#camille etienne

[cherusque]

Camille Étienne 🇫🇷

[happywebdesign]

https://www.pourquoionsebat.com/

[breathetoseethetruth]

Anyone else on here who is a fan of Camille Étienne?

[arinewman7]

Camille Claudel

Photography by Etienne Carjat

1896

[lesser-known-composers]

Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921) - Etienne Marcel: Récit et air de Béatrix "Ah ! Laissez-moi, ma mère !" ·

Véronique Gens · Münchner Rundfunkorchester · Hervé Niquet

[le-mur-st-etienne]

Intervention de Camille Blandin, Janvier 2024

"Murassik Park"

des dinosaures ça peut faire penser à quoi? à Jurassic Park ( gros raccourci). Ils sont exposés sur quoi? Sur un mur. Murassik Park. Vous l'avez? Elle est pas évidente.

[k-star-holic]

Nathalie ... Portman husband and Affair 25-year-old woman, "activist for climate change and social justice"

Source: k-star-holic.blogspot.com

[robinfrinjs]

Always There, Women in Motorsport: The fast women of la belle époque

Women's history in motorsport is rich, and that has always been the case. Most of these stories however aren’t well known and aren’t spoken about enough. Women have always been in motorsport and always will be.

Three French women, Hélène van Zuylen, Camille du Gast, and Anne de Rochechouart de Mortemart are some of the fastest women from France’s La Belle Epoque (circa 1880-1914).

In 1898 Anne de Rochechouart de Mortemart (1847-1933) (also known as the Duchess of Uzes) became the first woman in France to obtain her driver’s license. While getting out of the car she announced with delight that woman had just overcome a new barrier. Not long after she also became the first to be caught speeding for which she had to pay a five franc fine.

in 1926 she founded the first female Automobile Club, L'Automobile Club féminin de France (ACFF)

The Duchess of Uzes in 1927

Hélène van Zuylen (pictured on the cover image) was a French author but also the first woman to compete in an international auto race. Baron Etienne van Zuylen, her husband, was the President of the Automobile Club de France

She entered the 1898 Paris–Amsterdam–Paris using the nickname Snail, while her husband used the nickname Escargot. She successfully competed the trail and entered the Paris-Berlin race in 1901 but was stopped by technical failure.

That year Hélène, a lesbian, would meet Renée Vivien with whom she would have an affair. Vivien's letters to a confidant revealed that she considered herself married to Hélène. Most of Vivien's work is dedicated to "H.L.C.B.," the initials of Zuylen's first names.

Just over a decade before she died, Hélène van Zuylen created the Renée Vivien Prize, Honoring the woman she loved and intending to give encouragement to female writers.

Hélène van Zuylen - Nouvelle Revue internationale illustrée, December 1908

Camille du Gast (1868-1942) finished 33rd (19th in class) out of 122 participants in the 1901 Paris-Berlin race. Du Gast, achieved the results despite driving her husband's 20CV Panhard-Levassor which was not designed for racing. She had to start the race in last because she was a woman. The race did mark 2 female competitors with du Gast and van Zuylen. She loved several extreme sports such as mountaineering, parachuting and frencing.

In 1902 she competed in the Paris-Vienna race and also wanted to compete in the New York-San Francisco but was refused entry because she was a woman.

In 1903 she would start the Paris-Madrid race. Which she would enter with a proper racing car, a works 5.7-litre de Dietrich car. It was a chaotic race with 207 competitors which unfortunately saw several deaths. Camille started in 29th and gained 9 positions in the first 120 km. She had climbed up to P8 before stopping to give medical aid to a fellow driver, Phil Stead (also driving a de Dietrich) involved in a near-fatal crash.

Camille du Gast in her 30 hp De Dietrich with starting number 29 during the 1903 Paris-Madrid Race

Later one of the leading drivers at that time, Charles Jarrot said that if Camille had not stopped Stead likely would have died. After an ambulance arrived she continued the race eventually finishing 44th or 45th in the shortened race.

The French government would stop the race at Bordeaux, as over half of the field (275 cars) had either crashed or retired and several drivers and spectators had died.

