Post by Talonicefire on May 18, 2011 3:25:57 GMT -5
Name:[/u] Francis Bonnefoy
Age:[/u] 26
Occupation:[/u] Cafe owner in red-light district, also an art (or anything else if you pay enough) smuggler behind the scenes.
Background:[/u] Francis had been born to a poor family in France, where he grew up watching his parents being harassed by the landlord and tax collectors for more money than they could afford. They would constantly go hungry during the day and nights, picking scraps from other's leftovers in bins just to eat. Every night he'd be kept up by sobs of his mother until she finally fell asleep.
Only until he was old enough to go to school did it change. He hadn't of known, but his parents had asked for help of a criminal organisation just to keep the house they were being threatened of being kicked out of. He didn't know that his parents were being made to help threaten the officials at a school that he was allowed into, just for him to get an education. And he certainly had no idea that he was promised to his "uncles" to work for them when he got older.
While other children only worried about making friends, and disposing of their healthy lunches in favour of getting chocolate, Francis was being taught how to break into highly complex securities. Only after he was 13 would he actually be made to do a theft - an art theft to be exact. France had grown to have an monopoly of all historical artworks, buying - even stealing and scamming - from other countries to hold most of the pieces in its own museums. There was money to be made by stealing what the country had stolen itself and selling it back to those other countries for much more than its worth.
He grew up, not thinking it was wrong, and by the time he learnt it was illegal he didn't care. It was getting him money, and making his parents happy again - something they weren't before his "uncles" had helped them. They had stolen and sold thousands of artworks, possibly millions if he included the other art thieves in their organisation. Not that he knew how many others there were.
For years he had been stealing works of art from any museum known in France. And for a long while he hadn't been caught. After all, a lanky teenager was easier to hide than a solid built adult. That was until he was 20. The authorities had finally decided to call in an elite detective on the case. They had implanted a false sculpture to be made an attraction of. As he went in to steal it, he found the statue had contained the detective hidden inside - he had seen the faces of everyone assosicated with the theft. If it weren't that Francis had noticed the statue was hollow when carrying it, he would have been caught on the spot like the others. Instead he ran, fleeing to America, and instructed to take all their artworks with him so that the authorities couldn't get their money from it. Since then he hasn't been able to return to his own country, and has remained perfectly hidden in L.A's red light district.
He had used some of the money from his thefts to buy a shop out, turning it into a cafe for cover. The art works from his old thefts are constantly being smuggled over, where he keeps them hidden in his cafe until he can sell them to the right people. Sometimes, if offered the right price, he will smuggle in something else - but never drugs, he does run a respectable cafe after all. Still having some contact with the other art thieves from France that weren't there at the time of the others being caught, he has a quite a lot hidden away, that if anyone wanted to find something old and historical he'd most likely have it.
Personality:[/u] Francis is a shifty con-artist, who only takes an interest in anyone that can talk to him about business. While he's flirtatious and will hit on anyone, it's normally just a ruse to make others take him less seriously. After the incident of when he was almost caught after his last theft he had taken a shot to his left leg, which hadn't healed properly enough for him to return to his art theiving days, so he'd rather avoid getting into a fight. His mobility isn't what it once was, and he really doesn't want to take another bullet to the body.
While he's working at his cafe he acts like he's innocent, but is suspicious of anyone who wants to try buy artworks off him. After being tricked once, he doesn't trust anyone who brings it up if he doesn't already know that they're criminals. So it can be very difficult to get him to even talk about his underworld activities, and can require a lot of patience if it's your first time dealing with him. After that, he becomes easier to work with, despite his constant hitting on and affectionate touches.
He's smug about his heritage and his cooking skills, and will openly point out every fault that the US has. It honestly wasn't his first choice to live there (and there are many times he regrets it), but it was the safest when he wanted to escape his country. Though he can speak English fluently - he was taught it at from his "uncles" so that he could be a better dealer when he was older - despite the heavy French accent. A lot of the times he forces it on, or even pretend he doesn't speak enough English to rip off someone easily or get out of a situation he doesn't want to deal with.
Priding his cafe, no matter what he does behind the scenes, he doesn't want any of that reflecting on his cafe. If there were problems there, he'd have the cops all over the place, and he doesn't need that happening to his base. He will gladly pay any hitman to take someone out if they threaten his cafe, so it's better not to (it's in fact easier just to threaten his life, that is something he'd give in for without too many issues). The food he cooks is always fresh, and he won't keep something for too long. If the food isn't used in that day he'll dispose of it, so anyone homeless looking for food swarms around his bins to get some. He has a soft spot for the hungry, having experienced it for a good portion of his childhood, so he'll sometimes be caught giving food away. Aside from the fact that his main income is from smuggling and selling stolen goods, so he has more than enough money to spare some food.
