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Paul-Henri Chevalier

Male prostitute turned knight, turned playboy.

0 · 547 views · located in Skyfall Citadel

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by CptxMorgan

Groups

A band of adventurers that were chosen for a quest that started out for mere stones through deceit. Nightfall is coming to Gaia with the Second Rising of Eras. The Champions will either plunge the world into darkness or bath it in everlasting light.

Description

Handsome, and all that jazz. He tends to dress in simple, albeit well made clothes. His hair is black and curly, and he constantly seems to have the beginnings of a beard.

Personality

Haughty and narcissistic, prone to bouts of self absorbed mental masturbation.

Equipment

A walking cane, despite his lack of a limp.

History

TBA

So begins...

Paul-Henri Chevalier's Story

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Paul-Henri Chevalier strode into the bar, his gait and mannerisms exuding a sort of brash confidence. A lesser man would consider it arrogance, but he was not a lesser man. His garb was simultaneously simple and extravagant, in that the material was simple cloth, but what vibrant cloth it was. Shades of sanguine made up his shirt, his pants being a lighter shade of red that bordered on pink. With a quick glance he made his way towards the bar. "Would you be so kind as to fetch me a beer?" There was a hint of a French accent in Paul-Henri's inflection, yet not so strong as some. More noticeable was his tone, there was nothing the man enjoyed more than talking down to people, and he had made it blatantly obvious that was what he was doing.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier ran a hand through his hair as the bartender delivered his drink, his digits rendered effectively invisible under the wavy black locks. "How much will eet be?" He had no lack of money, just as Wing City had no lack of women seeking a man to warm their loins. With an exasperated sigh, Paul-Henri handed over the amount of cash that the bartender had requested. He disliked drinking in such shoddy establishments, yet it was supposedly the finest that the city had to offer.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier quirked an eyebrow at the noticeably French woman. He was never particularly fond of his own kind, the women were too easy and the men were too soft. "I am sorry miss, but I do not understand you." It was only half a lie. Paul-Henri considered himself more of an Englishman than anything, despite his obvious heritage and vague accent. "But if you would like, I could buy you a drink and you could explain it to me." This was followed by a wink that was either supposed to be flirtatious or ironic.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier rolled his eyes, allowing a small sigh to escape his lips. He was not the type of man that enjoyed competing for attention, and at that, the woman was hardly attractive enough for him to waste his money on. "Maybe another time, you seem to be somewhat occupied." Paul-Henri took a swig from his beer, some remnants from it's head remaining on the slight beard that had grown around his lips.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier let out a small, barely audible laugh. How typical, a French woman obsessed with the possibility of wealth. She could have her fool's gold, there were other girls in the bar, and he could have any of them. With that notion in mind, he allowed the establishment a second a glance, debating whether or not there were any worthy prospects. "Decisions, decisions." Paul-Henri muttered, none of the women stuck out as being particularly gorgeous. Most of them looked like they'd be his clients rather than lovers.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier rolled up his sleeves, finding the lack of particularly pleasant women somewhat disheartening. "Such a shame, such a shame." He muttered into his glass before taking a swig of it's contents. Perhaps his standards had simply become too high, which wasn't surprising given his occupation and good looks. It took most women a week or so to realize how much of a prick he was, but he didn't mind that. It only took a couple of nights to get what he wanted anyways.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier stood up and left, because he had decidedly French things to attend to.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier stormed through the doors, entering Gambit's in a fury. Surely he would have cut a swathe through the establishment's crowd if his rage had been any worse. It was never pleasant finding a former client dead, especially when the constabulary system always found a way to pin such murders on him. Those xenophobic pricks were of little trouble though, they'd retreated easily enough after a few sharp words, and a promise of sharper swords. Paul-Henri was only half lying when he said heads would roll, he did not doubt his ability to kill a majority of the men regardless of their armaments. What troubled him was the inevitability of reinforcements, and such hostility would certainly make him guilty in there eyes. "A beer please, monsieur." Paul-Henri addressed the bartender in a manner that was simultaneously polite and haughty.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier took a swig from his drink as it arrived. "So does all of the beer in this city taste of piss, or is it just the foul concoctions you serve." He spoke in jest as he paid the bartender. It appeared there was a battle of sorts, although it wasn't of the honorable sort. Explosions and other marvels filled Gambit's, yet Paul-Henri found himself disappointed rather than at awe. "Children with their petty parlour tricks." Of course, he failed to take into account that the majority of his personal battles had been rather unspectacular themselves. Beauty, or in this case talent, was in the eye of the beholder.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier allowed himself a small laugh at Embella's words. "Madamoiselle, when you've tasted the finest wines the world has to offer, a simply draft begins to taste quite like filth." The words were followed by his most charming shit eating grin, and a simple shrug of his shoulders. Once the woman managed to shatter her cup, he simply turned away. It wasn't befitting of him to associate with a girl who's hands were so unsure, Paul-Henri deserved better. Then again, during his stay, he'd found very little in terms of bed-able women.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier sighed, clearly the women took his cold shoulder as an invitation to continue speaking. Were it not for a lack of entertainment, he would have simply ignored Embella's question. "I am from everywhere, you may say. Yes?" Despite his accent, Paul-Henri's dialect did not seem thick enough to suggest that he was from France. In all honesty, he tended to play it up a bit when he was courting someone who seemed particularly attractive. That was clearly not the case here. "And yourself?" Paul-Henri muttered with all the charm of a vagrant.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier quirked an eyebrow at the woman's response. Usually girls ate up his ambiguity, perhaps she was simply plainer than most of her female counterparts. "Well, that is certainly exciting. Although I don't see why anyone would consent to dying in this place." Paul-Henri allowed his grin to fade a little, if only to feign some sort of empathy. "I'd suggest you get something on that cut, glass cuts deeper than swords." The statement was followed by a slight chuckle and a swig of his hitherto ignored beer.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier ran a hand through his hair, contemplating Embella's name. "I can't say I've heard that one before. At least some part of you is interesting." It was said in jest, but it was likely offensive regardless. "Paul-Henri, at your service." The man spoke smoothly, the remark accompanied by a wink and a mock bow. Of course, it was relatively difficult to execute a proper bow while sitting. It was disheartening having to resort to common barflies as a means to keep himself from the omnipresent beast that was boredom.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier strolled into the bar, a subdued smile toying with the corners of his mouth as he made his way towards the counter. He decided not to order a drink immediately, it would have been in bad taste and the man was all about appearances. This was made clear by his attire, bright, flashy garb that covered Paul-Henri from head to toe.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier strode into Gambit's, his gait proper and his left hand lingering in his back pocket. Wisps of curly hair found themselves providing a thin veil over his eyes, his appearance was surprisingly distraught for a change. "A beer please. No I do not care what type, everything in this bar tastes like piss." Paul-Henri sighed after placing his order, taking a seat at one of the few open stool along the counter.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier lifted a single eyebrow, it was hilarious how high on themselves women in Wing City could be. Sure, it was a melting pot, but despite the variety he couldn't seem to find a properly attractive lady. Ignoring Elizabeth's apparent haughtiness, the man simply honed in on the compliment towards him. "Eh, many things, mostly the quality of drink in this pisspot." Paul-Henri deadpanned, paying the bartender mid sentence. "This place, not just ze bar mind you, but the entire city, is so bland." The statement was followed by a shrug and a small sip of his beer. It wasn't too bad, but his face twisted in exaggerated disgust nonetheless. "So, I was always under the belief that Martinis were a man's drink. You wouldn't happen to be hiding a penis, would you?"

