Post by gavroche on Mar 12, 2011 1:37:21 GMT -5
Hi, my name is Sunny/Kiki and this is my First character. I found this site through An ad Something you should know about me is I have no sense of smell.
Canon: Les Misérables
Custom Title: This only goes to show what little people can do!
PHYSICAL
Age:9
Gender: Male
Appearance: As a general rule, Gavroche has his messy, dirty blonde hair falling around his ears in greasy locks, unless he's had the fortune to dunk in the river. He has a relatively pale skin tone, but no one would know that due to the constant coating of dirt the boy wears. He can always be seen with a black beret that he found discarded one day that he wears on his head, along with baggy jeans and running shoes. Due to living on the street, the child doesn't have an ounce of fat on him, which cause his clothes to look like they hang off of him in heaps, but at least they keep him somewhat warm. Gavroche is a little on the short size for his age, but that's also due to his eating habits - or lack there of. He has bright hazel eyes which are usually filled with mistrust, as he's run into plenty of trouble on the street. His knuckles are almost always cracked and bleeding due to fist fights.
Height: 3"10
Body: Skinny as a pole
Other distinguishing features: Beret on his head, baggy/ripped/dirty clothing
Wardrobe: Gavroche's style of dress is a pitiful far cry from anything resembling well-dressed, or even clean. Most of the time, he can be seen wearing very tattered jeans, running shoes and a white t-shirt, although it's faded to a yellow-ish brown over time. As well, he has a navy hoodie, although it is filled with holes at the elbows and hem. It's typical to find cuts and scrapes on the boy, particularly on his knuckles and knees. [/ul]
Play By: Josh Hutcherson
PERSONALITY
General personality: In a nutshell, this boy is arrogant, argumentative, stubborn, temperamental, but independent. He’s only ever known harshness and a selfish mentality, so this comes across often in his interactions with other people even if he doesn’t mean to. He’s fiercely proud of who he is, and holds a high level of scorn for people in the upper and elite classes. Gavroche thinks that these people are, as a whole, selfish sell-outs that have sold their pride for money and squandering their earnings on things that aren’t worth it. At the same time, even though he’s loathe to admit it, he wouldn’t mind having a warm roof to sleep under at night, as the cold gives him frequent nightmares.
He’s a drifter, travelling from place to place, searching for different people to steal his daily bread from. Having never found a purpose in his family, he has issues seeing himself as part of a large group, or as someone who matters in the context of other people. To survive on the streets, one needs to be selfish and willing to throw a few punches to avoid them, and so he works hard to maintain this tough image he’s cultivated, and in essence, internalized. He’s a good street fighter, and quick with his fists and feet, but lacks the ability to turn from a fight once it’s initiated. At the same time, one must remember the difference between being book-smart and being street-smart; Gavroche doesn't have a prayer at being book-smart, but being street-smart comes naturally to him, despite the shortcomings they produce.
Quotes, frequently used expressions: We may look easy pickings, but we’ve got some bite! Never kick a dog because he’s just a pup! You’d better run for cover when the pup grows up!
Likes: (please list at least three)
Dislikes: (please list at least three)
Strengths: (please name three) Independence, decisiveness, instinct
Weaknesses:(please name three) Stubbornness, hot-headedness, impulsive
BACKGROUND
Family: Claude Thénardier (Father); Simonetter Thénardier (Mother – Deceased); Éponine Thénardier (Older Sister - 17); Azelma Thénardier (Older Sister – 16); Mathieu Thénardier (Younger Brother – 7); Benoir Thénardier (Younger brother – 5)
Education: Showed up at public school every so often from grades 1 to 5, then dropped out. Will go in if there’s nothing else to do.
Occupation: Street Urchin
Worst past experience: Badly beaten by a gang when he was 7 for stealing on their ‘turf’
Best past experience:
Image: Gavie tends to come across as any typical street kid. He’s constantly in rags, so his personal hygiene suffers, but there’s something in his eyes that speak to the feeling everyone can relate to – the need to find somewhere where he belongs, which warms peoples’ hearts… until he starts swearing at them for their pity.
History: Gavroche Thénardier hasn’t had the easiest life, but then again how many stories have started out with such a cliché line? The boy was born to a family already feeling the icy grips of poverty, with three hungry children before he came around. In his parents’ eyes, for as long as he could remember, Gavroche was always the pest of the family – too young to do anything useful and too greedy to be happy with his share. It was unusually cold in France the November he was born, and as a result the boy was lucky to be alive. Of course, his parents were peeved at the failed attempt to be rid of the bugger.
