#connection:raoul

[infernorp]

name: annabella chaney

age: forty six

gender and pronouns: cis female, she/her

loyalty: chaney

occupation: hotel owner and proprietor

criminal occupation: boss of the chaney organization

faceclaim: angelina jolie

You were made by the men around you, but you have never been one to stand behind them. You were born the youngest of six to a man who had devoted his life to the shadows and narrow alleyways of Paris, a crooked finger and hushed words as comforting as a lullaby would be to another child. You, rather than your older brothers, were chosen to be groomed as the next ruler of your family organisation; your father understood the glint in your eyes, the curl of your lip, and he knew that you were made for such a job. You studied and bided your time, clutching his arm as your heels clicked on the ground as a teenager accompanying him to meetings, presented as his little Queen. The men would fawn and stare, their eyes betraying your thoughts, but you refused to look away. 'You’ll rule them all,' your father had whispered in your ear, and you simply smiled in agreement. By the time you were in your twenties, he was six feet under and you were crowned. Love came soon after, falling head over heels for a man who was too good of heart to truly be led astray into your world, although you tried. You tried so hard to be the wife you thought he needed, giving him a son and playing the part as well as you could. However, soon enough, you slipped and Raoul was born. He accepted the boy well enough, and it only caused your heart to bleed deeper when he finally succumbed and left you. Still, you did not cry. You simply clutched your boys closer to your chest and looked towards the future.

Years on, you’ve grown and conquered and remained at the top of the pyramid, overseeing everything with a firm eye. You’re not heartless, despite what people may think when they see your regal appearance and flinching gaze; you simply do not suffer fools. You’ve never been one to go out of your way for someone until they’ve proven themselves to you, but once they do, you’re entirely loyal. Yet before anything, you’re thinking of your sons. Philippe, with his cruel words and his emotionless stare pushing you away as you try to reach out, unable to carry him out of the frozen woods of his mind. Raoul, with his heart of gold and reckless nature, who finally returned to you after years leaving your mind set with worry and fear. You have them together once more, something you dreamed of; you can keep them both safe. Yet there’s never a moment where you truly feel at ease. Safety is a luxury you refuse to allow yourself, even in the rare moments when the sun shines and you can feel something thawing inside you. Safety leads to naked vulnerability, and that was what can lead to your demise, as it did your husband. For him, you will be strong. For him, you will roar.

associates: dulce vilaró, gabriel prideaux, narissa king, and tempest noble

disliked: antonin petrovic, edmond ledoux, jacqueline mifroid, joseph buquet, lucien rousseau, madalene giry, remy bourque, and zhu lau

trusted: gille andré and mathieu reyer

PHILIPPE CHANEY

He wasn’t planned, and they all gasped when you announced your decision to keep him, as young as you were. Yet holding him in your arms, you had felt nothing but an overwhelming and primal urge to protect, to love this innocent treasure who clung to you like you were the one thing they needed to survive. You never felt you could be a mother, but the love you felt for him through the years only seemed to grow and grow, and with him, you became an entirely new person. Someone soft, someone gentle. Someone who could keep something so precious and pure safe and loved. That was what you had believed, telling yourself even as things became more chaotic and you saw him fall deeper and deeper into your world. You knew you should have been happy, but there was something breaking inside you, and seeing him unable to meet your eyes with nothing but a numbed fury, you would do anything to go back.

RAOUL CHANEY

Born out of an affair, you knew he was your chance to redo your mistakes with Philippe. You indulged him, you spoiled him absolutely rotten, and in return he gave you a smile that could light an entire city and hugged you so tightly you forgot how to breathe. You wanted to protect him entirely from your world, someone so good-hearted and joyful, someone who would eventually lose the awe in his voice and become as tainted as his brother. You were secretly grateful when he left Paris, even though it ate you from the inside out to hear of his tales. Now with Raoul returned and in your arms once more, your golden boy, you can’t quite quench the feeling that something is going to go wrong with him. He’s too aggressive, too mismatched to the cold and clinical world of their life. You smile and see him off, trying to be happy for him, but the worry remains, growing like ivy in your stomach.

