#m: rem vilein

[noiranamnesis]

Collateral Drift

closed starter for @liraspins

....

00:03

Business is business. A worn phrase, less a thought than a principle long hammered in place. One he can't be bothered to rehearse- or so he told himself. It was all part of the routine: familiarizing the target's routine, scouting the predetermined 'final' location, waiting for extraneous liabilities to vacate, then executing the task- either in accordance with the client's specifications, or more often, his own. The latter was more efficient, less brutal, and required less clean up.

With a trick of the hand, he disengaged the back door's lock, exploiting the neighbor's blind spot. Each step was deliberate, quite, as he moved deeper into the house. The stillness was almost tangible, the absence of light just as he'd anticipated. The target was alone. Two hours having passed since the last light went out. He should be in his REM cycle.

Removing a firearm from beneath his jacket, he stopped at the edge of the hall checking for movement before straightening at the faint sound of wind. His attention shifted, fixating on a window left slightly ajar. He remained unmoved, listening for subtle rustlings of movement, and after a few beats- he heard it. Too light for the target's weight class. His jaw twitched, hand tightening on the grip. Shit. He moved forward, each movement carefully measured, each breath slow and steady as he neared the source of the disturbance.

[noiranamnesis]

@retrograderesemblance & @tyliocellier

Pierrot le Fou (1965)

[noiranamnesis]

(Classic literature meme) The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Has Marinette ever been forced to conceal or suppress a part of herself because society would not accept it? Has she ever had the freedom to be her true self? What would she do if she knew she would face no consequences or judgment for her actions? I also want to know the same thing about Françoise and Rem.

Marinette:

Yes, though often not by direct command, but subtle conditioning and expectations. Since adolescence, Marinette has found herself in the role of an 'elegant, sweet' daughter: one who smiles, who soothes, who maintains composure. Her talents- cooking, dance, etc.- all traditionally feminine, and in mastering them, she internalized an unspoken rule: that grace leaves no room for grief. As the eldest, she was not to be simply admired, but relied upon even if the cost was herself.

Due to these intricacies, she learned to suppress. Sorrow, rage, even joy in its unsavory forms- unless for the sake of others. There is a sorrow she carries, a soft ache so constant it often lulls her toward nothingness. It is something she is desperate to keep hidden, not simply because she believes no one wants to see it, but because, when measured against others' pain, her own feels indulgent. When their parents were laid to rest, her siblings were given space to mourn- witnessed. Marinette was not. Yet this silence was not unfamiliar. Years earlier, when she was sabotaged in ballet school and suffered an injury ending any professional aspirations, it left her devastated- yet even then, she hid the extent of her pain. Emotional anguish was tucked behind courteous smile, physical strains downplayed as far as she could manage.

Mirroring this sorrow lies a deep, quiet rage. One she was taught is unseemly for 'someone like her'. And so, hints only surface on behalf of others: when defending her siblings, when standing up to her father...but never for herself. It can be argued these patterns are self-imposed, yet they are rooted in something deeper: lingering remnants of a conservative upbringing, the shadow of being needed, perhaps even survivor’s guilt. She accepts it under the pretense others have it far worse, though refuses to say who planted this notion in her mind.

As for freedom- yes and no. There is someone who would not shy away if she showed these hidden parts of herself. Someone who even encourages her to release these aspects of herself. However, Marinette cannot bring herself to do so where others might see.

For Marinette, it is less a fear of judgement than knowing others rely on her as she is. If she knew, truly knew, there would be no consequences, she might mirror aspects of Nadja: she would defend herself with the same fierceness she reserves for others, she would stop shrinking, she would take up space without a regard for expectations. And yet...if all the threads which bound her to others were cut, if no one relied on her, then part of her might simply drift into the silence. Perhaps she would get tattoos. Perhaps she would wander. Perhaps she would vanish into nothingness.

