#anneeschallenge

[gabrieldesilva]

Gabriel permanently moved to Paris in 1919,  after staying in America for a year. He moved in his uncle’s old apartment in Montmartre where he had almost everything refurbished. Dark, moody walls set the tone while keeping some areas light with shades of copper and gold.

A select number of paintings and pictures adorn the place and his most frequented area is the study, where he’s either scribbling the draft of his latest critique or finalizing the article on his typewriter. His mother’s photograph can be found on his desk.

His old bedroom, the one where he used to stay in as a boy, was eventually converted into a darkroom, film and photography intrigue him greatly and Gabriel has secretly taken pictures of Paris and its people in the last couple of years. His last print was of Bateau Lavoir in 1923. Nobody has seen his photographs.

The kitchen is well-stocked but rarely used, though there had been times where the critic has made meals which reminded him of Barcelona and dishes that the gourmand has been generous enough to teach him. He likes food but tend to be selective, thus Gabriel’s lean frame.

Bonus:

Bought in 1920 as gift for himself on his birthday, Gabriel had the American automobile Stutz Bearcat shipped from overseas. Quite possibly the most lavish thing he’s spent on himself to date, the compact car in cheerful yellow can be seen speeding down the narrow streets of Paris at any given day. He has yet to run over a pedestrian or an animal which is a feat considering his manner of driving.

[anneesfolleshq]

                                    𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄  # 𝟎𝟖

QUELLE ??

The leaves have changed, the air is crisper, it is now the spookiest time of the year! Honestly, is there anything better than Autumn? We don’t know. There certainly isn’t a better time to serve up some chills and thrills. For this week’s challenge we would like you to write a detailed self-para about a nightmare your muse has had.

Is your character the type to have mostly sweet dreams? Lets throw a wrench in those cogs, shall we? Take this opportunity to delve into the darker aspects of your character’s psyche and really dig into what keeps them up at night. We want it all: the creepy crawlies, the shadows in the dark, the falls from great heights, teeth falling out, the sensation of being chased yet no one is behind you... whatever scares your muses! We want you to spook our pants off!

Sleep tight, my dears. 

RÈGLES :

➻ Challenges are not mandatory, but encouraged for muse purposes !! ➻ New challenges will be released every two weeks, and may be done at any time !! ➻ There is no limit to how much/little you should do for a challenge !! ➻ Challenges never expire, and therefore ay be done at any time !! ➻ Please tag your work with #anneeschallenge so everyone can see it !!

[mxmmon]

Années Challenge #09 A Past Holiday Memory

November, 1921

Hands held the telegram in his hands and all he could do was stare. He shouldn’t have expected anything else, really. He was never any good at doing anything than keeping her at arm’s length, to protect her. Well, it was a good thing, surely? Having her back for the holidays would have been nice but what would it have been? Another night sat opposite each other making bits of small talk accompanied by the sounds of cutlery clinking on plates? But when was it that it went from a curious little voice asking him questions about the world to his own old, gravelly voice asking about hers?

The last he saw her was, god...last Christmas already. And her last letter he had left for the day after to reply, the week after, and then it was months later and nothing. He hadn’t consciously realised how busy a year he was having. Between his business fronts, the continued feeding of narcotics to the masses as well as his relatively new delving into smuggling champagne to the States, time just slipped away like sand between his fingers.

But it was all for her, wasn’t it? At the end of it all, everything he had was hers. All the money, all the ownership, all of him was hers. He was powerful, yes, but all his power was relinquished to her. Sending Sofia to London was for both their good. For her to get a good education, to make something decent of herself, to have the autonomy he never got to have. Maybe she would understand one day. And maybe he would understand one day too.

Folding the piece of paper in half, he was about to throw it into the bin, but rereading it again, he pursed his lips and instead opened up his drawer to slip it above the unsent Christmas card addressed to Sofia.

𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝙿𝚊𝚙𝚊 

𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜. 𝙼𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 

𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊

[semperpati]

                                              𝓛𝓪 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮 𝓭𝓮                          𝓖𝓾𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓾𝓶𝓮 𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓶𝓲𝓷 𝓡𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓽

François René Rousset (Deceased Father - Gene Kelly) Camille Jeanne Rousset née Gagne (Mother - Catherine Deneuve)

Clémentine Durand née Rousset (Younger Sister - Audrey Tatou)

Emilliene Rousset née Clement (Deceased Wife - Cleménce Poesy) Leon Fernande Rousset (Deceased Child) Unnamed child (Deceased at childbirth)

Chien (Dog/Child/Saviour - Uggy the dog)

                                                          ◆ ◆ ◆

Guillaume always grew up in a loving family, he was lucky. His parents loved one another and they loved both him and his sister. There are only a few memories of his childhood that do not include his sister and though they have any tumultuous sibling relationship, they have grown up to be loving and caring of one another.

The factory was both the Rousset siblings’ playground and their father would often allow them to learn the tricks of the trade as well as socialise with his factory workers who remained very loyal to the family, being often treated like the extension of it.

There was a point in his childhood, he always regretted, and that was not being stronger and more adamant at his parents that he wanted to pursue the path of his violin talents. It was something he truly enjoyed and was naturally gifted in. It was a shame that his parents wanted him to take on the family business and it somewhat became his destiny. He had the responsibility on his shoulders as Clementine was always the more playful, slightly rebellious one in their youth and into their young adulthood.

When he met Emilliene everything changed, her family moved into the area and from the first time he laid eyes on her he knew he had to know her. And through knowing her, their romance blossomed and soon he asked for her father’s permission to marry her. It took him a whole month to pluck up the courage to finally ask her, but he did and she said yes before he could finish asking. Their marriage was a happy one, Emilliene becoming pregnant within the year and everybody around them rejoiced. And though it was a turbulent birth and it was early, eight months later a beautiful baby boy was born that they named Leon. They were almost perfect.

But of course, life could never be quite so perfect after all. Though they were tired and happy to have Leon at last, his health was never quite what it should have been. They made more trips to the hospital than they could recall whenever he grew ill. Two months before his first birthday, he fell the most ill both parents had seen him and stayed all night at the hospital. Little Leon did not make the morning. As they buried him, a part of both their hearts was pressed down within the earth with him for the rest of their lives.

When the war came, Guillaume knew of his duties even though deep inside he did not want to leave. Emilliene had kept the secret, but as they approached the train station, she placed his hand on her stomach and pressed a kiss to his lips as a promise for both her and their unborn child to greet him back. He was nervous, but he held onto a hope from that point.

What was a terrible twist of fate was to come his way. Not only was he put through the mentally and physically damaging war, he received a telegram both his darling wife Emilliene and his daughter had passed due to complications of an early birth again. Though he was burdened with the knowledge, he continued out in the field - if he stopped he feared he would not start again. He did not look at the picture he kept hidden away in his helmet anymore.

Upon his return to Paris, he was welcomed by the teary eyes and warm arms of his parents and sister as a changed man. He became more introverted, choosing to stay inside more, putting his whole life into the factory and nothing more. His family were concerned, but did not want to pry. Clementine was not often around anyway since she moved to Versailles after her marriage. 

A little while later François’ health deteriorated but he refused to go to the hospital as he stubbornly claimed if it was his time, it was his time. Upon his death bed the last words he spoke to his son resonated within him. “Live, dear son. Please live your life. Be free.”

Though he may have had the weight of the world on his shoulders, Guillaume knew he had to follow his father’s words. He had mourned enough, he carried the sadness in his heart but he would not allow it to consume his soul. He looked after his mother and sister, the business now belonging to him. It may have been difficult and it was gradual, but he eventually went out for his morning coffees again, bought flowers for his mother, visited his sister and brother in law.

It was a fateful day, when he was on his way to the market that he found a little dog following behind him in his steps. Its face was little and curious, and Guillaume found it amusing for it be be beside him for so long and so bought him a bone at the butchers to nibble on as he had his lunch that day. It was as though the dog chose him. Though Guillaume tried to find its owner, the little dog did not appear to have one and so Chien became part of the family and his home was a bit less lonely at last.

[bharisinclair]

                                          ANNEES FOLLES CHALLENGE #04

❈ B H I G  M O O D

                         a playlist for the many moods of a timid gentleman. 