RP sample:[/u] (Setting - Ancient ruins; Important Event - Hearing a strange noise.)
It was much too dark. Even with the torches he and the others had brought, Francis could hardly see his hands in front of him.
An ancient ruin of a king chased off by his people. It was thought the ruins contained artworks from all the most talented of artists in that time period at its most centre. Of course no one had gotten far enough inside to find any. So the payment for such a prize would be great indeed.
Though finally being inside, Francis had an idea why no one had tried. The floor beneath him shook at some moments when it shouldn't, making him worried if the tiles themselves were unstable in any way. He had to keep his hands out in front at all times, being sure not to run into walls that he couldn't see in front of himself. At many times during their venture, his hand had hit against those walls, saving him from a collision. Those walls so sandy and soft, almost crumbling at his touch. He was almost afraid a proper collision would fell the wall completely.
There was little chatter from the older men behind him. For as long as he remembered, he had called them his oncles, however now he was old enough to know that they clearly weren't related to him. Yet the habit persists. They were thieves like him, only working to steal and make a grand amount of money for it. He honestly didn't care much of the sort of lives they had outside of their thefts together, the teenager was only ever worried about making sure his life with his family didn't return to as it was when he was a child.
Francis' concentration was broken when he heard an ear-splitting screech up ahead. It sounded something of a mix between a scream, a dinosaur's roar, and the call of a hawk. A sound he had never heard before, not even in his darkest of nightmares. It was enough to freeze him and every thief to the spot.
"What was that?" A few murmurs of the question buzzed about in French, with additional comments here and there. Though Francis didn't hear beyond that. His eyes were wide from the sound, staring forward to try to see anything through the darkness. He only wanted to find the source of it, so that he knew which direction to run in.
Someone from behind called for attention, in their deep booming voice. The suddenness was enough to make Francis jump around, having been too caught up in his search before. They had wanted the group to move on, ignoring the sound that was heard, and indeed after a minute the group had, almost shoving the still teen to the ground when he didn't move in time.
He stumbled about, trying to keep up with the others while not tripping over the obstacles that may be in his way. There was no way for him to tell if he was keeping up with the others or not; he felt blind and ineffectual with the lack of light.
That strange noise sounded again, this time louder than before, almost like it was coming closer. Someone openly cursed in fright from the sound.
Francis felt like it was better that they got out while they could. It didn't feel like a smart idea to be in a dark ruin that could crumble in on them at any time, especially when there was something that they could not identify following them. Before he could even say anything, someone else had beatened him to it, voicing his exact concerns. A few of the other thieves agreed that whatever artworks they were in there for wasn't worth their lives, but the majority that wanted to go further silenced them and made them move on.
Only a few steps in, and that noise sounded again. This time with the accompany of something like wings flapping. At that point, Francis didn't care what the others thought, he immediately started pushing whomever was in his way, scrambling back towards the exit.
His heart was beating in his ears, louder than the pounding of his feet against the tiles. He couldn't hear if there was anyone trying to make their escape too like him, nor could he hear if anyone was yelling at him to get back. All he could hear was that heart beat. That beat as it quickened, like a warning of what was about to come.
This time when that strange noise came, it was distant and followed by screams of pain that Francis knew only belonged to the other thieves. His fear was pumping his legs to move forward, so he never thought to turn back and help. A part of him already knew it was too late, and that part of him was urging him to escape before the owner of that sound came after him next.
He was hitting everything that got in his way, tripping more times than he could count. That care he took when coming here had evaporated by now. He shoved at anything in his way, not at all concerned if something broke or fell apart from it.
Light. It was just ahead. He had to get there.
The torch was long abandoned. When he had dropped it he wouldn't know, but for now he didn't need it. The light was almost within reach. It'd lead to his freedom, to more light. He needed it more than he needed air at this current moment.
Those first glorious steps into the light caused Francis to stumble and crash into the dusty ground. Yet that still wasn't stopping him. He struggled to crawl on, just wanting to get away from this place. The light was blinding, and he couldn't see, but he knew that running forward would make him safer.
He was about to scream. Something had grabbed him from behind.
Terror had caused his vocal cords to stiffen, so not even the scream Francis tried to emitt came out. Desperate, he whipped his arm around blindly to try and hit whatever it was away. He would not let himself be dragged back to that horrid place. Only the calming French words telling him to stop got Francis to finally calm enough to see that whatever had grabbed him was another thief who had ran as he did. The older thief tried to tell him that all would be well, and assure him that they were going to leave. Relief washed over Francis too soon for him to ask any further questions. He only wanted to leave now.
It was one task that he failed that he was more than happy to have failed. Failing had at least spared him his life.
