#c: toulouse beaumont

[happiestmariebeaumont]

Marie Beaumont froze the moment her eyes landed on her brother’s crumpled form. His once-proud, unshakable presence was now reduced to a pitiful, broken figure, lying helpless and battered. Her chest tightened with a mix of anguish and rage, and as her gaze flicked to the girl standing nearby—the girl responsible for this—her blood began to boil.

The anger surged through her like wildfire, searing away any rational thought. She didn’t bother counting her steps as she crossed the room, each one deliberate and heavy with purpose. By the time she reached Rachel, her brother’s girlfriend, her fury had reached its peak. Without hesitation, she raised her hand, and the sound of the slap reverberated like a gunshot through the silent hallway.

Rachel stumbled slightly, clutching her stinging cheek, her wide eyes filled with a mix of shock and guilt. But Marie wasn’t done.

“He could have been dead because of you!” Marie spat, her voice trembling with unrestrained fury. Each word was sharp and cutting, like shards of glass flung with precision. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to contain the tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume her.

“I don’t want you near him ever again!” she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low growl. The venom in her tone was unmistakable, leaving no room for negotiation.

If it hadn’t been for the firm grip of Fig, her own girlfriend, pulling her back, Marie wasn’t sure how far her anger might have driven her. The restraint wasn’t welcome, not in the heat of the moment, but it was necessary. Marie’s hands curled into fists at her sides as she glared at Rachel, the intensity in her eyes enough to make even the boldest person shrink.

The hall was heavy with tension, the weight of Marie’s fury palpable in the air.

Fig’s hand remained steady on Marie’s arm, grounding her, silently reminding her to rein in the storm. But the rage still simmered beneath her skin, her mind replaying the image of her brother’s broken body over and over.

Marie took a slow, shaky breath, her voice quieter now but no less cutting as she added, “If I ever see you near him again, Rachel, I won’t stop at a slap.” Her words were a promise, laced with the kind of fierce protectiveness that only family could inspire.

She turned away sharply, her movements stiff with the effort it took to walk away rather than lash out further. But even as she retreated, her blood still burned, her heart pounding with the echo of her fury.

@adropofgoldenrachelx

[happiestmariebeaumont]

“Don’t worry,” Marie said, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I won’t tell poor Berlioz. He’s an even bigger worrywart than I am.” Her tone was light, but the weight of her promise lingered. The mere thought of breaking the news to Berlioz made her stomach twist—he already had too much to deal with. Adding this would only pile on more stress, and the last thing any of them needed was for him to spiral.

She turned her attention back to Toulouse, her gaze softening as she took in his expression. He didn’t deserve feeling like that.

“Don’t blame yourself,” she said gently, her voice carrying the warmth of a sister’s unconditional care. “You can’t know what you don’t know, after all.”

Marie let out a sigh, one of many that day, as though the weight of their shared predicament was pressing down on her shoulders alone. She reached out, giving his arm a light squeeze, a quiet gesture of comfort.

When he mentioned something about her eyes, she tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “My eyes?” she echoed, her lips quirking into a thoughtful smile. “Oh, yeah. I get told all the time they look like Mom’s. Maybe that’s who you’re vaguely recalling?”

Her smile turned bittersweet at the mention of their mother. It wasn’t the first time someone had pointed out the resemblance, and she wasn’t sure whether it brought her comfort or an ache she couldn’t quite name. Still, if that tiny thread of familiarity could help Toulouse find his way back, she’d cling to it with everything she had.

She leaned back slightly, studying his face for any flicker of recognition, any sign that her words had sparked something. “Does that feel familiar at all?” she asked softly, hoping for even the faintest glimmer of connection.

The last thing Toulouse wanted was for anyone to see him like this and feel poorly. He hated the fact that he couldn’t remember anything, and every time someone new came to visit, that familiar pang in his chest started to flare up again. A wave of sadness hit him as she mentioned someone being disappointed. That’s what this whole experience felt like so far; one big, tragic disappointment. “Tell him I’m sorry… or don’t tell him anything, if that’s better, I don’t know…”

His brows rose upward at this information. Something like that… something so intimate and personal, if he could forget those things, well… he just couldn’t believe it. “Shit… I don’t know what to say- I just keep apologizing to people I can’t remember and it feels like I’m lying to them because even though I feel bad, it doesn’t feel genuine.”

Sighing, Toulouse flopped backward onto the bed, and covered his face with his hands. “This fucking sucks….” It took him a while to say anything else, or sit up, but when he did, he looked at his sister with almost a new set of eyes. Eyes. He knew those eyes. Where did he know them? How? Why? “Your eyes… they seem… familiar.”

[colt-phillips]

Oh, it was just a game for fun? Colt had been assuming it was a game with score keeping, but if that was not the case, there was not really anything keeping him from joining in. "You ain't keepin' score, huh? Well, if'n you don' mind playin' wit' someone who's prob'ly gonna be throwin' rocks, then I 'spose I can join in."

Toulouse was no all star basketball player by any means, but he could make a basket now and then. Even the pros missed sometimes, right? Anyway, he was thankful to get his ball back, spinning it between his fingers as the other seemed to think the proposal over. "Nonsense, you don't have to be perfect to play," he reassured the man, giving a smile.

"I'm just shooting around for fun, anyway. No one's keeping score, if that's what you're worried about."

[happiestmariebeaumont]

Marie stared at her brother, her sharp gaze softening as the weight of his condition settled over her. Amnesia. The word alone felt like a cruel punchline to a joke no one was laughing at. She let out a long sigh, her frustration giving way to something gentler, though no less complicated.

“Berlioz is going to sulk all day if he finds out you forgot about him,” she said, her voice laced with an almost fond exasperation. A genuine chuckle slipped through her defenses, brief but real, a flicker of light in an otherwise heavy moment.