RICHARD FIRMIN

A puppy dog in a grown man’s body, clad in designer suits and staring at you as if he would lay his life down for you in an instant. You’re used to people regarding you as a ruler, as royalty in their eyes. Even those in your inner circle see you as something that you’re not, and Richard Firmin is one of those people. You see how his eyes follow you around the room, how he leaps to his feet to help you with a flick of your fingers. You can only smile and raise a perfectly groomed eyebrow; it never stops being amusing, having such power over weak men. Despite the many lovers you’ve taken in recent years, feeding a hunger recognised in one another, you can’t help but welcome his constant presence. You enjoy the attention, and the fawning, as irritating as Philippe and Raoul may find him and his partner at times. While you’d easily dispose of the man should the time come, for the moment, you’re pleased enough to indulge him.

THIS CHARACTER HAS A NON-FLEXIBLE FACECLAIM AND IS TAKEN BY RILEY

[infernorp]

name: claude babin

age: thirty

gender and pronouns: cis male, he/his

loyalty: neutral

occupation: heir

criminal occupation: none

faceclaim: rhydian vaughan

Some say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. You've found, in your experience, that it's quite the opposite. Offer nothing but the best intentions served on a platter handcrafted from the silver spoon which you were born with tucked delicately away under your tongue, and people will lay down their jackets on the pavement at your feet, offering their very lives in exchange for one good deed. Of course, that's not why you do it. No, you've always felt that you were perfect, and this was just a way to reflect that. Not a desire to be perfect, but a knowing that you already were. And on the occasions when you did muss things up, well. You were only trying your best, no one can fault you for that, and so you walked away from the wreckage without a scratch on you, not a single consequence on the horizon. You live in color and bright bubbling jazz, in polka dots and moonbeams. The purpose of your existence is simply to shed light on everything you touch. To save everyone. To fly, to touch the heavens, to walk on water. Maybe not so simple after all. You can't save them all, especially not the ones who don't want to save themselves, but that's a hard lesson to learn, and it's one that hasn't quite sunken in yet.

Your father was retired before you were in high school, but some of your most vivid memories are those of him coming home from the hospital at the most unusual hours, looking thoroughly exhausted but proud of himself. One morning his pager alerted the family of the hospital's need of him while you were all sitting at the breakfast table, and you looked at your father with wide eyes and asked, voice quivering, why he had to leave just then. He smiled and put his hands on your shoulder, kneeling to look at you in the eyes. 'If I don't save whoever needs me, who else will?' Your ambition was never to be a doctor like your father was, but those words stuck with you. You're perfect, yes, but this is the only thing you have to offer to the world besides a pretty face. Statues are nice to look at, but they serve no practical purpose. You want to do something, and if you cut yourself to shreds picking up the broken pieces of the people you meet as you become, then so be it.

acquaintances: christine daae, lea jammes, and xavier carmen

friends: baylen moreau and zhu lau

disliked: dulce vilaro, edmond ledoux, erik destler, jacqueline mifroid, and madalene giry

ANNABELLA CHANEY, PHILIPPE CHANEY, AND RAOUL CHANEY

You grew up alongside the Chaney family, and while Raoul and Philippe are some of your closest friends, part of you can't help but wonder how Annabella and Philippe can stomach being so stoic all the time. Still, it was fun making the occasional trip out to see Raoul during his travels, going barhopping all over the world, though you can't say you entirely approve of his lifestyle choices either. All things considered, though, they're both like your brothers, Raoul considerably moreso, if only because it's much easier for you to be a guiding hand on his shoulder to at least attempt helping him navigate his life with as few drunken stupors as possible. But you do appreciate the whole family, for all they're worth to you, now and the childhood memories you keep so fondly tucked away.

