"Really? You thought that was Varden? You know he can't go ten minutes without doing some artsy shit. And how the fuck is he going to watch Six Nations in a place without a television?"
Places Lived Since: Launceston, United States. London, United Kingdom.
Current Residence: Kensington & Chelsea, London, United Kingdom.
Nationality: French.
Parents: Salomé de Metz (née Cohen, mother), Alain de Metz (father)
Number of Siblings: Younger brother, Daniel de Metz (deceased), Oliver Parra (older half-brother, though neither of them know about it. Alain knocked up Oliver's mother before abandoning her and eventually marrying Salomé.)
Number of Children: Four sons. Isaac, Noam, Aurélien, and Gabriel.
Relationship With Family: Yves was very close with his brother, Daniel. Neither had a good relationship with their parents, forcing them to fend mostly for themselves. This resulted in their early introduction to the gangs of Paris, and, subsequently, their involvement with the St. Clair family.
Their parents were disinterested in having children and never really made an effort to feel like a family. The two boys always looked out for and supported each other, though, and when they had nobody to rely on but each other, it was inevitable they would be near inseparable. Losing Daniel was the most painful thing that's ever happened to Yves, and it's not even close. That was his person, and now he'll always feel like he's missing a piece without him.
Despite not having a good relationship with his own family, however, he remains very close to the Halévys. When Dan married Noa, her parents sort of adopted both of the de Metz boys into their own family, knowing they'd never had that experience and support growing up. Yves and his family spend many holidays with the Halévys, so their kids at least feel like they have some semblance of normal family unit in their lives, and the boys see Avraham and Miriam as their own grandparents. Yves is immensely grateful for that enduring relationship, even though Noa and Dan are gone.
Happiest Memory: The day he married Valérie. I truly think he was about the most miserable human on the planet until he met her.
Childhood Trauma: Just the usual shit parents stuff. They weren't overtly abusive, though, just neglectful. It could have been worse. It sure could have been a whole lot better, though.
PHYSICAL:
Height: 6'3”
Weight: 180lbs.
Build: Athletic, but not overly muscular like some of the bros.
Hair Color: Brown.
Usual Hair Style: Yves pretty much looks like this at all times. Always clean shaven, too. He can't be dealing with a beard.
Eye Color: Blue.
Glasses? Contacts?: Neither.
Style of Dress/Typical Outfit(s): If you ever see this man not wearing a suit, take a picture. It's a rarity. Yves always dresses smartly, it's a big source of pride for him, because growing up he had next to no money.
Typical Style of Shoes: Something leather and custom made that you probably can't afford.
Jewellery? Tattoos? Piercings?: No tattoos and no piercings. Perish the thought. The only jewellery he wears is his wedding ring on his left ring finger, and his gold commandant ring on his right ring finger.
Scars: Not too many. A few bullet holes, a nasty stab wound he got in London. Certainly less than a lot of the bros. Yves has been in a few fights but tends to avoid violence unless it's something personal. He'd much rather order someone else to do it.
Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: None.
Athleticism: Very high. There's a reason he's a beast in the boxing ring, and it's because he's been fighting in the streets since he was ten years old.
Health Problems/Illnesses: Allergic to Russians.
INTELLECT:
Level of Education: Didn't finish school, let alone anything beyond. Barely showed up before he did eventually drop out. Everything he's learnt is through experiencing it himself.
Languages Spoken: French (native), English (fluent), Hebrew (religious context only, just enough to not lose his Jew card)
Level of Self-Esteem: Very high.
Gifts/Talents: Leadership. Yves can be surprisingly charismatic and level-headed when the occasion calls, particularly compared to his brother. People tend to naturally respect him, and it serves him well.
Mathematical?: Not in the academic sense, no, but he is calculating.
Makes Decisions Based Mostly On Emotions, or On Logic?: Usually logic, but he does lose his temper sometimes; particularly when it comes to any threats towards his family. In those cases, things would definitely get emotional, and his temper is fucking obscene when he finally loses it.
Life Philosophy: Not sure he has one, honestly.
Religious Stance: Jewish af boy.
Cautious or Daring?: A healthy mix of both. Typically he's cautious, because he's seen what rushing into things head-on achieves...and it's usually nothing good. But he's not immune to pushing his luck sometimes. Caution doesn't hold him back from making difficult decisions.
Most Sensitive About/Vulnerable To: Family. Don't touch.
Optimist or Pessimist?: Pessimist.
