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Post by bunny on Jan 4, 2024 0:38:06 GMT
| ~ • ~ | Character Basics | ~ • ~ |
.:Name:. Henry Granville .:Nick Name:. Hen .:Rank:. Nobility; Second Son to Lord Granville (Deceased), Brother to the current Lord Granville, Knighted by Her Majesty Queen Charlotte .:Age:. 36 (born in winter 1776)
| ~ • ~ | Appearance | ~ • ~ |
.:Physical Appearance:. Henry is thin but toned; he keeps active. He has brown hair and brown eyes. He wears his hair with curls usually, but sometimes he tames it to be straighter. Henry wears brighter colors than his contemporaries, preferring purples and blues to the darker neutral tones. He carries himself like a nobleman, a picture of perfection. .:Height:. 5’10” .:Portrayed by:. Julian Ovenden
| ~ • ~ | Personality | ~ • ~ |
.:Personality:. To most of the Ton, Henry is a mysterious creature -- but ever polite and cordial. He holds himself with a level of restraint, acting like the perfect gentleman. He can also be sassy with those he feels comfortable with. Henry becomes almost a different person in the comfort of his own home, carefree and open. He believes in the finer things in life and most importantly art, and he enjoys throwing parties in his home and studio where everyone can be themselves. No one needs to hide around him. He accepts everyone for who they are and encourages them to release the shackles of society (at least, in private). As he says - second sons have all the fun without the responsibility of being a lord. Henry is also incredibly warm and comforting, a soothing presence and a good friend. Henry is open about his sexuality in private, and he and his wife Lucy have a very strong partnership (they are close friends) in order to keep the illusion of a happy marriage. .:Skills:. Painting, Sketching, Charcoal, Drawing - he dabbles in other forms of art, but oil painting is his primary form. He can also sing and play piano. .:Weaknesses:. Henry feels too deeply and perhaps can be too forward and curt. He has a bleeding heart and can be an incorrigible flirt. He may potentially have wandering eyes, especially for a certain person. . . He also can be secretive and closed off when he has to be to protect himself. He also enjoys overindulging in alcohol and opium. Henry also has a strained relationship with his older brother and younger sister. He prefers people to be their honest selves and hates the ruse that everyone plays in the Ton.
| ~ • ~ | History | ~ • ~ |
.:Birthplace:. Sheffield, England .:Family:. Father: Lord Hadley Granville (deceased), Mother: Dowager Countess Ophelia Granville (estranged), Brother: Lord Hugh Granville (estranged), Sister: Marchioness Helen Hamilton (estranged), various nieces & nephews .:Occupation:. Royal Painter .:History:. Henry Granville was born as the second son to Lord Hadley Granville, Earl of Sheffield, and his wife Ophelia. In his youth, Henry knew he was different; instead of being interested in politics like his older brother Hugh, he had always been interested in art. He would stare for hours at paintings in the family home in the countryside, admiring the brush strokes, and would find himself drawing or coloring instead of his homework from his governess. His father was not the kindest man and ruled with an iron fist, trying to dissuade Henry from the arts. Alas, Henry would not give up on his passion, and when Ophelia took interest in Henry’s paintings, he was enrolled in the Royal Academy of Art. He would never say he had the happiest of childhoods, but painting gave him an outlet to unleash his pain, his anger, his sorrow. He was a prodigy, impressing his instructors with his young age and his command with a brush. He was one of the youngest students to start having his art displayed in public galleries. His father begrudgingly supported him, but it slowly grew to pride when members of the Ton took interest in his son’s work. They still always had a strained relationship.
Especially because Henry knew he was gay at a relatively young age. Henry was never interested in women, not in the same boyish way his friends did. And as he grew older, he found himself not wanting to have a wife; he had no attraction to the opposite sex. However, he started finding his fellow male students at the Academy to be enticing. He started a brief relationship with his friend Ignacio who had come from Italy. It was his doorway into that world -- of beauty, of art, of life. He became freer away from his family, partaking in artists parties and being acquainted to sex and debauchery in all forms. It freed him from that oppressive nature of his father, of the Ton and all of their rules. That was the life Henry was drawn to, and he threw himself into it head first.
