Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Jan 27, 2011 4:05:48 GMT -5
Country of Origin:France
Name: Francis Bonnefoy
Gender:Male
Height:5'11
Weight:155
Age:18
Year: Senior
Clubs: Cooking [President], Fenceing, Ballet
Appearance:
Personality:
First and foremost Francis is a flirt. A grade-A, spectacular flirt, and honestly, he loves it. He loves the attention it brings. How a few words can stir so many reactions in a person. In his own way, flirting is power. So easily he could manipulate and sway a person's decision. In all honesty it was a bit of a drug. An addiction and Francis would have it no other way.
Although the French man may seem like the least cunning person in the world, with his overly dramatic displays, and emotional words. It is, for the most part, an act. The man is perfectly capable of remaining calm and cold, without the slightest hint of sympathy. Francis could be surprisingly efficient, though it was really just under-handed acts.
Selfish. One could easily call the French man selfish, a new lover every night. What could be more selfish then stepping on others on his way around, not even to the top. However, to the people France cares about, he gives his all. All hidden of course, for no one can tell when they really have his heart in their hands, but he gives all of himself. He'll continue to give all of himself no matter what they do to him, no matter how he is treated. It's simply in his nature. With an easy smile and a wink he hides behind masks and words as he continues to love, to give. He just can't help himself. Though this isn't to say Francis won't stand up for himself, he of course will, with quite a bit of fervor as well. But a little abuse? Why it's nothing more then a light drizzle on his skin. France just can't help but love.
That is to say, Francis has become rather good at pretending to be happy. He's not fond of actual drama (his light playful drama he loves though.) and thus, tends to keep what actually has hurt him inside. The Frenchman just doesn't feel like it's worth it, or really anyone's business to know that. After all he has to keep himself safe, and how would he do that if they were to know what hurt? This huge leap of faith just isn't worth the slim chance of finding a trustworthy person.
Beneath his masks though, France is in a constant emotional turmoil. Depression, guilt, hate, self-pity, it settles deep within his gut and refuses to leave. Maybe he is simply emotionally unbalanced, but Francis' wouldn't have it any other way.
The Frenchman's greatest fear though, is to be alone. He just can't stand the feeling. It makes him sick to his stomach and leaves him shaking. Alone, alone, he just can't handle the feeling, and since, he has no special person to be by his side, or a friend to understand (Because no matter how much he adores his friends they just weren't the type of people you told this sort of thing to) he takes a new lover into his bed almost every night. Just so that when he falls asleep, and wakes there is a warm body breathing evenly beside him. When he wakes alone he is in a panic, fretting and worried and oh so scared. He is pleased about his generally whore-ish nature. Almost proud. It kept the fear away.
Likes:
Fine Food: He is a picky eater, simple as that.
Alcohol: He also likes his drink.
Music: It is calming, classic and something passionate, of the soul. Why wouldn't he love it?
Sex: Besides his fear of being alone, and this being the easiest way of not being alone he over all just enjoys the act itself.
Body warmth: It's nice.
Fresh bread: He just enjoys the scent.
Gardening: It helps to relax him
Horses: It reminds him of his mother.
Dislikes:
Quiet: Well a little peace and quite he doesn't mind, but ear-ringing silence just gets to him.
Too hot: And risk getting sweat on his expensive silk shirt? Never!
Cheap: If it's cheap it's obviously no good. Only the best will ever grace him.
Computers: confusing evil little things.
Strengths:
Sex appeal- People tend to want to get close to him. He's all fine with that.
Calm: He's rather good at staying calm in sticky situations.
Hard worker: If he's going to do a job he's going to do it right.
Dexterity: Francis is very good with his hands.
Weaknesses:
Isolation: Put him in isolation and he'll go crazy. Threaten him with it he'll sing in whatever tune you tell him to.
Danger: France has a slight soft sport for anything dangerous; it gets him into the oddest situations. A dash of stupid, a third of dangerous, shaken, not stirred. Happens to be a favored drink. Especially with friends.