LISETTE SORELLI

You were raised to be charming, not sincere, and yet somehow you ended up both. It's for these reasons that Lisette confuses you. She's charming, sure. Charismatic and beautiful, but cold. Talking to her is like admiring a porcelain doll on a shelf. It's nice to look at, but gives you an uneasy feeling and it's altogether utterly inhuman. Dealing with her is an unfortunate necessity for your time with Meg since Meg sadly refuses to see you off the books or the clock, so you try and keep your dealings with Lisette as short as needed. You can't shake the feeling whenever you speak with her, though, that she'd like to sink her hooks into you. You don't know her story, but you certainly have the money and status that you can tell she craves. It makes you shudder to think of, and you're certain you can't hide the way your lip curls when she comes onto you.

MEG GIRY

You were born a lover, not a fighter, but what if the one you love demands that you fight her before she'll believe you truly want her for who she is? You look at Meg like she put the stars in the skies, like she has the stars contained right there in her eyes, and she can hardly meet your gaze. The only time you get to spend with her is when you're paying for it, but somehow you don't mind. It's incredible, really, that you don't see anything wrong with it. You'd throw all the money you're worth at her just for one night to call her your own, but Meg isn't one to be owned. Maybe she was once upon a time, but back then, before the world ripped her to shreds, before she needed to be saved, would you still have wanted her? Is the appeal in Meg herself, or in a girl who you look at and see a damsel in distress, a maiden who needs to be rescued? 'You're not my knight in shining armor,' she tells you one night, pushing you away with tears in her eyes, 'I can save myself. I don't need you.' It should be enough to make you leave, but it only makes you want her more. You choose to believe that she's lying, that she can't save herself, because it's easier than thinking that maybe she needs someone but just doesn't want you.

THIS CHARACTER HAS A FLEXIBLE FACECLAIM AND IS TAKEN BY CHARITY

[infernorp]

name: philippe chaney

age: thirty

gender and pronouns: cis male, he/his

loyalty: chaney

occupation: private practice criminal attorney

criminal occupation: captain for the chaney crime organization

faceclaim: henry cavill

You have always been good at taking orders, your mother has said often, her voice tired and fond as she strokes your hair. It was as if it had been embossed in your DNA, written into your skin and part of the very fabric of your being. You preened as a child when you followed your parent’s instructions, standing dutifully at their side and looking the part of the heir, of the perfect little boy who would follow in their footsteps and make their world great once more. And you played your part beautifully, even when distractions in the shape of little boys shoved into your arms and called your brother. You were asked to protect him, and you did just that, even when he insisted on gallivanting with the weak little girl with the rosy cheeks and the red scarf, your eyes narrowing as you surveyed from a distance. You had never found yourself wishing for young love, not when you could devote yourself to the family business. Even when Raoul left, floating into the distance for a life filled with laughter and parties and stumbling down unknown streets, you remained at your mother’s side, older and wiser and fixed in place. You were rewarded in kind, being made a captain and a cosy little job in a lawyer’s office, earning the money you always envisioned for yourself and setting up a life led by hard work and cold handshakes marking your property. Your father had always commended you on your straightforward thinking, ruffling your hair and saying you were an old man in a young body, and you had shone under his gaze.

Now, with the business on your shoulders and one eye still following your unruly brother around, your mother’s hand on your arm with her fingernails digging in sharp, you’re like a trigger pulled back into position, ready to attack. What they don’t know, however, is that you’re feeling drawn in by something entirely new, something that leaves you with cold shivers down your spine and your fingers itching. You’ve never been in love before, and you’re not; you can’t be in love, you reason, with someone you’ve only seen fleeting glimpses of and spoken to in hushed whispers. Love has never been part of your story, and a part of you wants to push it down and rip it apart before it tears you to pieces instead. You’re too thoughtful for such an action, though. You don’t do things spontaneously, because it’ll only leave you vulnerable to attack. You think everything through, possibly more than you should, and it soothes your mind to know you’re in control. Even if the city descends into chaos, you would be the one to remain. Love would unravel you, would leave you gasping for air and crumbling to the ground with nothing but the woman you ache for to save you. It frightens you that looking into her eyes, you begin to feel that she would.

