Post by Blanchefleur Paget on Oct 4, 2009 18:18:41 GMT
Approved 
You have nice skills. Should you have any questions please feel free to ask either myself or any other staff member or consult our "Beginner's Area" for help threads.
-JT
Account E-Mail: The account's name is "blanchefleurpaget". I'd like to keep my e-mail hidden.
Name: Blanchefleur Hélène Paget
Nationality: European French
Character History:
Behold, a petite Frenchwoman of sixty-two years, hair grey and streaked with white. Almost always does she have a wine bottle in hand, drinking it religiously as she walks through town with a stagger. Her nose is lumpy from being broken many times, mostly in alcohol-related incidents. Despite the fact her honey-coloured eyes are glazed from alcohol consumption, there is a sharp edge to them, as if the old bat always has something devious on her mind. This, combined with the fact that she rides a beat-down motorbike almost everywhere (even when intoxicated), might put some at unease. But of course, she's drunk half the time, and she's only 5'3" - what kind of harm could she possibly cause?
Plenty.
Born the twentieth of July, 1882 in a North African port, daughter of a French trader and a local basket-weaver, Blanchefleur spent the first years of her life in the Mediterranean. Shortly after her birth, her father set sail again, heading to the far east to trade spices and exotic animals for tea, gold and silk. Her mother was a rough, burly woman known as Fatima, a convert of Islam to Christianity and who had been married to the Monsieur Paget only a year and six months before, and who put her foot down on a regular basis. Tomfoolery was not to be caused - baskets were to be woven instead, and when Blanchefleur's father came home, he was to be taken care of. Blanchefleur, however, had other ideas; from birth, she had her father's adventurous spirit. The local boys and her would often go down to the docks, swimming in the warm waters of the Mediterranean Sea, chasing after seagulls, fishing and hunting for treasure. When all of that proved to be boring, mayhem was made, ranging from harassing the local shopkeepers to stealing little tidbits from their stalls and the cargo that came in. Yes, they were often caught, and yes, Blanchefleur experienced the pain of a switch on her hands as a result, but she wouldn't give it up for the world.
Then, however, Blanchefleur's father came home one day, in the autumn of 1895, and told his family to pack up. His trading company had ordered, due to the new Franco-Russian Alliance, for him to return to France so that he could trade in Russia. Now that the two nations were Allies, the company wanted to make the most of the northern country, and had called back some of its people in Africa in order to establish new trade routes. Fatima was more than happy to follow her husband along - basket-weaving didn't seem to be bringing in much money any more, and she felt it was disgraceful to live off of only her husband's earnings. Blanchefleur, on the other hand, was adamant on staying; the thirteen-year old didn't want to leave behind her friends, the port on the sea the only place she could see herself living in. Her cries to not leave went ignored, and within days, the Paget family was sailing on the high seas, heading northward towards France.
The new country was a drastic change for Blanchefleur. Her new home was on the northern coast of France, upon the channel that separated the British Isles from the rest of Europe. Hot was cold, dry was wet; her sleeveless shirts, light skirts and knee-high trousers went untouched for a while, the poor girl resorting to thicker, more covering wear to keep out the cold. The Mediterranean's usual was somewhere around twenty degrees Celsius; there, twenty degrees was what you would expect in the summertime. And the winters...oh, the winters! Blanchefleur thought she'd die of the cold right there in her house at times!
But with all changes, one eventually gets used to the new ebb and flow of their lives. By fifteen, Blanchefleur was settled into her new home, and was busy running newspapers around to the locals of her new port town. Along with weaving baskets for her mother, the young girl began to build up a fair sum of money, and by the next year, she almost had enough to support herself. Sixteen-year olds had much expected of them, and Fatima pushed for her daughter to settle down and find some young lad to wed.
Blanchefleur, however, had other ideas.
Deciding to follow in her father's footsteps, she dabbled in the trading business herself, although the farthest she got was being the secretary of some bigwig trader. Women had their own work to do - the men had theirs. Blanchefleur was pushed into a gender role, just like every other woman was in the world, even if it was something she didn't take kindly to. This all ended, however, five years later, when the Great War - which would be later known as the First World War - sprung up. And France was in need of the good people's support.