Pain: He doesn't deal too well with it. Emotional or physical.
History:
Francis was born on a warm day in Paris, France. For the most part he had a spoiled childhood; he spent his days playing and eating sweets. People of all sorts adoring him, left and right, for his cherub features. His mother and father were kind, caring people who treasured family--and thus Francis, more then anything. Life for him was wonderful, and, it seemed it would always stay that way.
His mother was a strong woman. Beautiful, cold, cruel and successful all wrapped in a single package. With her husband by her side their powerful business grew. His mother mostly ran the business as her strong personality simply walked all over his father. Neither of them minded though, the relationship worked like that. From an early age Mama Gaul took Francis to work with her. From office work, to aboard work or even dirty work. She was be the type to simply shoot an untrustworthy client dead, and then lift her son into her arms and take him for ice cream. Not so much blinking at what she had done. Francis learned from an early age to deal with death. A constant companion in his life that seemed to follow him.
Francis was very close to his mother, a Mama's boy through and through. He spent most of his waking moments by her side, learning from her, being coddled by her. Oh he adored his mother, and strove to be like her. Young Francis was a wild child. Un-tamable by even the strictest teachers. A charming, almost angelic look betrayed his devilish nature. He often took off on the horse his mother taught him to ride without a notice to his nanny. Leaving the poor women frazzled and tearing out their hair looking for him. Only for the boy to appear a few hours later, perfectly fine.
However, on a after dinner stroll in the moonlight the three of them were assaulted. His parents brutally murdered in front of his eyes and he, left for dead, the bullet barely missing an artery. Till this day he had a small round scar right above his collarbone. No money was taken from them, there was no rape, no beating. A random act of violence by a kid who wondered what if felt like to kill. Since then Francis, mentally curled in on himself.
Not that he ever showed it, he smiled warmly, and told everyone his parents were just waiting for him in heaven. That they want him to be happy, wise words for a small child, even if they were just lies. His elderly aunt took him in, a nice woman overall, but busy, always busy, always working. She never much paid attention to the French boy, but Francis was okay with that. He could get attention else where.
The children at school still adored him, boys and girls alike lavishing him with attention. The teachers coddled him, hoping to help ease the pain of losing his parents. He was the center of the attention, and god be damned he was going to make sure it stayed that way. He would always be a star. He attended a rich dance school in Paris where he took up ballet, and did he ever flourish in that. The dance floor was where he was god, and no one could ever take that from him. Francis worked night and day, tirelessly to be the best. He loved the feeling of thousands of eyes on him, watching him, praising him, envying him. As he grew his craving for attention grew worse and worse, acting up, teasing, flirting, anything the blonde boy could think of. Anything for attention.
It wasn't enough though. Francis needed more, needed more people to see him. To justify his existence. On a windy day the pre-teen struggled on his way home. With his coat wrapped tightly around his lithe body he ducked into an ally for protection. There he met an odd group of kids, dirty, ruffians, dangerous, but they all looked so happy. Genuinely happy. Francis wanted to reach out to them. He wanted to be one of them. Slowly, day after day he began to wedge his way into the group. Making himself one of them, and he was happy, truly happy.
When Francis was 13 he was picked to play the lead role in a ballet that would tour Europe for a few months. The lead role was that of a girl, but Francis didn't mind. He got his face made up, put on a dress and pranced around. His wardrobe, having only had enough room for his costumes and make up and such lacked all of his normal boy-ish clothing. Thus he spent all of his time in his costumes. When the tour made their spot in England he ran into someone rather curious. A scruffy boy around his age just walking down the street. Francis instantly felt the urge to talk to him, and indulged himself. It wasn't long before the two started bickering, over little things but bickering none the less. Francis was fed up and the show was going to start soon. With puffed up cheeks and an annoyed flourish, he pulled a ticket from his pocket and shoved it into the other's shirt before storming away. Oh how the boy infuriated him, but still, he wanted to show the other how he could dance.
