#emploi Lille

[emploisdacheteurs]

Nouveaux Emplois dans la Mode: Devenir Personal Shopper à Lille

Lille, la capitale dynamique des Hauts-de-France, est un paradis pour les fashionistas. Avec ses charmantes boutiques, ses centres commerciaux animés et sa proximité avec des marques internationales, il n'est pas étonnant que beaucoup aspirent à une expérience de shopping personnalisée.

C'est là que vous, l'individu avisé et stylé, pouvez intervenir en tant que personal shopper recherché. Aimez-vous faire du shopping? Si la mode vous passionne, vous pouvez décrocher des postes de personal shopper à The Personal Shopper Agency.

Que fait un Personal Shopper à Lille?

Imaginez-vous comme un concierge du style, guidant les clients à travers la scène commerçante diversifiée de Lille. Comme Personal Shopper à Lille, vos responsabilités comprennent:

Comprendre les besoins des clients: Vous plongerez dans les préférences vestimentaires, le budget et les occasions de vos clients. Renouvellent-ils leur tenue de travail, recherchent-ils une tenue époustouflante pour un gala, ou veulent-ils simplement rafraîchir leur style de tous les jours ?

Création d'itinéraires d'achat: En fonction des besoins des clients, vous créerez des parcours d'achat personnalisés, englobant des pépites cachées, des magasins établis et des boutiques éphémères branchées. Lille offre un délicieux mélange, des boutiques chics de la rue de la Monnaie aux grands magasins renommés.

Sélection de produits par un expert: Votre sens aigu du détail vous permettra de repérer les pièces parfaites. Vous naviguerez dans les tendances, identifierez les tissus de qualité et vous assurerez que les articles complètent la morphologie et le style personnel du client.

Négociation et conscience des prix: Obtenir les meilleurs accords est une compétence précieuse. Vous pouvez négocier au nom des clients ou tirer parti de vos connaissances des soldes et promotions.

Personnalisation de l'expérience: De la préparation de rafraîchissements à la gestion des retouches, vous faites tout votre possible pour créer une expérience de shopping fluide et agréable.

Pourquoi devenir Personal Shopper à Lille?

Le métier de personal shopper à Lille est un parcours professionnel dynamique qui offre un mélange unique de mode, d'entrepreneuriat et d'immersion culturelle. Voici pourquoi Lille est la ville idéale pour lancer votre aventure de personal shopper:

Scène de mode florissante: Lille possède une scène de mode dynamique, répondant à des goûts et des budgets variés. Des designers indépendants aux marques de luxe internationales, vous aurez un vaste choix à partir duquel vous pourrez composer vos sélections.

Clientèle internationale: La proximité de Lille avec la Belgique, l'Angleterre et les Pays-Bas attire une clientèle internationale. Perfectionnez vos compétences linguistiques et répondez à un ensemble diversifié de préférences.

[communist-manifesto-daily]

Socialism: Utopian and Scientific - Part 2

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At the request of my friend, Paul Lafargue, now representative of Lille in the French Chamber of Deputies, I arranged three chapters of this book as a pamphlet, which he translated and published in 1880, under the title: "Socialisme utopique et Socialisme scientifique". From this French text, a Polish and a Spanish edition were prepared. In 1883, our German friends brought out the pamphlet in the original language. Italian, Russian, Danish, Dutch, and Roumanian translations, based upon the German text, have since been published. Thus, the present English edition, this little book circulates in 10 languages. I am not aware that any other Socialist work, not even our Communist Manifesto of 1848, or Marx's Capital, has been so often translated. In Germany, it has had four editions of about 20,000 copies in all.