Throughout the war years, Blanchefleur worked as a secretary, but this time for the French Army. She worked diligently at sorting reports, arranging meetings between army leaders and getting information to the upper crust of the military forces. However, when northern France was overtaken by the Germans, Blanchefleur went into hiding. All the transfers the military had put her through were not enough to stop the invaders from catching up with the Colonel she was attached to, and her headquarters was sacked.
But the story of Blanchefleur was not yet done. Yes, she went into hiding, adopting her middle name and the last name of "Pomeroy" as her name. Deciding to settle down at the time in a village near the front lines, she rubbed shoulders with some of the roughest German soldiers one could know, and actually befriended them. It was at that time she established her drinking habit; the Germans were happy to give a sip of alcohol to a "pretty young woman", and Blanchefleur got drunk with them on more than one occasion. The shared drinks turned out to be a double-edged sword for them, though; loose lips sunk ships, as many would come to say, and the German's ships were as loose as threadbare cloth. When she was more sober, Blanchefleur made sure to remember what they said, even writing things down on a little notepad she carried around on her person. After the soldiers moved on, the Western Front finally receding in the late years of the Great War, Blanchefleur managed to get in contact with the powers allied with France. To them, she went frequently, giving them all and any information she had gotten out of her German "friends".
However, it was in the year before the last of the war that her greatest achievement was made.
It had been another night with the Germans, full of drinking and storytelling. When Blanchefleur felt too wasted to drink any more, she stumbled out of the pub she had been downing wine at, and in her stupor, became bold. Stealing a motorbike owned by a German, all because it was "shiny", the woman decided to go joyriding. The rest of the night would be a blur to her, but when she awoke in a medical tent a few days later, in the presence of the Allied forces, she would be hailed as a hero. She had, without realizing what was going on, barreled through a semi-large patrol of German guards, knocked the highest-ranking soldier of the patrol unconscious, and injured several others. It had been enough of a distraction that a small group of Allied forces - who had been unable to get into the French town because the patrol outnumbered them - had snuck in and taken the town overnight, and without casualties.
After the war, Blanchefleur was given military honours for her bravery. (She never made an attempt to dismiss her actions as something else.) Never one to settle down for a family - a fact now proved to the world by her actions in the war - she found herself out of work as the Great Depression hit. With hard financial times and her home destroyed by the enemy, Blanchefleur had nowhere else to turn but the docks again. The only work she could find was in the warehouse district, a cleaning lady for the various offices of the many traders. Her drinking habit worsened, and she lost her job as a result of too many hangovers, which resulted in too many late arrivals at work. The not-so-mighty-in-the-first place had fallen, and she couldn't care less, for the alcohol had gotten to her brain.
Fate, on the other hand, cared greatly. As rumours of the German's growing hostility began to swirl, and the attempt at taking the government made by Hitler happened one September, the woman's inner patriot awakened. She joined the crowd that felt war was in the air, and began making several plans on defending the country if the Germans ever came back. Mind one, they had no military-minded basis whatsoever, and made about as much sense as trying to break down a stone wall with a potato. Fears of invasion, however, were confirmed when France lost to the Germans, and the country was once again under German occupation. But no matter what, Blanchefleur Hélène Paget was a French patriot at heart, and despite what some would think, she was a Frenchwoman who would not give in!
__________________________________________
Writing Sample:
It's night time, and while walking home, you witness as brutal guerrilla attack on the occupation forces main HQ in your town. As the occupation troops burst out to try and hunt down the attackers, you are caught up in the mess, and must flee. What does your character think, and how do they react?
__________________________________________
"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWW!!"
The old cowboy cry, reminiscent of an Old West drama's, was accompanied by the sound of a motorbike's tires screeching. A swerving blur shot through the crowd of Wehrmacht soldiers, knocking several out of the way if they did not jump already. Guns were fired, pinging off the back end of the motorbike as it whirled around the corner, one nicking the back of the short figure riding the motorbike. Said figure only threw her head back, and cackled like a witch into the night air.