He didn't get to see the boy after that but that was okay he was quickly swept from his mind as soon as he arrived back in France. His aunt had died in her sleep while he was away and suddenly, the young boy was alone again. Francis had learned a lot from the old woman, and from his new "friends", and thus was able to fake documents. He lied about having another guardian and moved out of his Aunt's house, finding it unbearably lonely. The young Francis moved into a small apartment above a bakery, loving the warm atmosphere it provided. It was here he had his first romp under the covers, and discovered how much he loved the act. Months turned to weeks, turned to days as he began to bring home more and more partners. Lost in the sensation of pleasure and warmth.
As he began to spend more and more time with the gang, he learned the trade. Starting at the bottom, Francis was determined to work his way to the top. He did whatever he had to, slept with whomever, and did whatever dirty job he had to. Nothing was too low for his slow ascend to power. After all, he did have the nest egg his parents had left him, as well as what his Aunt added on, but it wouldn’t last forever. Not with Francis’ tastes. While he was still young he decided to get as much use out of his body as possible, even obtaining a few sugar daddies for the hell of it. Francis had fun with his youth.
This is when he met Jeanne, the love of his life. The only person who had ever been able to curb his wild streak. A strong woman with an even stronger personality, it wasn’t long before he was head over heels for her. She had joined the same gang he had as a child and fought valiantly for them. Word of her quickly spread and Francis knew he had to meet her; she was rising through the ranks almost as quickly as he had. While Francis had been, almost instantly attracted to the girl, she disliked him in the beginning. Francis spent day after day attempting to talk to her, and eventually, he grew on her.
Soon enough the two were lovers and she moved in with him. Francis had honestly never been happier. For her he quit sleeping around, and doing the most degrading jobs. Francis could never bear to disappoint her. He no longer needed the warmth of a stranger to keep him sane, he had Jeanne. However, his happiness wouldn’t last forever. On a cold night Francis had been awoken by a favored underling of his, and given the worst news of his life. Jeanne had been captured, and was in the Franklin house. He rushed out of the door, and towards the house, uncaring of anything and everything that crossed his path. The horror he felt when he finally saw the house, engulfed in flames, had to be the worst feeling the man had ever felt. He rushed to the house, intent of saving her, but was stopped by two of men from a different part of his gang. Francis lost everything that day. The only thing he gained was the feeling of guilt, hopelessness, despair and it all settled in his gut. Never to leave. When Francis was forced to leave his room he returned to his old life, only worse. He just couldn’t take this unbearable loneliness anymore, not after he knew life could be so wonderful. Francis hid his pain though, acted like he never loved Jeanne. That might have been the worst thing though.
Francis spent much of his time moping in his room. Unwilling to get the strength up to even leave his apartment. He even contemplated joining Jeanne in the after life. However, the angry faces of his lover and his mother kept him from that. Not to mention he didn't have the courage to pull that damn trigger. Life held no point to him. That was until he had been accepted to World W academy. The French boy had completely forgotten he had even signed up for it. With the nest egg left for him by his family he packed up and left. France held nothing for him anymore.
Weapon: Rapier
Statistics:
~Knowledge: 4-Professor,
~Courage: 1-Average
~Diligence:3
~Expression: 5-Enthralling
~Understanding: 4-Motherly,
~Strength: *
~Magic:*****
~Endurance: **
~Agility: ****
~Luck:***
Persona:
~Name: Dame Blanche
(Because my hand writing is horrible she wears an entirely white dress that is, the exact same color as her skin. Her hair is about two shades darker then the dress and is also the same color her blindfold is. The bottoms of her feet, hands and dress are burnt and she wears crimson rosary, and earrings. I promise I'll do a better more original sketch of her later. )
~Arcana: Lovers
~Drain:n/a
~Weak: Fire
~Null: Light
~Resist: n/a
~Skills:
Mediarahan, Ziodyne, Mudoon, Vile assult, Amrita , Recarmdra(though he never uses it for frear of his own life.), Sexy Dance, Marakukaja
Roleplay Sample: [Just 2-3 paragraphs. Any universe is fine.]
