Post by RENÉE LAGOSSE on Sept 1, 2015 16:39:46 GMT
Rénee // „La Renarde“
Age: 14
Membergroup: Citizen
The first conscious memory of Renée is being lost. Being a tiny, scrawny girl with no name on a cold winter’s day in the streets of Paris, barefoot and with no idea where to go. Cold, left to her own devices because she has lingered behind the group of kids that went home from the workhouse towards the orphanage. Now she couldn’t find her way back, had no idea where she was. Being nearly run over by two coaches, hearing the cussing of the coachmen and the shrill neighing of the horses. Being scared. Scared and oh so lost. Seeing her dim reflection in a dusty and iced shop window. A grimy, tiny something in greyish rags, barefoot, straggly wild hair, hollow face, big eyes.
She remembers stumbling through dirty streets, leaning against cold walls, beyond hungry. No one gave her any second glance. Suddenly… that dark shadow at the end of that lane. Huge… looming, frightening. How she shrank back into her corner, holding her breath, sensing something bad was afoot. And then… that noise. Trrrrrrrrrrrrrr…. Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…trrrrrrrr… the low rattling of something against a metal grid. Unnerving… hypnotising… terrifying! The shadow came closer, the rattling noise intensified, she shrank back further, closing her eyes…
The next thing she remembers is always connected with a warm glow of gratitude, even though she was scared witless back then. A hand gripping her arm, another covering her mouth, dragging her backwards where she didn’t know any space was left. A voice hissing: ‘No sound, or we’re both dead!’ Endless moments passed, though in her memory they’re only a blink of an eye now. And then finally the hands were removed and she turned to look up at the grinning face of a scrawny rascal like herself, just a few years older. ‘Congratulations, you just survived the Rattlesnake. I’m Edmond, what about you?’ At this she just had shrugged. Names had never been important to the people she had lived with. She had been ‘the girl’. She was ready to continue to be so. But Edmond had not accepted it. ‘Then I shall call you Renée, for everyone who escaped the Rattlesnake basically is born again and gets another chance at life.’
So all in one day, Renée received a name, a new home, a good friend and a mortal enemy. For Edmond took her along to where he lived, down into the catacombes of Paris, where hundreds of years of mining for sandstone had hollowed out almost all of Paris, especially south of the Seine. This was where no official ever would stick his head, this was where the lowest and at the same time freest citizens of Paris lived. Edmond was head of a band of young thieves who stole to survive, as of yet refusing to serve any other master than themselves. Their everyday enemies were hunger and the constables, but their worst enemy was a man everyone just called The Rattlesnake, a ruthless killer and thief without any scruples to speak of, known to love the game of playing with his victims first, cornering them and then scaring them witless by letting a razor blade rattle over grids and metal fences whenever he could find them, thus receiving the nickname Rattlesnake. Few escaped him and those who did called themselves lucky indeed. He killed for sport, but sometimes also on demand.
Renée learned to hide from him, learned to sneak through Paris unseen, learned to weasel her way through the crowds and pick the pockets of the wealthy, she even learned how to climb walls and move across the roofs like a squirrel or a monkey, slipping through windows, escaping over gaps – and in all of it Edmond and the other children were her teachers. Soon she knew the city like the back of her hand, knew the shortcuts, the secret entries into the quarries and she knew who and where best to stay away from. The more she grew, the more she learned, the more she let go of the personality of a timid, scared girl and became bolder, cheeky even, confident and brazen. She learned to trust in herself and her abilities and to compensate for meagre strength with cunning, swiftness and the perfect backup plan. This over time earned her some renown amongst the Parisean underworld and the nickname ‘Renarde’, which means She-fox, tying in with her flaming red hair. Together with Edmond she ‘rose’ in rank and became more or less a figurehead for most of the child thieves of the city.
However, one person always stayed her bane and was enough to bring that terrified child back to the surface. The Rattlesnake. The sheer mentioning of his name makes cold sweat break on her palms though she tries to hide it, and the sound of his razor blade against a metal grill is the soundtrack of her worst nightmares. Even though she knows she is far more of a match for him now than she was when still that nameless little child, she fears that one day her luck might run out and all her cunning and the knife she can wield will not save her.<br>
Furthermore, the more she grew up, the more she could not hide from the truth: One cannot stay a child thief forever. Already a few of her old escape routes and techniques are lost to her now, even though her small frame of 5’2 makes her appear younger than she is.
One day, she knew, she would have to decide what to do with her life and there weren’t many options for a young girl on the streets. Already a few of the lovely ladies start to approach her now, calling after her that she is the spitting image of a certain Laurette they had known in their own youth and she knows that some of the souteneurs already size her up with their eyes, trying to see past her boy's clothes and estimate her worth. It is not a future she aspires, but she knows that beggars can never be choosers, especially not in this city, and that the days of relative freedom as a child thief could soon be over. Therefore she has been trying to establish a new field of operation and make it known that there is scarcely a secret in Paris that ‘La Renarde’ cannot learn. Her contacts in the underworld are wide-spread and it has happened more than once to her already that on her raids into houses she has overheard bits and pieces that might be of value to someone else, if only one knows who that someone is…
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RP Sample:
Police whistles were skirrling through the streets, angry voices following suit, leaving a trail through narrow alleys as a lithe, small figure was darting around corners, jumping over crates and jostling people, never looking back. Quick as a weasel and nimble like a lizard the figure made sudden turns and climbed walls, apparently knowing exactly where they wanted to go.
“Hold the boy!” “After him!” “Don't let him escape!” The words echoed through the narrow streets of the finer quarter, but they became less distinct the farther the figure ran. Finally it stopped, checking the neckline of its shirt and patting its waistline to ensure whatever might be hidden there was still in place.
Then the figure took one last cautious look around and doffed the grey-blueish cap that had sat firmly on its head. A cascade of red locks tumbled from underneath the cap, revealing the figure to be a young girl in her early to mid-teens. Hiding the cap under her shirt as well, the girl then set out back into the street she had just run from and sauntered along the line of neat, better-to-do multiple dwelling units of the Sixth Arrondissement south of the Seine.
Multiple little flocks of people were standing around, discussing, some of them speaking to police constables. One of them turned to look at the girl and called out: “Hey, you, girl! Seen a boy 'round your age just running past you, where you came from?! He's a thief, robbed a house!”
The girl stopped, cocking her head in thinking, then nodded so strongly her red curls bobbed. “Oui, m'sieur! Desolée I coon't hold 'im up. Went tha' way an' was way fast, knocked me nearly o'er.”
“You heard her, that way!” the constable cried and started running. Another wasn't so eager to follow suit, rather narrowed his eyes at the girl. “Don't I know you?” Unflinching, the girl looked back and shrugged. “Doubt it, m'sieur. M'be you think of me sister, Estelle, she's the dream o' all menfolk. Au revoir!”
Only when she was around the next corner, the girl started again into a light jog, her heart hammering against her ribcage. That had been way too close! She, on the other hand, was sure she had nearly been caught by that young constable before. But the risks were well worth it. What she had in her shirt would feed them for a month, if sold to a good bidder.
Only a few short minutes later, she slipped into another dim alley and nestled for a rusty old key that opened an equally old door, revealing a long, steep flight of stairs vanishing into complete darkness. “Welcome home, Renée”, she muttered, grinning. “Can't wait t'see, wha' Edmond says to me catch...”
Your Alias: Gwen<br> Age: 27<br> Gender: female <br> Time Zone: GMT+1