"VOUS NE ME PRENDREZ JAMAIS VIVAAAAAAAAAAAAAANT...!" cried Blanchefleur, only slightly drunk and having the time of her life. The stupid Germans might have thought they had the upper hand, attacking a Resistance-owned wine cellar in the night, but they were wrong. French wine was French wine, not the heavy crap they had over in their high-and-mighty excuse for a country; if they wanted booze, they would just have to march back over there, now wouldn't they? The Resistance had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure that wine was hid, and for the sake of her drinking habit, and the drinking habits of all of France, they weren't get the good, aged stuff! [[Translation: "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE...!"]]
She could hear the thunder of footsteps as soldiers ran after her, and the vroom of another motorbike as they began to chase her down. Grabbing a half-empty bottle she'd been working on, she swung it over her shoulder with all her might, not caring where it landed as long as it caused mayhem. Sure enough, the bottle crashed just in front of the motorbike behind her, and the soldiers swerved out of the way. Unfortunately, they were not down and out yet - they were probably better soldiers than the rest of the stupid lot around town lately.
Grinning wickedly, Blanchefleur increased her speed, and managed to whip around another corner, just barely avoiding tipping over and sliding out of control. As she hit a long, straight patch of road, she could hear the Germans catching up with her, the engine roaring loudly as it came closer and closer. The small Frenchwoman made a sharp turn to the left, barreling towards an open patch of field, giving a loud, "WHOO!" as she tore into the grasses. Vegetation and dirt flew up from Blanchefleur's wheels as she drove along, the bike bouncing along dangerously, threatening to tip over at several points. But still, the Germans did not fall back, and they too bounced along after her. Blanchefleur sighed irritably, then reached for another wine bottle, which was empty this time around.
With a yell, she turned and pitched it at the Germans, who tried to swerve out of the way again. This time, however, they hit a rock, and the bike was sent tumbling, as were they. "HA!" cried the Frenchwoman at their misfortune, before whipping her head back around -
CRASH!!
And running straight into a wooden fence, splinters big and small flying as she, too, fell off her motorbike and was thrown across the ground.
You have nice skills. Should you have any questions please feel free to ask either myself or any other staff member or consult our "Beginner's Area" for help threads.-JT
Account E-Mail: The account's name is "blanchefleurpaget". I'd like to keep my e-mail hidden.
Name: Blanchefleur Hélène Paget
Nationality: European French
Character History:
Behold, a petite Frenchwoman of sixty-two years, hair grey and streaked with white. Almost always does she have a wine bottle in hand, drinking it religiously as she walks through town with a stagger. Her nose is lumpy from being broken many times, mostly in alcohol-related incidents. Despite the fact her honey-coloured eyes are glazed from alcohol consumption, there is a sharp edge to them, as if the old bat always has something devious on her mind. This, combined with the fact that she rides a beat-down motorbike almost everywhere (even when intoxicated), might put some at unease. But of course, she's drunk half the time, and she's only 5'3" - what kind of harm could she possibly cause?
Plenty.
Born the twentieth of July, 1882 in a North African port, daughter of a French trader and a local basket-weaver, Blanchefleur spent the first years of her life in the Mediterranean. Shortly after her birth, her father set sail again, heading to the far east to trade spices and exotic animals for tea, gold and silk. Her mother was a rough, burly woman known as Fatima, a convert of Islam to Christianity and who had been married to the Monsieur Paget only a year and six months before, and who put her foot down on a regular basis. Tomfoolery was not to be caused - baskets were to be woven instead, and when Blanchefleur's father came home, he was to be taken care of. Blanchefleur, however, had other ideas; from birth, she had her father's adventurous spirit. The local boys and her would often go down to the docks, swimming in the warm waters of the Mediterranean Sea, chasing after seagulls, fishing and hunting for treasure. When all of that proved to be boring, mayhem was made, ranging from harassing the local shopkeepers to stealing little tidbits from their stalls and the cargo that came in. Yes, they were often caught, and yes, Blanchefleur experienced the pain of a switch on her hands as a result, but she wouldn't give it up for the world.