Open road racing was banned, so in 1904 Camille wanted to participate in the French elimination trial for the Gordon Bennett races, as the Benz factory team offered du Gast a race seat. But the Autosport Club France (ACF) banned women from racing. Du Gast published a letter in protest but the ban was defended as the ACF could not risk a woman getting injured or killed in a racing event.

Because of this she ventured to boat racing. One of those races was caught by a big storm which saw most competitors either abandon their ship or they sank. She was rescued and later declared the winner of that race.

Eventually she had to put a halt to her adventurous life when she survived an assassination attempt by her daughter. Nothing was ever the same for her after that. From that point she devoted herself to animals. She would serve as president of the 'French Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals'

NEXT UP > More female racing drivers from the early 1900s

[gogmstuff]

More pre-Victorian 1830s (from top to bottom) -

ca. 1830 Evening or wedding dress (location ?). From tumblr.com/andrayblue 1080X1350.

1831 Marquise Chasseloup-Laubat (probably Marie Augustine Antoinette Le Boucher des Fontaines) by Joseph-Désiré Court (Musée des Beaux-Arts de Rouen - Rouen, Normandie, France). From their Web site' enlarged by half 845X1181.

1830-1832 María Cristina de Borbón, Queen of Spain by José de Madrazo y Aguado (Prado). From their Web site 1280X1745.

1832 Marie Franziska von Freytag by ? (Salzburg Museum  - Salzburg, Salzburgland, Austria). From tumblr.com/history-of-fashion 766X963.

1832 Amalie Klein by Friedrich von Amerling (Österreichische Galerie Belvedere - Wien, Austria). From tumblr.com/history-of-fashion; fixed spots & cracks throughout w Pshop 2893X3508.

1835 Illustration from La Mode by Paul Gavarni. From tumblr.com/clove-pinks 1650X2048.

1836 Marriage Portrait of Charlotte de Rothschild by Moritz Daniel Oppenheim (Israel Museum - Jerusalem, Jerusalem District, Israel). From Google Art Project.

Lady with Pink Sash by Camille Joseph Etienne Roqueplan (Sotheby's - 29Jan22 auction Lot 703) 1583X2000.

[audreyslists]

French Painters (part one)

Masterlist of French painters and my favorite artwork from them. PM me for suggestions.

-- Paul Cezanne, (1839-1906), romanticism, modern art, cubism, impressionism, post-impressionism

-- Paul Gauguin, (1848-1903), post-impressionism, modern art, symbolism, primitivism. synthetism

-- Gustave Courbet, (1819-1877), realism

-- Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, (1864-1901), post-impressionism, art nouveau

-- Gustave Moreau, (1826-1898), symbolism, modern art

-- Camille Pissarro, (1830-1903), impressionism, post-impressionism, neo-impressionism

-- Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, (1780-1867), neoclassicism, orientalism

-- Philippe de Champaigne, (1602-1674), baroque

-- Frederic Bazille, (1841-1870), impressionism

-- Gustave Caillebotte, (1848-1894), impressionism, realism

-- Francois Boucher, (1703-1770), rococo

-- Pierre Brissaud

-- Sophie Blum-Lazarus

-- Pierre Bobot

-- Pierre-Nicolas Brisset

– Etienne Buffet

– Louis Braquaval

– Suzanne Duchamp

– Claude Monet

– Pierre-Auguste Renoir

– Henri Matisse

– Georges Braque

– Rosa Bonheur

– Nicolas Poussin

– Louis-Francois Aubry

– Theodore Gericault

– Etienne Allegrain

– William-Adolphe Bouguereau

– Frederic Samuel Cordey

– Jean de Botton

– Felic Auguste Clement

– Cecile Bart

– Renee Aspe

– Pierre Puvis de Chavannes

– Pierre Auguste Cot

– Edgar Degas

– Eduoard Manet

– Eugene Delacroix

– Jacques-Louis David

– Georges Seurat

– Berthe Morisot

– Joseph Apoux

– Charles Angrand

– Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot

– Jean-Honoré Fragonard

– Lydia Corbett

– Louis Emile Benassit

-- Joseph Crepin (1875-1948), spiritualism, art brut

-- Roger de la Corbiere, (1893-1974), seascape

-- Thomas Couture, (1815-1879), academic art

-- Jean Simeon Chardin, (1699-1799), rococo, baroque, realism.

