Post by Frenchie Savage on Sept 30, 2009 6:51:30 GMT
the roleplayer
NAME: Charlie
GENDER: The one with the genitals on the outside…
AGE: Well old enough.
ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE: Years and years, and years.
OTHER CHARACTERS: Ievantes. Someday I may also have Basyli as a character, but probably only after I’ve gone mad from drawing hair.
HOW YOU FOUND US: I’ve forgotten already.
Franz Ilven Savage
“Never underestimate the determination of a kid who is time rich and cash poor.”
-Cory Doctorow
NAME: Charlie
GENDER: The one with the genitals on the outside…
AGE: Well old enough.
ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE: Years and years, and years.
OTHER CHARACTERS: Ievantes. Someday I may also have Basyli as a character, but probably only after I’ve gone mad from drawing hair.
HOW YOU FOUND US: I’ve forgotten already.
Franz Ilven Savage
“Never underestimate the determination of a kid who is time rich and cash poor.”
-Cory Doctorow
character basics
NICKNAMES: Frenchie. He doesn’t seem to mind.
AGE: Seventeen
GROUP: Student
YEAR: Thirteen
BIRTHDAY: August the Thirteenth
GENDER: Male
PLAY-BY: Morten Harket, ‘shopped a tad.appearance
Frenchie is a pretty creature- a clean, quiet, well-kempt human being, with a face far better than most, and lovely dark-auburn waves swept upwards with unreasonable amounts of spray. A borderline murderous physical training regimen of Parkour in the morning and dance in the evenings has put Frenchie into exquisite shape, his naturally wiry figure quite well-presented in carefully balanced, lean but powerful muscle.
Frenchie’s acquired something of an affection for dancewear as streetwear -as he could very well be expected to, given how comfortable it is- and while t-shirts and wife-beaters are t-shirts and wife-beaters under any circumstances, he dresses almost exclusively in trousers discreetly made for dancing, be it hip-hop pants that only look like they weigh a ton, or ‘skinny jeans’ that he could do oversplits in. The presently-fashionable low waistlines never happen on him [if you’ve ever stood behind a person as they touch their toes, then you know why] and his trouser-legs are usually cuffed or bunched up over terribly expensive [albeit usually in tatters] high-topped dance sneakers. Things are almost invariably in muted shades of blue or grey or purple –bright colours aren’t at all to his taste- matching his eyes and clashing with his hair.
And then there’s Frenchie’s jacket; a beaten-up old leather thing gone grey with all its wear, which he’s had long as he’s been at Somnium. It’s the only jacket he owns, barring some garishly bedazzled things he’s had to wear for productions, so of course you could expect to see him in it whenever jackets would be desired, and people have a tendency to assume that it’s got some sort of fantastic story behind it. But it’s really just a jacket.personality
Frenchie Savage is an odd boy; an unusually quiet, rarely-seen pretty-boy, something weird but friendly enough when you talk to him, but rarely more than marginally-interested in the world [or the people] outside his own head. If you notice him, it’s likely because you’re a girl, and he’s good-looking - without that, our poor dear Frenchie would as easily [and to none of his particular concern] be forgotten about entirely. That’s how quiet he is- and it’s probably just as well. When the boy does pipe up – with his curious half-French, half-American accent, made more curious still by his frequent use of phrases and anecdotes that nobody’s ever heard before- he tends only to confuse people.
Still, outsiders may be quite surprised to find that Frenchie, in the infrequent instances in which he visits from Cloud Cuckooland, is very much an affable young man- one shockingly mature for his age, but good natured and very amiable, if only rather prone to bizarre statements. He’s very quick-witted, and possessed of just that sort of romantically cool, fearless, street-wise valor that makes men feel inadequate and women feel moist. Why he doesn’t choose to share this side of his personality more often is a mystery to all.
Frenchie has always been more than a bit absent-minded; not just the sort of person who stares off into space, but rather, the sort of person who stares off into space and ends up walking into a closed door because of it. This is in direct contrast to his astounding physical grace- the strikingly elegant, stylish movement of a naturally lithe person trained to dance. Indeed, it would go so far as to say that these seemingly juxtaposed traits build upon each other- Frenchie may indeed be an inhabitant of own little world, but it’s a world with lights and music. He’s always got that little bit of swing in his step; the rhythm of movement that lets people know that, quiet though he may be, there is something beautiful going on in that head of his.