He doesn’t remember it very much, but for the first two years of his life, Gavroche lived in the failing inn his parents owned, until the inn failed completely and the family moved to New York. Because the boy grew up around French speakers and lived in New York for most of his development, he speaks a mangled version of both dialects, substituting difficult words in English for French, and French for English.
Ever since Gavroche could remember his life, it has been filled with strictly pain and poverty, with the constant presence of chills nipping at his heels. Unable to support himself without his father stealing whatever the boy managed to pinch in the streets, and unable to justify his life under the Brooklyn Bridge as better than the one he could be living without his family dragging down, the boy took off one night and hasn’t looked back since.
At first, it was wonderful to be free from his family. Sure, there was no definite meal time, but there was never a definite meal anyways with his family. During the first few days of his freedom, the urchin hung around the local bakery a lot, pinching the loaves of bread from the dumpsters that stank outside. Eventually, one of the workers caught him stealing the leftover bread, and gave him a full loaf before plopping him into school for the week, demanding that the principal make sure he stayed enrolled until the end of elementary school. But like too many impoverished children, Gavroche slipped through the cracks and ended up back on the streets.
Over the next four years, the argot would flutter in and out of school, picking up on some basic knowledge such as addition and subtraction, but never truly getting the hang of reading in English or French. The boy hasn’t spoken to any of his family in years, but tries to steer clear of his parents if he ever catches word of a French gang hanging about. For the most part, he sleeps in an abandoned warehouse with the rats and the drug addicts, but always keeps his wits – and fists – about him.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
The night was falling fast, with the dying day throwing out it's last cry at light, orange and pink tendrils painting the periwinkle sky as greying clouds ran hurriedly by on the heels of the crying wind. Snow clung to the pavement below, desperately hanging to to life as the temperature warmed, revealing the stones and dirt that tainted the pure white covering. It was the time just between day and dusk, where the ambiguity showed, with a hint of nostalgia, what the day could've held for people, and what the night would no doubt disappoint.
As Gavie walked along the edge of the sidewalk closest to the road, his tiny frame passed many people of all walks of life; Some were dressed to the nines, ready to return to their faithful wives and husbands after a long day's worth of business meetings. Some were unreadable - a bit better dressed than the urchin was himself, but skirting that gave them a foot in each world. These people were not rich, but not poor either, likely having jobs that etched their faces with premature marks on maps they wore on their faces, the edges worn thin where they'd travelled too much. And then there were the ones like him. Poorly dressed, dirt smudged anywhere that skin was exposed, with clothes so ratty that their true colour was nowhere to be found. These were the people with nowhere to go, no homes to return to or meals to be late for. This was the glory of the argot.
Tipping his head upwards, the little street boy lifted his nose to try and catch the scent that had been wafting just above the heads of the unappreciated. Without him realizing it, the tattered wrecks one could've called running shoes at one point had brought him to his favourite deli in New York; They always threw out a handful of food at the end of the night, and it always managed to release the hot fist of hunger that held a constant grip on the boy. A low growl of anticipation broke forth from Gavroche's stomach, indicating it's lack of food for the entire day. Squinting up at the neon sign that flashed 'open', the boy ducked behind a street lamp to wait for the light to die, and his meal to arrive. Sure, it didn't come on a silver platter, or fully clean, but to him it was a banquet waiting to arrive. Adjusting his hat with bony fingers, a flash of red caught the child's eye before he realized that it was just his own knuckles, still angrily coloured after the street fight that had elapsed that morning. Gritting his teeth, those same hands returned to the pocket of his sweatshirt, the only article of clothing that wasn't starting to get too small for him, with the hem hanging around his knees. Biting his lip, he watched the people pass him without giving the child even a look, no different from when he forgot the pride of the street and began to panhandle, giving adorable looks to the public while kicking himself all the same. It was pathetic, having to stoop so low to beg for your meal. The crumbs of humble piety were tough on the teeth, that was for sure, but when nothing else filled your stomach, it was worth it, even if just barely.
At long last, the sun finally gave up it's struggle and fell behind the horizon, casting the city in a hurried night. Giving an impish grin to the storefront before the boy, he let out a huff, counting in his mind - slowly, he had to remind himself - to ten, before like every night, that neon light cast it's glow onto the red sign instead, indicating 'closed' to all that surrounded. Springing into action, muscles that had laid coiled for too long sprang forward, with the tough-talking boy darting between the people that blocked his way, leaping over the occasional obstacle before disappearing not into the shop, but the alleyway that ran beside it. Gavroche knew that the alley that led into the street started behind the Deli, and someone as nimble and agile as he was could get to it with a quick hop, skip, and a jump. Using the old packing crate he'd found months ago, he leapt onto that with sure and steady footing, before grasping the windowsill of the building next door with the edges of his fingers, hovering for a moment before he was able to pull himself up. From here, it was only a quick maneuver onto the top of that small building, and then the street dog was running across the roof, only leaping down once the roof ended and the alley began.
