Once Upon a Time in Oxbow Parish (OOC; NOW OPEN TO ALL)

[Dahyan]

(Delacroix, R. H. B.)

   

+++Name: Raymond Honoré Baptiste Delacroix. Raymond for short, and don't you go calling me Ray or shit like that. The last cretin did that still hasn't fished all his lost teeth from the bayou.
    +++Age: 36
    +++Gender: Male
    +++Physical appearance: Lookin' French
    +++Identifying Marks: I got me some nasty bite marks, courtesy of a 'gator down in the bayou. Tough son of a bitch put up a good fight, and mangled my left leg something awful. Took a goddamn long time to heal properly, but thank God I ain't got no real lasting consequences in my ability to walk.

In my days as a hot-headed young fool, I got myself in quite some scraps, often with knives out as a result. Got me a mean slashin' scar on my chest as a result. Doctor said I was lucky the canaille didn't stab me a bit more to the left. I sure as hell didn't give the guy who done did it a second chance, if you catch my meaning.

I got beaten half to pulp in military jail after my court martial, by some pricks up in the army. Didn't leave much of a permanent mark on the outside, but it still gives me some goddamn backaches every now and then.

    +++Ethnicity: Cajun of the Bayou, and proud of it. My Maman used to say we got some Irish blood in us too, as well as some Choctaw native. And we even got one or two Negroes up in our family tree, or so the story goes. I don't mind none. Got ourselves a nice traditional, good ol' Louisiana Creole mixin' going on, it seems. That's how our French ancestors down here always did it anyway.
    +++Religion: I have yet to meet the first red-blooded Cajun who is not a God-fearing Catholic, or at least officially proclaiming to be one. And since I am Cajun through-and-through, the answer should be obvious. Look for me in church in Sundays.
    +++Birthplace: North Palmyra, born and raised in a stilt house up in the bayou. The bogs are my home just as much as my house is.
    +++Criminal History: Desertion from active service in Vietnam. Yes, you heard me. I am not ashamed of it. Fuck the Army, we used to say back at base, and we meant it. If they could draft me and ship me halfway across the world to go kill some locals, I can decide whenever the hell I want out. I did my time for it, first as POW in Hanoi in 1972-1973, and then after my release and court martial in a military prison up until February '74.

Thank God they could never find a way to stick the death of my commanding officer on me. A real fils de pute, who got what was coming to him. What, you wonder if I did it? Let's just say it was awful convenient that he got a M16 bullet in the back of his head, and leave it at that.

Of course, if I gotta be honest, I did get in some trouble with the law before being drafted. Did some time for bootlegging, poaching and plain old knife fightin'. Typical hot-headed kid from the bayou stuff, really. Did some community service in my late teens and early twenties. Eventually got me three years probation back in '68 and near a year sojourn in local jail in 1970 for stabbing some prick and running some smuggling rings.

But since I got out of the big house a few years back, the law hasn't had anything on me. I would wager I got Old Man Faubert to thank for that.

    +++Military History: Drafted and served in Vietnam in '71. Didn't last very long fighting for Uncle Sam though. Bolted as soon I could and spent some months in the wilderness, trafficking guns on the black market mosly, before being caught by the Vietnamese. Spent most of 1972 in a POW camp, and was released after the fat cats in Washington saw there was no way in hell to defeat them Vietnam bushwhackers. 'Course, the staff back home wasn't exactly happy to see a deserter come home to the States, so they dragged me to court martial soon as I came back and threw my ass in jail again for a year.

All in all, yeah. I been in the army. Ain't proud of it, though it did give me the know-how on how to get my hands on some firepower real cheap. And that comes in handy in Palmyra.

    +++Psychological analysis: Don't mess with my kin, my land or my business, and we'll get along fine. I can't stand folk telling me what to do without a goddamn good reason and a hefty purse to pay for it, a result of my experiences in the army I suppose.
I do tend to lose control a bit when pushed around. The red fog has gotten me into quite a bit of trouble as a young man, and even though I have trained my self-control since then, word of advice: don't push my buttons.
    +++Alignment: Mon ami, I live in the bogs near North Palmyra. What do you think? Old man Faubert is a good guy, a regular grand-pere to our community. I care little for the business of the two families, but the old man has always treated us swamp folk well enough, and he knows how to pay up. Could use some more faith in God almighty though.
    +++Occupation: I like to think of myself as a procurer of quality firepower. But so guess you could call me a gun smuggler. I know how to get the goods, and distribute them around to whomever is interested. Provided Old Man Faubert hasn't put them on the no-go list. I am not stupid.
In my everyday life, I am a trapper and hunter, as well as hired muscle every now and then. The Fauberts know they can count on me, provided their deals aren't too shady for my blood, and the price is fair.
    +++Biography: I was born on a sunny June day in 1944, in a stilt house deep in the Bayou. My papa was a trapper and maman would fish and cook a mean stew for the folks up in Palmyra proper. Her crayfish gumbo was famous all over Oxbow Parish and beyond. Maman raised me by herself for the first year or so, when my pa was out fightin' Krauts back in good ol' France.

We are simple folks, livin' off the land like our ancestors did. In fact, the Delacroix family tree goes back to the first Acadians settled here after the limey picks kicked us off her land up in Canada. My kin were coureurs des bois: French trekkers and fur trappers who settled this here land. That's where my Choctaw heritage comes in, since Grandpappy Patrice got himself a Native wife.

Anyways, back to me. I was a pretty bright kid, if I say so myself. Did pretty well in school as long as my folks could send me, and did a lot of self-teaching after my sixteenth birthday when I started helping my pa in the hunt. A Cajun boy has got to know his French and Louisiana Creole, my folks always used to say.

That's not to say I was a pushover, no sir. Got myself in a fair amount of fighting, and got more than my share of whacks by the local law enforcement. Did some community service at 17 for beating the crap out of a Bedard kid that done walked on our property, and some more for moonshining when I was near twenty.

While I was making my name as a trapper in these here parts, any man around here has got to deal with the Families one time or another. So I started taking odd jobs from Old Man Faubert left and right. Usually just hired muscle shaking down some idiots trying to cross the old geezer.

In '68 however, one such job went sideways as all hell. Some cretin with shit for brains decided it was a good idea to draw a knife on me. Bad plan. By the time the red fog lifted, the sonofabitch had about five extra holes. I count myself lucky that he survived in the end, for the judge decided to put me on probation for three years rather than kicking me in the dungeon right away.

Probation is all well and good, but you try to be on your best behaviour in a place such as this. The scum that done stabbed me first conveniently kicked the bucket not long after, but the coppers ultimately did nab me for a smuggling job I was running [editor's note: it is considered highly likely that Delacroix was behind the untimely death of the rival in question, although no solid evidence has ever been found].
The judge offered me a deal if I ratted out who I was working for. I told him to shove it, I ain't that dumb. The guys I work with, you end up at the bottom of the swamp if you try to screw them over. So there I went, straight into the big house for most of 1970.

When I got out of jail, I went back home to North Palmyra, built myself a nice stilt house of my own deep in the bogs and married a Southern belle. Got myself three kids so far, two girls and one boy.

Then came the draft, fucking flag wavin' buffoons dragged me off to 'Nam. You know much of the story already: deserted, POW, released and court martialed in the US. Honestly, I preferred the Vietnamese POW camp over military prison back here. [Editor's note: Delacroix' commanding officer at the time of his desertion was found shot in the head with a US Army issue rifle. Delacroix remains the main suspect in the murder case, but was released after doing time for desertion, due to lack of evidence.

In my moths as a deserter before being taken prisoner and hauled off to Hanoi, I got in deep with a weapon trafficking gang 'tween Vietnam and Laos. Made some good bucks and got some contacts in the business moving kalashnikovs and RPGs. All stuff that came in quite handy once I got back home to Louisiana.

I have set myself up a nice little trafficking ring back home. All that army surplus material left back in Southeast Asia has got to go somewhere, get what I mean? Old Man Faubert sure as hell didn't mind the extra firepower, and I even got some customers from out of our parish.

Speaking of which, could I interest you in a nice Chinese assault rifle? Dirt cheap, and sturdy as Old Man Faubert himself!

    +++RP Sample: Newton Knight, ring a bell?
    #ItWillBeDone (DO NOT REMOVE)

[Rodez]

(SKRINE, M. W.)

+++Name: Melanie Winona Skrine, Nickname 'Mel'
+++Age: 26, DOB: January 19th, 1954
+++Gender: Female
+++Physical appearance: 5'6," about 135 lbs. Melanie has a slim, athletic build and is of somewhat average height, with long, dirty blonde hair and green eyes. One can see that she likes to take care of herself and stay healthy, but she's no gym rat.
+++Identifying Marks: Brown birthmark on her left shoulder, in a sort of vaguely serpentine pattern

+++Ethnicity: "I'm white. Sort of a mutt, I guess. My mom was Cajun or Acadian or whatever dumb name you want to call the white folks who speak French. I don't speak a word of it, so I don't care one way or another. My dad was of English and . . . Polish descent, I think it was. Or Czech. Something Slavic."
+++Religion: "I don't really know - well I know that I do believe in God. I'm a Roman Catholic, I suppose. Born into it. Not a very good one, though. Never been for me. When I lived in Oregon, Mom and I attended a Presbyterian church. They were nice folks. Unfortunately, there aren't really any Presbyterians in this town. Go figure."
+++Birthplace: "I was born in Jennings, Louisiana. Another small town down here, about as dead as Palmyra."
+++Criminal History: "In 1971 I was brought up on carjacking charges in Alexandria. Charged as a minor, did six months probation. I've never been caught doing anything since, and don't intend to."
+++Military History: N/A

+++Psychological analysis: "I like to think that I'm a pretty even-handed person. I've been through a lot and seen a lot, so I try not to judge too harshly when people are all screwed up 'cause of what they've seen. That said, I usually won't open up to people until a fair bit of trust has been established between us. That's mostly 'cause I don't like folks knowing what I'm thinking. I feel like Mom's trouble was that people, men especially, always read her like an open book, allowing them to take advantage of her."

"I'm also a criminal, unfortunately, so while I have a conscious about most other things any decent person would have a conscious about, that doesn't apply to stealing. I'm good with a lockpick and I'm good with my fingers - I know I wouldn't be alive today if I wasn't. I do my best to only apply my skills on those that deserve it, but I know that isn't always possible."

"At the same time, just because I fill my pockets outside the bounds of the law doesn't mean that I have to be cruel or petty. There's enough suffering on this Earth that I don't feel the need to add to it unless I really, really have to. People here are pretty bristly with strangers, so I try to be cordial and smile. They're smug about being 'cajun,' or whatever, so I try to exercise a little modesty. If people think I'm an airhead for it, so much the better. It'll be their loss at the end of the day."

+++Alignment: "I was born into this . . this bullshit. The old man, Jules; he's my great uncle, being Grandpa Claude's brother. My family is what it is and I don't have a hope of fixing it. I do try to guide us towards something resembling a moral direction when I can, which isn't often. I understand that the rest of my family doesn't much like the Bedards. I don't necessarily like them either; I just don't hate them. The old man insists that they killed my daddy - well, I don't believe him, not anymore. I think it's just as likely he or one of the uncles did daddy in, on account of what he believed. Either way, this feud isn't my bread and butter like it is for most of the family. I don't understand why we fight, and even if I did, I still don't see how it's helped us in any significant way. We're still a white trash clan at the end of the day, just all dressed up in a suit and tie. No matter what Uncle Jules says."

