Post by fryn on Nov 21, 2009 11:06:44 GMT -5
Character Name: Christophe Broussard
Nickname: Tof
Age: 17
Birthday: 15th December
Place of birth: Paris, France
School: Gould
Grade: Senior
Appearance: 6'1" tall and weighs in the region of 150 lbs. Christophe normally has medium to dark brown hair but it currently has bleached streaks. His
eyes are a dark hazel colour. His build is more athletic than muscular.
He doesn't have any piercings or tattoos - yet - but carries a scar across the front of his left shoulder courtesy of the old apple tree back home in Paris that decided to throw him out of its branches when Christophe was only a youngster of five years old. As a result he broke his collar bone and has been forbidden to ever climb trees again... Not that it has stopped him.
Normally he would be seen in scruffy jeans and an even scruffier t-shirt
but - if pushed - he scrubs up well enough to pass muster... should such an occasion arise. He rarely is seen without his cell phone and iPod... and more often than not has some anthropological book or other tucked under his arm.
Personality: Christophe Broussard is quiet to the extreme but would be a good
guy to have at your back if things turned sour. A staunch friend but one
whose sense of what's morally right and wrong had been something of a thorn
in his side, seeing him make few friends back in Canada where his family
relocated to back in 2001. Luckily, California seems to have opened up far
more opportunities and he has managed to find his niche... Albeit one
amongst the geekier members of the community. Often unrated but a
misconception that usually is corrected in due course.
Town Area: Riverside
Job: Currently looking
Transportation: Nothing as yet but is hoping that will change when
Family Background and History: Mother: Adèle Broussard (nee Durand)
Father: Léon Broussard
Siblings: Tristan and Amélie
Happily married, his parents have been through some hard times, struggling to carve a living in Squamish, British Columbia. Love, it seemed, won through and with that came three children - Christophe being the youngest. Amélie, his sister, is married with a kid of her own and, as such, doesn't live at home. His older brother, Tristan, tolerates Christophe but all too
often is trying to drag him into some kind of trouble. Thankfully he's
managed to avoid that so far... for the most part!
Born in Paris, France, Christophe grew up in the shadows of
the Sacré-Cour Basilica in the Montmartre region of the city. As such, he was presented with a glorious view of the city each morning and found it hard to leave that behind. In 2001 the Broussards decided to uproot and cross the Atlantic, seeking a new life in British Columbia. They stayed there for a little over 7 years until travelling south and ending up in California.
Christophe is the youngest of three children to Adèle and Léon Broussard. He has a brother, Tristan, and a sister, Amélie - the latter of which is married with a young child. With such a Franco-based background, Christophe is still finding it hard to adjust to the American way of life and yearns for the Montmartre views he knows so well. And croissants. He really misses croissants.
Class Schedule: 1. Physics
2. English
3. Statistics
4. Environmental Science/Geology
5. English
6. Government
Attendance Length: Recently arrived in town
After School Activities: None as yet
Likes: Taking long walks and reading anything and everything related to
anthropology. Christophe is also fond of poetry but is unlikely to admit that to anyone. He loves thunderstorms and learning about other cultures and their related traditions. Never happier than when out on the water.
Dislikes: Moody people. Over-bearing pretentious pricks who think they are better than anyone else. Bullies. He really hates bullies. Christophe also hates being made to look dumb on the sports field. Sure, he's crap at that kind of thing but he doesn't appreciate it being made obvious. He also hates asparagus and broccoli. Not necessarily together as each on their own are repulsive enough.
Other Information: Favourite Quote: 'Sincerity is the key. If you can fake that, you've got it
made' - George Burns
Face Claim: (a young) Olivier Martinez
Player: Fryn
Writing Sample: "Another day, another dollar," murmured Christophe Brossard in his accented voice as he steered the single engine RIB - or Rigid-hull Inflatable Boat - past the gently bobbing buoy that marked the entrance to Nanaimo Sound and he threw the old seal that was sunning herself a jaunty wave out of habit only and not expecting any true response. As always she flapped her left flipper but Christophe was never sure if that was in reply or just her irritated way of telling him to piss the hell off. Probably it was the latter.
Already that day he'd seen a pod of orcas over the far side of the island just off Port Tofino and he charted the sighting, easily recognising the bull as the one tagged Boris. That meant the Alpha Pod was working its way up the western shoreline in search of food. Always a problem at this time of the year.
But this afternoon Christophe wanted to check on Herbert.
He steered the RIB past a field of seaweed, carefully avoiding the thirty foot long tendrils and knowing it would snarl up his engine before he could utter his first curse but he was well used to the waters around here by now. Hell, he'd been patrolling them for almost
six months already and that was enough to make the French-born youth feel pretty much experienced.
