François Bonnefois COMPLETE

[François Bonnefois]

T H E C H A R A C T E R

Full Name: François Bonnefois, or Francis Bonnefoy for you Anglophones
Age: 30
Birthday:July 14
Gender: Indescribably male, but don't think that limits his tastes...
Is this an application for a first or second character: First

Family: English, as much as the word puts a bad taste on his tongue.
Rank: Guard

Strengths: Quick on his feet, multilingual, persuasive, creative, excellent cook, great stamina, fantastic at rebelling once he's already lost. Rather advanced close-combat knife skills, even more fantastic sniping skills.
Weaknesses: Quick to surrender, easily taken away with emotion, stubborn, hotheadded, dramatic.

Personality: François Bonnefois is an extreme romantic on the simplest, most molecular level. His love for the sunset ending lined with champagne, roses, an eloping with that beautiful face to a chateau in the mountains has become his ultimate driving force. However, he interferes with this dream, himself, both with his own cowardace and weakness, but also with his delight in argument opposite the head of his house. He has too much love to keep within himself and subsequently attempts to pour out the excess on any target, be they willing or not. He's a man who follows whatever he deems beautiful, and lazily fights those tings he see as the opposite.

History: Raised by a very, very disinterested father, with the greater part of his time spent waiting on the metro, François is not a man to dabble or speak too often of his past. Married once and divorced, rather like his father. At the least, his father's situation had produced children, which had been the butt of the debate between François and his once-wife, who had not wanted to ruin her figure with children. Models will be that way, you know. At the least, he did the the occasional childhood delight of seeing a baby sister, but that was a rare instance, with how his parents fought so dirtily and constantly. Otherwise, he will admit a few simple facts on his past.

His father was an expert hitman for high-paying political figures across Europe and Africa (Which François' biological other would deny knowing about to the day she died, though it was rather obvious to François that that had been the entire reason that they had eloped, what with a younger woman falling for a dark, dashing man, but...). His father and he never bothered to be father and son, to the point that François has no idea if his father is alive. This is no sore point, though. He attended a Catholic school, and then an indiscriminate University somewhere in France. The experience with his father, and the constant lack of control in his life as a child inspired the Frenchman to do something beyond what his father had ever managed to accomplished.

He wanted to be the man pulling the strings, rather than the puppet. And he was well on his way, rising in French local politics, that is, until he damned himself with marriage at 23, wherein he managed to fall rock-bottom at the abrupt divorce two months after the wedding ceremony and that ungrateful copain--

Pardonnez.

A darker option to power became apparent to François, and he attempted to pursue that, as well. Hell, aren't organized crime and politics twins? However, the poor Frenchman has landed, well.. As you see him. A mere guard for the kind of people he hates more than any other. He'd really rather not tell you why, and it's not a fact that drinking can even reveal. The most you'll get is that it was all for 'a friend'. He'll let you unravel the mystery. (If you want a better history tell me ;a; I'm trying to make it cool.)

Other Important Info: Though he's distasteful of his position in life, he is extremely loyal to the house. He is slower in response in close-combat fighting due to his cowardice, but his sniping skills are top-rate.


Roleplay Sample:
His hair spilled around him, akin to golden liquid, as he turned over with an infuriating laziness. The crisp white linens of a community bed dared not glow in the late afternoon light, not when they had that hair to compete with. Cerulean eyes appeared as lids folded back to their places, allowing the colour to glance around the hotel room. Mariott. Pah, that cruel, cheap rosbif. Always gifting his grudgingly loyal guard the second-best in everything. Not like it mattered. It was a suite, after all, mini-bar and all. It wasn't his tab, either. It was the family's, and, inherently, Arthur's pocket that would be paying every charge François spent on this little business trip. With a throaty laugh hidden in his breath, he scooped his form from the linens, casting his blazer from himself and onto them instead. A split moment from untwisting his prize, (a bottle of Grey Goose! Maybe this Mariott wasn't so bad. The last Hyatt he'd stayed in hadn't even kept decent drinks in the rooms!) La Marseillaise hummed from the pocket of his discarded blazer. His eyes slid back shut, his lips pursed...

And he waited. Waited for the infernal caller to leave him alone.

But, no, no such luck for Bonnefois. He grunted, casting the vodka to the side and strolled to the blazer, rummaging the cell from the pocket. Swiping a finger over the screen to answer, he held it to his ear.

"Allo oui?" He greeted, attempting the calmest, happiest voice he could manage, "Ah... Monsieur, comment vas-tu? Eh--" He paused, wandering to the window, listening to the voice on the other end.

"Ben... Demain?... Oui, je voyage chez vous demain... Ben... Oui, oui. D'accord..." A soft rambling, disinterested. A friend of the family, a Francophone, thankfully (and even close enough not to trifle with the formal words with!). A benefactor. A boring, boring conversation. A trial set on him by the boss he detested so greatly, "Mmh, c'est bien. Oui, oui. Demain. A plus tard, Monsieur." He took the phone from his ear, frowning at it as he darted a finger across the screen to end the call, only to receive a text immediately after.

But, unlike the call, the text brought a wide, devilish smile to his lips. That... was a pretty budget.
And there was a very, very pretty girl in the lobby, is she hadn't left. Demain, tomorrow.. He'd have that meeting. Until then. Up coat, out door. The city would have to watch carefully for François that night~

O O C I N F O R M A T I O N

Name: Dei, jana, Chibi, Chibs. Pick one.
Timezone: The one New York's in...? I live in Tennessee 8T
MSN/AIM;etc: MSN; wineslurpingfrog@live.com // AIM; bifocal reflect // Yahoo!; shinralogic
You read the rules, right?: My favourite colour is mint green. C:
Anything else?: Life's odd atm.. I'll be slow sometimes.. Sorry ;a; and if you want anything better in this just tell me!