#Camille Etienne

[breathetoseethetruth]

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

[royalty-nobility]

The Coronation of Queen Victoria, 28 June 1838: The Queen Leaving Westminster Abbey

Artist: Camille-Joseph-Etienne Roqueplan (French, 1800-1855)

Date: c. 1838-1855

Medium: Oil on canvas with traces of pencil

Collection: Royal Collection Trust, London, United Kingdom

Description

This oil sketch depicts the closing moments of the Coronation ceremony. Queen Victoria is crowned and is carrying the Orb and Sceptre with the Cross, and is leaving Westminster Abbey followed by a procession of her Maids of Honour and courtiers.

[karokawwo]

the grind never stops

[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

[revuetraversees]

Cécile A. HOLDBAN (et trente poètes), Machines, le Réalgar, mai 2024, 134 pages, 23€

Une chronique de Marc Wetzel Cécile A. HOLDBAN (et trente poètes), Machines, le Réalgar, mai 2024, 134 pages, 23€ La peintre-poète Cécile Holdban dessine (au lavis) une trentaine de “machines” – chacune légendée et reproduite – qu’elle propose à autant de camarades écrivains de prolonger-commenter d’un récit de leurs choix et façon. Ce que ces vingt-neuf hommes et une femme font (à la fois…

[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

[thornilee013]

Also Etienne because I wanna know more about Andrew's Emotional Support dog's friend.

prev | Etienne | WW 31.7.2024

One minute, Jean had been given at least a dozen plush toys for Etienne to play with, and the next he'd watched her place them all along the edges of her bed and lay on top of them. He wasn't sure what to make of the situation, other than that she seemed to enjoy the toys. She simply didn't enjoy them like a typical dog would. 

It all started when he got a stuffed elephant from Camille and Amélie. Etienne had carried it everywhere with her for a month, including on walks, and was sure to show it off to everyone who went by.

“Where’s Albert?” Jean asked her, and without fail, Etienne dropped Albert the stuffed Elephant into his open palm. Time, and dog slobber, had not been kind to the poor elephant, and many parts of his motley body were the result of patchwork Jean had done to keep the elephant whole. 

MASTERPOST

BONUS: I commissioned @emry-stars-art for a glimpse into Jean's life with Etienne!

(THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN, @emry-stars-art !!!!!!!!)

[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

[aroseyetbloomedwrites]

Reprieve - Etienne/Francel [ The Night of Occam's Razor ]

Having been provided it previously, a silver key rests in Francel’s open palm, looking down into it, his fingers, long and slender, pull forward and fold around it. There is a deep seated exhaustion taking root in his bones as his gaze glances off his fist, and upwards, to the bar, from where he sees Ambrose, and Yoan putting up their dirtied rags. The last of theirs, well—Occam’s guests having left, trickled out into the sweeping cold of the old night, to return from whence they came. He thinks, as he watches Ambrose come around the bar with Yoan, that perhaps he could call it his as well, the guests, the employee’s, the establishment, and not in any sense of ownership as a statement, no matter the gil he had provided, and the services rendered, but because of a different type of investment he has made. The emotional output. By no diminishing standards, the months he has come here, to do this, for and with Etienne, he—loved it, loved them. And so, ‘theirs’, in every sense of the word, he thinks, might just have a right to be imagined in his mind, as it would in Ambrose’s, or Yoan’s, or Etienne’s and Doctor Camille. 

Francel feels a hand touch his shoulder, and having traced the path Ambrose marked across the way from bartop to stairwell, of which he leaned against the banister, knew for whom it belonged to. There is strength in that grip, and if the musculature that the professor boasted of spoke to anything, it was that grip. Francel’s shoulder felt the weight of it. Yoan had held back, and for a time, looking towards the door as if he waited for that final permission to leave. 

“Make sure to tuck in that Etienne, aye?”

The hand leaves his narrow shoulder, and Francel turns his head to follow the pathway Ambrose carved towards the door, Francel trails behind, gripping the key Etienne had given him last time tightly in his hand. He pockets it. Puffs up his chest mid step, and with a familiar, fond curl to his lips, sees them out with a ��

“Of course I will! Be warm, Fury keep you safe in your travels.”

At the doorstep, left wide open, a cold wind blows in, chilling Francel’s bare fingers, and his lengthsome ears, Ambrose turns to regard him, Yoan a few steps ahead, not bothering to pull his gait as he walks away, leaving Ambrose at the stop, looking into Francel’s smiling face. There is a tiredness beneath bright blue eyes, but a redness in his cheeks, and the ends of his smile might nearly meet those blue depths, in a way that showed Francel’s satisfaction, and his contentedness. Ambrose seemed to consider this expression for a brief moment, but he does not look overlong, for the footsteps of his companion have grown distant, and Francel’s nose was turning a delightful shade of red, he merely laughs aloud, and steps back and down the curb. 

