Post by Deleted on Mar 23, 2013 16:16:04 GMT -5
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At the end of the day you're another day colder
FULL NAME:Blaise Robert Combeferre
NICKNAMES: The Guide, Professor
HERITAGE: French
AGE: 22
GROUP: ABC Member
CANON: Les Miserables
PLAYBY: Killian Donnelly
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PERSONALITY: If asked, Combeferre would probably describe himself as complex. He’s generally soft-spoken except when he feels very strongly about something, yet when thrust into a situation that requires him to be sociable, he has the ability to put others at ease because of his generally good nature. He is not given to physical arguments, but vocally he can and will insult you quite handily without you even knowing it with his clever barbs, should you incur his wrath. Combeferre is usually even-tempered, but will not hesitate to let others know when they have crossed the line between being in his good graces and trying his patience.
He likes to think of himself as a pacifist—even though he is a key member in a group that under Enjolras’s leadership is looking very seriously at becoming militant. Each protest that brings them closer to violence stirs up a sense of fear within him—not fear for himself, but fear for the innocents. Wars are not won without blood being shed, and he would like to avoid an all-out war at any cost. Still he knows that the government is not going to simply let them just waltz in and take over. He wants to bring real, positive change to France, and he knows that Les Amis are a group of like-minded students and workers who yearn for what he yearns for—a better world. He would rather side with them than with the monarchy, because he wants to in particular help the poor and downtrodden.
Naturally his desire to do this stems from his uncompromising sense of morality. He inherited a lot of his ideals from his parents, but he took them a lot further than they intended. His parents, being deeply religious, passed this on to him as well—as a result he has extraordinary compassion for his fellow man. He will go out of his way to help those in need, giving alms to the poor and sometimes handing out food along with pamphlets when he goes on his weekly ‘recruitment runs’ for Les Amis. He emphasizes with the suffering, and attempts to do everything in his power to alleviate their pain. He tries to steer Les Amis down the straight and narrow path, making sure that their actions are not ethically dubious. Of course his ideas of what is ethical and what is not clash with other members of the group, but he at least tries to keep his integrity while participating in their protests. His loyalty to his friends—in particular the two other founding members Enjolras and Courfeyrac, are part of what keep him tied to Les Amis despite his yearning to bring about a peaceful solution.
He has a very strong sense of justice, and hopes that his actions in relation to the Society are making him a voice for those who have been abused by the state. His blood boils at the mistreatment of total strangers, and although he undoubtedly aims to steer clear of physical confrontations, he would not hesitate to intervene in a mugging or a robbery to help the innocent party.
He is an idealist in the sense that he does hope to create a better society. He considers his plan to accomplish this goal practical compared with Enjolras’s—he believes that the only ‘revolution’ they should start is one of reform, starting with the matter of education. Currently the only people with the opportunity to pursue education are the rich—Combeferre means to change that. If the poor are taught how to read and given training in skills they can use in a trade, then they would have a much better chance of creating lasting change. A well-informed populace, Combeferre believes, is the key to a strong democracy. An angry mob accomplishes little except bloodshed.
Ever since he was very young, Combeferre has been exceptionally intelligent. He has a more than able mind and is willing to learn anything and everything—if a book is on a subject that even mildly sparks his interest, he’ll devour it and then discuss it animatedly at an ABC meeting. His chief interests are philosophy and—of course—politics. He is always open to learning of and debating about new ideas. For leisure, he reads, even if the reading is not required for classes at university. He prefers intellectually stimulating activities to social ones, unless those two areas are combined.
That being said, love is not and has never been on his agenda, to his family’s dismay. His studies and the deeds of the society that he leads alongside Enjolras are his main interests in life, and they keep him quite busy—he simply could never find the time for courtship even if he did want to pursue love and marriage. Perhaps it is something he will one day consider, but for now, it is simply not within his interests.
Combeferre’s demeanor can be quite bristling to one who does not know him very well, depending on his mood. He tries to make himself unreadable—how tedious it would be if he was as predictable as Pontmercy—mainly because he is not keen on sharing his deepest thoughts with anyone unless he trusts them. His trust is very difficult to earn, and even more difficult to earn back if it is betrayed. Because he considers himself to be a virtuous man—which he is—he can sometimes come off as proud and condescending. One of his flaws is making quick judgments of other people around him—even though his judgments are rarely too far off, he is human and is bound to make errors.
He is a perfectionist and critical of others’ blunders as well as his own. Combeferre is most certainly not given to recklessness or stupidity, and has zero patience for people that he believes possess these flaws. He works himself sometimes to exhaustion, and others can tell when he’s tired because of his brusque attitude when speaking with them. He is usually very serious, but does possess a sense of humor—albeit a very sardonic one. His idealism wins over his frustration with France’s many issues, and he generally believes that things will improve if the correct course of action is taken.