But reality came crashing back down on him when his brother found out. It was decided that he needed a wife before scandal hit. His father knew as well, and they tried to arrange a marriage for Henry to quickly integrate back into high society. Henry had other ideas, trying to sneak off with the other bachelors with wandering eyes at the parties. However, Lucy Eden also had wandering eyes. She approached him for a dance when they were both in their mid twenties; she had become a spinster in the eyes of her mother, and Lady Eden was eager to pawn her off to a gentleman, any gentleman. Lucy had seen Henry and his disinterest with the others, and instead of enticing him with her body, she enticed him with her mind. They quickly became friends; their personalities were well-suited with each other, and he told her his truth. Which, in turn, had them create a fortuitous relationship: Henry would have a wife of high status, and Lucy would have the freedom to do whatever she liked with the security of a husband. They both were artists at heart, caring more about the bohemian lifestyle than the Ton ballrooms. So they set out to be one of the more well-known underground hideaways.
Henry’s talent as a painter finally caught the eye of the king and queen, and he had his first commission of a portrait of Charlotte from King George (when he was of more sound mind). Charlotte was so pleased by it that she made him the court painter, always commissioning him for paintings of her whims. (Usually portraits of her dogs, which Henry is fine with painting.) He has a very good reputation in the Ton for his talents and is usually commissioned by the high aristocracy for portraits, landscapes, and more.
| ~ • ~ | Member Info | ~ • ~ |
.:Name or Online Alias:. Bunny .:Your Pronouns:. they/she .:Are you 18+:. yes i am .:How Did You Find Us:. look, i'm in your walls
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Post by bunny on Nov 1, 2022 20:49:57 GMT
Oh no.
Oh no.
Henry doesn't realize it right away, but he's sitting on the sette in the hallway, drunk off wine and who knows what else, when he notices Benedict stumbling down the stairs. The knowing smile forms on Henry's face, and he giggles -- amused by the Bridgerton's current state. He can feel that warm feeling bubbling in his chest, and oh -- isn't he a school boy again! It has been some time since he and Wetherby officially separated, and while that had been a headache-and-a-half, Henry tried to keep his spirits up. Perhaps he had already found his heart is somewhere else. . . lost in those familiar blue eyes, in charcoal stained hands. Benedict joins him on the sette, and they talk for hours as they usually do. Henry is smiling widely the whole time.
Oh no.
It is late, much late, probably close to dawn now, when the party finally ends. Henry stands in just his silk kimono robe loosely tied around his waste, a final glass of wine in his hand. He observes the mess left behind like Bacchus, the God of Debauchery himself. A thought plagues him, because he's beginning to realize something that could be very dangerous. He begins to weave through the different rooms, looking for his wife.
"I have terrible news," he announces upon finding her. "I believe I'm in love."
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Post by bunny on Nov 1, 2022 18:11:41 GMT
16. Fighting with their Significant Other."You knew this day would come, Henry!"
You knew this day would come. Oh, how silly a statement. No, Henry did not imagine the love of his life would just stop loving him, even if he did get married. Alas, his chosen wife would not welcome their lifestyle, and Henry knew that, but -- they couldn't have worked it out? Sincerely? He's breathing harshly, standing there in his bedroom, feeling like his whole world is crashing down upon him.
He blinks a few times, trying to find his voice. He doesn't expect his first words to be: "you're a coward. You're a bloody coward!" Wetherby looks pissed at that, and good. Henry can barb, too, if that's what this is about. He can hurt just as badly, be just as angry. "How many years have we -- --"
The door opens, and both men's heads shoot to the new arrival. They both look like children caught doing something they shouldn't, even if they stand across the room from each other with red faces -- from the anger and the alcohol. Wetherby quickly excuses himself with a nod. "Hi, Gen," and escapes quickly down the stairs, leaving the two of them alone.
Henry clears his throat, turning to her, trying to smile but it looks as fake as it feels. "Hello, Gen," he greets, and with trembling hands he goes to the brandy decanter on his dressing table. "Can I interest you in something to drink?" He can hear the party below, but he doesn't feel like fun at the moment. This isn't over between Wetherby and him, but it's beginning to feel like the end of the world.
