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LePaul Abraham
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Appearance
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 195-205lbs
Age: Appears in his mid thirties (Age Unknown)
Ethnicity: French
Nationality: French
Gender: Male
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Green (but the coloring is infiltrated with hazel.)
Race: Caucasian (Augustine Vampire)
Known Aliases: Jacque (Unknown Origin)
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Backstory
(All dialogue translated to English)
A shivering breeze floats over the streets of France. It is the year 1789 and holding France in his palms, metaphorically, is Louis XVI. France is facing economic hardships from helping america during the revolution and blood is prepared to be shed. LePaul Abraham, a jacque for the rebellion, sits calmly in a tailor shop as he nods his head to a mistress walking in, a lady of fine stature, she requies a linen to be threaded for her dress. This linen, a fine thread strung over her bosom, would represent her allegiance with the rebellion. LePaul knew who she was, if not by name, then by face. He wholeheartedly agreed with the task, little did he know who she was or what was going to happen. It was weeks before the storming of the Bastille, LePaul returned home to his family. Mr. Abraham was lower-middle class, a fine lad with a family to take care of and geniune care in his heart for his family and friends. A resting figure; yet a figure with tremendous respect for his family. In his heart lie a women named Lorena; of course his kids had a place but him and Lorena had been through it all and seen it all. She was the reason he had joined the rebellion, against the treacheries committed against her family. She lost her parents, but LePaul faded from thoughts of her and what they had been through as a familiar voice crackled into his reality-- "LePaul! Come here and help me set the table!" LePaul rose, his hands crackling as he presses himself from the comfortable chair he had lodged himself in. "Lorena-- there is something we must discuss. A lady came into the tailor toda---" "A lady? Who is she?" Lorena interrupted. "As I presume, she is working for the rebellion as well-- but Lorena keep it down, they musn't know!" "I understand, sorry, LePaul. What'd she want?". LePaul let out a sigh of redundancy, as he presumed she knew the answer, "A signal.".
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
"Mr. Abraham, open the door." sounded from the outskirts of his front entrance. LePaul ascended towards the door, his demeanor steady and poised as the knob twisted amongst his palms. "Mr. Abraham, you're coming with us under order from Louis XVI himself." LePaul stepped back guagingly; his focus immediantly shifting from the guard crowding his front door as he turns towards Lorena, their children now present in audiance to the repossession. "Lorena! Take the kids out of here!" The guard entered the house, gripping LePaul by the biceps heavily. "Lorena! Now!" screamed LePaul. "Daddy!"-- however the children's screames were merely died out by the welps and pleads of Lorena, her skin turning from a reinforcement of daylight and all that is good to a cold, lifeless preoccupation. "Damnit Mr. Abraham, get movin'!" screamed the Guard Captain as LePaul was dragged out. They loaded LePaul into a prison wagon where he was shackled in the cart behind along with two other men. Immediantly, the men recognized LePaul. "We know who you are Jacque.". LePaul's eyes widened in grim horror-- he now knew his purpose for detainment, and also his destination. "Get me the fuck out of here!!" screamed LePaul-- but alas-- no screams or pleads would be answered amongst the bumpy road to the bastille.
"Mr. Abraham, open the door." sounded from the outskirts of his front entrance. LePaul ascended towards the door, his demeanor steady and poised as the knob twisted amongst his palms. "Mr. Abraham, you're coming with us under order from Louis XVI himself." LePaul stepped back guagingly; his focus immediantly shifting from the guard crowding his front door as he turns towards Lorena, their children now present in audiance to the repossession. "Lorena! Take the kids out of here!" The guard entered the house, gripping LePaul by the biceps heavily. "Lorena! Now!" screamed LePaul. "Daddy!"-- however the children's screames were merely died out by the welps and pleads of Lorena, her skin turning from a reinforcement of daylight and all that is good to a cold, lifeless preoccupation. "Damnit Mr. Abraham, get movin'!" screamed the Guard Captain as LePaul was dragged out. They loaded LePaul into a prison wagon where he was shackled in the cart behind along with two other men. Immediantly, the men recognized LePaul. "We know who you are Jacque.". LePaul's eyes widened in grim horror-- he now knew his purpose for detainment, and also his destination. "Get me the fuck out of here!!" screamed LePaul-- but alas-- no screams or pleads would be answered amongst the bumpy road to the bastille.