[enjolton]

Url playlist tag !

(But I made it "server nickname" playlist because lol)

Thanks @heavenslittlehellionfor the tag ! Full playlist on spotify : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4EnaBziHvMwCzuBgD7Entb?si=111551d533664dfa

O - Oh j'cours tout seul - Albin de la Simone R - Running up that Hill - Kate Bush (Postmodern Jukebox cover) A - Avis à mes frères de France - Sofiane C - Cottonflower - Moriarty L - Le bouillon - Les Wriggles E - Everything Matters - AURORA & Pomme

A - A new kind of Love - Frou frou P - Pope is a Rockstar - SALES O - Oh Man - Jain L - La Sansonette - Quartet Davis version L - La semaine Sanglante - Michele Bernard version O - Oh No ! - MARINA

E - Empire - Camelia Jordana N - Ne me jugez pas - Camille Lellouche J - J'voulais pas faire d'piano - Michele Bernard O - Orchestra - The Servant L - La fin du monde - Terrenoire & Barbara Pravi T - Tools - Candeur Cyclone O - Only love can break your heart - Saint Etienne N - Notes pour trop tard - Orelsan

Taggin @will80sbyers @ninazeniksloveinterest and @lilitblaukatzif you wanna ^^

[aimonsnouspleinement]

Watch me faire une crise d'angoisse en regardant toxic bodies de Camille Etienne.

Merci meuf pour ce que tu fais, sorry de pas réussir à tanker

[sweetnxthngs]

[ camille razat, cis woman, she/her ] — whoa! OCTAVIA BAUDELAIRE just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 10 YEARS working as a PRIMA BALLERINA FOR THE NYC BALLET. that can’t be easy, especially at only 34 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit RECKLESS and SELFISH, but i know them to be  ETHEREAL and INTELLIGENT, whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to BROOKLYN!  —character inspo: leighton murray, serena van der woodsen, sutton brady.

pinterest

tw smoking, tw mental illness, tw teen pregnancy, tw alcohol, tw anxiety attack

BASICS

FULL NAME: Octavia Clemetine Baudelaire 

NICKNAME(S): Tavi

AGE: 34

DATE OF BIRTH:  November 25th 1990

CURRENT LOCATION: Vintage Lofts, Brooklyn, New York City

PLACE OF BIRTH:  Paris, France

ETHNICITY: Caucasain

GENDER: Cis woman

PRONOUNS: she/her

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: lesbian

RELIGION: agnostic

LANGUAGES: French, English

OCCUPATION:  Prima Ballerina for the NYC ballet

FACECLAIM: Camille Razat

PHYSICAL TRAITS

HEIGHT: 5’6

WEIGHT: 125

HAIR COLOR: Naturally blonde, but currently platinum blonde. 

EYE COLOR: Blue

PIERCINGS: both of her ears are pierced 

TATTOOS: the word “divine” in a delicate script on her left hip.

SCARS|MARKS: sometimes she gets freckles across her nose in the summer, a scar on her knee from playing in her nana’s garden in the south of france as a child

SIGNATURE SCENT: Tom Ford Santal Blush

PHOBIAS AND DISEASES

MENTAL ILLNESSES: generalized anixety

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES: N/a

PHOBIAS: monophobia

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER:  Claudette Baudelaire (nee Granger)

FATHER:  Matthieu Baudelaire 

CHILDREN: simone baudelaire (raised as her younger sister)

SIBLINGS:  Etienne Baudelaire, Simone Baudelaire 

RELATIONSHIPS:  coming soon

 PETS: she recently adopted a black cat and named it fish. 