“Do not let the door hit my ass on the way out.” He turns away, waving a hand over his shoulder.

The parting note leaves Francel slightly confused, he will watch for a moment, as Ambrose breaks into a jog over the pathway to catch up to Yoan, a crystalline snowflake or few blow in, sticking to the brocade of Francel’s vest, he can feel the chill of the wind sneak beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, and pour down the buttoned collar of his shirt. Like tendrils of ice sneaking in to cool his sternum, and the way his heart heats and beats in his breast. Spooling hot blood also, in the pit of his stomach as he leans back, pulls the doors closed, and… flips the lock with a decisive ‘click’. Barring the establishment for all that were already readily within it, and, without.

Etienne is nearby, he is just a room away, and has been, having escaped as things were winding down, and no more bodies were trickling in, to sort what had been paid, and what needed to be ordered for the following weeks. Francel will pace from the front double doors of the Razor, across wood floorboards, past tables and benches, to the far side of the entryway floor where a single door stands. It was not locked when he tries the handle, and he had, after all, promised to see Etienne before leaving, as is what he always does. The door gives when he presses in on it, leading him to a lengthy wing with doors aligning either side, he follows it to its end and takes some stairs, a quick jaunt upwards, and then he is opening another door, which parts into a bigger room with a narrow pointed ceiling lined with skylights gone dark and cold. The far side of the room boasts a few windows which are curtainless, but considering they were up a floor, there was no need for them. A desk was facing away from the windows, littered with paper, books, a scale, letters needing to be sent out—an old cup of coffee that must have been there for a few days. It was the kind of thing that elicits a smile from Francel. But, what really drew his gaze, seeing as the desk, where his eyes had flitted to first, was empty, they ghost instead, to the chair positioned a few steps in front of it, the back of it turned towards the door, as it is angled towards a crackling fireplace, he can see arms on the armrests of the plush chair, and know for whom occupies it. But there is silence, he was not greeted upon entrance, and the body in the chair does not move to come retrieve him. To come hold him. Unperturbed, Francel will find fondness curl in his belly, and curl at his lips, even if he cannot rightly see Etienne, but, to know the busy, energetic man, to be asleep where he sits. 

On quiet feet, leather soles against solid wood, he sidles his way gently to the loft bed in the farthest corner of the room, the space and table beneath it is filled with boxes, and bags of all sorts, he does not disturb these as he leans on quiet toes to lift himself marginally higher to seize a blanket corner and pull it from the edges of the lofted bed. And when he pads back, to pace around the chair fully, he will be given pause, to finally look upon this resting Etienne, pale skin aglow in the light of the fire, and Francel will find his heart stuttering. White hair will be swept across one eye, but the back is slightly sticking up from when it had been pressed against the back of the chair, creating a facade which is open, endearing, and addled with sleep. His eyes are closed, and while there is an underlying edge of darkness beneath them, Francel will wonder if this rare moment of respite would be enough to lift the shadow, even marginally. And yet, Etienne is always so energetic. Francel cants a hip, shifting his weight onto another foot, and leaning down at the waist as he gazes longingly at Etienne. Whose mouth is slightly ajar, wisps of air easing past in little breathes he can almost hear. Lips which kiss him with such passion, and longing, oscillating between a chasteness he never imagined would be his, and a need he never thought possible to be in his grasp, to bend to him, to be his to express. 

There are papers on Etienne’s lap, gone a little askew as they slowly begin to slide from his lap. Francel catches them before they can make streaks of white on the dark floor and sets them on the side table. He does not read what they are, but were Etienne to ever need help with them, he hopes the half-wolf would know for whom he could call upon, but then—doctor Camille, and Etienne, they have been doing this for some time by themselves, Francel could never make an imposition or presume he would be needed in that manner. Papers safely aside, Francel stretches out the blanket, from corner to corner, and drapes it gently over Etienne’s body, very carefully needling the corners of the blanket over his shoulders to cover the majority of him. The blanket is large, and settles warmly against the front of the man, folding into the crease made where lap turns into upright waist. Francel tucks him in, making sure the blanket covers Etienne’s front, in the fullest, and then, as he is leant in, he will turn his head, crane down his neck, and press soft, full lips against a high cheek bone, but then suddenly, jutting out from the edge of a blanket, a hand grabs his wrist just as Francel were pulling away. Eyes go slightly wide, as Etienne meets his gaze, there is a sudden alertness to them, a clarity which demonstrates that underlying layer of having been a soldier, or—it just had to do with Francel being about to make his escape, and Etienne was having none of that.

“You weren’t bout’a leave without saying bye, were you?”

There is still a layer of grogginess to Etienne’s voice, a sleepiness which made his voice pleasantly rough and gravely. Francel has butterflies in the pit of his stomach. Etienne’s hand is large, and warm, where it grasps around the tender bone of his wrist. Francel turns his hand, and Etienne lets him, their fingers come together, folding against one another. 

