Character Name: Pierre Gringoire, the Aristotle of his day (he wishes)
Player: Obi
Movie of Origin / Additional Sources:It is woefully true that he does not originate from a movie, which does call to question his right to be here at all, but when the Holy Lady wills something to be so, who would a beleaguered mortal be to question such a divine order? Is he not as human as any other? Has he not the right to go where his feet will lead him, and swoon where his heart desires, as much as any man? Oh, but to be as carefree and behumbled as a beast of the fields or of the skies! Ah, but he does feel such jealousy toward his little Djahli sometimes! So pretty and clean, and beyond the misgivings of the self-righteous lords and magistrates, who expect so much of us, the refined creatures of earth who walk on two legs by the design of God, Himself. Sadly, though a wondrous amount of attention was paid him and the details of his escapades in Victor Hugo’s novel about the cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris, the animated adaptations of this glorious work have left him out entirely. Yes, such is the lot of your own poor Gringoire, but he fears not for the fate of his presence! Through providence and divine intervention, time itself has been turned about and woven together, a single yarn forming a glorious tapestry of intertwining colors and details, allowing for the vision of things that may never have been known otherwise.
Age: A man with the spirit of a poet must never be burdened with the likes of time or its passing, for he must forever remain unstifled to see the past and future and all that might be if things were only a little bit different, to make the most of his ords and bring tears to those who weep for what can never truly be, but which nevertheless remain so for as long as the actors are upon the stage. He knows not the year of his birth, nor does he care, for he shall always be a young child in his heart with the mind of the most ancient of scholars. No, ignore the first signs of gray hairs! They are but specks of dust on the wind: few, tiny, irrelevant. See not the wrinkles beneath his eyes! They say nothing of his age, only the many wondrous experiences he has been blessed and cursed to-- **WACK**
He’s thirty-seven.
Reference: Side, and
FrontThese images were pulled from a stage adaptation of the novel which does feature Pierre.
Personality: Oh gods… Writing this part out is going to be fantastic and exhausting…
Abilities: He can make people give him almost whatever he wants, just by talking at them until they will do anything to shut him up. Sometimes it backfires, and they decide the only almost certain way to shut him up is to kill him and gag his corpse. It usually works though. Occasionally.
He also possesses a significant education, being fluent in Latin, studied in poetry and literature, and not unfamiliar with the alchemical sciences. That being said, knowing what to do with the information he possesses… is not among his skill sets.
Flaws: NONE HE IS A PILLAR OF WISDOM AND ARTISTIC VIRTUE! [Insert ramblage which shows that he is cowardly, easily distracted, lacking self-awareness, and sometimes slow to act due to long-windedness.]
Companion(s): A powerful yet dignified, delicate, charming creature, whose small feet, handsome shapes, and graceful manners he admires, almost confusing shapes for the spirit in his imagination. He regards his little Djahli both as handsome as any woman, as intelligent as any man, more literate than any grammarian, and more elegant than a gazelle. If only God had truly made the goat his, and not so loyal to his ex-wife!
Brief History:Pierre was the son of a notary in Gonesse. His father was hanged by Burgundians and his mother ungraciously dispatched by the Picards during the siege of Paris some years ago. At the age of six, therefore, he was an orphan, with no other sole to his foot than the pavement of Paris.
He really can’t say how he managed to live between the ages of six and sixteen; sometimes, a fruit seller would give him a plum, sometimes a baker would toss him a crust, and at night, he would find himself picked up by the watch, who would throw him in jail, where he at least had a bundle of straw to sleep on. In spite of all this, he grew up, tall and thin, as one can see. In the winter, he warmed himself in the sun under the porch of the Hotel de Sens and it seemed ridiculous to him that the Bonfire of Saint John came in the middle of summer.
At sixteen, Pierre decided it was time to take up a profession and he tried his hand at just about everything. He became a soldier, but he wasn’t brave enough. He became a monk, but he wasn’t pious enough; besides, he’s a bad drinker. In despair, he became a carpenter’s apprentice, but he wasn’t strong enough. He finally realized that he was unfit for everything, so he became a poet. It’s a profession a man can always practice while he’s a vagabond, and it’s better than stealing, as some of his dishonest friends advised him to do.