+++Occupation: "I'm a lockpick, or a thief; whatever you want to call it. There's no use sugarcoating. It used to be that I would steal the things I needed; now people offer me money to steal the things they need, and I do it. But if a cop is asking, I'm a waitress down at Duvet's. Sometimes I baby-sit."

+++Biography: "I wasn't born in Palmyra like most folks. No, I was born in Jennings, Louisiana, a couple dozen miles away. My mother was Adeline Faubert, the oldest daughter of Claude Faubert, who in turn was one of Uncle Jules' brothers. That makes the old man my great-uncle. My dad's name was Terry Skrine. He was with the Oxbow Parish's Sheriff Department. I don't have a lot of clear memories of him, but I do recall being held on a fishing boat out on the Gulf, daddy singing me a lullaby. The sun was setting, I think. He was a warm, kind man. Mom always said so, too."

"Sadly, I think it may have gotten him killed. My mom had always been a Faubert through and through, but after she married Dad, she started to distance herself from all that. The feud and whatnot. I think Dad had convinced her that it wasn't good to be around. So in the summer of 1961, he was out on patrol on the Parish's backwoods when he pulled somebody over, probably for speeding or something. They shot him five times, drove away."

"Mom said they went through the motions of an investigation, had State Police down here for a couple weeks. Never found a thing. Never charged anybody. Dad's own department seemed to barely care at all. That winter, she packed everything we had into that Ford Anglia, stuffed me in shotgun and drove west. We ended up in Los Angeles for about a year. Didn't stick, though. I was six by this time."

"We moved up to Bend, Oregon to be closer to Dad's folks. Mom took a job as a waitress at a local diner. I started school. At that time I often spent my afternoons with Dad's parents, George and Karen. They were really sweet, kind folks. Working class, English and Polish ancestry. None of the bullshit pretensions that people down here seem to carry. If Dad really was a good man, then it's no wonder why."

"Those were some carefree days. I grew close to my cousins, Thomas and Nora. We would take weekend fishing trips up to the Columbia Gorge and just have the time of our lives out there. Nobody to tell us what to do or what rules to follow. It was our world."

"For a couple years I had about as good a childhood as one can really have. George and Karen filled in for Dad pretty well. But they were old. Grandma died when I was ten and Grandpa followed about a year later. I think maybe he died of a broken heart. They had both been my rock, in many ways. After they were gone, I started to get into trouble. I fell in with the problem crowd at school. Drinking, smoking pot, the works. You would have thought Tom and Nora would rescue me from that scene, but Tom was a wild child himself, and Nora got knocked up and hitched when she was sixteen. Mom went through an increasingly troublesome coterie of boyfriends. Not all of them were bad men per se, but none of them were really good for her. A couple did beat on her. One of the longest-lasting guys, James, taught me how to work a lockpick. With my deft little fingers I became pretty damn good at it, too."

"James also introduced me to the Pacific Northwest's underworld. Louisiana folk think they're so clever, smuggling in foreign booze and doing some racketeering here and there. I've seen things in Seattle, Portland and San Francisco that you would never believe. James had his fingers in all sorts of pies. Prostitution. Human smuggling. Heroin. He would bring me on road trips, show me the ropes of what he was doing and whatnot. But he had this strange code, like he would always slap a cigarette or beer out of my hands whenever he caught me with one. I guess he thought he could show me how fucked up the world was while also keeping me at arm's length from it all. Delusional. For a brief time I even wanted him to marry Mom - I guess that makes me delusional, too. He was very much a rolling stone, so he moved on after a couple years."

"When I was sixteen, Mom did a 180 and moved us back to Palmyra. Maybe she thought she had unfinished business with Uncle Jules. If so, I don't know what she planned on doing. Even before the move back she had been diagnosed with cancer. After six months there, it was pretty bad. I kinda buried myself in high school and in basketball, which I had picked up as a little kid in Oregon. In fact I was almost as good a shooter on the court as I was a thief. From the week of my reintroduction to the family, they had me doing jobs. B&E, pickpocketing, carjacking, the whole nine yards. I even liked Uncle Jules at first, too. I put a good bit of money in my pocket as a high school junior and senior.”

“I only came to my senses after graduation. Mom’s cancer was getting worse and I was doing my best to care for her. No one stepped in to help. Not one Faubert. The old man, who had talked such a big game about loyalty, seemed to notice only in passing. It was clear this was all because she had married a cop, a clean cop, someone who wanted to pull her away from all the generational bullshit. I hadn’t realized it before, but mom was in many ways the black sheep of the family. She hadn’t obediently toed the line, and now that she needed help, none was forthcoming.”

“Mom gave up about seven years ago. So that was 1973. She had wanted me to go to college at the University of Oregon, but that dream pretty much died with her. I was too good at stealing things and got too wrapped up in it all. Since then, I’ve been doing jobs for the family and for any other paying customers. I’ve definitely robbed the Bedards more than anyone else. I work part-time as a waitress down at Duvet's as my 'cover,' and I try to keep my head down. Doesn’t mean I like this feud though. One of these days here I’m gonna get to the bottom of what happened to Daddy. One of these days, his murderers are gonna pay."

+++RP Sample: I think not!
#ItWillBeDone (DO NOT REMOVE)

[Costa Fierro]

On the subject of Sheriff Goudreau, I do have some concerns. My original intention was for the office of Sheriff to be particularly stunted when compared to other Sheriff's Offices elsewhere in the South. They'd take on a much heavier civil and political role while being outweighed in preventative police activities by the municipal departments.

However, I am willing to make a compromise. Instead of heading back to Palmyra after his military service, he takes on a successful career with the Louisiana State Police. Eventually, he returns to Palmyra to take up the mantle of Chief Deputy in an office tainted by corruption. Fights the system until New Years Day of1980, when the Sheriff dies of a heart attack, leaving Goudreau as the Acting Sheriff until an election. He would start the RP with a greatly diminished office, and the sequence of events would serve to balance the two things that I see at conflict: the power of the two families who can make or break whomever they please, versus a Sheriff who is professedly anti-crime.

Sounds like a plan.

[Transoxthraxia]

Hrm. Will read later on.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

(MAY, D.I.)

+++Name: Diane Ingrid May
+++Age: 27
+++Gender: Female
+++Physical appearance: 5’7 feet (170 cm), 120 pounds (54 kg). A bit scrawny.
+++Identifying Marks: Whitish-red spots on neck, all over torso, and arms after a baseball bat and tire iron beating. Only ever seen in a long sleeve and jeans. Slight stutter from trauma that grows worse when they’re emotional. A small limp in the left leg after the attack. Compulsively chews gum.

+++Ethnicity: Caucasian-American (Cajun)
+++Religion: Roman-Catholic, non-practicing
+++Birthplace: South Palmyra, Louisiana
+++Criminal History: Arrested for shoplifting and other petty crimes numerous times, rarely convicted due to father. At age seventeen, her father told the judge to “send her to juvy” for a few months so she’d learn a lesson. No longer concerned with theft other than her own compulsive sleight of hand; now performs odd jobs and some statistical supervision over drug trafficking logistics for the Bedards.
+++Military History: N/A





+++Psychological analysis: Diane, in the earlier times of her life, was imbibed with passion and rebellion, a determination to coast through life on the rush of crime. She was a kleptomaniac from an early age, constantly in and out of trouble into her teens. The black sheep of her immediate family, she was not dissuaded by her mother’s put downs or her father’s disappointment. She was cocky and arrogant, yet anxious and bitter on the inside. She suffers from undiagnosed obsessive compulsive disorder as well, which her kleptomania is a part of. This manifests in the constant washing of hands, flicking of switches, double checking, and rearranging objects. Disregarding the physical responses, she also often suffers from disconnected, taboo, and violent thoughts.

A good-hearted person who truly doesn’t want to hurt anybody, she feels driven to do work for the Bedards and Daniele by way of loyalty. When she feels she owes people, she sticks with them for better or worse, even if those debts conflict. This extends to her father and Lily-Anne, the best parental figures she had growing up. She is against violence and will only do it herself if she must. Diane carries a sense of wit about her when in friendly company and even in unfriendly company if she is in control. As far as romance goes, she is easily manipulated and gets into trouble with men often. This has led to her being in and out of flings where she is abused or taken advantage of by her partners. She still finds it hard to settle down in any one place.

Much of her extroverted personality has fallen to the wayside as of late. Years of neglect, abuse, all finalized with a savage beating by a store owner and his partner has made her quieter and less impulsive. She has an irrational fear of masked men and is even nervous around some men, though she’s become good at not showing it. Diane is tired, her receptors are burnt out; she wants nothing more than to leave town once her father passes away, though there’s some she wants to “save” as well. Her old self is still there, but it has been pushed aside for someone who is clearly worn. Sometimes a person can see snippets of this old personality breaking through, but it is not often.

Diane’s issues have led to an upheaval in her tasks and her status. Formerly able to assist in protection money collection and robberies, her limp and stutter have rendered her unable to work. Now, she performs deliveries, pickups, and sometimes supervision of other tasks as a trusted member of the Bedards. She knows she is weaker than before, now relying on intelligence and perceived innocence to get through times. Their strangeness with their compulsions has made an ill-perception of them by many “co-workers” but they are still trusted and even valued by the Bedards, due to their degree in statistics. This has given the impression of a city slicker who considers themself above the others and she does harbor these feelings sometimes, though they aren’t overpowering. Their sense of humor is absurd and reliant on non-sequiturs and subversions.

Diane is resentful of piteous people, but she is calm. She is rare to anger and does not even consider vengeance. She just wants things to be over so she can enjoy movies and Johnny Cash. She is complacent and bored of her current occupation for the Bedards, but enjoys the travel she gets out of it. Her addictions have turned, at the least; kleptomania has been replaced by alcoholism (soon, percocets) and other perks of the obsessions.

+++Alignment: Daughter of Paul May and Mary-Jane Bedard, sister of Tim and Rick May, and cousin of the Bedards looking to escape town. Daughter-like to Lily-Anne, sisterly role model to Gene. Best friends with Daniele Faubert.

+++Occupation: Herbert’s Discount Center employee; errand girl/supervisor for the Bedards. Supervises certain logistics in the drug trafficking area with her degree in statistics. Considered very trustworthy by the Bedards and as such is sent to perform odd errands or negotiations for them either alone or accompanied, as long as they don't require much intimidation or violence from her part.

+++Biography: Diane was born in the October of 1953 to Paul May and Mary-Jane Bedard in Southern Palmyra. Of her family she had always preferred Paul the most and then Timothy; Mary-Jane made it clear she didn’t like her daughter and Rick had always been slow on the draw. In her formative years, her father gave the most affection. This wasn’t saying much, as her mother’s idea of affection was zilch. Her brother Tim had always been the kindest of the siblings to her and Rick was even nice in those first twelve years or so, until the ailments started to manifest. The first years were still anything but nice. Mary-Jane was expected to raise the girl while Paul would take the boys to the bayou. It became apparent that Mary-Jane resented the girl for some reason or another, relenting her to psychological torment or sending her off on her own. By the time that Paul realized that his daughter wasn’t given the best care, it was too late for him to try and prevent it. He would argue with his wife about it, but there were no places to go with the subject. Mary-Jane was stubborn in her beliefs; mostly resentment about the ensuing increase in their criminal involvement and resentment of a daughter when she wanted another boy.