associates: gabriel prideaux, gille andre, mathieu reyer, richard firmin, tempest noble, and zhu lau

disliked: christine daae, dulce vilaró, erik destler, jacqueline mifroid, joseph buquet, kristos vallas, lucien rousseau, and narissa king

entertainment: gigi destler, gregory renard, and lea jammes

ANNABELLA CHANEY

Your mother has always been on a pedestal, her beauty and power filling your mind and leaving you following in her wake. While your father was your strength, your reason for being, your mother was the one to prop you up and whisper in your ear, moulding you into her heir. You pushed yourself to be perfect for her, to hear her praise you; yet with each new hoop you jumped through, you never seemed to feel enough for her. She was still looking at your brother, still cooing over him and treating him like gold despite his shortcomings, and it only left you pushing further and further to reach out and shout that you were here, that you were the one. You’ve long since closed up around her, despite her claws remaining in your side, manoeuvring you, but over the years, her view of love has come to mean nothing to you. You hear her instructions and you follow dutifully, but the actions mean nothing and you walk away the first second you can, wrapping your weary heart for protection.

LISETTE SORELLI

You’ve had lovers before, too many to count. It shouldn’t be so difficult, to speak to a pretty girl and have her in your arms before you break a sweat. You’ve managed it plenty of times before, and yet, when you saw her sharp sort of beauty from across the room, your first thought was to sink to the floor in awe and reverence. As time has gone on, and you’ve made small conversations feel like confessing your sins to an angel and basking in something you can only compare to a religious experience, you find yourself sinking deeper and deeper into a kind of madness. You don’t know much about each other, only a first name and the few spoken words between you, the rest communicated in gazes burning into the other’s skin. In a world such as this, you’re not inclined to allow yourself the happiness that you hear from simple men who live lives far less grand than yours; yet, you think, grandeur doesn’t seem to compare to the smile of someone like Lisette.

RAOUL CHANEY

Your half brother, you make sure to always mention when you introduce him. When you were both younger, you’d see the flinch in his body, the stab of pain in his innocent eyes so full of wonder and happiness; he had always been your opposite, radiating gold while you lurked to the shadows. It had frustrated you, had infuriated you, to see someone so undeserving when you worked so hard, remain your mother’s favourite. Even now, seeing him return from years spent wasting money and time only to be welcomed home by the city’s open arms, by warm smiles and his name spoken with reverence and adoration, leaves you shaking with anger. The worst part, however, is that no matter the harsh words and the fighting, you would both still do anything on Earth for one another. This type of dependency, you realise, is something that is hard to ever truly get used to. Even with your brother’s blinding smile and calloused handshakes, you know he will soon be swallowed whole by this world.

THIS CHARACTER HAS A SEMI-FLEXIBLE FACECLAIM AND IS DECEASED

[infernorp]

name: gregory renard

age: twenty nine

gender and pronouns: agender, he/they

loyalty: destler

occupation: emcee and treasurer for le théâtre de nuit

criminal occupation: soldier for the destler crime organization

faceclaim: cory michael smith

You never knew your father. Maybe you inherited your personality and outlook from him; heaven knows it doesn't come from your mother. No, Sebastian must have gotten his muscles from your father, since you're lean and sinewy like your mother. It's the only thing you got from her. Everything else? Your mother, as much as you've always loved her, has never been the most rational, intelligent, or level-headed person. People who often think clearly don't tend to move from Russia to France and then back onto whims. You'll always resent her at least a little for that, you think. You know you were already a grown adult, living on your own, when she left, but to see what it did to your siblings stirred what little positive emotion you garned for them and turned it into a growing spitefulness directed at your mother. Not that you'd ever admit either part of that to Sebastian or Fleur, but it's there, wrapped around your heart like a hand in a thick black glove, squeezing ever tighter. Maybe one day it will envelope you entirely. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

