#conversation: laurent st. pierre

[spencerberkeley]

It was good to see the Acton cousin was so keen to join in. If it had been Cassandra, he didn't doubt for a second they'd have been greeted with a sneer of disgust as she went off in search of more alcohol. The sight of her face planted in a Vixen's tits sure made him make a mental note that he should invite her out more often, though.

The dare for him was relatively tame, considering the waitress passing by had worked for his family for years, and they'd done much worse.

And she'd been so down to play along that even after he'd done the line straight off of her exposed clavicle, much to her apparent enjoyment, Laurent had been the one to take a hold of her wrist and encourage her to join them for the rest of the game. It wasn't as if she could get in trouble when Spencer Berkeley was right there. Wiping at his nose with one arm, he used the other hand to spin the bottle once more.

Sofie Dekker.

"Lose the dress. It'll make it easier when you head over to the bar to get us another bottle of Krug. The trick is, you've got to somehow get it for free."

@sofiedekker

Sofie just smirked. "Sounds like my kind of game. Who wants to talk when there are so many better things we could be doing instead?" She was definitely slipping into work mode, but who didn't love a Vixen at a party? With one hand she reached for a shot while she spun the bottle with the other. Throwing back the shot, she grabbed another and held it out to the person the bottle landed on. "I dare you, to do a body shot off of me."

@laurent--stpierre

[laurent--stpierre]

SPEAK OF THE DEVIL:

Follow up to someone having the audacity to interrupt Spencer's dinner. Date: Evening of 21/8/24. Warnings: Kate up to her usual ish. 

“It’s not a date. Please stop calling it a date, or I’m legitimately going to throw myself in front of the next bus to drive past. Look, there’s one right there—”

“Why are French women the most dramatic people on the planet?”

The words had been more than enough to draw an irritated frown from him, but when the miniature human—balanced on towering Versace heels, yet somehow still shorter than his pocket-sized ass—darted toward the road like a certified escapee, he grabbed the top of her arm and yanked her back beside him. The protest drew some attention from the crowded street, but both promptly ignored.

“Dramatic is rich coming from you.”

Laurent St. Pierre met her retort with a mock laugh.

“Pensioners deserve to get laid, too.”

“Nope. Don’t need to hear it,” the woman said, reaching her hands up to cover her ears.

“How about both of you shut up, because none of us want to hear it?”

Sylvie Lefebvre turned to look at the miserable Frenchman tailing behind them, her lips forming into a pout as though she’d just been scolded by a parent. Not quite, but he’d certainly become family enough over the past few years to earn an affectionate ‘uncle’ title he’d made no attempt shed.

“Sometimes I forget he speaks English,” she muttered to Laurent under her breath.

“He’s definitely been hitting up Duolingo.”

“You sound like a fucking American. You don’t get to judge anybody, St. Pierre,” Yves shot back.

After a moment of sniggering between the two in front, the looming figure of Varden re-entered the conversation, now free of the phone call he’d been unenthusiastically participating in. Somehow, though, he looked even less pleased to be a part of whatever was happening here.

“Who is she, anyway? You don’t usually dress up this nice,” Laurent said, remaining at Sylvie’s side, but taking their pace back just enough to be in step with the two leaders.

“Ayda Demir.”

Even though Varden’s mouth had opened to speak, it was his daughter’s voice who’d answered.

“Thank you, Sylvie.”

“Wait, what? The Turk?” Laurent couldn’t contain the scoff.

“The Turk,” Yves confirmed, his grimace speaking volumes in spite of his monotonous tone.

“Don’t be rude,” Sylvie cut in, “I’ve done my research, she seems nice enough. I just—”

“Don’t want to imagine your dad getting his dick wet?”

“Will you fucking stop?”

The woman went to shove him again, but he instead threw an arm around her shoulder, dragging her close enough to deny her the momentum.

“If it’s any consolation, Sylvie, it’s definitely not going to be a date. Because in the interest of full disclosure, you should just know that when Leyla and I got dragged to Haringey for that peasant party? She seemed pretty into shoving her tongue down Aviv’s throat.”

And whilst he was pretty openly with Adriana Amaro these days—assuming the number the Organization did on him hadn’t fucked that up—the fact she held any positive sentiments toward the scum at all was enough to seal the deal. Probably not in the way she was hoping for, though…

“It was never a date,” Varden said sternly. “And I’d appreciate if we talked about something else.”

“Anything else,” Yves pleaded.

Everyone present was wise enough to not push when Varden said enough.

“Why are you out with us, anyway? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“That’s very funny. I could ask you the same. Don’t retirement homes have curfews anymore?”

The two de facto London leaders slipped back into a hushed conversation of their own, leaving the duo ahead to squabble as they continued their way down the packed street. Knightsbridge was busy at the best of times, but tonight seemed impossibly so. People still damn sure cleared a path for the Versace princess and her entourage of suits, though. It was a few days shy of Sylvie’s twenty-third birthday, and as it turned out, she too was headed into South Kensington to meet some of her friends (ones her father didn’t seem to fond of, mind you) at Mistral’s. Laurent was stopping in for a meeting with Yves and a handful of the Hackney crew, Sylvie for her meal, and Varden for…whatever the fuck it was. Thus, along with a handful of security, a herd had formed.

None of them had any idea how poor a decision that would prove to be.

The traffic moved so slowly, it would’ve been impossible to tell they were being followed.

Maybe, had he not been looking right at the woman tucked beneath his arm, he wouldn’t have noticed the car doors abruptly opening on the vehicle beside them.

Three in unison; the same number of masked men soon spilling out into the road, halting traffic to a chorus of car horns and perturbed pedestrians.

“Gun!” Laurent shouted in just about the least useful way to alert the others of the impending disaster. Sure enough, the panicked words sent the crowds around them spiralling into frenzy just in time for said guns to start firing right in their direction.

