The Photo of Dorian Devereux

Pure beauty

If you would see Dorian surrounded by people like Lord orléans you wouldn't call him out of place, but he does not belong there. His deerish eyes jump from one exceptionally beautiful and stylish person to the other. Looking for something familiar in this new strange environment, but he cannot seem to find anything familiar in between the diamond glittering on the throats of the humans, blinding the people in a feeble attempt to look just as beautiful as the models who have worn it in the advert. He chuckles and tries to escape Lord orleans firm grip, as if he is a child of five years old.

"Orléans!" Someone says as they elegantly walk/runs towards the lord. They hug and kiss the air beside their cheeks, in a stupidly elegant way. If you were a less optimistic person than our dear dorian you would envy these people, or ridiculed them in order to deny the truth that all people are really jealous of these people. The strawberry blonde man with his radiant blue eyes and beautifully arranged hair and his wife, a tanned medittereanen woman with a beautiful smile and the most gorgeous thick long hair. Dorian wonders what they do to make a living. The black silk dress, silk white opera gloves, white fur shawl, pearls and the intricate diamond ring adorned by the beautiful woman hint that there is no absence of money. But Dorian knows his people too well to think these people are old money, they cannot be aristocracy, because however much people would evny them. Their wealth does not whisper, it isn't even trying. But it is not exactely screaming, it is talking stylishly loud.

"Who may this be?" The obviously not straight gentlemen with his strawberry blonde hair asks as he shakes Dorian's feeble, too elegant hand. Before he can respond lord Orleans says proudly, "Dorian Devereux, a dear friend of mine." Dorian smiles slightly, not willing to disappoint Lord Orléans with the fact they aren't 'dear' friends. "Nice meeting you." "Likewise, likewise" The gentleman says, in a rather nervous and excited tone. Dorian frowns, he wonders why he talks like that "My name is Victor Singleton, model, and a rather famous one if I may say so. This is my dear wife Gwedolyn, a brilliant designer if i may say so myself." He says as dorian elegant kisses her hand. "What a pleasure meeting you Mrs. Singleton. I buy a lot of your clothes, what a shame am not wearing those today. I really admire you." She chuckles "Oh Clement, keep your boy in check or he'll be going home with dozens of designers tonight." she says with a bright laugh. Dorian frowns, he does not get it entirely, but who would explain it to him? Most people would undestand such jokes. "Dorian here wants to start modeling." Clement says with a bright smile, deviously as always and he wraps his arm around Dorian. "He does have the face for it." Victor comments. "Oh indeed."

Dorian stares at the art on the roof of the hall simply to escape the annoying conversation about the latest trends in lifestyle and parties. He slips through the crowds slowly walking towards the thing this celebration is really about. Up and coming designers, their creations are displayed throughout the hall with explanations and introductions to the new designers. As soon as dorian sees this he is intrigued. You can see his brain working as he tilts his head while inspecting the carefully sewn folds in the champagne coloured dress, the beautiful fabric seems to be see through. How could you have so much talent?

"Putain! Why do they only write in English!" An older man with a heavy accent says. "I can translate it if you'd like sir." Dorian says with his genuine smile. The moody old man looks at him and his expression changes a bit, there's a certain wonder when he sees the young man. The portrait of perfection, the old man has lived many lives and seen much beauty but this, This was exceptional, it was pure as driven snow, it was heavy as the thick winter fog and shocking as the ice when you fall through it. "Yes, go on. Translate it." And so the two walk along the beautiful creations of youngsters. The man admiring the clothes but also the boy in the proces. Dorian practicing his flawless french, glad he can help.

"Well, I think we had all of them sir." Dorian says with a smile. "Indeed, tell me young lad where did you learn french?" "Back home, when I was young." He nods, "Aristocrat right?" Dorian nods and chuckles. "How'd you guess?" The old man shrugs. "You don't seem like the type to enjoy these kinds of events, what are you doing here?" "Well you're not mistake sir, I actually enjoy the art of fashion but the mingling.....isn't for me." He chuckles, "The mingling is really for no one young man. It is just necessary to make us feel better than others." "That's awfully pessimistic." "Get older lad, than we'll talk about pessimism. So who took you? Your parents?" "No, a friend od mine, or wel......yes, a friend" Dorian says hesitantly. "He thought it was a good way to introduce me to the fashion world." "And why do you need introduction?" Dorian shrugs and blushes a bit before saying "I know it sounds foolish but i want to try modeling." "Foolish? You are the first person no one could call foolish for wanting to try modeling. What is your name boy?" Dorian extends his hand.

"Dorian Devereux." "Dorian there you are!" Clement grabs dorian hand before he can take the hand of the older gentlemen. "I apologise Mister Desmarais. He doesn't know..." the older gentleman lifts his hand "Arrêt! Mister Orléans, is this young man your companion?" "Yes sir, I know he shouldn't have talked to you sir...." "Stop apologising Foolish orleans, he needs to be the face of my next campaign. This, this is what saint laurent should stand for. Youthfull and classic beauty. With a tale of wonder. This will be the next supermodel Clement, Bravo, the first time I do not absolutely hate you. Good job." He turns to Dorian. "And you, learn how to walk on a runway."