PERSONALITY

ZODIAC SIGN:  Saggitarius

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good

FAVORITE FOODS: her nana’s blueberry lemon buttermilk waffles, the berry chantilly cake from whole foods, pesto mozzarella and bacon grilled cheeses, cheese-y fries.

FAVORITE COLOR:  dusty lavender

LIKES:  the smell of home-made baked goods, espresso martinis, vintage shopping, rom-coms, that bubbly warm feeling you get when you have a crush on someone, watching PWHL, gossiping with her friends, terrifying men, going to a restaurant and eating her weight in chips and queso. 

DISLIKES:  people who aren’t “girls girls", people who “play devil's advocate”, people who underestimate her, the fact that blueberries are green with the skin off. 

HOBBIES: ice hockey on the weekends, pottery classes, collecting vintage nightgowns, learning about art.

BIOGRAPHY

Tw smoking, tw mental illness mention, tw teen pregnancy, tw alcohol

PAST

Paris, France,  1990. 

Claudette Baudelaire is in labor for the second time, it is raining in Paris and her husband is somewhere probably smoking a cigarette.  Her oldest son, Etienne, just five years old, is in the waiting room with her mother, and she tries not to think about how alone she feels right now, and thinks back to summers in Saint-Tropez instead, before she was a mother or a wife. 

Octavia Clementine Baudelaire is born weighing 7 pounds, and her mother holds her for a total of ten minutes before she is swept up in the arms of her husband, the grandmother, nurses and doctors, and then placed into a bassinet at her side.  

It wasn’t that Claudette didn’t love her two children, she just didn’t know how to be their mother just yet, only 25 with two children. 

Octavia’s childhood is spent at her grandmother’s side, rather than her mother’s, Claudette would ship the children off to the south of france for the summers, and young Tavi would run barefoot through her grandmothers garden, trying to catch butterflies and dig up worms. Often, she would come in covered in mud, her older brother and best friend following close behind. She always had been the ring leader. 

The rest of the year is spent in Paris with their parents,  or, with their nanny while mom shopped or went to the spa, or drank large glasses of red wine instead of eating dinner, or while dad worked, and worked, and sometimes snuck into the house late at night, heading into the shower before kissing them all good night. 

Days were filled with classes, music for Etienne, dance, ballet in particular, for Octavia, they were out of the home well until dinner time, food, homework, bed.  A routine set up for children who didn’t know any better.  Or so their parents thought. Etienne was easier to persuade, but Octavia despised the idea of conforming to her parent’s idea of love, but had no idea how to express it, she would spend time in the ballet studio instead, where she was praised for natural talent, where she soared. 

Whatever their parents couldn’t give them emotionally,  they gave them financially. Toys and games, trips, electronics, whatever their little hearts desired.   Little hearts however grew into big hearts, and the Baudelaire children turned into the Baudelaire teenagers, priveleged and beautiful, the entire world was theirs. 

                                  she had a marvelous time, ruining everything. 

Sixteen year old Tavi only cared about two things, her social life, and ballet. Often times, the two would intermingle. Octavia was a student at the Opera national, and what many would say, one of the best, well on her way to professional dancing, she had just about everything going for her, from being a beautiful dancer, a socialite in her own right and her mothers good looks, Tavi had the entire universe in her hands, and she refused to squander it. Days were filled with school and ballet, nights were filled with parties, galas, drinking with her friends or vacations across Europe, money and status were never an issue, her name was on the list for all of the best clubs and events, and in the morning she’d chug a cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and step back into perfect girl, perfect daughter, perfect student, perfect ballerina energy. 

The one thing that didn’t interest Tavi? Dating. While her friends were coupled off and having fun in that respect, the farthest it got for her was tabloid rumours of dating every boy she ever walked outside with, but Tavi had more important things to worry about, life had too much to offer, and she could tie herself down to someone later, when she accomplished her dreams.  

You know what they say about peer pressure, what started as a virginity pact between friends, and Tavi’s need to stay friends with these girls she grew up with,  ended up with sixteen year old Tavi pregnant, watching the end of her life begin with a pink positive sign. 

