#Florette Priscille Travere

[imjustalonesomewriter]

i had to make one of these

Assembly of Absolutists’ introduction can be found here.

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No one asked for it, but here are the main characters from my main (and only) WIP. These are my first edits/aesthetic things, so please go easy on me. :)

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Chapter One

Word Count: 1,936

Warnings: Maybe mild language (I forget), tiny bit of violence (it isn’t described besides a bruise/mark and hinting), government people and maybe some politics (?).

Alright, this one’s three and a half weeks behind schedule, but who cares. It’s done now. So far the only criticism I’ve gotten on this one is that the dialogue in the beginning is too long and the ending is too short, so I’ll try to fix that next time. :)

Léonie enjoyed listening to Florette whistle in the morning. It was a nice, peaceful way to wake up, especially because the alternative would be a loud alarm. Today, even though it was summer, Florette was whistling a Christmas song, but Léonie didn’t mind. It still made her happy.

The room’s large windows gave the two of them a wonderful view of the lake. That was the one good thing about waking so early in the morning: everything was calm and quiet. The dim light from the moon lit the room more than their weak ceiling light ever could. A few birds sang and flew past the window.

“Good morning, Florette,” Léonie turned over and looked down from her top bunk. Florette was stretching on the floor, as she had done every morning for almost three years.

“Mornin’,” she replied.

“How did you sleep?”

“Not as well as I could’ve.”

“That is too bad,” Léonie laid on her back and looked to the ceiling. She hardly had any wall space next to her bunk, so she had resorted to decorating the ceiling.

Ms. LaPore had only allowed the volunteers to take objects home from their missions that could fit in a tiny plastic bag. This resulted in the volunteers having an unusual amount of posters and short books and not clothes or larger objects. Léonie’s ceiling was mostly covered by old movie posters and magazine covers, plus several postcards.

“We’ve gotta hurry up,” Florette tied her shoelaces, “The meeting’s early.”

“I am aware,” Léonie scooted to the end of her bed and jumped down, “Did you read over your folder?”

“Nope. I’ll do that during breakfast,” Florette said. Léonie sighed.

Léonie walked over to her dresser and pulled out her uniform: a grey shirt, black pants, and simple white shoes. She had been instructed to wear her name badge this time, so she pinned it on her shirt.

“Why don’t you wear a dress or something,” Florette was sitting on the lower bunk now, watching a deer walk in front of the window.

“I am not supposed to.” It was only then Léonie realized Florette was not completely in uniform. She was wearing a dark green flannel over her shirt and her socks were pink. Florette’s hair was in two buns, which was against Assembly policies.

“Take those off, Florette,” Léonie put her own white socks on, “and change your hair.”

“I’m going to wear my hair however I want.”

“You will be in trouble.”

“I wasn’t last time.”

“Last time, Mr. Steinberg interrupted Ms. LaPore as she was trying to discipline you. That was simply luck,” Léonie put her final shoe on and began making her bed before it was time for breakfast.

“Whatever,” Florette mumbled, laying on her back, “I don’t care.”

Léonie shook her head and sat down on the rocking chair next to the window. She picked up the book she was currently reading and opened it to the page she had bookmarked. Léonie had read Aesop’s Fables innumerous times now, but it was one of the only books she had and she didn’t want to bother Mr. Johnson for any new ones.

Within five minutes of Léonie sitting down, there was a knock on their door. Florette opened it, revealing Reese on the other side.

“Breakfast’s ready,” she said, “I wouldn’t get too excited about it, though.”

“What is it?” Florette asked.

“Water and toast. There isn’t any butter or jam, either,” Reese said.

Florette groaned and walked past Reese.

“At least it is something,” Léonie said as she exited the room. Reese shut the door behind them.

Breakfast was held in the kitchen of the main house. The main house, which was owned by Mr. Steinberg, was a large, brick building from the early 1900s. It had seven bedrooms, all of which were converted to offices, a large basement, and multiple repurposed living rooms. It also had a nice conservatory, which Mr. Steinberg and, occasionally, Danilo spent time in. The main house and the volunteer’s guesthouse were separated by a large yard, forested area, and pool.

