the one thing that kept tala sane after the fire was the night sky. sat in the sand at rhapsody beach tala looked out at the water, breathing in deep to smell the tide, trying her best to relax her body and forget about the world for a while. listening to the waves, the blonde lay back on her jacket, looking up at the stars. she wished she could fly to touch them, to be able to reach out and touch the beauty they held, but she knew that was about as unattainable as getting her old life back.
a soft sigh escaped cherry red lips as she watched them dance and twinkle trying to remember that one day things would be better, that there would be better things to come, not to mention that she still had peter and the boys and that was all she truly needed. her teeth sunk into her bottom lip in thought before she sat up, grabbing her lighter and her pack of cigarettes before she placed one between her lips.
just as she was about to light it she saw someone in the distance, hearing them speak over the roar of the waves, “yeah?” she questioned, wondering what was up.
@fantasiafallsstarters·
despite having lived his whole life on an island, toulouse had never been much of a beachgoer - whenever he’d been down to the waves as a child, he’d return home with a sunburnt neck and what felt like a shore’s worth of sand in his already disheveled hair. even so, more and more frequently since… everything, he’d found himself on the more restless nights quietly wandering the streets of his new home, most of which, someway or another, ended up leading back down to rhapsody. moonlit as it always was on his visits, he found it hard to believe it was the same overcrowded daytrip destination he’d come to detest as a kid - as he wandered down the sand, he could even start to see what sorolla did. the crashing of the waves did still make him jump, but if he was honest, there was something magical about the whole place - an element only further exacerbated by the sight of someone he was sure he recognised.
it was a sight that made his stomach turn. it was nothing personal, of course - but since the fire, whenever he’d spotted someone he knew, knew was from pastoral city, the all-too-familiar knot of guilt would resettle in his gut. he could tell himself there was nothing he could have done all he liked - but it wouldn’t shift. without thinking, he spoke, barely above a whisper: “i’m sorry.”
somehow, he’d managed to be heard - thankfully, by the looks of things, not discernibly, but even so, there were eyes on him. for a moment, he could only stare back, but it didn’t take long for him to settle. “you alright?” he finally asked. it was a question that, before, he’d only reserved for his closest friends, his family, but after everything they’d been through as a city, even this many months on, he had no reservations.
“why is it so fucking cold outside?” nemo mutters to himself, crossing his arms over his chest as he steps inside to mccrea’s milkshakes. it doesn’t make much sense - his journey to get a milkshake while also complaining about the cold. nemo doesn’t care about the way it looks - he’s cold and a milkshake sounds good. what were people gonna do? sue him? he slides into a chair at the bar, speaking softly to no one in particular, “the fact that it’s busy in here even when it’s cold outside says so much about this place. and i guess i’m talking about myself too, but… ya know?” he looks to the person next to him, hoping they’d been listening. @fantasiafallsstarters·
toulouse had never been to art school, but according to every blog and article written by people who actually had, drawing while people watching was supposed to be the number one way to find inspiration - after half an hour in mccrea’s with nothing to show but a few vaguely head-shaped blobs and constellations of dots where his pencil had been frustratedly tap-tapping in between attempts, however, he was starting to doubt the merit those degrees were supposed to have. he’d just about given up when someone came to fill the seat next to his, and was taking a long, reluctant sip of his milkshake (some sort of strawberry-ey, cheesecakey, cookie-ey thing he’d ordered at random - how marie could be enthusiastic about these drinks, he’d never understand) when he realised the person he’d quietly been eavesdropping on had, in fact, been talking to him - or was, at the very least, expecting him to say something. “yeah, it’s insane,” he hurried to agree, though it was mostly a commentary on his own choice of milkshake, “i don’t know, maybe people just want to get somewhere inside, like running to a library when it’s raining - not really a great day for the beach or anything, is it?”
