herself using it in the future.��

“Hmm,” Fikkir hummed pensively, “That’s ironic,” she uttered a moment later, “I’m pretty sure that among other obscure patronages, St. John is the patron of poison victims- funny that Alcohol poisoning should be the thing to take him out,” she smiled to herself, amused by the thought and thinking that it was sort of poetic, in some kind of fucked up way. “I posted a picture of it on my Insta, is that not enough of a tribute? It got a ton of likes and somebody tagged God in the comments,” she explained, navigating to the post and handing her phone off to Marie-Madeleine to show her.

marie-madeleine raises her eyebrows in amusement upon hearing about st. john’s ironic patronage. ever since she enrolled at st. margaret mary, she’s had plenty a moment of confusion upon hearing religious fun facts of some sort — her schooling before university was overwhelmingly secular, her family itself not practicing too zealously, and the contrast between the gifted children’s program, largely devoid of religion, and the environment at margaret mary was astounding at times. she’s grown used to, maybe even fond of moments like these, though  — opportunities to learn new, ridiculous aspects of christianity.

❛ really? whoever he’s the patron of, i wouldn’t know. i swear, they keep forgetting to send me the catholic trivia memos! ❜ she jokes. looking at fikkir’s phone, she lets out a snort.  ❛ god can’t hear you, commenter! ❜ after those words escaping her mouth, she instinctively looks around to check for any zealots wanting to lecture her about blasphemy.  ❛ i should share that! with a caption of... hmm... #ripsaintjohn.... and #prayto... who’s the patron saint of awesome parties? apart from yours truly, of course. counting on ya there, fiks. ❜

[mvdcleines]

exactly the same way it always does when she’s exhausting her — at this point in her life, rather few and far between — brain cells by thinking hard about something, marie-madeleine’s left foot is twitching up in the air as she lays sprawled dramatically across the entire length of the couch in an apartment belonging to none other than the chastity club president, one of her trademark shawls already on the floor. she is, however, somehow both too lazy and too busy putting her brain to good use to pick it up. 

❛ the little bitch ❜ she says suddenly after a long silence, encapsulating the very profound and articulate sentences bouncing around in her head pretty accurately. ❛ honestly, when i think of his face — little eddie, the son of a — ❜ she pauses. as much as she'd love to just lay there spewing ed greene hate, they need something concrete right now. ❛ i knew there was something wrong with him. who would throw a party ed green was gonna be at and not invite me? and all because he wasn’t going to pay! what is he even thinking, doing all this? he’s one guy. ❜ she stops, realizing that this was not, in fact, something concrete, and lifts her head to look at henri. ❛ sorry for that — but honestly! we need to remind him that — he’s one guy, and our reputation is still immaculate. much like our fake virginities, actually. ❜ @hvnri​

[mvdcleines]

[mvdcleines]

✧ 𝑭𝑰𝑲𝑲𝑰𝑹 .

The weekend’s festivities had left Fikkir feeling just a little worse for wear. As much was evident to anybody that knew her in the way she’d opted to wear yoga pants and sneakers to class, with a cosy sweatshirt on top. The hood of her sweatshirt was slightly bunched around her neck, keeping it warm as she sipped from a takeout cup half-full of lemon black tea, ghostly tendrils of steam still rising from the liquid inside. 

“Well, nobody died, nobody was arrested, as far as I can tell nobody is missing and nothing was irreparably destroyed or stolen,” she mused thoughtfully, her words directed at the person keeping her company while her eyes remained on her phone for the most part as she scrolled through her Instagram feed, admiring pictures from the party. She looked at her companion now, “I’d call that a wild success, wouldn’t you?” she has her own opinion but she was also looking for anything that might challenge it. If there were any issues that she didn’t know about, anything that could come back to bite them in the following days, she needed to know and she needed to fix it as soon as possible but she didn’t want to appear even the slightest bit shaken by the thought.