Did you read the rules...?Pancakes, chicks and awesome. Not in that order and served with a glass of your finest wine.
Name: Francis Bonnefoy
Gender:Male
Height:5'11
Weight:155
Age:18
Year: Senior
Clubs: Cooking [President], Fenceing, Ballet
Appearance:
Personality:
First and foremost Francis is a flirt. A grade-A, spectacular flirt, and honestly, he loves it. He loves the attention it brings. How a few words can stir so many reactions in a person. In his own way, flirting is power. So easily he could manipulate and sway a person's decision. In all honesty it was a bit of a drug. An addiction and Francis would have it no other way.
Although the French man may seem like the least cunning person in the world, with his overly dramatic displays, and emotional words. It is, for the most part, an act. The man is perfectly capable of remaining calm and cold, without the slightest hint of sympathy. Francis could be surprisingly efficient, though it was really just under-handed acts.
Selfish. One could easily call the French man selfish, a new lover every night. What could be more selfish then stepping on others on his way around, not even to the top. However, to the people France cares about, he gives his all. All hidden of course, for no one can tell when they really have his heart in their hands, but he gives all of himself. He'll continue to give all of himself no matter what they do to him, no matter how he is treated. It's simply in his nature. With an easy smile and a wink he hides behind masks and words as he continues to love, to give. He just can't help himself. Though this isn't to say Francis won't stand up for himself, he of course will, with quite a bit of fervor as well. But a little abuse? Why it's nothing more then a light drizzle on his skin. France just can't help but love.
That is to say, Francis has become rather good at pretending to be happy. He's not fond of actual drama (his light playful drama he loves though.) and thus, tends to keep what actually has hurt him inside. The Frenchman just doesn't feel like it's worth it, or really anyone's business to know that. After all he has to keep himself safe, and how would he do that if they were to know what hurt? This huge leap of faith just isn't worth the slim chance of finding a trustworthy person.
Beneath his masks though, France is in a constant emotional turmoil. Depression, guilt, hate, self-pity, it settles deep within his gut and refuses to leave. Maybe he is simply emotionally unbalanced, but Francis' wouldn't have it any other way.
The Frenchman's greatest fear though, is to be alone. He just can't stand the feeling. It makes him sick to his stomach and leaves him shaking. Alone, alone, he just can't handle the feeling, and since, he has no special person to be by his side, or a friend to understand (Because no matter how much he adores his friends they just weren't the type of people you told this sort of thing to) he takes a new lover into his bed almost every night. Just so that when he falls asleep, and wakes there is a warm body breathing evenly beside him. When he wakes alone he is in a panic, fretting and worried and oh so scared. He is pleased about his generally whore-ish nature. Almost proud. It kept the fear away.
Likes:
Fine Food: He is a picky eater, simple as that.
Alcohol: He also likes his drink.
Music: It is calming, classic and something passionate, of the soul. Why wouldn't he love it?
Sex: Besides his fear of being alone, and this being the easiest way of not being alone he over all just enjoys the act itself.
Body warmth: It's nice.
Fresh bread: He just enjoys the scent.
Gardening: It helps to relax him
Horses: It reminds him of his mother.
Dislikes:
Quiet: Well a little peace and quite he doesn't mind, but ear-ringing silence just gets to him.
Too hot: And risk getting sweat on his expensive silk shirt? Never!
Cheap: If it's cheap it's obviously no good. Only the best will ever grace him.
Computers: confusing evil little things.
Strengths:
Sex appeal- People tend to want to get close to him. He's all fine with that.
Calm: He's rather good at staying calm in sticky situations.
Hard worker: If he's going to do a job he's going to do it right.