“This is a joke.” Catra stated, tone even, though absolutely scathing at the same time. Leave it to today to be the worst day ever – she’d woken up in an absolutely awful mood and this was definitely just the tip of the already half capsized iceberg. For starters, Melog had woken her up about six times in the middle of the night demanding for either attention or food, or both, then she’d ripped her favorite shirt by accident while pulling it on and now… there was her coffee, all over the pavement. “An absolute joke.” she narrowed her eyes up at the person.
toulouse had always regarded the fact that one could lie wide away all night and then end up too exhausted to keep their eyes open for more than two seconds when they finally rose as one of the greatest injustices of the universe. though he much preferred the sleepless nights to the haunted ones, at least after a nightmare he had the next morning to look forward to - now, it took a few splashed droplets of near boiling hot coffee and someone speaking directly at him for him to properly fight his way out of his bleary stupor, and even then it took a few blinks for him to actually process the situation, to which he could at first only respond to with a muttered ‘oh, shit’. “well, you don’t look like you’re laughing, but i guess standup’s never really been by thing.” rubbing one of his eyes as he spoke, he gave her a tired half-smile-half-wince as he reached into his pocket for his wallet. “sorry - how much to cover another cup?”
( maxence danet-fauvel, cis male, he/him )╰ ✧ ˔ ⭒ magic is in the air ! oh wait - that’s just our newest neighbour, TOULOUSE BONFAMILLE, the TWENTY-THREE year old FREELANCE ARTIST. they’ve been relocated from pastoral city, and so far the locals claim that they’re PROTECTIVE and PENITENT, just like TOULOUSE from THE ARISTOCATS. if you ask me, they seem like the type to enjoy TUSSLED HAIR & PAINT COVERED SHIRTS. apparently, they are REMORSEFUL about entering rome pines, and i don’t think their power of PRECOGNITIVE DREAMING will help them this time. let’s just hope they can adjust to the new neighbourhood…⭒˔ ╮
✎ THE STORY
( this backstory is just working off of the brilliant creativity of marie bonfamille’s, originally written by honey over at @pinkglossed - she’s the one who came up with the basic plotpoints, and i wouldn’t dare take any credit for them ! )
he was a surprise, toulouse bonfamille. the first of three, he was born out of wedlock, the result of a spontaneous romance driven by greed on one side, love on the other - attitudes perfectly reflected in his parent’s approaches towards their son. no one would have ever known that daphné hadn’t originally set out to have a child by the way she treated him, seemingly perfectly suited for motherhood from the word go - though she made plenty of mistakes, as all first-time mothers do, she made up for it with plenty of attention and adoration, and even after the births of his siblings she still found plenty of time to spoil him rotten. edgar, though, was a different story - while he was able to tick the basic parenting boxes, if he ever put in an effort to be a good, caring father, toulouse can’t remember it. towards both his fiancée and children, he was indifferent at best, cruel at worst, and it would be safe to say he was far from distraught when, not long before his eighth birthday, daphné finally packed up their things and moved them out of his childhood penthouse and into the bonfamille estate, leaving edgar behind for good.
toulouse adored his new home. he felt free in the estate - his days were spent running up and down lavishly decorated hallways, shepherding his brother and sister around sunlit gardens, or, his favourite, staring up at his grandmother’s practical gallery of historic paintings. he’d loved art since before anyone could remember, and though he’d often been chastised by edgar for making a mess back in the penthouse, his room in the estate quickly became more akin to a studio, even at his young age. the longer he stayed there, the less he wanted to leave - especially when it came time for his father’s court-permitted visitations. the only time toulouse would ever put up a fight against his mother’s orders was when he had to see edgar, but according to daphné, bad dreams weren’t a good enough reason to get out of it. it would take a few reluctantly sat through visitations for what seemed to be his instinct to be proven right - though still now he wishes it hadn’t been, even if it ended up meaning never having to see him again.
