Post by ANDRE BOUVIER on Sept 3, 2013 23:04:40 GMT -5
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At the end of the day you're another day colder
FULL NAME: Lieutenant Colonel Andre Bouvier
NICKNAMES: Andy to his immediate family. Earned the Moniker the "Lion of Medea" for actions in Algeria.
HERITAGE: French, with Spanish on his mother's side
AGE: 32
GROUP: None, Member of the French Foreign Legion
CANON: OC
PLAYBY: Henry Cavill
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PERSONALITY: There was a time when Andre was described as an extremely energetic young man. Well mannered, always willing to learn, seeing the bright side and optimism in everything and brought out the best in others. Extremely intelligent he was a voracious reader of books and was a deep lover of philosophy and history. Following his father's footsteps into the military seemed almost inevitable, and he had even looked forward to it...
The Legion has left him jaded, weary of any and all promises for "something better" and "liberte, egalite, fraternity." He holds a deep connection with the men under his command, and will do anything and everything to help them become french citizens one day. What had been a lighthearted humor has warped to a darkly sarcastic and almost cynical one, leaning on self deprecating at times. Emotionally he seems cold and stoic, though this is simply a wall he has built around himself due to having seen so many of his soldiers die in Algeria. It is not uncommon to find him staring at you, but not even noticing you're there.
He isn't all death and cynicism however. Inside is the heart of an amateur poet, who still holds onto the notions of honor and duty. A charismatic and empathetic leader, he willingly puts himself in just as much, if not more, danger than his men. He can also be somewhat of a flirt towards the opposite sex, though half the time he won't even realize it. This is a vestige of his old self that the desert sands couldn't bury.
APPEARANCE: Standing 5'10, he is of strong, athletic build and skin that has tanned with the desert sun. Blue eyes are deep set in a face that is often covered with a dark brown, near constant five o'clock shadow on his chiseled jaw. His dark brown hair is cut short and clean, as long hair just gets too much in the way and his curly hair prevents his military kepi from fitting properly. Clothes cover the scars of war, from a bullet wound scar on his upper right chest (and exit wound on back) to a sword gash that runs up from mid-back all the way to his left shoulder. Also missing are the pinky and ring finger from his left hand and a large gash along the bottom of his right forearm. His hands are calloused, as are the soles of his feet from marching (his horse was shot pretty early in the campaign). His eyes are always carefully scanning his surroundings, even when it seems he is perfectly safe.
GOALS: He doesn't even know anymore. His one greatest desire is to help his men... Whichever side offers his merry band of foreigners a place in the new France is the one he (and the other battalions) will fight for.
HISTORY: Andre grew up the son of army Colonel Francois Bouvier and Camila Lamar Bouvier. The second of a string of four siblings (one older sister, one younger sister, and one younger brother) his childhood was one of immense happiness. Being part of the upper middle class, he received a fine education and was always a star student. By the time he was fourteen he was fluent in four languages (French, Spanish, English, and Latin) and was the pride of his family. At 17, upon graduation from secondary schooling, he was sent to the Ecole Militaire and became an officer, much like his father. It was the proudest moment of his life when his father handed him his officer's sword...
For years he served his time, loyal to the republic despite all the military downsizing and general mismanagement. As imperfect as democracy was, it was still better than the ancien regime. Then the Coup occurred. Andre had been one of the few officers who had not participated, and as a result when the king took over he was demoted back to Lieutenant and shoved to a small desk in the military bureaucracy without so much as a blink... Then they offered him a choice. Sit in the sidelines forever, or join the newly formed Foreign Legion as an officer and earn his place back in society. He took the latter, though in hindsight the former would have saved him a lot of heartache.
Early on in 1831, shortly after they had landed in Algeria, things became bloody very quickly. While he had started as just a company commander in the Spanish Battalion of the French Foreign Legion, the near constant fighting with the nomadic tribesmen took their toll. Within two months, Andre was in charge of the entire battalion, a lieutenant colonel in all but name, and desperately fighting for his life and the lives of his men. Yet with every gain they made, there were constant setback caused more often by those whom had sent him there than the nomads. The worst of these was in the town of Medea, where his battalion covered a general retreat and suffered over 100 dead and 30 injured, of which half succumbed to wounds (a battalion is roughly 500 men total). In the process of leading his men he suffered a bullet shooting off two of his fingers and sword slashes to his forearm and back, and still lead the defensive action only to finally be brought to the ground by a sucking chest wound. His survival can be attributed to a band of his subordinates grabbing him and throwing him onto one of the last caravans as the entire battalion retreated to their fortifications with the rest of the expeditionary force. Reinforcements were a mere trickle, and often too little to late. Supply caravans regularly brought the wrong supplies or not enough of the right ones... If they bothered to come at all. Men who had joined hoping for a fresh start in France had resigned themselves to death, because fact was most knew there was no way they were going to survive... Not if this treatment continued. Sitting in a mosque they had turned into a medical center awaiting transport with the rest of the battalion back to France for re-supply and medical treatment Andre wondered what the point of all this suffering was, and his thoughts drifted towards home. Because, in truth, he hadn't received news of the developing situation in months...
