Rebels & Mutineers is set in modern day New Orleans, Louisiana. R&M is fueled by player's plots and group input.
Supernatural people have always had their place in society, hidden in plain sight or locked away for their own protection. New Orleans, a haven for the strange and mysterious and a magnet for the supernatural.
Established: Oct. 27th, 2018 Recently Updated Posts && Recently Updated Threads
05.11.19
As the community reels from the untimely death of Lucia Lovelle, life has to move on. Primrose readies for the annual Prom celebration! Keep your eye out for a event board and have fun!
02.27.19
It's not too late to vote for February's OTM winners! The winners for January, keep an eye out on your messages for your winner's graphics for your signature. Already voted? Make sure you check out the Mardi Gras event board! Party up, have a good time, and enjoy!
Post by Gaspard J. Charbonneau on May 17, 2019 16:17:37 GMT
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It was supposed to be a good day. Sibling bonding time was necessary for building positive relationships. Gaspard knew it-- he'd read it in three books. So he sat at a table outside a cafe waiting for his brother to show. Their version of bonding for the day involved looking around the French Quarter for a pair of jeans (well that was what Gaspard planned on doing... he needed jeans) and he wouldn't have been so uptight he still would have been uptight if it weren't for the failure of customer service.
He sat on the phone, having been on hold for twelve minutes before he could speak to someone. "No, there's nothing wrong with them but the waist size is disproportionate to the leg length. Yes, yes, it is. I have proportionate sizes-- I measured. But I shouldn't need a belt-- they should fit as is. You're asking me to spend extra money on a belt instead of expecting your product to function properly."
He looked up with exasperation at Will as the man approached, handing him the phone. "Please tell them that my proportions are correct and their pants are not also it's," he said, lifting his watch into view, "1:04:17, 18, 19-- Where have you been? I've been waiting for four minutes and 24, 25 seconds. 27 seconds. Please take this call." He couldn't handle it anymore it was making him anxious. "Tell them I checked my measurements. Tell them."
Post by Guillaume H. Charbonneau on May 17, 2019 22:00:18 GMT
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ill was late. Not by normal standards, of course, but Gaspard had a different internal clock, one that ticked on atomic time. Five minutes may as well have been an hour, and he felt like an ass for stopping for that conversation in the hallway. He didn’t get to spend as much time with his little brother as he wanted already, and there he was, wasting it. After bailing from the office, he double-stepped to the cafe. Gaspard, of course, was already posted up at a table and anxiously speaking into a cell phone.
He could barely get out a hello before accusations of being late were being leveled at him. He did his best to hold back the laugh that bubbled in his chest. Of course Gassy had counted the seconds. That was what he did. In a way, it was a sign of his affection; he had allotted time for them to spend together and Will had had the audacity to be a little late. He would have made an apology, but Gas was shoving a phone toward him. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t catch your name before,” he spoke into the receiver, making sure to shift his voice into that lower register that always yielded results when he needed them most. “Well, Miss Clarissa, how has your day been?” He made a double mental note to tell them Gaspard checked the measurements, but these things required a delicate touch.
“Well, we have checked the pants, hun; they’re not quite right. I know you’ve a busy schedule, but I’m willing to bet, if you double checked, you might just realize that we were sent the wrong order.” Hold music. He moved the phone from his ear and set it to speaker. “Who am I even calling, G?”
Post by Gaspard J. Charbonneau on May 18, 2019 3:22:35 GMT
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There was something about Will that always made him seem so calm. Gaspard could not, for the life of him, figure out how he did it. Everything felt like the end of the world for him. He felt his stomach knot up as he held the phone to his ear and by the time Will showed up he was anxious for him to fix the whole thing.At that point, he didn't really care how. One thing he knew for sure about his brother was that he was a lot better at fixing Gaspard's problems than Gaspard was.
He watched his brother take on the conversation in awe. There was such ease in his tone, and the guy's smile was sweet enough to make anyone vomit.
That woman wasn't near them, but Gaspard was sure she could hear the smile through the phone.
Who am I even calling, G?