Then, however, Blanchefleur's father came home one day, in the autumn of 1895, and told his family to pack up. His trading company had ordered, due to the new Franco-Russian Alliance, for him to return to France so that he could trade in Russia. Now that the two nations were Allies, the company wanted to make the most of the northern country, and had called back some of its people in Africa in order to establish new trade routes. Fatima was more than happy to follow her husband along - basket-weaving didn't seem to be bringing in much money any more, and she felt it was disgraceful to live off of only her husband's earnings. Blanchefleur, on the other hand, was adamant on staying; the thirteen-year old didn't want to leave behind her friends, the port on the sea the only place she could see herself living in. Her cries to not leave went ignored, and within days, the Paget family was sailing on the high seas, heading northward towards France.
The new country was a drastic change for Blanchefleur. Her new home was on the northern coast of France, upon the channel that separated the British Isles from the rest of Europe. Hot was cold, dry was wet; her sleeveless shirts, light skirts and knee-high trousers went untouched for a while, the poor girl resorting to thicker, more covering wear to keep out the cold. The Mediterranean's usual was somewhere around twenty degrees Celsius; there, twenty degrees was what you would expect in the summertime. And the winters...oh, the winters! Blanchefleur thought she'd die of the cold right there in her house at times!
But with all changes, one eventually gets used to the new ebb and flow of their lives. By fifteen, Blanchefleur was settled into her new home, and was busy running newspapers around to the locals of her new port town. Along with weaving baskets for her mother, the young girl began to build up a fair sum of money, and by the next year, she almost had enough to support herself. Sixteen-year olds had much expected of them, and Fatima pushed for her daughter to settle down and find some young lad to wed.
Blanchefleur, however, had other ideas.
Deciding to follow in her father's footsteps, she dabbled in the trading business herself, although the farthest she got was being the secretary of some bigwig trader. Women had their own work to do - the men had theirs. Blanchefleur was pushed into a gender role, just like every other woman was in the world, even if it was something she didn't take kindly to. This all ended, however, five years later, when the Great War - which would be later known as the First World War - sprung up. And France was in need of the good people's support.
Throughout the war years, Blanchefleur worked as a secretary, but this time for the French Army. She worked diligently at sorting reports, arranging meetings between army leaders and getting information to the upper crust of the military forces. However, when northern France was overtaken by the Germans, Blanchefleur went into hiding. All the transfers the military had put her through were not enough to stop the invaders from catching up with the Colonel she was attached to, and her headquarters was sacked.
But the story of Blanchefleur was not yet done. Yes, she went into hiding, adopting her middle name and the last name of "Pomeroy" as her name. Deciding to settle down at the time in a village near the front lines, she rubbed shoulders with some of the roughest German soldiers one could know, and actually befriended them. It was at that time she established her drinking habit; the Germans were happy to give a sip of alcohol to a "pretty young woman", and Blanchefleur got drunk with them on more than one occasion. The shared drinks turned out to be a double-edged sword for them, though; loose lips sunk ships, as many would come to say, and the German's ships were as loose as threadbare cloth. When she was more sober, Blanchefleur made sure to remember what they said, even writing things down on a little notepad she carried around on her person. After the soldiers moved on, the Western Front finally receding in the late years of the Great War, Blanchefleur managed to get in contact with the powers allied with France. To them, she went frequently, giving them all and any information she had gotten out of her German "friends".
However, it was in the year before the last of the war that her greatest achievement was made.
It had been another night with the Germans, full of drinking and storytelling. When Blanchefleur felt too wasted to drink any more, she stumbled out of the pub she had been downing wine at, and in her stupor, became bold. Stealing a motorbike owned by a German, all because it was "shiny", the woman decided to go joyriding. The rest of the night would be a blur to her, but when she awoke in a medical tent a few days later, in the presence of the Allied forces, she would be hailed as a hero. She had, without realizing what was going on, barreled through a semi-large patrol of German guards, knocked the highest-ranking soldier of the patrol unconscious, and injured several others. It had been enough of a distraction that a small group of Allied forces - who had been unable to get into the French town because the patrol outnumbered them - had snuck in and taken the town overnight, and without casualties.