(( Really long character sheet here -w- and you have the bonus of the RP sample working into some history for France. ))
Age:[/u] 26
Occupation:[/u] Cafe owner in red-light district, also an art (or anything else if you pay enough) smuggler behind the scenes.
Background:[/u] Francis had been born to a poor family in France, where he grew up watching his parents being harassed by the landlord and tax collectors for more money than they could afford. They would constantly go hungry during the day and nights, picking scraps from other's leftovers in bins just to eat. Every night he'd be kept up by sobs of his mother until she finally fell asleep.
Only until he was old enough to go to school did it change. He hadn't of known, but his parents had asked for help of a criminal organisation just to keep the house they were being threatened of being kicked out of. He didn't know that his parents were being made to help threaten the officials at a school that he was allowed into, just for him to get an education. And he certainly had no idea that he was promised to his "uncles" to work for them when he got older.
While other children only worried about making friends, and disposing of their healthy lunches in favour of getting chocolate, Francis was being taught how to break into highly complex securities. Only after he was 13 would he actually be made to do a theft - an art theft to be exact. France had grown to have an monopoly of all historical artworks, buying - even stealing and scamming - from other countries to hold most of the pieces in its own museums. There was money to be made by stealing what the country had stolen itself and selling it back to those other countries for much more than its worth.
He grew up, not thinking it was wrong, and by the time he learnt it was illegal he didn't care. It was getting him money, and making his parents happy again - something they weren't before his "uncles" had helped them. They had stolen and sold thousands of artworks, possibly millions if he included the other art thieves in their organisation. Not that he knew how many others there were.
For years he had been stealing works of art from any museum known in France. And for a long while he hadn't been caught. After all, a lanky teenager was easier to hide than a solid built adult. That was until he was 20. The authorities had finally decided to call in an elite detective on the case. They had implanted a false sculpture to be made an attraction of. As he went in to steal it, he found the statue had contained the detective hidden inside - he had seen the faces of everyone assosicated with the theft. If it weren't that Francis had noticed the statue was hollow when carrying it, he would have been caught on the spot like the others. Instead he ran, fleeing to America, and instructed to take all their artworks with him so that the authorities couldn't get their money from it. Since then he hasn't been able to return to his own country, and has remained perfectly hidden in L.A's red light district.
He had used some of the money from his thefts to buy a shop out, turning it into a cafe for cover. The art works from his old thefts are constantly being smuggled over, where he keeps them hidden in his cafe until he can sell them to the right people. Sometimes, if offered the right price, he will smuggle in something else - but never drugs, he does run a respectable cafe after all. Still having some contact with the other art thieves from France that weren't there at the time of the others being caught, he has a quite a lot hidden away, that if anyone wanted to find something old and historical he'd most likely have it.
Personality:[/u] Francis is a shifty con-artist, who only takes an interest in anyone that can talk to him about business. While he's flirtatious and will hit on anyone, it's normally just a ruse to make others take him less seriously. After the incident of when he was almost caught after his last theft he had taken a shot to his left leg, which hadn't healed properly enough for him to return to his art theiving days, so he'd rather avoid getting into a fight. His mobility isn't what it once was, and he really doesn't want to take another bullet to the body.
While he's working at his cafe he acts like he's innocent, but is suspicious of anyone who wants to try buy artworks off him. After being tricked once, he doesn't trust anyone who brings it up if he doesn't already know that they're criminals. So it can be very difficult to get him to even talk about his underworld activities, and can require a lot of patience if it's your first time dealing with him. After that, he becomes easier to work with, despite his constant hitting on and affectionate touches.
He's smug about his heritage and his cooking skills, and will openly point out every fault that the US has. It honestly wasn't his first choice to live there (and there are many times he regrets it), but it was the safest when he wanted to escape his country. Though he can speak English fluently - he was taught it at from his "uncles" so that he could be a better dealer when he was older - despite the heavy French accent. A lot of the times he forces it on, or even pretend he doesn't speak enough English to rip off someone easily or get out of a situation he doesn't want to deal with.
Priding his cafe, no matter what he does behind the scenes, he doesn't want any of that reflecting on his cafe. If there were problems there, he'd have the cops all over the place, and he doesn't need that happening to his base. He will gladly pay any hitman to take someone out if they threaten his cafe, so it's better not to (it's in fact easier just to threaten his life, that is something he'd give in for without too many issues). The food he cooks is always fresh, and he won't keep something for too long. If the food isn't used in that day he'll dispose of it, so anyone homeless looking for food swarms around his bins to get some. He has a soft spot for the hungry, having experienced it for a good portion of his childhood, so he'll sometimes be caught giving food away. Aside from the fact that his main income is from smuggling and selling stolen goods, so he has more than enough money to spare some food.
