Occupation: Fight Organizer for The Reserve / Pro-boxer / Owner of Midnight Rounds Gym
Birthday: December 5th, 1990 (Sagittarius)
Faceclaim: David Corenswet
Hometown: The French Quarter, New Orleans
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Character Inspiration: Gambit (X-men), Neal Caffrey (White Collar), Klaus Hargreeves ( The Umbrella Academy), Danny Ocean (Oceans’ Eleven), Jay Kulina (Kingdom)
tldr;
– PIERRE MADDOX was born and raised in New Orleans’ French Quarter, growing up on grit and the chaos of the streets. Boxing pulled him out of back-alley scraps and into the spotlight, and by 20 he was a pro. After a whirlwind marriage in his mid-twenties, Pierre left his career behind, shocking the public who expected him to defend his titles. With his marriage ending in divorce over a year ago, Pierre has now decided to return to the boxing ring - adding in that his family now created their own crime syndicate where he feels right at home and fits right in with his boxing gym, Midnight Rounds. Pierre’s sharp-witted and dangerously charming, a showman who knows how to play a crowd but behind the grin is a man who’s lost more than he’ll ever admit.
READ BELOW for fun facts, biography, possible connections.
IMPORTANT & random facts
born and raised in NOLA. a single mother after his father (bailey shepherd) left when he found out that she was pregnant in his early twenties
incredibly streets smart but blessed with a big brain that helped him incredibly with his boxing career (think fast, hit faster)
at 20 years old began his pro-boxing career: known for being a ruthless southpaw and having incredibly showmanship which made him a fan-favorite fairly quickly
that’s how he ended up in New York; fame and money something he didn’t quite understand but also cared for, he liked fighting, in a lot of ways it was all he knew.
in his mid-twenties met his now ex-wife, Zeina Syed-Kerr. they have been divorced for a year now and separated for longer
retired his pro-boxing career because he wanted to truly start a family, things sadly didn’t work out in his favor so after being aimless for a while, he has now decided to return to the boxing rings as he begins a new journey as a fight organizer for The Reserve
has a curated playlist for everyday of the week at Midnight Rounds
risk-taker with charm for days but laughs in dangerous situations
has a tattoo of a snake all over his arm, got it in Las Vegas as soon as he moved away from home
loves threatening people with gators for some reason
speaks English and Cajun French
he loves: winning against impossible odds, jazz music from home, street food at 3 a.m, cheap whiskey in expensive glasses, people who can keep up with his banter, sazerac
he hates: debt, pity, peanut butter, people who play it safe, silence
the biggest timbaland fan. his playlists are all club hits from before 2014 and local jazz bands from back home, some elvis sprinkled in there. also his bocing song was and is I believe from the movie “Honey”
Somehow, amidst the fog of emotions that clung to the corners of this apartment, she laughed. He said he could sell just about anything and she'd laughed. A sound that nearly sounded foreign stemming from her lips in the space that hadn't heard it in days. While it was genuine, and real, it wasn't one that lasted. Fading slowly as brown eyes dropped to his hands over her own.
She didn't move yet, as though the touch anchored her in place similarly to what she was previously utilizing the cup for. It was filled in a moment that stretched through silence before she let go, transferring the possession from herself to him before her hands fell to her lap and her gaze lifted to meet his.
Somewhere between her contract at The Reserve, Pierre had gone from a friend to a playful flirtation to now something comforting? Probably any and all of the above. While Gianna had grown accustomed to independence all her life, the smallest hand off of a cup seemed to stretch into an enormous gesture. Whatever it meant, she'd come to trust him wholeheartedly.
"Pierre." Barely above a whisper, as her gaze shifted over his features, her eyes softening behind the sting of tears behind the wall she normally built up. But they hadn't fallen, for somewhere she'd run out of the means for them to go beyond a burn. "Thank you for coming." She didn't say it was the first time she'd meant those words in a week, didn't feel as though she had to. "Um, you know where everything is." In the kitchen, that was.
Pierre's gaze flicked between her eyes and their hands on the cup she was holding onto until she finally let go. He recognized the shock of her loss not only in her face, but in the way her body moved, like something made her uncomfortable. Although he didn't know much about mourning, loss was something he was familiar with. He wished he could make a joke and make her laugh like he normally would; but he was aware that something that simple wasn't enough this time.