#o1. Wigwam - Bob Dylan // #o2. Another Love - Tom Odell // #o3. Zebra - Beach House // #o4. The Great Escape - Patrick Watson // #o5. See You Again - Tyler, The Creator // #o6. Intertwined - dodie // #o7. Strawberry Afternoons - Lonely Benson // #o8. R U Mine? - Arctic Monkeys // #o9. Think (Instrumental) - Curtis Mayfield // #1o. Strawberry Swing - Frank Ocean // #11. Soft Feelings - Sondre Lerche // #12. Zero - Electric Guest // #13. Jealous - Labrinth // #14. I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues - Alessia Cara // #15 Dancing in the Moonlight - Toploader // #16. Never Wanna Leave - Hate Drugs // #17. Light - San Holo // #18. Emire Ants (Gorillaz Cover) - Young the Giant // #19. Waves - Electric Guest // #2o. Funky at Heart - Studio Killers // #21. Luscious Life - Patrick Watson // #22. L’etang - Blossom Dearie // #23. The Typewriter - Leroy Anderson // #24. My Hands Are Shaking - Sondre Lerche // ....and growing !!

[illustration by mari]

[williamcohxn-blog]

the apple and its tree;

ALFRE WOODARD   as   DORIS COHEN (59) IDRIS ELBA   as   WILLIAM COHEN (42) ROSARIO DAWSON   as   MARGARET COHEN (36) LUPITA NYONG’O  as   HELEN COHEN (31) GUGU MBATHA-RAW   as   ADA COHEN (29) LETITIA WRIGHT   as   NORA COHEN (22)

[arturodemarin]

                          𝕀 𝕡𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕦𝕡 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕖...                      𝔾𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕟

[madamemoreau]

Vivienne Moreau – Outfit for Monsieur Mercier‘s Summer Gala 

[charlotte-leigh]

                      𝐼'𝓂 𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼'𝓂 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝓊𝓃

                                    𝐼 𝐵𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝑀𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐹𝓊𝓃 ♥

                                                           ( x )

[anneesfolleshq]

Good morning, good afternoon, and good evening everybody (depending on where you are--you’re all so spread out)! 

Things are moving along splendidly in Paris and that could not make me any happier. I’m just here to remind you (especially our precious newbies!) that we have plenty of Tasks and Challenges in the bank, which you can find on our main page (to the right) or.......by clicking here. We’ve held off on posting more just because there are so many good ones to work with (if you haven’t done so already). We will resume our task posting schedule in about a week or so.

Challenges and tasks are not mandatory, but highly encouraged and really fun to read and write. To see some of the awesome work our group has done, check out the #anneeschallenge tag !!

[mxmmon]

                                                𝔽𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕟 𝕒𝕗                                       𝔸𝕟𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕟𝕪 𝕀𝕧𝕒𝕟 ℍ𝕠𝕝𝕤𝕥

Søren Engelbrecht Holst (Deceased father - Jesper Christensen) Birgitte Lise Michelsdatter (Deceased mother - Ingrid Bergman)

Mathilde Abrielle Holst née Pelletier (Ex-wife - Marion Cotillaird) Sofia Veronique Holst (Daughter - Virginia Gardner)

Growing up as a child, Anthony’s life was never steady. Due to the way his father chased where less than legal work laid, he never had a real home, never settled. Bouncing from country to country Birgitte tried her best to have a semblance of a family through it all but Søren was busy teaching his son how to be a man and forget about being a boy.

Anthony feared his father, he had a ruthless personality at work and it continued long after he did multiple jobs and favours for dangerous men. As he grew older, he learned to revere and respect him as he watched him climb the rungs up the proverbial ladder.

Though his mother was his protector when Søren’s words and actions grew too much, she could not shield him from his reality, from what footsteps had been paved for him to follow. His father sidled his way to becoming the right hand for a French gangster and eventually took over his crime ring. Birgitte tried her very best with Anthony, and it is because of her he has a semblance of humanity about him.

It was his mother who convinced him he should marry. Whilst Anthony had a few love inconsequential affairs in his day, Birgitte set him up with the daughter of a fairly well-to-do restaurateur. He was soon to wed Mathilde at his mother’s request and he learned to love the woman as a good husband should. All the while he wheedled his way into Mathilde’s family business, soon earning his father-in-law’s trust for his name to be on the lease as well as it going to him when he died.