Hours had passed before the rocky roads turned into smooth brick lay for the wagon-- LePaul stares down at his garment; now torn and damaged from the resistance against the guard. "For all eternity, I had sought a life of simple and feasible pleasures. I had a family, a house, a job, all that one could need. The majesty had taken what was hers-- I had... I had wished I could have done more.". "Oh shut the fuck up Jacque--- we're not done yet." whispered one of the passengers who had been shackled along. "Shhh!" screamed the other prisoner softly. "Keep it down eh? They can hear us you know.". LePaul's eyes broadened in curiousity, his demeanor from a depressed helplessness to a determined poise, he whispered, "Excuse me?". The two prisoners glanced at each other before bowing their heads in silence-- unbeknownst as to who might be listening.The broad gate of the Bastille opened kindly for the entrance of the cart, the guard captain removed himself from the quarters of the luxury cabin ahead of the prisoner cart. "Guard, remove the prisoners and assign them to their cells." LePaul was amongst the first to be dragged out, his heart racing, he screamed in a moment of uncontrollable passion, "Please, I have a family, allow me freedom!" The guard captain snowled; his facial expression unforgiving to the pleas and begs of the prisoners, a merciless grin of injustice crowning over his face. Guards had thrown LePaul down into a cell-- one that smelled of piss and rotton flesh, but a cell nontheless. "Why is this happening? Where am I?", questioned LePaul. "You know where you are at Jacque-- you shall not find salvation here, Louis XVI had made sure of it himself." Sinking down against the wall in a flurry of tears and sadness-- LePaul shrinked into himself. Emotion and compassion are qualities of humanity, qualities that had made LePaul who he had become and had made him join the rebellion in the first place. As he sat to himself, he wondered shall he ever see his wife again? Lorena, the kids, his family, the house, the life that he was so known to... A small-time tailor--- but he had remembered the lady. The threading that she requested and what it represented, or at least, what he think it represented. He looked outside as the sun went down-- drowning amongst the horizon and casting a familiar red glare over the view the Bastille had to offer. His thoughts racing, he had to calm himself down and thnk of a plan--- this led to a conscious state of dream falling over him and before he knew it, himself was asleep.
Red sunlight through the barred window of the Bastille had shone itself upon LePaul's face as he stumbled to his feet, it was midday. A crowd had gathered outside of the Bastille and was angrily gathered at that. Screams and aggressive language was heard long before anything had taken foot. A guard approaches LePaul's cell. "Prisoner, your food." A metal tray of what was made out to be leftover (if that) food from the night before. It was cold and unforgiving, but as LePaul chewed away at it he had reached a level of satiation he could operate with. His hands slipped through the barred window, attempting to make contact with the outside but to no alas. The crowd was too large and too focused to realize even the most obvious signs of an entrapped Jacque. It wasn't long before that had changed, however, the first sound of rumble had came within an hour of midday. Sounds of screams, storming, and bloodshed filled the afternoon air with movement and kinesthetic embodiment. It was energetic, in a sense of war, type energetic. LePaul hopped from his bed in hopes to catch a glance of the scene, but before he could large pieces of debris began to fall from his cell roof. Avoiding the pieces was the least of his worries, he tried to make it over the roof and out of the cell before it collapsed over him; the rebellion had begun and sounds flooded his cell as more wall had given. He had almost made it over-- but LePaul slipped on a stone and fell backwards into his cell-- debris crushing his ribs as it collapsed over his body. LePaul had been buried underneath the rubble and the onslaught ensued-- capturing a near empty Bastille. There were eight prisoners in the Bastille at the time of the raid, and after it was overthrown by the public in a violent seizure-- it was left as merely a token of the rebellion's efforts against the King.
LePaul woke up; heart racing and sweat formed over his brow, his body paralyzed-- perhaps from fear or perhaps from injury-- it was of no matter as his ability to move was completely gone. The time had been around seven or eight o clock past midday and the moon was out, the sun retreated over the horizon already. Consciousness eluded LePaul however he managed to continue the chase long enough for a fine piece of thread to capture his attention. A lady, dressed in the finest linens and threads-- all without remark or blood captured amongst the noble garments-- had stood overneath LePaul and had cracked a wicked smile. "I know of you Jacque, you had made this dress for myself." LePaul, still dazed and confused, glanced up towards the lady. "Heelllpp--- mee..." She chuckled almost evilly-- whilst her mouth is open revealing a set of rather sizeable fangs in front of LePaul. Too weak to scream for help, he merely asked, "Are yo--.. Are you death madame?". She tilted her head in slight misguided appreciation; before nodding her head fashionably. "Monsiuer, I am death, but I am not here for yours." LePaul squinted his eyebrows as best he could, visibly revealing signs of increased weakness and retreat from life and consciousness, "help then...--". She shook her head as he hunched over him, her actions lethargic as to not spill blood unto her new dress, she leaned towards his ear-- whispering, "You were betrayed monsieur--, I am sorry.". Her whispers continued-- yet LePaul's consciousness did not allow him the time to continue to listen to the madame as he slipped away into the thoughts of oblivion, the last sensation he feels is a dot-like pinch amongst his neck; followed by his groan of release from his mindstate.