It was his turn to use the cup to keep his hands busy as an effort to give her space when her words settled in his chest. It was normal, but not expected that she even had to say the words to him. He would be there for her as much as she allowed him to be, however that looked. In the midst of the chaos that other people could consider their relationship if they knew everything about it, one thing was clear to him - they were there for each other. "Like I know my own." He said easily, offering her a warm smile.
He then moved to the kitchen sink, beginning to wash the cup. "'Was thinking I could make you some food. I know Ellie's been giving away lasagna, so I figured you could use a break from that." He called out from the kitchen as he began looking for ingredients in her pantry, trying to figure out what he could make for her and her friend, Yves. Again, he couldn't fix it all for her, but he couldn't imagine what it was like to have to sleep in a place that you shared with someone that was now gone. He could offer her some comfort in the form of warm, homemade food, company and a pillow fort.
Nan was glad that Pierre was a different type of protective. She smiled at him, pleased with his words. Though she scoffed in defense at his comment on her technique. "I am getting better!" She exclaimed as she had not really been an official fist fight before so didn't really know how she was supposed to punch until Pierre started teaching her. "No spaghetti arms in the building today." Nan liked to call it that when she was loose instead of decisive like you were supposed to be apparently. She moved to her bag where she had her gloves which she'd doodled on one night when she got bored. "Thanks, Pepe for not being weird, by the way." She shared with a soft smile as she slid on the gloves and moved towards one of the punching bags.
People healed in different ways. That was something extremely important for Pierre, specifically. He was in a sport where it wasn't necessarily easy to take a break and even if he could, the thought of not being able to deal with things his own way made him uneasy. If this was what Nan needed to process what had happened to her, he would give it to her. Be the eldest brother he never had a chance to be for her. "Listen," he watched her a only a few seconds before breaking his silence and then moved to stand behind the punching bag to begin her training. "I'm not saying you should talk about it with me, but don't forget to talk to someone, okay?"
"matcha?" that was the general consensus on the stuff: it tasted like grass. fidan had to agree, unless really masked with coffee, milks, or syrups. with pierre shifting forward rather than get comfortable the brunette began to wonder if there was a different reason for his visit rather than a social call. the prison comment had her eyes taking in the space of her living room, clearly a tease, but when she spoke the words were a little too flat. "define what a prison is." while she knew her home wasn't one, it was the aftermath of the bomb threat that had her weary in her own space. she had a feeling he was getting to something else but she avoided it, tried to derail that. "hmm." head slowly moving back in forth in a nod as she digested the information. "and is everyone? safe? are all your friends and loved ones ok?"
"No, it's a coffee, but I'm not sure what's in it." Pierre admitted. Was a dirty matcha something that existed? Maybe, who knew. Not Pierre. He eyed her teasingly, "A prison of your own making? Explain." He had been conditioned to understand and never shy away from adversity. Despite his adoption into a family that understood him and raised him as their own, Pierre had lost his biological mother at a young age when she went to prison, by the time she was out, he was an adult. They were still in contact, but very few kids could forget how it all had happened. His aunt's family, the complete opposite of his mother's humble home in the Bayou in NOLA, had been a blessing - but not a fix it all. Although it often felt like that. And even Rosalie and Conrad had never stopped, so how could he? "As safe as one can be when there are people setting up random bombs at private events and setting fire to, again, private property. Are you?" Safe, that was.
𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 the mention of alix, who selin basically hero worshipped. “i don’t know, i just don’t picture you eating sugar. you give off rice and chicken vibes, like those gym guys. no shade.” she waved her hands with a chuckle. “i’m not saying you’re bland. but i also know being a fighter takes discipline.” not that selin was one to talk about discipline. the most she ever committed to was the occasional pilates class. “of course i will, pierre. that’s actually why i came,” she admitted. “listen, whatever happened between you and zei…that’s not my place. but i wanted you to know i still consider you—” she paused, “—my brother-in-law. or…former. honorary. something like that.” a quiet huff of amusement. “you know what i mean. i really loved when we were all a big family. and just because things changed doesn’t mean i’m going to pretend you don’t matter to me.”
her lips pressed together briefly, then she squinted up at the overhead lights with a grimace. “god, the lighting in here is brutal,” she muttered, already digging through her bag for sunglasses. “i also wanted to check on you,” she added. “after the fires. i heard nan got hurt…i need to text her, but my screen’s been killing me.” concussion perks, apparently. she wrinkled her nose. it was a travesty.