There was no point trying to hit the deck when they were stood right there.

Sylvie seemed to take a moment to catch up. And then she was screaming, too.

The Frenchman felt a shove from behind as he attempted to manoeuvre her through the crowd, and toward the door of Mistral’s which was just close enough he could try to drag them inside. More gunfire, then... A quick glance back told him Yves and the few members of security present had ducked into a bus shelter, attempting to return the favour without hesitation. Varden on the other hand was the one shoving him forward.  

“Move. Get her inside!”

The man’s fear was evident and harrowing because Laurent had never really been sure Varden was capable of feeling it.

So he turned, putting himself between the direction of the gunmen and Sylvie, as best a shield as he could manage, before attempting to encourage Varden forward to take charge. The people didn’t know where to go. They didn’t know where to hide. Some had clearly already been hit, falling to the ground. Others fell for being shoved past by those whose only concern was getting the fuck out of there. Chaos was an understatement. Impossible to take in over the course of only a few seconds.

Sylvie tripped. Varden pulled her back up and pushed her onward.

Laurent went down right after and after a moment, they slipped out of view.

This wasn’t a few stray bullets. This was a fucking military grade assault where nobody was about to try and be a hero. And as the guns followed him, the white hot realisation he’d gotten hit was clear.

Why the fuck hadn’t he brought his own?

One of the attackers was furiously laying into the façade of the restaurant as though it was his only target. Another, showering anyone unfortunate enough to flee into his path, utterly indiscriminate, like he was in an old school fucking action movie. The third, though? Well he lowered his gun just long enough to shove through some screeching pedestrians and casually wander right over to the Commandant clutching at his bleeding thigh.

Though he attempted to get to his feet, it was a fruitless effort.

The man crouched down slightly. Just close enough that had he not been hiding like a coward behind his mask, Laurent would’ve known for sure, instead of just assuming…

As he stood back up calmly—short, stocky, dead fucking eyes—so too did his gun come back into sight.

There was no time to react. Just acknowledge.

One flash later, everything was gone.

[lismarstclair]

On a normal day, she could hold her composer. Had another man been in that bed, her demeanor would be collected.

But the man behind the door was much more than others.

Laurent St Pierre could be called many things, most less than pleasant and often deserving of it. However, when it came to Lisette, he was everything and more. For the last ten years he has been her rock in hard times and her laughter in the best of times; Lisette’s most unlikely best friend and confidant. As problematic as he often was, he has become someone she knew she could not imagine her life without.

Here he was again. In another hospital.

With his security outside the door looking down at her he repeated, “I was instructed by staff not to-”

“Let me be as clear and concise as possible,” Lisette may only stand at five feet and five inches tall, but she never allowed that to hinder her ability to control a situation- even if the solider did stand a full foot taller than her. Stepping up to his chest, she speaks in a low and clear voice, “Move or be removed,”

A moment passes before he releases a heavy breath and steps out of the way of the door. Lisette’s once narrowed eyes and furrowed brow remain in place till she is in the room with the door closed behind her. A heavy breath spills out only to trap in the next breath pulled up when she sees for herself his condition. 

“Oh, Mon Dieu,”

The words come easy to her as her bag is dropped by the door and Lisette walks to his right side. So pail, so vulnerable, it was never easier to see him like this. It was far from the first time he was hooked up to machines in a hospital bed, but she always held out hope it would be the last time. Perching herself on the edge of his bed, she takes his hand on her lap.

“How dare you make me come to this shit facility again,” Lisette laces her fingers with his, if only to form a small kindling of normalcy, “You know I hate hospitals, but you seem to enjoy living in them,” a small that does not reach her eyes pulls at her lips, “They may have free healthcare here, but if you aren’t careful they might charge you rent,”

Humor was their way of defecting. It was a dark sort of humor that they shared that got them through some of the worst things. The beeping of machines running around them was a normality she hated to be comforted by.

So long as the beeping is stable, so is he.

Time both dragged as she watched his chest rise and fall, all the while it flew around them till, she noticed the clock on the wall have spun around to indicate 30 minutes had passed. 30 minutes of near silence in just watching him- not wanting to miss a moment of his presence. “I hate seeing you like this,” her whispered statement should have remained a thought because once the words were out, tears began to slide down her cheeks, “We aren’t kids anymore, Laurent,” shaking her head, she squeezes his hand briefly for emphasis, “You need to be more careful,”

Lisette shook her head to clear her face of fallen strands of hair. Allowing herself a few moments to silently cry, the French woman hates the overwhelming thoughts that fight to worsen her spirit. “The littles asked about you the other day. I told them I would ask for you to come over for dinner soon,” brushing his knuckles with her finger, Lisette looks up from his chest to his peaceful face. “They want to make you crepes,” How was such a simple and normal conversation upsetting her more? “You better be hungry when you come over,”

Resisting to add the article ‘if’ to the sentence was a difficult thing to do. He looked so vulnerable in his bed, and all she wanted to do was protect him. As the hour mark approached, she knew she would need to leave soon for one reason or another. The last thing she needed right now was another person telling her ‘Visiting is only for family’ because she might just lose it. He was family. He was her big brother, blood be damned.

“You are an asshole for making me worry so much,” she tells him with another tear falling from her eyes. “The next time I come in to see you, you better be awake for me to yell at about your safety,” The pained smile did not leave her lips as she slowly pressed her lips to his hand, “Why do we only tell each other ‘I love you’ when one of us is in the Hospital?”

With one more squeeze of his hand, she stands and rests it back on the bed. Lisette runs her fingers through his hair to fix it to a more ‘him’ like presentation before slowly retreating from the room. Her bag over her shoulder, Lisette closes the door and looks at the guard still standing at attention. After a moment of staring at the man, he speaks in a low voice, “We will make sure he is safe, Ms. St Clair,”

“With your life, if needed,”

On a normal day, she could hold her composer. Had another man been in that bed, her demeanor would be collected.