One day, he was lucky enough to meet Master Robert Gatigny, Chancellor to the Lord Bellevigne de l’Etoile. The great man took an interest in him and Pierre owes it to him that today, he is a learned man. He knows Latin, from Cicero’s
Offices to the
Mortuology of the Celestine Fathers, and he is not barbarous in scholastics, poetics, rhythmics, or even in alchemy, the greatest science of them all.
Pierre is the author of the play which was triumphantly performed in the Palace of Justice one festival morning, though of course the play was overtaken by ruffians and overshadowed by the eventual entrance of the Cardinal, who could not be bothered to show up to watch the play on time, and nearly incited a riot in the play’s requirement of waiting for his eminence's arrival. Luckily, Judge Claude Frollo was somehow able to retain order and shoo the crowd to the streets. Pierre suspects it was because in his youth, Frollo had had experience wrangling his ne’er-do-well younger brother, who tragically died of illness. Or perhaps the crowd was simply terrified of him. Honestly, the whole debacle would have made for a great morality play in itself, and with Frollo dead, he may write it up someday. Perhaps the city will actually pay him for that one.
Pierre has also written a book, which will be six hundred pages long, on the prodigious comet of 1465 which caused a man to go mad. He has had other successesses too. For example, having some skill as an artillery carpenter, he worked on that huge cannon which, as everyone knows, blew up at the Pont de Charenton the day it was tried and killed twenty-four curious bystanders. That part wasn’t his fault, of course.
After a spectacular failure by an audience to pay attention to anything without abundant flatulence, let alone to words of intelligence and lessons of morality, the city refused to pay him yet again for a masterpiece he had spent the better part of a year writing, and another two months teaching to the actors given him. The lead actor bought Pierre some good northern whiskey as consolance, but otherwise gave him no pity. With nothing to pay for bed or food, he stumbled off in a drunken stupor in search of a good rock to use as a pillow, but instead found himself by sheer accident in a hidden part of the city, the famed Court of Miracles, where he was to be hanged for the crime of being an honest citizen.
Convicted of an absence of thievery, disfigurement, deception, or any such qualities which would grant him the disdainment of men of law, Pierre was sentenced to death for the betterment of the Court. His only hope of survival was that a maiden of the gypsy people would take him as her man and make him one of their own. A still quite young but already beautiful Esmeralda did so, a jar was broken on the floor, and that was that. He did attempt to do what husbands do on their wedding night, but she was quicker with her dagger than he was with his “sword” and he decided he’d rather keep his stones before his pride. Not that his pride could be taken from him; whatever shame he’d had had been begged off and sent to bed in his poetry long before. Besides, if he let her kill or castrate him, he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy his time with Djahli nearly as much. Oh, but he does cherish that goat. It’s unfortunate that Esmeralda got full custody once their time together was finished; she wouldn’t even let him keep Djahli a single day of the week. Pierre bemoans this cruelty often, though he is far too afraid of his lovely ex-wife to push her on the subject. And so began a blissful four-year marriage wherein he spent every day performing feats of strength with his teeth alongside the gypsy entertainers and every night locked out of the bedroom, to be awakened every morning by the prettiest little creature on God’s earth attempting to eat the stockings on his feet. If only it need never have ended.
On the upside, he can now enter into the upper rooms of brothels without technically betraying a wife.
Important Relationships:Esmeralda terrifies him, though they did not leave off on bad terms. She’s kind of fond of him, but prone to trolling him, and will not put up with his meandering speech if she needs him to get to the point. She is not above using physical force to remind him of this, but rarely does she need to do more than roll for intimidate to get him in line.
Phoebus and Clopin are his occasional drinking buddies, though he runs into Phoebus much more often, as they tend to frequent the same taverns and brothels. Esmeralda also enjoys playing the two off each other, as her ex and her betrothed.
Quasimodo mostly tolerates Pierre whenever he happens to be around, but doesn’t have any inclination to initiate a proper friendship. Pierre, for his part, is happy to have someone who will let him ramble endlessly about absolutely nothing (most of the time), and doesn’t care that it’s because Quasi can barely hear him in the first place.
Pierre’s most cherished relationship is with Djahli, Esmeralda’s goat. He considered the goat to be partially his and pontificates about the beauty of his horns, hooves, and wool. Many jokes are made about whether he wants to care for the goat or seduce him. He hasn’t put forth any confirmations nor denials of either.