Pierre smiled slowly at her words. It did mean a lot to him. Even if he and Zeina had called it quits, after trying for so long, Pierre never wanted to forget that they had once been family. Through it all, he would be there for Zeina or her family in a heartbeat if she ever needed him to, if they allowed him to. Though Selin had stayed in Turkey for all of their relationship, he had treated her like a younger sister for years and that wouldn't just change because Pierre and her sister were divorced. There were more boundaries now, he assumed, but he would be there for as long as she wanted him to.
He looked up at the offending light, "Don't worry, I won't let anyone try anything in this lighting." And by that, he meant that no one was allowed to take any photos. Unless it was Selin, obviously. He nodded and then shrugged, offering her a small, comforting smile. "I am okay. Nan is too, she forced me to train her just a couple days after the fire, which means she's still annoying, but I think that's her duty as the youngest, so who am I to blame her?" Pierre mumbled easily. "I brought you some food, I know with all your siblings being doctors they may not let you eat anything that isn't jello, but you and I were never big on following rules, right?"
" lose my shit ? do i not look like the epitome of calm and serenity ? " lips curled into a small grin through he supposed pierre was probably linked to him in more ways than one being able to tell when the other was upset. " i'm okay it just -- sucks that there is no rhyme or reason to what pantheon is doing. its like saw -- you ever seen saw ? " he couldn't believe pantheon was jigsaw, he wondered if he also had the tricycle. " no , i think she would've gotten more hurt if she just stood there. so something must've clicked. she's an adult , i shouldn't worry but i worry. "
"you haven't looked the epitome of calm and serenity a single day in your life? Your tone of voice is the opposite of that." Pierre told him with a small laugh. It was something that he noticed about most people though - their voices, how fast they talked. But rarely even commented on. "Yeah, I know jigsaw, who do you take me for? And just so you know, he had a reason - he only killed people who he thought didn't deserve to live because of how they lived. Egotistical, sure, but he had a reason." Which couldn't be said about Pantheon, no, this was way bigger, way more closed off. Pierre nodded, "nothing wrong with looking after family, Francisco. Are you okay?"
While he was undeniably effective he'd never been the most proactive within The Reserve. Generally sticking to carrying out his role and thinking nothing else of what anyone else within the organisation was doing. But the fires had made carrying on with that mindset foolish. With two of their members dead and more injured it didn't make sense to remain entirely on the fringes, not when he felt as though he might have something valuable to offer in terms of keeping the rest of them safe. Temperament meant he wasn't particularly close to anyone but that didn't mean he wanted any more of them dead. The head of security had seemed like a sensible choice, figuring he had something of value to offer. "Now a good time?" A pause before he continued, figuring it best to explain his appearance when the pair didn't have an extensive rapport. "Thought I could go over some of the vulnerabilities in our buildings. Or at least where I'd hit if I was trying to get into them."
There was no such thing as overthinking for Pierre Maddox. As a boxer, he was never one to mistake his wins for luck, but rather he studied his opponent to be certain of a win. Studying them didn't mean learn all their moves, but what made them who they were, what weakness he could exploit. Most thought of him as a retired boxer who had only won by being strong, but underneath his laid-back persona, the reason why he had never lost throughout his career was solely that he never gave up. He looked up from his laptop, where he'd been replaying the cctv footage again and again, probably a waste of time, but it was more to remember every movement that the arson suspect had made, referencing anything he could. "We're in a tough spot if you already have a list," Pierre joked lightly, but gestured for the other man to sit across from him as he opened his candy drawer. "You a chocolate or gummy guy? There's a wrong answer, just so you know."
Nan felt the need to put her energy into something. She had tried all the regular things of flower arranging, crocheting, knitting, embroidering, making cute little bracelets, but she wanted something with a little more impact to it. Going to the gym and training with Pierre, although she'd made a small fuss about it with Francis, had been something she'd been enjoying. Of course it was nice to bond with Pierre over too, but also it felt like she was getting energy out that was a little angrier. She put her bag down and looked to her brother, "Before you tell me to go home, I've been cleared so I can totally train again. So pretty please can you not act like I'm a delicate dandelion that is going to blow away in the breeze." Nan may be putting words or thoughts to the expression she was being given, but also she felt like Francis wouldn't be happy with just how scraped up she was going to do something that could potentially hurt her further so hopefully Pierre would not care that much.