APPEARANCE: Combeferre is tall and of average weight. He is by no means brawny but, believing that a healthy body should accompany a healthy mind, takes daily walks through Paris in order to stay in decent shape. He has messy blonde hair with sideburns—not messy because he intends it to be, but messy because he finds it nearly impossible to get it to lay flat—and bright blue eyes that are the only visible clue to what he may be thinking, since his face is usually impassive. It is very rare to earn a genuine smile from Blaise Combeferre, but not unheard of. He requires glasses for solely the purpose of reading, but he has been known to wear them in public because he thinks they make him appear wiser.
His clothing style varies depending on the situation. For classes, he dresses in the fine clothing befitting his class, but he does not consider himself to be a dandy. He prefers bright colors but he has been seen in neutral, earthy tones as well. He usually wears the flat cap of a workingman instead of the tall hat of the bourgeois whenever he walks to class, and sometimes he will go without his tailcoat or frockcoat in informal situations.
GOALS: Combeferre’s goals are to become a professor of philosophy and to improve French society through education. He wants to set up a program that will educate the poor and provide them with jobs, since he knows from what conversations he has had with the people he’s helped, they do not want charity. He would also like to use his medical knowledge to aid the poor as well. He is currently trying to convince some of his fellow Les Amis to help him hold literacy classes—not only would they be giving the poor a valuable gift and life skill, but through helping them, he believes that they will be able to win their hearts over to their cause.
HISTORY:
Blaise Robert Combeferre was born in Cherbourg on August 11, 1809 to Monsieur Pierre Combeferre and Madame Elizabeth Combeferre. Blaise was the youngest of two—his brother Jacques is currently in his thirties and married with children in London. Blaise’s mother, Elizabeth, was born in England, but moved to France with Pierre after they met and married while Pierre was still attending Oxford. Under his mother’s careful instruction, Blaise learned English, and is fluent in the language. The youngest Combeferre is descended from a long line of attorneys. As such, Blaise has enjoyed the myriad rights and privileges that come with being a member of the upper middle class. His family would take month long holidays in the summer across southern France, frequenting the beaches and the countryside. Sometimes they would have week-long excursions to Paris for a taste of the city’s culture. Blaise’s first of many of those trips occurred when he was ten years old. It was by far the most formative experience of his life.
The family had come primarily to see operas and walk through parks, as well as to tour the university—which young Blaise immediately wanted to attend—but in order to get to these places, they passed by beggars, whom Pierre gave generously to. Blaise was both surprised and stricken with grief over how little the people living on the streets had. “Why are they here, Papa? Don’t they have a home or someplace to eat?” he asked his father as they ambled through the streets. “No, they have nothing,” was his answer. From that day forward, young Blaise was determined to change that.
Youthful idealism was mellowed a bit when he grew into adolescence. He was not the social butterfly his brother Jacques was. Unlike Jacques, Blaise was a meticulous and hardworking student. He wanted to start university early, but his parents had not let him, wanting him to experience the joys of childhood. Blaise saw little joy in frivolous parties and picnics. He was introduced to brutish young men who talked of nothing aside from women and lackluster activities such as hunting, and thrown at young women who were no doubt pretty but far too ditzy for him to even consider companionship, let alone eventual union in marriage as his parents had wished. He expressed his impatience to continue his education, and his parents finally agreed to let him attend the University of Paris at age seventeen.
As soon as he set foot on campus, he felt within his element. He excelled in all of his classes—there were no surprises there for him—taking an interest especially in philosophy, and to a lesser degree medicine. He sees medicine as a valuable subject to study, but his real passion is for philosophy. In his second year of study he decided that he wanted to become a professor, studying medicine and becoming a doctor in order to work his way through his doctorate. His father was understandably not too happy with his choice. After all, the Combeferres had been attorneys for generations. This caused a rift between him and his father, and their relationship is still strained to this day. His mother, on the other hand, was supportive of his academic pursuits, caring first and foremost about his happiness.
Very early into his academic career, he met Enjolras and Courfeyrac, two students in his year who very vocally expressed their discontent with the current regime. Politics was a subject that Blaise read about but rarely explicitly talked about. His father did with his friends—he was a monarchist—while Blaise had slowly and secretly become enamored with democratic ideas. Over lunch one day, he expressed his views of the government, and by the end of it the three had formed a group called Les Amis de l’Abaissé—or Les Amis de l’ABC as it is now known—choosing the café where they first had lunch, the Café Musain, as their official meeting place. Naturally, politics is something that Blaise avoids speaking of when visiting his father, as it would simply hurt their relationship even further if he knew how opposed he was to his ideology.
Discussions turned into protest marches, and protest marches led to talk of rebelling against the government. Blaise was initially blatantly opposed to armed rebellion, and at one point threatened to leave the group until he became convinced that—since their peaceful measures had been proven fruitless—it was necessary. He still harbors the hope that their demands will be dealt with peacefully and without bloodshed, but deep down he knows that if something isn’t done quickly, the people will have no choice but to take to the streets. He is determined to making sure that their side possesses the moral high ground, and that the king and his lackeys will go down in history as the aggressors. In his mind, is the only way that the impending conflict can be justified—if the people they lead, and they themselves are the innocents.
