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He makes no vain sacrifice who fights for a cause
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Alexandre Enjolras


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Oct 8 2014, 06:53 PM
[doHTML]<table><td><td valign="top"><div align=left><div style="width: 200px; font-family: century gothic; color: 221122; font-size: 18px;"><b>Alexandre Enjolras</b>
<td valign="top"><div style="text-align: left; font-family: century gothic; font-size: 10px;"><br>let others rise to take our place <br> until the earth is <i>free</i>
<b>ALIASES:</b> alex, marianne (only to close friends [ie; combeferre, courfeyrac] and only in private) <br>
<b>AGE:</b> twenty-three <br>
<b>GENDER:</b> <s>fe</s>male<br>
<b>SPECIES:</b> <s>rEVOLUTION</s> human <br>
<b>CANON:</b> les miserables<br>
<b>ALIGNMENT:</b> neutral
<b>PLAYER:</b> bec

<td><div style="width: 400px; font-family: century gothic; color: 221122; font-size: 24px;"><b>ABILITIES</b></div>
<div style="width: 400px; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 8px;">- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - </div>
<div style="width: 400px; height: 150px; overflow:auto; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: century gothic; color: #221122; font-size: 10px;"><i>and she was handy with a gun:</i> as a young revolutionary, enjolras spent quite an amount of time learning to handle, load and fire rifles and pistols. she's actually quite a good shot - well, as good as one can be with 19th century firearms. whether that translates to modern guns hasn't yet been seen. <br><br><i>words of silver:</i> enjolras is incredibly well-spoken. while this isn't a supernatural ability, it's a strength of hers and something she prides herself on. she's passionate by nature and that shows in the way she speaks - there's always an undercurrent of fire to her, if nothing else, and she can be very persuasive if she feels the need to be. <br><br><i>not just a pretty face:</i> hey, she went to university in paris! an intelligent woman, enjolras is able to think quickly in high-pressure situations and come up with logical solutions most of the time. she's more book-smart than anything else, but living in the st. michel area taught her to trust her gut just as often as her head. <br><br> <i>fearless leader:</i> she's definitely got brownie points in the leadership department. after all, one doesn't just wake up one day and decide they're going to go build a barricade and lead student revolutionaries over lunch. she's confident in a time and place where confidence is key. she would like to say people are drawn to her, but that's a cliche among cliches and she doesn't think that's true. (shhh, it kind of is.) have we mentioned she's almost fearless? yeah, she doesn't afraid of anything. or, well, most things. </div>
<div align=left><div style="width: 400px; font-family: century gothic; color: 221122; font-size: 24px;"><b>WEAKNESSES</b></div>
<div style="width: 400px; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 8px;">- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - </div>
<div style="width: 400px; height: 200px; overflow:auto; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: century gothic; color: #221122; font-size: 10px;"><i>squishy human:</i> exactly as it says on the tin! as indomitable and seemingly-inhuman as enjolras is, she is in fact a squishy bag of meat and bones and easy to kill. she's already died once, in fact! not only that, but the conditions on the barricade were exhausting, even for the strongest of souls. <br><br> <i>lol what's a filter:</i> enjolras is blunt. she calls things like she sees them and says what she means at all times and in all things. this can get her into trouble, as she'll unintentionally overstep boundaries or just not stop when it's time to fucking quit. really, her lack of a filter is a blessing and a curse.<br><br><i>fish out of temporal water:</i> she's from 1832. obviously, so very many things have changed in those ~200 years that she's very much confused about how life in the 21st century works. she doesn't have a phone or a computer or anything like that and would likely take a lot of learning to even figure out how those things work. <br><br><i>oh my friends, my friends:</i> her friends are her one huge weakness. she loves them dearly and will do almost anything for them - that is, provided she could even <i>find</i> them here. she's devoted and loyal to anyone she considers a friend, to a fault.<br><br> <i>what are other people and how do i:</i> while she's very good at rallying people to her cause, enjolras is simply not good at dealing with people one-on-one. she's awkward and introverted at best, withdrawn at worst, and that probably makes all these time-travel and resurrection shenanigans that much worse.</div>
<div style="width: 400px; font-family: century gothic; color: 221122; font-size: 24px;"><b>PERSONALITY</b></div>
<div style="width: 400px; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 8px;">- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - </div>
