gentle_gene (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} gentle_gene) wrote,@ 2007-12-27 02:27:00 |
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Application
Character Information
Name: Madamoiselle Genevieve d'Este
Birthdate:February 14, 1910
Age: 29
Citizenship: French
Loyalties: The beginnings of the French Resistance.
Occupation: Owner of Le Passant and bartender
Background: Genevieve was born in the mild winter of early 1910 to the d'Este family, a middle-upper class Parisian family who mainly survived on running the rather popular bar/cafe "Le Passant". Her father owned the establishment and bartended most evenings while her mother cooked and served in the cafe. She had one elder brother and one younger sister, but being the middle child never seemed to keep Genevieve down. She went all the way through grammar school and even dared to go onto a woman's college as a young lady studying literature. Originally, she wanted to teach, but plans rarely work out.
Gene's mother died of consumption just after the first war swept through France. Business suffered and though she kept to her schoolings, the family did have their harder times. Then rumors of a second war started. Both her father and brother suspected they would be going off to fight again. Genevieve had to leave her continued schoolings to come back and help with Le Passant lest the bar be left with no one to keep it should war hit. And, sure enough, in May of 1940 the Germans began rolling through France. Genevieve's father was killed in early June and her brother soon followed according to letters. She and her sister never got to see the bodies.
Le Passant, then, fell into Genevieve's hands. She's a more than capable hostess, always having the spark for hospitality in her blood and a fiery attitude. She also makes a very mean gimlet. She sings on occasion, but she leaves the true entertainment for the burlesque girls she hires to keep people's spirits high. Somehow, she's managed to remain open but only because she's begrudingly opened her doors to French and German alike. Her most stead fast rule is that the war is to be left at the door. If only that were truly possible, she'd be a happy woman.
Special Skills/Abilities: Bartending, singing jazz, excellent with conversation and information exchange.
Personality:
Commanding: Genevieve is a leader when push comes to shove. She doesn't always like to step up to the plate and would rather talk softly while carrying a big stick, but she can take charge when it's needed. That's probably why there are so few fights in her bar and why the collected patrons seem to fairly respect the younger woman despite her gender and position in society. She simply has the charisma of a leader and she will use it when necessary.
Protective: Gene protects her family, her bar and her patrons like they were the most important things in the world. In fact, to her, they are. She will lay down her life for almost anyone who has earned her loyalty. It is this protective streak which has spurred her to begin discussions of a resistance. She feels that she can do no less to protect France, especially after her father and brother gave up their lives for their country. She cannot idly stand by and do nothing to protect her family or the citizens of France.
Scared: Deep down, Gene is terrified. She knows they have lost control of France and there is probably nothing to be done to regain it. She's scared that this talk of resistance will lose her the bar, or her family, or even possibly her life. She's scared she's fighting a useless war and that she will be discovered before any progress can be made. She doesn't let the fear paralyze her, but sometimes late at night she wants to do nothing but cry or scream.
Appearance: Spitfire might be the first word that comes to mind upon seeing this woman. But it's a fire tempered by elegant French beauty. She is well past twenty, that much is clear, and age will fail her looks sooner rather than later, but for now she is still blessed by a mix of youth and her own intelligent charisma. Her hair is a dark midnight of softly curving strands. It falls in waves to just below her shoulders and is often elegantly pinned back off of her pale face. She has a slightly oval face with warm, high boned cheeks and lips just full enough to be complimented well by the reddest of lip paints. Her eyes are that wonderful shade of teal which switches from blue to green depending on the colours she wears. She has a small, angular nose which is the least obtrusive of her features.
Normally, Gene is wearing a black tuxedo dress in her role as the bartender for Le Passant. It fits her body like a second skin and is lined with white satin that peaks through at the lapels. The skirt comes down to her middle thighs to reveal black fishnets beneath. The fishnets have long since seen better days and are showing the wear of warfare and lacking nylon for stockings. The ripped fishnets disappear into a pair of black pumps upon her small feet.
Portrayed-By: Eva Green
Character Journal:gentle_gene
Sample Third Person Roleplay:
Gene sat and stared over her half empty cafe, the bar cloth going clammy and cold in her hand as she rested both palm and rag uselessly upon her sparkling oak counter. It was after curfew. The crowd always died after curfew, even if the girls still danced and the drinks were still served. The smart ones left. The ones who didn't want to give anyone an excuse to throw them in the Conciergerie or hunt down their families. Apparently, she wasn't among the smart ones and she never would be. She released a heavy sigh through her nose and drew the bar rag back one more time before tossing it beneath the counter and going to pour herself a glass of wine.