Bending his knees so the shock was completely absorbed, Gavroche crouched in the shadows momentarily, waiting for the chef's hearty whistle to carry him out to the dumpster. Having completed this ritual many times before, the Thénardier imp had perfected this routine, so that the food that arrived could have a hope at being warm. And there was nothing better to the boy than warm food, even if it happened to be spinach. The whistle arrived moments later, hovering in the air and leaving soon after, the bustle of plastic meeting plastic a Messiah to his ears, and the shadowed figure crept along the shadows, hugging the darkness until the door slammed once more, allowing the boy to dart across, grab the bag, and tear back to his hiding spot, greedily poring over his prize. Oh, he could smell the juicy, bloody nature of the meat in his hands, a beautiful scent that had him drooling within moments. Tearing open the bag with jagged fingernails, it didn't take much of a struggle to tear a hole open, exposing the pink flesh beneath. Not taking a moment to appreciate it, Gavroche reached in with grasping fingers, pulling out a handful and shoving it in his mouth as fast as he could, humming in pleasure as the lukewarm lunchmeat gave some warmth to his body. Sinking against the wall in the alleyway, Gavroche nearly choked on his meal, devouring it as quickly as he could, before leaving half the bag for his morning snack.
With his stomach finally pacified, and his mind at ease, elated and finding such a catch, the boy quickly stuffed the remaining food into his sweatshirt pocket, allowing him to keep his treasure close while leaving his hands free. Breaking into a sprint, renewed energy flowed through his body as his pole-like legs hit the street, the pounding of his feet against the sidewalk an all-too-familiar rhythm as he ducked around more people and disappearing into the crowd, a simple street urchin among many; The French King of the Street returning to his people and palace, swept into the gentle shield of the night.
Gavroche Bernard Thénardier
Low Class
Low Class
Canon: Les Misérables
Custom Title: This only goes to show what little people can do!
PHYSICAL
Age:9
Gender: Male
Appearance: As a general rule, Gavroche has his messy, dirty blonde hair falling around his ears in greasy locks, unless he's had the fortune to dunk in the river. He has a relatively pale skin tone, but no one would know that due to the constant coating of dirt the boy wears. He can always be seen with a black beret that he found discarded one day that he wears on his head, along with baggy jeans and running shoes. Due to living on the street, the child doesn't have an ounce of fat on him, which cause his clothes to look like they hang off of him in heaps, but at least they keep him somewhat warm. Gavroche is a little on the short size for his age, but that's also due to his eating habits - or lack there of. He has bright hazel eyes which are usually filled with mistrust, as he's run into plenty of trouble on the street. His knuckles are almost always cracked and bleeding due to fist fights.
Height: 3"10
Body: Skinny as a pole
Other distinguishing features: Beret on his head, baggy/ripped/dirty clothing
Wardrobe: Gavroche's style of dress is a pitiful far cry from anything resembling well-dressed, or even clean. Most of the time, he can be seen wearing very tattered jeans, running shoes and a white t-shirt, although it's faded to a yellow-ish brown over time. As well, he has a navy hoodie, although it is filled with holes at the elbows and hem. It's typical to find cuts and scrapes on the boy, particularly on his knuckles and knees. [/ul]
Play By: Josh Hutcherson
PERSONALITY
General personality: In a nutshell, this boy is arrogant, argumentative, stubborn, temperamental, but independent. He’s only ever known harshness and a selfish mentality, so this comes across often in his interactions with other people even if he doesn’t mean to. He’s fiercely proud of who he is, and holds a high level of scorn for people in the upper and elite classes. Gavroche thinks that these people are, as a whole, selfish sell-outs that have sold their pride for money and squandering their earnings on things that aren’t worth it. At the same time, even though he’s loathe to admit it, he wouldn’t mind having a warm roof to sleep under at night, as the cold gives him frequent nightmares.