But the man behind the door was much more than others.

@laurent--stpierre​

[odile-stpierre]

New Rules | feat. Julien Renard | SELF

Whispers around Porto Velho had been how she’d heard of Julien’s return, along with a courtesy text from Aurélie. The French women hated to admit the amount of disappointment she felt when she still hadn’t received as much as a phone call days after his arrival, yet the thought of seeing the love of her life again came along with a mixed ocean of other emotions.

In the years that they hadn’t spoken, it had been easy for Odile to push memories of their relationship to the darkest corners of her mind, to convince herself that the entire experience had been something that she’d fabricated in her mind to quell her own loneliness. The lines between fantasy and reality blurred as she imagined the jawline that she’d become ever so fond of trailing her fingers over in the morning as he slept, the brown eyes that were lazily revealed to her as he awoke from his peaceful slumber, paired with the way his voice sounded as he said her name, still heavy with sleep…

Whether it had been a dream or a memory, the image that was formulated in her mind elevated her heartbeat and stunted her breathing, just as he’d made her feel all those years ago… the same feeling she’d been trying to avoid since her departure.

Talkin’ in my sleep at night, makin’ myself crazy (Out of my mind, out of my mind) Wrote it down and read it out, hopin’ it would save me (Too many times, too many times) Oh, he makes me feel like nobody else, nobody else… But my love, he doesn’t love me, so I tell myself, I tell myself…

Maybe that had been why she hadn’t immediately agreed to attend Lara Rutherford’s Underground Fight Night; the possibility of being reminded that the images that had resurfaced in her mind’s eye recently were not something she’d fabricated in her sleep, they were reminders of the light that used to be ever-present in her life… the idea itself was something the blonde wasn’t ready to face. 

It had been the realization that she needed to be there for Laurent, however, that had convinced her that her presence was necessary. Yet it was the quiet, nagging voice in the back of her mind, the one that seemed intent on pushing the memories of Julien forward, that seemed to be preventing her from arriving at any reasonable hour. 

No designer gown or shoes seemed to fit her the way she liked, no shade of lipstick enough to accentuate one of her most striking features the way she wanted. It was normally effortless for Odile; her exquisite figure, paired with her astonishing features brought men to her in droves, even when she put nearly no effort into her own appearance. Tonight, though, it seemed no matter the amount of effort she put into getting ready, she simply wasn’t perfect.

She did her best though, and left her condo with half a closet of designer labels strewn about the floor, vowing that she’d try to keep to herself.

One, don’t pick up the phone, you know he’s only calling ‘cause he’s drunk and alone two, don’t let him in, you have to kick him out again three, don’t be his friend, you know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning, and if you’re under him, you ain’t getting over him.

The setup, as elaborate as it was for having been hosted in the underground, was clearly a product of much thought and planning. Odile’s presence in the arrival line was brief, the looks she was drawing from people surrounding her all but ignored. The blonde made a beeline for the bar, the top shelf proving to be just the thing to push the memories that were attempting to pester her to the back of her mind. 

The male crowd that she’d drawn only served as an irritation. On a normal evening, Odile would have enjoyed the harmless flirtation, free drinks, and endless compliments… this, however, was not a normal evening. 

It was the announcement of Julien’s name as part of the upcoming lineup that sent a jolt of anxiety through her system. There wasn’t enough top-shelf tequila in the entire city to assist her in getting through tonight.

I’ve got new rules, I count 'em I’ve got new rules, I count 'em I’ve gotta tell them to myself I’ve got new rules, I count 'em I’ve gotta tell them to myself

A large glass of chardonnay, as well as a few of the frenchman that had, no doubt, been asked by her brother to keep an eye on her, accompanied her to her seat. Odile nursed the alcohol to maintain the buzz she’d already acquired and greeted a few of Aurélie’s associates, maintaining a politeness as the conversation droned on, her mind far from the words that were leaving her mouth.

At the announcement of the next fight, however, the one that Julien was in, the blonde’s attention was drawn to the side of the ring, and in an instant, she was reminded that the image in her dreams was, in fact, reality. The handsome jawline, perfectly-styled hair, and stoic gaze, although different than she remembered, was still somehow so familiar. 

Julien seemed focused on the impending battle, oblivious to his former love that couldn’t seem to take her eyes off his every move. He removed his shirt before entering the ring, and Odile was positive, even despite the alcohol she’d consumed, that her mouth had been dry for hours. The shape of his body brought another set of memories to the surface, images of the two of them in bed together, the weight of his body on her own…

I keep pushin’ forwards But he keeps pullin’ me backwards (Nowhere to turn, no way) (Nowhere to turn, no) Now I’m standing back from it I finally see the pattern (I never learn, I never learn) But my love, he doesn’t love me So I tell myself, I tell myself I do, I do, I do

It was the sight of his opponent’s connection with Julien’s chin that twisted her insides, the realization that she couldn’t sit and observe the bout causing her to excuse herself from her seat. It was only when she’d made her way to the far side of the room, the sights far from visible, that she realized she’d been holding her breath. It seemed impossible to quiet her own heartbeat, and the blonde wanted to kick herself for the involuntary responses her body was having to seeing Julien again. 

It was, at the very least, pathetic.

Odile breathed deeply as she rested her back against the wall, steadying her heartbeat as she attempted to talk herself down, drowning out the sounds of the bout she couldn’t bear to watch. She was being ridiculous. She was Odile St. Pierre, women would kill to have what she had… the influence, the beauty, the connections. She was by far, much better than acting like a teenager, letting her emotions drive her as if she had no control over them whatsoever. 