Danilo met the tree of them in the hallways and, together, they grabbed their folders and began walking to breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” Léonie asked.

“Fine.”

“Bene.”

“That’s good.” Léonie said.

The smell of fresh grass wafted past them. The yard had been cut recently, probably for the officials who were visiting. A pool boy was taking the leaves that had fallen out of the pool and another was cleaning the stone.

As the volunteers neared the house, they could see a large group of men in suits and women in nice dresses crowded in the conservatory. Others were viewable through the windows and glass door.

“What the crap is going on here?” Florette said.

“Did you not read the stuff in your folder?” Reese asked.

“No.”

“Oh my God, you idiot.”

“If I read this stuff,” Florette motioned to her folder, “would I know who those people are?”

“Duh!”

Danilo shushed the two women as the glass doors opened in front of them.

“Volunteers, I need to speak to you in the kitchen,” Ms. LaPore whispered almost immediately after they stepped into the house. She examined their appearances quickly, before stopping at Florette, “Especially you, Travere.”

The volunteers made their way to the kitchen. It was noticeably quieter, and colder, than the entryway. The only person in the room was a maid, who was cleaning the metal counters. The room was all white except for the metal counters, which had dark red details, appliances, and chairs. There was a plant in the corner and a chalkboard, but otherwise, the room was empty.

“You’re late,” Ms. LaPore snapped, her anger visible on her face. Her red dress and black heels seemed to match to her mood perfectly, “I don’t tolerate late volunteers.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it took a while to.. find our uniforms,” Reese said.

“Really? All of you had trouble finding one of your three pairs of uniforms?” Ms. LaPore asked, then she turned to Florette, “I see Travere he-”

“It’s Miss. Travere, Juliette.”

“Do not address me by my first name,” Ms. LaPore hissed at Florette, “I see Travere had no problem improvising.”

All eyes turned to Florette’s outfit. She pulled the legs of her pants down so that her socks were covered, but her flannel was simply unhidable.

“Do you have an explanation for your attire, Travere?” Ms. LaPore said.

“Uh, yeah, Juliette,” Florette responded. Léonie mumbled a quiet ‘Oh my goodness’ and shook her head. Florette continued, “I thought, because I’m ninety-two and not incapable, I should be able to dress myself in whatever I see fit.”

Ms. LaPore’s face turned bright red and she stormed towards Florette. Almost like they were in a cartoon, Ms. LaPore grabbed the back of Florette’s collar and began pulling her towards the other room. Before they entered, Ms. LaPore turned to the rest of the group, “I want complete silence in here until I return! Anyone who speaks will end up like Travere here.”

The door slammed behind them and the three volunteers were left alone in the kitchen. None of them spoke and they ate their toast in silence.

A man in a business suit worth more than Léonie had seen in her lifetime walked in the room quickly to grab some cups. His glare lingered on the three of them and their measly pieces of toasts as he made his way through the room. Other than that interruption, their breakfast went on quietly.

The moment Danilo finished his toast, Florette walked through the doorway. Her head was down, hiding a bright red mark on her face, and her arms were crossed in front of her.

“Ms. LaPore says to meet in the amphitheater,” Florette said as she grabbed her piece of toast and continued towards the other door.

-

The amphitheater was in the front woods, so that guests could not see the volunteer’s housing. It was surrounded by trees, but because of its weekly cleaning, there was no sign of dirt on the stage or seating. There was a circle stage made of bricks in a herringbone pattern. The seating was also brick, and for this occasion, cushions had been put at each of the guests’ spots. The volunteers had been placed in the very back, with only Mr. Johnson to watch over them.

After a few minutes of the volunteers mindlessly flipping through their folders and Florette refusing to talk to Léonie, Mr. Steinberg and DeBurrow began leading the guests towards the amphitheater. Some of them looked at the amphitheater in an awe-like wonder, while others, who were unimpressed with the small size, chatted among themselves. The volunteers watched as the guests filed through the rows of seating and selected their spots. Most of them already had partners and sat together. A few of them were in military uniforms.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. DeBurrow spoke. He stood behind the pedestal that was positioned in the middle of the stage. He shuffled some notecards, “I thank you all for being here so early in the morning.”