This, combined with his astonishing good looks and his tantalizingly infrequent bouts of witty banter have attracted something of a handful of young men and women in the past- silly little things who thought that being an important figure in Frenchie’s life would make them privy to that magnificent other side of Frenchie’s self. Within months, they all buggered off in states of disappointment, for though they may have found themselves treated well in Frenchie’s care [romance has always been a talent of Frenchie’s], they also found themselves feeling, in a way, ignored. Frenchie keeps friends and lovers the way a gardener keeps flowers; minding their every need, doing everything in his power to ensure that they are cared for, but he is without emotional investment, and without the need for reciprocation. Engaged in his actions, but not in his heart. And it turns out that even if he’s fucking you he doesn’t become any less of a Cloud Cuckoolander.
Frenchie is a person of few interests- he’ll poke his nose into anything once, but when they day is over he can still count on two fingers the things he actually cares about- his best friend Dino, and performing. These things he cares for most wholly, liking to invest as much time as possible in them- for the friend, that means writing frequent letters and calling every night. For performing, it means getting up at the asscrack of dawn every morning and running through the woods for about an hour, getting ready and attending his classes, then taking the bus to town for dance lessons, then to rehearsal, then to voice lessons, coming back home, rushing through his homework, and then trying to squeeze in as much self-rehearsal as possible before bed.
It’s really no wonder that after four years, most of Somnium is still unaware that Frenchie exists, with a schedule like that, and it’s even less of a wonder that Frenchie is extremely capable at what he does, even to such a point that one could expect nearly every musical and dance performance they see in town to be starring him, however, he expresses little to no need to share this accomplishment. Indeed, Frenchie seems almost secretive about his career in musical theater, as if he’s hoping nobody will notice. Perhaps this is a shadow of his years in the nasty parts of Brooklyn – when dancing was his and Dino’s dirty, dangerous secret – or perhaps its’ the continued fear that somebody back home will catch wind. Perhaps he really is ashamed of what he does, in a way. Or maybe he just isn’t interested in what anybody else has to say about it. Maybe he’s afraid of what anybody else has to say about it. In any case, even friends and lovers are unlikely to hear any mention of singing and dancing from Frenchie.family & history
FATHER: Gilbert “Gib” Savage [Step-Father, Aged 52. Photographer.] Georges Marchand [Biological Farther, Aged 47, Pop Commentator]
MOTHER: Alyse Savage [maiden name Richelieu], Aged 46. Retired Model, Fashion Editor.
SIBLINGS: Saga Savage, Half-Sister, Aged 9. Student.
OTHER FAMILY: Dino Silvestri, Best Friend or something, Aged 17. Student.
HISTORY:
Franz Marchand was born in Argenteuil, just outside of Paris, France, the first and only child born by Georges and Alyse Marchand. Shortly thereafter, the happy couple grew very unhappy indeed, and following roughly three years of yelling and throwing things and accusing one-another of having committed dastardly deeds (Franz was, by then, at the age of four, and consequently too young to have the foggiest idea of what going on) came to the wise conclusion that a divorce was in everybody’s best interest.
This they did, following which Georges appeared only on holidays, and Alyse (now Alyse Richelieu, after her parents) became the boy’s primary caretaker. This was a job a which she took very seriously, and although the combined responsibilities of her job (at the time, she was writing articles for a Paris fashion magazine, which allowed her to stay at home most of the time) and her son (who, fortunately indeed, was not the sort of child that required a great deal of attention, except in school, wherein his daydreaming proved very problematic indeed.) left her often very frazzled, she did manage both careers in a reasonably effective manner, even fitting in time for the occasional one-night stand.
One of these excursions resulted in “True Love”, and perhaps just as importantly, Franz’s half-sister, Saga. These two factors compounded into a very significant event indeed; Alyse’s marriage to Gilbert Savage, a New York photographer. This ‘very significant event’ was mostly significant because it meant that Alyse and her children (Franz being eight and Saga being practically newborn) would become Brooklyn residents.
