* ― BROKEN / MARBLE

[mcrbled-blog]

vehcmencias.

––– pierre;

      hushed whispers filled the long austere corridors in the handmaiden’s domain. grim news, revelations she hoped were not true. but whispers, they began to get louder and the louder they got ––– they more frightened she came to be. talks of rationing, of empty bellies and desperation; it became all too much for her to hear. stomach already grumbled, aching for food. a reminder that, she would never come to be filled. not in her childhood, not now. such expectations, they would never come to be. it was the life she was destined to live, the lesser life; unlike the ones of the many that surrounded her. that life, was unattainable; out of her grasp. unable to hear any word of the looming darkness, she distracted herself with the many tasks that still were to be done. knuckles became purple by the force in which she scrubbed, the windows were no longer stained, yet –– she still did her work. she became enthralled in her actions, seeking a way to just forget. but the voice, that voice made her come to a halt as soon as it reached her ears. bright hues glanced at her sides, only to be met with the face of her brother. aghast, she was and no word even left her lips. the cloth she grasped soon fell to cold floors, she was immersed in complete shock and even came to wonder if this was all real. 

“ est-ce vraiment toi? mon frère? ”

                    pierre looked as if he’d just seen a GHOST. and maybe he had, for the face of his long lost sister filled his view. he thought that he was going crazy, it could just be someone that looked like her. but the odds of someone looking exactly like her, from the tiniest detail of her face to the hair on her head––– that was slim to none.  and from the way she reacted to seeing him, pierre knew she wasn’t just some look-a-like. ivory skin seemed to get paler and paler, and chapped lips glued shut even after she’d asked her question. was this real? perhaps it was not, perhaps the opium from the night before still lingered in his system and he was hallucinating. there was only one way to find out. he walked towards her slowly and stiffly, bony hands trembling by his sides. not a single word had been uttered from him. now only a few inches from her face, the painter cautiously lowers his hand onto her shoulder. a heavy breath escapes almost instantly. she was REAL; his sister was no product of his imagination, she was flesh and bone and she was alive. tears of joy sprung from the corners of his eyes as he pulled her into the tightest hug imaginable, his head burying itself in the nook of her neck.     ❛     athenaïs.     ❜     her name is spoken with absolute relief.     ❛     il a été si longtemps―-- j’ai pensé que vous avaient été consommés par la peste.     ❜

[mcrbled-blog]

@incantatcms

                    ❛     mademoiselle―--     ❜     he pushes his door open with his back, one hand holding a fine bottle of wine, one he’d undoubtedly stolen from the kitchen, and the other held his plate of food, beckoning her to come inside with a slight cock of his head. excited was one word to explain how he felt at the moment. nervous was another. it wasn’t an emotion he was used to feeling, but being in the presence of a girl he’d been admiring for weeks could do that to a guy.     ❛     please, make yourself comfortable. eat anywhere you like.     ❜     his courtesy was sincere, though there really was no point. telling her to eat anywhere she’d like didn’t give her much of an option. paintings and sculptures covered basically every place she’d be able to sit, which left her only two choices: a stool by the window or his bed, the latter covered in rumpled sheets from his previous night of uneasy sleep. pierre set his plate down on his bedside table and turned back to the french handmaid with a bright smile on his face.     ❛     i will not tell if you won’t.     ❜     he shoots her a quick wink and continues to pour the blood-like liquid in her glass. icy eyes scan the room, settling on a certain blanketed canvas before returning to midnight orbs, and he says,     ❛     i apologize for the mess, my chamber here is considerably smaller than the one i had at the palace. there is not much space to keep all of my work.     ❜

[mcrbled-blog]

@smileprettychaos.

                    pierre was lounging on the balustrade of the balcony as if he wasn’t a few inches away from falling one hundred feet to his death. but heights never seemed to faze him. in fact, dangling over the edge of balconies was something that appealed to the artist―-- but only if there was something for him to see. and that’s why he was there; to see the rest of palais’s grand architecture, its flourishing gardens and landscaping, and most of all, to watch the sun dip below the HORIZON. his sketchbook lay propped up by his knee, fingers dancing along the paper as they recreated the nature that he saw. he could’ve sat there in silence for hours, but the peace was interrupted by the presence of a stranger. he shot them a short glance before returning to his current creation, hoping that if he ignored her, she’d go away. when she didn’t, he released a small sigh.     ❛     do not worry, i will not fall.     ❜     his words came out blandly, only spoken to relieve him of unwanted company.

