Post by Riffael Dureau on Apr 22, 2008 23:21:41 GMT -5
Character Basics
Full Name: Riffael Dureau
Nickname(s): Riff
Birthday: November 1st
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Desired Position: Stagehand
Character Information
Appearance:
Riff is as rough around the edges in his appearance as he is in his personality. His hair, a brown wavy-curl that he keeps cut at a medium-short length, is almost always unruly. His eyes are dark, very dark, and the iris is indistinguishable from the pupil unless one comes quite close, an intimacy he seldom allows; if one looks closely, they see a lightness of hazel color about the pupil that almost resembles the first rays of the sun struggling to overcome an eclipse. This metaphor can explain also the furtive and intense way in which he stares, as if half into the middle distance and half into the soul. His eyes have the sleepless, sunken quality to them that gives him an air of troubled mystery and suspicion without compromising his good looks. He is indeed good looking, though he does not seem to realize it. Although he was the tall and lanky type as a boy, he has blossomed since into a lean and muscled young man, not too broad and yet not in any way scrawny. His skin is pale from working so often in the dark, but has a swarthy character to it that is partly due to its natural golden tint and also in part because of the grime that inevitably covers those of his profession. His face is lean, masculine and noble. He is meticulously clean-shaven, hating the way that dirt accumulates in facial hair. He often simply wears a loose (once white) muslin shirt, rolled up to the elbows, old trousers worn and stained dark, and fingerless leather gloves to guard against the abrasion of the ropes.
Personality:
He is silent and brooding, with an air of deep scrutiny that often unnerves. Although his mind is not often melancholy, he seems stand-offish and almost macabre to the un-empathetic. He shies away from social contact but when forced into it makes quite a brute of himself, often bypassing etiquette altogether and intimidating his intended guests of the moment with his unwavering gaze, quite without trying. He is very passionate beneath the deliberate and unfeeling exterior. Riff falls into ecstasy at a beautiful female voice, though this is his best-kept secret. He occupies his more base desires with the endless horde of unscrupulous women of Paris and drowns his jealousy and longing for talent in drink, though these habits he endeavors as best as is possible to hide from Cain and Aiden. He has a sense of exploration and a spirit of adventure that drives him into the farthest--and lowest--reaches of the Opera House, often drunk and quite in danger of harming himself.
History:
Riffael was born to Justine and Henri Dureau (brother of Edmond Dureau), the first child of a happy marriage that invariably ended with his birth. His mother, a slight young woman of dark appearance, was only fourteen when she was wed to his father, then twenty-three years of age, and so her tiny and young body could not bear the pains of bearing Riff into the world, who proved his stubborn nature at the first and then to the very last of his mother's life. Instead of completely turning from his son, Henri decided to place all manner of emphasis on his upbringing. Justine had been an opera singer, with an Italian lineage of the Roma and the noblesse all lined down to her with musical talent to bear for it. Riffael was not poor, not rich, a class that he shared with his only brother. Feeling the necessity to raise Riff among family, he moved his affairs to southern France, where Edmond held residence. There he encouraged Riff to play with and take example of his cousin Aiden, the golden boy of both fathers. Aiden was the epitome of what he hoped that his son would be--futilely, of course, because although Riff had an ear for music and loved operatic voices to a nonsensical degree, he had no such talent himself. He was encouraged to try his hand at several instruments and applied himself with vigor, but failed miserably. He failed socially, as well. With his gruff insensibility to etiquette and tendency to shy away from conversing with others, he made an exact contrast to Aiden in every way.
Riffael had a talent. One, tiny talent, that most children can boast of in their time. He could climb trees. Fast. It was true that he had the sleek agility of a cat, and physical strength and endurance that progressed well beyond what his skinny, boyish appearance would testify. When he turned sixteen he left to wander, keeping correspondence with his father, uncle, aunt and cousin that suggested that his travels were a success. In truth, he worked manual labor around the country for meager wages and assisted the erecting of blotches on the name of architecture. On a whim, he traveled to the Opera Populaire, and there helped to restore the place to its former glory. He worked like a madman, feeling more fulfilled in this work than he had in any other. He sometimes imagined that he could hear the voices of past singers, like ghosts of grandeur drifting on the dust. He had heard that the place was haunted, and like any young and impressionable mind of the time, accepted it with a placidity that was half superstitious and half disbelieving. Anyhow, once the work was done, he secured for himself a position as stagehand, so in love was he with the opera house.
In a spirit of pride he sent word to Aiden, hoping that the family would come to visit and see this; this triumph of his that was so lovely, his sweat beneath the gold leaf, his blood along the catwalks. He also, out of great respect and affection for his cousin, mentioned the job opening of first violinist that existed in the Opera's orchestra--with due jealous reluctance, of course. Aiden got the job, and though a bit stung, Riff enjoyed the company of his cousin, whom he regarded in a sense as his older (and more accomplished) brother.
