Country/Province/State/City: France (2P)
Human First and Last Name: François Bonnefoy
Appearance: If he were to be lined up with his counterpart, Francis there would be some dead give aways to how they differ, but other than that, they are virtually identical. François is much more tanned, but is pale, and a touch sickly in appearance (skin tone and the dark bags under his eyes do not help) due to the way that he diets and lack of time outside. It would almost look as though there were sand over his skin-- although he would assure you that that is not the case. His eyes can be described as being a bright shade of burgundy and are usually half lidded in disinterest. The beard on his face is rather well kept, but in a messy style, and certainly larger/more fully grown than the other's. It isn't a full beard, although if he forgets to shave, he will most likely grow one in three day's time. His nose is also noted to be a bit more wide than François's, but just as long, and the rest of his features are as gaunt as his counterpart's.
He has a bit of a less relaxed stance-- stiff and upright when standing and slouched over with tension when he sits. A few inches (about three) taller than his counterpart, he is among the taller of the 2Ps, but doesn't exactly use his size as a way to intimidate, unlike the others. In term of body hair, it is perhaps Francis who has the most of it-- all over his arms, chest and legs (although he shaves that due to the chafing he gets at times). In terms of build, he is slightly above average, but he makes no real effort at getting any better. Maintainace is the key.
In terms of clothing, he's mostly formal, wearing dress shirts, suits and always matching. His favourite colours to wear are Purple, Black and white. Stripped suits and zoot suits are amongst those things he feels are guilty pleasures in terms of style.
François's body is covered in scars ranging from knife to bullet wounds and everywhere in between. These have been collected from his many, many fights for many reasons. The most prominent one-- a large scar going from his left shoulder, down his back and to his right hip was from a swordfight, which he barely got away from. In return, he beheaded the man, but despite the satisfaction of victory, he still feels a dull pain whenever he is not in an erect position. Most of his scars on on his back and arms. He also has a decapitation wound of his own and can at his own will remove his head. No one else can do so, strangely enough.
Differences:
- More more sluggish and lax in personality
- Less likely to react wildly
- More disinterested
- More humble
- Far more successful in being suave and manipulative
- Not the Romantic type (but still the type to try to get you in bed)
- Foul-mouthed
Role-Play Sample: "J’en ai rien à branler de rien qui tu dis."
Francis had a gun to the temple of a bank teller, pointing at the dead bodies of those that decided to defy him. He wasn't exactly shouting, but his voice was stern and low, yet quite commanding in that he wanted access to the money without any lip. The man had obviously not understood his French, and to that, he would simply smack him in the forehead with the gun, knocking him unconscious. And that would be the last person left inside the building that could stop him-- on the floor, his head bleeding. It did not faze Francis and with a scoff and an expression of disgust, he would turn away and begin to rummage about the counters and under them to find what he was looking for.
"Come now, come now, you piece of shit. You have to have some money around here somewhere..." He hated having to do this sort of work himself. So damn sloppy, having to do things on his own. Of course, he had brought cohorts, but with one having a bullet in his head and the other one having no feeling from his neck down, what could he do? Oh yes, stop the other one's moaning by giving him a bullet to the head too!
Boum! That was easy.
Now he could have silence. Using this golden opportunity, the man rushed about and continued to look for some sort of sign of money. He was about to give up on it too! Seeing as it was past closing time, the vault as obviously out of the question. Ha! He ended up opening one of the drawers, and inside was a large envelope full of hundred Euro notes. Not even one! Several of them were full of money, and it was quickly slipped into the breifcase that he brought along with him. Excellent. Now his last obsticle would be in escaping with the police still outside. He would turn to the bodies all around him.
Boum! One more gunshot rang out, and Francis, dressed in the clothes of one of the tellers would slip out through the back as the officers rushed in, only to find all the people inside dead-- and the only gun in the hands of a man wearing a purple suit and a bullet would to his own head.
By the time they realised that it wasn't a suicide-- if they would ever, he would be long gone-- back to his city.
