Post by Marguerite DuBois on Aug 11, 2012 2:00:28 GMT -5
MARGUERITE DUBOIS
"Well, I brought the footstool. Of course, it wasn't for himself he wanted it, but for his lady! But I never heard her nor saw her."
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Well, they've already figured out that it's me, Meg. Again.
Years Roleplaying:
Seven? Eight? I dunno, I'm old.
Gender:
I'm a Gay Victorian Man trapped in a 20th Century Girl's body. SO TECHNICALLY, I'm a she.
Contact me:
You can PM me, OR find me on Skype under t4rd15. If you have problems with the skype, chat me, I'll help you. Name that matches should be Lavalais.
Anything else?:
I'm a Moderator, for those of you who don't know...My favorite colour is purple...Anthony Crivello held my hand...and I have a mask collection that could rival Erik's.[/size][/ul]
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Basic Information[/center]
Marguerite Desdemona DuBois
Age:
It is hard to tell what age she is, but she looks between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one.
Canon or OC?:
TECHNICALLY, she's Leroux canon if you think about it. Although, since she is a figment of Èrik's imagination, I'm not sure...[/size]
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Appearance
Around five and a half feet tall.
Body type:
About average height, she's very slender and waif-like. She walks fluidly, like she is not impeded by friction.
Eye color:
She's got light and clear blue eyes that can either be icy or inviting, depending on how she gets the first impression of someone.
Wardrobe:
She adores light airy colours, wearing opera clothes everywhere beside the little house on the lake when she's with Èrik. She adores wearing her white above-the-elbow opera gloves with her dresses, and she is never caught without a flower pinned to her bodice. More often than not, it's a rose. She carries a fan around with her, but she tends to forget it and leave it places.
General Appearance:
She has pale skin, with a glowing complexion that would SHAME anyone. Her eyes are the most expressive part of her, giving away the feelings behind her face. They're framed by long lashes. Her lips are always slightly open in an alluring sort of curiousness. She has thin features, except for her full lips and almond eyes. Her eyebrows curve in a sort of cryptic challenging look.
Played By: Amanda Seyfried
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Personality
She tends to stick around the little house on the lake, unless Èrik goes out. When he does go out, she usually accompanies him to keep him company and talk to him. However, when around the house, she likes to sew and read books while sitting by the mantle. She also enjoys humming to herself while doing her little activities. She enjoys it when Èrik plays one of his instruments, and she adores hearing him sing. Talking to him is one of her favorite activities, as she really has no one else to talk to.
She doesn't like it when Èrik doesn't want to talk to her, or sends her away. It means she's done something wrong, and she doesn't want to be wrong in his eyes. Whenever someone else wrongs Èrik, it makes her livid. Since she is a part of Èrik's mind, that means she has his same sense of taking revenge, just different methods of action.
She has a nasty habit of forgetting to pick things up after herself. She also tends to forget when Èrik gets mad at her, which, in some cases, isn't a bad thing. However, it could be considered bad in the fact that she doesn't stand up for her own opinion sometimes around him. When nervous or afraid, she stutters a bit. She's never been able to get rid of it, and she knows it's not a ladylike thing to do, so she's quite embarrassed of that habit. She also has a habit of getting jealous of women that Èrik pays attention to. She thinks that she is the only woman worthy enough of his attentions, and it irks her when he spends more time around another than around her. Christine is, in her mind, her arch-enemy, someone to be regarded as an attacking force that she must defend Èrik against.
She is only compliant to Èrik's wishes, doing whatever he asks of her if he needs her without much question. She tries to do what's right for him, and support his decisions no matter what he chooses. Toward others, she is very quiet, trying not to be seen or heard.
Dreams and Goals:All she really thinks about is spending time with Èrik: What they’re going to do later, what their next day will be like, what she’s going to do for Èrik when he gets home, etc. etc. etc. She tries to be supportive of EVERYTHING he does, and she strives to be the best “wife” he could possibly ever want.
Strengths: She’s a good dancer, knowing several different types of dances. Mostly ballroom and minuet are her specialties when it comes to dancing. She plays the harp like a beast. She learned it when Èrik decided the instrument was too feminine for him. She’s a good conversationalist, as she’s been the only person Èrik’s been able to talk to for a very long time.
Weaknesses: She is a bit clumsy, especially when nervous, dropping things when she thinks she’s being judged. If she doesn’t see something, it’s almost certain she’ll bump into it. She constantly forgets her things, leaving little objects in places where she stays for a bit. For example, she leaves her gloves and fans in Box Five when she sees an opera with Èrik. She has weak circulation, which means that Èrik has to get her a footstool when she sits down for long periods of time. She completely falls head over heels for anything made of chocolate. It’s her guilty pleasure, and she loves the stuff.