“I was saying my goodbyes just now, but you slept so peacefully, for, how could I wake you?”

Etienne gives one of his lopsided smiles, and white lashes lower over the glow of his eyes in the firelight, Etienne tugs on Francel’s hand, and the young lord tentatively acquiesces by way of stepping between the sag of the blanket between the taller’s legs. And will lower himself into the others lap, turning sideways, that he might hook his legs over Etienne’s and slide an arm around his shoulders. Hands relink, and rest on one of Francel’s thighs. The position itself is a strange one to the young lord, whom has not done something of this variety before. Etienne puts an arm around his back, his hand strokes down Francel’s spine, and then curves around his waist to hold his hip, and suddenly, it clicks in Francel’s mind, that he need not be so stiff, Etienne will hold him steady, he will not be upended, he will not slide off. He relaxes, as Etienne leans back against the chair again, and there is a naturalness to the way Francel will lean forward, shoulder to Etienne’s chest, turning his face inwards to tuck it against the fine lines of Etienne’s neck. And it suddenly hits him full force, the warmth of the fire against his side, a blanket tucked around Etienne’s chest for his fingers to pull down, that he can drag his hands over Etienne’s front, and into the opening of his shirt to press his fingertips against warm skin. Tickled gently by the hair that peppers his front. Francel runs his nails over this, and Etienne tucks his chin atop Francel’s head, and sighs through his nose.

“How ‘bout you jus’ don’t leave.”

Francel closes his eyes, squeezing his knees together over Etienne’s legs and the side of the chair they sit in, Etienne, holding him firmly, Etienne, kissing the top of his head, Etienne, the smell of him in his nose. Warmth against his body… 

“Now, how could I?” 

Francel intones, and his voice dips in such a way that belies his tiredness, now that he has been bidden to relax in his lover's embrace. How could he, when Etienne’s voice growls gently in his long ears, with his large hand holding to his thigh, his own hand trapped beneath, a hand curled around his hip… How could he, when they share a warmth, and their hearts beat together, and Francel’s lips move, as though he were to say something, but nothing comes out, just a rush of air, as his lungs and heart squeeze. 

“Etienne…”

But, Francel is met with silence, he cranes his neck back, moving as minutely as possible, only to find in his silence, and in his thoughts, Etienne had closed his eyes again, leant his head back against the grand chair, and was currently breathing soft and deep, with Francel in his arms, a familiar and desired weight and warmth against his front. There was no greater sense of calm and quiet than this. Francel tucks himself close again, a smile playing at his lips as his nose brushes the tendon in Etienne’s neck, he kisses the warm skin gently, curls his fingers against Etienne’s chest where he holds, and breathes in long, deep, and steady. Let him be surrounded by Etienne, and he will know no greater contentedness than this.

Francel does not return home, that night. 

[royalty-nobility]

The Coronation of Queen Victoria 28 June 1838. The Queen Leaving Westminster Abbey

Artist: Camille-Joseph-Etienne Roqueplan (French, 1800-55)

Date: c. 1838-1855

Medium: Oil on Canvas with Traces of Pencil

Collection: Royal Collection Trust

Description

This oil sketch depicts the closing moments of the Coronation ceremony. Queen Victoria is crowned and is carrying the Orb and Sceptre with the Cross, and is leaving Westminster Abbey followed by a procession of her Maids of Honour and courtiers.

[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 ^^

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

Emily in Paris : Season 4 - Part. 1 - Quotes

"- Oui, thanks to Luc. And the less we say about it, the better. - I warned you about this, Emily. You broadcast your entire life for public consumption and now it's affecting my business." (Sylvie - Episode 1)

"- He won't even speak to me and, well, he blocked my number and deleted me on Instagram. (Emily) - After such a humiliation, who can blame him?" (Sylvie - Episode 1)

"- Alfie, don't let your emotions cloud your judgment." (Episode 1)

"- Can you start tonight? - I have plans with Nicolas. (Mindy) - Why don't you ask him for the money? (Etienne) - He's not an ATM. (Mindy) - Well, his father is a billionaire, girl. (Etienne) - Just because he's hot doesn't mean you can't date him for his money. (Mindy) - Multitask, bitch." (Etienne - Episode 1)

"- What the hell, Cooper? When were you going to tell me my face is plastered all over the city, looking at you like you're not about the ruin my life? (Alfie) - You promise you won't go disappearing on me? (Emily) - As if you'd let me. (Alfie - Episode 1)

"- I can't believe you exhumed an ex-boyfriend to make a co-worker happy. And corporate co-dependence is a disease. (Mindy) - He's not my ex. At least, not yet. And I am not codependent... (Emily) - Uh... Hmm. (Mindy) -... I'm just very dedicated to my job. (Emily - Episode 1)

