hi i wanna hear about ur sailor guys. give it to us
so one day i was minding my business watching a les mis arena tour bootleg when i noticed that, during lovely ladies, my favorite enjolras and grantaire actors (as sailors) get a little... frisky.
turns out seeing your favorite enjolras humping your favorite grantaire every night unlocks a hyperfixation that's been building for the past five and a half months
i kept getting annoyed that i had to refer to them as "connor's sailor" and "andrew's sailor" (that's the actors names) so i was like "lol should we name them" .... and so we did
Philippe is like if a peacock and a border collie had a 22 year old Jack-the-lad as a son. He isn’t afraid of anything at all. That’s why he’s a gabier, a sailor who does the dangerous job of working high in the rigging managing the sails.
He struts around the deck like he’s the hottest sailor on the ship, even if he’s bright red with sunburn, hair like a bird’s nest, looking like the runt of the litter. He uses his big blue eyes, ginger curls, and crooked grin to get away with as much as he possibly can.
Thing is, anyone makes even the slightest disparaging joke at his expense, and you trigger “pissy Philippe” mode. It’s well known that if you’re on watch, especially up top where it’s quiet, it’s not uncommon for the last hour or so of your shift to be relieved by Philippe — eyes red-rimmed, nose sniffling — with little more than a “fuck off, do you want a break or not?!”
The younger sailors think he’s the coolest guy ever. The older sailors think he’s a dramatic little rascal — one they have a deep soft spot for. The officers think that if he managed to keep his nose down and out of trouble, he’d be one of the best sailors on this ship.
He ran away to sea in his late teens, disowned by his family for reasons he absolutely won’t talk about. If you were to ask him about his life before the ship, he’d make up a new story each time — told with such theatrical flourishes that you’d not realise he sidestepped the question until after he was gone.
Pierre is the ship’s cook, but, despite the fact he’s nearly 30, this is his first time at sea. He’s spent the past few years trying and failing at several career paths. He initially tried to go into the medical field. He was a fast learner in his studies, but when it came to the practical skills, Pierre discovered that he had a very weak constitution — fainting at the sight of surgery is not a good trait for a doctor.
So, it was back home, where he spent most of his days helping his mother in the kitchen. She’s a keen baker, and Pierre enjoyed learning from her.
However, his father was becoming impatient with having a son without a purpose in life. His friend from the old days happens to captain his own ship, so he pulls a favour to get Pierre on board, as a way for him to “man up” and make something of himself.
The men on the ship are loud, brash, and filthy. Pierre is shy and hairy and awkward, a fat cook who gets seasick (of all the things) — he feels he might as well have a “kick me” sign on his back. They get their food at mealtimes with little acknowledgement of him, which is probably better since Pierre wouldn’t have the first idea what to speak to them about anyway.
The captain was accommodating enough to give him this job in the galley, where he could work on his own. It’s his own safe space that he keeps as clean and organised as he can. He is also lucky enough to get his own private berth. It’s hardly enough for more than a cramped bunk, his things from home (some books, letters he writes to his mother, and some personal stashes of treats), but it keeps him from the snoring cacophony of the hammocks on the main deck.
It’s hard to hide yourself on a ship like this, but by god he tries. He keeps his beard well kept, but just long enough to hide his face. He passes the day sat down with the ledger, minding the stock — it gives him something to ease the anxiety as he counts down the days until this lonely voyage is over. Life at sea is definitely not how it was portrayed in the books.
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