Extrovert or Introvert?: Introvert. He fucking hates people. The fact he opened up enough to someone to wind up married is wild.
RELATIONSHIPS:
Current Relationship Status: Married to Valérie Dautremer.
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual.
Past Relationships: Had a relationship with Elaina Halévy, though it was never official, and is certainly not known about by anyone but them. Even though he'd slept around before that and had a few brief flings, she was absolutely the first woman he ever fell in love with. They decided to end things when Noa and Dan met unexpectedly, because they could see how happy they made each other, and Yves would prioritise his little brother's future happiness over his own without a second thought. They briefly reunited at Dan and Noa's wedding, hooking up in the bathroom, but he ended the encounter by telling her he'd met another woman and couldn't do it anymore. That woman was Valérie.
Primary Reason For Being Broken Up With: Being a miserable dick.
Primary Reasons For Breaking Up With People: Boredom.
Ever Cheated?: No.
Been Cheated On: No.
A Social Person?: Absolutely not. Yves is so anti-social it should be studied.
Most Comfortable Around: His family. A few of the French bros, but not many. He doesn't feel that same sense of camaraderie the others seem to.
Oldest Friend: In terms of canon characters, probably Varden at this point. They met through Dan, and did a lot to silently support each other in the wake of his death. It brought them closer together, even if the circumstances were shitty. Outside of his family, Varden is the person he trusts most.
How Does She Think Others Perceive Him?: Like he fucking cares enough to think about shit like that.
How Do Others Actually Perceive Him?: A weapons grade cunt
SECRETS:
Life Goals: I think he's achieved everything he wants to in terms of standard life goals? Yves has his children, his wife, his dog, his sprawling home, his wealth, his gold commandant ring... The man is blessed with every conventional measure of success. The only thing he really has left to focus on is murdering every last Russian he can get his hands on for taking away Dan and Noa.
Dreams: Retiring. Getting to see his kids grow old and start families of their own. Commandants don't usually get to do that.
Greatest Fears: Something happening to Valérie or the children. He knows now that she's also a Commandant there's a target on her back, and that risk grows every damn day. Yves loves and supports his wife proudly—he will always encourage her to succeed, because he knows she's capable of great things—but it would be a lie to say he didn't worry about losing her.
Most Ashamed Of: Probably his childhood and the fact he has no relationship with his own family. Yves never talks about it.
Secret Hobbies: Volunteering at his synagogue. Something he doesn't share with anyone but his wife. So yeah, don't fucking tell anyone he can be capable of selflessness or he'll rip your spine out of your ass.
Crimes Committed (Was she caught? Charged?): Some pretty terrible shit. He got arrested when he was a kid for theft, but was let off with a warning. All the usual French Organization fare as he got older, though, the worst obviously being murder. Maybe a little torture. He hasn't been caught yet. Let's keep it that way.
DETAILS/QUIRKS:
Night Owl or Early Bird?: Both, he sleeps very little.
Light or Heavy Sleeper?: Light sleeper.
Favorite Animal: Lions.
Favorite Foods: Rare as fuck steak.
Least Favorite Food: Bananas.
Favorite Book: Doesn't have one.
Favorite Movie: Le samouraï.
Favorite Song: Désolé - Sexion d'Assaut.
Favorite Sport: Rugby or football. Supports Stade Français and PSG respectively, as well as both national teams, naturally. If this man can cheer on France in something, he absolutely will.
Coffee or Tea?: Coffee. Black.
Crunchy or Smooth Peanut Butter?: Neither.
Type of Car He Drives: Doesn't drive often. Typically gets driven around. Has a BMW i7 for personal use, though, and they have the usual family big ass thing to cart those four kids around.
Lefty or Righty?: Righty.
Favorite Color: Gold.
Cusser?: Always. To say his speech is colourful would be an understatement.
Smoker? Drinker? Drug User?: All three. Smokes like a chimney, drinks like a sailor, and still uses cocaine often. Used to be addicted to heroin when he was younger, but managed to snap out of it in his late 20s. They itch is absolutely always there, but he'd never go back now he has a family to look after.
Biggest Regret: Not being able to prevent Dan's death. That'll haunt him until he's on his own deathbed.
Pets: A Westie named Frédo. Yves never wanted a dog, but they decided to get one for the kids...of course, he ended up adoring the thing.