"- I can't believe how cheap I feel in a dress this expensive. (Mindy) - Mindy, wait. (Nicolas) - You do not want me to stay with this much rage and free alcohol. But in the future, I'll wear whatever the fuck I want." (Mindy - Episode 1)

"- But, Sylvie, you must feel terrible. (Emily) - Not really." (Sylvie - Episode 2)

"- Everybody's disposable, Emily. Remember that." (Sylvie - Episode 2)

"- Just so you know, women shouldn't go into the brand closet alone. You need a buddy. (Girls at JVML) - I was thinking I needed a cart, but a friend to help carry all this would be better." (Mindy - Episode 2)

"- When I'm interested in your opinion, I'll ask for it, Emily." (Episode 2)

"- I'd rather not dredge up tasteless stories from the past. It was a different time." (Sylvie - Episode 2)

"- We are beyond pointing fingers, Emily. The fact is, we are fucked!" (Episode 2)

"- She's also one of my first friends in Paris. She gave me hope that not every French person hated me because I'm American. (Emily) - They hate you because you steal their boyfriends." (Camille's friends - Episode 2)

"- I'm trying to come up with some excuse for her going completely dark." (Episode 2)

"- Camille has disappeared. Do they suspect foul play? - I don't think so. (Emily) - I'd hope not. She's a gallerist, not a foreign dictator. - Well, I'm sure she just needs space, and would appreciate it if everyone minded their own business." (Emily - Episode 2)

"- Don't worry. Okay? You're not going to give away anything. Sometimes in life, things go missing and they're never found." (Episode 2)

"- Oh, what if we did a non-alcoholic version? There's growth in that sector, thanks to the sober curious movement. (Emily) - The sober what? (Sylvie) - Sober curious movement. It's mostly Gen Z and millennials who are adopting a wellness approach to alcohol. (Emily) - They're not sober. They're just exploring not drinking. (Luc) - So they're drinking, but not talking about it? (Luc) - No, they're not drinking, but they won't shut up about it." (Sylvie) - Sound like they need a drink. (Luc) - Sobriety may be popular in America, but it's the antithesis of French culture. (Sylvie - Episode 3)

"- Okay. Is it just me, or did all of the men in Paris suddenly get a lot hotter? (Emily) - They've always been hot. (Mindy) - I am so over both of them. (Emily) - You're on a dick embargo? Waiting for your Prince Charming? (Mindy) - Oui. His name is Jacques, and he has five stars." (Emily - Episode 3)

"- Getting into this outfit was a two-person job. What'd I miss? (Mindy) - Turns out the masks go on and the true feelings come out. (Emily) - Oh ! Who are we talking about? Gabriel or Alfie?" (Mindy - Episode 3)

"- Oh ! Someone's living out their horny Bridgerton fantasies." (Mindy - Episode 3)

"- Do you have any idea what kind of scrutiny my father is under right now? (Nicolas) - He was my inspiration. Men can't keep their dicks in their pants. Why should we pretend otherwise?" (Grégory - Episode 4)

"- Clear your schedule and your browsing history." (Sylvie - Episode 4)

"- I think it looks like a place that was hot in the '70s. (Sylvie) - It's not about the place. It's about the people. We will resurrect the glory days of disco." (Héloise - Episode 4)

"- I just want to be with you. Anywhere and everywhere." (Episode 4)

"- Emily, who are you right now? (Mindy) - Someone who's living the question instead of always trying to find the right answer. (Emily) - Why the roof? (Mindy) - Maybe there's people in her apartment, you know?" (Emily - Episode 4)

"- Or maybe she's in a throuple. Or a polyamorous quad, you know? But they just... they just wanted a moment alone together. That, with Augustinus Bader, going gray isn't giving up. It's glowing up." (Emily) - Nice job in there. I'm a little surprised though. (Sylvie) - Why? (Emily) - Americans can't tolerate ambiguity. (Sylvie) - I think right now it's better to be Switzerland." (Emily - Episode 4)

"- I am not asking you to choose a side, I'm asking you to choose me." (Episode 4)

"- Yeah, you would, but it's 45 minutes out of the city. I'm not living in Paris to not live in Paris." (Camille) - Okay, well, there are nice apartments in Athens. (Sofia) - O, I bet. I could never leave Paris. (Camile) - She's having his baby. Did you really think that she was going to move away from him? (Sofia - Episode 4)

"- Well, that was the most expensive meet-and-great. Oh, so this drink was a trompe-l'oeil. (Emily) - When Em learns a new French phrase, she loves to apply it to everything." (Mindy - Episode 5)

"- You need a recommendation? (Emily) - More like a reservation. At a place where it's impossible to get a table." (Sylvie - Episode 5)

"- I've never seen him so happy. He should lose a star more often." (Mindy)

[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

[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