Mr. DeBurrow cleared his throat, “Did you know that 98% of the officials in this room were formerly employed by their militaries? Mr. Howard Steinberg, Mrs. Juliette LaPore, Mr. Xavier Johnson, and myself included. Yet, 100% of you still work in the governm-”

Mr. Johnson awkwardly ran down the terraced seating down to Mr. DeBurrow. He whispered something in the elder man’s ear and then returned to the volunteers.

“Excuse me,” Mr. DeBurrow, “I know you all have been out of school for years, but I need to take attendance. We’ll do this quickly.

Anyone associated with the United States Central Intelligence, please raise your hand.”

Two men raised their hands. Mr. DeBurrow crossed something out on a piece of paper and told them to put their hands down.

“British Secret Intelligence Service?” A woman who resembled Reese raised her hand along with another man.

“Polish… Agencja Wywiadu?” A woman raised her hand.

Mr. DeBurrow called out names for at least five minutes until Florette was sure he had listed every country in the world. Well, every country except two.

“Now that that’s finished,” Mr. DeBurrow glanced at Mr. Johnson, “I can continue my speech. You all are gathered here today because you are, one, the best of the best in your respective countries and, two, you are some of the few individuals aware of the troubles brewing in China and Russia.”

A wave of murmurs rushed over the amphitheater. A few individuals seemed confused at the mention of the two countries, but were quickly informed by their companions.

“As of two weeks ago, China and Russia have been at war. It started near the town of Jalai Nur and Lake Hulun, on the Northern Chinese-Russian border,” suddenly, several holograms appeared behind Mr. DeBurrow. The Assembly had installed them instead of screens because of their effectiveness and inability to get wet. Only a few of the crowd was surprised by their appearance, as holograms and projections had been used for at least a decade.

A map of Russia and China, plus several statistics, appeared on the projection behind Mr. DeBurrow. He grabbed his pointing stick and directed the crowd’s attention to the map.

“I won’t get into much detail on the attacks so far,” Léonie sighed in frustration. She wanted to know what was going on. Mr. DeBurrow continued, “but if this war between these two countries carries on any farther, the world will irreversibly be thrust into World War III.”

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Prologue

Word Count: 2,071

Warnings: Mild cursing, I forgot to take people’s advice so this chapter is sort of wordy and rambles on.

Half a week behind schedule, Chapter One is finally here and it has not been proofread! It’s basically just the volunteers having conversation by the lake, but there is some information and foreshadowing/symbolism (maybe? I’m bad at foreshadowing/symbolism) that’s worth knowing!

If a stranger had looked at the former guesthouse’s back porch that Tuesday evening, they would have thought they were looking at a 1900s costume party.

Léonie was in her usual spot atop the tree branch that hung over the porch. She had the best view of the lake from the tree and her sketchpad laid perfectly against the main trunk. Her yellow dress was worn down from the hours she spent perched in the tree and the white dots were barely distinguishable from the yellow fabric.

“I don’t see why you don’t just wear pants,” Florette mumbled, taking a sip of the weak beer Mr. Steinberg had bought her. Florette was the only one that was not dressed as if she was back home. Instead of the dainty dresses of the 1940s, she wore black leggings, a flannel shirt, and tennis shoes with worn-out soles. Sunglasses failed to cover the scar on her left eye. She had had it for a while now, but she never failed to be self-conscious of it. Florette was situated on an old foldout chair under Léonie’s tree. Danilo had found the chair in the lake one day and they had cleaned it as best they could. They weren’t very good upholsterers, though, so the chair could not support anyone but Florette.

“I like dresses,” Léonie said, “They are more comfortable.”

“You look like a sissy, Leo,” Florette chuckled to herself.

“Thank you, Florette,” Léonie said, “You look nice, too.”

“I never said you don’t look nice. I said you look like a sissy.”

“This is why no boys liked you,” Léonie returned to her drawing.

“The boys didn’t like me cause I didn’t like them,” Florette took a swig of her beer and leaned back in her chair. She looked over to Danilo and Reese, who were sitting on the edge of the patio talking, “What are they speaking this time?”

Léonie listened for a moment before responding, “Chinese.”