[mcrbled-blog]

@vehcmencias.

                   ever since news of the rationing had spread, the walls of the palais foncé were buzzing with hushed chatter. people of all ranks were spilling through the corridors―-- ROYALTY complaining that there’d only be three chickens instead of five at dinner and servants wallowing in despair as they realize that half of their already small meal would be gone. but pierre was not thinking about the lack of food in his belly. the only thing he could think about was how awfully familiar the maid scrubbing the windows looked. he could only see her from the side and every time he caught a small glimpse of her face, pierre swore that he’d seen her before. he’d only been watching her for a minute or so before his patience ran thin; curiosity had that effect on him. he began to walk towards her, his stomach feeling more and more queasy as if each step he took made it easier for him to recognize who she was. he stopped a few feet away from where she stood.     ❛     mademoiselle?     ❜

[mcrbled-blog]

BASICS –––  

full name: pierre mathieu deschamps

is named after his dad’s childhood dog lol

date of birth: november 19, 1813

is totally a scorpio my b

age: thirty-two

city of birth: paris

it’s kind of a love and hate relationship. he definitely has a lot of terrible memories in paris but like, it’s where he grew up. he knows the place like the back of his hand and wouldn’t have been able to be where he is now if he hadn’t been there

country of birth: france

occupation or position: court painter

not royal at all but he’s still pretty high up there in terms of staff

marital status: single

never been in an actual relationship as in, never put a label on anything. he a hoe btw but he’s an obsessive hoe so beware

sexuality: heterosexual

perhaps a little heteroflexible

gender identity: cismale

religion: roman-catholic

not practicing, like there are barely any religious figures in his work

RELATIONSHIPS –––

number of siblings: one

he has one baby sis

order of birth: eldest

parent’s ain’t really give two shits bout them so as the eldest, pierre kinda raised his lil sister on his own

relationship with father: henri philippe deschamps

was a con-artist so basically he tricked people into thinkin he was the shit or whatever and took a lot of people’s money lmao

terrible father

never supported pierre’s dream to be an artist

aint really like his kids tbh

at least he was loyal to his wife lol

relationship with mother: henriette renée deschamps

lmao kind of married henri bc their names match

had pierre as a mistake but decided she wanted one more child she wouldn’t take care of and out came his younger sis

henri’s assistant during his cons

not loyal to him, slept around a lot but #yolo ig

kind of loves her kids but like.. still crappy mum

pierre’s talent for the arts came from her

relationship with siblings: athenaïs émilie deschamps

practically raised her

incredibly protective over her

his life kind of revolved in making sure she had a good one

she was the one that convinced him to follow his dreams as an artist

after he attended the royal academy, they started to drift apart

when he started his job as court painter, they lost touch completely

uh

ang st

PHYSICAL –––

height: 5′8″

weight: 165 lbs

eye color: blue

but like bright blue you feel

hair color:  light blonde

think his character off of kill your darlings

natural hair texture: straight, a lil floppy

body build: kinda lanky but still #cute

prominent features (scars, freckles, etc.): scar under his chin

very faint, pretty small

got it when he was 12. he was playing with his sister and definitely fell on his ass in the street or sum

accent: french accent

laughing bc i can totally imagine his accent being like joseph gordon levitt’s impersonation of a french accent BUT imma just say he sounds like ur typical french dude

speech: smooth and flowy

pierre’s good with words idk the guy knows how to charm people

pretty vivid when it comes to his word choice. he’s an artist so i mean

can stutter a lil bit when he’s nervous

also repeats himself a lot when he’s nervous lmao

general health: eh health

i mean he’s not bouta die or anything but he is an opium user so

PERSONALITY –––

habits: 

carries his sketchbook everywhere

pierre never leaves his studio without his sketchbook. it’s how he’s been since he was like... a fetus

staring

he has this habit of staring at people for uncomfortably long periods of time. if he sees something he likes, whether it be someone’s eyes, hair, body structure, idk anything really, he shamelessly stares at them and draws them in his sketchbook. he’s not even embarrassed if they catch him either, idk the guy is weird