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ALIAS: Andre
AGE: 21
GENDER: Male
OTHER CHARACTERS: None
HOW DID YOU FIND US: Random Chance
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: (I had originally had an iteration of this character elseware. Decided to type up how he would have joined the legion in that timeline. This Andre is a much younger, more naive one than the one in this site.)
He had only been given 5 hours’ notice…
“Lieutenant Bouvier!” An officer had called from entrance of the barracks. Rolling off his rack, his uniform partially undone due to the fact that he had been resting, Andre bolted out of his room and looked down the stairs to see a colonel and a sergeant, both wearing white kepi hats, standing there.
“Oui monsieurs?” Andre asked, curious as to he had never really seen their uniform before, walking down the stairs and buttoning his jacket. The sergeant simply stood behind the colonel, with a sneer on his face and disdain in his eyes, as the colonel pulled out some papers from the inside of his jacket.
“Lieutenant Bouvier,” The colonel, an older man about Andre’s father’s age except had a much more severe look. “Says here in your dossier you are fluent in Spanish, and lived a year in Cuba have you not?”
Andre simply nodded, giving the officer a wary look. “Oui colonel.” Andre’s mother had been half Spanish, so Andre grew up speaking the language very well. The colonel, stone faced and unflinching, handed him a letter sealed with the royal seal. “Then congratulations. You’re being promoted.” “What?” Andre began, taking the letter and opening it quickly. It wasn’t false, he was being promoted… However…
“You will report to the Ecole Militaire by sundown. One trunk of belongings is all you are allowed to bring.” The colonel continued, without skipping a beat. “From there, you will depart with us to Marseilles, where you will be handed command of Company B of the Spanish Battalion of the Légion étrangère.” At that, the sergeant turned and opened the door for his commander, the colonel finishing by saying, “Congratulations captain. Welcome to the Legion.” Andre was dumbfounded. Had he really heard what he thought he heard? The Legion… That new unit made for the sole purpose of using foreigners to fight on foreign soil, to keep them out of France. It was barely a year old, and already it had been thrown into the ringer in Algeria. Andre had heard of it, but had never considered joining it. After all, his father was a regimental commander in the National Guard. Was he the one who put his name forward? Or was something else at play here?
Rose…
Heading back up to his room, he shut the door and immediately collapsed on the ground. This… This changed everything. The Revolution, Rose, the Amis… He’d be thousands of miles away in a desert, fighting damned Bedouins on camels, with men who were even less willing to be there than he was. His thoughts then returned to Rose momentarily. He had come to care for her… Much more than he thought he would… And now he had to leave without even having the time to find her and say goodbye. It was heartbreaking… Gritting his teeth, he slammed his fist into the door, then took a deep breath and stood up, remembering who he was. He was Michel Bouvier’s son and an officer, now Captain, in the French military. Acting like a petulant child when dealt a bad hand was out of the question. Walking over to his desk, he pulled out a paper and pen and began to write.
My dearest Rose,
Fate, it seems, is far crueler a mistress than either of us had anticipated. For reasons I have yet to fully understand, I’ve been reassigned. This would not be an issue, were it not for the assignment. I’m being sent to Algiers with the Légion étrangère. I know this comes at what is possibly the worst timing, and were it up to me I would not go, but it’s been made very clear in my orders I’m in no way able to deny the command they’ve put me in.
Andre had to stop writing for a moment, taking a deep breath and taking in everything that was happening. Near certain death, having to leave his family and friends behind, his unit behind for another… Choking back his frustration and anger, he tried to focus on Rose and found it only angered him further, knowing it was unlikely he’d ever get to see her again. Putting pen back to paper, he continued.
You’ve been the single greatest thing to happen to me in Paris, I never want you to forget that. I will always treasure the memories of you and I on that rooftop, the moonlight glowing on your soft skin and your hair shining like a beacon in the night. If it were up to me, I’d stay in your arms for eternity, for there I find peace, solace from this cruel world. I pray that, someday, we will be reunited. But I do not want you to carry hope for something that may prove false for where they are sending me… There is a very good chance the only way I will return is in a casket draped in the flag of our fathers.
