"If I like a moment, for me, personally, I don't like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it." - Sean O'Connell, Secret Life of Walter Mitty
NATIONALITY • American
BORN • Portland, Oregon, USA
AGE RANGE • 26 to 29
BIRTHDAY • April 23rd
SEXUAL ORIENTATION • Straight
HEIGHT - WEIGHT • 5'7" - 130 pounds
BODY SHAPE • Pear
HAIR - EYES • Changes - Blue
GLASSES • Yes (wears contacts)
LANGUAGE • English
OCCUPATION • Photographer
EDUCATION • College
NERVOUS TICK • Ruffling Bangs
WEAKNESS • Tulips
TIME OF DAY • Early Bird
PIERCINGS • Ears
TATTOOS • Many
SMOKES • No
HOBBIES • Knitting, Hair Dye
EXERCISE • Hiking
MUSIC • Cold War Kids, Modest Mouse
MOVIE • Little Miss Sunshine
BOOKS • Crazy Rich Asians, Euphoria
FOOD • Beer-Braised Bratwursts
DRINKS • Fruity IPA, Tea
COLOR • Pink
PET • None
MODERN • CIRCA 2017
It was ever present.
Tangible against her cheeks, and thick in the air as she pulled little breaths through her nose.
The heat was always present.
In Rwanda, or Darfur – Columbia or Uttar Pradesh, it clung to the memories of each assignment. The images and portraits, the urban and natural landscapes, they always changed. They always varied; the stories illuminated through the lens of her camera, or the different interviews and conflicts investigated by Leanna as they traveled together.
And yet, like the heat, they all seemed to share a common thread.
Each community torn apart by wars fueled with religious or ethnic conflicts, wars for land or power, and they had been in the midst of it all, trying to tell the story. To gather facts and details, the grit behind the media fear frenzy. Or at least they tried.
Though there were times when fear was needed.
And even now, fear was settling into Charlotte’s stomach as she watched a charred car pull into the view of the Humvee, sitting on the side of the road as they passed it. Despite the armed guard, or the black headscarf tied on the plane somewhere over the Mediterranean, she felt exposed. She felt afraid. And yet, excited.
A new assignment lay before her and Lee.
And thus, her camera bag sat tucked up next to her calf, her last name “WERNER” scribbled across it, the sharpie fading more and more with each trip. The zipper lay open as she lifted her camera, pressing the viewfinder up against her brow as she peered through the lens at Lee’s hand penning across the notebook on her lap. The small mechanical click of the digital camera was lost in the echo of wheels on the dirt road beneath the convoy before she dropped the camera away from her brow.
"You ever get somewhere and immediately miss the places you've been before it?"
Resting the camera down on her knee Charlotte looked at Lee as she spoke, the rumble of the Humvee beneath them bobbing the long camera lens slightly. “Always,” Charlotte admitted the words with an airy laugh, her lips turned up into a smile. Her full features soft, a dimple pressing into her cheek as she looked out through the scratched protective window before peering back at Lee – alabaster skin seemingly washed out against the black headscarf. “I always fall victim to the never stopping wheel of missing home when I am on trips, and missing the trips when I am home.”
With a smile she felt the Humvee start to slow underneath them, “maybe we are here…” Blue eyes narrowing as she leaned forward to look out through the muddled view in the armored vehicle. “Are we going straight to the hotel, or?” She knew she should be better informed, that she should memorize the itineraries or details, but it always seemed beyond her and she tended toward painful naivety hidden behind a lens.