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Post by bunny on Oct 30, 2022 21:36:23 GMT
Henry usually finds himself a wallflower at these things. The prim and proper way of the Ton never quite sit well with him -- all controlled and perfect. Henry prefers more chaos in his life, something that feels REAL. Alas, he must make these appearances; it is required of him, after all. Plus, it continues to get him work. He stands with a drink, observing, though his mind wanders as he considers the theme of his next party. Perhaps they should do something Roman. That could be fun. . . He'll have to talk to Lucy about that, of course -- --
His brow raises curiously as Eloise Bridgerton approaches him. Benedict's younger sister, yes. He has not been introduced to the whole family, but Benedict spoke highly of Eloise and her talents. He sips his drink, listening carefully as she speaks. A smile forms across his face. "Envy, Miss Bridgerton?" He asks, tilting his head. "Not many do, considering I am not my brother." Though, he understands. There are many women in his circle shafted by society, having their talents hidden away. He's quiet for a moment.
"While University might be beneficial," he starts, tilting his head curiously, "it is not necessary to work on your craft. You have a novel, you said? I have friends that can look at such a thing, should you be interested." He could help her out; it's only natural for him to want to foster creativity.
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Post by bunny on Oct 30, 2022 21:03:33 GMT
BANG! BANG BANG BANG! Henry's eyes shoot open, and he nearly falls off the bed from the loud knocking. "Heavens," the artist breathes, putting a hand on his rapidly beating chest. That had scared him out of a dead sleep. Usually, he struggles to sleep in new places, but Benedict's cottage had felt very cozy -- a warm, inviting feel, just like the man himself. He glances to the other side of the bed. Right, Lucy left for another room hours ago. The banging continues, and so Henry calls out, "all right, all right! The house better be on fire," he grumbles, but he smells no smoke. What could possibly be so urgent? He approaches the door in his underclothes, opening to see a very high Benedict Bridgerton before him. Oh. Interesting development. This isn't a dream, is it? No, Henry's dreams wouldn't feel this real. . . "Benedict," he greets, brow quirked in suspicion. "To what do I owe the honor at. . ." He looks toward the window, the moon glistening into the room. "God's hour." Tag: Benedict Bridgerton
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Post by bunny on Dec 28, 2021 20:39:38 GMT
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Post by bunny on Dec 28, 2021 19:45:07 GMT
OH HOW WONDERFUL BENEDICT BRIDGERTON IS. . . Henry finds himself quietly staring at this young man with a giant heart. Has he lost his touch? Wasn't he a bright mind once, eager for the world? Eager to learn more about love? Optimistic. Those blue eyes are full of many emotions, and Henry finds himself momentarily lost in them. There is a reason besides momentary madness that he kissed Benedict last night. Their friendship has gotten close, has become meaningful. Henry wasn't wrong to think his heart started straying away from Alfred. He and Benedict had similar interests, similar ideologies. . . They understood each other. Henry rubs a hand over his mouth and considers Benedict's kind words. The kindness is truly overwhelming. Lucy has been a rock, but it is strange to have someone else in his corner like this. It is easy to make acquaintances, harder to make deep connections with people. Henry falls silent as he thinks. His mind has been full of confusion. Let him find some clarity here and now. "I will... perhaps believe in the strength of love again." Henry admits with a soft croak in his voice. "I had seen it in your sister, you know? The Duke and Duchess, when I had painted their portrait last season. . . the very picture of devotion, I remember recalling. What was humorous about that situation is that I could tell they were fighting. They would hardly meet each other's eyes, but then they did. . ." And he gestures with his hand. "And something sparked." Henry nods his head, looking at his laced tea. He takes another sip as he considers the rest of Benedict's words. "I will not boast that I have had a good life, Bridgerton. It has been incredibly difficult, even if I paint a beautiful picture of how second sons have all the fun. Loving a man. . . being in love with a man. . . while it is the most wonderful thing in my world, there is so much to consider. So much to. . ." Henry