"It's Customer Service," Gaspard said, dragging a hand down his face. "Well, that's what they call themselves," he said, leaning in toward the phone and raising his voice as he emphasized the last part... though music indicated that no one was there to hear him. "I am a customer and I don't feel that I've been served. She was getting impatient with me, Will. She sounds like a smoker and I think she's irritated because she's not on her smoke break but she should take that up with someone who controls her schedule like her employer. This was my free time to do it so I had to do it but now it's taking too long," he said, strain in his voice as stress set in. This was not supposed to cut this far into their time. Now, the day was a disorganized chaos.
Post by Guillaume H. Charbonneau on May 26, 2019 22:22:36 GMT
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ill was used to being the straight man to Gaspard’s anxious one. It had been a role he had had to play for a long time, probably before either one could remember. It had never felt like work; he enjoyed being useful for his siblings. It somewhat made up for all the other shit he couldn’t do anything about. And so he took the phone with a patient smile and without a second thought. He was the big brother, and big brothers were supposed to do that sort of stuff for their annoying little siblings.
Customer service, however, was the bane of anyone’s existence, even if they could “nudge” luck in their direction. When Gaspard voiced his own frustration without hesitation, he tried to lean the phone back away with a half-swallowed laugh. He didn’t try to stop Gaspard’s outpouring; there was no use in doing that anyway. “It’s gonna get done; right now, she’s looking up your order or something.” He had no idea what was going on on the other side of the phone, but he was confident it would turn out in their favor. He was good for some things after all.
Clarissa came back with an apologetic tone and with the usual rambling and stuttering of someone who thought they had known something. Apparently, by some clerical error, they had sent out the wrong pair, and now it was her job to apologize for the mistake over and over again. “Oh, no, ma’am. Don’t worry. This sort of thing happens all the time. When is the soonest the new order can be sent out?” When she gave him a date too far out in the future, he clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I was hoping they’d be in before that. Any way to swing that?” An extended pause, before she replied that she had, somehow, found an early ship date. Whether it was luck or charm, he had no idea, but he gave the affirmative all the same.
Ending the call, he handed the phone back to Gaspard. “Between my being late, which I’m sorry for, and that call, we only ate a little bit of time. What did you want to do first? We can always try to make up for lost time.” He felt like he did a lot of that; he was always trying to make up for something.
Post by Gaspard J. Charbonneau on Jun 4, 2019 2:29:22 GMT
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Waiting for Will to handle the situation, Gaspard sat and watched intently as his hands fidgeted. Will was good at what he did but he could never do it quickly enough to satisfy Gaspard. The man had no patience when it came to his anxiety.
He held his breath until Will was done working his magic, taking his phone back and putting it in his pocket.
He nodded when Will apologized for being late. It had bothered him, but somewhere deep down he knew that he hadn't been that late and there was only so much Will could control. He also had a slight awareness of how irrational he was being and so he took a deep breath, pondering his brother's question.
"I have to feed Tim at 7:03," he explained. "You can come home with me but we have to stay in the general vicinity." He wasn't very picky otherwise. "And I wanted to go to the farmer's market to grab food for dinner. Do you want something specific? We could watch a cooking show and pretend we're on a cooking show. Do you need pants? Don't order from Denim Dee."
He gave the man a once over, shaking his head. "Your jeans don't look very worn." So brotherly pants shopping was out. "Oh. That video store is having a clearance sale." And Gaspard could always go for some old documentaries no one wanted to buy. "I was hoping to find a copy of Alive. It's hard to find it online because there's one that's a documentary and one that's a dramatization of the account but reads more like a fiction movie, which is nice sometimes but not what my intention was when I looked into it. So I have the wrong DVD at home. But I don't want to get rid of it because it's a good film."
Post by Guillaume H. Charbonneau on Jun 9, 2019 7:47:47 GMT
G
rowing up Charbonneau had been interesting to say the least. Wrangling Evan’s often explosive temper and Gaspard’s anxiety along with his own penchant for dumb ideas had never been easy. Each of them had seemed so disparate, and they didn’t always get along the way they did when they were older. Hell, he still had to duck Evan’s impressive aim sometimes, and he checked in with their middle brother regularly and had to talk him down more than once. But they were his siblings, and if he could move heaven and Earth to make up for all the shit life had thrown at them, he would certainly try.
And if all it took was resolving customer service issues, he’d willingly speak to a thousand reps.