One, don’t pick up the phone You know he’s only calling 'cause he’s drunk and alone Two, don’t let him in You have to kick him out again Three, don’t be his friend You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning And if you’re under him You ain’t getting over him

It took three deep breaths before she composed herself, the click of her heels on the floor disguised by the applause signaling the completion of the bout. Her pep talk had infused enough confidence to carry herself as she normally did, yet her stride was cut short as the sweaty, battered fighter that she’d just talked out of her mind departed the ring. There were a few people surrounding him, yet before Odile could make a move to remove herself from Julien’s line of vision, the brown eyes that she’d missed so much fell on her.

Her body was frozen in place as a flicker of recognition crossed his features, and even despite the bruises that were already forming on his handsome features, the way his face fell wasn’t something she could mistake. The confidence that had permeated her only moments before was all but gone, drained as helium would be from a penetrated balloon. As much as her insides twisted at the mere sight of him, the emotional turmoil that he’d caused her resurfacing in an instant, she wanted more than anything to go to him.

It was Jeanne that redirected his attention, throwing herself at her husband in relief as Odile watched, practically feeling a blade enter between her shoulder blades at the sight. Julien embraced her somewhat weakly, clearly some injury sustained in the fight preventing a larger show of affection. Odile turned on her heel as quickly as she could and allowed her legs to carry her somewhere else, anywhere else… away from the man whose image had once appeared as a dream, transformed into her reality, and now seemed destined to haunt her in her nightmares, a reminder of what she’d never have again.

I’ve got new rules, I count 'em I’ve got new rules, I count 'em I’ve gotta tell them to myself I’ve got new rules, I count 'em (baby you know I count 'em) I’ve gotta tell them to myself Don’t let him in, don’t let him in Don’t be his friend, don’t be his friend Don’t let him in, don’t let him in Don’t be his friend, don’t be his friend You ain’t getting over him.

[leylayilmazx]

showalittlespine​:

The smile is fake.

Nicoleta could recognize a fake a mile away… Like could always read like. 

She tilts her head, the strands of her hair swinging to the side as she studies the brunette intently, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Do they know each other? Had they crossed paths before?… So many names, so many faces. 

‘I’m here with my boyfriend, you know, Laurent St Pierre? Do you know him?’

Well, well… There’s a name and a face she knows well. Not personally – not really – but Aviv’s hatred for the man made it personal enough.

The spark is lit, Nicoleta’s eyes glimmer with opportunity.

“Oh katyonak,“ Nicoleta tuts pityingly. "You ask all strange women if they know boyfriend?… Why? Should I?… Do you think I know boyfriend? Am I his type?”

-

Okay, so that was definitely a mistake.

“Uhm...No.” She shook her head but that was not the answer to what the woman was saying. Leyla was just denying that whole situation. “So I am going to exit this conversation and just... Yeah, no.” 

What even was this fucking nighttime? Was it Halloween already?

As she stood up, she looked at the woman and once again said. “No. Just no.”

[truesportsfan]

The Henrik Lundqvist playing time mystery grows for Rangers

This question isn’t going away for the rest of the season: When are the Rangers going to start Henrik Lundqvist?

Following the broken rib suffered by Igor Shesterkin in a car accident Sunday night, and with the rookie not set to be reevaluated for “a couple of weeks,” coach David Quinn turned to Alexandar Georgiev to start three games in four nights for the Blueshirts. He won two of them, but the streak of victories ended with the 5-2 loss at Philadelphia on Friday night.

Asked after the game if he knew who his goalie would be for the rematch against Kevin Hayes and the surging Flyers on Sunday afternoon at the Garden, Quinn said, “No, I haven’t thought about it yet.”

Lundqvist will turn 38 on Monday, and he hasn’t started a game since Feb. 3. He has just three starts since Shesterkin was called up on Jan. 6, and Lundqvist knows there is a hard conversation coming with management after the season.

But for the 18 regular-season games that remain, Quinn is trying to start the goalie who is playing the best in hopes of keeping pace in the playoff race.

Henrik LundqvistNHLI via Getty Images

“We’ve been fortunate that guys that have gone in have been very hot,” Quinn said before Friday’s game. “This time of year, I think it’s the best approach.”

The officiating on Friday from Francois St. Laurent and Pierre Lambert was haphazard, at best. A sequence midway through the second period — when Adam Fox was called for a ghostly holding penalty before Brett Howden and Ivan Provorov were called for coinciding minors — changed the tenor of the game. Once back at even strength, the Flyers scored twice in a span of 2:05 and went up 3-1.

“It doesn’t make any difference what I think about [the penalties],” Quinn said. “It’s part of the game, and we killed the penalty off.”

The Rangers were looking forward to their day off Saturday, having played three road games in the previous four nights and 10 games in the previous 17 days, including eight on the road and three sets of back-to-backs.

“We’re not looking for excuses, obviously, but it felt like maybe it was a little hard to play back-to-back again, against a really good team like that,” Georgiev said.

source https://truesportsfan.com/sport-today/the-henrik-lundqvist-playing-time-mystery-grows-for-rangers/

[notesonfilm1]

  Below is the second part of a two-part podcast with Ginette Vincendeau on Jean Gabin, which picks up a little before the first part ended. Once Gabin returned to top stardom in France in ´54/55, what values did he represent/signify? Does he mean something different in France than abroad? What is it and why? Is it true he didn´t make any good films after ‘Touchez-pas au grisby’ and ‘French Can Can’? What is the significance of him being cast with co-stars so much younger than himself like Bardot and Danièle Delorme? What does ´La France Gabinisée´and ‘La Gabinisation de la France’ mean. I ask the questions but it is Ginette´s answers that fascinate and illuminate.