After the war, Blanchefleur was given military honours for her bravery. (She never made an attempt to dismiss her actions as something else.) Never one to settle down for a family - a fact now proved to the world by her actions in the war - she found herself out of work as the Great Depression hit. With hard financial times and her home destroyed by the enemy, Blanchefleur had nowhere else to turn but the docks again. The only work she could find was in the warehouse district, a cleaning lady for the various offices of the many traders. Her drinking habit worsened, and she lost her job as a result of too many hangovers, which resulted in too many late arrivals at work. The not-so-mighty-in-the-first place had fallen, and she couldn't care less, for the alcohol had gotten to her brain.
Fate, on the other hand, cared greatly. As rumours of the German's growing hostility began to swirl, and the attempt at taking the government made by Hitler happened one September, the woman's inner patriot awakened. She joined the crowd that felt war was in the air, and began making several plans on defending the country if the Germans ever came back. Mind one, they had no military-minded basis whatsoever, and made about as much sense as trying to break down a stone wall with a potato. Fears of invasion, however, were confirmed when France lost to the Germans, and the country was once again under German occupation. But no matter what, Blanchefleur Hélène Paget was a French patriot at heart, and despite what some would think, she was a Frenchwoman who would not give in!
__________________________________________
Writing Sample:
It's night time, and while walking home, you witness as brutal guerrilla attack on the occupation forces main HQ in your town. As the occupation troops burst out to try and hunt down the attackers, you are caught up in the mess, and must flee. What does your character think, and how do they react?
__________________________________________
"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWW!!"
The old cowboy cry, reminiscent of an Old West drama's, was accompanied by the sound of a motorbike's tires screeching. A swerving blur shot through the crowd of Wehrmacht soldiers, knocking several out of the way if they did not jump already. Guns were fired, pinging off the back end of the motorbike as it whirled around the corner, one nicking the back of the short figure riding the motorbike. Said figure only threw her head back, and cackled like a witch into the night air.
"VOUS NE ME PRENDREZ JAMAIS VIVAAAAAAAAAAAAAANT...!" cried Blanchefleur, only slightly drunk and having the time of her life. The stupid Germans might have thought they had the upper hand, attacking a Resistance-owned wine cellar in the night, but they were wrong. French wine was French wine, not the heavy crap they had over in their high-and-mighty excuse for a country; if they wanted booze, they would just have to march back over there, now wouldn't they? The Resistance had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure that wine was hid, and for the sake of her drinking habit, and the drinking habits of all of France, they weren't get the good, aged stuff! [[Translation: "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE...!"]]
She could hear the thunder of footsteps as soldiers ran after her, and the vroom of another motorbike as they began to chase her down. Grabbing a half-empty bottle she'd been working on, she swung it over her shoulder with all her might, not caring where it landed as long as it caused mayhem. Sure enough, the bottle crashed just in front of the motorbike behind her, and the soldiers swerved out of the way. Unfortunately, they were not down and out yet - they were probably better soldiers than the rest of the stupid lot around town lately.
Grinning wickedly, Blanchefleur increased her speed, and managed to whip around another corner, just barely avoiding tipping over and sliding out of control. As she hit a long, straight patch of road, she could hear the Germans catching up with her, the engine roaring loudly as it came closer and closer. The small Frenchwoman made a sharp turn to the left, barreling towards an open patch of field, giving a loud, "WHOO!" as she tore into the grasses. Vegetation and dirt flew up from Blanchefleur's wheels as she drove along, the bike bouncing along dangerously, threatening to tip over at several points. But still, the Germans did not fall back, and they too bounced along after her. Blanchefleur sighed irritably, then reached for another wine bottle, which was empty this time around.
With a yell, she turned and pitched it at the Germans, who tried to swerve out of the way again. This time, however, they hit a rock, and the bike was sent tumbling, as were they. "HA!" cried the Frenchwoman at their misfortune, before whipping her head back around -
CRASH!!
And running straight into a wooden fence, splinters big and small flying as she, too, fell off her motorbike and was thrown across the ground.