a pencil tucked behind his left ear

i specified “left ear” because surprise pierre is left-handed. but yeah, just like his sketchbook, pierre could never be seen without a pencil and if it’s not in his hand, it’s generally behind his ear

hobbies: 

painting

kind of self explanatory. he likes painting, drawing, sculpting, all of that shiz with the fine arts. but no seriously, it’s all he really does and he spends hours in his studio working on his art

taking long walks

mhmm pierre is that guy. he’s very much an aesthete, so looking at flowers and the landscape is just a thing he likes to do. before the plague, he’d wander off to the city and just walk around

morning routine:

wakes up butt naked. his bed is also messy as hell because pierre moves a lot in his sleep

bathes every morning. before his job at the palace, pierre never experienced that because back then, it was “something only the upper class could do” so now that he even has access to it, he takes advantage of it

counts every single one of his paintings to make sure they’re all there. some of his work was stolen way back when so ever since then, he counts them all every morning lmao

cleans his brushes and palette

before he leaves his chambers, he covers his work that isn’t ready. he doesn’t wanna risk anyone walking in and seeing the “atrocity” lmAO

nightly routine: 

looks over all the things he created and like... he makes hella sketches every day not even gonna lie. he chooses which ones he’d like to paint on canvases

cleans his brushes and palette AGAIN because he sucks

lays in bed naked and draws some more bc y not

barely gets any sleep because an hour of drawing turns into like four

skills: 

painting, drawing, etc.

well duh. he’s just really good at being an artist??? he’s particularly skilled in portrait painting and body sculpting

pick-pocketing

fetus pierre was highkey a street rat and learned how to pick-pocket before he could even draw

persuasive & charming

he’s good with words. beware

observant

he can pick up on a lot of things because he’s creepy and basically watches people for a living

can play the lute

his parents could play so he learned by watchin them. sometimes as kid he’d play in the street for some money

SIGNATURES –––

theme song: super psycho love by simon curtis

strengths: intuitive, discreet, charismatic

weaknesses: volatile, obsessive, paranoid

what would be in their trunk?: a broken paint brush

his first ever paint brush

sister got it for him for his 11th birthday

broke it on the same day bc he accidentally sat on it lol

still keeps it to this day as a way to remember her

[mcrbled-blog]

nikotova.

there is something to be said about the swedish princess’ anger. she a storm approaching a small village. rumbling an ominous sound as dark clouds form overhead. you know she’s coming. yet the only reason you know, is because she lets you. thunder and rain surround her, her emotions everywhere. and then all at once she snaps. lightening sets everything ablaze. and not everyone can escape her fire unscathed.the painter. 

tova is fuming. servants stumble out of her way as she rushes through the corridor. her skirts follow in a trail behind her. it’s such a soft color or someone feeling anything but soft. the whole kristoffer situation was really starting to frustrate her. she already took out her anger on kristoffer, but that did nothing more than split them apart. but this paint. this artist had another thing coming.

her hair, usually in a neat braid was wild. strands of caramel hair flew in her face and she didn’t bother to move it out of the way. her pale cheeks were red with fury. and her eyes- oh her eyes, had never held such emotion in them before. she was feeling everything at once: anger, fear, sadness, and a touch of loneliness. anyone who supported kristoffer’s habit was dead to her.

tova was about to yell at a servant to open the chamber door, but she stopped and opened it herself. her skirts moved for a moment and then halted, waiting for her to move again. she scanned the room, before noticing the painter. “you,” she spat. she didn’t care how she looked or how she acted. she cared about her brother. the princess surged forward, her usual soft and dainty hands curling around the painter’s collar. she advanced forward until she pushed him against the wall. she wanted it to hurt. she had never felt such anger before. what was wrong with her? her hands began shaking. “tell me why i shouldn’t end your life now?”