https://soundcloud.com/user-766042506/in-conversation-with-ginette-2-final

  I am grateful to Will Straw who brought to my attention the special issue of Schnock which featured Gabin and which asserted, in ways that are visualised below, that ´Gabin´means something different at home and abroad and that at home he signifies a particular type of Frenchness. This lead me to ask Ginette about it and she brought up Jean-Laurent Cassely´s book, No fake: Contre-histoire de notre quête dáuthenticité, and the concept of ‘Gabinisation’, as well as Ginette´s noting of how often ‘Gabin’ is turned into a verb: Gabinise, Gabiniser…

  Will also brought up the interview with Nicolas Pariser in the October 2019 issue of Cahiers du cinéma, which I ask Ginette to comment on in the podcast:

My rough translation is as follows: ‘Those films from the 50s where Gabin tells off young people are cinema´s absolute evil. In Rue des prairies, he bawls out Marie-José Nat because she does nothing and wakes up late. I have a bit of an extreme thesis: I think May ´68 was because of Gabin. He became unbearable at a certain moment. The cinema I love exploded that reactionary schema. And astonishingly we find  nostalgia for 50s cinema were the old explain life to the young in quite a few contemporary French Films’

I am also grateful to Nicky Smith for noting the difference in ages between Gabin and his female co-stars, and how this trope recurred in so many films. This lead to an interesting discussion with Ginette on this issue where Ginette notes how strong that trope is in French cinema in general, can be seen in the thirties in films like Arlette et ses papas (Henri Roussel, 1934) , and continues on quite late  and in various cultural forms(e.g. Serge Gainsbourg Lemon Incest). 

You can follow up on all of these issues through Ginette´s books below:

Furthermore, I have blogged on some of  Gabin´s later films, some mentioned in the podcast, and if you want to pursue that further you can click on the hyperlinks below.

Articles:

Voici le temps des assassins/ Deadlier than the Male (Julien Duvivier, France, 1956)

Miagret tend un piège (Jean Delannoy, 1958)

Maigret et l’affaire St. Fiacre (Jean Delannoy, France, 1959)

Le clan des Siciliens/The Sicilian Clan (Henri Verneuil, France/USA, 1969)

Le chat (Pierre Granier-Deferre, France, 1971)

Le tueur/ Killer (Denys de la Patellière, France/Italy, 1972)

On clips from:

Touchez-pas au grisbi (Jacques Becker, 1954)

Razzia sour la chnouf (Henri Decoin, 1955)

French Can-can (Jean Renoir 1955)

José Arroyo

In Conversation with Ginette Vincendeay — Part II Below is the second part of a two-part podcast with Ginette Vincendeau on Jean Gabin, which picks up a little before the first part ended.

[ayaz--ates]

drrutherford​:

Bloody hell. He wishes he was sober for this. 

He follows obligingly as Ayaz redirects him elsewhere, not paying their changing environment any attention thanks to the effort it takes just to keep his vision from fuzzing in the corners. He blinks as the lieutenant turns to face him, feeling the nausea return with a vengeance when Ayaz asks him to define the emergency.

Leyla’s face swims into his mind. Cassie’s and Ayda’s too. 

The surgeon reaches a hand out to steady himself, fearing for a moment he might be sick. But the wave passes, and he’s able to regain control over his vocal cords. “Leyla. She and that arsemonger of a boyfriend of hers. They’re-… Ayda’s thrown some kind of party and they’ve gone to the bar. Some-… Dunno, but she mentioned Russians. Don’t know why the fuck they’re there.” Worry deepens the frown on his face.

“You know Leyla, the way she downplays… I want her out. Hoping you know how.”

.

Leyla in Haringey was a red flag in itself, if only because he didn’t trust a single one of those fucking cretins, even with her. Add the Russians to the equation? Worse. But Laurent St. Pierre’s presence irritating them further, particularly if they took note of them being together, was more than enough to shoot up the same red flag it obviously had for Gideon. What the hell was she thinking, taking him there? What the fuck were the Turks playing at, inviting the Russians to Ayda’s bar in the first place..?

“Sit down,” he said simply, concerned that he was going to face plant before he even had chance to get a call off. Then he turned to one of the cocktail waitresses conveniently passing by, “Can we get some drinks, please? And water. Plenty of water.”

The man raised his hand, a single index finger, phone to his ear: one moment. 

There was only one person to call. Everyone else was here.

“Honey, I need a favour...” The commotion in the background was evident as soon as she picked up. “If this is about Leyla, I’m already here. But I can’t do what you're about to ask of me with a phone in my hand, so I’m hanging up. I’ll have her call you once she’s home.”

Ayaz had parted his lips to say wait. To demand some kind of context. 

What?

“We should get dinner tomorrow. The usual place? I’m flying out in the morning an—” The quick cut off would’ve been cause for concern to somebody who didn’t know better. Perhaps the way the tone of her voice shifted from fondness to utter venom, more so. But as he heard the string of what he presumed to be Russian insults leave his wife’s mouth—her usual calmness understandably tested by the scum of the earth in her presence—he knew that he could worry a little less about his cousin. “I’ll call you back. The lack of manners here is astounding.” 

And this time, she really was gone.

The conversation had ended as soon as it’d started, and he was left looking at his phone in confusion for a moment. Well, then...

Eventually, his attention shifted back toward the surgeon. It mightn’t have been enough to calm his nerves about the situation, but given the state he’d gotten himself into tonight, Ayaz wondered what would be, save for being there and seeing her leave, himself. But there was nothing they could do from Dubai, and certainly nobody he trusted more against a pack of Russians than the absolute fucking feral who had just hung up on him. Hopefully his calm would be contagious.

“Uh, Leyla will be just fine,” he assured awkwardly, reaching for the glass the bartender had left alongside Gideon’s water. “Haringey, I’m not so sure." Nor did he care. "Any idea where your sister is? I should probably talk to her about this."