This marked the end of storytelling which appears to be more about Franz’s mother than Franz himself, as it was then that the boy found himself very much on his own; His mum was quite busy with her youngest child, and his father worked most of the time. At the tender age of nine, the boy ventured into the urban jungle, no longer Franz but Frenchie (not as derogatory as it sounds) and to nobody’s great surprise, very able to fend for himself. He wasted no time in finding himself a crowd to run with, and, considerably most importantly, a best friend- Dino Silvestri, an Italian immigrant of the same age, with whom he spent all day every day and most of his evenings as well.
These boys were nothing but trouble together. Their hobbies included making too much noise, breaking things, getting into fights, bringing home stray animals, and otherwise spreading grief throughout the community. It also included, unbeknownst to anybody (as they probably would have been stoned to death if they were found out), dancing. In the manner of true Billy Elliots, the boys snuck off to other neighborhoods to attend lessons in both modern and classical dancing, paying their fees by questionable means and trespassing into warehouses to practice. This combined with the standard boyhood pursuits –rolling around in mud and that- left no time at all for such trifles as getting an education. Unfortunately for their mothers, however, they were generally too busy scampering across town to be wailed at for their homework.
After five years of this nonsense, a letter arrived in the mail from a boarding school in England. Frenchie was not aware of this, as at the time he was busy turning an empty apartment room into a ‘work of art’, but his mother was quite fascinated by Frenchie’s delivery. Convinced at this point that drastic measures were the only answer, Alyse enrolled her son in Somnium. This did not work out as nicely as it may have at first- Going to a boarding school sounded unpleasant enough to begin with, but when added that attending Somnium would have involved abandoning his most important person (Dino), no manner of persuasion or force could have gotten Frenchie to England.
However, even as an enstranged mother, Alyse was a mother, and as mothers always do, had just the trump card. She promised her son all the dancing he could like in England, if only he would mind his grades as well. Frenchie tried to be the bigger man of this, and may even have remained in New York to this day, had Dino not found out, and informed Frenchie that he was going to go to Britain and he was going to dance himself silly, or he wasn’t going to lose his friend anyways, and gain a few missing teeth to help him regret it.
And so it came to be that Frenchie Savage was a student at Somnium Academy. He was never a particularly outstanding student – he kept out of trouble, and his grades were decent enough if not particularly good, and in between his splendid looks and his usually-amiable personality was received agreeably enough by his classmates, but he just wasn’t around often enough –always running off to dance or music lessons, or off rehearsing for the latest musical, or locked away with his studies, playing sports or jogging all across the world as a manner of keeping in shape. Frenchie had a reputation, but only as the right fit young dandy that you see doing his courses in the gardens. His closest friend was still, for all the distance, Dino Sylvestri, who was still suffering life in the unsavory parts of Brooklyn.
Things were just getting more precarious every year over in America, and by the summer of year twelve, Frenchie found himself making a promise to Dino- one stating in very clear terms that the moment he graduated from Somnium, he was getting Dins the hell out of New York, and traveling until the whole world forgets they exist. How this promise is meant to coexist with Frenchie’s –of for that matter, Dino’s- dreams of the stage he has yet to sort out, but Frenchie figures that even life goals aren’t as important as taking care of your friends.dream form
Frenchie’s dream form is a ghost; his own ghost to be quite particular. He’s invisible most of the time, just floating around like you’d expect a spirit to do. He might pick something up, or speak, or touch you in such a manner as gives you the chills, and then you’ll know that he’s there, but otherwise, it’s just as if he isn’t. But when he is visible, he’s quite a shocking sight indeed; gaunt-faced, bruised, dirty, and damp. Whatever he was wearing the day before would be in tatters, ripped and threadbare. And he would have been stabbed many times; once above the left collar-bone, over the heart and right lung, over the liver, just above the groin and in his right thigh. He’s wounded over the right temple, and in the back of the head, lacerated in several places. Blood is only as present as you’d expect it to be, coloured as black as Frenchie is grey, with an impeccable capacity for getting on everything.
Frenchie thought that some sort of ethereal spirit would have been a perfect match for a person with his sort of personality- always drifting about in la-la-land. Why so gory, when for the most part Frenchie considers his life to be very cozy indeed, he does not know; he likes to think that it’s a reminder of what could have been –a visual representation of Frenchie’s constant awareness of how lucky he is to be where he is- rather than an omen of what is to be. But it’s not something he’d say over crossed pinkies.