Tim was the closest Will expected he would get in the form of niece or nephew from Gaspard, and as such, he knew that he had to respect Tim’s often ridiculous feeding schedule. He had tried to push the curfew a bit once, and the formal apology to the gecko was too much for him to have to go through again. “We’ll have you home by 7, with three minutes to spare,” he promised. He nodded at Gaspard’s ideas. “I’ll eat just about anything, Gas.” He did not need pants, but he made the mental note all the same.
“If you really do still want to go pants shopping, I can always use more jeans. You can never have enough jeans,” he offered with a shrug. He really didn’t need any more jeans, but if Gassy wanted to go pants shopping, he’d go. That was practically eldest sibling rule number one: sometimes you just had to do the things your younger siblings wanted to do. It made it easier to convince them to do the things they didn’t want to do. But Gassy was already on about video stores and clearances and some documentary. “So, we’re looking for a documentary then? I think, between the two of us, we can handle it.” As long as he didn’t have to watch them with Gassy. Who was he kidding? He’d probably have to. “Which one is this again?” he questioned, already walking in the general direction of the video store. They didn’t want to waste any more time, of course.
Post by Gaspard J. Charbonneau on Jul 11, 2019 23:42:54 GMT
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"Thank you," Gaspard said when Will assured that they'd be home in time to feed Tim. "I think the schedule has been giving him some needed structure. He's getting more confident and that's integral to his developing character," he explained. So... it was important that they didn't fuck it up.
Will would eat anything? That was great. "Oh, okay. If you really mean it, I can make us a super great dinner. But if you are only saying it because you think that it's the polite thing to say then you can let me know that you're lying before the end of our excursion and we can collect ingredients that you'll be more comfortable with," he assured. He wouldn't eat it, but he'd even order the guy a pizza if he wanted it.
"I do need jeans but I'm getting stressed out over it. My pulse is raising, Will," Gaspard pointed out like the guy should have known. He was indecisive and frustrated. "This is ridiculous. I don't need jeans." He didn't need them. He didn't.
He didn't.
"I need jeans," he pointed out. "I don't like Kohl's because the staff don't make sure that the sizes are all grouped together properly and Macy's have an average of two centimeters too short-- here," he said, pulling out a notebook and opening up to a tab labeled Macy's. He pointed out a chart to Will consisting of cut out pictures of jeans, brand names, and lengths.
The mention of the documentary, however, had Gaspard preoccupied for the moment. He grinned, nodding. "Yes-- well, it's a reenactment. About the Andes plane crash. It's so cool."
Post by Guillaume H. Charbonneau on Aug 4, 2019 3:48:34 GMT
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How do you know if a lizard has gotten more confident? What are his developmental milestones?” It would have been easy enough for the question to be a joke, but Will knew far better than to make it one. It was a genuine curiosity. For all he knew, Gassy had a baby book for Tim, complete with first sounds and a detailed list of Tim’s preferred grubs and light bulb temperatures. It was admirable. Will couldn’t ever remember a time he had dedicated that much time and effort to another living creature.
Maybe he needed a pet. Maybe he would just get a cat.
”You know I can’t lie to you, G.” If he did, he would never hear the end of it, not from Gaspard or Evan, if she ever found out. But heaven forbid she tell the truth completely and forthrightly, of course. ”What are you thinking of making? I can always help make it, even if it’s just stirring something.” That was about all he was good for.
Will could see the gears that were attempting to whir and churn in Gassy’s head. The dude really did need jeans, or he wouldn’t be putting up such a fight about them. But he couldn’t interfere in Gaspard’s decision making process without making it worse, so he just nodded, the silent, strong soundboard he was used to being. Eventually, Gassy would make the choice for himself, and he seemed to decide that he did, in fact, require new jeans.
The notebook was a nice touch, he had to admit. That was more organized than he could ever hope to be. ”Okay, so Macy’s and Kohl’s are out. What about, like, Levi or Ralph Lauren? There should be some outlets close by.” He gave up trying to read the intricate chart; it was a little overwhelming for him.
”Wait, isn’t that the one where they eat each other? I guess that could be an interesting topic.” He adored Gaspard, but that didn’t always mean he understood him. And for once, Will was pretty okay with that.
