Émile Roux
Character
NAME :
Émile Roux
SPECIES :
Near-Human
GENDER :
Male
AGE :
Sixty-One
FACTION :
The Oversector Coalition
HEIGHT :
5' 7'' | 1.70 m
WEIGHT :
174 lbs | 79 kg
EYE COLOR :
Brown
HAIR COLOR :
Brown | Grey
FORCE SENSITIVE :
Unknown
Émile was never anyone of much importance - merely another miscellaneous cog spinning to make ends meet, a faceless silhouette hidden amongst the thousands around him - not through choice, yet simply through inadequacy. Little is known of his upbringing other than the little he slips through a pair of cracked lips as the stench of alcohol clings onto his breath, the many tales of youthful adventures, juvenile escapades, and childish romance never failing to bring a smile to his wrinkled face - yet rarely out of the ordinary for a boy that grew during the Union's occupation. Lights dance across those beady eyes as he gleefully reminisces of those majestic banners wafting through the cold autumn breeze - hung across the imposing walls surrounding the Old District - torn and ripped to shreds as the crimson Shurt laid painted onto the surrounding bricks. Less detailed - he'd irksomely add whenever he could - jagged and bleak, a symbol from the heart instead of a manufactured emblem. Yet despite his chagrin, he could hardly stop himself from weakly smiling whenever he laid sight upon that very emblem grafted within the coaster beneath his drink. Pride welled within him as he felt a sense of belonging - of camaraderie and friendship - for those few blissful years.
Hard to remember where it all started - he'd mutter under his breath while pouring another drink - Vestmon, Perriere, Galsho, and Trin. He'd remember them all as if they were the back of his palm - the various alleyways overflowing with nondescript trash and vermin, the patrolled streets to avoid as if they were the plague - ingrained forever within his drowsy mind as the first packages he ever delivered. Funny, he could hardly recall ever seeing a soul wander those winding paths, yet it did little to calm his beating heart as he ran for his life, desperately clutching those small parcels and packages as if they were the Governors heirlooms themselves. Letters, pamphlets, and nothing more - he'd muse idly - yet it felt as exhilarating as none other. The sense of accomplishment, of worth - the many courteous thanks of his benefactors and praise of his friends - it was something he deemed worth dying for, even if his knees grew weak at the thought of capture, his tongue loosening by the second as his breath came ragged.Then came the departure - he'd shudder in remembrance, his warm voice growing dim whenever it was spoken of - garrisons vanishing in the blink of an eye alongside countless others in the dark of night, outrage and indignation spreading like wildfire through the world. It took little more for it all to come crumbling down underneath its own weight, the shouts of millions deafening the empty promises of hundreds - exasperation growing thicker on either side with each passing day - as those once majestic parapets and banners were replaced by symbols of old. Shouting amidst the crowd, spreading pamphlets, inciting ire and passion - that was our job - he remembered idly, glimmers of childish pride shining through his somber expression. Soon it all came to an end - the Shurt laid atop buildings and balconies once more, the uncertainty of tomorrow hidden beneath the veil of Independence.
Hardly remember the rest - he'd mumble whenever asked - Javin elected its own and sought to mourn, to rebuild, and to reclaim. Those who assisted received their due recompense, positions through the newly elected government vacant and in need of guidance. The rest - he sighs while idly bumping his foot against the table, the prosthetic limb creaking to life as it knocked over the nearby cane - were given whatever work they could stomach. Despite all that happened, kindness and empathy had not been forgotten amidst it all, the kindness of strangers ever as graceful as it were told in stories. From the army running packages, to the factories that cost a man his livelihood, the old and young saw only another helpless soul on the road needing charity, regardless of his story.
And here I am. Another drink friend?
