Post by IRENE ARLETTE TREMBLAY on Oct 15, 2013 20:06:39 GMT -5
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At the end of the day you're another day colder
FULL NAME: Irène Arlette Tremblay
NICKNAMES: Charlot, Lottie
HERITAGE: French
AGE: Seventeen
GROUP: Camp follower for the Sacred Heart
CANON: No
PLAYBY: Abbie Cornish
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PERSONALITY: Irène is sharp-tongued and often sharp-minded. She doesn't have much patience with weakness, especially in herself, and if she has to, she is willing to fight with fists or knives. Pistols were rather difficult for her at first, but now she is much more comfortable with them. Most of her fights stem from people mocking her either about dressing like a boy or about her writing poetry.
She is a poet and enjoys reading whatever poetry she can find, along with writing her own. She also likes drawing, although she isn't as good at is as she is at writing. She likes being able to get herself into and out of trouble, but doesn't like being rescued. She also doesn't like her penchant for panicking after a difficult situation is finished, though she admits readily that she can keep her head with the best of them. Rescuing people is something she doesn't have terribly much experience with, and she will complain about it, but secretly she enjoys being able to help.
APPEARANCE: Irène has brown hair and brown eyes. She looks a bit older than seventeen, but there are moments when she almost could be the boy she sometimes disguises herself as. Her time living among the Sacred Heart and on the streets has made her thin, and she often has several scrapes and bruises on her arms and legs. Her hands and fingers will often be, if not immaculate, at least cleaner and better cared-for than the rest of her body.
GOALS: Irène has dreamt of being a renowned poet since she was a girl, and she still does, but more immediately she wants to be a revolutionary in some way.
HISTORY: Irène was always the baby of her family, at least when it came to her brother. Her parents were Constantin and Ninette Tremblay, a pair of actors who toured the French countryside. Both were very young when Ninette first became pregnant, and they moved to Paris so they wouldn't have to drag a baby around France. Pierre Tremblay was born, and over the years he was followed by several children who were either stillborn or didn't survive past their first birthday. Irène was the first child after Pierre to survive, although it nearly killed Ninette when she was born. Ninette did survive, but she was rather weak afterward and died of pneumonia when Irène was only four. Constantin did his best to take care of the little girl, but he was often away, and Pierre found himself raising his younger sister.
Irène had a strange education. Her father taught her how to read and write, and how to survive on a little food and sleep (a useful skill for any artist). Her brother taught her everything he could, and he found himself learning everything he could so he would be able to help his sister. Unrest came and went Paris during her life, and she tried to learn how to make herself as small as possible. However, she only succeeded in learning that she wanted her voice to be heard. When she learned that such a thing wouldn't happen because she was a woman, she was furious for a week before deciding the easiest thing was to stop being a girl.
When she was fifteen, Irène ran away from home. She left a note saying that she was sorry to leave her family but they would feed themselves more easily if they didn't have to take care of her. Disguising herself as a boy, she entered the streets of Paris and made a living by stealing and doing small bits of work. Some people bought copies of of her poetry (she always managed to afford paper and ink), but she suspected they only did so out of pity. Still, Charlot Guillory was able to do what Irène Tremblay could not: live.
When the barricades rose, Irène ran to help in the fighting, insisting she was there to get a bite of food and perhaps a place to sleep that looked like it had a roof. Really, she was eager to join the fight for freedom, both in principle and because she had enough hope to believe the freedom would reach women as well. After the fighting was done, she attached herself to the Sacred Heart. Her disguise wasn't quite good enough to stand up to scrutiny, and she was found out as a woman. The group agreed to keep her, and she occasionally started wearing dresses again, though her preference remained for trousers and a shirt. She is still sometimes called Charlot, though most people, when looking for a pet name to give her, call her Lottie.
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ALIAS: Jo
AGE: Twenty
GENDER: Female
OTHER CHARACTERS: None
HOW DID YOU FIND US: Just poking around in places
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:
Irène still wasn’t used to having a pistol at her waist, especially as this particular pistol wasn’t even hers. She could have tried to convince herself that it wasn’t theft, exactly – after all, Germain hadn’t been using it and probably didn’t intend to for a good day or two – but she had spent enough time actually stealing to recognize when she was being a thief again. She had stolen the pistol, and the fact that she had every intention of returning it if she made it back alive did nothing to change that fact. At least she hadn’t broken her unspoken agreement with the Sacred Heart – yet.
It would be broken soon. But how could she be expected to resist a good riot?
The fighting was moving down the street toward her. It was mere chance that she had placed herself at this corner, where she stood the best chance of keeping the shooting from reaching her brother. Not that anyone would ask, of course. Even the people who had come to know her as Irène didn’t know where her family lived, and if she could do anything about it, they never would. The riot had come very close now, and she took the pistol in one hand and a knife in her other. Her heart was pounding, but she couldn’t tell if it was with fear or anticipation.
Three seconds passed, and she ran forward, crying out one of the phrases she had picked up from hanging around dreamers and revolutionaries. It was something about France, or perhaps the future… she had stopped listening to them, after a while. They simply came to her when she needed them. She had only a second to understand what was happening before the fighting reached her and she was part of it. There were royalists, or at least people with royalist armbands, fighting against a group of revolutionaries. A few members of the Sacred Heart were there, and one said her name – Lottie, a whisper of shock and recognition – before the only sound was gunfire and screams. She didn’t care that she was recognized, didn’t care that they might send her away for joining the fighting. All that mattered was that the fighting didn’t go past the next corner, didn’t reach Pierre.
And the shirt on your back doesn't keep out the chill
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