Though his heart perhaps did not belong to Mathilde entirely, he had a fondness for her, especially when she bore his child. Now Anthony Ivan Holst had never been one for showing emotions but when Sofia was born and he heard the screaming of the new baby, his baby - he was a changed man. Holding her in his arms for the first time, tears fell down his face and he gave her a silent promise to never let harm come to her.

Though he loved his daughter more than life itself he never wanted to become his father to her. Fearing himself becoming a self fulfilled prophecy, when she was old enough he sent her off to boarding schools throughout her life. When Sofia became a teenager, he and Mathilde split up, the latter half of their marriage only really being held together by their daughter.

He is still fiercely protective of Mathilde, remaining fairly amicable as they both gave into the fact their relationship was nothing but manufactured to fit a mould. It was the turn of the century and they both deserved better than that.

When his father died the business became his. His father’s last words were for him to continue his legacy. Anthony was simply surprised he was not murdered before death caught up to him. The Holst legacy was his it was everything he wanted. Or, everything his father wanted him to want.

His mother’s death was quite a different affair. She eventually developed dementia, forcing Anthony to send her to a nursing home and relent the responsibility to someone else in her later life. He was not there when she slipped away into the darkness - he would never know Birgitte asked for him in her last moments at the mercy of the nurses there.

Sofia once used to idolise her father when she was a child, she still recalls being thrown above his head and feeling like she was flying. Everytime her parents sent her away to England, she felt her heart break a little bit more. Her heart is shattered when all Anthony ever wanted was to keep it safe.

[bharisinclair]

❈ Journal Entry: October 24, 1916 ❈

[Années Folles Challenge #3: Write a letter]

   In which the young man, Bhari Sinclair, age 22, finds a likely friend in an unlikely place.

Journal, 

I have no one to write to these days so I will write to you. I have ceased writing to my mother, the typical recipient of such things, but I will surely die before she knows what has happened here. I would not want anyone to know the contents of this journal, so I cannot imagine these pages reaching any pair of eyes besides my own. The act of writing, however, soothes me. I know if I should expect to keep my spirits about me I will have to continue to do such, or else lose my wits like the fair few I am stuck with.

When they were not mobile or in patrol, there were days at a time when they were stationed at camps in far off places that Bhari knew not of, nor had ever been to. He was strange as strange could be, and so very out of place that he felt more like a phantom limb than a human with purpose or presence. It’d taken him months to accept a gun in his hand, and even longer to actually shoot the damned thing, but only when he had a bayonet mere centimeters before his chest, and not without a scream. It was the only sound he’d made, or would make, since the moment a bomb struck the battalion he was sent to report on, killing the majority in an instant, and leaving the remainders to bleed out in the night. 

They do not believe I know how to speak, but I have given them no reason to think otherwise. I fear I’ve lost the ability since the bomb went off. All I hear besides the vicious growls of angry men in their rare sleep is the incessant ringing in my left ear, which leads me to wonder if this will lead to something else down the line. Twice daily I hold my palm to my ears, first one and then the other, to test the sense. As per today’s test I believe that the left ear isn’t as sharp as the right, but I am not confident in this. I have refrained from speaking, though it does not seem like a choice anymore. My throat has severed all ties from the air that leaves my lungs it seems, as I cannot bring myself to speak. I doubt there is anything worthy for me to say, and even if there was, I do not know the language well enough to communicate with them. Though I have picked up a few things.

“Le garçon brun est désactivé,” is a common phrase here. Most seem to think that because I am unable to speak, I am deaf, too, which is not the case. I find it easier not to try and correct them because there are only a few who speak like this. The rest have been very kind to me, and I would not be writing this were it not for them. 