He’s a drifter, travelling from place to place, searching for different people to steal his daily bread from. Having never found a purpose in his family, he has issues seeing himself as part of a large group, or as someone who matters in the context of other people. To survive on the streets, one needs to be selfish and willing to throw a few punches to avoid them, and so he works hard to maintain this tough image he’s cultivated, and in essence, internalized. He’s a good street fighter, and quick with his fists and feet, but lacks the ability to turn from a fight once it’s initiated. At the same time, one must remember the difference between being book-smart and being street-smart; Gavroche doesn't have a prayer at being book-smart, but being street-smart comes naturally to him, despite the shortcomings they produce.
Quotes, frequently used expressions: We may look easy pickings, but we’ve got some bite! Never kick a dog because he’s just a pup! You’d better run for cover when the pup grows up!
Likes: (please list at least three)
- His beret that he brought from Paris – basically his only possession
- The warehouse that he calls home
- Pain au chocolat (Chocolate croissant)
- Being able to fend for himself
- Stealing his food
- Autumn
Dislikes: (please list at least three)
- His parents
- Cold
- Crows
Strengths: (please name three) Independence, decisiveness, instinct
Weaknesses:(please name three) Stubbornness, hot-headedness, impulsive
BACKGROUND
Family: Claude Thénardier (Father); Simonetter Thénardier (Mother – Deceased); Éponine Thénardier (Older Sister - 17); Azelma Thénardier (Older Sister – 16); Mathieu Thénardier (Younger Brother – 7); Benoir Thénardier (Younger brother – 5)
Education: Showed up at public school every so often from grades 1 to 5, then dropped out. Will go in if there’s nothing else to do.
Occupation: Street Urchin
Worst past experience: Badly beaten by a gang when he was 7 for stealing on their ‘turf’
Best past experience:
Image: Gavie tends to come across as any typical street kid. He’s constantly in rags, so his personal hygiene suffers, but there’s something in his eyes that speak to the feeling everyone can relate to – the need to find somewhere where he belongs, which warms peoples’ hearts… until he starts swearing at them for their pity.
History: Gavroche Thénardier hasn’t had the easiest life, but then again how many stories have started out with such a cliché line? The boy was born to a family already feeling the icy grips of poverty, with three hungry children before he came around. In his parents’ eyes, for as long as he could remember, Gavroche was always the pest of the family – too young to do anything useful and too greedy to be happy with his share. It was unusually cold in France the November he was born, and as a result the boy was lucky to be alive. Of course, his parents were peeved at the failed attempt to be rid of the bugger.
He doesn’t remember it very much, but for the first two years of his life, Gavroche lived in the failing inn his parents owned, until the inn failed completely and the family moved to New York. Because the boy grew up around French speakers and lived in New York for most of his development, he speaks a mangled version of both dialects, substituting difficult words in English for French, and French for English.
Ever since Gavroche could remember his life, it has been filled with strictly pain and poverty, with the constant presence of chills nipping at his heels. Unable to support himself without his father stealing whatever the boy managed to pinch in the streets, and unable to justify his life under the Brooklyn Bridge as better than the one he could be living without his family dragging down, the boy took off one night and hasn’t looked back since.
At first, it was wonderful to be free from his family. Sure, there was no definite meal time, but there was never a definite meal anyways with his family. During the first few days of his freedom, the urchin hung around the local bakery a lot, pinching the loaves of bread from the dumpsters that stank outside. Eventually, one of the workers caught him stealing the leftover bread, and gave him a full loaf before plopping him into school for the week, demanding that the principal make sure he stayed enrolled until the end of elementary school. But like too many impoverished children, Gavroche slipped through the cracks and ended up back on the streets.
Over the next four years, the argot would flutter in and out of school, picking up on some basic knowledge such as addition and subtraction, but never truly getting the hang of reading in English or French. The boy hasn’t spoken to any of his family in years, but tries to steer clear of his parents if he ever catches word of a French gang hanging about. For the most part, he sleeps in an abandoned warehouse with the rats and the drug addicts, but always keeps his wits – and fists – about him.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
The night was falling fast, with the dying day throwing out it's last cry at light, orange and pink tendrils painting the periwinkle sky as greying clouds ran hurriedly by on the heels of the crying wind. Snow clung to the pavement below, desperately hanging to to life as the temperature warmed, revealing the stones and dirt that tainted the pure white covering. It was the time just between day and dusk, where the ambiguity showed, with a hint of nostalgia, what the day could've held for people, and what the night would no doubt disappoint.