Diane, growing up, was a strange but friendly kid. She was not given the same luxury of staying home from school like her brothers which hurt her ego in more ways than one. In elementary and middle school, with no way to leave her tics checked, she was the subject of bullying often. This pushed her towards the Bedards, the opposite direction her father wanted her to go. Robert and Lily-Anne were always a bit older than her, but they were nice enough. She could relate to Robert, even, what with his mother’s own disapproving looks at him. She had heard about the time that her father saved him from a river, before she was born. She had always felt a connection to the man and Lily-Anne, even seeing Lily-Anne as the closest thing to a maternal figure in the wake of her own mother’s disdain. Roland Bedard had always scared her, but he was gone before she hit the double digits.

As things looked up, new developments emerged. Diane began shoplifting from stores out of compulsion. She was ten when she started pining for sticks and leaves in the woods. She got her start taking coins out of her mother’s purse or cough drops from her father’s nightstand. At eleven, she was bold enough to thieve pens from mellow waiting rooms and doilies from the head Bedard household. At twelve, she started out putting candy bars in her pockets at general stores and then trying to make a run for it. She was never particularly good at stealing. Most of the time she’d get caught, brought back home for her mom to yell at her and her dad to disapprove and for Rick to laugh. Tim just shrugged most of the time; like the only wrong thing she did was get caught. She didn’t stop getting caught. As she went into her teens this led to getting arrested, stirring up trouble and getting banned from stores across town. Her dad would get her out every time, apologizing profusely with every one of the arrests. An unruly, petty criminal daughter was never a good look, especially for the chief of police. He had to figure out something to do; fast, at that.

Her tics started coming through more after Robert left for Vietnam and Tim headed off to college. Rick was never any fun what with his stupid way of talking and stupid decisions. One day when she was fifteen, after Diane had been returned home by her father after another unsuccessful cigarette pack heist, Rick decided to talk to her. It was always dad doing the talk with her. “I’m not mad, I’m just so disappointed in you. You have always been better than this.” In another life, these words may have rung true, but in Diane’s mind they never had. Rick was twenty-two at the time and he had had enough. He took her out to the bayou and let her observe the real family business; packages of drugs smuggled in via airboats. “This is the real shit. You want money? You do this shit in three years.” It didn’t break through one thick skull.

She would get caught stealing once every few months. While this was happening, she had found a group of friends in high school to hang around with. She enjoyed the attention and she enjoyed the relationships. Diane was smart, too. High school catered to her needs and she excelled in her classes, but her deviance with the thefts continued. Not even Lily-Anne could convince her to stop; it was just ingrained. At the age of seventeen, Paul had enough. He told the judge to send her to juvy for a little while and so Diane was placed into the Louisiana Training Institute–East Baton Rouge (LTI). She was furious and resentful, but stuck with the thirty days as best as she could. There, she met another side of the same coin; a girl named Daniele, a Faubert. Diane had yet to see the trouble with the other family, mostly removed from that side of the Bedards. Thus began a close friendship that extended out of juvy; things only accelerated.

Diane and Daniele spent the next year with a blast. Having fun, joking around, and sharing stories and food on trips outside of the county. Two birds of a feather from two sides of a conflict. They were nearly inseparable, save for the oft returns to Palmyra. Upon these instances, Diane would hang around with Loic and Lily-Anne and their son, Gene. She had always taken a liking to him and would often mess around with him or take care of him when the parents were unable to. She’d help with homework or girls or whatever he needed, when she was available. When she wasn’t, she’d be at home listening to her mother and father argue. Rick had moved out some time ago to live out with some white trash lady in the sticks. From Diane’s understanding, he had already knocked up the girl twice. That left her at home when she wasn’t busy, flicking the lights on and off and rearranging her room completely. A sense of dread was overcoming her, one she couldn’t escape from. She’d spend hours cleaning the house and rearranging items to fix this. If things weren’t where they should be, then disaster would strike. On one occasion she left the house to go out of the county with Daniele and forgot to turn the lights off inside her room.

This made her more anxious. She didn’t want to drive, didn’t want to do the robbery, but she was assured it was okay. Diane was mostly unrelenting and as such, Daniele dropped her back off to turn the lights off inside of her room. This detour was a ruiner. The two performed their burglary unsuccessfully and Daniele ended up caught by the police while Diane escaped. She took Daniele’s car and dropped it off back in North Palmyra then made an escape in the middle of the night, walking back home late that day. Daniele was sentenced to four years in prison and Diane was scared straight; somewhat. She stopped burglaries and she stopped stealing but her compulsions did not stop. She began to visit Daniele in prison every so often, mostly to apologize without outright stating it to the guards. As time went on, so did college come. Her father had some money tucked away for her as well to be sent after her brother Timothy. As such, she was taken to Tulane University in New Orleans, where she discovered a new world. She was just starting her second year when Lily-Anne was shot and paralyzed because of Rick. She returned home with Timothy, seeing Roland again after all of this time. It was terrifying. She felt horrible for all of them, Loic and Gene included. Still, Lily-Anne kept trekking on. Diane wanted to stay to help, but her father at the least was insistent. “Stay away from all of this.” Her father was angrier than she had ever seen him and one of the Faubert girls ended up with her feet sawn off. Diane was pulled away.

Her brother flew to Harvard and Diane was back in New Orleans with few connections. She ended up turning to her cousin Robert, remembering the friendship as youth. With this, she met a few of the police officers and began talking to the rich city kids. Her friendship with Robert let her get away with her “thrifting” too once her kleptomania started acting up again. One of the richer guys took a liking to her, a certain Nicholas Greene from Fort Lauterdale. They dated for around six months before he took her to his therapist to “cure” her kleptomania. The treatment worked for all it was worth. She had some control of her compulsions through the therapy and could think better than ever. Diane continued to return to Palmyra as often as she could, speaking with Gene. Her and Nick continued through college in New Orleans until 1975. Nick was one of the best men she knew but he had never been keen on marriage. They had both just graduated and she was waiting for him to ask so they’d drift off to some glamorous big city like her brother did. She wanted it to be through. This may have happened, as said before, in another life; in this life, Nick tied a bedsheet to a ceiling fan and kicked a stool.

There was no note or reason she could think of. Nick was just gone and that was final. Diane returned to Palmyra destroyed. Her idealism and optimism was fading. She turned to alcohol to fix her problems and she didn’t think she could find a job; not really at the least. Her kleptomania was gone at the least. She spoke with Lily-Anne and Gene again, as well as her father. Her mother returned sympathies; something about her seemed weary. She actually seemed apologetic; sorry, even. Diane was ruined for around four months, unable to function completely. After that, she started working at Herbert’s General Store for Loic and Gene. She felt the need to protect Gene from something, though she had always felt that way about the boy. From what she could surmise, she was his role model, one of the last pictures of invulnerability in his eyes. Diane pushed her way back into her old self for him; it was easier than she thought. It was less of keeping up a facade and more of peeling off a layer of dread. She learned to keep it up for everyone; she even seemed well-adjusted at this rate. Things were never as they should be.

Diane’s OCD was still around as was her grief. She began suffering panic attacks in closets and bathrooms. She’d scream into pillows or steering wheels. Walks through the woods turned to times to cry. Her compulsions were moved to rearranging items inside the shop. She must have been good enough at keeping up the act, however, as Robert approached her to join the family business. She agreed; she had to put her degree to use somehow. She was never sure if it was Roland or Robert that wanted her to take the position, but it didn’t matter in the end. The woman needed something to do and this was the perfect distraction. In her work for the Bedards, her cocky attitude only grew. She took confidence in her position as an errand worker, starting out with making deliveries and pickups out of county and sometimes even out of state. She was involved in negotiations with other organizations in fact. If things looked dangerous or were new, she was backed by a group of men. She often went with Robert or Roland to assist in negotiations or supervision with her knowledge of statistics; before her brother Timothy came back to town.

In time she fled from fling to fling, most abusive. Nights at bars would lead to heavy drinking which led to going home with someone, most of them men with little regards for her until they learned she was a Bedard. One such man bashed in his own bathroom door with a ball-peen hammer to get after her; he was largely unsuccessful after she managed to escape. She would never tell anyone about her frequent romances that lasted, at most, five months. She had six relationships over the next five years. At worst, she’d be beaten. She figured she deserved it for what she did to Nick at least. Diane came back from this; she worked on her alcoholism. She stopped meeting questionable young men in bars and her renewed confidence through the work for the Bedards even helped. She had fixed herself. Things were good for a year or so.

In 1978 her father suffered a stroke and Daniele Faubert returned to town. Diane couldn’t take the stress; her kleptomania returned. There was one specific store she started stealing from, over and over again. She’d tell Daniele about it, laughing at how the owner always said he was gonna “come after her if she kept it up.” Once, twice, thrice she was caught. A fifth time, a seventh time, a ninth. She kept pushing it; the rush did it for her, it pulled her compulsions back and it drowned the thoughts of her sick father and her sickly mother. The owner never called the cops, he knew she was untouchable as a Bedard. By the fourteenth time, he had enough. Him and his son donned masks and figured out her routine. They caught her off guard when she was alone one night, catching her in the stomach with a baseball bat. The son had a tire iron and the old man had the bat; they broke her bones and the son threatened her with worse. They dumped her crumpled body off in town where no one was around, dialed a payphone, then drove off. Diane was hospitalized for three weeks and she didn’t dare say who attacked her.

She figured that Daniele found out who it was after the old man and his son got beaten. Either her or some of the Bedards, but it didn’t seem like their MO from what she’d seen. If it had been the Bedards the old man would have his limbs broken, but instead his son got blinded. Diane was conflicted; she didn’t want that anymore. She didn’t need the revenge. In fact, she felt worse for it. The near death experience led to the development of a stutter and a sad disposition. She took to drinking again and began experimenting with percocets as the painkillers she was prescribed when she was allowed to return home. Rick had to take care of all three of them, now. She knew he was planning on calling Timothy and call he did. Timothy returned in 1979, where he revealed exactly why he came back to Diane. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place. With him he brought a new kind of psychology in the form of a therapy dog from New Jersey, a young yellow lab she named Scurvy.

Diane took note of everything that had happened. She returned to working for the Bedards, but something wasn’t right. She wasn’t capable of keeping her previous demeanor. She couldn’t even talk right anymore and she needed to take care of her parents, not supervise logistics operations and help her family with statistics if they needed it. Nick had died five years ago before they could escape and Diane planned on finishing what was started. She needed money and she needed a lot of it. She had to get Daniele out and she had to get Gene out; everybody else was a lost cause, either too ingrained or dead already. She began planning slowly, but she knew that people took notice of her change in personality. The beating had warped the cocky woman with dry wit into a reserved, stuttering girl. In the end, things had only gotten worse in Palmyra and loyalty to crime was a fool’s game. Gene would be easy, then next would be Daniele. If God was good then Tim would be spared too, but the all familiar dread had risen into Diane’s heart again and no amount of switch flicking could stop it.

+++RP Sample: Howdy bitch.
#ItWillBeDone (DO NOT REMOVE)

[Of the Quendi]

Jack Godreau for governor y'all!

-snip-

Done y'all.

-Coraline Josette Faubert-

I should say (for the sake of those writing Jules into their bios before I post my completed app later today) that Jules has never been married and does not have any children of his own. He does, however, have many nieces and nephews who are descended from his brothers.

