Name:
Arcade Laurent
Age:
21
Sex:
Male
Profession:
Baker
Interests:
Arcade’s father, a veteran of the Franco-Prussian War, saw it fit to drill combat training into his son until his recent passing. So, while not necessarily interests of his, Arcade has some capability with marksmanship and swordplay. His true passions are less eminently useful, including a penchant for painting (although Arcade doesn’t think he’s very good), and woodworking. Mostly, he makes smaller sculptures and toys that he gives out to children visiting his mother’s bakery, though he’s also completed a few pieces of furniture as well.
Personality:
Much of Arcade’s character has been informed by the actions of his late father. Yet they are actions he has had to work to decipher and translate, to find the virtue underpinning the sin. Jean-Pierre Laurent was not an evil man, but he was a broken and misguided one, the lessons he imparted similarly so. Untangling the strand of bravery, and cruelty, and hidden sorrow that his father was, to find purpose in the pain, is the great challenge of Arcade’s life. If Arcade is one thing, for better or for worse, it is endlessly forgiving.
Conversely, his mother, meek and domineered by her husband until his passing, played a diminished role in Arcade’s childhood. The lessons she taught him were gifted in dribs and drabs, scant moments when they two had brief privacy together, and in all the many quiet, unspoken sacrifices she made otherwise. No longer a boy, but a young man instead, Arcade reckons fully with the strength of the woman that held a family together while her husband dragged her son off to play soldier in the countryside.
Arcade is a patchwork of bittersweet sorrows, simple wisdoms, and humble hopes for a future that is brighter than his father was ever capable of believing in. He grapples with his masculinity as told to see it by Jean-Pierre, and tries to strike a balance truer to his own nature. To find strength in vulnerability, and solace, rather than restlessness, in peace. To be his father as he could have been if not for the many disadvantages heaped upon him by war and madness and his own crooked childhood.
For his mother, he works every day to emulate her capacity to love, and to hope, and to take pleasure in the basic joys of being.
Yet, his father's blood is in him still, and darkness unseen may haunt his steps.
Conversely, his mother, meek and domineered by her husband until his passing, played a diminished role in Arcade’s childhood. The lessons she taught him were gifted in dribs and drabs, scant moments when they two had brief privacy together, and in all the many quiet, unspoken sacrifices she made otherwise. No longer a boy, but a young man instead, Arcade reckons fully with the strength of the woman that held a family together while her husband dragged her son off to play soldier in the countryside.
Arcade is a patchwork of bittersweet sorrows, simple wisdoms, and humble hopes for a future that is brighter than his father was ever capable of believing in. He grapples with his masculinity as told to see it by Jean-Pierre, and tries to strike a balance truer to his own nature. To find strength in vulnerability, and solace, rather than restlessness, in peace. To be his father as he could have been if not for the many disadvantages heaped upon him by war and madness and his own crooked childhood.
For his mother, he works every day to emulate her capacity to love, and to hope, and to take pleasure in the basic joys of being.
Yet, his father's blood is in him still, and darkness unseen may haunt his steps.
Appearance:
Arcade has a long face with gentle, well proportioned features. His skin is ruddy and lightly freckled, and medium length red hair that occasionally falls in front of his eyes frames a somber countenance. He stands at 5’9’’ in height, with a capable, athletic build and strong arms from years of carpentry and kneading bread for long hours. His heterochromia is a minor curiosity, and occasionally a conversation starter, but nothing of particular import to Arcade himself.
Though not typical for him, for this particular trip he has chosen to wear his father’s infantry saber at his hip. He’s never gone far from Paris before, and if he would ever get a chance to gain even the slightest use from his father’s training, it might help the whole affair feel less dour in his mind.
Though not typical for him, for this particular trip he has chosen to wear his father’s infantry saber at his hip. He’s never gone far from Paris before, and if he would ever get a chance to gain even the slightest use from his father’s training, it might help the whole affair feel less dour in his mind.
Background:
Jean-Pierre spoke little of his childhood, or indeed much of his life at all, the little Arcade could gather only putting together at best a patchwork picture of the man his father was. He seemed to have had a very hard, painful childhood. His time in the war with Prussia he spoke even less of. Still, since the age Arcade was strong enough to hold a gun straight, he was taught how to use one.
His mother, Adrienne, held down the business in Paris that inherited from her own family, working hard to keep a roof over everyone’s heads as Jean-Pierre drilled their child relentlessly and purposelessly. Political strife and upheaval may have plagued their nation, but any wars France was engaged in were far afield in foreign lands. Europe was tired. Arcade was tired too, but he tried not to let it show. He wanted to be a dutiful son, and he loved his father, even if it often felt like he was being raised by a military officer from the past than any true parent.
The moments he loved most were the quiet days when Jean-Pierre would wander off into the streets of Paris alone, and leave Arcade and Adrienne alone in the bakery. In their small home above the shop, they’d huddle together around a table and Adrienne would teach her son his letters by the light streaming in from the window. Aside from teaching him his basics, and eventually introducing some light concepts of bookkeeping and management as he got older, she encouraged him to nurse his true passions as well.
Gifts of paints, blocks of wood and carving equipment were Arcade’s favored possessions.