Fears: She’s afraid of the dark, and she hates to go places that are pitch black. She’s thankful that Èrik’s eyes glow, because it gives her a source of comfort whenever the little house on the lake is unlit. She’s got an immense fear of drowning, causing her to keep her distance from the Siren and stick very close to Èrik when they cross the lake for any reason.
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The Past
History: Created to satiate Èrik’s loneliness. “She” is the perfect wife he always wanted: “to take out on Sundays and keep amused on weekdays”. She changes faces (first face was pale skinned, dark hair, and dark eyes). Whatever the norm for the country he’s living in is at the time, her appearance changes. Generally, she is the same person with different fluctuating physical attributes. She was first created when Èrik realized that he was lonely and needed to spend his life with someone. Generally, she’s a friend for him, a confidante, someone to dote after and someone to show off to.
She was made when Èrik hit the age of thirty, when he first started getting ideas that he wanted to settle down and have a family. Unfortunately, he thought that because of his face and body, no woman would ever want him, and thus Marguerite was created. She was his imaginary wife that he played house with, until his loneliness drove him over the edge and he started going through too much trouble to convince himself that she was a real person. After creating illusion after illusion, she became completely seeable to him. He talked to her, picked up after her, took her out and entertained her, even though she was only a figment of his imagination.
They ended up some years later in the Opera Garnier, where Èrik discovered Christine Daaé. Marguerite was devastated that her beloved husband loved someone else who wasn’t her. As a result, Èrik began to see her less and less. The more Èrik obsessed over Christine, the less attention he paid to Marguerite, until finally he started ignoring her completely. He’d lost all sight of her by the time he kidnapped Christine from the stage.
Marguerite was overly jealous of Christine, feeling that the “little tramp” was only a threat to her poor Èrik’s health, that the little girl was far too young for her wonderful husband, and that she didn’t deserve him in the least. She wanted to do something, anything, to get the little blonde girl out of her home and away from her husband, so every night she’d whisper little things to Èrik. Little doubts that would get into his thoughts and perhaps sway him to let her leave. After all, the whiny little girl said that she didn’t want to be there anyway...
RP Sample
I sat in the drawing room with my needle, my feet propped up on my footstool. The fire was crackling softly behind the grate, and I smiled softly. I was happy. Èrik was in his room, on his organ, making the beautiful music he loved so much. I cocked my ear, listening. Crescendos, chords upon chords, decrescendos, arias, dolce, fortissimo, mezzo piano…His music was a little eclectic, yes, but wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I continued with my embroidery, humming along to the little motif I’d heard so many times. He made it sound like it was singing, a little soloist amidst the scramble. And then…it stopped.
Why did it stop? Was he writing something down? Ah, yes, there he went again. Back off on his musical tangent. I laughed a little and continued. This was going to be a wonderful new little tablecloth for that Louis-Philippe room of his that I loved so much. It was a little splash of feminism in this little house. He needed a little something like that, I thought, when I first proposed the idea to him. After all, one can have just a bit too much of a masculine touch in his home. I’d barely finished the next rose in my embroidery before the music stopped again. But this was a different stop. He’d brought both his hands down on his organ, making a terrible cacophony of notes. I sat up. The music didn’t start again.
I stood, placing my embroidery on the chair and walking calmly to his room. I could hear him muttering to himself behind his door and I knocked softly. When he didn’t answer, I opened it just a crack. Poor dear….he probably needed me. I poked my head into the room.
“Èrik…?”
Why did it stop? Was he writing something down? Ah, yes, there he went again. Back off on his musical tangent. I laughed a little and continued. This was going to be a wonderful new little tablecloth for that Louis-Philippe room of his that I loved so much. It was a little splash of feminism in this little house. He needed a little something like that, I thought, when I first proposed the idea to him. After all, one can have just a bit too much of a masculine touch in his home. I’d barely finished the next rose in my embroidery before the music stopped again. But this was a different stop. He’d brought both his hands down on his organ, making a terrible cacophony of notes. I sat up. The music didn’t start again.
I stood, placing my embroidery on the chair and walking calmly to his room. I could hear him muttering to himself behind his door and I knocked softly. When he didn’t answer, I opened it just a crack. Poor dear….he probably needed me. I poked my head into the room.
“Èrik…?”
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