[egliseherault]

Solennités non chômées et fêtes de l'année liturgique

Les solennités non chômées sont célébrées chez nous à la messe de 18h00. Ce sont : Saint-Joseph Epoux de la Vierge Marie, le 19 mars, L'Annonciation du Seigneur, le 25 mars, La Sainte Trinité, le dimanche après la Pentecôte, Le Saint-Sacrement du Corps et du Sang du Christ, le dimanche après la Trinité, Le Sacré-Coeur de Jésus, le vendredi après le Saint-Sacrement, La Nativité de Saint Jean-Baptiste, le 24 juin, St Pierre et St Paul, le 29 juin, Le Christ Roi de l'Univers, au 34ème dimanche du Temps Ordinaire, L'Immaculée Conception de la Vierge Marie, le 8 décembre.

D'un niveau inférieur aux solennités, des fêtes sont célébrées au cours de l'année. On chante le Gloria à la messe. Ces fêtes sont : Le baptême du Seigneur, célébrée en général le dimanche après l'Epiphanie, La conversion de saint Paul, le 25 janvier, Saint Marc, 25 avril, Saint Philippe et Saint Jacques, le 3 mai, Saint Thomas, le 3 juillet, Saint Benoît, le 11 juillet, Sainte Brigitte de Suède, le 23 juillet, Saint Jacques le Majeur, le 25 juillet, La Transfiguration du Seigneur, le 6 août, Ste Thérèse Bénédicte de la Croix, le 9 août, St Laurent, le 10 août, St Barthélemy, le 24 août, La Nativité de la Vierge Marie, le 8 septembre, La Croix Glorieuse, le 14 septembre, St Matthieu, le 21 septembre, Sts Michel, Gabriel, Raphaël, archanges, le 29 septembre, St Luc, le 18 octobre, La dédicace de la Basilique du Latran, le 9 novembre, St André, le 30 novembre, St Etienne, le 26 décembre, St Jean, le 27 décembre, Les Saints Innocents, le 28 décembre, La Sainte Famille, le dimanche après Noël.

from Carmes de Montpellier https://ift.tt/2LQL3kM via IFTTT

[megadarkbouquettidalwavethings]

Transfer deadline day: Who will Arsenal, Liverpool, Chelsea, West Ham look to sign?

Will Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang’s £60m move to Arsenal go through before the deadline?

It promises to be another busy transfer deadline day for clubs in England – and BBC Sport will bring you all of the deals as they happen.

Premier League teams have already spent out millions this January, and Wednesday’s deals could well push total spending past the record – £225m – that was set in 2011.

Liverpool’s £75m purchase of defender Virgil van Dijk from Southampton is the biggest incoming transfer in England so far this month.

But who could be on the move before Wednesday’s 23:00 GMT deadline?

Our transfers live page is the place to keep across all day, running from 07:00 GMT on Wednesday until the early hours of Thursday as those late deals are confirmed, and you can stay in the conversation using #bbcdeadlineday on social media.

We will bring you the latest news, you can hear the best analysis from BBC Radio 5 live and you can also watch MOTD at 22:45 GMT.

You can keep on top of all the completed deals in our transfer tracker and follow BBC sports reporter David Ornstein’s transfer deadline day on the Match of the Day Instagram page.

One more ‘perfect’ signing for City?

Manchester City are running away with the Premier League – and are expecting a big-money arrival before the transfer window closes. They have agreed a deal for France Under-21 defender Aymeric Laporte to join for a club record £57m from Athletic Bilbao.

They are also interested in Shakhtar Donetsk midfielder Fred, though it appears if that transfer goes through, the Brazilian would remain at Shakhtar until the summer.

Goalkeeper Ederson and right-back Kyle Walker have made the biggest impact at Man City since joining in the summer transfer window

French football expert Julien Laurens on the 5 live Euro Leagues Football Show

Laporte is a Pep Guardiola type of player, so good on the ball. He carries the ball into midfield, he is perfect for City and City are perfect for him.

City were ready to pay 60m Euros for him in 2016 but he said he was not ready and he wanted to stay at Bilbao. Now 18 months later they are back for him and he feels ready. He knows now is the time, the World Cup is in six months and he has not been capped by France yet.

France boss Didier Deschamps is sceptical about him, physically especially. That is the only question mark over him coming to the Premier League.

Manchester United are not expected to be active following the arrival of Alexis Sanchez from Arsenal. A number of players – Matteo Darmian, Sergio Romero, Daley Blind and Marouane Fellaini – have been linked with moved away from Old Trafford but Jose Mourinho says no-one will be going.

Zlatan Ibrahimovic is attracting interest from LA Galaxy but that deal can be done after the UK transfer window closes.

‘Arsenal in a crazy situation’

Arsenal’s sole focus is to complete the club-record signing of Borussia Dortmund striker Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang – but that may rely on other deals.

With a deal agreed between Arsenal and Dortmund, the deal will go through if/when Dortmund secure a replacement for the Gabon international.

It remains unclear if that replacement will be Arsenal’s Olivier Giroud, but it is likely the Frenchman will depart Emirates Stadium – either on loan or permanently – to seek game time before this summer’s World Cup.

The Aubameyang transfer would leave little money available for further major signings, so unless money is recouped for Giroud the Gunners would have to wait until the summer to potentially bolster their defence and midfield.

French football expert Julien Laurens on the 5 live Euro Leagues Football Show

I would be amazed if Arsenal let Giroud go to Chelsea, but if Michy Batshuayi goes to Dortmund and Chelsea cannot sign Edin Dzeko then Giroud is clearly on their list.