The following months after the reporter first watched life leave another man’s eyes as a result of his own hand, it was all he could do to stare across the fields during these times when they were stationary; when fields were peaceful, if only for a moment. In August his eyes glued to seas of corymb flowers, like little armies of white protecting him. He refused to find sleep, but rather let it come to find him when he could no longer fight the exhaustion, Instead his nights were reserved for finding ways to occupy his mind from thinking about what was being done around him. He would write about anything in his journal, documenting his days as he was assigned to do, though he no longer sent anything back to the London press. He would write letters to his mother at first, filled with truths about the brave men he accompanied, but once the topic of horrors began to use him as a subject, these letters ceased. Bhari spent his days in packed infirmaries, transcribing love letters to the faraway wives and children of soldiers who could no longer write.

War did not become him, he was only supposed to write about it.

Just the other day I thought I was losing my mind when I noticed a small dog pop its head out of a tent, but he was very much real. Small and brown with large eyes that seemed to catch everything, no stone left unturned. I spent a long while watching him as I sat at the edge of the clearing, hoping he would make his way to me but not wanting to be obvious about it. (You see, I have been left on my own for the most part, and I prefer it this way.) I am happy to report that after a while he noticed me and made his way over to where i was sitting. At first I believed it was because he took an interest in me, but I soon learnt that it was the bread I keep in my pocket that drew his keen nose over. Which, one could say, was an interest in me by proxy.

His name is Heureux, which I very much like because if I try hard enough I can form my breath to sound like his name. He likes this too. For whatever reason the little thing (a terrier of some kind, I would come to learn later) was missing an eye, but he did not seem to realize that. He wore a pack on his back which held a few cigarettes, but had the mark of the Poste on it. 

At first I believed I was surely dreaming or, at the least, hallucinating---a terrier offering me cigarettes?

I took the stale bread from my pocket and gave it to him in secret as I was unsure of the etiquette for such a serviceman. He did not protest, anyhow. I suppose this was what he was after as he seemed quite content with the whole situation, enough to find a seat in my lap and fall asleep for a long while as I watched the landscape. It was, without a doubt, the most peaceful moment I have experienced thus far into this ordeal. 

I felt this was worth capturing. 

I have not seen Heureux in days, but I assume he is working very hard. I will write to you again about him when I have received an update. 

Yours,

B.T.S. 

[malmurd]

Malachi Murdock; A Zealous Existence

Basic Information

Full Name: Malachi Micah Murdock

Nickname(s): Mal; Mr M.

Age: 38

Date of Birth: 19th October 1886. 

Hometown: Dublin, Ireland.

Current Location: Paris, France

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: Irish and French.

Gender: cis Male. 

Pronouns: he/him.

Orientation: Heterosexual, Heteroromantic. 

Religion: Catholic. He really, really wants to believe, and repenting and worship helps him find solace in his troubled mind. Being a sceptic, however, he always reserves a portion of doubt. He is not pious; he keeps his faith to himself. 

Political Affiliation: Labour movement. 

Occupation: Fraudulent Accountant

Living Arrangements: Bedsit in Montmarte that over looks the church; humble dwellings with magnificent views.

Language(s) Spoken: English, French. 

Accent: Soft spoken Irish. 

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Cillian Murphy.

Hair Colour: Undercut, weighty fringe. Kept neat though falls further forward as the day progresses.

Eye Colour: Ice blue.

Height: 5’10”

Weight: 70 KG

Build: Malachi is slim, lean, with broad shoulders and a defined rhomboid silhouette. 

Tattoos: None.

Piercings: None.

Clothing Style: Always sharply dressed, Malachi is a proud man when it comes to his appearance. He tends to wear Herringbone pattern woollen three-piece suits. stiff collar shirts, and is never without a pocket watch and pin. Winter months see him in an oversized coat with velvet collar. He sticks to greys, whites and blacks, though is partial to a splash of burgundy or cold blue. 

Usual Expression: Stern, stoic and, if anything, expressionless. 

Distinguishing Characteristics: Piercing, pale eyes, sharp cheekbones, intimidating and intellectual gaze.

Health

Physical Ailments: Deaf in left ear. Repetitive strain in right shoulder. Intermittent limp that requires a cane whenever pain is triggered. 

Neurological Conditions: PTSD.

Allergies: None. 

Sleeping Habits: Malachi doesn’t get off to sleep easy, and when he eventually does find it, he often wakes in a cold sweat, suffering nightmares. He smokes opium some nights to help send him off. On good nights, he’ll get 6 hours. On bad, he’ll get none at all.