(tw: kidnapping) he was nearly nine years old when his father tried to take the three of them, and it was one of the worst days of his life. he’d put up a good fight at first, trying to channel everything he’d learned and admired about the action heroes he’d had to look up to in edgar’s place, but he was a child going up against a grown man - it was no match. all he could think about was protecting marie and berlioz, so much so that when they were finally returned to daphné and adelaide, he couldn’t fathom why they were making a fuss over him, too, instead of just his siblings like he had been - if he wasn’t already willing to do whatever it took for his brother and sister, that day certainly cemented the fact.
despite everything, there was one good thing that came out of the short abduction: the family could put a name to toulouse’s power. what had once been just a vague sense of deja-vu was finally confirmed to be precognitive dreaming, the ability to see future events, or at least hints to future events in his dreams - but truly, toulouse wasn’t all that impressed. afterall, what good was seeing bad things happen if there was nothing he could do to stop it, especially when his dreams were as vague as they were?
even though all three children came out of the ordeal in one piece, it was clear that it had affected toulouse deeply - in the weeks following, he’d only get a few hours of sleep a night, often too paranoid about leaving the doors and windows unlocked and unwatched, and when he did finally drift off, his restless dreams barely left him feeling rested. he put a lot more effort into trying to appear ‘tough’, in school especially - even years after what had happened, he made sure to surround himself with friends who made him seem more imposing, as afterall, it was a lot easier to keep an eye out for his siblings when he was keeping watch from the top of the foodchain. the self-imposed duty of being the ‘man of the house’ weighed heavily on his shoulders, only made heavier by his lingering guilt that he hadn’t been able to do more to help his siblings when he was a kid - though he was still close with his mother and could happily while away an evening lounging around with or teasing his brother and sister, there were plenty of times that he’d need to seclude himself to avoid snapping at them like he so often did his teachers in school.
unable to properly talk about the kidnapping, not even to his family, the only escape toulouse had was his art - though perhaps not always shown in the subjects of his work, every piece he produced was, truly, a part of him, the weight of the brushstrokes or the carelessness of the colours a snapshot of how he was feeling or what he was thinking about. over the years, it became difficult to find anywhere to even just sit down in his room - what with all the sketchbooks, canvasses, boxes of paints and piles of brushes, the only place someone could relax was his bed, but even then, his dreams, turning more frequently to nightmares, made that difficult, too.
even almost a decade after what had happened, toulouse was still struggling with the weight he was carrying - he hadn’t properly cared about his grades in years, he didn’t seem to have much of a plan for his life after school, and as it became clearer that his powers didn’t have much of a practical application, he simply didn’t know what to do with himself. all of that changed, though, when he met his mother’s new boyfriend - given his only other experience he’d had with a father figure, he’d been more than apprehensive about ‘thomas o’malley’ when daphné first delivered the news, but once they met, it barely took any time at all for him to warm up to the newcomer. thomas was just like the characters he’d spent his childhood trying to replicate, but though he was tough, impressive, he was still sociable, still charming, still kind. despite how short a time he’d been with the family, he ended up being the only one to get toulouse to properly open up about his feelings, and though he helped him stay tough, he helped him mellow out at the same time, as well as gave him the confidence to start putting his paintings out into the world, something he’d only ever really done for friends of his grandmother’s who were looking for portrait artists. even though it was somewhat late in the game, with toulouse being seventeen when they met, he tried to do everything he could to take after and make his new role model, his soon-to-be-step-father, proud.
(tw: death) against all odds, toulouse was actually able to demonstrate a decent turnaround at school, managing to let his walls down in his final year and drawing in friends who liked him for his genuine charm rather than his status in the social hierarchy. he’d spent most of his school years seeing art classes as nothing but a distraction from what he actually wanted to do, but once he started trying to be as passionate in the classroom as when he was at home, he found himself becoming something of a standout to his art teachers, so much so that he not just won himself a few academic awards, but through one of these awards, an invitation to attend a fine arts school in paris. though he’d joke it was a fluke based on his name, he truly wanted nothing more than to accept - if only to make adelaide proud. see, he’d been trying to pay more attention to his dreams, and though they were as vague as ever, he knew there were bad signs - he spent most of his final year of school hanging around his grandmother, if only to be safe, but eventually, his worst fears were proven right. he was just as distraught as the rest of the family when she passed, but what really broke his heart were the reactions of his mother and sister, and though he was supposed to be on a boat bound for france only a couple weeks later, he knew there was no way he could leave them behind.