Arsenal 1 (Giroud 27′) Middlesbrough 0

I’d find it weird to let Giroud go to a competitor. It’s a crazy situation. Arsenal could have signed Aubameyang in the summer and have Giroud as their ‘Plan B’ option but instead they hesitated for a long time between Aubameyang and Alexandre Lacazette and chose Lacazette for £53m.

Then, six months down the line, they decide that maybe that was a mistake so they are going to spend another £55m on Aubameyang, a striker with many similarities to Lacazette.

If Giroud wants to go to the World Cup he has to play, and if Arsenal have Aubameyang and Lacazette then he will surely have to leave.

Chelsea might be a busy club, with much of the focus on the fate of strikers.

The club have been trying hard to secure manager Antonio Conte extra power in attack, and the search has centred on Dzeko, Roma’s 31-year-old former Manchester City striker.

Edin Dzeko scored 50 Premier League goals in 130 appearances for Manchester City

A deal for the Bosnian has proved to be prolonged, with his age a complication and his financial demands unlikely to be cheap. There were reports in Italy on Monday that the proposed move for the attacker, who won two Premier League titles and the FA Cup at Etihad Stadium, was off.

Will this prompt a move for Giroud – and would the Gunners consider selling to a rival once more? What will it all mean for Chelsea’s Belgian striker Batshuayi?

Batshuayi is wanted by both Sevilla and Borussia Dortmund, with talks ongoing with the Bundesliga side about a loan move.

Chelsea look set for success in a move for another Roma player, defender Emerson Palmieri, who is on course to join Conte’s squad for a fee which could rise to about £23m.

The departure of Philippe Coutinho to Barcelona has shaped much of the debate around Liverpool’s January transfer strategy, but at this stage major incomings look unlikely.

It may well be about the departures of players such as Daniel Sturridge and Lazar Markovic than Liverpool parting with large chunks of the £142m they received for the Brazilian.

This may disappoint some fans but is a policy that should also be placed in context.

Manager Jurgen Klopp is not prepared to go for quick fixes, as proved by his determination to wait until the start of this month to pay £75m for Van Dijk after failing to sign him last summer.

While there is an element of risk in not strengthening, the powerful counter argument is that Liverpool are prudent to wait until the summer – when they will sign Naby Keita for £51m – to get who they really want rather than settle for second best this month.

Pochettino the perfect guy for Lucas?

For three weeks, it seemed as though Tottenham would be prepared to stand back and let everyone else join the deadline-day scramble.

Even when they were heavily linked with Bordeaux winger Malcom, no response was forthcoming.

However, with the clock ticking, Spurs made their move for Lucas Moura, who had already been linked with Manchester United and Arsenal this month.

There is still work to be done. But Spurs chairman Daniel Levy is not one to fail on deadline day.

French football expert Julien Laurens on the 5 live Euro Leagues football show

Lucas Moura has been in London since the end of last week and he has met Daniel Levy and other people at Tottenham. He didn’t want to leave Paris, he had a baby not long ago and has many close friends at Paris St-Germain, but he knows that he has to go as he is not playing.

PSG spent £38m – then a club record – to sign Lucas Moura in 2013 but he has fallen out of favour after the arrivals of Neymar and Kylian Mbappe

He has been forced out by PSG. At 25, Spurs realise £25m for a player with his potential is pretty cheap.

He has shown at times that he has a lot of talent. He needs consistency and he needs a manager who can help him improve, something Unai Emery and Laurent Blanc have not been able to do at PSG.

Mauricio Pochettino may be the perfect guy for him right now. He has the pace, he has the skill but he is going to get kicked a lot. If he can cope with the aggression he will be fine.

‘Allardyce a deadline-day master’

Everton manager Sam Allardyce is an old hand at the deadline-day game – so it would be no surprise if we saw action in and out of Goodison Park before the window shuts.

Allardyce is short of options at left-back with Leighton Baines injured and Cuco Martina the current emergency option, but interest in Bristol City’s talented Joe Bryan is sure to be met with stiff resistance.

Everton’s potential business will also rely on departures and loan offers for summer buys Davy Klaassen and Sandro Ramirez. If Everton can offload Klaassen, on high wages following his £25m move from Ajax, or Morgan Schneiderlin then that might free up room for Sevilla’s Steven Nzonzi, who was signed by Allardyce when he was Blackburn manager.

Sandro would also welcome a loan move and that may yet materialise.

Everton’s lack of goalscoring threat may mean striker Oumar Niasse survives for now, despite interest from Crystal Palace, West Brom and Brighton in this window.

The dogfight at the bottom – well, bottom half

With the 11 teams from Watford down to Swansea covered by just six points, competition for strikers is likely to be at fever pitch.

West Brom manager Alan Pardew may well have pulled off the deal of the window down at the bottom by signing Daniel Sturridge on loan from Liverpool.

Sturridge was wanted by Newcastle and Inter Milan but it was West Brom who won the race.

He scored at the last World Cup and the last Euros – could a productive loan move at Albion send Daniel Sturridge to Russia?

Watford’s Troy Deeney is also on Pardew’s wanted list, but for that to happen West Brom need to sell £20m-rated defender Jonny Evans, and that might not be so easy after Evans injured a hamstring in the FA Cup fourth-round win at Liverpool on Saturday.

There have been no bids, and the Baggies are increasingly confident the Northern Irishman will remain at The Hawthorns.

After missing out on Sturridge, Newcastle may be back in the market for a striker and have been linked with Nicolai Jorgensen from Feyenoord.

West Ham, meanwhile, have been linked with Schneiderlin, but are only willing to take the France international midfielder on loan. Hammers boss David Moyes could also be tempted into the market because of injuries and suspensions, with left-back Arthur Masuaku’s six-match ban for spitting about to start.

For the third season in succession, Swansea have spent Christmas and the New Year in the relegation zone – so the need for reinforcements is plain to see.

