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             me  ,  @  myself  for  being  SO  incredibly  late  to  the  party  :  what  the  hell  ,  carl  ?  regardless  ,  hello  !  my  name’s  claire  ,  i’m  18  ,  i  live  in  the  aest  and  honestly  ?  i’m  a  big  old  mess  but  it’s  fine  !!  i  love   conspiracy  theories  ,  any  kind  of  book  i  can  get  my  hands  on  ,  eating  and  generally  being  a  bit  of  an  idiot  ----- -  anywhomst  !  i’m  not  interesting  ,  and  i’m  certainly  not  the  star  of  this  post  !  instead  of  doing  separate  posts  for  all  three  of  my  muses  ,  i’ve  combined  them  all  into  a  SUPER  LONG  INTRO  !   it’s  a  bit  long  ,  but  i’m   beyond  excited  to  be  introducing  you  to  CADE  RAHUL  MEHTA  ,  GRACE  CHAU  CHUONG  and  RHYS  DANIEL  MACDOUGALL  !

— avan jogia. twenty-five. cismale. pronouns.  ↷ well if it isn’t cade rahul mehta, augustine’s very own icarian who’s been living here for twenty-five years in the emerson townhouses. he is currently working as a surfing instructor and has been known to be sardonic and insouciant. → sea salt curls burnished locks, and they giggle at the swathes of brilliant ink that dare to caress a toned bicep ; halcyon grin and soaked-through shorts that dip just a bit too low. gentle hands, calloused but strong — guide them onto the waves, draw them into the world that swallowed you whole when you were barely a child. tanned back, tanned arms, tanned everything ; green smoothies in the morning, water through the afternoon, chai tea in the evening when you finally stop to let yourself think about the life they left behind in order for you to live the way you do now. you haven’t visited their graves recently. ( the note on your phone, urgent, reminds you of it ; you try not to notice. )

you are born to two gujurati indians ; a doctor and a schoolteacher, they were determined that their infant son should have the best life possible. they bundle their belongings up and move to augustine the minute that your mother realises that there is life prospering inside of her.

your birth is simply a foreshadowing of your entire life ; your cries are soft, and they last only briefly before you start giggling and waving chubby little newborn hands around. that sunny disposition is something that you carry with you for the entirety of your life ---  you are never not known to have a warm smile on carved features and nothing but kind words for everybody.

you take an early liking to the beach, and for your sixth birthday you receive a tiny little bodyboard. the minute you are out in the water, you decide that you’re never going back. your love for surfing progresses through your adolescence, and the day that you get your first professional surfboard is one that you’re not likely to forget anytime soon.

at eighteen, tragedy strikes. your parents are killed in a collision, and your world shatters the moment you find out --- they leave you everything, and it only makes it worse. your townhouse feels so lonely without their presences, and you can’t stand the pervasive emptiness that perpetually lingers.

you barely stay inside the house now. the tan that you wear like a medal is the result of days spent teaching children just like you how to fall deeply in love with the ocean. wide smile constantly in place, you’ve come to terms with your loneliness and every so often, you visit your parents and place fresh flowers on their final resting places.

— lana condor. twenty. cisfemale. she/her.  ↷ well if it isn’t grace chau chuong, augustine’s very own cynosure who’s been living here for two months in the downtown augustine apartments. she is currently working as a sales assistant at blackbird boutique and has been known to be histrionic and munificent. → millennial pink, an aesthetically pleasing instagram feed that you try so hard to keep up with ; freud gathers dust upon a desk you haven’t dared to set eyes upon. raspberry vodka burns highways the minute it passes cherry-chapstick brims, leather jackets and floral sundresses, lana del rey sings dulcet tones from the depths of your bedroom. fairy lights and a self-love drawer in your bedside table, chipped pink nail varnish and piercings your mothers don’t know about — would they scream if they knew what you were up to, my love ?

originally born in ho chi minh city, vietnam, you are adopted by a lesbian couple who swiftly move you to the united states. you spend most of your childhood growing up in salem, massachussetts, but your mothers take you on regular holidays to vietnam so that you can learn about your culture and your origins.

all throughout your childhood, you are a brilliant child with obvious ambitions. you’re reading novels by the time you’re 3,  speaking coherently and with ease when you were even younger. bright eyes and brilliant smile are matched equally, if not more so, with superb brains and sharp sense --- your mothers are so proud of you.

adolescence is a progression into a whole new world: you discover first kisses under the shade of old trees, clove cigarettes that leave sweet kisses upon glossy brims, sips of alcohol that has your face scrunching and body shaking. your focus on your education wavers, but you pull a strong 4.0 the entirety of your high school career. teachers adore your individual takes on essays and the skill you have with language. you dip in and out of debate teams, art groups, even do a short stint in a bad band --- it seems like whatever you try your hand at, you manage with ease.

at nineteen, you start making the conscious decision to move and a small beachside town catches your interest --- it’s far from home, and

since leaving home, your ‘wild side’ has emerged --- there are six new piercings in your ear, a few on your body, and you’re contemplating a tattoo. you’ve yet to even think about applying to colleges, and really, you’re not all that sure you’re even willing to apply. you just want to have fun, and frankly, that’s what you’re doing.

— charlie heaton. twenty-three. cismale. pronouns.  ↷ well if it isn’t rhys daniel macdougall, augustine’s very own quandary who’s been living here for two years in the melvin heights trailer park. he is currently studying as a fine arts student and has been known to be deleterious and lackadaisical. → sandy beaches are so far away from home, so far away from glacial, bitter english streets ; pinched scowl and muted, choked-out syllables, ink-stained stems and evanescent smiles that condense just like the smoke that unfurls off of your cheap cigarettes. flannels with holes in the sleeves, jeans that you’ve torn to pieces through overuse and overlove, a collection of bottles you find on the shore and sketch when insomnia chases you into what passes for a living room. vinyl records ( your father’s collection ), burning ardor for organised chaos and cheap wine ( all your mother’s ), six feet deep in vintage sadness and antique wanderlust ( a product all of your own, my dearest. ) 

you’re born british through and through --- weaned onto weak tea that grows progressively stronger, your art gallery curator father and socialite mother only want the best for you. from the moment you can walk, you’re enrolled in only the best --- private kindergartens, private primary schools ; an array of tutors leave you painfully bored and painfully clever.

you have everything you could ever want or need, and you only get progressively more bored with your life. gala functions are no source of entertainment anymore, not until you start sneaking glasses of champagne and smoking in the bathrooms with a window cracked open. as you grow older, you realise that your parents love the idea of children rather than having children --- they lie and say they care and want the best, but you’ve been left to the care of nannies for as long as you dare to remember. 

embittered by what seems like a lack of emotional love and too much of the material kind, you set out to destroy the own public image that they have cultivated for you --- drug scandals, boozy nights, you are eighteen and you taste nothing but revenge on plush brims. your plan works, because by the time you turn twenty-one, your name is nothing but ash and they exile you to america. you’ve never been happier than when you step on the plane that leads away from what you’ve come to view as your own personal hell.

you get to reinvent yourself in augustine, and that’s exactly what you do. you make a conscious decision to lock yourself away in your cheap little trailer, cover it with art and the relics of a past life. you enroll yourself in university when you first move, and you develop a strong affinity for the fine arts. you find yourself stained with paint most every day, and you’ve yet to tire of it.

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