<div style="width: 400px; height: 200px; overflow:auto; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: century gothic; color: #221122; font-size: 10px;">on first impressions, enjolras comes off as a few things: cold, unfeeling, stubborn and prideful. while these things aren't entirely incorrect assumptions, they're only first impressions and, to be honest, the woman herself is quite the opposite. though she appears frigid she's actually quite warm and passionate; <i>fiery</i> even. when it comes to people close to her, she loves them dearly; far from unfeeling, she throws herself into everything she loves with all her heart. she's willful and strong-minded and, once she decides on something, not hell nor high water can convince her to back down. it's almost a fault, this sense of stubbornness, but it's kept her from becoming too easily swayed. <br><br>it's these things, this passion and stubbornness, that breed confidence. though she's an introvert by nature and would rather stay off to the side and take everything in rather than be in the center of everyone's attention, she's quite confident. she comes off as cock-sure of herself, always carries herself with a certain upward tilt to her chin, a strength in her shoulders not seen in many noble-born french women. it almost masculinizes her, which - considering her chosen lifestyle - is all for the better. above all, she's prideful and doesn't take pity kindly, especially since her gender's made her a target for sly jibes by not-so-friendly folks.<br><br>she doesn't like to show it, since she's made a habit of acting as masculine as she can get away with (and carrying herself as such, too) but enjolras is almost... shy. an introvert. as mentioned before, she's not the greatest in one on one situations or in small groups of strangers and, while her friend courfeyrac would be chatting up some of these people to make them stay, enjolras would be the draw. it was her fiery words and her dedication more than anything that brought people to join les amis.<br><br> her pretty, androgynous appearance often fools people, but beneath that silk is a core of hardened, tempered steel. she can be downright terrifying when the time calls for it: calmly executing a man at the barricade for killing a civilian, to name one instance. the only time her fire turns dangerous is in situations like this. her friends and the barricade itself were threatened and, being who she was, enjolras decided to get rid of the man causing the problem. (doesn't hurt he was one of thenardier's cronies-- i mean what)<br><br>far from a humorless creature, enjolras is in fact capable of making (and taking) jokes. she has an immense love for puns and wordplay, and her sense of humor in general is rather deadpan and dry. it takes someone who knows her well to see that she's even kidding, sometimes. <br><br>all in all, enjolras is a charming young woman capable of being a complete and total badass.</div>
<div style="width: 400px; font-family: century gothic; color: 221122; font-size: 24px;"><b>HISTORY</b></div>
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<div style="width: 400px; height: 200px; overflow:auto; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: century gothic; color: #221122; font-size: 10px;">(note: enjolras' history is cobbled-together from the book, the movie, the musical and some personal headcanons!)<br><br> alexandre enjolras was born marianne to semi-wealthy young parents in marseille, france, in the year 1809. the only daughter, much was expected of her: marry a man of similar social standing, cinch herself tight into corsets, always be polite and courteous (especially to men) and never speak unless spoken to, to name a few. marianne, being a willful child from the start, bristled against such expectations. her skirts were always torn, always dirty at the hems. she was (and still is) mouthy, and always had something to say if she had a strong enough opinion about the subject. she almost always did. not content to spend the rest of her life held back by her gender, young marianne snuck off to the garden one day, armed only with a pair of shears snatched from her mother's sewing kit. they were large and unwieldy in her slender hands, but they served their purpose well enough; long strands of hair falling to the ground beneath her feet, she didn't stop until it only curled loosely around her face. she knew that her passion and urge to learn, to <i>know</i> wouldn't be satisfied as a nobleman's wife, she made her decision. at whatever cost, she would go to paris.<br><br> at eighteen she ran away from home with the aid of a male friend, choosing masculine-cut clothes over dresses for her new life in paris. she would go on to attend university under the guise of a boy: alexandre-michel enjolras, still from marseille. it was this identity that replaced marianne; she, for all intents and purposes, was dead. filled with a new sense of purpose, he (no longer she) found himself in the company of like-minded individuals: students, just like him, who longed for change in this world. before long they all banded together, formed a society of sorts: les amis de l'ABC (pronounced <i>abaisse</i>) or, to take the wordplay literally, the friends of the debased. that's to say, the common people. they were a tight-knit group - with the exception of one. every idealist must deal with a cynic at some point in their lives and, well, grantaire was the one who made it his business to undercut most of these boys and their wide-eyed optimism. <br><br> they had decided that revolution was possible - that <i>change</i> was possible - but all it needed was a spark, and little did they know the spark was just around the corner. general lamarque, being ill and infirm, was on his deathbed; the people's man, he sided with the commonfolk on most everything. on his passing, les amis decided it would start at his funeral. it was the hour of fate, as it were. at the procession, they were at the front of the crowds, eventually bodily blocking the funeral procession and causing quite a bit of havoc.