And then Jean-Pierre would return from God-knows-where with bruised knuckles and blackened eyes, his mind foggy and his energy drained. It was never alcohol, though. Jean-Pierre was broken, oftentimes harsh, and overall ineffectual as a man, but he was not a monster. He would never be his own father.
Life went on like this in a steady rhythm for the longest time.
Jean-Pierre would watch his boy, exhausted from a day of sparring, hunched over a small canvas in the corner of their sitting room, and see a light shining in his boy’s eyes that he could never begin to understand. The saving grace of this rusted automaton of a man was that he never begrudged his son for his small joys. If he could handle himself when the time came, who was he to force his child to be as miserable as he was?
Adrienne understood this. It was the only reason she didn’t leave him after the Third Republic reinstated her ability to do so. The shouting was enough. The “training bruises” her son would come home with were enough. If this man punished her boy for the crime of creativity, divorce may have been the least of the things she would do to him. Adrienne was demure, and raised to fulfill a certain role in life, but here she was, playing both homemaker and provider. Enough was starting to become enough.
Apparently Jean-Pierre agreed.
A few months before Arcade turned eighteen, his father was found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound on the steps of a nearby chapel.
It was as if one dark cloud had lifted from he and Adrienne’s lives only for another to immediately descend. One day, Arcade will decide if he feels the exchange was worth the heavy cost or not. Then however, and now, he tries not to consider the incident too critically. At the least, he knows one thing.
Arcade loved his father, and he misses him.
Over the past three years, he’s taken a much more active role helping his mother manage the bakery, and very occasionally will sell off a painting or a piece of furniture of his own creation. Life was starting to truly start for Arcade, and maybe he wasn’t healed, but he was on that path.
The inheritance notice came as something of a shock. The money was significant, and certainly wouldn’t go amiss, but they did not need it. The reason Arcade travels to Loudon is for another reason entirely. Adrienne’s family history is well documented, while that of his father is not. The chance to connect with family on his father’s side, even if they are distant relatives, feels like an opportunity he’s obligated to take.
His mother, Adrienne, held down the business in Paris that inherited from her own family, working hard to keep a roof over everyone’s heads as Jean-Pierre drilled their child relentlessly and purposelessly. Political strife and upheaval may have plagued their nation, but any wars France was engaged in were far afield in foreign lands. Europe was tired. Arcade was tired too, but he tried not to let it show. He wanted to be a dutiful son, and he loved his father, even if it often felt like he was being raised by a military officer from the past than any true parent.
The moments he loved most were the quiet days when Jean-Pierre would wander off into the streets of Paris alone, and leave Arcade and Adrienne alone in the bakery. In their small home above the shop, they’d huddle together around a table and Adrienne would teach her son his letters by the light streaming in from the window. Aside from teaching him his basics, and eventually introducing some light concepts of bookkeeping and management as he got older, she encouraged him to nurse his true passions as well.
Gifts of paints, blocks of wood and carving equipment were Arcade’s favored possessions.
And then Jean-Pierre would return from God-knows-where with bruised knuckles and blackened eyes, his mind foggy and his energy drained. It was never alcohol, though. Jean-Pierre was broken, oftentimes harsh, and overall ineffectual as a man, but he was not a monster. He would never be his own father.
Life went on like this in a steady rhythm for the longest time.
Jean-Pierre would watch his boy, exhausted from a day of sparring, hunched over a small canvas in the corner of their sitting room, and see a light shining in his boy’s eyes that he could never begin to understand. The saving grace of this rusted automaton of a man was that he never begrudged his son for his small joys. If he could handle himself when the time came, who was he to force his child to be as miserable as he was?
Adrienne understood this. It was the only reason she didn’t leave him after the Third Republic reinstated her ability to do so. The shouting was enough. The “training bruises” her son would come home with were enough. If this man punished her boy for the crime of creativity, divorce may have been the least of the things she would do to him. Adrienne was demure, and raised to fulfill a certain role in life, but here she was, playing both homemaker and provider. Enough was starting to become enough.
Apparently Jean-Pierre agreed.
A few months before Arcade turned eighteen, his father was found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound on the steps of a nearby chapel.
It was as if one dark cloud had lifted from he and Adrienne’s lives only for another to immediately descend. One day, Arcade will decide if he feels the exchange was worth the heavy cost or not. Then however, and now, he tries not to consider the incident too critically. At the least, he knows one thing.
Arcade loved his father, and he misses him.
Over the past three years, he’s taken a much more active role helping his mother manage the bakery, and very occasionally will sell off a painting or a piece of furniture of his own creation. Life was starting to truly start for Arcade, and maybe he wasn’t healed, but he was on that path.
The inheritance notice came as something of a shock. The money was significant, and certainly wouldn’t go amiss, but they did not need it. The reason Arcade travels to Loudon is for another reason entirely. Adrienne’s family history is well documented, while that of his father is not. The chance to connect with family on his father’s side, even if they are distant relatives, feels like an opportunity he’s obligated to take.
Stats:
Vitality: 14
Rationality: 9
Spirituality: 11
Rationality: 9
Spirituality: 11
Here he is! I haven't changed any stats from my reading yet
3x Like