“Huh,” Florette said.

Danilo and Reese were the youngest out of the group at 54 and 57, respectively. This created a unique bond between them, one Léonie and Florette didn’t have, so they spent most of their time together. The only problem with their friendship was that Danilo hardly spoke English and Reese didn’t speak Italian. In the end, Danilo resorted to learning Chinese, but Reese eventually picked up Italian.

“Why can’t they just speak English and let us into their conversations?” Florette watched them talk, jealous of their uncanny ability to get along. Léonie never agreed with her unless they were talking about how terrible their lives were. All four of them agreed on that.

“Well, do they want us hearing their conversations?”

“I don’t know, I can’t understand them, Leo!” Florette exclaimed, “If I can learn English, and you can learn English, then they can, too.”

“Reese already spoke English.”

“Danilo, then! He’s smart, I guess, smarter than me.”

“That’s not a very high bar to reach,” Léonie chuckled to herself.

“Not a very high bar to r- Hey!” Florette tossed her now empty bottle to the side.

There was a moment of silence, besides for Danilo and Reese’s chatter. Léonie liked the silence, especially when she was on the patio. It reminded her of her home with Marcel, where they would sit in their own garden, watching the sun go down as their dogs ran around in the grass. Léonie had forgotten the sound of Marcel’s voice and the feeling of his hand in hers over the years, but she had never forgotten the memories that they shared. 

Florette, on the other hand, hated silence. Every time it was quiet, it consumed her, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Recently, her thoughts weren’t very friendly to her. When she was sleeping, her thoughts showered her with nightmares about William and the other volunteers who had met their demise. During the day, they were hardly any better. It seemed like everything reminded her of her friends. 

“Stupid Danilo and his coats,” Florette crossed her arms, “Why does he always have to wear those dumb long coats?”

“Why do you judge him?” Léonie didn’t take her focus off her drawing. It was coming together now and she thought she might be able to color it tomorrow. If only she had something to color it in with.

“It’s at least twenty degrees out, he doesn’t need it.”

“Celcius?”

“No, Kelvin,” Florette rolled her eyes, “Of course Celsius!”

“I was simply asking.”

They stopped talking for a moment before Florette called out, “Danilo!”

The man turned his head to look at Florette. When Danilo had first come to the Assembly, Florette had had a hard time believing he was 54. Unlike Léonie, William, and Joona, who Florette was able to guess how old they were pretty well, Danilo’s face was almost timeless. His face was free of blemishes, which Florette envied more than anything else, and his eyes sparkled like cassiterite. The long, brown coat complimented 

“Sì?”

“Why do you always wear that coat?”

Danilo looked back at Reese, who provided a translation, “Hanno chiesto perché indossi sempre quel cappotto.”

“Oh,” Danilo said, “It’s.. nice? Sì, nice.”

Florette scoffed, “It’s, like, twenty degrees. You don’t need such a long coat.”

“Florette, stop,” Léonie whispered, but Florette ignored her.

“Florette ha detto che ci sono circa venti gradi. Non ne hai bisogno. Che stronza,” Reese glared at Florette as she repeated it.

“It looks nice,” Danilo stated, “and.. confortevole.”

“-and comfortable.” Reese nodded.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Rude.” Reese said and then she turned around and continued their conversation.

“She says I’m rude when all I did was ask him, not even her, a question.”

“Uh-huh.” Léonie started to draw the last branch on the tree in her drawing. Léonie had learned that, sometimes, it was better to let Florette talk then try to reason with her. She continued drawing as Florette ranted about little, unimportant things. Léonie tuned her out as best she could and returned to her own thoughts.

This would be her one hundred and eighty-second drawing since she had “volunteered” for the Assembly. She would hardly call it volunteering: she was lied to, taken without warning, and brought into a new and unusual world, but despite this, she tried not to dwell on it. Léonie had seen more people, more friends, die than Florette, but she handled it much better.

Today she was trying to draw her old yard from memory. It was hard. The trees tended to blend together into green mush and she had forgotten the color of her dogs. Léonie had tried to sketch Marcel and her in the foreground, but failed and drew poppies in their place. She had Danilo to thank for that, who had taught her all about the colors and shapes of flowers. One thing Léonie did remember was that they had the ugliest Edelweiss in their garden, so she usually replaced them with other flowers.