But I plan on being generally vague in terms of who the brothers' wives and children were. Leave that for you guys to decide, should you choose to play as one of their descendants.

Duly noted. My character is now a daughter of Lucien Faubert. She has an adult son who works in the family business and would like the big job one day. I have kept the details about him vague should anyone want to RP him or do anything with him.

[Cylarn]

Aaaaaaaaalrighty then, let's see what we've got. Good to see some WiP applications as well!

Quendi, as always, impressive work on your part. My main concern with Jo, however, are her three casinos, especially the one in Las Vegas, and what it may take away from the RP to have such financial power. The riverboat truly does not bother me; I love riverboat gambling, and perhaps in a past life, it was my profession. The tribal casino would be interesting, in the regard that Louisiana has a very large Native American population.

Fierro, I'll just need you to edit your profile in accordance with what we talked about. I am willing for Goudreau to begin the RP assuming the role of Acting Sheriff, but prior to that, his law enforcement career in Palmyra should be rather caged and shielded from controversy. His predecessor, "Gordon" George Gamelin, was notorious for taking bribes from either family and playing the strings without inciting wrath from either. Given Goudreau's personality and seemingly incorruptible nature, Gamelin would have taken extensive steps to keep the few deputies he had, including Goudreau, from foiling his scheme. Thus, if Goudreau wants to go to war with the families, he'll be contending with two corrupt police departments, two local political machines, and a Sheriff's Office designed to directly benefit the corrupt machinations of the man up top.

Rodez, a good app and I am glad to have invited you. Kentucky, also a good app. I know that they are eerily similar, but I also know that these characters were conceived of independent thought. As long as you guys, and Gald as well, are mindful of not becoming clones of one another, we're fresh.

Keep it up, Dahyan. He looks to be a troublemaker, which Jules will probably appreciate.

I'd also like to see a few more Bedard apps, but I am tentatively planning for a Saturday launch if we can keep up the work. However, I may have some obligations jumping forth, so there is the possibility that I will have to postpone the launch.

[Of the Quendi]

Quendi, as always, impressive work on your part. My main concern with Jo, however, are her three casinos, especially the one in Las Vegas, and what it may take away from the RP to have such financial power. The riverboat truly does not bother me; I love riverboat gambling, and perhaps in a past life, it was my profession. The tribal casino would be interesting, in the regard that Louisiana has a very large Native American population.

The casino in Vegas was not a big one even by the standards of the 70s and certainly not compared to the mega casinos today, and Joe owns only a little of it. I was thinking she owns ten percent, the Faubert family as a whole an additional thirty and then sixty for others so it doesn't necessarily generate much revenue. The tribal casino isn't owned by Joe either but by the tribe. She lent them money to establish it and they pay interests on the loan and allows the Fauberts to launder money there. Only the riverboat is actually owned and generate revenue solely for Joe, so I hope that's acceptable. Glad you like my work.

[Hastur]

If anything needs changed to fix with the narrative or others characters, feel free to ask.

Additionally, I've deliberately left my bio blank on a lot of relationships with other characters, if you want to work something out before it starts, feel free to TG me or ask here.

FAUBERT, D

+++Name: Daniele Faubert, nicknamed "Dani", and also known as "Daniele Ledoux."

+++Age: 27

+++Gender: Female

+++Physical appearance: A thin, lean woman stands at 5'9 (ca. 175 cm) foot and weighs around 132 pounds (ca. 60 kg). Has green eyes and shoulder length dark dirty blond hair, often left flowing but secured into a lax pony tail when working. Dresses in a particularly plain and partical manner, usually with a slightly oversized denim jacket to conseal her waistband. Notibly wears a gold crucifix necklace and a west point Class of 48' ring on her right hands middle finger. Removes it and pockets it when doing illegal work to avoid easier identifcation.

+++Identifying Marks:

2" scar on right forearm from a knife.

A west point Class of 48' ring on her right hands middle finger.


+++Ethnicity: Caucasian, Cajun heritage.

+++Religion: Baptised Roman Catholic, non practising. Still attends Our Lady of Light Catholic Church on Sundays, regularly donantes and occasionally goes to confession.

+++Birthplace: North Palmyra, Louisiana.

+++Criminal History:

Class C Misdemeanour, criminal mischief; Probation. February 1968

Class C Misdemeanour, criminal trespass; Community service. November 1969

Class B Misdemeanour, theft; Sentenced to thirty days within Jetson Center for Youth (JCY), July 1970.

Felony Charge, simple burglary; sentenced to four years hard labour, served within Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women (LCIW), 1971 to 1975.

+++Military History: N/A

+++Psychological analysis:

A clear product of a broken home. Daniele is a rough, headstrong woman who is particularly emotionally driven, one who grew up in a yearning for validation and ultimately found it in the wrong places. Dedicating time into following in her father's footsteps to please people who were unpleasable. Growing up she harboured a lot of social issues, having an intense stutter during her childhood and showcasing clear antisocial issues as she reached puberty. While some of these aspects remain, such as strange ticks and cautious attitude, as she grew older, these issues quickly became into the chase of thrills and a misguided sense of self achievement.

She justifies this behaviour as it what she knows, and the only thing she is good at, Robbing thieving. She has a code of conduct which she holds herself to, if albeit laxly. She professes to only take from those who can afford to lose it, and that nobody gets seriously hurt in the long term by her actions. Rather callously holding the belief that if she grew up with nothing, others can too, without her taking into account of the emotional damage she deals out.

She has been known to break her own rules when emotionally charged, with her often becoming motivated by sadness, grief, anger and anxiety during certain situations. Insults and attacks on her character do next to nothing to her, but she doesn’t enjoy her father or brother being brought up, or seeing people she knows hurt, get away with "injustice" or be cheated. These things often motivate her into doing irrational and violent decisions.

In terms of violence, she has a deep distrust for men stemming from childhood abuse, which often makes her quick to resort to violence she feels threatened by them. She is aware of her smaller stature and more so lacking ability in a fight, so to level the playing field she is quick to use anything that will give her an advantage and will use it unrelentingly. While she rarely has the intention of killing someone, she will target weak spots such as the groin, neck and nose, and utilise overwhelming force with little warning to win over a fight.

She almost always carries a 9mm semi-automatic pistol or .357 revolver, usually to be used a bludgeon and occasionally fired to incapacitate depending on the situation, unless she is expecting police. At which point she leave them behind due to being a felon, instead relying on a two sets of quarter rolls she carries everywhere, a pair of brass knuckles and just about any large tool she can get her hands on, most notably a tire iron from her truck. Justifies her actions by blaming them for making her do it, rather than shouldering any of the blame herself.

In terms of her sociability. She is a friendly person who has a passive aggressive and overly sarcastic streak to those around her age and younger than her. Liking to make dry remarks and poke fun with a wide smile, with her being very confident in herself. Has a disdain for stupidity, fuckups and being perceived as stupid, and can become aggressive when she sees it. Daniele will often get vulgar and aggressive with those types of people, chewing them out. This can sometimes be taken too far and deeply irritate people. With those above her in age, she is respectful and to the point, using sir or m’am, and is much more tolerant of them. Giving them a lot of leeway. although her passive aggressive side can still sometimes shine through, she will never get fully aggressive with them, and tries her best not to curse around them.

Fits in best within lower class and informal environments but struggles to find a standing in upper class and formal settings. Looking awkward and axious at formal events due to appearing under educated. Having never graduated highschool and only getting an above average reading comprehension from prison. Makes up for a lack of book smarts with street smarts and a cunning eye, usually being able to "feel" if something is off.

+++Alignment: Faubert family, related via fathers bloodline. Grand Niece to the patriarch. Previously seen as a blacksheep thanks to her father being an embarrassment to the brand. She is now a decent earner through the operation of a lorry and barge hijacking racket of luxury goods heading towards and from the Port of New Orleans, with the majority of the profits going towards the family and the dixie mafia. Occasionally involved in commisioned robbery jobs with the dixie mafia, with her additionally using these contacts to fence large quantities of stolen goods, and traffic arms and moonshine into North Palmyra from Baton Rouge on a need be basis. In addition to this, Daniele has a close friendship to Diane, daughter of the Mays. Has been recently been helping her attempt to get money to leave town, and has also been using their knowledge of Bedard activities to plot their revenge for Patty Faubert. Attempts to keep these factors hidden due to fear of repercutions for the both of them.

+++Occupation: Officially employed as a farm hand within the Faubert family property. Earns money from illicit means as an armed robber and B&E man. Primarily having a focus on the robbery on freight, jewellers and armoured cars.

+++Biography:

Daniele Faubert was born in November 1953 within the rural bayou outskirts of North Palmyra, Louisiana. Raised alongside an elder brother, William, and her father, Quentin Faubert, offspring of Claude Faubert, who was a veteran of the Korean War that was by day a locksmith, and by night a thief who would rob just about anything not tied down. She was detached from the Faubert’s wealth and power for most of her early and late childhood. Her father harbouring resentment for both families after the death of his father to a car bomb. With him harbouring the peculiar and illogical assumption that his own kin had something to do with it, or just plain did not do enough to avenge them during the “Oxbow Shine War”. He frequently switched between the two depending on the mood for the day. Her mother, Sandra Ledoux, was not around. Having left when she was only three years old, and when her brother was nine. With Daniele having virtually no recollection of her.

 She grew up in poverty. Living in a compact house out in the glades, the properly bordering on the slow-moving stream that pointed out to the meandering rivers near North Palmyra. Money was often scarce despite her father’s employment. He coped with several issues. picking up an abundance of emotional baggage that haunted him from the war as he entered a downhill struggle with gambling and alcoholism. His pride never allowed him to recognize these matters, and he would regularly take these insecurities out on her. Danielle suffered through a lot of emotional abuse throughout her childhood. She was rejected and picked on by her father and made to feel worthless compared to her brother. Whom her father taught all he desired to know about his trade.

This culminated in an emotionally stunted growth. With her becoming more socially withdrawn as a youngster, forming a stutter during her early youth. Something which alone contributed to more misery from both school and at home, as her father liked hit her for it as a “corrective” measure. She became established as a social deviant by her teachers as she became older. Acting out and Struggling with the school curriculum, regularly getting into trouble for antisocial behaviour and ticks, which made her difficult to deal with. She had a reading and writing comprehension below average and would often lash out at other students. Her familial name letting her get away with a lot, but she constantly had a propensity for pushing things too far. Something that would simply make her home life more difficult as she grew older.

Things however have changed when she was twelve with the incarceration of her brother, William. When he unintentionally murdered a vermilion parish deputy during an attempted to get away during a robbery gone awry. With him shooting the officer with his own sidearm during a scuffle. Getting charged with homicide, he was condemned to the death, and being shipped up state to Angola’s death row. The event quickly divided the tribe further apart as her father quickly became devastated by the episode. With him advancing down his circle of addiction and substance misuse. Hurt by seeing his boy get committed to await his own death.

As money became tighter, his needs greater and his debts larger, the emotional abuse escalated as she got taken under his wing as his new “protégé”. Manipulated into doing things so that their parent could sustain his own behaviour. His reasoning being that people would be less extreme on a twelve-year-old girl, specially if she were being duly “punished” for the transgressions. Having a yearning for validation and a want of belonging, she regularly went along with it. With it starting out originally as shoplifting and pick-pocketing. She learned immediately that getting caught was not an option, as she would get slapped around by her father when she did, who affirmed to be oblivious parent unaware of their offspring’s activities and vowed to correct them immediately. 