This is when Claudette Baudelaire finally acted like a mother. She watched the color drain from her daughter’s face, the way she cried over losing her dreams because of a mistake with a boy she didn’t even have feelings for, and she stepped in, a letter to schools that her grandmother was sick and they’d spend the rest of the year in the south of france, two  promises made,  that this baby would be raised as a sibling, and that Tavi would go on to make her life happen.

Nine months later, Simone Baudelaire was born, a sixteen year age gap between her and her big sister,  Tavi spent an entire month after crying in bed. 

                                give me back my girlhood, it was mine first

Having a baby changes you, no matter what age you are, but when you’re sixteen years old and staring at the face of your baby everyday, watching as your parents raise her like their own, it sort of just fucks you, and you entire life up.  Tavi has no idea how to go back to normal, to parties and dancing, she couldn’t imagine a world separate from the one where she had had a baby, where she was somebodies mother, even if she wasn’t technically. 

But she had made a promise, hadn’t she? She would go on and live her life, go back to school and dancing and her friends, go back to buying matching prada purses with her friends and too short sparkly dresses photographed on front pages of tabloids. 

So she went back, to her friends who obsessed over her semester vacation, wishing they could get away too,  back to late nights at clubs where they kept champagne and high end vodka flowing until dawn, and back to ballet, the only thing that kept her breathing. 

When the anxiety attacks started, she was at a party in someone’s penthouse, she finds herself gulping in cold paris air on a balcony. She smoke’s two cigarettes before she calls it a night, waving goodbye and kissing cheeks before she’s back home in a car that her parents home, with the same driver that used to drive her to primary school.

Ballet becomes therapy too,  she replaces racing thoughts with run throughs. 

                                                 so keep on pretending pretty girl

Tea for two is Simone’s second birthday theme, and Tavi’s last day in her family home, a flat in the center of the city,  more training, more partying, something new with a signature on a lease. Dad pays the rent, pays for training pays for a driver, but he doesn’t pay for the French 75’s at the gay bar that’s a 15 minute walk from her place.   

She is 18 and kissing girls in dark bars and discovering that maybe she didn’t care for boys because this is what life is all about, drinking lemony drinks and kissing women with pillowy lips.  In the morning though, she pretends none of it happens, but the lingering smell of jasmine perfume lingers on the pillow next to her. 

It takes her years before she can admit to herself that she likes girls, 21 years old with her first girlfriend,  it’s dinners at home and secret meetings until she’s broken up with. It goes like this a lot for a few years, but there is a bit in her stomach that she thinks might swallow her whole if she tells anyone else.  

This is something that is just for her.

25 is a milestone, her mother had two kids by now and it reminds her that she had one at sixteen, a nine year old girl back home that she barely even knows outside of postcards and pristinely wrapped gifts sent in the mail. 

25 comes with a move to America because the NYC ballet has been after her for years and she finally gives in, Paris feels stifling and she needs a change of scenery.  Daddy buys her a loft in Brooklyn and she jets off the first chance gets. 

Days are filled with too much caffiene and eight hours of rigorous training, nights are filled with drinks in dark bars of clubs that have her name on a list somehow, or gallery openings, or gala’s that have her parent’s name on the donors list. There are still paparazzi when she comes out the doors past midnight, stumbling a little too much.  She goes from the Paris’  It Girl to New Yorks

Life is a lot like Paris but its more than three thousand miles away from everything she’s ever known and that makes her feel more alive than ever. 

PRESENT

Nine years later and Tavi is 34 years old, living in a Brooklyn loft with windows so big she feels like she’s in the clouds sometimes.  There’s a cat named fish that gets black hair all over lavender pillow cases, and fresh flowers from the market every sunday on her dining table.   She drinks oatmilk lattes daily, consumes sushi from nobu at least once a week, and she has grown obsessed with ice hockey, watching it and playing it. 

She’s still on the cover of tabloids for late night adventures and getting caught smoking with a diplomat in the bathroom at a gala,  but she was also featured in Vogue when she became a principal for the NY Ballet. 

She’s out to everyone but her family and the media.   Everything is good until her sister shows up at her door, freshly 18 with tears streaks down her cheeks and a haunting look in her eyes.  