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ALIAS: Mel
AGE: 17
GENDER: Female
OTHER CHARACTERS: None
HOW DID YOU FIND US: Found a link at another site.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: ( This is reused from a site where I play Marius. )
Marius raised his teacup to his lips as he flicked through the pages of the book he was reading. He had finished his lessons for the day and had decided to take up reading The Federalist Papers for some leisurely reading. His project did have another purpose though—he wanted to know about the only existing republic, America. Perhaps they could incorporate some of their ideas in the new republic. He wasn’t keen on forming a direct democracy—he was more in favor of something similar to that, or even the Roman Republic. Ideally a leader with the strength and leadership of Napoleon would be head of state. This was a point that Marius and the other Les Amis disagreed about, and he had butted heads with Enjolras over the issue many times in the past. He was a diehard Bonapartist, having inherited the political tendencies of his father. For the sake of keeping the peace, he had learned quickly to tone down those tendencies. In order to achieve a better France, they all needed to put aside their differences and work together.
The scholar finished his tea and stood up, walking over to the cabinet, only to find that it was nearly empty. He clapped a hand to his forehead in frustration when he realized he had forgotten to go to the market. He had been all out of sorts ever since Cosette left. A sharp pang went through his chest at the thought of Cosette. He chided himself for thinking about her in the first place—he needed to accept that she wasn’t coming back, and that their romance was over. He’d refused to believe it at first, but now that he had, life seemed to get a little bit easier. He knew he had overreacted at first, insisting that he had nothing to live for, but he had plenty to live for—the revolution, his career…his life no longer revolved around Cosette. He loved her, yes, but he accepted that she must no longer love him. Since he couldn’t make her, he needed to move on with his life. He knew he wouldn’t love again—he had no desire to love again—but that didn’t matter.
Realizing he couldn’t step out in simply his dark canvas vest without a coat, his green eyes swept across his room before focusing on the hat stand on which his Inverness was hanging. His room was small but comfortable. His bed was in the corner and not that far off the floor—it was more of a cot, really. He had a desk, a chair, the food cabinet, a small bathtub, a miniature closet, and a little stove. It was all his meager salary as a translator of English books could afford. It wasn’t anything like the luxury he had experienced while living with his grandfather, but he didn’t really care. In fact it was liberating—he refused to take any of the man’s money, mainly because he had lied about his father for years. Monsieur Gillenormand was a staunch monarchist, and had not approved of the marriage between his daughter and the elder Pontmercy. When Marius was a child, his father would send him letters, and Gillenormand would hide them. He didn’t learn of any of this until after his father’s death. By the time he had confronted his grandfather about it, he had had enough. He moved out the previous year when he had left for the University of Paris, and had been living alone ever since.
Marius withdrew a red cravat from his closet and tied it messily around his neck before grabbing his black tailcoat, Inverness, satchel containing his wallet, and top hat before heading out the door. He waved briefly to his landlady as he passed by her door and pulled his hat on over his shock of auburn hair.
When he stepped out, he was once again struck by the poverty that surrounded him. He felt so helpless to do anything about it. It was one of the many reasons why he had joined Les Amis, to do something about the horrible injustice of it all. It was one of the reasons he always offered to do whatever he could to help Eponine—she was his friend, it was true, and he cared enough for her for that reason alone, but no one deserved to live like this. He hadn’t seen her since earlier that afternoon, when he was at the café. He hoped her father wasn’t giving her problems. He knew quite well that she didn’t want him to fuss over her, but he knew what kind of a man Thernardier was. It made him furious to think of how he treated his children.
He turned down onto another street, on his way toward the bakery and hoping it was still open at that hour, but froze when he heard coughing. He turned around, seeing a shadow further down the street, stumbling around. He rushed toward the person, fearing he or she was hurt. His suspicions were confirmed when the figure—no, the girl—fell down. He broke into a run and skidded to a stop, his boots scraping the ground. “’Ponine!” he exclaimed in recognition and horror, dropping to his feet and shaking her gently. “Eponine! Dear God…” Realizing that she was unconscious and remembering what Joly had mentioned about people going into shock, he shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her before scooping her up into his arms easily. Luckily they weren’t very far from the café. He pounded on the door, and the older woman who owned the tavern opened it, about to reproach him, but fell silent when she saw what he was doing. He brushed past her and turned around, demanding simply, “Where?”
“There’s a guest room upstairs, monsieur-“
“Thank you.” he cut her off and started up the stairs. The door to said guest room was open, and he carefully set his friend down on the bed, draping the coat over her like a blanket. He knew the woman was hovering behind him. “Please get some water, Madame—and some cloth and bandages,” he instructed her. She hurried out of the room, and Marius was grateful. He knew he was being rude, barging into her tavern randomly at night carrying an injured girl, but she had needed help, and he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—let her die. He took her hand in both of his, gazing on her with an anxious expression. “You’ve got to wake up, ‘Ponine, please…I’ll do what I can, but you must help me...you must wake up!”
And the shirt on your back doesn't keep out the chill
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