Please do not shed a tear for me. Dogs of the military do not deserve that pity. I hope with all my heart you find true happiness one day Cherie, with a man who will treat you like the princess you are.
Forever yours,
Andre Bouvier.
At that, he couldn’t write any more. By the end, he was struggling for the right words. Folding the paper, he turned to his bed and, pushing everything out of his mind, began to pack for his sojourn to the inferno of the sands of North Africa.
“Lieutenant Bouvier!” An officer had called from entrance of the barracks. Rolling off his rack, his uniform partially undone due to the fact that he had been resting, Andre bolted out of his room and looked down the stairs to see a colonel and a sergeant, both wearing white kepi hats, standing there.
“Oui monsieurs?” Andre asked, curious as to he had never really seen their uniform before, walking down the stairs and buttoning his jacket. The sergeant simply stood behind the colonel, with a sneer on his face and disdain in his eyes, as the colonel pulled out some papers from the inside of his jacket.
“Lieutenant Bouvier,” The colonel, an older man about Andre’s father’s age except had a much more severe look. “Says here in your dossier you are fluent in Spanish, and lived a year in Cuba have you not?”
Andre simply nodded, giving the officer a wary look. “Oui colonel.” Andre’s mother had been half Spanish, so Andre grew up speaking the language very well. The colonel, stone faced and unflinching, handed him a letter sealed with the royal seal. “Then congratulations. You’re being promoted.” “What?” Andre began, taking the letter and opening it quickly. It wasn’t false, he was being promoted… However…
“You will report to the Ecole Militaire by sundown. One trunk of belongings is all you are allowed to bring.” The colonel continued, without skipping a beat. “From there, you will depart with us to Marseilles, where you will be handed command of Company B of the Spanish Battalion of the Légion étrangère.” At that, the sergeant turned and opened the door for his commander, the colonel finishing by saying, “Congratulations captain. Welcome to the Legion.” Andre was dumbfounded. Had he really heard what he thought he heard? The Legion… That new unit made for the sole purpose of using foreigners to fight on foreign soil, to keep them out of France. It was barely a year old, and already it had been thrown into the ringer in Algeria. Andre had heard of it, but had never considered joining it. After all, his father was a regimental commander in the National Guard. Was he the one who put his name forward? Or was something else at play here?
Rose…
Heading back up to his room, he shut the door and immediately collapsed on the ground. This… This changed everything. The Revolution, Rose, the Amis… He’d be thousands of miles away in a desert, fighting damned Bedouins on camels, with men who were even less willing to be there than he was. His thoughts then returned to Rose momentarily. He had come to care for her… Much more than he thought he would… And now he had to leave without even having the time to find her and say goodbye. It was heartbreaking… Gritting his teeth, he slammed his fist into the door, then took a deep breath and stood up, remembering who he was. He was Michel Bouvier’s son and an officer, now Captain, in the French military. Acting like a petulant child when dealt a bad hand was out of the question. Walking over to his desk, he pulled out a paper and pen and began to write.
My dearest Rose,
Fate, it seems, is far crueler a mistress than either of us had anticipated. For reasons I have yet to fully understand, I’ve been reassigned. This would not be an issue, were it not for the assignment. I’m being sent to Algiers with the Légion étrangère. I know this comes at what is possibly the worst timing, and were it up to me I would not go, but it’s been made very clear in my orders I’m in no way able to deny the command they’ve put me in.
Andre had to stop writing for a moment, taking a deep breath and taking in everything that was happening. Near certain death, having to leave his family and friends behind, his unit behind for another… Choking back his frustration and anger, he tried to focus on Rose and found it only angered him further, knowing it was unlikely he’d ever get to see her again. Putting pen back to paper, he continued.
You’ve been the single greatest thing to happen to me in Paris, I never want you to forget that. I will always treasure the memories of you and I on that rooftop, the moonlight glowing on your soft skin and your hair shining like a beacon in the night. If it were up to me, I’d stay in your arms for eternity, for there I find peace, solace from this cruel world. I pray that, someday, we will be reunited. But I do not want you to carry hope for something that may prove false for where they are sending me… There is a very good chance the only way I will return is in a casket draped in the flag of our fathers.
Please do not shed a tear for me. Dogs of the military do not deserve that pity. I hope with all my heart you find true happiness one day Cherie, with a man who will treat you like the princess you are.
Forever yours,
Andre Bouvier.
At that, he couldn’t write any more. By the end, he was struggling for the right words. Folding the paper, he turned to his bed and, pushing everything out of his mind, began to pack for his sojourn to the inferno of the sands of North Africa.
And the shirt on your back doesn't keep out the chill
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