The Appendix, "The Mark", was written with the intention of spreading among the German Socialist party some elementary knowledge of the history and development of landed property in Germany. This seemed all the more necessary at a time when the assimilation by that party of the working-people of the towns was in a fair way of completion, and when the agricultural laborers and peasant had to be taken in hand. This appendix has been included in the translation, as the original forms of tenure of land common to all Teutonic tribes, and the history of their decay, are even less known in England and in Germany. I have left the text as it stands in the original, without alluding to the hypothesis recently started by Maxim Kovalevsky, according to which the partition of the arable and meadow lands among the members of the Mark was preceded by their being cultivated for joint-account by a large patriarchal family community, embracing several generations (as exemplified by the still existing South Slavonian Zadruga), and that the partition, later on, took place when the community had increased, so as to become too unwieldy for joint-account management. Kovalevsky is probably quite right, but the matter is still sub judice [under consideration].

The economic terms used in this work, as afar as they are new, agree with those used in the English edition of Marx's Capital. We call "production of commodities" that economic phase where articles are produced not only for the use of the producers, but also for the purpose of exchange; that is, as commodities, not as use values. This phase extends from the first beginnings of production for exchange down to our present time; it attains its full development under capitalist production only, that is, under conditions where the capitalist, the owner of the means of production, employs, for wages, laborers, people deprived of all means of production except their own labor-power, and pockets the excess of the selling price of the products over his outlay. We divide the history of industrial production since the Middle Ages into three periods:

handicraft, small master craftsman with a few journeymen and apprentices, where each laborer produces a complete article;

manufacture, where greater numbers of workmen, grouped in one large establishment, produce the complete article on the principle of division of labor, each workman performing only one partial operation, so that the product is complete only after having passed successively through the hands of all;

modern industry, where the product is produced by machinery driven by power, and where the work of the laborer is limited to superintending and correcting the performance of the mechanical agent.

I am perfectly aware that the contents of this work will meet with objection from a considerable portion of the British public. But, if we Continentals had taken the slightest notice of the prejudices of British "respectability", we should be even worse off than we are. This book defends what we call "historical materialism", and the word materialism grates upon the ears of the immense majority of British readers. "Agnosticism" might be tolerated, but materialism is utterly inadmissible.

And, yet, the original home of all modern materialism, from the 17th century onwards, is England.

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[blurredcolour]

In My Blood | Part Three

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

Leaving Belgium behind, you and Curt enter the next phase of your journey in France. Unfortunately, the closer you get to the Spanish border, the more complicated things become - not only with those you are trying to evade, but also between you.

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Brief Description of Murder, Death, Injuries, Angst, Grief, Fear, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6599

-------------------------

Your sleep that night, once your tears had slowed and you had pulled yourself from Curt’s arms, was a fitful thing. Tarnished by the awareness of your need to depart in the deepest dark, interrupted by numerous glances at your wristwatch in the limited light of the attic. When your eyes registered five minutes to midnight, you surrendered with a heavy sigh, retrieving your bag to fish out the non-descript brown paper tube of Benzedrine tablets. You strove to use the uppers sparingly, not overly fond of the way they made your heart race and dried your mouth out faster than a summer’s day, but with a six-hour walk ahead of you after the stretch of days you had endured, you would take any assistance you could get.

Forcing one down with only your saliva, you gently shook Curt awake.

“Time to go.” You murmured.

As he mumbled and grunted, assembling himself, you fished out every last piece of Belgian currency, setting it onto the floorboards to leave as an offering for your host, before sliding into your jacket just as she opened the small half-door to see you out. As quietly as possible, the pair of you made your way down the narrow stairs and out the back into the dark garden – blackout was a great friend to the Resistance, making it easy for you to move around at night unseen.

Sticking to small country roads flanked by fields and the occasional clump of trees, you were grateful that Curt managed to remain silent without needing a reminder. If it was out of sheer fatigue, you would not have been at all surprised. Nearing the border, you slipped low into a ditch alongside the road on which you were travelling, light beginning to gather along the eastern horizon. Sitting in absolute silence and stillness, you watched and waited, observing the invisible division between Belgium and France to ensure there was no activity, no trace of a guard. After a good twenty minutes, you tapped Curt’s shoulder and nodded, keeping low as you crept across the rather open stretch, stripped back of all trees and other barriers to visibility.