Françoise:

Not particularly, though not for lack of effort on society's part. There was a time, when she still lived in Conques, that she kept doubts regarding faith to herself and did not seek to remove herself from the church. Conques, is a deeply Catholic place, and Françoise, recognizing this, saw no need to invite unnecessary debates. Beyond this, however, she has always been willing to risk being seen as difficult, unfeminine, or aloof rather than forfeit authenticity. Teachers urged her to be gentler, family members wondered aloud why she wasn’t "more like her sister," and men expected softness where. She met these expectations with silent disinterest, or the occasional remark that ended the conversation altogether.

Freedom, for her, has never been something given. It's something she'd carved with boundaries, wit, and clarity of her convictions. Françoise has always been her true self, or close to it- not because the world welcomed it, but because her mother and sister never imposed such ideals on her, and for that, she has always been quietly grateful.

If she knew with absolute certainty there would be no consequences, no judgment, no obligations, no eyes watching...she wouldn’t change drastically. She might become more outspoken, more brazen in her disinterest in small talk. She might dress more like an eccentric academic, take longer sabbaticals, say 'no' with less diplomacy. She might kiss someone on a rooftop just to see what it felt like, or leave halfway through a conversation that bored her without apology.

Rem:

Yes. After his mother's passing and father's abandonment, the hollow space left behind was filled with rage: raw and unrelenting. For years, he buried it beneath practiced indifference. Not to erase it, but to keep it contained, to suppress impulses he knew were undesirable.

It wasn't until his mentor brought him into the fold that he found an arena to release it. Organized crime provided structure, gave idle hostility a newfound application. In the beginning, he was ruthless. Brutal, even. Not reckless, but completely unflinching. He earned a reputation for an ability to 'see things through to the end, no matter the task'. Violence became a language he spoke with fluency, to the point his colleagues merely avoided the look in his eyes when he was called to act. Over time, raw aggression dulled into something leaner, more methodical. Controlled. Detached. It never fully dissipated though. Even now, it surfaces- on certain jobs, with certain targets. A glimpse of who he used to be in the early days.

If Rem knew there would be no consequences, no risk of exposure...he would tell the truth. He would say it outright: he killed his father. He would recount their final conversation in detail, without flinching, and he would describe how he did it, precisely.

[noiranamnesis]

Who is better at telling stories: Marinette, Françoise or Rem?

Françoise is probably the best storyteller of the three. Her tendency is to remain calm, stick to the main theme, and avoid superfluous details unless asked. The story would be concise, but those listening would have a clear understanding of what happened.

Rem only provides the barest details, using as few words as possible. This leaves a lot of room for interpretation and a need for follow up questions- clarifications he's not too keen to provide.

Then there's Marinette, who is quite the opposite. She can become quite expressive, often gesturing with her hands and sometimes provides 'too' much detail. Unlike Françoise and Rem, her technique is less consistent.

[noiranamnesis]

Who is the most obnoxious: Marinette, Rem or Françoise?

Drum roll, please!

And the winner is...Rem Vilein. *cue applause*

Honestly, this isn't even a fair comparison, solely because Rem is so...himself. He's dry, detached, and begrudgingly adheres to social norms- and even then, it's often bare bones.

Looking for easy conversation? You won't find that here.

Want connection and vulnerability? Well, how much time can you spare?

Looking for a reaction? Good luck to you, and I mean that.

It takes so long to build rapport with him that most throw in the towel and let him be on his way.

[noiranamnesis]

These are the moments when Rem becomes acutely aware of his faults- of the void between himself and others, where empathy should be more pronounced. An inability to comfort, the instinct to draw back. Every sob, every tear, registers not as a call to action, but a source of discomfort, something to be endured.

The reaction to his advice is immediate. A refusal that strikes sharper than anticipated, though he recognizes it isn't his body. If they didn't want to alter their appearance, it was their decision. For a moment he is reminded of his sister, Françoise, and her unwavering stance to never offer advice: Even if they ask for it. They rarely want it. A calloused approach generally followed.

He listens as they speak, recounting the person who took them. Their tone is reverent- a mixture of awe and fear. It doesn’t surprise him. Victims often spoke of their captors similarly, as though they'd brushed against something godlike- a result, he imagined, captors strived for. But one detail stood out: the ocean. An odd detail. Arbitrary.

International waters. It's his initial rationalization. But even if they reached a dock, they'd need a boat.