Eating Habits: Survives on cigarettes, cocaine,  tea, and whiskey. Eats little but not often. Favourite food is jam on bread.

Exercise Habits: Runs along the riverside at least once a day.

Emotional Stability: Malachi is a very stoic and composed man, so is on the most part an 8. He seldom lets positive emotions show through, but is prone to bouts of severe anger and violence. 

Sociability: Introverted, enjoys female company, cannot stand crowds. 

Body Temperature: Cold.

Addictions: Cigarettes, alcohol, which are both daily fixes, opium and cocaine use aren’t so frequent but still needed. 

Drug Use: Opium to help him sleep, cocaine to help him in social situations. 

Alcohol Use: Occasionally, alcohol sees him into a violent state, or should he be with a woman, he’ll become a particularly rough lover. He doesn’t get jovial when he’s drunk, some would say if looking close enough that he looks more sad than usual. He drinks every day.  

Personality

Label: The Noble.

Positive Traits: Honourable. Collected. Respectful. Loyal.

Negative Traits: Insular. Selfless. Haunted. Distant. 

Goals/Desires: To find better for the people he believes deserve it. 

Fears: War. Attention. 

Hobbies: Malichi has a keen admiration for architecture, and so churches and cathedrals are his dwelling points. He loves to read, and in particular the works of Keates are his favourite. He is not much of a jazz fan, and certainly does not dance, but appreciates opera. Mal also adores nature, and would always find peace when in a natural environment. He is interested in butterflies and moths, and catches them to paint.

Habits: Clearing his throat. Smoking. Nodding instead of speaking. 

Favourites

Weather: Cold, for then his woollen suits aren’t inappropriate. 

Colour: Forest Green. 

Music: If not birdsong, then silence. If not silence, orchestral and operatic. 

Movies: Mal has no interest in the movies. 

Sport: None.

Beverage: Whiskey. 

Food: Bread with jam.

Animal: Eagle owl, of which he has a respectful fear of as he was once swooped by one when he was a boy. 

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Libra.

MBTI: ISTJ.

Enneagram: Type 6, The Loyal Sceptic.

Temperament: Melancholic. 

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor.  

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good.

Primary Vice: Wrath.

Primary Virtue: Justice.

Element: Earth.

[williamcohxn-blog]

Basic Information

Full Name: William Morris Cohen.

Nickname(s): Will. Nothing fancy, and nothing else.

Age: 42.

Date of Birth: April 20, 1882.

Hometown: Whitechapel, Endland.

Current Location: Montparnasse, France.

Ethnicity: Sierra Leonean & Ghanaian.

Nationality: British.

Gender: Male.

Pronouns: He/Him.

Orientation: Demiromantic. Heterosexual.

Religion: Loosely Christian.

Political Affiliation: Nonpartisan.

Occupation: Bouncer at L’Enfer.

Living Arrangements: Small but cozy & tidy second floor apartment.

Language(s) Spoken: English. Not great French.

Accent: Cockney. Very Cockney.

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Idris Elba.

Hair Colour: Black with a touch of grey, esp. in the beard.

Eye Colour: Dark, warm brown.

Height: 6′ 3″

Weight: 215 lbs

Build: Buff. Strong & sturdy. Lean, but well-rounded.

Tattoos: None.

Piercings: None.

Clothing Style: Comfortable, but professional. Button-downs, suspenders, open-front jackets. 

Usual Expression: Stoic. 

Distinguishing Characteristics: Big man. Kind eyes.

Health

Physical Ailments: Stage II osteoarthritis; both hands. 

Neurological Conditions: PTSD.

Allergies: None.

Sleeping Habits: 3-5 hours a night, roughly from 3am-7am.

Eating Habits: Eats three very big, healthy meals a day. Rarely snacks.

Exercise Habits: 60min, 3 times a week. Runs the stairs in his apartment, bodyweight exercises. Fights 1-2 times a week. All heavy exertion. 

Emotional Stability: 9/10 for everything but anger. Anger is 5/10, could go either way.

Sociability: Enjoys being around people, but not necessarily socializing. Needs his alone time, but also likes spending time with the few people he trusts.