She knows. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Her older brother Etienne, he is five years older than her, and they grew up very close, as best friends. They are still, I would hope, very close, the only two people with the same childhood.

Honestly, I would love to see either of her parents here, they'd both be around 60. Mom is a socialite and dad is in finance.

her best friend group! would love 3 or 4 besties for Tavi that just get her. perhaps the only people outside of her family that know about the simone situation.

the frenemy! would love if it was someone within the ballet world but also could be anything, she's very much a socialite as well so keep your friends close and your enemies closer vibes?

friends from france! you know, those girls she wanted so badly to stay friends with, the girls who were rich and pretty and mean girls which was not the vibe that tavi really wanted to give off, but one she sort of fell into. would love to see them trying to one up each other but in that weird saccharine way.

exes of all sorts! tavi is a lesbian so please keep this in mind, she hasn't dated a cis man since she was in high school!

the beard! oh, tavi is out and proud with the people she loves but she's not ready to let the media dive into her personal life, so sometimes, but especially if she's currently single, she brings this person to events to pass as her "boyfriend" so no one asks questions.

people that she parties with! you know those people you only hang out with to get drinks and dance on bars with? would love a few of these for tavi!

the opposites attract! gosh i would love a woman that is all tattoos and leather in comparison to tavi's tutu's and red lipstick vibes, someone who challenges her!

bring me your ideas! i am so open to anything within reason!

[prairiesongserial]

20.21

Content warning: this update contains descriptions of strangulation.

It didn’t take much to persuade Val to leave after he had pointed Cody in the direction of Ghislane’s cabin; Val looked like he’d rather be back in the lounge than actively helping to solve a mystery, and Cody needed someone to make his excuses to John anyway. Not that Cody had actually come up with an excuse as to why he wasn’t returning with Val, but that was Val’s problem now.

The passengers’ cabins were quiet, only the occasional crew member bustling by with a cart of laundry or janitorial supplies. Cody knocked on Ghislane’s door and waited, rocking back anxiously on his heels. There was no answer.

“Ghislane? Živković?” Cody asked, raising his voice so anyone who happened to be inside the cabin could hear him. 

No answer, again. Even though he’d anticipated it, Cody’s stomach sank. Ghislane could easily have been at dinner with everyone else, but Živković…this was the last place anyone had seen him go, as far as Cody knew. There was a chance he was elsewhere, but the whole story was too close for comfort to the way Etienne had gone off on an errand and never returned.

“Hello?” Cody tried, even louder this time, knocking harder than he had before. The ensuing silence cinched it; either the room was empty, or there was only a corpse inside.

He tried the door handle. It had give where Cody expected none, and he nearly tripped over his own feet as the door swung abruptly open, taking him with it.

A flicker of motion on the opposite side of the room caught his eye, and Cody’s head snapped toward it, his heart pounding with sudden adrenaline. Some part of him expected to see the figure of a person sneaking in, or making an escape, but there was no one there. It was the privacy curtains hanging over the sliding-glass door that led to the balcony. The door itself had been slid fully open, the heavy fabric of the curtains shifting in the breeze as it came through.

Cody crossed the room to shut the door. It was strange to leave the cabin with the balcony wide open like that. Maybe something had happened to Ghislane before she’d had the chance to pull the door shut. Or maybe something urgent had called her away, and the balcony had slipped her mind. He was still mulling over this as he locked the balcony door, the curtains finally falling still. Then, he turned and saw the prone figure lying in the bed behind him.

Cody’s breath caught in his throat, sharp. He’d missed the bed on his way across the room, too preoccupied with the curtains and the bizarrely ajar door. He’d fixated immediately on where he thought the danger in the room was, his vision narrowed to that point, and he had been wrong. 

Ghislane lay under the covers, the duvet drawn nearly up to her chin. She would have looked asleep if her eyes hadn’t been open. Her expression was furious and rigid, unblinking–there was absolutely no doubt she was dead.