Pierre only chuckled at her defensive words before he'd even said anything. He understood Francis and his protectiveness. These were crazy times - people that he had never seen lose themselves in the life that he led. So he could only imagine how it was like for those who didn't see death or violence as often as he did. His siblings, for example. "Well, I'm done for the day." He wasn't, but Pierre had an idea of what she needed and it wasn't to train necessarily, but maybe to hit something. "But I can hang with you while you hit the bag and then I can yell because your technique still sucks if you want."
Blue eyes narrowed, lips pursed when the name, "... Christor?" came out slowly. In truth the names blended together in a way their appearances didn't. She could physically tell the brothers apart just fine, however, her issues stemmed from the names refusing to stick in the right order. "Scary and nice are opposites, you gotta pick one or the other." Blonde locks shifting with the motion of a singular head shake. "Anyway, am I supposed to learn what to do in the event of a nuclear attack now?"
"Oh, that one. They are twins, right?" Pierre asked, completely forgetting what they had initially been talking about and how they ended up talking about the Greeks. "Well, no because I'm nice to look at but I can look mad and scary, too. Like this." He folded his arms across his chest, pulling an angry face that was almost cartoonish, just for her. But then let go, grinning. "That's easy. You either go into an underground shelter, one of those the doomsday people love to talk about - and if you don't have that, then at that point I'd just kill myself. Anything's better than that, I fear."
The moment Charlie spotted Pierre leaning against his car, he called out, voice cutting through the morning air. "Alix said you have to take me to Costco." He announced. She hadn’t. "And you have to let me use your membership." Another lie, but he wanted to see just how far he could push it. Sue him. Besides, he’d been craving the hotdogs they sold there. "And you have to let me control the music on the way there and back." He added with mock seriousness. Without waiting for a response, Charlie tossed the keys to his red Lamborghini toward Pierre. "But we can take my car." Honestly, it was really charitable of him all things considering.
Pierre arched an eyebrow. "What made her think I have a Costco membership? I live by myself, I never buy groceries." Such was the life of a bachelor, apparently. Now if Charlie asked him about restaurants in the city? That, he could answer. He knew Charlie loved a good burger, so he knew just the spot. But then Pierre realized the other man was still talking about Costco. "All the music? I trust you to play, at least, one Akon song." Pierre's reflexes worked wonderfully, catching the car keys almost effortlessly and adjusting the baseball cap in his head. "Oh, a lambo. Alright, let's go - you think we can stop by McDonald's for a McFlurry?"
"You and I could always get in the ring some time. Show them how it's done." Henri hadn't boxed since his younger days, when he first started working for the Harrigans and he was a bit of party boy. But he kept himself in good shape and he was sure he would have fun, even if he was sure that Pierre would probably win the match in the end. "Come one man, you think I'd take you somewhere with peanuts and fucking olives? I'm hurt. I know you better than that." He waited for Pierre to finish up before they walked to a restaurant a few blocks away from the gym. It was small, not too crowded and Henri knew the guys in the kitchen made a great burger. "Good enough for you?" He waited as Pierre looked over the menu and ordered them both some drinks in the meantime.
"I'm not questioning where you normally hang around, but I'm warning you, there's gotta be food involved." It wasn't just with Henri, but with most people he didn't know a lot about. He could fill silences with eating if it ever came to that. That being said, Henri was a talked, even more so than Pierre. He didn't know much about the other man's life, really, so maybe this was a good chance. Pierre only smiled, eyeing the menu slowly. "You know what? I love a smash burger." He retorted as he sat back in his seat and then arched an eyebrow as a thought came to him. "You're married into that politician family, right?"
The days following Dior's death had settled a particular numbness in Gianna. The type that rolled in akin to a slow storm. One that turned the simple mechanics of existing, eating, sleeping, answering her work emails - into things that required more than she currently was wired to provide.
The living room had become her and the Calloway's home base. The television a loud constant. Or music. That was, anything but Megan Moroney. Even with the noise, Gianna was so tangled in the war of her own thoughts that she had nearly been unable to differentiate the sound of Pierre's voice amidst the periphery of it all.