Maintaining a brisk pace, you did not stop until you reached the safety of another ditch a significant distance away, once again watching and waiting for twenty minutes before giving Curt the all-clear to proceed. Despite the chemical assistance you had employed, by the time you neared the small farming community of Ronq outside Lille you were flagging, your feet practically dragging along the dusty road. At your side, Curt was not faring much better. The sight of your destination, a small farm owned by perhaps the sweetest couple you had ever had the pleasure of meeting, was nothing short of a relief.

“Ici.” You murmured, touching Curt’s elbow as you gestured down their drive, and fought back a smile at the look of relief that crossed his face.

His pace even seemed to quicken slightly as he headed towards the neatly appointed two-story house that had withstood at least of a century in this hamlet. You had no extra energy to summon, continuing on behind him at the same trudging gait. Movement out in the field caught your eye and you smiled softly to see the husband, whom you only knew by his codename of ‘Hugo’, waving brightly from the back of an ox-drawn thresher. You returned his greeting with a wave in kind before stepping up onto the porch behind Curt to knock on the screen door.

“One moment!” The wife, who’s codename was ‘Delphine’, called out in French from inside the house before bustling over to the door, wiping wet hands fresh from the dishpan on her apron. “Marie!” She cried and swung the door open to grasp your jaw and plant a kiss of greeting to each of your cheeks.

“Delphine, it has been too long.” You smiled warmly. “Please allow me to introduce my friend, Curt.”

Turning with a small grin, you watched as the woman in her mid-fifties, hair dark but with streaks of grey, grasped his shoulders to kiss his cheeks like an old friend as well. Curt, for his part, looked as though he had seen a ghost, making your smile falter as you grabbed the suitcase from his hand, following after him and Delphine into the house.

“You ok, Curt?” You whispered once you were in the sanctuary of their warm kitchen.

“Just…tired…I…” He looked between you and Delphine who, after shoving him to sit in a chair at the table, was digging through her small refrigerator. “My ma’s name is, just so similar and I…” He stuttered out and you were briefly concerned you may have broken him.

“Votre maman? Then, I will be your France maman and feed you breakfast. Marie, go take a bath, you look horrible.” Her delightful mix of French and English seemed to both charm and bewilder your traveling companion.

Far from offended, for you knew she spoke only the truth and purely from a place of caring concern, you found yourself laughing softly under your breath as you turned to head upstairs. This house was a blessing in many forms, including the fact that its placement made it safe enough for guests such as yourself and Curt to remain upstairs. To eat at tables, take baths, and sleep in real beds. Setting Curt’s suitcase in one of the spare rooms, you left the room you preferred for yourself. Both rooms previously belonged to their sons, one a pilot, the other an infantryman, lost when the Nazis conquered their country. A loss with which you could thoroughly empathize. Taking your suitcase with you to the bathroom, you ran yourself the first hot bath in an unspeakably long time, sliding into it slowly to savour the almost uncomfortable heat, thoroughly trusting Delphine to look after Curt in your absence.

It was a relief, for however long you could manage it, to not be the one in charge for a time. To surrender the reins and just relax. As the steam began to fade, the fierceness of the water’s heat ebbing into tepid territory, you set about cleaning yourself thoroughly before sliding from the water to dry off. Taking advantage of the first aid supplies, you changed the bandage on your arm by pulling the knot tight with your teeth, pleased to see the healing progress of your arm in the foggy mirror, before then setting about cleaning some of your dirty clothes in the tub. Once you were dry and dressed, you carried your cleaned and wrung out garments to hang on the line strung in the bedroom your frequented, smiling fondly in memory of how Delphine had put it up for you when she realized how rough you tended to live.