As Gavie walked along the edge of the sidewalk closest to the road, his tiny frame passed many people of all walks of life; Some were dressed to the nines, ready to return to their faithful wives and husbands after a long day's worth of business meetings. Some were unreadable - a bit better dressed than the urchin was himself, but skirting that gave them a foot in each world. These people were not rich, but not poor either, likely having jobs that etched their faces with premature marks on maps they wore on their faces, the edges worn thin where they'd travelled too much. And then there were the ones like him. Poorly dressed, dirt smudged anywhere that skin was exposed, with clothes so ratty that their true colour was nowhere to be found. These were the people with nowhere to go, no homes to return to or meals to be late for. This was the glory of the argot.
Tipping his head upwards, the little street boy lifted his nose to try and catch the scent that had been wafting just above the heads of the unappreciated. Without him realizing it, the tattered wrecks one could've called running shoes at one point had brought him to his favourite deli in New York; They always threw out a handful of food at the end of the night, and it always managed to release the hot fist of hunger that held a constant grip on the boy. A low growl of anticipation broke forth from Gavroche's stomach, indicating it's lack of food for the entire day. Squinting up at the neon sign that flashed 'open', the boy ducked behind a street lamp to wait for the light to die, and his meal to arrive. Sure, it didn't come on a silver platter, or fully clean, but to him it was a banquet waiting to arrive. Adjusting his hat with bony fingers, a flash of red caught the child's eye before he realized that it was just his own knuckles, still angrily coloured after the street fight that had elapsed that morning. Gritting his teeth, those same hands returned to the pocket of his sweatshirt, the only article of clothing that wasn't starting to get too small for him, with the hem hanging around his knees. Biting his lip, he watched the people pass him without giving the child even a look, no different from when he forgot the pride of the street and began to panhandle, giving adorable looks to the public while kicking himself all the same. It was pathetic, having to stoop so low to beg for your meal. The crumbs of humble piety were tough on the teeth, that was for sure, but when nothing else filled your stomach, it was worth it, even if just barely.
At long last, the sun finally gave up it's struggle and fell behind the horizon, casting the city in a hurried night. Giving an impish grin to the storefront before the boy, he let out a huff, counting in his mind - slowly, he had to remind himself - to ten, before like every night, that neon light cast it's glow onto the red sign instead, indicating 'closed' to all that surrounded. Springing into action, muscles that had laid coiled for too long sprang forward, with the tough-talking boy darting between the people that blocked his way, leaping over the occasional obstacle before disappearing not into the shop, but the alleyway that ran beside it. Gavroche knew that the alley that led into the street started behind the Deli, and someone as nimble and agile as he was could get to it with a quick hop, skip, and a jump. Using the old packing crate he'd found months ago, he leapt onto that with sure and steady footing, before grasping the windowsill of the building next door with the edges of his fingers, hovering for a moment before he was able to pull himself up. From here, it was only a quick maneuver onto the top of that small building, and then the street dog was running across the roof, only leaping down once the roof ended and the alley began.
Bending his knees so the shock was completely absorbed, Gavroche crouched in the shadows momentarily, waiting for the chef's hearty whistle to carry him out to the dumpster. Having completed this ritual many times before, the Thénardier imp had perfected this routine, so that the food that arrived could have a hope at being warm. And there was nothing better to the boy than warm food, even if it happened to be spinach. The whistle arrived moments later, hovering in the air and leaving soon after, the bustle of plastic meeting plastic a Messiah to his ears, and the shadowed figure crept along the shadows, hugging the darkness until the door slammed once more, allowing the boy to dart across, grab the bag, and tear back to his hiding spot, greedily poring over his prize. Oh, he could smell the juicy, bloody nature of the meat in his hands, a beautiful scent that had him drooling within moments. Tearing open the bag with jagged fingernails, it didn't take much of a struggle to tear a hole open, exposing the pink flesh beneath. Not taking a moment to appreciate it, Gavroche reached in with grasping fingers, pulling out a handful and shoving it in his mouth as fast as he could, humming in pleasure as the lukewarm lunchmeat gave some warmth to his body. Sinking against the wall in the alleyway, Gavroche nearly choked on his meal, devouring it as quickly as he could, before leaving half the bag for his morning snack.
With his stomach finally pacified, and his mind at ease, elated and finding such a catch, the boy quickly stuffed the remaining food into his sweatshirt pocket, allowing him to keep his treasure close while leaving his hands free. Breaking into a sprint, renewed energy flowed through his body as his pole-like legs hit the street, the pounding of his feet against the sidewalk an all-too-familiar rhythm as he ducked around more people and disappearing into the crowd, a simple street urchin among many; The French King of the Street returning to his people and palace, swept into the gentle shield of the night.