Before the mess that left you stranded in Paris was even a glimmer of an idea in your mother's mind, you had another, larger, better reason to hate her. The man you think you must be more like than you are like her. She never mentioned him, never kept any photos. You never even knew his name or how they met. The only trace of his existence was a hard glint in your mother's eye when she looked at you, when your lips parted with a gentle smack of saliva, a witty remark on the tip of your tongue, one she could never have thought of herself; it was in those moments you knew not only that you must have a father, but that you must be an exact copy of him and that she must hate him with a resentment you would never have thought her capable of, one that sunk down into her very bones. Perhaps that was why she always treated your siblings much more fondly, more warmly, and why you resolved to be more cold on the whole. Your childhood was a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, leaving you indifferent not only to yourself but to everyone you passed on the street. Every one of those mean glances in your direction only added another brick to the wall you built around your soul, choking the kind light out of it one moment at a time. Your spirit was a black, lifeless thing by the time you were seventeen, suffocated by the weight of your mother's disdain. It's sad; because of how much she must have hated you, you decided so did everyone else, and so every friendly glance was read as a glare, every gently inquisitive remark came from the lips of nosy people who should learn to mind their own business. By now the wall you've built yourself has started building a wall of its own, and you don't know who you are anymore, only that your father made you this way and your mother didn't do anything to stop it.

associates: antonin petrovic, cherry langley, gigi destler, kristos vallas, lea jammes, lisette sorelli, lucien rousseau, meg giry, rahim ahmadi, and xavier carmen

higher-ups: gille andre, michel lefevre, and richard firmin

tolerated: baylen moreau, hadley perrin, mathieu reyer, and zhu lau

CHRISTINE DAAE, RAOUL CHANEY, AND MADALENE GIRY

There's something about them, you just can't bring yourself to trust them. Never let it be said you'd put yourself, your own career or wellbeing, on the line to protect someone else, but you're also undeniably suspicious of the motives of these three individuals, both separately and perhaps even as a group. You've never told anyone simply because you don't want to be scoffed at and told to drop the matter, but you'd like nothing more than to prove irrefutably to Erik that these three are up to something, that they're not to be trusted. Sure, you don't like very many people at all, but you're finding yourself on the border of putting yourself in harm's way to give yourself a reason to distrust, even hate, them. It's a slippery slope and you know it, but you've never been wrong about anything before and you don't intend to start now.

ERIK DESTLER

Your boss, for all intents and purposes. He hired you anyway, picked yourself and your siblings right off the streets, took you into the dusty old theatre and asked what you could do. Said he could tell when people were special and you three fit the bill. Fleur and Sebastian, sure, of course. You, though? Special? Not so much. Just a gangly out-of-work accountant with a wheedling voice and half a Masters degree in geology. Probably the most boring combination of interests and traits to ever be thrown together into a person, if that person were then put on stilts. Doctor Gangle, Erik called you once, a tongue in cheek nickname not unlike the ones awarded to Fleur and Sebastian, and it half stuck. You're still not sure if you like it, much less how you feel about the man who awarded it to you, but it certainly does fit.

FLEUR RENARD AND SEBASTIAN RENARD

You've always been so unlike your siblings. Not strong or brave like Sebastian, and certainly not bubbly and outgoing like Fleur. They're both performers at heart, all muscle wrapped in a layer of stardust and something you could almost call empathy in the right light. You lack all of that, it seems. Your brain doesn't work in the same way. Your emotions are as absent as any musical interest or ability, concern for others, for yourself even, lost in a tangle of long limbs and neurons firing too quickly. Some days you think it's a gift, others you'd give anything to have more in common with your siblings. For now, though, you're just suffering through a terrible case of middle child syndrome, the odd duck sitting on the sidelines up to his ears in receipts and bills and money which isn't yours. The spotlight isn't something you've ever longed for, but it does seem awfully warm.

THIS CHARACTER HAS A NON-FLEXIBLE FACECLAIM AND IS OPEN