@mcrbled

                    flowers were beginning to bloom in the gardens, the weather was getting warmer, and sunlight had split apart a cloud and streamed in through the studio’s enormous window. all seemed at PEACE for pierre as he sat contently on his stool, his focus glued on his most recent piece of artwork―-- and then she happened. a certain storm came bursting through his door. the sudden eruption made him stand up almost immediately, his eyes widening with confusion and oddly enough, interest. he slowly started to back away from the charging bull and knocked over a cup of red paint in the process. thick crimson was spreading through the crevices of his tile floor and staining some of the portrait’s he’d had lying around. usually he’d throw a fit about that, but he was too busy getting wrung by the neck to notice.

                    a low gargle vibrated in his throat as he collided against the wall, his eyes only widening when the woman spat out her question. at first, he had no idea what she was talking about and opened his mouth to say so, but suddenly, it hit him. being so close to the woman―-- albeit their intimate proximity was not exactly birthed from good circumstances--― allowed the artist to have a clear view of her eyes. they were burning holes into his own yet he couldn’t stop himself from noticing their beauty. aquamarine orbs contained a wildness that matched its owner, and pierre swore that in every fleck of color in her iris lay the oceans, lakes, and rivers all at once. her eyes were an ARTIST’S DREAM. but they also reminded him of a certain swedish king, and that’s when he realized where her familiarity stemmed from.

                    pierre’s features were now softened by wonder rather than fear. he peered at her curiously, a glaze shrouding over his sapphire orbs.     ❛     you have the most stunning eyes.     ❜     he whispered breathlessly. perhaps not the best thing to say considering her current emotional state, but pierre had already forgotten all about that. still pressed up against the wall, pierre continued to ramble on.     ❛     do you happen to know what color they are? blue, green, perhaps both? i am in favor of the latter, however i still cannot seem to put my finger on it. it is as if they are a color of their own, really. please, do tell, would you ever be open to modeling them for a piece of mine? i’m painting the greek goddess APHRODITE but i cannot find a suitable shade for her eyes, though i think yours would do perfectly.     ❜ 

[mcrbled-blog]

@ofpsvches.

                    electricity seemed to be flashing inside the artist’s eyes as they moved frantically back and forth from his canvas to the sweden king. the brush in his hand danced along the coarse cloth, dipping occasionally into small sections of paint he’d laid out on his palette. he could barely think with the opium lacing itself in his brain, but oddly enough, it seemed like his work was even more creative when he was high off his ass.     ❛     wait, wait it’s wrong―-- there’s something wrong.     ❜     he exclaimed, baby-blue orbs staring widely at his current model. he immediately stopped painting and tucked the brush behind his left ear then continued to stumble towards kristoffer until he was right smack dab in front of him. pierre bent over the sitting man and grabbed the crown on his head, moving it only an inch to the left. he moved back slowly, each step leading to a wider and wider smile, and finally, he sprinkled his fingers in the other’s direction.     ❛     fantastique! i fixed it.     ❜

[mcrbled-blog]

mcnsuns.

pierre ( @mcrbled​ ) 

luna’s small strides made her took her time to reach the library. after finding the library, she ceased to go around and explore and so if you asked her directions, she would not be the most helpful person to ask. her hanbok scraped through the cement as she continued to walk towards the marveled hall. 

the korean princess — despite the new environment — was able to shut out the feeling of out of place in this place with books. she had met a couple of others with same interests as her but she had to admit, she missed home. and she had a feeling that her being homesick was just because she had not gotten accustomed to the palace that served as her temporary home so she decided to loiter for a bit. 

what she didn’t expect was her face staring back at her. a room where other beauties were put up in walls, what caught her attention was her face and how it was in the palace. then she remembered. she recalled how he stroked his paintbrush on the canvass like the way his fingers trailed around her body. but it was not admiration that fueled her emotion right now, it was bitter anger. 

so when the door opened behind her, hazel eyes met azure ones. and she swore that for today, she could smash the butterflies in her stomach to let her face change from surprised to slight anger.

                    his valet de chambre was private. it was the place where he’d sleep and eat. it was where he’d spend hours at a time painting on canvas after canvas, his wrist and fingers aching but never stopping in fear that if he did, the image he’d had in his head would disappear. pierre was very protective over his studio. there were things in there that he didn’t see as ready for peering eyes—-- or rather, there were somethings he just didn’t want people to see, period. so when the young artist came across his door slightly cracked open, his first reaction was to throw it open with a loud “thud” and face the intruder with rather stern words. 