Her eyes searched his face for some sign of recognition, some flicker of the brother she knew, but there was nothing. Not yet. She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly as if the physical distance might shield her from the sting of being a stranger to him.

“In case you’re wondering who I am,” she began, her tone dipping into something lighter, almost teasing. “We shared a womb, me, you, and Berlioz. We’re triplets, in case that part also escaped your memory.”

She studied his reaction, but when nothing changed, her shoulders slumped just slightly. “You don’t remember anything, huh?” she asked, the question more rhetorical than anything else. Her voice softened, the edges of her frustration blunted by the realization of how lost he must feel.

Marie stepped closer. The headache was written all over his face, and she felt a pang of guilt for her earlier tone. She sighed again, this time quieter, and ran a hand through her hair.

“Seriously, what am I gonna do with you?” she muttered, her voice low and almost affectionate. It wasn’t just a question for him; it was one for herself, for the universe, for anyone who might be listening.

For now, she pushed her worry aside. She’d get him through this, no matter how long it took. After all, that’s what family did—even if one of them had no memory of it.

Shit… again, here was someone he was supposed to recognize, and he did, somewhat, but not fully, and it was beyond frustrating. Especially when the person already seemed in a bad mood. “Um… maybe? I dunno, I’m sorry…” He was about to ask why she was so upset, but was taken aback by her attitude and sudden insults.

“Whoa, hang on, take it easy,” Toulouse said, holding his hands out trying to diffuse the situation. His head was still pounding but he didn’t want to call in a nurse because they would likely cart her off for making a scene. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. All I know, is that one minute I was walking down the sidewalk, and the next, I was laying here. They told me something about a car accident?” He tried to recall.

Hang on… was this? No, this couldn’t possibly be Rachel… The nursing staff had told him that Rachel had been visiting, but even her, he couldn’t remember. All he knew from the staff was that he’d been with Rachel the night of the incident, and given the context clues here he doubted this was her. He squinted his eyes, trying his hardest to find something, anything, that he remembered about the girl sitting before him.

“I’m not expecting anything… I can’t, expect anything. Okay? I can’t even remember anything, just barely my name. And please, stop yelling,” he winced, holding his head where the intense ache was the worst.”

[happiestmariebeaumont]

“Do I ever look like a nurse to you?” Marie snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. She crossed her arms over her chest, fixing her brother with a glare that could have melted stone. His attempt at humor—or whatever it was—had fallen flat. She wasn’t amused, not in the slightest.

What she didn’t tell him, what she refused to even hint at, was the confrontation she’d had with Rachel earlier. The sting of it still lingered on her palm, a reminder of just how far her anger had pushed her. But this wasn’t the time to rehash that fight, nor the warning she’d left Rachel with. For now, she needed distance—from Rachel, from the chaos, and from the mess her brother seemed determined to drag himself into.

If Rachel had any sense, she’d heed the warning and stay away, at least for a while. Marie couldn’t promise what she might do if that girl showed up again anytime soon.

“You are an idiot, Toulouse,” she muttered, her voice low but laced with bitterness. It wasn’t a playful jab, not the kind siblings exchanged with smirks and rolled eyes. No, this was sharper, harsher—more like a slap than a jest.

“Always playing the hero,” she added, her words carrying a weight that made the air between them feel heavy. Her tone was bitter, more bitter than a lemon rind, and it lingered in the air like the sour aftertaste of regret.

Marie turned her gaze away, her expression softening for a brief moment as she sighed, the anger ebbing just slightly. “You can’t keep doing this,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, though no less firm. “It’s going to get you killed one day, and then what? You think I’m just going to sit here and pick up the pieces?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

The bright lights had since been turned down after Toulouse's complaints that they were making the pounding in his head worse, but there was still that steady beat drumming on and on. With each throb he silently winced, debating whether or not to call the nurse for medication. They had been kind, the nurses, but they were liars. They told him he should only be there a few days, when he'd been there already for months. They told him that the pain would subside with the medication, but it was still there, just numbed temporarily. Worst of all, perhaps, was that they told him he would regain his memories soon, but all he knew was his name.

Pft... he thought to himself. These people don't seem to have a clue what's going on... He let out a groan as he shifted in his bed, fed up with the medical equipment that was supposedly necessary, though he didn't know why. Far too busy examining the machinery to notice someone walk in, Toulouse was startled a bit by a new face suddenly appearing. "Oh— uh... hello... you sure don't look like a doctor or nurse," he chuckled, awkwardly, trying not to laugh too hard or move too much to spare his ribs.

@happieststarters

[colt-phillips]

Colt was just passing through the park when a basketball suddenly came rolling towards him. He did not need to try and find out where it came from because the owner immediately called out to him. Picking it up, he tossed it back before contemplating the question. He had played basketball before, but that had been a long time ago, and he was probably pretty rusty. "Oh, well, I ain't played in a long time, an' I prob'ly wouldn't be all that good. I wouldn't wanna bring down your game."

Toulouse had been feeling like he'd spent too much time indoors lately. His creative inclination was lacking muse, and his body was lacking vitamin d. What better way to clear the mind, get inspiration and heal the body than spend a little time outside? Normally, he might just go for a jog, or skateboard around for a bit, but he was feeling more restless than usual. He needed to let some energy out, but in a way that would distract his whole body, not just his legs.

He grabbed a basketball from his room and headed out to the park. Toulouse was fine with the idea he might just end up playing by himself, though he hoped maybe there would be some others lingering around who'd want to shoot a few. It didn't take long for the park to fill up, as it was a beautiful day. He took a shot, and missed just by a few inches, though enough to send the ball rolling away toward another park-goer. "Hey, over here!" he shouted, hands up to catch the ball. "You want in?"

@happieststarters