pauses. "It is the simplest thing in the world, to fall in love. And yet it is the most difficult. Wetherby and I could only touch and hold each other in private. We could not announce our love to the world because it could have resulted in our death. Or, perhaps, worse." Henry smiles ruefully. "Ultimately, I understand his position. He is to be married. He will have a wife that will hold him to his duties, and not a saint like Lucy. He can no longer hide around in this life. I had always knew this day would come. I lied to myself that it wouldn't. I begged the universe -- or even God, if he's there -- that it would work out in the end because I had never felt so. . . in love before." He sighs, shoulders slumping. "I was blind-sighted last night, but I knew it was only a matter of time as the pressure continued to fall on Wetherby's shoulders. Second sons aren't scrutinized. I got married when my father demanded it, and then I was out of the Ton's eye. Wetherby was a young bachelor, a lord. Of course he knew he would need to marry eventually. I am heartbroken, but I understand. . ." He closes his eyes briefly as tears form again. "Our world is cruel. . . making him choose between his own happiness and his duty. But he chose his life. I must accept that." Henry moves to wipe a tear away. He breathes slowly, controlling himself much better today than he had the night before. He looks to Benedict. "Something else that I must accept is that. . ." He trails off, looking into those understanding eyes. It's as if Benedict can see into his soul. It's as if he can just exude. . . lightness and curiosity and passion. "My heart might have been. . . pulling away from Wetherby as well. And I believe he saw it, too. I think that's why he did not fight for us." Henry purses his lips together. "Your presence was very welcome in that moment, for I do not think anyone else could have given me the same comfort you did. Because, Bridgerton. . . you are. . . you." Henry pauses, then, and he holds Benedict's gaze meaningfully. "My heart was being pulled toward you." And he smiles ruefully. "It almost feels good to get it off my chest, but everything is so confusing right now. . . I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I have been thinking about you. Because your presence fills me with great joy. You fill me with great joy, Benedict Bridgerton." He pauses again, letting the words sink in. There is no way that Henry could even try to be in a relationship right now. . . but could he give himself hope? Tagging: Benedict Bridgerton
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Post by bunny on Dec 27, 2021 6:01:59 GMT
57. Your muse kidnaps mine.
OH. . . HIS HEAD. . . Henry feels groggy as he wakes. He's not entirely sure what happened. What's the last thing he remembers? He goes to touch his head and finds he cannot move his arms. All right, now is not the time to freakout. Henry has mastered keeping his emotions under control even under the most stressful situations. He shifts. His legs are bound, too. Interesting. He is helpless, and not in the fun kind of way. What had happened? How did this happen? Who had done this? He tries to recall the night before. He was having drinks with Jeremy. . . and the rest goes blank. Huh.Henry opens his eyes slowly. Is he alone in this room? Where even is he? A closet? No, it seems a room bigger than that. He shifts to sit up, letting out a low grunt as he does. "Hello?" He calls out. "Hello?" He mustn't get nervous, even as this gets more and more unnerving. Tagging: Jeremy Colborne
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Post by bunny on Dec 27, 2021 5:41:35 GMT
6. Hungover
HENRY BLOWS OUT A LOUD SIGH as he wakes. He is on the floor of his studio, head pounding from the festivities of the night before. The artist groans there, hiding his face from the light pouring in from the windows. Why are there so many blood windows? He shifts to lie on his side, wondering just how many bodies are strewn about the residence. That had been a fun one from what he remembers. If only he could've woken up in the arms of a lover instead of on the cold floor!
"Heavens," he murmurs before finally forcing himself to sit up. Granville briefly considers drinking some brandy to nurse his hangover, but no... he must endure. He can and will have some tea and breakfast made for all guests who still found themselves on the premises. He gets to his feet slowly and exits the room, only to see the singer watching him from the bench in the hallway. "Good morning, Miss Allen." He greets with a small croak, almost as if a frog is caught in his throat. "I trust you had a good night?"