@mobscene-starters
Location: Mistral's
Date: January 25th, 2026
Mid-morning sunlight washed over the terrace outside Mistral’s. Bright, cold, and precise despite the early morning drizzle. Théodore had wanted a simple le petit déjeuner, thus went to his usual comfort. Same seat and all as he sat in the patio chair with practiced ease. Jacket buttoned, collar up to protect his neck from the wind. Sunglasses shielding his eyes. Leather gloves still on, concealing the faint stains left behind by a long night of book restoration. A croissant rested beside his coffee, untouched for the moment, while a worn French paperback of blue lay open on the table.
Les Fleurs du mal. Familiar. Grounding.
He turned a page slowly, gloved fingers careful with the spine. Pausing only to sip his coffee and watch the city pass by in fragments. London moved around him, loud and unaware, while Théo lingered comfortably in the quiet space between. Hands busy, mind at rest, and the morning unfolding exactly as he preferred.
The Frenchman had only been back in London for about an hour—business had called in Paris, and he'd had to spend a few days there cleaning up an easily avoided mess. At least home turf provided a buffer, though, and the inconveniences he had to deal with as the 11ème Commandant paled in comparison to those he wrangled as the underboss of this perpetually grey shit hole.
Stopping for a bite to eat before going home and crashing seemed prudent. Thus, he'd found himself at Mistral's, a short walk away from his family home. Until he'd seen Théo, it had been his intention to pick something up for his wife and kids and take it to go, but instead, he helped himself to the seat beside the Commandant.
The only greeting he offered was extending a cigarette in Théo's direction. Then, he lit up one of his own before tucking the packet back in his breast pocket.
"You're brooding harder than Laurent, these days. Everything all right?"
repulsive || hideous || ugly || not attractive || unappealing || not unattractive || meh || no preference || ok || mildly attractive || nice looking || cute || adorable || attractive || pleasant on the eyes || good looking || hot || sexy || beautiful || gorgeous || hot damn || would tap that || perfect || godlike || holy fuck there are no words
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending || fuck no! || never || no way || not likely || not sure || indifferent || I’m asexual || maybe || probably || it depends || fairly likely || likely || yeah sure || yes || would tap that || hell yes || fuck yes! || wishing that could happen right now || as many times as possible || we are already having sex
Level of Friendship:
never in a million years || worst of enemies || enemies || rivals || indifferent || neutral || acquaintance || friendly toward each other || casual friends || friends || good friends || best friends || fuck buddies || bosom buddies || practically the same person || would die for them || true friends || my only friend
First impression of them:
I hate them so much || I don’t like them || I don’t trust them || they annoy me || they’re weird || I’m indifferent || meh || they seem alright || they’re growing on me || truce || I think I like them || I like them || I’m not sure if I trust them || I trust them || they’re cool || they’re genuine || I think we’re going to get along || I really like them || I think I’m in love || oh fuck they’re hot || I love them
Current impression of them:
I hate them so much || I don’t like them || I don’t trust them || they annoy me || they’re weird || I’m indifferent || meh || they seem alright || they’re growing on me || truce || I think I like them || I like them || I’m not sure if I trust them || I trust them || they’re cool || they’re genuine || I think we’re going to get along || I really like them || I think I’m in love || oh fuck they’re hot || I love them
How good of a kisser:
worst kisser ever || terrible || bad || awkward || just okay || alright || pretty good || good || makes me moan || excellent || exciting || oh god they’re good || I dream about it || fucking amazing || absolute perfection || we haven’t kissed
FOR: @mobscene-starters
LOCATION: The Venue
EVENT: Halloween Event, 2025.
"I'm praying for a relaxing evening."
It was, of course, kept in mind that there was futile hope for such things when so much blood had already been drawn. So many deaths. Moves and counter moves.
Peace had never been the language known, or felt by those in this room, nor of the business that was held within it. The most important part of why they all played these games. The undercurrent between the different parts of the mob, the turf wars within London, political, and criminal aspirations. Andrew, Johnathan and Melissa had those moves in place, should they be required.
But what were they all doing here, right now? It was simple. One thing: pretending and practicing false civility and doing it to the best of their ability.
Inevitability, Melissa feared that it'd come to a blow sooner than later.
Still, she sat there, shoulders drawn back. Playing her part.
where: the venue
when: halloween event
who: @mobscene-starters
It had taken Ayda quite a while to settle on a costume she actually liked, something simple, classic, and not too over the top. These kinds of events always left her a little on edge, but she knew that if she wanted a future in politics, she'd have to learn to handle them.
After mingling for a bit, she slipped away and sank into an empty seat, grateful for a brief moment of quiet. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone taking the chair across from her.