                    ❛     excuse me, but i don’t thi—-     ❜     his sentence was cut off short after the woman turned around. wide sapphires stared back at her in shock, his mouth agape and at a loss for words. he expected to see her at least once at the palais foncé because of the tides of royals spilling through france’s doors, but he hadn’t expected this to be their reunion. 

                    after a moment or two of awkward staring, pierre finally took a step back and bowed deeply before the crown princess.     ❛     apologies, your highness. i did not realize it was you.     ❜     her title seemed almost FOREIGN on his tongue. he wasn’t used to calling her anything other than her name.     ❛     may i ask what has brought you here? perhaps you are lost, or were you looking for me?     ❜     the latter he doubted, though after a quick glance at a certain portrait behind her, pierre had an inkling that she’d have more than a few questions for him.

[mcrbled-blog]

incantatcms.

               skirts were damp from the freshly cleaned floor and fingertips were pruned from that rag she’d been squeezing for at least an hour. she, to herself, hardly seemed like a sight to behold with stray hairs framing her face and previously white apron stained with soot and dirt. usually éponine would be scolded for presenting herself in such a manner, but everything here moved so quickly that the servant had no time to clean herself up so frequently. the small looks in hallway mirrors in passing were the only times she was able to criticize her own appearance and at least attempt to maintain herself. it was not so much of a worry anymore though. her job was to uphold the palace, not serve as a portrait for wandering eyes. 

              the man before her seemed nervous- as if he was attempting to cover the fact that he hadn’t been watching her. perhaps he was ashamed to be talking to some lowly servant stained by the floors she was trying to clean. he did not look like someone of her status, yet he did not look as if he were of a high nobility either, but éponine assumed he wouldn’t be offended by her image… or maybe he was since he refused to make eye contact. no matter, the girl was too prideful to simply walk away with the thought that a person did not want to speak with her for such a foolish reason. 

              he looked a bit older than herself, but still childlike in some sense. a sweet face, though people said the same about her while her true self was anything but. he finally responded, éponine’s grin melting into more of a genuine smile as to involuntarily try to sooth his seemingly anxious self. “ah,” she stated with a small nod of complete understanding. “time does have a habit of escaping myself as well. i assumed i was to be finished at seven, though it is now half past eight…” her stomach lurched an interruption to her words to remind her of how her last meal had been yesterday night, but she tried to ignore it as always. however, it did answer the stranger’s question. 

              “well, famished might be a bit much, but… i am quite hungry. it is of no importance though. shall i fetch your dinner, monsieur? if you tell me which chambre is your own, i could deliver your meal to your room so you’ve no trouble.” maybe an unusual offer, though this is what her previous master trained to her to do. needless to say, they were rather lazy but they did engrain a hospitable work ethic in her. 

                    his mind went HAYWIRE at her proposal. he didn’t know whether to accept, but oh did he want to accept, or to decline. the thought of her having to do more work for him didn’t feel right. not just because she was his current object of worship, but also because pierre could sympathize with the handmaiden. he hadn’t always been in the lucky position he was in now. years ago, he’d been in the same spot as her; viewed as mere filth to others above his station, which at the time was practically everyone, and scrubbing away everyone else’s mess. the dirty halls of the palais foncé was to éponine as greasy pots and pans were to pierre.

                    he offered her a gentle smile and shook his head lightly. bright blue eyes finally settled onto her onyx ones, though he couldn’t help his occasional glances to the floor.     ❛     no, no, you do not have to do that. you have probably been working all day, i should not keep you from your meal any longer.     ❜     he thought about just leaving it at that. a few simple words then AU REVOIR. but perhaps it was something that suddenly sparked in the blonde, or maybe someone had spiked his drink earlier, but instead of continuing in the direction of the grand hall, pierre decided to propose another unusual idea. 

                    ❛     or perhaps you would like to dine with me? only if you haven’t anywhere else to be, of course.     ❜     there was a slight tremor in his voice as he spoke.     ❛     no need to fetch the food on your own, i would be more than welcome to help you.     ❜     he added, his hands moving in circles with his words. he’d had his eyes on her for a weeks now. he would’ve been utterly disappointed in himself if he had let this perfect opportunity slip from his hands.     ❛     also,     ❜     he started, his eyes brightening at his next set of words,     ❛     i have been working on a few pieces and i would love it if i could get some new opinions on them.     ❜ 

                    he wasn’t lying, pierre was working on a few new pieces, one notably a sculpture, but even if éponine had given him some productive criticism, it was highly doubtful that he would’ve actually taken it into account. taking advice from people who weren’t artists themselves was not something he did. his PRIDE in his work and achievements were far too great to be belittled by those he considered amateurs. he’d only mentioned his art to her in hopes that maybe it would spike her interest.