Through trial and error, she started getting good at it, and she was drenched with brief spells of praise and admiration, but the requirements of her father only ever increased as she proceeded to pursue his approval. By fourteen, she was studying how to pick locks, and by sixteen, she had progressed into cracking safes. The money and materials she stole kept them fed and the loan sharks away, but she would ultimately never been observed in the same light as her elder brother.

While her stutter faded and her esteem improved ever so marginally, her behavioural issues did not. With her frequently running into the wrong crowds around North Palmyra, which  got her into quarrels with the local and county law enforcement. Being picked up on multiple misdemeanours charges for vandalism and theft charges. The implications and potential reverberations of charging a Faubert often made officers concerned, and she was often let of with a warning. But eventually their behaviour was no longer tolerated. Following a court trial for theft of a music records, she was charged with a class B misdemeanour and shipped off to Jetson Center for Youth in the summer of 1970 for thirty days. During which Daniele met Diane May, and the formed a steady friendship while inside with despite the two being from rival sects, Daniele being oblivious of her alignment. The two looked out for each other in the madhouse that was JCY, thanks to the pair having been locked up for comparable offenses. On their release, they kept close but secret correspondent, the two conspiring to engage in further thefts, elevating them to burglary to chase the rush.

During her thirty-day service in JCY however, her father was incarcerated for an armed robbery charge while struggling to hit an armoured car in South Palmyra. Thanks to him carrying a revolver as an offender, and particular people calling for an embarrassment who had massed sizable gambling debts to go away. He went down for forty years without benefit of parole, probation, or suspension of sentence. Being shipped off to Angola state prison. Guardianship of Daniele fell upon other family members to take up the burden. Mainly Patty Faubert, one of the many nieces of Jules Faubert. 

The resulting in her being lifted out from poverty and being dropped into an upper middle-class lifestyle. While wracked with depression and anxiety over her dad’s imprisonment, her assimilation into the strange family dynamic was initially unstable, but she came to understand the relationship she fostered with Patty. With her forming a substantial bond, even if it was a one-sided which alone she felt. Her criminality did not terminate with her removal from her old situation, however. Through boredom, frustrations and perceptions of inadequacy, she swiftly began stealing again. This time supported by Diane, following the rush and satisfaction as the two of them often took rides out of the county to burgle properties and businesses.

These activities lasted for around a year. Before eventually at eighteen she was incarcerated following a burglary of a rural home near Baton Rouge. The occupant returned whilst they Daniele and Diane were seeking to get into his safe. Daniele ended up taking the fall for it when she sought to deal with the man, only to get knocked out and put under a citizen’s arrest. Giving Diane enough time to flee. Daniele’s case proceeded to trail, and thanks to past misdemeanours, attempted assault, and a record of antisocial behaviour, she was given a conviction of four years’ hard labour to be completed within the Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women state penitentiary.

The next four years turned out to be a protracted and tedious learning experience. Time passing slowly as she laboured on the penitentiary’s farm during the endless days and read during the endless nights, chiefly concentrated around other felons locked up for diversified crimes. While a slower time than she would have faced in Angola, she found acclimatisation to confinement to be a troubling thing. Scared, trouble with the house rules, absence of privacy and frustrations with the other prisoners and correctional officers all combined in the first few weeks, with her often got into disputes with them. She received extrajudicial punishment and the ire from her fellow Inmates. But this antisocial behaviour was promptly remedied when she was taken under the arm of another inmate. Jenifer Lapierre. A woman who knew the Faubert family name and was an affiliate of the Dixie Mafia. Serving a twelve-year sentence for several armed robberies that she had done with her boyfriend, serving this sentence with no chance of parole.

She helped Daniele in teaching her the ropes, watched her back from people who had a bone to pick and lectured her about her experiences within the field of robberies of jewellers. Giving insider knowledge of the trade. Teaching her the importantance of planning and learning all one could about the score. Learning from the mistakes Jenifer herself had made. But this relationship wasn’t a free one, In exchange, Daniele became embroiled in smuggling contraband into the penitentiary. Utilizing her friends and what little familial relationships she had on the outside, even burning some of them in the process, just to get illicit items inside. With her having anything from cigarettes to drugs brought in. Ensuring Jenifer was happy and her own back was covered. Despite the original issues, and some extrajudicial punishment suffered for owning contraband, she did the four-year sentence quietly and without issue. Being released back into the free world in 75 with some new contacts to help her on her way. Daniele returned home to North Palmyra fully with the resolve on shattering her old, toxic rhythm, having zero desire to go back to prison. She stayed with relatives for the first few days as she sought to get back on her feet. Helping on the clan property owned by Jules. Helping to foster a more confident relationship with her kin she’d ultimately lacked.

This objective of running away from the lifestyle was something that was ultimately doomed before she had indeed started, because of Patty Faubert. With Daniele learning about the removal of Her feet as some sadistic expression of retribution following an accidental shooting which left the middle child of the Bedard’s crippled. The act permanently traumatizing and disabling one of the few people she’d established a bond not built on the foundations of an abusive relationship.

She harboured notions of hatred owing to the lack of the family’s own vengeance, and further so guilt. Daniele was locked away for chasing cheap thrills and didn’t even know about it until she’d been released. She had heard rumours floating around prison about a short war, but she’d never asked, and never found out. Punishing herself for just not being there, running on the miss guided notion that if she’d had been around things would have been different.

Feeling ashamed of herself, Daniele left town a few months after coming back. Notifying friends and family that she was heading to Baton Rouge to pursue employment. Lying to them about her intentions as she fully resolved on falling back into into her familiar ways. Chasing the adrenaline surge, satisfaction and recognition of being good at something.

For the next few months, she concentrated her time acting within Baton Rouge and New Orleans underworld. Starting out working the contacts she had learned in confinement to further herself along. Word of mouth and referrals being an essential ingredient in cultivating trust. For most of her career she worked under Frank Wright, a florist who ran his operation out of an archaic but modest flower shop in the poorer part of the city. With him handling the commissioned robberies for the dixie mafia in Baton Rouge and the neighboring areas. Vouched for, having a recognisable name with a strong brand backing them and knowing her stuff. Frank put to work against his better judgement, which he made felt.

She was put on low-level operations with the chaff. Stick-ups to intimidate people into paying protection money and hitting freight trucks with valuable cargo moving in from the port of New Orleans. Initial distaste turned to confidence and respect as she performed above expectation. Proving to be professional and not as a perceived fluke erroneously selected by someone in prison who themselves had locked up for botching up a robbery. By the end of the year she’d found her place in a newer professional crew running jeweller jobs.  Moving up in the world thanks to their old safecracker being jammed up on an unrelated drug charge.

With the crew overseeing her activities, she went on to hone her skills across the board through practice and experience, winning the respect and trust of most of her compatriots. Feeling a true sense of belonging amongst the group. Within three years they had pulled off many freight heists, eight jeweller robberies and three armoured cars stretched out between Louisiana, Texas and Mississippi. A cut always found its way back to the Faubert tribe, ensuring that Jules and her kin always saw the fruits of her labour. But as she became more confident in herself, her sense of regret became further pronounced, as did her resentment at the situation back home. Years had played on with seemingly no improvement. Everything looked much of the same. No reparations, no restitutions, and no retribution.

By 1978 she had elected to go back to North Palmyra as the heat from the jobs becoming stronger,  the police crashing down heavier and picked up new tactics. Following the imprisonment of one of their driver and muscle, the group in tatters. Daniele smoothed matters over with her boss. insuring that they were still making capital after she left, seeing the consequence for just leaving first hand. Mediating an arrangement between Frank Wright and her kin. They arrived at a mutually profitable arrangement that brought a stream of illicit goods to be imported into the town via Baton Rouge, and for trucks and barges coming in and out of the port of New Orleans which moved through town to be hit. With shares being negotiated between them.

 Upon her return to her hometown, she renewed her friendships, and she took up a management role of the new scheme she had proposed. Ensuring that the right trucks heading along the routes got hit and the paid off drivers got compensated properly and shifted contraband when desired. The system moving smoothly as Faubert men got put on it. Daniele turned her attention to scheming. Having a desire to make the Bedard’s punished and to alleviate the guilt and anger she felt. But instead of being out for blood, she elected to pursue to them where it hurts.

 Their influence and capital.

 Although the elegance of this plan going into it was already undermined by the grievous injury of Daine. A significant portion of the puzzle and her friend almost taken out of action when she was beaten by a shop owner and his son with a baseball bat. The hot-headed response from Daniele didn’t ease matters. Driven by fury, she battered the probable suspects within an inch of their life, and trashed their store with the aid of some friends before anybody else could get to them. Leaving the owner’s son blind in one eye and with his head cracked open, with the father only in a marginally stronger condition. Clarifying that someone was watching out for her at least, a character without Bedard affiliation.

Since then, for the past two years, she has been creeping things forward, aiming to change the state of play. Learning about the Bedards information, locations and shipments, how they come in and how they get out. All to illogically exact revenge over her aunts traumatizing events, whilst contending with her friends need to leave town for good. Either way, either option, money was key to it all.

+++RP Sample:
Trail to Hell: Perdition
The Benthic Zone
Also screw you.
#ItWillBeDone (DO NOT REMOVE)

[The Vaktovian Empire]

If we’re set for a Saturday launch or potentially a little more in the distant will we be going to a closed ooc? I only asked because whilst maintaining my characters role tentatively if there are no objections I was going to work with Rud to get a Chief NPC app submitted, as well as the three fellow officers I have under my watch in North Palmyra. They will certainly develop over the course of the RP as will my own character and will have varying levels of corruption as my character continues to walk that fine line between right and wrong, and staying in favor of those around him to provide for his family of both old and new. For instance, one I have slated to be a fresh rookie who my character will see as the lighter side to the department while the other will be maybe a 5 year guy, comparatively the last will be a 12-15 year guy at the tail end, blissfully steaming with corruption from the previous Chief/s who preceded the current one, and a main opponent of my character’s when it comes to situations when taking the ethical and moral approach.

I will say I quite look forward to seeing how my character and Fierro’s interact as the RP proceeds and moves along, and if in any way he can start to bring out that innocent side of my character before he caved into some of the corruption he’s been present in, albeit unwillingly in many ways.

I’m super excited for this RP. Haven’t had a good character-driven story to RP out in a long while.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Updated my application, should be all finished now.

[Cylarn]

Location Application

• Name: Chateau Laforge.
• Location: Located on sixty acres of land that sits five miles outside of South Palmyra.
• Type of Location: The property houses the "compound" of the Bedard Family. A great stone chateau, built in the French Provincial style is the centerpiece of the property, with a vantage of the surrounding marshland as well as the Bayou Laforge. Two guest homes, recent editions built in the Mid-Century cottage style, a pool, an older guesthouse used by the family's guards, and a garage are contained within ten acres of land sectioned off by a wall made of white granite and brick.
• Revenue: With the main members of the Bedard Family making their home here, a lot of money and assets pass through and the estate grounds hold several notable caches of contraband.

---

Jo, Diane, Dani, and Skrine are all approved.