“Hello,” she said softly, lifting her gaze to see who it was.
Oh, great. Noted: make sure to check the local wildlife before taking a fucking seat. Just what he needed--the woman who should have come dressed as a walking fucking migraine.
"Needs some blood. Would it help if I offered my seat to a Rutherford? I'm willing to make the sacrifice. For science."
"People can’t handle that kind of humor," the knee jerk reaction he had to the mention of Spectre was enough to have him bearing his teeth behind pursed lips. "Besides, I step into character...and much like John, I wouldn’t have the heart to leave anyone alive. Learned that the hard way."
As have many of your people, he thought, but kept it to himself.
"Don't need the suit to make a point," he added. Just a gun. And good aim.
FOR: @mobscene-starters
WHERE: THE VENUE.
EVENT: HALLOWEEN PARTY, 2025.
"I'm just praying the fake blood doesn't dye my hair, because my hairdresser will literally kill me if it does." Her bank account was already quivering as she stared into the first mirror she could find. Was she vain? Absolutely. Did she care? Not one little bit. "But it was easy to chuck on, didn't take much effort— if you get me." Odile had spent most of her day in a meeting about a new charity she'd be hosting. Time had been of the essence. "We need new eye-candy," she pouts. "My poor eyes are being denied what they are due."
"You know, I really thought last year would have been the last one of these for you. You're age is showing."
What she wouldn't say out loud was that she desperately wanted him to pull himself out before he even stepped in. That would only make it that much more difficult for him though, so Val stayed silent, opting to hold him to her instead.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, because I was planning to leave this place with my ego intact tonight..."
It didn't matter if she said it aloud or not, Yves knew exactly what his wife was thinking. Didn't he always? Truth be told, he'd been hesitant about participating tonight, himself. Not because he thought himself in danger of being seriously hurt, but because his sons were old enough now to start asking questions he had no answers for when he came home black and blue. Still, with Laurent out of the game, the French needed good representation, and he couldn't, in good faith, sit back and sip his fucking drinks whilst his brothers shed blood.
"I'll be fine. The only two people who could put me on my ass are on our team, and one is part zucchini these days. I've got this, all right? Don't worry so much."
@elainahalevyx
Event: Fight Club 2025 - Post Elaina/Svetlana.
The Frenchman had begrudgingly let her have her moment. She deserved that much. Anyone from the St. Clair ranks who managed to floor a Russian tonight—particularly one with that last name—would be immediately swarmed by ecstatic loyalists. Elaina, already a favourite, was no exception to the rule. When the horde finally thinned, he caught her eyes across the room with a knowing look.
Noa and Dan would have loved every minute.
Been just as proud as he was.
With a glass of cognac in each hand, he slipped between the other loyalists littering the space between them before eventually ending up at her side. Yves' eyes fell onto the ring briefly; a stage he would soon take to himself. But not yet. And for now, he focused solely on the woman he slipped his second glass.
"How about several? My English isn't perfect, but I'm sure even I can think of a few synonyms for fucking embarrassing. Your mother's swan dive was less tragic."
"Fucking....shiiiit..." Catalina drawled as she walked through the campsite, the spike of her heels sinking into the ground with every step she took. She'd grown up extremely privledged and neither of her parents were ever keen on the outdoors unless it was on a yacht somwhere with a full staff.
Still, it was a Rutherford event and she considered herself an honorary part of the family having grown up with Lara and Adriana. So...here she was. She would plaster a smile on her face, snort some coke, and everything would be copacetic.
Even in a luxury tent, she was out of her element. The outdoors wasn't really her thing. She'd much rather have been in her bathtub, soaking in a hot bath and not having to deal with people she didn't want to fuck with. Her tent mate included.
"I would change shoes...but I didn't bring flats. I don't even think I own a pair. And that's saying something because my closet is huge."
Either she was having an entire conversation with herself, or she was talking to him, the only person within earshot. Both were unhinged enough to summon a glare.
A vendetta against the French? That definitely wasn't unheard of, so it really wasn't surprising when a few of the French got Russian roommates. Destiny or not, it was what it was.
"Look at that sad face." Elina jokingly pouted as she poked his nose. "Is it because you won't get to sleep with your wife for whole two nights, or is it because you're going to have to share a bed with a Russian child?"
"Actually works out in my favour, I suppose. I can let him know face to face that if anything happens to my wife in that crusty Russian tent, I'll rip his spine out of his asshole before sunrise."
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