[mcrbled-blog]

incantatcms.

these halls were far busier than those of the french palace in paris. as there were more people residing in the palais foncé, there was more traffic and as a result, more filth that éponine had to scrub. she knew of other servants who seemed almost glad to be on their hands and knees with a damp rag in their hands, but she certainly was nothing close to that. of course, she didn’t scowl like this in front of royalty or noblemen as to save her own job. working on a particularly stubborn patch that seemed to be embedded on the almost glistening floors, éponine’s nose scrunched a bit as she added more force to the movements of her rag. a few moments later, the girl leaned back on her knees for a quick break, wiping her forehead with her forearm as she allowed her eyes to wander away from the wooden boards for a change in scenery. 

and there he was. the court’s painter seemed to be like some shadow of hers. she, however, thought that his presence was always some odd coincidence rather than a deliberate move of his. the corner of her lips tugged into a hint of a smirk at the realization of her company and she continued her chore, harshly rubbing the rag in small circles before finally ridding the floors of it’s stain within another minute. finally, she was free of her duties for the time being. now, she could go fetch her dinner which was long overdue, or she could finally speak to this man who she’s been noticing this past week. 

standing and brushing her skirt off, éponine finally turned to face him with that same small grin. “hello monsieur, i thought everyone was dining, have you decided not to join them in the grand hall?”

@mcrbled

                    there she was. with olive skin that glowed beneath the spilt light through the windows and long, ebony tresses running effortlessly down her back, éponine ruan was a sight to see; a GODDESS dressed in even a servant’s clothes still looked nothing less of a goddess. the young artist tried not to make a habit out of following her, for he knew that eventually she’d notice, but it was quite hard for him to stop something that he’d already started. he couldn’t help it—-- she was his muse. ever since he’d laid eyes on her all those weeks ago, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. his mind just wouldn’t rid itself of the image of her face. whenever he came in contact with a pencil and paper, she would be the outcome. he didn’t know what it was, but just like how it’s been with all of his previous muses, there was something about them that sent pierre’s thoughts into a frenzy. 

                    he thought she hadn’t noticed him. he thought “thank god” and swore to himself that this would be the last time: the last time he’d go wandering around looking for her with a sketchbook in his hand. but as always, pierre’s self-made promises wouldn’t be kept and the assumption that she hadn’t seen him was incorrect. before he could force himself to walk the other way, the handmaiden was suddenly standing right in front of him, a small grin plastered across her face. pierre’s first instinct was to merely smile back and hopefully avoid having to make conversation, but when she spoke, it was clear to him that he could no longer keep postponing their meeting. 

                    he cleared his throat with a rough “ahem”.     ❛     i seem to have lost track of time in my chambre, but i’m going there now.     ❜     a lie. he’d been there since she’d started working on that stubborn stain on the floor, but he hoped she didn’t know that. he shot her a small smile but his eyes still wouldn’t meet hers.     ❛     and you, mademoiselle? i’m assuming you’re quite famished from that task i see you’ve just finished.     ❜

[mcrbled-blog]

♛   ❛   ―   PIERRE DESCHAMPS

dane dehaan, thirty-two. have you by chance seen pierre deschamps, the court painter of france? he is in favor of forming alliances during the plague and continues to work for the benefit of their homeland. they are said to be cordial and visionary, yet can be neurotic and imprudent. in the palais foncé, they are known as the connoisseur.

hey guys, star again! i’m that one nitwit that played mei but lost muse for her in like, a day?? yes, i’m terrible i know BUT i have come with a new muse, pierre deschamps. if you’d like to plot then hmu bro cause i’m open to just about anything 

his parents were con-artists. he’s the eldest of two children and has one younger sister(wanted connection), whom he basically raised on his own. growing up, they didn’t have a lot of money and the little bit of cash they had, his parents would spend on drinking and partying. they lived in paris, and though being in the city seemed like a dream for most people at that time, pierre had a pretty miserable and tough childhood. he’d stand outside for hours selling newspapers or pickpocket strangers for extra cash. if he didn’t get enough to feed both him and his sister, he’d give his portions to her. wasn’t exactly an ideal way of life.