I still have some concerns about Godreau, however. If he had learned quickly of the corruption in the Parish and kept his head down, why would he pursue the illegal alcohol coming into the Parish? Especially for a six-year vet of the force, there would be sufficient knowledge that the Bedards and Fauberts are not forces to be trifled with. Virtually every moonshiner or bootlegger in the Parish has an affiliation to one family or another; no room for anyone else to tear off a piece of the pie. It's part of the reason I wanted him to have a prior career in law enforcement, a legitimate one in which his authoritarian, incorruptible nature would be cultivated by the apparatus of the agency; that's why I suggested that he be a lateral transfer from the State Police, and be serving with the office for a short time before Gordo suffers his heart attack.

[Dahyan]

My application for Raymond Delacroix is done.

[The Vaktovian Empire]

Cy, I do believe Fierro had agreed to your proposal of being a lateral transfer from the State Police if you scroll up a little ways.

Also am I free to write up some shorter NPC character apps for the Chief and associated Police Officers under my supervision, I’ll be speaking with Rud to get a good Chief curated who’s essentially the right hand of Jules to a degree.

[Danceria]

tagging this

[Dahyan]

Any updates on the start day and the remaining apps?

[Cylarn]

Redneck Jean Reno is approved.

As for the start, there have been some RL happenings around, but I will see about getting it up today or tomorrow, and that would give anyone interested time to complete their app before the start of the IC.

[Khasinkonia]

Something of note, for those of you who don't come from Louisiana:
https://www.beauregarddailynews.net/new ... hurricanes
Particularly of note are Hurricanes Audrey and Camille, both of which were very destructive.

[Recon]

Something of note, for those of you who don't come from Louisiana:
https://www.beauregarddailynews.net/new ... hurricanes
Particularly of note are Hurricanes Audrey and Camille, both of which were very destructive.

Thank you very much.

I wouldn't mind mentioning it in the story line. As Camille in 69, wasn't too long ago.

[Khasinkonia]

Something of note, for those of you who don't come from Louisiana:
https://www.beauregarddailynews.net/new ... hurricanes
Particularly of note are Hurricanes Audrey and Camille, both of which were very destructive.

Thank you very much.

I wouldn't mind mentioning it in the story line. As Camille in 69, wasn't too long ago.

More with regards to biographical information, Audrey and Camille, as powerful as they were, were obviously disruptive. I remember after Katrina that my great grandmother still remembered those two like they were yesterday.

[Recon]

Thank you very much.

I wouldn't mind mentioning it in the story line. As Camille in 69, wasn't too long ago.

More with regards to biographical information, Audrey and Camille, as powerful as they were, were obviously disruptive. I remember after Katrina that my great grandmother still remembered those two like they were yesterday.

Ok I will have a look at incorporating it into my character's biography. Thank you.

[Khasinkonia]

Faubert, JF

+++Name: “I’m Judith Anne Faubert, née Fahey, but most people call me Judy, but back in Placentia, all the men in my family call me Ducky-Ju.”
+++Age: “I’m 31, but officially 30, and I don’t plan on turning 40 for another twenty years, so don’t ask.”
+++Gender: “I’m a woman, as my body has reminded me seven times over the last decade.”
+++Physical appearance: “My mudder always told me I’d be such a gorgeous girl if I’d been an adult in the 50’s. I’m 5’3” and weigh 113 pounds, not an ounce more. I used to be a bit heavier, but all this work has me skinny—something you won’t hear me complaining about. I still look healthy though, and that’s what’s important. A lot of these girls in the tabloids look so bony, and I just couldn’t imagine. But as for my own build, as my mudder said to me, it’d be a great body to have in the 50’s. Like my mudder and grandma before me, I still have the hips, thighs, and a hint of tush to go with it, but of course I’m skinnier than they are. My face, as you can see, still has its youth to it, which is lovely. Without makeup, you can really see the eye bags these days, but that’s to be expected. As for my complexion, I’m a freckleless carrot-top with hazel eyes. I never had braces or anything, but my teeth turned out some good, though I have an overlap in my bottom incisors, and a chipped incisor that we can’t afford to fix.
+++Identifying Marks: “I have a c-section scar on my stomach from the triplets, but no tattoos or any other thing like that. I always wear my necklace from my great grandma. It’s made of a silver chain with a single big black pearl. And then, I have my wedding ring. It’s not expensive, but it’s still beautiful. It’s made of gold, with a sapphire in the middle. Diamonds were too expensive, but I wanted to keep my pearl necklace special.”

+++Ethnicity: “I’m mostly Irish and French in heritage, with hints of native, but I think I’m more accurately styled as a Newfie, plain and simple.”
+++Religion: “I was baptised a Catholic and I’ll be buried a Catholic. Plain and simple. I don’t care whether He helps out around the house, so long as he keeps up his end of the deal for me herding ten children into His house.”
+++Birthplace: “I was born in Placentia, Newfoundland in my family home.”
+++Criminal History: “I got a speeding ticket going on Route 90 to visit New Orleans back in ‘76. I didn’t have the kids with me, and I was early enough in my pregnancy to give him a little kiss and get off with a warning by pretending to be a tourist borrowing a friend’s car. Other than that, never been one to cross that line with the law. My Alex and I just do what we need to keep our family fed and clothed, and our house maintained. Plain and simple.”
+++Military History: “Unless you count my visit to the US naval base at Argentia for a field trip, I’ve never served any country.”

+++Psychological analysis: “I would say I’m a simple woman of simple tastes. I care about my family, and I care about my house. In a simpler time, in an easier world, I’d stay at home all day, keep everything spotless, make a home-cooked meal every day for my family, kiss my husband when he gets home, and after dinner we’d all pile into the den or living room and watch the television for an hour before bed. But it’s not like that. So I have to remember my tough heritage. I’m a woman of the Rock, and a rock I must be. We live in a goddamn swamp, coated in bugs seven months a year.

I used to be a lot more optimistic. I try to be. But sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever have money to see my parents—to see my family. We definitely won’t if my husband “forgets” his rubber next time we have a date night. I hate to complain and I hate to yell, but it’s really hard to be patient. It’s nice here, it really is, but I worry about my kids. I don’t want them ending up getting themselves shot because they get involved in this generational feud with the Bedards. My husband wants them safe too, but I don’t think he always gets the same thing I’m getting at. A Faubert in Missouri would still be a Faubert. But my kids aren’t just Fauberts, they’re Faheys too. I’m half of them.

Thinkin’ about it all always makes me some crooked. I don’t know the whole story between my in-laws and the Bedards, but I still believe in family first, and so even if I don’t know it all, or just don’t remember being sat down and told why everybody’s fighting, it doesn’t matter. I’m a Faubert by marriage, so I ought to hate the Bedards, but all I can really see in the end is how everyone gets hurt. I’ll stand by ‘em no matter what, but I hate to see it. Everybody does be shooting. I stopped counting the number of bullets that have gone through in-laws. I’m just glad nobody’s ever touched one of my babies. I don’t know what I’d do then, but I do know it’d be damn personal. Just the thought makes me sick. Excuse me.

I know I’m supposed to be talking about myself, so I’ll tell you what there is, or was, to me beyond my kids—beyond my family. I find these big ideas about loyalty, conflict, and all to be overwhelming, in a way. As much as they’re important to the Fauberts, when I was growing up, we didn’t really think about those things. What I crave is where I grew up. Growing up in Newfoundland, things were slow. Every day growing up, I cherished. It was like my own little sliver of eternity, with nary a worry but homework, the weather, and what I was going to do that weekend. I miss that more than anything. Now I need to think about whether I locked the door before I left. I have a protocol for my kids about what to do if there’s someone they don’t know. My siblings and I were taught to shoot in case of wild animals and for hunting, but my kids? I have to teach them to shoot in case of Bedards. Even if I think they won’t need to know, I think I’ve seen enough of this to say that I’m not gonna take that chance. One of my in-laws got her feet sawed off her legs a few years back. I’ll protect my kids like I’m a goddamn polar bear. That’s all I care about. I’ll see each and every one of them out here, to continue a journey that I ended myself.”
+++Alignment: “I work for the Fauberts, and my last name’s Faubert, so of course I outta side with my in-laws. But my husband and I have the same opinions on these things, and I’ll stand by him unless he does something stupid.”
+++Occupation: “I’ve worked at the Faubert Timber Company since I came here as a typist. Since the family got started, I do be going into the office and bringing files back home to work on so as to not leave the kids alone too long. Even so, these days I’m mostly just given easy things so that they can keep paying me, as my children are Faubert children, and so they get fed no matter what. Even with two incomes, you don’t have a livable house just by working honest, so I’m signed up with the Tupperware folks, and that’s how we give people leaves from Mary Jane.”
+++Biography: “I was born May 9, 1948 in Placentia, right around when Newfoundland joined Canada. Now, before I tell you anything else about Newfoundland, you’d best know something about us Newfoundlanders. There are two sorts of us: Townies...and Baymen. Unfortunately, who’s a townie and who’s a bayman depends on who you ask. The absolute townies live in St. John’s. To them, everyone else is a bayman. But to folks who live out on the barren coast—those people that have been fishing since God himself made that island—everybody who lives in a settlement of more than their own family is a “damn townie.” Placentia occupies that middle ground between town and bay. I’m not going to bore you with its long history, what it was. I’ll just tell you about what it was like when I was growing up.

After WWII, the Americans out by Argentia stayed. They kept that naval base there to guard against the Soviets, so we were told. I should say, nobody in Placentia was complaining. I’m sure you heard it a thousand times over, but American money flowed in, and so did people. My family was one of the reasonably well off ones. We, as pseudo-townies, had the fortune of electricity before Mr. Smallwood’s electrification campaign, and everyone in our family worked to help pay for it. Other than gay uncle Bernie running off in ‘63, we didn’t have too much to talk about other than the weather, and, really, I think everyone liked it that way. I definitely miss it. Some parts were tough, like shovelling the snow every winter morning, but that wasn’t my chore, so I can definitely say I had it pretty good.

I was the oldest child, and certain expectations came along with that, I’m sure you understand. If my da’ was working, then it was my job to look after my mudder. She didn’t need me to, mind you, but that’s what he told me to do. My mam and da’ were both the oldest children, so it was their job to look after the grandparents, and that we did. We lived with Grandma and Grandpa Quirk until I was about nine, I believe, when my brother Johnny was little bitty, and...I wanna say mam wasn’t pregnant with Winnie yet, so...yes...I must’ve just turned 9 a few months prior. When you’re a kid, nobody tells you anything, so imagine my shock when I find that we were moving Granny and Grampy Fahey in with us too. Lord, as the Lord is my witness, little nine year old me flipped her dang lid! After all, where were we going to put them?

That’s when I learned that my parents and my Uncle James and Auntie Mary had put money in the pot with the grandparents, and we were moving everyone in. So we had three sets of old folks: my two sets, and the ones on my Auntie’s side. Even though they weren’t blood, we all called them Grandma and Grandpa Hynes just like our cousins. I was the oldest of nine, and Johnny was number five...and with uncle and auntie’s then-three, that’s eight of us kids, plus the four adults, and the six grandparents. Eighteen of us in one house, thereabout. It was a big house, but I still found myself sharing with my cousin June as well as my sister Leslie. Now, because I was the one with the long fingernails, I decided when the lights went out, but June had a flashlight for her picture books, which I didn’t like one bit. We’d bicker like we were born together!