marie-madeleine never understood what could possibly cause people so many problems in their mere everyday existence when it came to post-party mornings. for her part, she prefers to deal with any hangovers that could arise quickly, swiftly and privately, using the fabled method she had once vowed to never share (no matter how often fellow attendees of st. margaret mary ragers asked her for it; it’s best, in her opinion, to always keep some secrets, otherwise one risks becoming uninteresting) to mercilessly crush any semblance of tiredness, headaches or nausea. coupled with caffeine and maybe something less orthodox, it always worked.

today was no different - spotting fikkir and sitting next to her, wrapped in a soft, patterned shawl to keep her warm against the november air, she takes a sip of her coffee (black, extra espresso shot) and smiles. ❛ remember who you’re speaking to, fiks. i personally would say that is a wet disgrace.❜ she pauses, remembering the celebrations. ❛ luckily, you’re not exactly on the money there. i know someone knocked over, then puked on one of those god-awful statuettes, and then it was gone altogether. saint john, as far as i recall. and what about no one putting together a best dressed contest just to commemorate my sexy priest costume? if that’s not a crime, i can’t imagine what is.❜

[mvdcleines]

hi, everyone!!  this is dede (19, she/her, utc+2), and i’m pleased to introduce st. margaret mary’s favourite eccentric artist and the life of every party on campus, miss marie-madeleine lefebvre! more info under the cut. feel free to add me on discord (@***** ***#0688)!

the basics.

name: marie-madeleine lefebvre

age: 26 years old

occupation: graduate student (art history major)

chastitiy club position: secretary / dealer

the story.

I’M FEELING DEVIOUS.

as a young girl, they told her she was special. that she was the most intelligent child they could ever hope for, that one day, she would have some sort of great destiny to fulfill, something incredible to contribute to the world. and that, they said, is why she couldn’t just stay in school along with all the other children she’s ever known. it would be better for her if she learned some actual new things, they explained, and that is why this special program some unknown third party recommended to them would be the perfect solution. of course, it was in the pyrenées, far from normandy, where her home was and where they themselves were - but it would let her reach that potential that was inside of her already. she wanted to become learned and well-respected like papa, didn’t she? that’s what they thought.

YOU’RE LOOKING GLAMOUROUS.

the route of mathematics they chose for her back at home was something of a mistake, quickly corrected by those at the gifted children’s program. they trained her in all sorts of knowledge, skills and sciences. the work was hard, harder than ever before. she didn’t have to really study before, she just… remembered what was said in classes. now it was a completely different world from what she’d known, and the change didn’t seem to be for the better. her days passed her by quickly, over textbooks, required reading, notes and guides, learning to have a sharp mind as well as excellent manners, to think critically while following every possible rule of savoir-vivre known to the world. she didn’t want to be worse than all the other students there, didn’t she? that’s what they thought.

LET’S GET MISCHIEVOUS.

the life they had planned for her down to the second couldn’t seem appealing anymore as soon as she could really grasp it - when she had some time to even think about it, that is, in the middle of the night. there had to be more to being a teenage girl than absorbing facts like a sponge. a purposeless sponge, since now it didn’t seem so eager to have the floor wiped with it. the ability to pick one’s own courses came soon after that. of course, the choice was mostly up to the parents. but not if someone decided to, say, not read the letters they sent at all and refuse to answer any calls before picking what would distress them the most - any and all art-oriented courses the program had to offer. and after learning she was immensely dedicated to and rather proficient in painting, they wouldn't forbid something that brought such promise, would they? that's what she thought.