Apologies are disregarded. Acknowledging them deemed unnecessary, foreign. When they move closer- he takes another drag of his cigarette, regarding her in silence. Considering their tormenter was a man, he was...surprised they would seek proximity to him. In his experience, he was not viewed as an approachable man.

Their voice is flat, resigned. A tone that makes him question why they ran. But it’s not his place. None of this is. So he says nothing. He lets the silence stretch, a buffer between himself and the mess of emotion he has no desire to untangle. A flicker of annoyance mixes with detachment, urging him to disengage. “Okay.”

They shake their head when asked if it's their first time escaping. Their face twists, lip quivering as another sob climbs its way up their throat. "N- no, I...Sometimes I... I can...get out for a few days, but..." They wipe at the tears on their cheeks, sniffling them away as they try to keep from weeping again. They felt a bit silly--weak. They'd never been like this before...Never been so vulnerable. Before being so ruthlessly snatched from their home, they'd been quite strong, stubborn to a fault, fiery. Their strength knew no bounds. Until now. Until they'd met their match with Demetrius Shaw.

"What? No!" He mentions cutting their hair and they cut him off before he can go any further, quickly defending their long locks, fingertips brushing against them as if he might try to take them away. "I ca-- I can't do that..." they whisper, gaze flickering away from him for a moment. "Besides, none of that would do any good..." A faint hum of pain, their eyes pinning to the wall as tears fill them once again.

"He has too much power. Silly little things like a change in my name will not stop him from finding me." And he would only be more pissed if they'd gone and changed their appearance in some drastic way once he did find them. "The only defense I can possibly have is in the ocean." Their tail. Sharp as razors on the tips when used properly. All of their strength drawn from the waves, the soft sea foam caressing their skin...How they missed the salty water cleansing their scales, breathing life into their gills. It ached to think about it.

"Sorry," they say quickly. "I- I- I do not mean to be rude. I do appreciate your concern." They nod and offer a genuine, albeit teary smile. "It is not as simple as it may seem." As he moves away to stand by the open window, their head tilts curiously. They shift against the bed, moving to the side closest to where he stands now. Although they can understand his need for space, to smoke away from them is considerate, they can't stand the lonely distance right now. They tuck their feet up under themselves as they curiously lean over the edge of the bed once he's sat on the ground.

"Not long," they admit meekly. "A few hours? A day? It- I can scarcely remember. I have been awake for so long..." A breath of an aching laugh. They lay down on the bed tiredly, their head resting against the comforter as they stare down at the strange man who seems so calm amidst all of their confessions. Something about his presence is easing their concerns despite their prior convictions. To have someone to talk to was a valuable thing.

"I am sorry to bother you with my troubles..." they murmur. "I do not mean to be a burden. Truly, it will be all right. He will catch me, I will go back. Things will be worse for a while and then they will be the same again...So goes the cycle."

[noiranamnesis]

When do you gaze at your soulmate?

Marinette Beauséjour: "when they don't see you"

you love them and you're not sure they know. but that's okay. you're used to loving more than you are loved. you give more than is given. and maybe others don't understand but you don't expect more. you tell yourself the love in your heart is not meant to be savored by anyone other than you. it's more than enough to get to exist at the same time as them. you stand in their shadow and you thank the sun for casting it. they touch your arm but they do not feel the same warmth which lingers on your skin for days. you gaze at them and they might even be looking right back but they are not seeing into your soul the same way you have memorized theirs. it's enough you tell yourself. it's enough. it's enough. but what if it's not? and what if you're wrong. what if they see you and all this time you have been too scared to ask what they're looking at.

Rem Vilein: "when they don't know you're there"

you want to see who they are at their core. your love smiles for you. they put on a brave face. they tell you off when you're out of line and they encourage you when you know your mistakes are piling up. they're the one who is always there. but there are moments you catch them unawares and that is when you watch them. you want to see the expression their face takes when they aren't being brave for you. you want to see how they smile when it isn't designed to lift your own burdens. you want to see what they say to everyone else. how they talk about you. how everyone else encourages them or if they let anyone be there at all. you want to see what is underneath it all so you can prove that's who you love. the parts of them they try to hide. the parts they think you don't already know and adore.