Almost as in a blink of an eye; LePaul thrust his fist through the wooden seal of a closed coffin-- his body ascending from the coffin as he turns around. "Where-- where am I? Lorena!?! Madame?!" In a frenzied panic, he quickly strikes the side of the coffin with his foot-- placing his foot cleanly through the coffin without any real resistance or energy wasted. He looked down at the pieces amongst the floor-- quickly stumbling backwards. LePaul abruptedly gets stopped-- in response he turns around panic'ed to reveal the Madame from the Bastille in the same dress , only to send him into a fearful stumble over himself. "Careful, try not to get any of that wood through you sweetie. I can't have a paralyzed kin on my floor, can I now monsieur?" LePaul looked at the wood, almost unrecognizing the imminent danger he could have placed himself in. "Theres a lot to explain, but i'll keep it short, you were on your deathbed, hun. You were not meant to be in the Bastille, and I could not risk having your body found especially alive." She continued, his nature exposed to himself-- however he already had a hunch of who he had become. He glanced up to her in a sense of desperation, "Lorena, my children, I must atte--" "you cannot go back to your children or wife, ever." She interrupted. LePaul furrows his eyebrows-- confused and helpless-- looking up at the madam with a contorted look, "But... but why?". She pulled him from the floor and shook her head, "Darling-- your wife, is not who you think... Your wife..." LePaul placed his hand over his ears-- the words seemingly blocked as he backed from the lady. "It is not true, she would never--" LePaul turned and began a sprint-- but the madam was already flashed in front of him before his turn was complete, "You also may not leave, dawn is arriving, it is best you do not." LePaul angrily pushes himself away, staring down a candle-lit corrider leading to another door. "I will see them." The madame points LePaul off as he returns to a room of solitary confinement in the best sense and sleeps the day away.
Awakened with a determined outlook on his plan; LePaul flees the place, at first confused and lost through the candlelit corriders but makes it outside. He feels a sense of hunger falling over him-- but fights it off as he makes his way towards his house. His inhumane speed allowing him to slip past patrols unnoticed and quicker than a human can he arises little suspiscion. LePaul arrives at the rocky path leading to his door; a deep breath of gratitude as he walks towards the window. His eye approaches-- but jerks back when he notices Lorena and the Guard Captain amongst the furniture-- conversing and laughing and enjoying each others company. Against his better knowledge; LePaul knocks at the door. The door squeaks open, revealing a half-dressed Lorena followed by one of her children, "Daddy! You're home!" The guard captains head snaps in alert-- as he ascends from his seat. "Impossible... you-... you are dead?" Lorena insists. "I am alive my love-- I am well and we can continue our life-- we can"-- but Lorena interrupts. "No-- no we can't... LePaul-- you-- I mean I sen---" The guard captain approaches, "She sent me to put you, and now you will be put back." LePaul shrinks back in awe-- his emotions conflicted, a red tint fills his eyes and the Guard Captain draws his sword. "What the fuck?" Fangs pertrude from LePaul's mouth as he reaches forward for the guard captain, the sword dropped in the moment. LePaul sinks his teeth into the guard captains carotid artery and angrily rips off flesh-- proceding towards Lorena. "LePaul! Stop! LEPAUL! Wha--- what are you!" LePaul, now bloodlusting and thirsty, grips Lorena by the collar and shrieks before sending his teeth into Lorena. "You moth--- fucking--... I killed you--.." were Lorena's last words as her body falls lifeless to the floor. LePaul's children stand frozen in fear-- their thraots barely moving from breathing and their eyes fixated on their dead mother's carcass. LePaul backed off-- his mouth covered in blood and chin delved into it as well. He continued his back pedaling until the door, where he was met by a cold touch amongst his shoulder. "You now see why you should not have returned." said the madame. She approached the children, revealing her ancient hazel eyes as she penetrated her infinite gaze into their pupils, diverting their attention and invading their minds. "Your mother was not in town and you stayed with a relative. As you returned home, you received due note that your parents had both died in a flood far from here-- you are instructed to see the Guard Captain but he had gone missing after a rogue guard had taken him hostage. You will return to your bedrooms and follow my command." The children nodded, the boy speaking, "I miss my parents". LePaul swallowed his saliva, appraoching his son as he placed his shoulder amongst his collar, "I miss you too.", the boy looked at him, "Daddy, why did you have to die in the flood?" LePaul dug his chin into his shoulder, his humanity slipping away from him as he stands himself, tugging at the Madames collar bone. The children return upstairs and LePaul and the madame fade into the night.
"The roaring 20's"
(WIP)
Character Traits
"What's mine, will remain mine." : After the loss of his wife-- both to betrayal and to death-- LePaul has developed an extremely profound attachment to those he favors. Although he has become devoid of humanity, he is still protective over what he considers his and would do a lot to protect it.
"An old soul at heart" : A complete antique collector and hoarder. If he wants something, it's likely old and has a lot of sentiment to LePaul, he tries to maintain his connection with his interests and whatnot.
"Wise" " While his true age is unknown, LePaul does have the advantage of having a lot of experience-- that being so, fighting is not his forte. Instead of confronting a group of FEAR operatives, you'll notice LePaul take to the rooftops to avoid them. He rarely fights.
(WIP)
Character Relations
Friend / Acquaintance / Neutral / Cautious / Enemy / Death Wish
"Mena" - German at origin, shares a lot of common info from his past in Berlin. Very intelligent human-- suitable friend and allie.
Jessica Rillo - Intelligent and young in origin-- met during a FEAR Curfew enforcement and shared a lot of commonalities. Useful friend to have, good to have on his side.
Rome - We first met as someone I wasn't going to get involved with, got some enemies on our side, and i'm sure you got my back so I sure as hell got yours.