Dexterity: Francis is very good with his hands.
Weaknesses:
Isolation: Put him in isolation and he'll go crazy. Threaten him with it he'll sing in whatever tune you tell him to.
Danger: France has a slight soft sport for anything dangerous; it gets him into the oddest situations. A dash of stupid, a third of dangerous, shaken, not stirred. Happens to be a favored drink. Especially with friends.
Pain: He doesn't deal too well with it. Emotional or physical.
History:
Francis was born on a warm day in Paris, France. For the most part he had a spoiled childhood; he spent his days playing and eating sweets. People of all sorts adoring him, left and right, for his cherub features. His mother and father were kind, caring people who treasured family--and thus Francis, more then anything. Life for him was wonderful, and, it seemed it would always stay that way.
His mother was a strong woman. Beautiful, cold, cruel and successful all wrapped in a single package. With her husband by her side their powerful business grew. His mother mostly ran the business as her strong personality simply walked all over his father. Neither of them minded though, the relationship worked like that. From an early age Mama Gaul took Francis to work with her. From office work, to aboard work or even dirty work. She was be the type to simply shoot an untrustworthy client dead, and then lift her son into her arms and take him for ice cream. Not so much blinking at what she had done. Francis learned from an early age to deal with death. A constant companion in his life that seemed to follow him.
Francis was very close to his mother, a Mama's boy through and through. He spent most of his waking moments by her side, learning from her, being coddled by her. Oh he adored his mother, and strove to be like her. Young Francis was a wild child. Un-tamable by even the strictest teachers. A charming, almost angelic look betrayed his devilish nature. He often took off on the horse his mother taught him to ride without a notice to his nanny. Leaving the poor women frazzled and tearing out their hair looking for him. Only for the boy to appear a few hours later, perfectly fine.
However, on a after dinner stroll in the moonlight the three of them were assaulted. His parents brutally murdered in front of his eyes and he, left for dead, the bullet barely missing an artery. Till this day he had a small round scar right above his collarbone. No money was taken from them, there was no rape, no beating. A random act of violence by a kid who wondered what if felt like to kill. Since then Francis, mentally curled in on himself.
Not that he ever showed it, he smiled warmly, and told everyone his parents were just waiting for him in heaven. That they want him to be happy, wise words for a small child, even if they were just lies. His elderly aunt took him in, a nice woman overall, but busy, always busy, always working. She never much paid attention to the French boy, but Francis was okay with that. He could get attention else where.
The children at school still adored him, boys and girls alike lavishing him with attention. The teachers coddled him, hoping to help ease the pain of losing his parents. He was the center of the attention, and god be damned he was going to make sure it stayed that way. He would always be a star. He attended a rich dance school in Paris where he took up ballet, and did he ever flourish in that. The dance floor was where he was god, and no one could ever take that from him. Francis worked night and day, tirelessly to be the best. He loved the feeling of thousands of eyes on him, watching him, praising him, envying him. As he grew his craving for attention grew worse and worse, acting up, teasing, flirting, anything the blonde boy could think of. Anything for attention.
It wasn't enough though. Francis needed more, needed more people to see him. To justify his existence. On a windy day the pre-teen struggled on his way home. With his coat wrapped tightly around his lithe body he ducked into an ally for protection. There he met an odd group of kids, dirty, ruffians, dangerous, but they all looked so happy. Genuinely happy. Francis wanted to reach out to them. He wanted to be one of them. Slowly, day after day he began to wedge his way into the group. Making himself one of them, and he was happy, truly happy.