A paltry 15 goals from 24 games is the lowest return in the Premier League, so attacking players are a priority.

The Swans are hopeful of re-signing forward Andre Ayew from West Ham, while Serbian winger Lazar Markovic could join on loan from Liverpool.

Audacious bids to sign Atletico Madrid pair Nicolas Gaitan and Kevin Gameiro seem less likely.

Brighton and Southampton have signed forwards in recent days – Leonardo Ulloa and Guido Carrillo respectively – so may be done in that department.

Huddersfield got their business done early by signing defender Terence Kongolo from Monaco, and midfielder Alex Pritchard from Norwich. Expect that to be them done in the transfer market.

Reporting by Phil McNulty, Simon Stone and David Ornstein.

Find all the latest football transfers on our dedicated page.

The post Transfer deadline day: Who will Arsenal, Liverpool, Chelsea, West Ham look to sign? appeared first on Breaking News Top News & Latest News Headlines | Reuters.

[ophelie-redgrave]

She has been enjoying a few drinks at the French table, once some small matters had been discussed. It didn't take long for the whispers of Laurent's blood stained state started to circulate.

Not that it was surprising, one way or another there was often a French making a blood stained appearance to Vixen. A safety net of some sort.

The conversation had been flowing nicely, soon disturbed by raised voices. One being ever so easy recognized- it was Laurent's.

Ophélie rolled her eyes, not at her friends reaction to being refused entry but simply to the stupidity of the one refusing. He had worked within Vixen before, though no regularly enough to know of whom was important.

He knew Fee, after all he was one of her French regulars. Though a bit dim-witted she had to say.

Rising from her feet she made her way over to the two men, placing herself between two bodies.

"Felix" she signed, pinching the brow of her nose.

"I don't know how coked up you maybe right now but that is not going to excuse you for refusing St. Pierre entry to the lounge."

"Now, the best thing for you to do is apologise, grovel, and allow him entry before he beats your ass. Trust me, no one would stop him. Then I suggest you take a step back and learn who is important within this establishment."

@mobscene-starters Dated: 30/5/24. Location: Vixen.

It was a Thursday night. There was only one place they'd all be. There was also no way in hell he was walking into his home like this.

"Jesus, St. Pierre. You good?"

The greeting of the doorman as he skipped ahead of the line, face contorted into genuine concern, was brushed off with a casual smile and a wave of Laurent's hand. He should've seen the other guys. They all knew the drill: let them in around the back so the patrons didn't get too much of a fright. Not that any of them would be looking at the blood-spattered Frenchman when the night's show was already in full swing...

So Laurent followed. Made his presence known to the other commandants once he was inside so they could order a drink on his behalf. Then, he switched into a fresh suit he always kept at the club and cleaned himself up. As best he could, at least. There was only so much one could do to remove dead Russian in a bathroom sink.

"Eh, you shouldn't be in here looking like that."

Some random do-gooder seemed keen on not letting him back to the French table, though. If only they knew how fucking thin his patience was tonight. Luckily for the both of them, however, it seemed somebody was about to interrupt before Laurent could consider whether it was worth adding to the night's death count.

"Is that so?"

[maksimkurylenko]

Maksim, in retrospect, ought to have possessed the sagacity to learn not to push his luck when it came to taunting Laurent further. Lest their last interaction hadn't been lesson enough. The term 'dumb fuck' wasn't new to him.

The conversation at hand had dulled out, his acquaintances peeling off to find people they'd much rather talk with. He didn't blame them, his tastes were better suited to his own kind. And small talk had never been his forte.

He didn't see it coming.

A searing flame of pain coiled in his jaw. Metal upon the cheek. He faltered, taking an initial stumble, followed by a subsequent one. The surrounding crowd became that of ear-wrenching screeches and gasps.

Fucking St. Pierre.

His hand instinctively sought his jaw, clasping it tightly as an impulsive guffaw burst forth from his mouth. The metallic tang of blood lingered on his palate, his inside cheek bitten. "I've been told my listening skills aren't half bad," Tone mocked, as his tongue flashed over white teeth to test their strength as he stood to his full height. "I just don't listen to fuckin' frogs."

Leyla was simply entertainment.

"Careful, Laurent." His tone lowered. He knew he could fight better than most of this fucking room. Maksim had to make the call for Aviv's backup the last time. "Your henchmen look like they wanna' get involved. And that'd be good for no one." It was testing, his own hands curling into fists at his side.

"Scared of a little competition? Never thought you the type to worry." His head cocked to the side with a grin. "Though maybe you're overcompensating for something else? It's okay, you'll get over it."

@maksimkurylenko Event: Valentine's Day Auction. Time: After Party.

The after party was in full swing. People were too distracted with their own shit, their own drinks, their faltering fucking relationships...nobody was paying attention to anything outside of the bubble. They were the types that never really did, anyway. Finding him in the crowd was easy, because the creepy little scarecrow fuck stood out like a sore thumb amongst other, normal human beings.

If he'd thought he wouldn't notice earlier, he was wrong.

The two had already clashed over Maksim's inability to keep away from his very-uninvolved-in-mob-shit partner, and yet still, he'd sought her out pre-auction to taunt her. And this is why the Russians would never fucking learn. They always had to make shit personal. Weaving through a few drunk hookers, the Frenchman subtly switched his two Commandant rings onto his right hand.

"I warned you to stay away from Leyla. Evidently, you're too dumb a cunt to listen."

The Russian hardly had time to acknowledge he was being addressed before Laurent's silver and gold adorned fist collided hard with his jaw. Enough to do real damage? Nah. He wasn't looking to get kicked out. Enough to send him stumbling a few steps back into the bar, the girls around him shrieking in surprise? Yes.

"Next time, I'll kick your fucking teeth down your throat."