“Hey, Léonie,” Florette said suddenly.

“Yes?”

“You do the talking.”

“What are you t-” Léonie understood why Florette didn’t want to talk when she looked in the same direction as her. Walking towards them, manilla folders in hand, was Mr. Johnson himself. Mr. Johnson rarely made an appearance at their little home anymore (if you could even call it that), so Léonie understood why Reese looked so shocked.

“Good evening, Ms. Thälmann!” Mr. Johnson smiled, nodding politely at Léonie and readjusting his blonde hair, “Hello Reese, Danilo, Florette.”

The former three smiled back at him. Florette merely grunted in response.

“How can we help you, Mr. Johnson?” Léonie put her pencil down and positioned herself so that she faced him.

“I’ve come to tell you that the meeting tomorrow has been rescheduled so that it’s an hour earlier. I was able to grab your notes so you could prepare.”

Florette scoffed as Mr. Johnson handed her her manilla folder, “So you guys have finally decided to take away our one day to sleep in an hour.”

“We sleep in on weekends,” Reese replied, then mumbled a small “thank you” as Mr. Johnson handed her a folder.

“Besides those!” Florette exclaimed, “What is so important that you need to take away our hour of sleep anyways?!”

“That’s for the Assembly to know. You don’t need to, Miss. Travere,” Mr. Johnson responded calmly.

“Oh, so we’re not part of the Assembly now?”

“Florette, be quiet,” Reese flipped through her own folder. There were at least twelve pages explaining her assignment, which she moved over to view the other things. Instead, she examined the photos and fake identification in the folder. One was a family photo of an older couple, their daughter, and younger son, who was exactly Reese’s age. There was little note on the mother, but a whole page was dedicated to the father, whom she assumed was her target.

“Shut up, Reese,” Florette said, “Lemme guess, Xavier-”

“Mr. Johnson,” Léonie corrected her, “Be polite.”

“Who cares, Leo. Anyways, Xavier, what is it this time? World War III? Cause I don’t care if it is. I really don’t.”

Mr. Johnson sighed, “You’ll be informed sometime within the next couple days. Mr. Steinberg expects you all to be on your best behaviour tomorrow so the Assembly is not embarrassed.”

“You know us, Mr. Johnson, we’d never want to embarrass the Assembly,” Florette said, “That’d be horrible.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Miss. Travere.”

“And I don’t appreciate you,” Florette stuck out her tongue at Mr. Johnson.

“Miss. Travere, do you realize that for the past five years the Assembly has fed, clothed, and housed you from our own pockets? Mr. Steinberg has graciously given you his former poolhouse, which he renovated to the highest standards,” Florette opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Johnson continued, “Don’t pull that ‘we were lied to and taken from our homes’ bullcrap with me, Miss. Travere. You volunteered to work for the Assembly. You signed a contract that stated that you will be working with government and military officials, traveling-”

“Not time traveling!” Reese interrupted. Mr. Johnson shot her a dirty glare.

“It said traveling as in general traveling. Anything could be included under that. Now, Miss. Travere, I suggest you be thankful for what we have given you in the past years. You’d be dead without us,” Mr. Johnson paused for a moment as if contemplating his next words, “just like your dear friend, William.”

Florette stayed situated in her chair, arms crossed, eyes beginning to water.

“Why did you say that, Mr. Johnson?” Léonie whispered. Reese stared daggers at him. Danilo, oblivious to most of the conversation, copied Reese’s glare.

“Because it’s true,” he responded quickly, “Good evening, everyone.”

Mr. Johnson turned around and left, leaving the group of volunteers in silence. No one moved except Danilo, who mindlessly flipped through his papers.

“I’m going to bed,” Florette mumbled, standing from her chair.

“Do not let Mr. Johnson get you down,” Léonie dropped from her spot in the tree.

“It’s Xavier.”

“Hm?”

“He’s younger than all of us, so we don’t have to call him ‘Mr. Johnson.’” Florette walked to the back door, empty bottle in hand.

