Belle Jarnet is 5' 1", and 190 lbs. with a D-cup figure. She's wearing a black tank top, black jeggings, black flipflops, and a desert-camouflaged purse. Her golden hair is in a layered shag that reaches the lower edges of her shoulderblades. Her skin is void of pigment. And, her irises are gray. Belle is wearing a bandana red, and off-white, floral, midi dress with a V-neck, and no sleeves. Her footwear's off-white flipflops. She smells of sage, and sandalwood. And, her body is unshaved.
She sits at a picnic table, and waves at the rest of the other thirty-somethings at the table, talking in soprano, "I'm Belle Jarnet. Hi everyone."
"I heard you're schizophrenic. Do you hear voices?" Another woman brings up with attitude, and narrowed eyes.
"Yeh," Belle's voice breaks halfway through her answer.
"Belle Jarnet!" A fifty-something man calls, "Come here!" Thus, Belle leaves the rude twenty-somethings of premature aging to see why she's being called over.
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