Brown eyes had fixated on whatever liquid existed in the mug in her hands - was it tea? Coffee? She didn't even remember. Not when she'd lifted to meet Pierre's gaze with a faraway stare. A beat had existed before she'd surfaced. Before her attention dropped to the duffle bags once again then returned to him. "Last career change I expected from you was drug dealing, by the way."
The words came out just above a whisper. Quiet and dry laced with humour born from an automatic response. One that hadn't entirely drifted away from her. Which, if you asked Gianna, was either a good sign or just living proof that deflection was too deeply wired in her being to switch off even now.
Pierre had been at Gianna's apartment plenty of times, had met her best friend a handful of those; a young woman that owned a bar in Brooklyn. Gianna's best friend. Yves' younger sister. That was as much as he knew about her and yet when he stepped into the apartment for the first time after the fires, Pierre could feel a newfound emptiness envelop him. One that he had never really felt before. Even with the addition of two other people from her family apparently camping out with Gianna.
Loss was new to Pierre. He knew all about not having much once, but the people? He had never really lost someone, aside from the father that he had never really had and someone last year. He could see it all over Gianna's behavior though, not just the expression on her face, or lack thereof. She was harder to read than anyone he had ever met and yet as he locked his eyes on her, he could see it - how far away she was.
He had almost forgot about the duffel bags he had brought with him, that contained an insane amount of cash until she, somehow, made a joke about it. Pierre stared at her for a bit longer than expected and then offered her a barely-there smile. "I could sell just about anything." Though that money came from the bank, and it was more a callback to their last conversation - she'd mentioned early retirement, lots of money; all things that felt irrelevant now.
Pierre hadn't showed up to her place thinking he could magically make things better for her, or to get rid of her pain with his presence or money. Anything, really. But he'd showed up to be there for her. It did not matter how that looked. He sat down next to her, one of his hands reaching over to cover hers around the cup she seemed to be holding onto for dear life. "Let me take care of that," he mumbled gently, knowing there was not much he could say or do, but trying his best. "I'll make you something new."
"just one of my bad jokes, never mind." a little smile briefly flashed at her lips, deciding that going into feederism wouldn't go over well. "what'd you get?" always curious about food, fidan couldn't resist the ask. across from the couch she settled into the chair, folding her legs and pulling her feet up into the seat she leaned to the left into the armrest as she smiled again, this time at pierre's tease. "yeah we can be pen pals." the question surprised her, thinking everyone in general knew what allergies meant. "oh, you know, it's springtime. the pollen in the air or whatever." it was difficult to say since she didn't actually have that problem. "you've been pretty busy. what've you been up to?"
"Some coffee thing - tasted like grass. I always forget what Gigi normally gets, which I really like but anyways." His eyes locked on hers as she made herself more comfortable, his elbows leaning on his knees as he leaned forward instead. Something about their dynamic had shifted and he wasn't sure what it was. "You know that neither of us is in prison, right?" He retorted lightly, about them being pen pals. If they only texted, he couldn't really figure out what was going on with her was the thing. And despite how aloof he could be, Pierre did care. "After what happened at the private island, we've been ensuring security at all casinos. I usually take lead on that. I like to make sure everyone's safe."
" can you blame me ? i barley met you , " give or take some years but their relationships was fairly new. " i still can't believe how serious you were when we first met. it's crazy. " crazy how close the two had gotten and he got another sister out of the deal. he appreciated pierre for being there despite not needing to. he could've resented francis and nan and francis definitely would've understood. frank probably never intended for the two to meet and yet --- francis wouldn't change anything in the world. " i think she's more or less aware -- she got the romy text so she knows at least that bit. i just --- want her to fight or flight not --- just stand there. hit her with surprise punches or whatever you do. "
"I got it, no need to lose your shit over asking for a favor, dear brother." And he meant it, he was family - despite how new that was to either of them. If the Harrigan's had taught Pierre anything since they had almost adopted him all those years ago, it was that family was way more than blood. Even if he wasn't fully related to Conrad, he had taken him in as his son, and his cousins to this day treated him like a brother. "How are you holding up after she got hurt at Second Gear Collective? You know, being brothers includes talking about real feelings or whatever." He asked slowly, knowing that Francis was protective. Much like Pierre himself, really. "You think she stood there, too?"