Tagged by: @hymnoire

Tagging: @tyliocellier, @renegadetulis, @retrograderesemblance, @exquisitexagony, @kingcenred, @luckhissoul, @hellsdogs, and anyone else who is interested!

[noiranamnesis]

What is your muses' weapon of choice? (if they were to be in a fight and had to pick one)

Marinette Élise Sidonie Beauséjour: Cast Iron Skillet or Rolling Pin

Françoise Isidora Séraphine Beauséjour: Solvents & Chemicals (but she's a runner)

Rem Vilein: Heckler & Koch P30L

[noiranamnesis]

A Weekly Tryst

closed starter: @retrograderesemblance for Lynn

...

Dim light cast muted shadows across his features, calloused fingers toying with an unlit cigarette. A vice he remained beholden to despite countless attempts at his sister’s insistence. In the end, however, he found it provided something seldom found- reprieve. With a flick of his thumb he lit a match, unwilling to waver in an aversion to lighters.

A single inhale filled his lungs, Rem easing his weight against the wall to observe random critters scurrying about in the final moments of daylight. Faint melodies carried on the breeze though he paid it no mind, unsure whether it was coming from inside or perhaps a neighboring house. His lips quirked in a fleeting smirk, amused by his ability to relax here of all places. Words came to mind yet he remained silent, another drag dampening thoughts deemed unnecessary.

Business is business. The phrase is little more than a ghost, less a thought than a principle long hammered in place. One which he can’t be bothered to rehearse this late in the day. Or, it’s what he tells himself at least. And such is his routine. Paying premium for an extended slot of time only to spend a quarter of it doing exactly this: standing in the yard finishing a smoke or two before stepping inside.

“Lynn.” His voice is dry, fatigue weighing on his eyes. “I’ll shower first to get rid of the smell.” A concession offered on every weekly appointment. “All’s well?” His fingers twitched, itching for another cigarette, yet he diverted it to loosening his tie.

[noiranamnesis]

Rem's hands stilled, dark eyes locking onto her. A beat passed- the idea of praise shifting one of warning. Almost every day. Adra saw his sister more than he did. Repeated business was a sign of success, but to eat croissants every day...He realized this might be the first time encountering a food addiction.

When she mentioned math, he took another bite of his crêpe. Math. She was good at it, he knew that much. Whether it was her best subject, though, he couldn't recall. Another detail in the void of his memory. Each year it seemed to widen, bits and pieces of things deemed irrelevant, pushed in to allow for his...professional pursuits. In those cases he could only see fragments now, brought to surface by the oddest reminders.

Adra was a reminder.

You know we don't have to do the whole 20 questions with a stranger right?

Yeah. Those comments. Unmoved, he returned his focus to his plate, another bite bringing him closer to the end. These were the moments when Adra mirrored the version in his memories- the one who couldn't resist poking. If she didn't want to talk, why sit at his table? But, they weren't playing twenty questions. "We aren't strangers."

"I don't think you need to." Adra took another bite of her croissant, exhaling as crunch and buttery pastry filled her mouth. "Especially when I am here almost every day ordering the same thing." Some habits are hard to die. A brow arched when he asked her another question. It's probably more words than she had expected from this man in less than 24 hours. "Math." How silly and egoistical of her to expect someone from her past to remember the very thing that seemed to tether her to this world other than her messy decisions.

Perhaps him being in finance was similar between them both... However the dullness in his dark hues told her something else - it was a lie, or just a cover... a boring one so that people won't pry. "You know we don't have to do the whole 20 questions with a stranger right?" she quipped, taking another sip of her black coffee. "It's not like we're in a speed dating session." Although at this point, she was sure the situation was anything but speed.

[noiranamnesis]

Rem's Birthday

In celebration of Rem’s birthday, here are his favorite desserts (all of which were introduced to him by his mother, Emma):

Zeeuwse Bolus

Tompouce

Ijzerkoekjes

[noiranamnesis]

Who has the highest pain tolerance? And who has the biggest capacity for experiencing pleasure?