We all went to St. Anne’s Academy, until I was in the 7th grade, where I moved up to Laval High School. I’m the oldest out of my siblings and cousins, so I had a year of peace before my cousins Henry and Arnold, the twins, followed me. You know, we were all raised well. We bickered and all, but there wasn’t much in the way of discipline that we needed. Our parents raised us right, you know? We were good kids, stayed out of trouble, and all that. Sure, Uncle James’ car didn’t have good breaks, so we’d as a family have to glide and ram into something, but it was one of those sturdy old models that doesn’t crumple up or anything. Paint got dented, but we were all fine. I’m sorry for all my tangents, but these little details are how I think. I’m not even old and I ramble. Woe unto whichever kid of mine takes me in when I’m old!

I have so many little stories from my childhood, but in a way, I’ve long been an observer. I’m not stupid or anything, but I like watching, not being at the centre of things. A day where you and your neighbours are all atwitter over the forecast being for sun is a good day as far as I’m concerned. My little slice of chilly paradise, it was. But you know, I was curious growing up. I’d hear folks talking about America, about Britain, about Toronto, and what have you, and I wanted to see them. Newfoundland’s my home, always will be, but a girl’s got to spread her wings and take them out for a little stretch. I didn’t entirely have a plan, but I knew I wanted to visit the important cities in America, like New York, Chicago, New Orleans, San Francisco, and maybe D.C. Of course, I needed a hand from family to find a good job out of town, so Grandpa Quirk, who used to work as a lumber contractor before he retired, called in a favour with the International Woodworkers of America. Back when he was a member of the union, they were a part of the UBC, but of course they’d splintered off in ‘37.

But anyway Grandpa Quirk managed to whisper in a few years, and before I knew it, I was getting on a plane in St. John’s with enough cash to keep me for a few months as I settled in, found a place to rent, and so on. I was so excited. New Orleans was in Louisiana. That’s where I’d heard the airmen were all about. A city of parties, a city of all sorts of French debauchery. Sounded like a great place to celebrate graduating high school, as pretty of a young girl as I was. Suffice to say, I was disappointed. Not only are there plenty of pretty girls in New Orleans, but I wasn’t in New Orleans. Palmyra isn’t New Orleans. Never will be. Worse still, I figured out how Grandpa Quirk got me my job. I was being paid minimum wage to be a typist. I had enough to live in an apartment, pay for gas, and pay for food, as property values were cheap, everything was cheap. Still is.

I think the idea was that I was supposed to get it out of my system, and decide that all this exploring wasn’t for me. If it was the idea, it certainly would’ve been successful if it weren’t for a certain Alexandre Faubert. My husband. He’d just come back from the jungles, as he was a lucky guy whose luck let him down. Him and I both were working for Faubert Timber at the time, but it wasn’t there that we met. As a matter of fact, we met back in church. It was a social event, and we took to dancing that night. A part of me thinks the only thing that stopped us from eloping on the spot was the fact that it was April, and after the torrential April rains came Hurricane Camille. At the very least, our very first date had been in New Orleans, which was lucky, as I got to see everything before Camille hit.

We got married on October 28, 1969, and had our honeymoon right after. I think the twins’ birthday makes that pretty clear. Now, a wedding after a hurricane isn’t ideal, and of course, suffice to say that my parents had very mixed feelings about flying down to watch their daughter elope with a man they had only just met in a place that had just experienced one of the state’s worst hurricanes. Neither my fadder nor mudder said a word to me, but I could tell they were concerned. We honeymooned in Newfoundland, actually, as we thought it would be nice to get away from the rebuilding and enjoy a slice of island life and introduce Alex to the rest of my family. When I got up there, everyone from my cousins to my siblings to me aunts to me uncles to grandparents and grandaunts and hell, even me former elementary school teacher, always asked us about when we were moving up, finding a place, settling down, and so on. I told them we were going to look into it, and I sort of hoped we would, but it turns out those Palmyra roots don’t like letting go. We’ve been looking into moving up there for a decade now.

We came back down, and settled in. It was about that time that I found I was pregnant. I would say our first few months of marriage were very happy, but I can’t say we weren’t surprised to find they were twins. My first little darlings. We decided that we’d give them each a name after the heads of our respective families. Juliette, as you can imagine, is derived from Jules. Anne is my middle name. And then Edward Howard is my father’s name. He’s the fifth generation to have that name, you know. I must say, they were an easy pregnancy, and easy kids. Julie and Ed both look very similar, except Julie is taller, and Ed is a bit skinnier. You’d swear they were identical. They have similar demeanours too, or, well, when they were little, they did. Neither of them really wanted to be held. They wanted to be in their carriages, propped up, and looking around the room. Even to feed them, sometimes they’d get fussy. But otherwise, I could fold clothes, bring them to work, anything, really. As they’ve gotten older, both of them still have this independent streak. Don’t let them fool you; even though one always picks the opposite opinion to the other, at the end of the day they’re really incredibly close.

It’s a good thing that the twins were so easy, because I had barely recovered from my first childbirth when I found myself pregnant again. Heh, little did I know what I was in store for afterwards. Junior, we named him after his father. He likes to play oldest when the twins are off, and sometimes gets a bit overzealous with that, but I blame it on his name rather than him. He’s got his daddy’s name, and so he wants to help. Ed in particular, God bless him, does not take kindly to usurpers. Julie’s a lot more easygoing when it comes to that, but at the end of the day, it’s one of the few things that the twins verbally agree on. China has its Mandate of Heaven. As far as the kids go, I’d say Ed and Julie each figure they have it, but they agree that Junior manifestly does not. They’re all very sweet kids, but they’re at that age where they bicker.

I had a year’s respite before Margie, so Junior got a little extra time before being weaned. She’s got my mother’s name, and with her, I have to wonder if names sometimes have an effect on one’s personality. Margie, Margie, Margie. From the day she was born, she’s been terribly high strung. God forbid mud get on her dresses or her dolls or anything else. She’s very affectionate, but she’ll sometimes lose her damn mind over the slightest thing being out of place in her corner of her room. One time she woke me up in the middle of the night because her socks weren’t rolled up the same way. I do wonder if she has a disorder or something, although my mother is similarly anal about things. Margie, just like my mother, I have no doubt would have us scrubbing the furniture clean with toothbrushes if she could help it.

It was around the time of Avalon’s birth that we started to find that we weren’t able to buy as many new things. When we got married, we had the money to buy a fancy speakerphone so we could speak with my relatives every Sunday. By the time Avalon came around, I had needed to nudge up my hours while still taking care of the kids. I was lazy with her name, you see, but she’s never given me trouble over it. My family did, but from Grampy Fahey’s roaring laughter, I’d swear the older folks thought it was novel that I’d name a child after the part of the Rock we grew up on. Little Lonnie is a model middle child, I’ll say. She’s very close with Margie, but usually tries to play peacekeeper with Margie and Julie, as the two often get into little kerfuffles over minutia.

Like with Lonnie, we didn’t pick William for any reason other than that it was a nice enough name, and that we were getting rather tired of coming up with a new name every year. Will is a very musical boy, but not in a way that’d make you think he’s queer. No, he likes the guitar, and drums. He loves making noise, wherever he goes. Especially now that he’s old enough to get into things, he makes Margie practically pull her hair out sometimes. He’s a clever boy, but also very stubborn. Just as stubborn as she is. He usually wins though, because Margie will get distracted by the fact that Julie hasn’t folded all of her share of the laundry, or hasn’t gotten around to moving it from her bed to the drawers, or that one of her toys is poking out of its bins. Margie’s like a little kaiser. She always starts a war on two fronts.

Now, we come to the reason I have a scar on my stomach. The triplets. By far my hardest pregnancy. I had to take a break from working during the last month because I was always either hungry or out of breath. Strange as it may seem, I lost more weight from them than I gained from Avalon and William. I’m not much of a stress eater, you see. I tend to forget. The circumstances of the triplets’ birth, I can tell you, were anything but ideal. We’d gone to Palmyra Grill for a pleasant break from the kids, as they’d all gone to sleep by then, but my water broke before the bill came. Alex slammed a large enough bill on the table, and we tried to get out, but not in time. We had to go to the South Palmyra Medical Clinic, as I was sure we couldn’t make it. That’s where I met Roland Bedard. Dr. Roland Bedard. The man still haunts my nightmares, but he delivered my babies alive. And that’s all I can say. He didn’t allow Alex into the operating room, but once he stitched me up, he wrote a prescription and sent me off without any further comment. Lord, I hope I never need another cesarean section.

I named Ray after my grandfather, and Eddy after my grandmother. Randy’s name doesn’t really come from anyway, but I liked the name, and Randy and Ray for identical twins has a nice ring to it. It sounds professional, and it lets them get into plenty of mischief. They’re triplets—let me clarify—but Randy and Ray are identical. In hindsight, I do think I regret picking such similar names, but of course, I was on anaesthetics, and I’m sure Alex had gotten a pal to pick him up a six pack or something, because it was definitely my most stressful birth.

Randy and Ray are both mischievous boys, and they conspire. However, it’s Eddy who’s the ringmaster, I’d say. She was born first, and she, as young as she is, still reminds them. I don’t know how they manage the things they do, but a few months ago, I had to get Alex to borrow a chainsaw from my work to take down all the branches around the house, because the triplets managed to get onto the roof. I’m sure the stars were beautiful, but this was after Ray put some of my good earrings in the microwave covered in chocolate, and after Randy unplugged the icebox. I don’t remember what Eddy got up to, but I do know what Margie was sobbing for it. Thank God for Julie and Ed, because the two of them, I’d say, have prevented more fires than Smokey the Bear. And Julie saved my earrings too.

Even before they got like this, just for the c-section alone, I made the executive decision that Alex would be using protection moving forward. After all, I figure I’d go mad and we’d all go broke with another set of multiples. Actually, we were already struggling financially, so Alex and I concocted a plan. I signed up as a Tupperware consultant, and we would use the Tupperwares to sell weed in containers for extra money. Now, I don’t know whether it was a burst condom, or if it was that Alex decided not to wear one and I didn’t know one night, but lo and behold, a year later we had little Mary. I named her Mary Jane, and continue to pretend that I don’t understand the secondary implication around more proprietary relatives, but, just like the product, she’s very helpful.

She likes to “hayp,” as she puts it, and will always insist on carrying the Tupperware for me. And, having her, I can just tell Alex that I’m “bringing Mary Jane” for a visit somewhere if I have to make a delivery. She’ll waddle in front of me, and sometimes babble about delivering things like a mailman, and then immediately afterwards cling to my leg. She’s a youngest child if ever there was one. She’s a daddy’s girl at heart, though, and she’ll always give up my leg for his once he gets home. She has the native eyes, from way back in the Quirk family, which, with her babbling about “Baba,” has compelled some of the Fauberts to nickname her “Alex’s Indian Baby.” We’ve had three years now with no further children, and I hope to God it stays this way. We’re down to calling my family twice a month, and we can’t really work more without missing out on the family we do have. We had to sell the nicer of our cars to buy my current car. It’s a 1972 Ford LTD Country Squire. It’s made to seat, but instead, we usually just fold down the back seats and let the kids all sit around there. We put in cushioning on the metal edges, but it’s really the best we have. They don’t make decent cars for people who have as many kids as we do without looking like the leader of a church youth group. One day, I hope we can get up to Newfoundland, but right now, we couldn’t even dream of a vacation up there, much less moving. Maybe we can rob a bank or something; who knows?