instead of following in the footsteps of the greats, he chose to stay a kid from a middle-of-nowhere island in the mediterranean - though his personal art was still a release for him, he tried to use his skills to provide for his family, finding odd jobs both around pastoral city and online, doing everything from selling his old art to designing patterns, illustrating kid’s books to painting shop wall murals. though over the next five years he did sometimes reconsider whether or not he’d made the right choice in declining the paris offer, in the end, his desire to be close to his family always won out - eventually, he only moved because there was literally no other choice.
toulouse hadn’t slept well in the weeks leading up to the fire - though he did sometimes get just normal dreams, the catastrophic nature of the ones that kept visiting him were starting to feel far too frequent to be a coincidence. as always, there was nothing he could do when the blaze actually came except for make sure his family were all accounted for - but as he crossed into rome pines, he left not just his home, but his life’s work behind. in his rush to make sure everyone was safe, he neglected to save even a single sketchbook, and the realisation crushed him more than anything else. his canvases had held his growth, his soul - and they’d only served to be kindling.
though he’s managing to keep on as a freelancer, again, something’s shifted - the work he’s getting paid for is the only work he’s managing to finish. every time he’s tried to do something personal, he can’t help but get dragged down by guilt halfway through - though it’s not as if unfinished work is something new, not being able to produce a single finished piece is killing him. he knows there’s not much he could’ve done, but still, he can’t help but feel responsible for the devastation, that he didn’t do more to help people in advance - even with most of the money he’s making going towards those who need it, he doesn’t feel like it’s enough. it’s overwhelming.
he’d say he was burnt out if the irony of the phrase didn’t hurt so much.
✎ THE PERSONALITY
though toulouse has always had a tendency to lean into sarcasm and appearing to not take things too seriously, he is, above all, an incredibly caring soul, no matter how much he tries to hide it. this is perhaps best demonstrated through how seriously he takes the duty of protecting his family, especially his brother and sister - though he would, of course, be the first to make fun of them, being the eldest, he’s the first person someone would have to answer to if they were to wrong either of them. in general, though, he feels a strong sense of responsibility, even for things entirely out of his control, something which mainly manifests itself in guilt.
despite how burdened he feels by his responsibilities, toulouse can be very charming and casual - so long as proper emotional talks are off the table, he can happily while away a day just chatting to someone. though there are times that he does just need to be alone, more often than not he prefers to be by someone else’s side, and he much prefers undertaking new experiences with someone there with him. though he’s mellowed out somewhat since he was a teenager, he does still occasionally try to put up his more tough persona, if only as a safeguard for himself or, more importantly, someone else.
even when he’s acting more laid-back and humourous, he is still quite sensitive to the feelings of others. there are times where it wouldn’t be unfair to call him childish, but this would rarely be high-stakes moments - he’s always very intentional with what he’s saying, what his tone is, and though he can get it wrong sometimes, for the most part, he does his best to keep what he’s adding to a conversation in line with the context of who he’s talking to. even so, he can still be reactionary at times, and occasionally has a bit of a short fuse sort of temper - just because he tries to note what's going on around him doesn't mean he can't jump to wild conclusions.
✎ HEADCANONS
he was given lessons in many different artistic fields as a child, and though painting is obviously the one that stuck, he is a pretty decent singer and knows a fair bit of piano. of all the endeavours he was encouraged to pursue, sculpting is the only one he genuinely grew to loathe - clay just never ended up his friend.
also thanks to his grandmother, he speaks fluent french.
though toulouse is what he introduces himself as and is known as in his family, he isn’t entirely opposed to nicknames - the most common is lou/louie, or some variation of it.
literally incapable of having tidy hair. it’s clean as anything, sure, but it’s always proved to be absolutely impossible to style neatly.
his full name is toulouse matisse bonfamille, but neither of his namesake henris are his favourite artist - he leans more towards the works of théophile steinlen, alfonso ossorio, and joaquín sorolla.