Herbert was sure to be nesting out at the old abandoned lighthouse near Rookie Point and it was a place so desolate and remote that he knew it would take him the best part of an hour to reach but the pelican had looked a tad under the weather the last time he'd seen him
and the bucket of fish Christophe had stashed between the two front seats of the inflatable should go a long way to cheering the old fella up. Sure, feeding the creatures around here wasn't precisely within the rules but it wasn't like either he or Herbert was going to tell. He lay down on the rocks at the foot of the lighthouse and despite knowing better he drifted to sleep...
* * *
It was late in the afternoon by the time he had reached Rookie Point, found Herbert, checked on him and handed over the offering. In fact evening had started to set in and he knew he had to hurry to get back to Victoria before nightfall. The sea was a dangerous place at the best of times but at night? A hundred times more so.
"Stay sweet!" he called over to the pelican and flapping his wings back at him Herbert settled down for the night and Christophe headed the RIB back, opening up the throttle and sending the inflatable high on its rear end. The sea was glassy and it wouldn't take him too long to retrace his steps...
... Problem was, in his haste he completely forgot about the seaweed...
His first warning came when the boat veered sharply to port, sending its pilot face down against the rubber hull. A second jerk and the engine sputtered - not that Christophe was even aware of that as he was already nose diving over the side.
The seaweed - like thick ribbons made from slimy leather - wound around him and he sank beneath the salty surface, miles from the shore and with his boat now well out of reach. He gasped and choked when he broke the surface but more fronds clawed at him, dragging him down...
* * *
Nephthys peered down at the man she'd drawn from the depths of the sea, her eyes taking in the turquoise and glinting silver circling his wrist.
This one *had* to be the one she'd been seeking. He even bore the prophesised mark on his forehead. But then only time would tell if this was the Mage that had been promised or whether she'd merely saved an innocent soul from drowning... Only to have him face a far greater threat here.
She reached down and grasped Christophe's hand, pulling him back to the surface...
* * *
Something wet landed on Christophe's face and his eyes shot open in shock to find a half eaten fish across his forehead. Herbery leaned over him, his large beak pecking at the fish. The youth sat bolt upright, panic-stricken for a few seconds. That dream... The same dream he'd had ever since he'd half drowned out on the Sound a few months back. But what the hell did it mean? And, more importantly, would he ever find out?
Nickname: Tof
Age: 17
Birthday: 15th December
Place of birth: Paris, France
School: Gould
Grade: Senior
Appearance: 6'1" tall and weighs in the region of 150 lbs. Christophe normally has medium to dark brown hair but it currently has bleached streaks. His
eyes are a dark hazel colour. His build is more athletic than muscular.
He doesn't have any piercings or tattoos - yet - but carries a scar across the front of his left shoulder courtesy of the old apple tree back home in Paris that decided to throw him out of its branches when Christophe was only a youngster of five years old. As a result he broke his collar bone and has been forbidden to ever climb trees again... Not that it has stopped him.
Normally he would be seen in scruffy jeans and an even scruffier t-shirt
but - if pushed - he scrubs up well enough to pass muster... should such an occasion arise. He rarely is seen without his cell phone and iPod... and more often than not has some anthropological book or other tucked under his arm.
Personality: Christophe Broussard is quiet to the extreme but would be a good
guy to have at your back if things turned sour. A staunch friend but one
whose sense of what's morally right and wrong had been something of a thorn
in his side, seeing him make few friends back in Canada where his family
relocated to back in 2001. Luckily, California seems to have opened up far
more opportunities and he has managed to find his niche... Albeit one
amongst the geekier members of the community. Often unrated but a
misconception that usually is corrected in due course.
Town Area: Riverside
Job: Currently looking
Transportation: Nothing as yet but is hoping that will change when
Family Background and History: Mother: Adèle Broussard (nee Durand)
Father: Léon Broussard
Siblings: Tristan and Amélie
Happily married, his parents have been through some hard times, struggling to carve a living in Squamish, British Columbia. Love, it seemed, won through and with that came three children - Christophe being the youngest. Amélie, his sister, is married with a kid of her own and, as such, doesn't live at home. His older brother, Tristan, tolerates Christophe but all too
often is trying to drag him into some kind of trouble. Thankfully he's
managed to avoid that so far... for the most part!
Born in Paris, France, Christophe grew up in the shadows of
the Sacré-Cour Basilica in the Montmartre region of the city. As such, he was presented with a glorious view of the city each morning and found it hard to leave that behind. In 2001 the Broussards decided to uproot and cross the Atlantic, seeking a new life in British Columbia. They stayed there for a little over 7 years until travelling south and ending up in California.