When Francis was 13 he was picked to play the lead role in a ballet that would tour Europe for a few months. The lead role was that of a girl, but Francis didn't mind. He got his face made up, put on a dress and pranced around. His wardrobe, having only had enough room for his costumes and make up and such lacked all of his normal boy-ish clothing. Thus he spent all of his time in his costumes. When the tour made their spot in England he ran into someone rather curious. A scruffy boy around his age just walking down the street. Francis instantly felt the urge to talk to him, and indulged himself. It wasn't long before the two started bickering, over little things but bickering none the less. Francis was fed up and the show was going to start soon. With puffed up cheeks and an annoyed flourish, he pulled a ticket from his pocket and shoved it into the other's shirt before storming away. Oh how the boy infuriated him, but still, he wanted to show the other how he could dance.
He didn't get to see the boy after that but that was okay he was quickly swept from his mind as soon as he arrived back in France. His aunt had died in her sleep while he was away and suddenly, the young boy was alone again. Francis had learned a lot from the old woman, and from his new "friends", and thus was able to fake documents. He lied about having another guardian and moved out of his Aunt's house, finding it unbearably lonely. The young Francis moved into a small apartment above a bakery, loving the warm atmosphere it provided. It was here he had his first romp under the covers, and discovered how much he loved the act. Months turned to weeks, turned to days as he began to bring home more and more partners. Lost in the sensation of pleasure and warmth.
As he began to spend more and more time with the gang, he learned the trade. Starting at the bottom, Francis was determined to work his way to the top. He did whatever he had to, slept with whomever, and did whatever dirty job he had to. Nothing was too low for his slow ascend to power. After all, he did have the nest egg his parents had left him, as well as what his Aunt added on, but it wouldn’t last forever. Not with Francis’ tastes. While he was still young he decided to get as much use out of his body as possible, even obtaining a few sugar daddies for the hell of it. Francis had fun with his youth.
This is when he met Jeanne, the love of his life. The only person who had ever been able to curb his wild streak. A strong woman with an even stronger personality, it wasn’t long before he was head over heels for her. She had joined the same gang he had as a child and fought valiantly for them. Word of her quickly spread and Francis knew he had to meet her; she was rising through the ranks almost as quickly as he had. While Francis had been, almost instantly attracted to the girl, she disliked him in the beginning. Francis spent day after day attempting to talk to her, and eventually, he grew on her.
Soon enough the two were lovers and she moved in with him. Francis had honestly never been happier. For her he quit sleeping around, and doing the most degrading jobs. Francis could never bear to disappoint her. He no longer needed the warmth of a stranger to keep him sane, he had Jeanne. However, his happiness wouldn’t last forever. On a cold night Francis had been awoken by a favored underling of his, and given the worst news of his life. Jeanne had been captured, and was in the Franklin house. He rushed out of the door, and towards the house, uncaring of anything and everything that crossed his path. The horror he felt when he finally saw the house, engulfed in flames, had to be the worst feeling the man had ever felt. He rushed to the house, intent of saving her, but was stopped by two of men from a different part of his gang. Francis lost everything that day. The only thing he gained was the feeling of guilt, hopelessness, despair and it all settled in his gut. Never to leave. When Francis was forced to leave his room he returned to his old life, only worse. He just couldn’t take this unbearable loneliness anymore, not after he knew life could be so wonderful. Francis hid his pain though, acted like he never loved Jeanne. That might have been the worst thing though.
Francis spent much of his time moping in his room. Unwilling to get the strength up to even leave his apartment. He even contemplated joining Jeanne in the after life. However, the angry faces of his lover and his mother kept him from that. Not to mention he didn't have the courage to pull that damn trigger. Life held no point to him. That was until he had been accepted to World W academy. The French boy had completely forgotten he had even signed up for it. With the nest egg left for him by his family he packed up and left. France held nothing for him anymore.