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Paul-Henri Chevalier let out a laugh as the woman made her frustration strikingly apparent, if only for a moment. "I'm sure that's it." There was a lazy drawl in his voice, his normally mild French accent forcing itself into his inflection. It was true he hadn't slept for a day or two, but he'd had business to attend to, and in Paul-Henri's opinion the stress was healthy. "Species don't matter as long as they're paying me somehow or another, eh?" He mumbled, a delayed reply to Elizabeth's initial comment. He'd meant to say it earlier, but the man was far too amused by her distaste at him questioning her gender. "It's a shame the win isn't better at this place." Paul-Henri drawled offhandedly taking another small sip of his beer, it was apparent the man wasn't a heavy drinker unless need be.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier rolled his eyes, he felt that as far as men went he was relatively well dressed. Of course, the lack of sleep may have made him look a little shabbier than he typically would. "No subtlety with you, eh? Usually my clients like to think we have a relationship or something of that sort." Paul-Henri didn't lack money, he just liked having it, as far as he was concerned he could stop all sources of income and live comfortably by most standards. Then again, his standards were a bit higher than most. "Regardless, that's fine with me. Unless you have something sinister in mind later on." Paul was only half kidding, he'd caught women attempting to slip god knows what into his drinks more than once.

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 brb

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Paul-Henri Chevalier brought a hand to his chin, running his fingers along the stubble in mock thought. "Luckily for you, I have nothing particularly interesting to do at the moment." This was followed by a noticeably forced grin and a swig of his beer. The man's preference for sobriety was heightened by the fact that Gambit's wasn't the safest place for a modestly armed human. "So, what do you wish to talk about?"

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Paul-Henri Chevalier trotted into Gambit's, at least as well as a bipedal humanoid with literally no equestrian features could trot. With a bemused smirk he ran a hand through his mildly curled locks of dark brunette hair and made his way towards the bar. Taking a seat, Paul-Henri called for a bartender, an impatient sigh escaping his lips as he realized it seemed unlikely that he'd be served.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier had little regard for his would-be server's seeming crisis. He wasn't paid to fret over some simple bartender's well-being. So, keeping that in mind, he completely ignored the wounded woman and strolled around the bar. Oblivious to Ari and those offering her aid, the man grabbed the nearest clean glass and poured himself something off the tap. He wasn't alarmed when the beverage tasted like liquefied fecal matter, everything in Gambit's tended to taste of unpleasant excrement. As he made his way back to his seat, Paul-Henri wondered why he bothered visiting such a vile establishment. 'Maybe I could get it torn down. Fucking eyesore."

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Paul-Henri Chevalier brought his lips to the rim of his glass, tipping it only enough to allow himself a small sip of the swill. He figured he'd pay for the drink if and when the bartender was back in commission. As he drank, Paul-Henri took some time to contemplate the little things that made Wing City so detestable. The rat-piss they served as beer certainly wasn't endearing, nor was the fool bumbling around with his glowstick, last but not least there appeared to be a couple settling a rather violent spat no more than 10 meters away. If he wasn't such a social creature, Paul-Henri surely would have left immediately after placing his foot through the door. But, alas, it was night and he was sure it was only a matter of time before some innocent, yet untamed beauty walked through the door just waiting to be seduced.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier I imagine I'd be an A cup, at best.

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Paul-Henri Chevalier found himself grinning as he strolled into Gambit's. Whether it was the fresh air, the beautiful, if bizarre, women or the alarming amount of asbestos he accidentally inhaled earlier; the man was quite simply ecstatic. So, maintaining his grin, Paul-Henri waltzed towards the bar and ordered himself a drink. "Bartender, I would like a glass of your finest liquer, something thick and rich and strong if you could." The pseudo-Frenchman liked being vague with his drink orders, it gave him more opportunity to complain if he received something that didn't flatter his tastebuds.