Cody almost swore, then swallowed it down. How long had Ghislane been here, like this? If she was dead, then Živković certainly was. Cody blinked hard, forcing himself to focus. Which of them had been killed first? Camille had mentioned Živković being called up here in the middle of the nigh, and going out alone. Had he even made it here? 

“One thing at a time,” Cody said aloud. The sound of his own voice nearly startled him, the only real noise in the cabin beyond his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

So–focus on Ghislane first. Figure out what had happened to her. Cody crossed from the sliding-glass door to the bed and carefully pulled the duvet back, exposing Ghislane from the waist up. She was still in daytime attire, not dressed for bed. Someone had put her here–posed her like this–so she would look like she was resting if anyone came to check on her. It wasn’t like the gruesome staging of the other three victims. The murderer probably hadn’t expected someone to break in without cause; Cody had the feeling that he’d interrupted the killer’s plan for Ghislane.

Cody was hesitant to touch the body. He’d seen plenty of dead bodies, running with the Dead-Eyes, but mostly from a distance. He’d never been asked to handle one before. Still, he clenched his teeth and put a hand out to feel Ghislane’s bare wrist. The skin was waxy, but not cold, and Ghislane wasn’t rigid the way bodies got after too long. That ruled out her being killed overnight, if nothing else. 

There was dark bruising on Ghislane’s throat, and Cody lifted her head gently to see that it went all the way around, in a relatively unbroken line. He’d seen something like this before. 

Early in Ethan’s tenure as the head of the Dead-Eyes, the gang had decided to bring in the Rabbitcatcher, a killer from Long Creek with a bad reputation and a bounty three times what they usually dragged in. Ethan had thought it would secure his place as the new head, would make locals respect him and make the Dead-Eyes even more renowned than they had been under Edie. Instead, he’d gotten five of them killed.

Cody hadn’t been there for it, but he’d seen the bodies brought home, and heard the story from Marguerite. The Rabbitcatcher had jumped the Dead-Eye patrols in the dead of night, taking them out silently, one by one, with a wire looped and pulled taut around the throat. That was how he’d gotten his name–he snared you like a rabbit and garrotted you to death.

It had taken ten Dead-Eyes to kill the Rabbitcatcher and bring him in for the bounty. Cody hoped the killer aboard the Demeter wasn’t so resilient. The sudden memory made him grimace; he wondered if being so close to death had brought back thoughts of Ethan.

He laid Ghislane’s head back against the pillow. There was a smell in the room, and it was quickly becoming clear that the door had been opened to try and cover it up; it was the sharp, acrid smell of vomit. There was some on the sheets, and Cody could see where a bit had dribbled down the front of Ghislane’s chest, but it was hard to make sense of. Vomiting while being choked to death seemed impossible.

Maybe Ghislane had already been sick. Cody was plenty familiar with seasickness now, enough to swallow it down and ignore it when his stomach threatened to turn, but surely some of the other passengers weren’t. If Ghislane had excused herself to her room because she hadn’t felt well, she could have unwittingly created a window for the murderer to catch her alone.

“Who was the last person to see you, I wonder,” he muttered, more to himself than to Ghislane’s prone form.

“Ghislane?” a soft voice from the doorway asked in response. “Tu n'es pas venu–”

Cody’s heart leapt into his throat. He sprung back from the bed, hands raised in the air, and looked to the still-open cabin door to meet the eyes of d’Angoulême. She looked how Cody felt, her mouth dropping open as she took in the scene in front of her.

“I was looking for–I mean, the door was unlocked, I just found–” Cody stammered.

d’Angoulême cut him off with an ear-splitting shriek. She was gone before she’d even finished, racing back down the hall and occasionally letting loose a cry of “le meurtrier” as she went. Cody didn’t have to speak the language to figure out what that meant.

“Shit,” he said aloud, and chased after her.

20.20 || 22.22

[jolys-cane]

name hcs because why not

Jean-Louis Enjolras

Etienne Combeferre

Jean-Paul Feuilly

Camille Marcel Courfeyrac

Antoine Bahorel

Henri Lesgles

Lucas Joly

Claude-René Grantaire