<br><br> the barricade was made from all the furniture civilians could throw down: chairs, tables, even a piano, all from the people of paris. their "forces" (if one could call them that) were made up of about nine students, plus a certain m. pontmercy who had joined later on and some adult men. all they needed now was to formulate a plan of attack, to know about the opposing side. a man of their forces offered to infiltrate the guard's battalion, which was all well and good - but this man turned out to be one inspector javert. they may as well have shouted their own plans from the top of their barricade. javert was taken into the corinthe and bound, to be held for bargaining for, they would later find out, was one of their friends. young jehan prouvaire did not stand a chance. he was summarily executed, to enjolras and the rest of the amis' horror. <br><br> one supposed that should mark the beginning of a downfall, but enjolras still held faith, believed that the people would rise. they did not; not even with schoolboys and guardsmen alike dying in their very streets. though these young men, toward the end, begged to be let inside, there was no such mercy. the national guard decided, after merely a day and a half or so, to blow the barricade apart, to douse this ember before it became a full-blown flame. cannons were brought in. <br><br>though enjolras gave the order for fathers of children (and all who wished to, really) to leave, only five departed in the end. leaving enjolras and his friends to fight alone. they gave all they had and, soon, only their leader remained. a moving target in red, it seemed. cornered on the upper floor of the corinthe, he fought off guardsmen with the broken stock of a rifle before, finally, <i>finally</i> disarming himself and all but surrendering. "shoot me," he'd said. he knew he would be a martyr for this cause. then, something completely unexpected happened. <i>"vive la republique!"</i> <br><br>grantaire appeared on the staircase.<br><br>enjolras was silent as the cynic (who enjolras assumed had left the barricade, and he wouldn't have blamed him) took his place beside his leader. he only had one thing to ask: <i>"do you permit it?"</i> he was asking for, of all things, permission to die beside enjolras. permission that, without even being said, was given; the two were shot dead where they stood in the corinthe. <br><br> or, at least, that's how it <i>should</i> have gone. enjolras found himself awakening in an unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar time, it seemed; rifts being what they were, they seemed to have kept him from the death he thought was the end. or at least brought him back from it. now, lost, confused, and covered in gunpowder and blood, enjolras feels he must find a way home before things get even worse. </div>
<div style="width: 400px; font-family: century gothic; color: 221122; font-size: 24px;"><b>RP SAMPLE</b></div>
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<DIV STYLE="width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-size: 10px;">
She awoke coughing. <br><br>
Her vision blurred, Enjolras pushed herself up - wincing at the twinge of what she was sure was a bruised rib (at the very <i>least</i>). Bracing her hand on the rough ground (it wasn't cobblestones, nor was it dirt - though what exactly it was was far from her mind at the moment) she pushed to her feet; coughing out the acrid, smoky air of the barricade. Her throat burned with gunpowder and shouting and <i>they're dead, your friends are as good as dead because of you</i>-- <br><br> She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and scrubbed at them. Tried to rid herself of these dangerous thoughts. They had to know how futile it was, she thought. Especially after losing little Gavroche (of all people) to a merciless National Guard. The skirmishes had turned to outright cannon warfare, Enjolras remembered. Her mind was fogged by smoke, pain, exhaustion of all things. Taking in another breath, this one only slightly less painful than the last, she steadied herself against a nearby wall - brick, she knew by the rough feel of it. Brick and mortar. Swallowing hard she took shaking steps forward, peered around the corner. The streets were lined with... well, she wasn't sure what, really, and people. Lots of people. More than she'd thought possible. Had the people risen and-- <br><br> <i>Impossible,</i> she thought. The people had all but abandoned them. Now that she let her mind dwell, she could remember it all clear as day. One by one, her friends fell, starting with Jehan Prouvaire: an innocent young man, a Romantic, the youngest in their group. Taken hostage and summarily executed before a trade could be brokered (their friend for the Guard's spy). The last day was chaotic, filled with gunfire and the shouts of men on both sides. She'd fled up the stairs of the Corinthe, knowing she'd be cornered. Almost entirely <i>betting</i> on it, even. Sure enough, she was pursued, had given herself over to her fate. <br><br> A young man's voice, asking a question. <i>Permission</i>. The tight clasp of hands. Enjolras' lips quirked up in a tiny smile. The sound of gunfire, eight sharp stabs into her body, and then blackness. She'd awoken here what felt like mere moments later. Remembering it now, she sank back to the ground, stared up at the sky. She could just barely make it out - a strip of azure against the stark greys of her current surroundings. This didn't make sense. She'd been shot, she <i>remembered</i> it. Her chest ached as though the musket balls were still there. How was she even alive? <i>Get it together, Enjolras,</i> She told herself, tried to steady her own racing mind enough to figure out what her next move was. After a few moments' thought, the decision was made. She'd figure out where she was. Then, she would find a way back to Paris. <br><br> Even if that meant dying once again, that was what she decided she would have to do.

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