Body Temperature: Runs on the warmer side of average.

Addictions: Cigarettes. Fighting.

Drug Use: None.

Alcohol Use: Occasional. Always stays well within his limits. 

Personality

Label: The Guardian.

Positive Traits: Calm. Courteous. Decisive. Reliable. 

Negative Traits: Aloof. Quarrelsome. Suspicious. 

Goals/Desires: Protect his loved ones. Deal with/overcome his violent tendencies. Be more creative. 

Fears: Death. Failure. Snakes.

Hobbies: Fight club (ssh). Long walks. People watching. 

Habits: Carries his challenge coin everywhere. Cracks knuckles. Talks in his sleep.

Favourites

Weather: Warm rain on a summer night.

Colour: Green.

Music: Blues.

Movies: Doesn’t like movies.

Sport: Boxing. American Football. 

Beverage: Coffee.

Food: Peppercorn steak.

Animal: Dogs.

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Taurus.

MBTI: ISTJ-A.

Enneagram: Type 8 - The Asserter

Temperament: Choleric.

Hogwarts House: Such a Gryffindor. 

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good.

Primary Vice: Wrath.

Primary Virtue: Charity.

Element: Earth, with a touch of fire. 

[madamemoreau]

Annés Folles Challlenge #4: playlist – Vivienne Moreau

“I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way that I want To say and do whatever I please”

(listen)

[ritasrussianroulette-blog]

Rita’s Survey Answers

Basic Information

Full Name: Margarita Masmekh Valerianovna

Nickname(s): Rita, Riri to Charlotte 

Age: 38

Date of Birth: February 1, 1886

Hometown: Vyatskoye, Yaroslavl Oblast, Russia

Current Location: Paris, France

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: Russian-French

Gender: Female

Pronouns:she/her

Orientation: Homosexual and homoromantic 

Religion: Raised Russian Orthodox, now unsure

Political Affiliation: Justice over mercy

Occupation: Mobster

Living Arrangements: Has a room at Anthony Holst’s place

Language(s) Spoken: Russian, most French, some English 

Accent: Russian (northern) 

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Gwendoline Christie

Hair Colour: blonde

Eye Colour: blue

Height: 6′3″ 

Weight: 185 pounds 

Build: Muscular 

Tattoos: 

It’s on the back of her neck. She couldn’t decide what to get, so she just picked roses at random. Really, she just wanted a tattoo to have a tattoo. 

Piercings: none

Clothing Style: Fur coats, suits, and fedoras all meant for men. 

Usual Expression: Icy scowl

Distinguishing Characteristics: Besides her height, none. 

Health

Physical Ailments: none

Neurological Conditions: Autism Spectrum Disorder (not diagnosed) 

Allergies: None

Sleeping Habits: Fairly normal, but often has to stay up late. 

Eating Habits: Rita likes her meat. 

Exercise Habits: Frequently works out, and in particular, boxes. 

Emotional Stability: 6- Rita has a temper, but she’s often able to keep a cool outside. 

Sociability: Rita is definitely an introvert- people annoy her. 

Body Temperature: Cold-natured

Addictions: None

Drug Use: Smokes cigarettes

Alcohol Use: Appreciates whiskey

Personality

Label: The Executor (well, for Anthony, anyway) 

Positive Traits: reliable, determined, brave

Negative Traits: aggressive, vengeful, ruthless

Goals/Desires: Though she won’t say it, she wants to make Anthony proud of her. 

Fears: Losing anyone else that she cares about (Anthony, Luci, etc.) 

Hobbies: Boxing

Habits: smoking cigarettes

Favourites

Weather: Snow reminds her of home.

Colour: Red

Music: Jazz is alright. 

Movies: She doesn’t get to see many movies. .

Sport: Boxing 

Beverage: Whiskey

Food: Steak, bloody

Animal: Wolves inspire her

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius 

MBTI: ISTJ

Enneagram: Type 6, The Loyal Skeptic (with a 5 wing) 

Temperament: Melancholic 

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor 

Moral Alignment: Lawful Evil

Primary Vice: Wrath

Primary Virtue: Diligence

Element: Earth