She carefully tipped the bottle of surprisingly nice burgundy to the side, filling her glass halfway to the top before abandoning the bottle beneath the counter again. There were advantages to owning the bar as well as serving the drinks -- she was, on occasion, allowed to serve one to herself. The bottle was not one of her's, however. It had been a gift from a surprisingly pleasant young man in an SS uniform. Hans Wolff had been his name, if she remembered correctly. She didn't care to remember his rank. Her rule was that they left the war at the door, so she had to do so as well. It meant she also had to accept the gift from man to woman, not Nazi to Frenchman.
She took a sip of the wine. No matter how sweet it was supposed to be, it still tasted like blood. The rule was a horrid one, but it was the only thing keeping the place sane. She forced back the blood wine with several thick, vicious gulps. The sooner she finished the bottle, the sooner she could throw it out and forget the thing ever existed. She couldn't let Marquis see the thing, he would lose his head. She gulped back another good pull and dumped what was left of the bottle into her wine glass before tossing it in the trash. It landed just a bit too hard, shattering with a loud sound and turning a few heads away from the show. She gave them an apologetic smile and waved them back to their entertainments.
Damned wine.
Sample First Person Journal Entry:
November 20th, 1940. It's been 6 months since France officially fell to the Germans and it feels like little has changed since that day. A few buildings have been pieced back together, and they are generally inhabited by German soldiers now instead of French citizens. Ones that the Germans did not care about have been left to rot and crumble, falling in on people's heads as we cannot afford to fix them. We were so lucky Le Passant was not bombed. I can barely afford to keep the place open, much less any repairs that might have needed to be done. Hopefully things remain peaceful. We can keep our heads above water at this rate... barely.
Michel and Jean keep saying we should do something other than just sit here. Do something other than survive. They think France laid down her arms too easily. Perhaps they are right, but also perhaps they are feeling guilt that they did not go when Marco and my father did. When Marco and my father were killed, and they remained cowards behind the lines. I would never say that to their faces, but they were cowards and now it is too little, too damned late! What does Michel expect us to do? Raise an army of women and children to bomb Vichy? Poison ever SS man's drink who comes past my door? The only people that would end up killing would be more Frenchmen and we have lost enough already.
Perhaps they are right, though... I do not know. Perhaps there is something to be done. Information to be passed. Civil disobediance or some such. We might not be able to openly attack or kill them, but we can make life harder. I don't know. I keep thinking about it, especially late at night. I never sleep anyway, I might as well do something with my time. I don't know how we would organize. Where we would plan. I don't know how we could do it at all, but I just keep thinking about it.
Maybe the back room of Le Passant is big enough. Maybe...
Edited Feb 13th for desc wankery fixing!
Character Information
Name: Madamoiselle Genevieve d'Este
Birthdate:February 14, 1910
Age: 29
Citizenship: French
Loyalties: The beginnings of the French Resistance.
Occupation: Owner of Le Passant and bartender
Background: Genevieve was born in the mild winter of early 1910 to the d'Este family, a middle-upper class Parisian family who mainly survived on running the rather popular bar/cafe "Le Passant". Her father owned the establishment and bartended most evenings while her mother cooked and served in the cafe. She had one elder brother and one younger sister, but being the middle child never seemed to keep Genevieve down. She went all the way through grammar school and even dared to go onto a woman's college as a young lady studying literature. Originally, she wanted to teach, but plans rarely work out.
Gene's mother died of consumption just after the first war swept through France. Business suffered and though she kept to her schoolings, the family did have their harder times. Then rumors of a second war started. Both her father and brother suspected they would be going off to fight again. Genevieve had to leave her continued schoolings to come back and help with Le Passant lest the bar be left with no one to keep it should war hit. And, sure enough, in May of 1940 the Germans began rolling through France. Genevieve's father was killed in early June and her brother soon followed according to letters. She and her sister never got to see the bodies.
Le Passant, then, fell into Genevieve's hands. She's a more than capable hostess, always having the spark for hospitality in her blood and a fiery attitude. She also makes a very mean gimlet. She sings on occasion, but she leaves the true entertainment for the burlesque girls she hires to keep people's spirits high. Somehow, she's managed to remain open but only because she's begrudingly opened her doors to French and German alike. Her most stead fast rule is that the war is to be left at the door. If only that were truly possible, she'd be a happy woman.
Special Skills/Abilities: Bartending, singing jazz, excellent with conversation and information exchange.
Personality:
Commanding: Genevieve is a leader when push comes to shove. She doesn't always like to step up to the plate and would rather talk softly while carrying a big stick, but she can take charge when it's needed. That's probably why there are so few fights in her bar and why the collected patrons seem to fairly respect the younger woman despite her gender and position in society. She simply has the charisma of a leader and she will use it when necessary.
Protective: Gene protects her family, her bar and her patrons like they were the most important things in the world. In fact, to her, they are. She will lay down her life for almost anyone who has earned her loyalty. It is this protective streak which has spurred her to begin discussions of a resistance. She feels that she can do no less to protect France, especially after her father and brother gave up their lives for their country. She cannot idly stand by and do nothing to protect her family or the citizens of France.