AND POLYAMOROUS.

when one achieves small victories, they only fuel the need for newer, bigger, more impactful ones. her case wasn't any different. she could find an academic path she was truly interested in and wanted to continue pursuing - could securing a social standing possibly be harder? she'd read and watched stories about wild, free-spirited women. surely such a woman would be appreciated in these strict surroundings as a break from the monotony. and so she was - the next year, when she was young and sweet, only seventeen, was an endless series of laughs. she laughed when a new social circle accepted her at her table in the cafeteria. she laughed as she choked on her first cigarette. she laughed, pulling the hands of two different boys at once, looking if no teacher could see them running to an empty dorm. she laughed when an older friend brought her a bag of coke for the first time. and when they told her to take her things, she laughed still, walking out the gates. nothing they did could bring her down, could it? that's what she thought. 

WINE AND WOMEN AND WONDERFUL VICES.

all the pointless knowledge forced into her head wasn’t something she terribly missed. there was, however, still a host of problems to be taken care of. the first was, of course, the family she’d left back home. they were displeased with her getting expelled to say the least, and didn’t seem to be easy to appease. the second was her art. for all her distaste for the schooling system, she did at last have something she wanted to practice - something she wanted to master, to turn into a career, to be better, the best at. as luck would have it, both these problems had a solution. the family, thinking it would be an excellent continuation of her education, pulled some strings to get her accepted into some catholic university in paris - paris, with all its sights and nightlife, was an offer she couldn’t refuse. besides, the art history courses seemed cut out for her. she quickly regained the exact reputation she had in her previous environment - of the life of the party, the one who makes life interesting - and can still pull her weight and pass any exam after a year of slacking off in the brief moments she’s not painting or attending yet another rager. she couldn’t have it any other way, could she? that’s what she thought.

WELCOME TO THE CULT OF DIONYSUS.

the newly revived chastity club was something she chose to look into for one reason and one reason only: it seemed like the most hilarious extracurricular concept she’d ever heard of in her life. to be fair, it was even funnier when she discovered the true purpose of the club - and when she just sort of stayed there. the people, contrary to what she’d assumed, were not complete prudes - well, most of them - and they seemed to see the potential in her. she truly was valuable to their grand operation - with her reputation, her contacts and all the events she got invited to. before she thought about it twice, she was their partner in literal crime - and they’d somehow managed to become her closest companions at st. margaret mary’s. the sweet rush of adrenaline dealing provided her with wasn’t comparable to anything. maybe except for how at home she felt among these people, no matter how sappy that sounded. they needed their secretary, and she needed them, didn’t she? that’s what they thought.

the headcanons.

while the style marie-madeleine practices currently in her works (and has been for a while) is decidedly surreal (some would go as far as to call it psychedelic… i wonder why), she has dabbled in impressionism in the past, leaving it after she found it too restricting (and after she started, to put it mildly, enhancing her perception with recreational substances while painting more routinely).

despite the gifted children’s program having taught her critical thinking and a rational, mostly agnostic approach to life, marie-madeleine is very superstitious and interested in the occult, frequently giving semi-clandestine tarot readings to fellow students at st. margaret mary’s, an activity frowned upon by more religious classmates and the school itself. no one truly knows if she actually believes what she says she does or if these practices are more ironic on her part, simply another facet of the eccentric artist mythos she’s built up around herself.

marie-madeleine prefers to use her full, hyphenated first name instead of just marie, even if most people end up calling her just that out of convenience; some would say she revels in the biblical ‘sinner’ allegory, and she frequently makes jokes about her new testament namesake.

she’s gotten in trouble with the chastity club a few times before for exchanging their stock for notes she couldn’t be bothered to take but needed to study for major exams, although substituting some of her own money for the earnings she would have otherwise brought in always got her off scot-free.

she has, at some point, come across the concept of gifted kid burnout and recognized it in herself, although it didn’t bother her like some may think it would. like all her non-social responsibilities, it was just another thing to push to the back of her head.

she has a few bottles of bourbon, her alcohol of choice, hidden in strategic spots around campus, including her handbag, some of the ladies’ rooms and more. no one knows where they all are - probably including marie-madeleine herself.