Highest Pain Tolerance: Rem. It's not even a competition.

Biggest Capacity for Experiencing Pleasure:

This one is tough.

Due to Rem’s restrained nature, he is the most sensitive to stimuli (especially on an internal level), and deeply appreciates those rare moments. Marinette, on the other hand, is the most open to experiences, which gives her the highest potential in a way. Then there's Françoise who is the best at recognizing those moments and savoring them.

[noiranamnesis]

How would Marinette describe Rem? How would she describe Françoise? And how would those two describe her? Make it a monologue please I love reading IC stuff of the muses speaking about each other

It. Is. Done. *cue confettis*

Marinette on Rem

"Let me think...Rem is...simply put, himself. Some say he wears a mask, a barrier between himself and others, but I find that thinking a bit narrow because who doesn't, in some way? Others say he's incapable of forming connections, but that's not true either. Yes, he tends to stay within himself, but everything he does is sincere. There's no façade, no pretense, no false expectations.

He lingers on the edges, that signature impassive look always there- but don't let him fool you. He's observing even when you don't notice it.

I believe there was a time when he almost stepped forward, to join in with the rest, but instead stayed still. And as time passed, it became his security. Everything he does, every choice he makes, strives toward independence. To ensure he isn't a burden or another thing on someone's list.

Rem doesn’t see his own value. From his view, no one sees him as anything other than a stoic man- someone who should be avoided. But if you take a moment to linger and look past the silence and distance, you might catch a glimpse of it- of the boy who never understood why those he loved kept leaving him behind.

He's convinced himself it's easier to assume anyone new will simply disappear, rather than risk being left again. And it breaks my heart, because for all the faults he sees in himself, he fails to see they are simply parts of him- cracks of past experiences being the very thing that pieces him together...

No one is perfect, and while some will overlook him, I hope he'll allow those who want to fill the spaces come closer. Because those are the ones who will see him for what he is: Kintsugi.

And then, one day, when he’s by your side on a frigid winter morning, helping sort through vegetables in the market, you might catch a rare, quiet smile."

Marinette on Françoise

“Françoise always comes across as so polite and focused, the picture of professionalism. BUT there's another side to her, one that gets flustered and wound up and will even kick your bag! You just have to catch her at the right moment- or, more often, get under her skin. It's not easy though. She's become quite talented in keeping her composure, something I imagine comes in handy when you're surrounded by artistic types.

Still, it's always so funny when she cracks.

Of all of us, she is the quickest to adapt, able to step into new environments without every losing herself. Even in her lowest moments, she's always had a clear sense of who she is. It's almost as if she can take her sorrow, place it on her farthest shelf, and only take it down when she's ready to bear it...I've always admired that about her.

Like our mother, she's managed to turn her passion into a career. She's meticulous in her craft, but still carries herself with such poise- which, knowing our mother, is why she had Françoise learn the viola. Like anyone involved in the arts, she's a bit eclectic the more you get to know her, but it's a part of her charm. When we were young, I always thought she reminded me a librarian or someone one who worked in a museum, so it's funny to think she now works for one.

Was I psychic? Who can say?

Now, despite everything I’ve tried to teach her, she isn’t the best cook. But, if you give her a few months she'll know all the good restaurants within walking distance of her flat. When it comes to romance, she's not very keen on it, and truthfully...she's never been good at noticing when anyone is interested in her. It's a talent because if someone is interested in someone else- suddenly she's an expert. So typical. She never gives advice though. In fact, you'd think she'd sworn an oath against it. Even asking her something simple such as, 'Which dress looks better?', and she dances around it as if you were asking for a name for your newborn child."

Rem on Marinette

“Compassionate. Self-sacrificing. Resilient...Warm. Nurturing. Protective...Playful...

A fighter."

Françoise on Marinette

"I think of Marinette in terms of paintings.

Herodias by Paul Delaroche and Le Courage, l’Anxiété et le Désespoir observent la bataille by James Sant come to mind. She has a rare gift- or a curse- of conforming to others' needs without a word, taking the brunt of everything without complaint. I remember once she said to me, 'I refuse to die’. She said it so calmly, wiping blood from her face, a distant look in her eyes before offering me a smile.