Tagging: @julieta
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Post by bunny on Dec 27, 2021 5:33:44 GMT
6. My muse is all tied up (how and why is up to the mun)"OH DEAR." Henry says, eyes widening as the young woman opens the door. Yes, his parties tend to get a bit wild -- which is why he is tied up and shirtless right now. His only saving grace is that he's alone in this room, considering the miscreants who left him tied up had other ideas for the ones who would catch him in this room. (Consensually, of course.) Alas, this was not what he was expecting. The Talbot girl is new to his parties, and this must be -- alarming, to say the least. Henry Granville squirms against his settee; his wrists are bound above his head to the leg of the furniture as he reclines across it.
"Miss Talbot," he clears his throat, a blush forming across his cheeks. "I -- erm -- I apologize for you finding me in this current. . . state. I trust you're having a good time otherwise?" Well, this is certainly awkward.
Tagging: @mariannetalbot
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Post by bunny on Dec 27, 2021 5:17:57 GMT
29. Your muse has blackmail over mine.HIS LIPS PURSE TOGETHER. . . Henry never thought someone invited to his parties would ever hold this over his head. Alas, here he is, at her mercy. If he is found out, he is ruined -- not only with jail. with death. Granville stands uneasily as he stares at Juliet, eyes brimming with betrayal. With hatred, even. He would never consider himself an angry man, but he can feel it boiling in his chest. . . along with shame. Lots and lots of shame.
He bows his head forward, considering his next words carefully. Henry clears his throat. "What do you want from me?" His voice is still hoarse as he looks back up at her, completely on edge. She holds all the power here.
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Post by bunny on Dec 27, 2021 4:50:40 GMT
14. Crossdressing.
THERE ARE WORSE WAYS SHE'S FOUND HIM, Henry thinks as the door opens. Perhaps the most surprising thing is that he's wearing one of her silk kimonos over his shoulders. Henry stares at her, rogue coating his cheeks, lips red, and some makeup around his eyes. He had been struck with the desire for another self portrait, something more personal and daring, exploring the more feminine side of himself. He clears his throat, moving to sit on the bed. He's got a corset loosely fitted around his waist. Oddly enough, this suits him.
"Well, hello, Lucy." He greets after a moment, adjusting his petticoat. "To what do I owe the honor?" Henry smiles, eyes crinkling. Better for her to react before he makes a comment about his current state of dress. He adjusts a curl behind his ear. "Can I assist you with something?"
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Post by bunny on Dec 27, 2021 4:42:55 GMT
49. Our muses in a carriage accident.IT WAS APPALLING -- the way that Portia treated Marina Thompson. Henry had stood there uncomfortably at the Duke of Hasting's country estate as he watched the Featherington berate the girl. The Duke and Duchess decided to hold their first ball in the countryside instead of at the Ton as a symbol of their marriage, which lead Henry here. Lucy had mentioned that she wanted to ride home with some friends, which left the painter to take his carriage alone. . . until he encountered Portia yelling at the girl. "I see your carriage is a bit cramped, Lady Featherington," he interjected politely, "why not allow Miss Thompson to ride in mine?"
Porta stuttered, but ultimately allowed it. . . which found them here now, awkwardly staring at each other. Henry tried to make conversation a few times, but he knew he was at least twenty years older than the girl; he must seem ancient to her. Still, he was glad that he could offer her some peace at quiet.
That is, until he hears the loud neighing of one of the horses. Suddenly, the carriage launched into a quick pace, only to have the driver shouting -- the carriage was swerving off the road --
Henry doesn't remember the crash, but his head is aching when he wakes. He rubs at his head and feels stickiness. He grimaces. Blood. Despite the ringing in his ears and throbbing headache, he seems to be all right. His carriage driver is worse for wear a few kilometers before him. Poor man. And then it dawns on him that there is one other unaccounted for. Henry hurries to his feet, only stumbling from the dizziness that overcomes him. Oh, that made him nauseous. He puts his handkerchief to his lips, just in case he gags, but he manages to right himself. After a breath, he calls out: "Miss Thompson! Miss Thompson, are you hurt?"
Tagging: @marinat Notes: Little bit of an AU from canon!
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Post by bunny on Dec 27, 2021 1:15:49 GMT
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Post by bunny on Dec 27, 2021 1:12:06 GMT
“You are my new pillow.”
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