marie-madeleine has always harbored something of a fondness for greek mythology, just for the sheer absurdity of it all and for what terrible beings the gods really were. then again, she’d been taught the old testament multiple times, and it didn’t seem that much nicer. whenever someone tells her she’s being a disappointment to god (more often than you’d think), she likes to think dionysus would be proud of whatever she’s doing.

she likes to write on the back of her paintings, but not just write anything - what she does is use a rather simple code she devised to mark what sort of influence she was under while painting the work in question. it just seems reasonable not to forget that.

while her drinking and drug use is pretty out of control, she doesn’t smoke as much now as she did when she was a teenager. perhaps it’s because drugs are more easily accessible to her now, or maybe cigarettes just got too boring.

she would never tell anyone this, but she has a particular love for fluffy things, especially clothes - during colder months, when no one can see her, she walks around her apartment in a thick, fluffy robe and matching slippers.

she’s a cat person if the choice is only between that and dogs, but what she really prefers pet-wise is birds. she currently owns a black-headed caique named amadeus.

despite needing it to keep up the chastity club rouse, she doesn’t keep up an appearance of religiosity in front of classmates, as it would directly contradict most of her image at st. margaret mary’s. when it comes to staff, however, she’s a perfect, if unconventional, follower of jesus christ as far as they’re concerned.

she thinks it’s very funny to sneak up on others and then say something out loud when she knows it will scare them nearly to death. complaints have been heard, but not taken to heart.

her favourite holiday is surely halloween, partially because everyone suddenly wants her to do their makeup, partially because there’s twice as many parties as usual, and partially because of how triggered the most religious of her fellow students get, which she finds hilarious.

she likes to gesticulate a lot while speaking, and has gotten in trouble for this back at the gifted children’s program when she accidentally slapped a bypassing teacher in the face.

despite acting like a leo (or perhaps aquarius) stereotype, she is actually a sagittarius (shocker).

she grows vegetables on her balcony, and somehow always forgets to collect them until it’s too late. it just happens every time and she’s stopped fighting it at this point.

it’s sometimes funny to her how much conspiracy and care is being put into the chastity club’s weed trade, simply because of how lightly she views weed when compared to what she usually stuffs her system with in her spare time.

tba!

the aesthetics.

a red wine stain, striking against silky fabric. the devious smile of someone who knows exactly what will happen next. a worn-out deck of tarot cards. traces of cocaine on a marble counter. the bold, firm strokes of a brush on canvas. a half-eaten plum. a shawl flowing along as you move. the remains of paint on your fingers. a small bottle of bourbon hidden behind books on a shelf. healing crystals. ignoring responsibility until it goes away. golden hoop earrings. a broken high heel.

the wanted plots.

the good influence ( 0/1 ). another person different from marie, but in this case, they managed to strike up a friendship that probably ends with them lending her a few brain cells in exchange for what amounts to the ‘ted, i’m gonna teach you how to live’ gif from himym.

the rival ( 0/1 ). was it something in their shared past? just a general friction between people, as it often is? no matter why, these two don’t like each other in the slightest and will do most anything to show the other who’s the better... well... chastity club member here.

the neighbor/roommate/someone crashing on her couch ( 0/1 ). just because domesticity is adorable.

more to be added, but if you have ideas, hit me up!!

[mvdcleines]

You are gloriously unpredictable and you are afraid of no one but yourself.

Jane Bowles, from Two Serious Ladies (Peter Owen, 1965)

[mvdcleines]

[mvdcleines]

tag drop!

✧  𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒  /  about . ✧  𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄  /  threads . ✧  𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇  /  visual . ✧  𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓  /  musings . ✧  𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐄'𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃  /  answers . ✧  𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄  /  event .

✧   𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐈 . ✧   𝐅𝐈𝐊𝐊𝐈𝐑 . ✧   𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 . ✧   𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐎 . ✧   𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 . ✧   𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐘 . ✧   𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 . ✧   𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐋 . ✧   𝐋𝐔𝐂 .