It was only a few months in that Riffael met Cain. Despite the constrast of their characters and roles, Riff found a sort of fraternity and admiration for Cain's independent and confident nature. His friendliness helped him to overcome his reclusive habits, and thus Cain became the first and only person with which Riff spoke openly and frankly. Thus the sort of "middle-child" of the three relations at the Opera and the only one without considerable talent, Riff has fallen into a comfortable but self-dissatisfied existence in the catwalks of the Opera Populaire.
Random Information
Likes:
..Music
…Beauty
….Climbing
…..The dark
……Helping the unfortunate
Dislikes:
..Arrogance
…Unpleasant voices
….Being forced into being social
…..Being outdone by his cousin
Family
Parents: Justine and Henri Dureau
Sibling(s): N/A
Relative(s): Aiden Dureau, his cousin
Other
Custom Title: Master of the Ropes
The magic word: Inside My Mind
Role Play Sample:
Ana stumbled into the Golden Age Inn and Tavern, shivering from the cold. Her lips were purplish and her golden skin looked dry and parched. She was like a fish out of water in this cold, born in the wet chill of England but from the stock of the tropics. She had traveled for days, by coach when she could catch one and walking when she couldn't. This was the norm for her travels, but when she stumbled in now, she felt near death. It was so insufferably cold here! She had felt it while ascending to the village at the base of the Carpathian mountains, but upon arrival she truly felt the weight of her journey. This place... this damnable, cold place.
She usually did not find lodgings in a town until she was invited to stay in a servants quarters or stable of some noble household who intended to join her lofty clientele. After a certain amount of traveling on a meager wage with an undeniable need to purchase food, little was ever left for lodging. This place looked nice, but she hoped it wasn't too nice for her--namely, how much was in her pocket.
She looked quite a bit like any sort of horrible vagabond. Ana wore a billowy white shirt that tied at the neckline and had wide sleeves that cuffed at her wrists with little ivory buttons. Over it was a worn brown leather doublet-like vest that was laced tightly down the back. Her brown trousers had been cut at about her mid-calf and a new hem had been sewn in sloppily. Her ankles, covered by stockings of no good quality, tapered to her unusually small feet which sported ghastly looking shoes, through which the tips of her biggest toes could be seen. As she entered she pulled back the brim of her wide-brimmed shapeless gray hat of an indeterminate material to look around the place, revealing her wide dark eyes and a face smudged with dirt. Plus those purple lips. She looked a sight.
She heard many voices, but saw no one directly in her sight, aside from a few bawdy looking people bustling past from room to room without noticing her. She looked about, hoping to find someone who was obviously an innkeeper. While she did so she pulled the large leather satchel from her back, containing her brushes, a few leftover paints, and stretches of canvas rolled up together. A sigh escaped her lips as the weight was relieved. Perhaps a warm bed will do me good tonight, she thought.
Full Name: Riffael Dureau
Nickname(s): Riff
Birthday: November 1st
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Desired Position: Stagehand
Character Information
Appearance:
Riff is as rough around the edges in his appearance as he is in his personality. His hair, a brown wavy-curl that he keeps cut at a medium-short length, is almost always unruly. His eyes are dark, very dark, and the iris is indistinguishable from the pupil unless one comes quite close, an intimacy he seldom allows; if one looks closely, they see a lightness of hazel color about the pupil that almost resembles the first rays of the sun struggling to overcome an eclipse. This metaphor can explain also the furtive and intense way in which he stares, as if half into the middle distance and half into the soul. His eyes have the sleepless, sunken quality to them that gives him an air of troubled mystery and suspicion without compromising his good looks. He is indeed good looking, though he does not seem to realize it. Although he was the tall and lanky type as a boy, he has blossomed since into a lean and muscled young man, not too broad and yet not in any way scrawny. His skin is pale from working so often in the dark, but has a swarthy character to it that is partly due to its natural golden tint and also in part because of the grime that inevitably covers those of his profession. His face is lean, masculine and noble. He is meticulously clean-shaven, hating the way that dirt accumulates in facial hair. He often simply wears a loose (once white) muslin shirt, rolled up to the elbows, old trousers worn and stained dark, and fingerless leather gloves to guard against the abrasion of the ropes.
Personality:
He is silent and brooding, with an air of deep scrutiny that often unnerves. Although his mind is not often melancholy, he seems stand-offish and almost macabre to the un-empathetic. He shies away from social contact but when forced into it makes quite a brute of himself, often bypassing etiquette altogether and intimidating his intended guests of the moment with his unwavering gaze, quite without trying. He is very passionate beneath the deliberate and unfeeling exterior. Riff falls into ecstasy at a beautiful female voice, though this is his best-kept secret. He occupies his more base desires with the endless horde of unscrupulous women of Paris and drowns his jealousy and longing for talent in drink, though these habits he endeavors as best as is possible to hide from Cain and Aiden. He has a sense of exploration and a spirit of adventure that drives him into the farthest--and lowest--reaches of the Opera House, often drunk and quite in danger of harming himself.