Christophe is the youngest of three children to Adèle and Léon Broussard. He has a brother, Tristan, and a sister, Amélie - the latter of which is married with a young child. With such a Franco-based background, Christophe is still finding it hard to adjust to the American way of life and yearns for the Montmartre views he knows so well. And croissants. He really misses croissants.
Class Schedule: 1. Physics
2. English
3. Statistics
4. Environmental Science/Geology
5. English
6. Government
Attendance Length: Recently arrived in town
After School Activities: None as yet
Likes: Taking long walks and reading anything and everything related to
anthropology. Christophe is also fond of poetry but is unlikely to admit that to anyone. He loves thunderstorms and learning about other cultures and their related traditions. Never happier than when out on the water.
Dislikes: Moody people. Over-bearing pretentious pricks who think they are better than anyone else. Bullies. He really hates bullies. Christophe also hates being made to look dumb on the sports field. Sure, he's crap at that kind of thing but he doesn't appreciate it being made obvious. He also hates asparagus and broccoli. Not necessarily together as each on their own are repulsive enough.
Other Information: Favourite Quote: 'Sincerity is the key. If you can fake that, you've got it
made' - George Burns
Face Claim: (a young) Olivier Martinez
Player: Fryn
Writing Sample: "Another day, another dollar," murmured Christophe Brossard in his accented voice as he steered the single engine RIB - or Rigid-hull Inflatable Boat - past the gently bobbing buoy that marked the entrance to Nanaimo Sound and he threw the old seal that was sunning herself a jaunty wave out of habit only and not expecting any true response. As always she flapped her left flipper but Christophe was never sure if that was in reply or just her irritated way of telling him to piss the hell off. Probably it was the latter.
Already that day he'd seen a pod of orcas over the far side of the island just off Port Tofino and he charted the sighting, easily recognising the bull as the one tagged Boris. That meant the Alpha Pod was working its way up the western shoreline in search of food. Always a problem at this time of the year.
But this afternoon Christophe wanted to check on Herbert.
He steered the RIB past a field of seaweed, carefully avoiding the thirty foot long tendrils and knowing it would snarl up his engine before he could utter his first curse but he was well used to the waters around here by now. Hell, he'd been patrolling them for almost
six months already and that was enough to make the French-born youth feel pretty much experienced.
Herbert was sure to be nesting out at the old abandoned lighthouse near Rookie Point and it was a place so desolate and remote that he knew it would take him the best part of an hour to reach but the pelican had looked a tad under the weather the last time he'd seen him
and the bucket of fish Christophe had stashed between the two front seats of the inflatable should go a long way to cheering the old fella up. Sure, feeding the creatures around here wasn't precisely within the rules but it wasn't like either he or Herbert was going to tell. He lay down on the rocks at the foot of the lighthouse and despite knowing better he drifted to sleep...
* * *
It was late in the afternoon by the time he had reached Rookie Point, found Herbert, checked on him and handed over the offering. In fact evening had started to set in and he knew he had to hurry to get back to Victoria before nightfall. The sea was a dangerous place at the best of times but at night? A hundred times more so.
"Stay sweet!" he called over to the pelican and flapping his wings back at him Herbert settled down for the night and Christophe headed the RIB back, opening up the throttle and sending the inflatable high on its rear end. The sea was glassy and it wouldn't take him too long to retrace his steps...
... Problem was, in his haste he completely forgot about the seaweed...
His first warning came when the boat veered sharply to port, sending its pilot face down against the rubber hull. A second jerk and the engine sputtered - not that Christophe was even aware of that as he was already nose diving over the side.
The seaweed - like thick ribbons made from slimy leather - wound around him and he sank beneath the salty surface, miles from the shore and with his boat now well out of reach. He gasped and choked when he broke the surface but more fronds clawed at him, dragging him down...
* * *
Nephthys peered down at the man she'd drawn from the depths of the sea, her eyes taking in the turquoise and glinting silver circling his wrist.
This one *had* to be the one she'd been seeking. He even bore the prophesised mark on his forehead. But then only time would tell if this was the Mage that had been promised or whether she'd merely saved an innocent soul from drowning... Only to have him face a far greater threat here.
She reached down and grasped Christophe's hand, pulling him back to the surface...
* * *
Something wet landed on Christophe's face and his eyes shot open in shock to find a half eaten fish across his forehead. Herbery leaned over him, his large beak pecking at the fish. The youth sat bolt upright, panic-stricken for a few seconds. That dream... The same dream he'd had ever since he'd half drowned out on the Sound a few months back. But what the hell did it mean? And, more importantly, would he ever find out?