RP sample:[/u] (Setting - Ancient ruins; Important Event - Hearing a strange noise.)
It was much too dark. Even with the torches he and the others had brought, Francis could hardly see his hands in front of him.
An ancient ruin of a king chased off by his people. It was thought the ruins contained artworks from all the most talented of artists in that time period at its most centre. Of course no one had gotten far enough inside to find any. So the payment for such a prize would be great indeed.
Though finally being inside, Francis had an idea why no one had tried. The floor beneath him shook at some moments when it shouldn't, making him worried if the tiles themselves were unstable in any way. He had to keep his hands out in front at all times, being sure not to run into walls that he couldn't see in front of himself. At many times during their venture, his hand had hit against those walls, saving him from a collision. Those walls so sandy and soft, almost crumbling at his touch. He was almost afraid a proper collision would fell the wall completely.
There was little chatter from the older men behind him. For as long as he remembered, he had called them his oncles, however now he was old enough to know that they clearly weren't related to him. Yet the habit persists. They were thieves like him, only working to steal and make a grand amount of money for it. He honestly didn't care much of the sort of lives they had outside of their thefts together, the teenager was only ever worried about making sure his life with his family didn't return to as it was when he was a child.
Francis' concentration was broken when he heard an ear-splitting screech up ahead. It sounded something of a mix between a scream, a dinosaur's roar, and the call of a hawk. A sound he had never heard before, not even in his darkest of nightmares. It was enough to freeze him and every thief to the spot.
"What was that?" A few murmurs of the question buzzed about in French, with additional comments here and there. Though Francis didn't hear beyond that. His eyes were wide from the sound, staring forward to try to see anything through the darkness. He only wanted to find the source of it, so that he knew which direction to run in.
Someone from behind called for attention, in their deep booming voice. The suddenness was enough to make Francis jump around, having been too caught up in his search before. They had wanted the group to move on, ignoring the sound that was heard, and indeed after a minute the group had, almost shoving the still teen to the ground when he didn't move in time.
He stumbled about, trying to keep up with the others while not tripping over the obstacles that may be in his way. There was no way for him to tell if he was keeping up with the others or not; he felt blind and ineffectual with the lack of light.
That strange noise sounded again, this time louder than before, almost like it was coming closer. Someone openly cursed in fright from the sound.
Francis felt like it was better that they got out while they could. It didn't feel like a smart idea to be in a dark ruin that could crumble in on them at any time, especially when there was something that they could not identify following them. Before he could even say anything, someone else had beatened him to it, voicing his exact concerns. A few of the other thieves agreed that whatever artworks they were in there for wasn't worth their lives, but the majority that wanted to go further silenced them and made them move on.
Only a few steps in, and that noise sounded again. This time with the accompany of something like wings flapping. At that point, Francis didn't care what the others thought, he immediately started pushing whomever was in his way, scrambling back towards the exit.
His heart was beating in his ears, louder than the pounding of his feet against the tiles. He couldn't hear if there was anyone trying to make their escape too like him, nor could he hear if anyone was yelling at him to get back. All he could hear was that heart beat. That beat as it quickened, like a warning of what was about to come.
This time when that strange noise came, it was distant and followed by screams of pain that Francis knew only belonged to the other thieves. His fear was pumping his legs to move forward, so he never thought to turn back and help. A part of him already knew it was too late, and that part of him was urging him to escape before the owner of that sound came after him next.
He was hitting everything that got in his way, tripping more times than he could count. That care he took when coming here had evaporated by now. He shoved at anything in his way, not at all concerned if something broke or fell apart from it.
Light. It was just ahead. He had to get there.
The torch was long abandoned. When he had dropped it he wouldn't know, but for now he didn't need it. The light was almost within reach. It'd lead to his freedom, to more light. He needed it more than he needed air at this current moment.
Those first glorious steps into the light caused Francis to stumble and crash into the dusty ground. Yet that still wasn't stopping him. He struggled to crawl on, just wanting to get away from this place. The light was blinding, and he couldn't see, but he knew that running forward would make him safer.
He was about to scream. Something had grabbed him from behind.
Terror had caused his vocal cords to stiffen, so not even the scream Francis tried to emitt came out. Desperate, he whipped his arm around blindly to try and hit whatever it was away. He would not let himself be dragged back to that horrid place. Only the calming French words telling him to stop got Francis to finally calm enough to see that whatever had grabbed him was another thief who had ran as he did. The older thief tried to tell him that all would be well, and assure him that they were going to leave. Relief washed over Francis too soon for him to ask any further questions. He only wanted to leave now.
It was one task that he failed that he was more than happy to have failed. Failing had at least spared him his life.
(( Really long character sheet here -w- and you have the bonus of the RP sample working into some history for France. ))