Juliette “Julie” Anne & Edward “Ed” Howard (July 31, 1970)
Alexandre “Junior” Beauregard Jr. (March 21, 1971)
Marjorie “Margie” Bertha (October 10, 1973)
Avalon “Lonnie” Bernadotta (September 1, 1974)
William “Will” James (October 9, 1975)
Randall “Randy” Edwin/Raymond “Ray” Joseph/Edna “Eddy” Isabella (December 24, 1976)
Mary “MarMar” Jane (December 6, 1977)

+++RP Sample: Collaboration with a friend who is apping alongside me
#ItWillBeDone

[Cylarn]

All good, Khask.

As it appears, today may very well be uneventful.

[Bingellia]

(FAUBERT, A. B.)

+++Name: Alexandre Beauregarde Faubert
+++Age: 33
+++Gender: Male
+++Physical appearance: 6 foot and 1 inch, 195 pounds.
+++Identifying Marks: I’ve got a decently burn scar on hand. I’ve had it since I was a boy, and I guess that’s what I get for playing with fire. Pa gave me that long scar on my check with a switch just to drive it home. If I’d pull up my pants legs, you’d see where a few stones tore up my legs during the war, but I ain’t been shot or cut or anything. I’m never without my gold wedding band either.

+++Ethnicity: Cajun
+++Religion: Roman Catholic. I haven’t felt much attachment to the faith in a real long while. If God cared like the book said he does, he’d either smite Palmyra or lift it out of the darkness. Still, I keep a silver cross ‘round my neck and a crucifix and rosary in the drawer. It may give me a foul taste to go to church every Sunday, but I did it even before Judy entered my life.
+++Birthplace: North Palmyra
+++Criminal History: As far as any record goes? No, I don’t have a criminal record, but that’s probably on account that I’m Claude Faubert’s grandchild, but this town is nothing but criminals and I ain’t a exception to that. Before I went to Vietnam, it was mostly petty crap after being accused of cheating at the Tiger Club. That hasn’t changed much since coming back.
+++Military History:
U.S. Army| 1965-1967: Air Cavalry, Door Gunner
+++Psychological analysis: I never liked the life the family lived, and always reckoned that I’d make my way out of it. Hell, the army was supposed to be my ticket out, my father even encouraged that, but I’ve ended up back here. I suppose that’s a little unbecoming for someone of my name, having settled this damned town centuries ago, but it’s just a dying, divided set of buildings that seem to swallow anything that steps into them. Nobody really knows I feel this way, ‘cept Judy, so I do what the rest of the folk here do, pretend that it’s fine and hope nothing happens to the kids.

I’ve always considered myself a gentle man, ma certainly thought so. I don’t try to get mean or ugly with people, but I ain’t a pushover either. I’m sure that one son of a bitch I threw over one of the tables at the Tiger Club would be more than willing to testify for that. Have I mentioned my kids? I don’t think I’m a perfect father. I ain’t no deadbeat, but putting in the work to feed ‘em all demands quite a few sacrifices so I wish I was home more often. I think I can say that I’d probably kill anyone that fucked with ‘em though.
+++Alignment: Faubert. It all comes with the name.
+++Occupation: I’m on the family payroll. I may hate it, but they’re the only ones in this town that can support 10 kids. So I serve drinks, watch the tables at the Tiger Club, and give my kin their cut of the takes. I’ve also done odd jobs for people who need a strong man to do some liftin’. It ain’t all legal, but it brings money. I guess that makes me a hypocrite?
+++Biography:
If I ain’t a perfect man, my pa, Remy Faubert, was downright flawed. Growing up under him was tough, he was an ornery drunk that was rather fond of the switch, and there was more than a few nights I went to sleep with my bottom and face busted with my stomach empty. Still, he damned near killed Ma a few times, so it was hard to feel upset when she shot near in two with a shotgun while I was overseas.

Even if pa was an angry, good-for-nothing drunk, he did his best to keep me away from the family life and, true to that, I did mostly keep out of trouble when I was a youngin’. Now, you may think me ignorant for the way I talk, but I did well in school, so I guess all that beating was good for something in the end. And, even if I hated the bastard, I guess he was the start of my luck for keeping me mostly on the straight on and narrow.

Now, I’d consider myself a lucky man. Hell, ask about town and most people who aren’t Bedards would probably say that I am. When I was a boy, many a day’s choice of games were decided by a coinflip and I won most of them. ‘Course, nobody wanted to fight me either over them, but I did win the flips. When we were young and stupid, I’d be the guy fallin’ out off trees, but I rarely had more than a scratch on me. That wasn’t just a thing when I was a boy either. When I was a bit older and no less stupid, I’d always be that dumb oaf of a giant trying his luck at a con-filled carnival trying to get something to impress whichever girl I was sweet on at the time. And yet again, I’d come on top. It got to the point some of the stand owners banned me.

But the joy of youth can’t last forever, and soon I was graduating. Pa had made it clear he wanted me out of the house as soon as I got my diploma ever since I started high school, at least by then all he could do was shout it at me since I was bigger than he was by the time I was sixteen. ‘Course, that left him in the rather awkward predicament that I couldn’t afford to leave town and he didn’t want me to stay there. Now, I wanted out of the town as much as he wanted me gone so he begrudgingly agreed that I was going to go into the army to do just that.

So, I enlisted in Sixty-Five, right out of high school to make a career out of the service, and figured it was my ticket to grander things than a house in the swamp. Hell, I enjoyed army life while I was there, there was a sense of trust there, even in boot camp, that I didn’t have before and a purpose away from the parish. I had good eyesight and was quick to get an M60 on target, so I volunteered to be a door gunner on a Huey. It helped that I enjoyed being in the air at first, compared to some of the other guys who ended up there.

Considering the danger involved with an Air Assault, I soon found myself having a reputation of being lucky, just like home. For most of my time there, the bird I was in had little more than scratches on it. That got around the unit so quickly that you could see a look of relief from even the new guys whenever they loaded into the helicopter.

That changed during one assault. We weren’t shot down, but we took some damage and were forced off. We made it back to base before something finally broke and O’Riley, our pilot, couldn’t regain control as we were landing. The doors were still opened so I jumped. Fell probably a floor and a half and broke my legs, but others weren’t so lucky. From there, it’s just a blur in a hospital while my legs healed, and I chose not to reenlist.

Now, I had money saved up from my time overseas, but I told you earlier that Ma blew Pa away with a shotgun, and I didn’t exactly have enough to say no to living in a house that was for all practical purposes mine anyway. Back in the Parish, after three years. Now, that was a blow to me. I was hired by Faubert’s Timber a bit after coming back, little else legitimate to do as a man as big and as strong as I was.

Now, I know what some of you might be thinking. That I met Judy while we both worked there, That ain’t exactly how it happened. I actually met her at a church social, I never seen her while I was out in the wood. And while she’s still the prettiest belle Palmyra has to offer, Lord was mon coeur a pretty little thing back in Sixty-Nine. One dance was all it took for me to make up my mind about her, and I did think about ‘lopin with her, but the weather stopped us from up and leaving

Still, courting Judy was probably what I needed at the time, to break up the habit of working all day and spending nights drinking and playing cards at the Tiger Club and take my mind away from the Fauberts and the Bedards and the rest of this godforsaken swamp before the cynicism of living in this town set in.

I remember our first date outside of the town like it was yesterday. She had wanted to get to New Orleans as long as she had been in Palmyra, and we both managed to get a weekend off in May. So, we went up Friday night, stayed in a hotel, and spent the weekend en Ville. I think that’s what really had us go steady. We both enjoyed it, probably for different reasons. We got our taste of the city. It was more relaxing during the day if you ask me, considering we drank quite a bit less alcohol then, but the night-life was wild even while I was praying nobody recognized my name.

We planned to again to run off and get married in August, but Camille had more than a few objections to that, so we put that on hold while Palmyra rebuilt itself. At that point, it seemed like the town didn’t want us to leave, so we spent a few more months there, just working, courting, and saving what we could. We decided to tie the knot while in Palmyra.

I was married to her on October 28, 1969. It was a simple thing considering the town was still fixin’ itself up after Camille, but it was at least a cool day. I met Judy’s parents for the first time there. I ain’t fool enough to believe that Mister and Misses Fahey cared much to be there to watch her daughter get married off to a man they ain’t met before, but I think I made a better impression than most men would have that night. Now, the good thing about a simple wedding is that we had the cash to actually go on a decent honeymoon right after. It was pretty easy to decide to fly up to Newfoundland, to let Judy see her kin again. The first thing that struck me the moment I stepped off that plane was just how chilly it was, at noon no less. I don’t think I ever took off my jacket while I was there.

The second thing was all of Judy’s kin askin’ me about everything under the sun. Who I was, what did I do, what was my hometown like, what was my family like? Now, I don’t like lying, but I had to fib about more than a few things. Otherwise, those folk might think poor of me had we moved there, but it was refreshing to meet people who didn’t judge me by my name. We did have plans to move up there, but it’s hard to get out of Palmyra, and a decade later, we’re still planning on moving up there.

By the time we were back and settled back into life at Palmyra, it was clear that Judy was pregnant. I was about as happy as any father would have been in the situation, and Juliet and Edward came into this world without a problem for them or Judy. We named ‘em after kin, which is expected of both Fauberts and Faheys.

They started what would be a rather large addition to the Faubert clan, and, while I love my youngin’s, I also cut the checks for the family. The twins were not a problem with that and I hardly noticed in terms of keeping the bills paid. Sure, we couldn’t go to New Orlean’s quite so often, but both Judy and I were still at the lumber company, so we still lived comfortably by Palmyra's standards

It was about when Will was born when I started to notice that balances were starting to get a little tight, and legitimate odd jobs around town weren’t going to make up for the difference. So I had to swallow my pride and go to my kinfolk to see how I could make the difference. At that time, it was mostly just running money back and forth while on my routine through the day, but it helped and kept us comfortable.

I think it goes without saying that the last five years weren't so kind to me, at least financially. Will was born, and things were still fine around the house even if I was involved on the surface with my kin. Then Ma died in January of Seventy-Six, still in jail, and it hit me hard. I don’t think I told Judy why I was depressed, but she probably knew when the letters stopped coming. It made it hard for me to keep up the work needed to keep the bills paid and take in some income, so we burned a bit through our savings. It happens, unfortunately, and probably wouldn’t have been an issue if it wasn’t for the triplets being born.

Again, I love my kids, I really do, but that pushed us to our breaking point. I hate myself for it, but I quit the lumber company. Falling from a tree one too many times is motivation to get out of there. Luckily, I didn’t break anything. That probably would have ruined us, but it forced me to get more involved with the family than I ever wanted to be. So then I was officially on the Faubert’s payroll, working at the Tiger Club and doing other jobs for the family. I haven’t done anything too drastic, but I still hate it. It has made sure we can still live comfortably for how many of us are with Judy’s side business, even when Mary was born. We ain’t as well off as our income looks like, but we’ve got twelve people crammed in one house, so it ain’t surprising that we’ve had to cut corners.

And now my kids are old enough to be targets, and Judy and I want to get out. Go to Newfoundland and get away from anyone who knows my family name, but we need money to get there, and we’ll need money once we do. As much as it kills me, we need to stay until we get that money. I’ve been poor before, and I ain’t going to let my family be dirt poor.

+++RP Sample: Collaboration with Khas
#ItWillBeDone (DO NOT REMOVE)

[Dahyan]

I think Raymond and Alexandre might get along pretty well.