I've never forgotten it.

Les Saltimbanques by Gustave Doré also comes to mind, especially the quiet tears of the mother. It reminds me of the few times I saw her cry after our mother passed. It was only ever when someone else was grieving, but never for herself. We grieved for our parents and she grieved for us. That's the scale of her devotion. And the 'crown' is really just family burdens.

Finally, I think of The Five Senses; Hearing by Henry Guillaume Schlesinger, because behind her elegance, Marinette is a menace. She'll bop you on the head with a baguette after a trip to the Boulangerie, randomly sing, or pull you into a dance while she cooks. She's set in her ways, always defaulting to French and showing affection through kisses on the cheek or through food. And if you mention not enjoying something, like chèvre, she'll never forget it. It's become a tradition for me now, every year I get chèvre for my birthday.

For all her liveliness though, she’s home for my brother and I."

[noiranamnesis]

What matters is where we're heading, right?

Rem exhaled quietly, the lines of his face settling into something dull. He was familiar with these sorts of statements. Vague, noncommittal answers in reference to the past were standard. Expected in this line of work. But there was a difference between omitting details and saying nothing.

And with that fact, he had his answer.

"Then lead the way." There was no glance. No check-in. Just a decision. He slowed his pace, letting himself fall a half step behind. A subtle gesture- to hand over the reins. Was it a test? Possibly. But to him, it was more of a tactic. A way to flush him out.

seemed like he wasn't going to let it die. and he feels a bit of a sick feeling getting twisted in his stomach. this whole thing was going to blow up in his face before he got a chance to fix it. he knew he could. he just had to think. when he was training they had told him that he was good when he had to think quick, a problem solver under pressure. this was one of those moments. but things like that wouldn't go over well. he knew he was asking him about experience and mat drew up zeros on that end.

"what matters is where we're heading, right? now where we've been." he says it with a feigned wisdom that he hopes carries over. like he's got secrets more than lies. he was good at lying though. another something that was pointed out. a fault, mostly, not a talent, is what his mom would've said. but that makes him feel more juvenile now. and he hates the feelings.

[noiranamnesis]

(Classic literature meme) Frankenstein: Has Marinette ever allowed their ambition to lead them down the wrong path? What happened? And Françoise and Rem?

Marinette:

After the abrupt end of her ballet career, brought on by a stress fracture in the metatarsals of her left foot. For a time, she trained obsessively, pushing past every warning sign, clinging to the belief sheer will might somehow compensate for her body's failings. Even when pointe work became dangerous, Marinette persisted. In time, the overexertion caught up with her, and she fractured her right foot as well.

Françoise:

In her university years, Françoise was unrelenting, single-minded in her pursuit of art restoration. This intensity followed her into the professional sphere, where she endured museum galas for the sake of networking, pulled long hours to outpace deadlines, and earned a reputation for being hypercritical. Though she consistently delivered strong results, it came at cost. Her social world narrowed, and even her bond with her siblings faded into the background during those initial years.

Rem:

No. Rem has never shown much ambition. He moves through life fueled more by survival (and a desire to remain unbothered) rather than aspiration.

[noiranamnesis]

Random headcanon memes: ✍ : What is Marinette’s handwriting like? Is it neat? Sloppy? Fancy? Does it change depending on whether she's writing in French or English? And what about Rem and Françoise's handwriting?

Marinette's handwriting is neat and elegant, with a consistent flow. She writes in cursive, whether in French or English. Some may view it as “fancy,” but for her, it’s simply how she writes- she avoids print unless absolutely necessary (she finds it slow and unnatural).

Françoise tends to shift styles depending on the language. In French, she uses fluid cursive, while in English, she prefers a traditional print. Her writing is quite precise, reflecting a desire to avoid mistakes or misunderstandings- especially in professional settings.

Rem’s handwriting is, in a word, erratic. Is it print? It is cursive? Who can say? It resembles a barely controlled scrawl- legible when he makes an effort, but often rushed and uneven. As if writing is a chore or obligation.