Weapon: Rapier
Statistics:
~Knowledge: 4-Professor,
~Courage: 1-Average
~Diligence:3
~Expression: 5-Enthralling
~Understanding: 4-Motherly,
~Strength: *
~Magic:*****
~Endurance: **
~Agility: ****
~Luck:***
Persona:
~Name: Dame Blanche
(Because my hand writing is horrible she wears an entirely white dress that is, the exact same color as her skin. Her hair is about two shades darker then the dress and is also the same color her blindfold is. The bottoms of her feet, hands and dress are burnt and she wears crimson rosary, and earrings. I promise I'll do a better more original sketch of her later. )
~Arcana: Lovers
~Drain:n/a
~Weak: Fire
~Null: Light
~Resist: n/a
~Skills:
Mediarahan, Ziodyne, Mudoon, Vile assult, Amrita , Recarmdra(though he never uses it for frear of his own life.), Sexy Dance, Marakukaja
Roleplay Sample: [Just 2-3 paragraphs. Any universe is fine.]
The clock has just struck 3am when a frantic knock rang on his door. Who could it be at this hour he thought wearily, swinging his legs out of his nice, warm bed. Jeanne? No, no, she had a key, and wasn't the type to easily forget or lose things like that. She was out on a job anyway, wouldn't be back till well into the afternoon tomorrow. Rubbing the bridge of his nose he made his way to the wooden door, grabbing his white tank top and putting it on, feet dragging before he brought his eye to the eyehole. He'd recognize that hat anywhere, what were they doing here? Annoyed, he pulled open the door, letting the chain stop the momentum. "Yes?" His voice came out slurred and cracked, all Francis wanted to do was go back to sleep.
The younger boy at the door was leaning on his knee, his other arm to his brow whipeing off the sweat. Odd that, seeing how cold it was tonight. "They- I" He stumbled for words, the boy's posture just as frantic as his mind and words.
"Slow, slow." Francis attempted to calm the boy, a feeling of foreboding starting to settle in his stomach. "Iz zomezthing wrong?" Nimble fingers quickly undid the latch to his door, opening it wide. Grabbing the boy by the shoulders he shook him gently. "Tell me, what iz going on?" The younger boy looked Francis directly in his eyes. They screamed worry, and regret. The feeling in Francis' stomach grew.
"They got her." And then the world froze. "They're in the old Franklin house. The- they're..." He couldn't find the strength to keep talking. Nothing breathed, nothing moved, if the birds had been awake they would cease to fly. Then in an instant Francis had pushed the boy out of the way, his young body harshly hitting the metal railing as the Frenchman ran down the stairs. Bare feet slapped against the stone ground as he raced against the streets. He couldn't feel the cold air nipping at his skin, in fact, he couldn't feel anything.
His legs almost gave out at the sight of the Franklin house. Fire, the whole damned thing was on fire, and people, they were just standing around, not doing a damned thing. They were his co-workers weren't they? They should do something! His chest heaved, desperately trying to intake oxygen, but that wasn't important. No, no, it could never be important. He dashed forward, grabbing the first person by the shoulders. "O-Où-est elle?!" He cried, speaking rapidly.
Dark eyes flickered in confusion. "Wut 'chu goin' on 'bout?" Of course, he didn't speak French. Francis desperately tried to remember his English, mind blanking from the stress.
"Jeanne! B-blonde woman, short hair, fair skin! Have you seen her?" The other man blinked slowly, turned back the fire for a moment, before turning back, placating a heavy hand on Francis.
" 'M sorry man. Bunch ah people we couldn't get ta. There was no blonde woman rescued." Francis' heart fell, more like shattered.
"Z-zhere, zhere haz to be a mistake!" He nearly screamed, feet instantly turning and rushing towards the building. "Jeanne!" Fingers reached for the burning wood of the building, grasping and tearing at any loose piece he could reach. The flames burned his flesh, reddening his bare arms. He had to get to her. His love, his life, his... oh what was he thinking about, she was his everything. He would die, shatter, cease to exist without her. "Jeanne!" He grunted loudly, attempting to pull a fallen beam before two sets of arms grabbed him 'round the waist, pulling him back.
"Hey! Hey calm down!"
"Va tes faires fourrer!" He spat, struggling against the arms of the two men.