History:
Riffael was born to Justine and Henri Dureau (brother of Edmond Dureau), the first child of a happy marriage that invariably ended with his birth. His mother, a slight young woman of dark appearance, was only fourteen when she was wed to his father, then twenty-three years of age, and so her tiny and young body could not bear the pains of bearing Riff into the world, who proved his stubborn nature at the first and then to the very last of his mother's life. Instead of completely turning from his son, Henri decided to place all manner of emphasis on his upbringing. Justine had been an opera singer, with an Italian lineage of the Roma and the noblesse all lined down to her with musical talent to bear for it. Riffael was not poor, not rich, a class that he shared with his only brother. Feeling the necessity to raise Riff among family, he moved his affairs to southern France, where Edmond held residence. There he encouraged Riff to play with and take example of his cousin Aiden, the golden boy of both fathers. Aiden was the epitome of what he hoped that his son would be--futilely, of course, because although Riff had an ear for music and loved operatic voices to a nonsensical degree, he had no such talent himself. He was encouraged to try his hand at several instruments and applied himself with vigor, but failed miserably. He failed socially, as well. With his gruff insensibility to etiquette and tendency to shy away from conversing with others, he made an exact contrast to Aiden in every way.
Riffael had a talent. One, tiny talent, that most children can boast of in their time. He could climb trees. Fast. It was true that he had the sleek agility of a cat, and physical strength and endurance that progressed well beyond what his skinny, boyish appearance would testify. When he turned sixteen he left to wander, keeping correspondence with his father, uncle, aunt and cousin that suggested that his travels were a success. In truth, he worked manual labor around the country for meager wages and assisted the erecting of blotches on the name of architecture. On a whim, he traveled to the Opera Populaire, and there helped to restore the place to its former glory. He worked like a madman, feeling more fulfilled in this work than he had in any other. He sometimes imagined that he could hear the voices of past singers, like ghosts of grandeur drifting on the dust. He had heard that the place was haunted, and like any young and impressionable mind of the time, accepted it with a placidity that was half superstitious and half disbelieving. Anyhow, once the work was done, he secured for himself a position as stagehand, so in love was he with the opera house.
In a spirit of pride he sent word to Aiden, hoping that the family would come to visit and see this; this triumph of his that was so lovely, his sweat beneath the gold leaf, his blood along the catwalks. He also, out of great respect and affection for his cousin, mentioned the job opening of first violinist that existed in the Opera's orchestra--with due jealous reluctance, of course. Aiden got the job, and though a bit stung, Riff enjoyed the company of his cousin, whom he regarded in a sense as his older (and more accomplished) brother.
It was only a few months in that Riffael met Cain. Despite the constrast of their characters and roles, Riff found a sort of fraternity and admiration for Cain's independent and confident nature. His friendliness helped him to overcome his reclusive habits, and thus Cain became the first and only person with which Riff spoke openly and frankly. Thus the sort of "middle-child" of the three relations at the Opera and the only one without considerable talent, Riff has fallen into a comfortable but self-dissatisfied existence in the catwalks of the Opera Populaire.
Random Information
Likes:
..Music
…Beauty
….Climbing
…..The dark
……Helping the unfortunate
Dislikes:
..Arrogance
…Unpleasant voices
….Being forced into being social
…..Being outdone by his cousin
Family
Parents: Justine and Henri Dureau
Sibling(s): N/A
Relative(s): Aiden Dureau, his cousin
Other
Custom Title: Master of the Ropes
The magic word: Inside My Mind
Role Play Sample:
Ana stumbled into the Golden Age Inn and Tavern, shivering from the cold. Her lips were purplish and her golden skin looked dry and parched. She was like a fish out of water in this cold, born in the wet chill of England but from the stock of the tropics. She had traveled for days, by coach when she could catch one and walking when she couldn't. This was the norm for her travels, but when she stumbled in now, she felt near death. It was so insufferably cold here! She had felt it while ascending to the village at the base of the Carpathian mountains, but upon arrival she truly felt the weight of her journey. This place... this damnable, cold place.
She usually did not find lodgings in a town until she was invited to stay in a servants quarters or stable of some noble household who intended to join her lofty clientele. After a certain amount of traveling on a meager wage with an undeniable need to purchase food, little was ever left for lodging. This place looked nice, but she hoped it wasn't too nice for her--namely, how much was in her pocket.
She looked quite a bit like any sort of horrible vagabond. Ana wore a billowy white shirt that tied at the neckline and had wide sleeves that cuffed at her wrists with little ivory buttons. Over it was a worn brown leather doublet-like vest that was laced tightly down the back. Her brown trousers had been cut at about her mid-calf and a new hem had been sewn in sloppily. Her ankles, covered by stockings of no good quality, tapered to her unusually small feet which sported ghastly looking shoes, through which the tips of her biggest toes could be seen. As she entered she pulled back the brim of her wide-brimmed shapeless gray hat of an indeterminate material to look around the place, revealing her wide dark eyes and a face smudged with dirt. Plus those purple lips. She looked a sight.
She heard many voices, but saw no one directly in her sight, aside from a few bawdy looking people bustling past from room to room without noticing her. She looked about, hoping to find someone who was obviously an innkeeper. While she did so she pulled the large leather satchel from her back, containing her brushes, a few leftover paints, and stretches of canvas rolled up together. A sigh escaped her lips as the weight was relieved. Perhaps a warm bed will do me good tonight, she thought.