Scared: Deep down, Gene is terrified. She knows they have lost control of France and there is probably nothing to be done to regain it. She's scared that this talk of resistance will lose her the bar, or her family, or even possibly her life. She's scared she's fighting a useless war and that she will be discovered before any progress can be made. She doesn't let the fear paralyze her, but sometimes late at night she wants to do nothing but cry or scream.
Appearance: Spitfire might be the first word that comes to mind upon seeing this woman. But it's a fire tempered by elegant French beauty. She is well past twenty, that much is clear, and age will fail her looks sooner rather than later, but for now she is still blessed by a mix of youth and her own intelligent charisma. Her hair is a dark midnight of softly curving strands. It falls in waves to just below her shoulders and is often elegantly pinned back off of her pale face. She has a slightly oval face with warm, high boned cheeks and lips just full enough to be complimented well by the reddest of lip paints. Her eyes are that wonderful shade of teal which switches from blue to green depending on the colours she wears. She has a small, angular nose which is the least obtrusive of her features.
Normally, Gene is wearing a black tuxedo dress in her role as the bartender for Le Passant. It fits her body like a second skin and is lined with white satin that peaks through at the lapels. The skirt comes down to her middle thighs to reveal black fishnets beneath. The fishnets have long since seen better days and are showing the wear of warfare and lacking nylon for stockings. The ripped fishnets disappear into a pair of black pumps upon her small feet.
Portrayed-By: Eva Green
Character Journal:
gentle_geneSample Third Person Roleplay:
Gene sat and stared over her half empty cafe, the bar cloth going clammy and cold in her hand as she rested both palm and rag uselessly upon her sparkling oak counter. It was after curfew. The crowd always died after curfew, even if the girls still danced and the drinks were still served. The smart ones left. The ones who didn't want to give anyone an excuse to throw them in the Conciergerie or hunt down their families. Apparently, she wasn't among the smart ones and she never would be. She released a heavy sigh through her nose and drew the bar rag back one more time before tossing it beneath the counter and going to pour herself a glass of wine.
She carefully tipped the bottle of surprisingly nice burgundy to the side, filling her glass halfway to the top before abandoning the bottle beneath the counter again. There were advantages to owning the bar as well as serving the drinks -- she was, on occasion, allowed to serve one to herself. The bottle was not one of her's, however. It had been a gift from a surprisingly pleasant young man in an SS uniform. Hans Wolff had been his name, if she remembered correctly. She didn't care to remember his rank. Her rule was that they left the war at the door, so she had to do so as well. It meant she also had to accept the gift from man to woman, not Nazi to Frenchman.
She took a sip of the wine. No matter how sweet it was supposed to be, it still tasted like blood. The rule was a horrid one, but it was the only thing keeping the place sane. She forced back the blood wine with several thick, vicious gulps. The sooner she finished the bottle, the sooner she could throw it out and forget the thing ever existed. She couldn't let Marquis see the thing, he would lose his head. She gulped back another good pull and dumped what was left of the bottle into her wine glass before tossing it in the trash. It landed just a bit too hard, shattering with a loud sound and turning a few heads away from the show. She gave them an apologetic smile and waved them back to their entertainments.
Damned wine.
Sample First Person Journal Entry:
November 20th, 1940. It's been 6 months since France officially fell to the Germans and it feels like little has changed since that day. A few buildings have been pieced back together, and they are generally inhabited by German soldiers now instead of French citizens. Ones that the Germans did not care about have been left to rot and crumble, falling in on people's heads as we cannot afford to fix them. We were so lucky Le Passant was not bombed. I can barely afford to keep the place open, much less any repairs that might have needed to be done. Hopefully things remain peaceful. We can keep our heads above water at this rate... barely.
Michel and Jean keep saying we should do something other than just sit here. Do something other than survive. They think France laid down her arms too easily. Perhaps they are right, but also perhaps they are feeling guilt that they did not go when Marco and my father did. When Marco and my father were killed, and they remained cowards behind the lines. I would never say that to their faces, but they were cowards and now it is too little, too damned late! What does Michel expect us to do? Raise an army of women and children to bomb Vichy? Poison ever SS man's drink who comes past my door? The only people that would end up killing would be more Frenchmen and we have lost enough already.
Perhaps they are right, though... I do not know. Perhaps there is something to be done. Information to be passed. Civil disobediance or some such. We might not be able to openly attack or kill them, but we can make life harder. I don't know. I keep thinking about it, especially late at night. I never sleep anyway, I might as well do something with my time. I don't know how we would organize. Where we would plan. I don't know how we could do it at all, but I just keep thinking about it.
Maybe the back room of Le Passant is big enough. Maybe...
Edited Feb 13th for desc wankery fixing!