"There's nothin' ya can do! So jus' stop!" The dark haired man yelled, gripping to Francis tightly. "Ya think yer lady friend would want ya gettin' yerself killed over her body?!" He was right. Of course he was. Francis let out an anguished scream, legs giving out beneath him.
"Jeanne...." He coughed, tears flowing freely from his blue eyes. The air smelt of fire, and burning wood, of charred flesh. Francis couldn't even lift his head to look at the burning building. He had failed her. He had lost her. He had lost everything.
Francis didn't resist when the men dragged him away. Didn't resist when they dragged him into his cold apartment. Didn't say anything when they left. He didn't do anything.
What was the point?
The younger boy at the door was leaning on his knee, his other arm to his brow whipeing off the sweat. Odd that, seeing how cold it was tonight. "They- I" He stumbled for words, the boy's posture just as frantic as his mind and words.
"Slow, slow." Francis attempted to calm the boy, a feeling of foreboding starting to settle in his stomach. "Iz zomezthing wrong?" Nimble fingers quickly undid the latch to his door, opening it wide. Grabbing the boy by the shoulders he shook him gently. "Tell me, what iz going on?" The younger boy looked Francis directly in his eyes. They screamed worry, and regret. The feeling in Francis' stomach grew.
"They got her." And then the world froze. "They're in the old Franklin house. The- they're..." He couldn't find the strength to keep talking. Nothing breathed, nothing moved, if the birds had been awake they would cease to fly. Then in an instant Francis had pushed the boy out of the way, his young body harshly hitting the metal railing as the Frenchman ran down the stairs. Bare feet slapped against the stone ground as he raced against the streets. He couldn't feel the cold air nipping at his skin, in fact, he couldn't feel anything.
His legs almost gave out at the sight of the Franklin house. Fire, the whole damned thing was on fire, and people, they were just standing around, not doing a damned thing. They were his co-workers weren't they? They should do something! His chest heaved, desperately trying to intake oxygen, but that wasn't important. No, no, it could never be important. He dashed forward, grabbing the first person by the shoulders. "O-Où-est elle?!" He cried, speaking rapidly.
Dark eyes flickered in confusion. "Wut 'chu goin' on 'bout?" Of course, he didn't speak French. Francis desperately tried to remember his English, mind blanking from the stress.
"Jeanne! B-blonde woman, short hair, fair skin! Have you seen her?" The other man blinked slowly, turned back the fire for a moment, before turning back, placating a heavy hand on Francis.
" 'M sorry man. Bunch ah people we couldn't get ta. There was no blonde woman rescued." Francis' heart fell, more like shattered.
"Z-zhere, zhere haz to be a mistake!" He nearly screamed, feet instantly turning and rushing towards the building. "Jeanne!" Fingers reached for the burning wood of the building, grasping and tearing at any loose piece he could reach. The flames burned his flesh, reddening his bare arms. He had to get to her. His love, his life, his... oh what was he thinking about, she was his everything. He would die, shatter, cease to exist without her. "Jeanne!" He grunted loudly, attempting to pull a fallen beam before two sets of arms grabbed him 'round the waist, pulling him back.
"Hey! Hey calm down!"
"Va tes faires fourrer!" He spat, struggling against the arms of the two men.
"There's nothin' ya can do! So jus' stop!" The dark haired man yelled, gripping to Francis tightly. "Ya think yer lady friend would want ya gettin' yerself killed over her body?!" He was right. Of course he was. Francis let out an anguished scream, legs giving out beneath him.
"Jeanne...." He coughed, tears flowing freely from his blue eyes. The air smelt of fire, and burning wood, of charred flesh. Francis couldn't even lift his head to look at the burning building. He had failed her. He had lost her. He had lost everything.
Francis didn't resist when the men dragged him away. Didn't resist when they dragged him into his cold apartment. Didn't say anything when they left. He didn't do anything.
What was the point?
Did you read the rules...?Pancakes, chicks and awesome. Not in that order and served with a glass of your finest wine.
