all the lovies in the group: @withlove-kirsten @high-fashionista @curious-and-young @roses-are-roses @b0hemian-lovers @buds-over-studs @little-miss-rae
i'm going to get started. i'm itching to right for her.
Boston by Augustana
Zaria Lia Richardson
name: Zaria Lia Richardson
age: twenty three
quote that describes your character: "Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you." --Sarah Dessen, 'What Happened to Goodbye'
job/school: University of Portland, graduate, political science//public opinion analyst for a rising politician
style: comfortable, casual, tries not to stand out very much, blend in with the crowd, avoid drawing unwanted attention
With such a unique name and a killer personality and body, one might wonder why Zaria Richardson doesn't want to stand out. She's wanted to live in the shadows all her life, preferring to stay under the radar and out of harm’s way which is weird considering she majored in political science at the University of Portland. Zaria grew up in a family where politics was like breathing and galas were the norm. She never quite fit in though, sticking out like a sore thumb at most extravaganzas. While her brother went off to boarding school, Zaria stayed at home in San Francisco attending the prestigious St. Ignatius College Preparatory High School with her wealthy, liberal parents who loved to compare her to her brother. It's safe to say that by default Zaria became the black sheep of the family and it only got worse when she didn't follow in her family's footsteps of attending Yale. Throughout high school, she was the one who had a bubbly personality and outlook on life but just stayed quiet all the time. By senior year, she was a little more outgoing thanks to her AP Government class, which is also the reason why she fell in love with politics. Now with her degree in hand, Zaria realizes that she will have to step back into the life she tried to leave. Oh, irony works in strange ways.
Model: Taylor Marie Hill
Fu.ck my life.
No, seriously, fu.ck every single part of my life, except those years when I was free of my parents rein up in Portland. Those were the moments that I cherish and recall every time my mother decides to yell at me and say how I disgraced the family name by not going to Yale.
Yeah, Yale, I sound crazy for not taking the open door to Yale, but I had my reasons. My number one reason for not going there was because my entire family went there, including my pompous older brother, whom I hope gets his heart ripped out by a girl now that he’s back in town.
Harsh, I know, but I’ve lived in his shadow for as long as I’ve been alive. My parents have loved to compare me to him since the day I was born. ‘Oh Zaria, try this, try that. Your brother loves this.’ I got sick of it, and it didn’t help that Zac, my brother, loved to rub it in my face. He took every opportunity to use our parents to his advantage. The only good thing about him growing up was that he had SUPER hot friends, who were only a year or two older than me.
Unfortunately, after college, I had to leave that wonderful city and return to San Francisco. It wasn’t because I love San Fran more than Portland; it’s that I needed a job and my father could supply one for me in my line of work.
See, what I failed to realize was that when I majored in political science I would need connections, the connections my parents have. When I thought I left the days of backstabbing at balls and cute little secretaries secretly screwing their bosses, I wasn’t. I just briefly deserted them thinking I could be free of them. Turns out, as soon as my plane landed in the city, a part of my brain recognized that I would be reentering that world of betrayal.
As much as I hate to admit it, I need my liberal, snobby, annoying parents and all the influence they have. Realizing this, my father took advantage of this. During his ‘glory days’ as he likes to call them, he partied and socialized with most of the people in power and almost all of the ones running for offices now. He offered me a deal, a deal I had to take. If I didn’t, I would be left with a college degree from an excellent college but no job.
He talked with one of the uprising politicians and got me a job. In turn for doing this, he pays for my wonderful townhouse which will soon be inhabited by my best friend; the numerous panda charities I force him to donate to, and essentially all of my spending money. If I’m going to get my hands dirty, I might as well be filthy by the end.
You can call me a spoiled, rich brat, and you’d be right about the rich part. I’m not a brat, and the spoiled part is my brother. I’ve had to work to get that point where I had to make the deal with the devil. Trust me, I will be doing more than working for that politician. I’ll be paying that debt for the rest of my life.
“Zaria! Let’s go! The movers are here!” Zac yells from the foyer.
Finally, the last moving trucks are here to transport all the boxes that contain the countless memories and novels from my 23 years on this earth. I cleared out my room completely, wanting to remove any trace of my existence from this cold, drafty house.
“Coming!” I try to yell out, but the two boxes in my arms block my mouth. As my tennis shoes hit the marble, the boxes are lifted from my hands faster than I can say ‘wait.’
The mover turns away and heads to the truck nodding to my yells of ‘be careful with those.’ My parents are nowhere to be seen, probably hidden away in our backyard or at the office. They left Zac and me in charge of overseeing the movers and getting to my new townhouse.
Zac rolls his eyes at my screams and hands me keys to a car. It’s evident he has no plans of joining me on the ride over to the new place; he probably has some chick to screw over, or what not.
I ask anyway. “Coming with?”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “Nah, I have places to be, people to see.” He turns away starting for the stairs.
“People to screw you mean,” I mutter chuckling to myself.
He whips around and glares at me. “I heard that.”
“Like I care?” I shoot back gripping the keys harder. Slamming the front door shut, I climb into the car, one that I will be claiming as mine from now one, and head over to the new place.
The drive is calming and relaxing with Augustana blasting through my speakers. Thoughts whirl through my head asking why I didn’t stay away when I could. Why didn’t I travel? Why didn’t I move to another city and look for other jobs? Washington D.C. would have been perfect, so why didn’t I go there?
My mind draws blanks to every single one of those questions. I want out, but something keeps me firmly rooted here. Maybe it’s because at the end of the day, all I have are my parents and brother (besides my extended family). Maybe it’s that I secretly enjoy getting dressed up for galas and charity events. Maybe, just maybe, San Francisco is actually my home despite all my bickering and complaining about it.
The townhouse comes into view and I park in the driveway.
It’s flat out amazing. I love every single part of it. The coloring, the look of brick, and the glass paned windows! I can tell from here I’ll be able to create a rooftop sitting area or garden, which is exactly what I wanted. Stepping out of the car, I head straight for the front door, opening it for the movers to come in. Before one of them does, I stop them. I want to be the first one to step inside my new place.
The insides are relaxing shades of champagne, beige, white and some others. Sunlight streams through the bare windows, and I can already tell I’m going to love this place.
This is my new home. My new place to create memories, to have dinner parties the way I want to have them, to have movie nights…the possibilities are endless.
[read it type: augustana
I just bought their first and third album. I already had their second.
I absolutely love them!!!
And I am so glad to be back!!! Hope you all like this! I’m a little rusty, so sorry!]