“I understand that, Florette, but you need t-”

“I don’t need to do anything!” Florette’s voice cracked in the middle. Several tears were freely rolling down her face, reflecting the pale moonlight that was streaming through the trees, “He has no authority over me! I survived World War II, we both survived the Great Depression, you survived World War I! That absolute, ugly-ass loser barely survived the Coast Guard!”

A small chuckle came out of Reese. Léonie sighed for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Go to bed and sleep,” Léonie collected her supplies from the tree, “It will help.”

“I hope so,” Florette mumbled before disappearing behind the double doors.

“Mi sento male per lei,” Danilo stood from his place on the porch and brushed the stray leaves off of his lap.

“Siamo tutti nella stessa situazione. Non dispiacerti solo per lei .”

“What are you saying?” Léonie asked.

“Danilo said that he felt sorry for her,” Reese shrugged, “I just said that we’re all in the same, so it’s stupid to feel sorry only for her.”

Léonie shook her head. She couldn’t handle this anymore. She would kill for some food that wasn’t cheap or for a better bed, but now, all she wanted was silence.

[imjustalonesomewriter]

A WIP Introduction by @imjustalonesomewriter!

Title: Assembly of Absolutists

Playlist ~ WeHeartIt ~ Pinterest ~ Tag ~ ?

Type: Singular book, maybe one in a short series.

Current Status: Planning

Genre: Dystopian, YA, Alternate History, Historical Fiction (?), Coming-of-Age, and Science Fiction.

Themes: Change versus tradition, Facing Reality, Good versus Bad, Perceived Heroism, (sort of) Immortality, Destructive Loneliness, Patriotism (of a sort), and several more.

Setting: 1900s and 2000s United States, 1900s Austria, 2000s Britain (briefly), and a lot yet to be decided.

Synopsis:

Both Florette and Léonie thought the Assembly of Absolutists sounded amazing. The Assembly promised adventure, travel, and knowledge, and having both come out of hard times, they quickly jumped on the opportunity. Yet, they failed to realize the Assembly didn’t tell them where, or when, they were travelling to or what their job was.

More than 75 years and several wars later, Florette and Léonie are still not sure what their job is. All they know is that the “council,” which is made up of rich dictators (excluding Xavier), tell them where to go in the past and what to do. Even after that, the “important” information is extracted from them and they are left with little to no memory of their journey. With the world in the beginning of World War Three, the Assembly has been hired by numerous secret intelligence agencies. Their new goal: to find information that would help them end or prevent WWIII in the first place. Will the time travellers successfully prevent more global destruction or will they revolt against their oppressors?

Main Characters:

Léonie Gloria Thälmann ~ 109, but goes as a 23 year old. Austrian. Léonie volunteered for the Assembly of Absolutists in 1936.

Florette Priscille Travere ~ 92, but passes as a 18½ year old. French-African. Florette was born in 1929 and joined the Assembly of Absolutists in 1947.

Secondary Characters:

Xavier Clement Johnson ~ 37. He’s the youngest member on the council. Dislikes how the volunteers are being treated and tries to help them personally, but does not speak to the council about it. Former Coast Guard Ensign.

Howard R. Steinberg ~ 56. Head of the council. Is a rather stupid man but is also very rich. His second mansion on the United States’ east coast serves as the Assembly of Absolutists’ headquarters. Former Marine Corp Major General.

Juliette Barbera LaPore ~ 48. Thought of recruiting people from the past and, therefore, is head of the Official Absolutists Quantum Division. Has multiple PhDs, not a nice person. Former Army Major.

Kingston Henry DeBurrow ~ 63. The oldest out of the council. Organizes international affairs for the Assembly and directs LaPore’s decisions. Former Navy Admiral.

Reese Daisy Ellis ~ 57, passes as 16 (born 1964). Chinese-American. Volunteered for the Assembly of Absolutists after someone in her highschool parking lot told students about it. Only allows Danilo to call her Daisy.

Danilo Santo Potenza ~ 54, passes as 16 (born 1967). Italian. After an uneventful night at the Venice International Film Festival, Danilo volunteered for the Assembly of Absolutists. Speaks just enough English to get by, but is fluent in Italian, German, French, and Chinese.

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