his only solace was art. pierre would always feel a sense of comfort whenever he picked up a pencil and started drawing. in his free time, he’d sit in the street with his sketchbook and start sketching random things he saw. his talent for it had great potential even at a young age.

he’d been working as a baker until he turned 18, in which he decided to apply for the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture, aka, the Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture. he didn’t have the money to pay for it but he managed to get a scholarship and attended the school for a good while. he was an incredible student, his talent was well-known amongst his peers and one of his sculptures even got exhibited in the Salon. but nothing really every stays good for pierre so he got kicked out the school after a jealous student(wanted connection maybe???) framed him for stealing someone’s artwork. yay. 

he was living on his own by then, in a tiny ass flat in the city. he’d separated from his parents years ago and he and his sister kind of lost contact after he decided to go to the academy. his life seemed hopeless tbh. but one day, while he was busy drinking and sulking, a guy wrote him a letter inviting him to the royal palace. yeah, turns out the guy was the court painter for the royal family. he asks pierre to be his apprentice bc apparently after seeing his work at the salon, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. unrealistic?? pure luck??? idk but nonetheless, pierre accepted.

pierre was his apprentice until he died in 1839. afterwards, he became the official court painter and transitioned from living in a dusty old flat to having his own studio at the palace, where he also slept. you can imagine how psyched he was about all of that lmao. his only dream in life was to be a successful artist and he achieved it out of pure talent and well, luck.

after the plague hit, pierre wasn’t really worried about people dying, per say, but more like “oh man everyone’s dying what if no one gets to see my work” LMAO. his #1 priority is fame and wealth. he’s obsessed with climbing to the top and if there wasn’t anyone to see him do it, then all his life’s work would be a waste. so yeah, he’s pretty egotistic. he really does think he’s the shit bc of his current occupation

is incredibly obsessive???? particularly when it comes to his muses. im pretty sure he has different sketchbooks for every muse that he’s had tbh lmao. once he gets a muse, it’s like they have this strong ass hold on him, you know? he wouldn’t even have to know them personally and he’ll still fall in love with them. he’d be falling in love with painting them; their looks, their ambience, thEIR FEET. just everything. it’s actually really unhealthy behavior and pierre probably needs to work on it a little bit but uh yeah. his current muse would be the lovely eponine ruan, who he’s been stalking for like a week now lmao. but i’d love some previous muses(wanted connection) for him js

he’s generally a pretty amiable guy. a little bit on the quiet side, but he gives off a really gentle demeanor. definitely not a fighter so if someone tries to dual him it’s over for. can be a bit reckless?? really reckless actually??? he acts without thinking sometimes and it can get him in trouble a lot.

has never been in an actual relationship. he’s been too busy obsessing over drawing, painting, and sculpting people that he’s never learned what it actually means to be in love with someone. he’s oblivious when it comes to actual romance and will probably just ignore you if you’re flirting with him. 9/10 he doesn’t even know what flirting looks like LMAO. however, he has had a lot of sex with like.. a lot of people??? mostly his muses not even gonna lie. however, i do believe that in some point in his life, probably before he became the court painter, pierre was real close to actually loving someone but idek he’s a little shit so it didn’t work out(wanted connection).

can usually be found in his little studio. most of his artwork was left behind at the palace and after relocating to the palais, pierre was ordered to save only the important pieces. aka, paintings and sculptures of the royal family. whispers but he definitely brought all of his old sketchbooks and one really important painting. so... if anyone wanted to plot w me about who was in this really important painting... hmu.. *eye emoji*

not exactly nobility but he’s pretty high up there in terms of the staff. 

ok so honestly he doesn’t really care about the royal’s “alliance” business. in fact, he tries hard to stay out of their affairs. all he really cares about is making his art well-known. one of the only good things that pierre sees coming out of this whole situation is that since he IS the painter for the french court, and well, royal families from all over europe have come TO THE FRENCH COURT, he’s probably been asked to make a lot of pieces to idk, “remember this moment in history”. so yes, you can definitely see him sitting away from everyone else during dinner so that he can paint them all eating.

[hermiunes]