Feeling significantly less horrible, you descended the stairs, finding your pace slowing at the sound of Curt’s voice filling the kitchen to the rejoinder of Delphine and Hugo’s combined laughter. It was difficult to fully decipher the story in progress, but it most definitely involved flying, Delphine translating some of the more technical points for Hugo’s sake, and you tarried a moment just outside the doorway. Closing your eyes, you indulged yourself a moment in the fantasy that none of you knew suffering or loss, that this was simply a happy gathering of friends on a sunny November morning.

“Ah, ma belle, there you are.” Hugo’s voice, coarsened by decades of smoking the pipe still clenched between his teeth, shattered your reverie and your eyes flashed open as you leaned in to exchange your cheek kisses in greeting.

“Much better, Marie, now sit. You are starving.” Delphine declared as though she could also feel your stomach rumbling, and you shared a knowing smirk with Hugo before taking the open chair beside Curt, who smiled broadly.

“You clean up nice, don’t you.”

“Don’t you start, too.” You huffed half-heartedly and he quickly raised his hands in defence, much to Hugo’s amusement.

“You will take the train in the morning?” Hugo asked with a tilt of his head, and you nodded.

“So long as you can bear our company, we would appreciate it.”

He gave his ascent with a firm nod. “Delphine has chores pour toi, naturellement.” His grin was filled with mischief, his wife shooting him a murderous glare and he quickly stood. “I have chores, out of doors.” He winked and quickly made himself scarce, both you and Curt barely concealing your amusement.

There was some good-natured muttering at the stove before Delphine set a plate in front of you with some vegetable hash, several slices of toast, and an egg glittering like a jewel in the centre.

“Delphine!” You exhaled in shock, beginning to shake your head in protest.

“Hush, Marie, it’s my oeuf to use as I see fit.” Her tone brooked no further argument, forcing you to accept it.

 Lifting your cutlery to take a bite, you could not help but admit it was one of the most delicious things you had eaten in far too long. A tiny noise of satisfaction rattled in your throat, Curt’s lips twitching as he most definitely heard it.

“Madam Delphine makes a mean egg.” He nodded firmly, smiling to the woman as she collected his empty plate to wash it.

“Enough, handsome pilot, you bath now.” She patted his shoulder, and you hid your laugh behind against the side of your hand. “Follow me.”

Sending him off with a friendly wave, you watched Delphine lead him upstairs, no doubt giving him a tour of the rooms and bathroom before she returned to finish cleaning up. It was a good thing you had finished eating, because you immediately launched into a full, yet enjoyable, afternoon of chores. Curt joined the pair of you once he was cleaned and changed into fresh clothes. The pair of you looked distinctly more presentable, much less like fugitives, which was surely the entire purpose of her insistence on bathing.

Once the was basement reorganized – boxes of items carefully labelled with the names ‘Antoine’ and ‘Philippe’ stacked amidst unused furniture and a cozy nook set up in the corner to endure the air raids which Delphine shared were coming with more and more frequency – it was then time to turn to dinner preparations. Like many living under occupation, lunch was simply ignored to stretch rations further. Keep busy during the day, set your hunger aside, and eat as much as you could at night to ease your sleep, so long as the bombs did not fall.

Hugo returned from the fields just in time to clean up for the meal the three of you had prepared, Curt proving rather adept at peeling potatoes for his first time. The whole day had a domestic, dream-like quality about it, as though the world were doing its best to make you forget about the war. The night, in sharp contrast, was split open by the shrill sound of air raid sirens piercing the darkness from nearby Lille and across the border in Belgium. Pausing a moment in the clean sheets and cozy bedding, you pondered just laying there and letting your end come to you in comfort – and yet it was not in your blood to lay back and go quietly into the night.

Wrenching yourself from your downy paradise, you flung your coat overtop your nightgown and shuffled down towards the basement, bumping shoulders with Curt on the lower stairs.

“Think we might’ve tempted fate by setting up that shelter for ‘em.” He chuckled and you summoned a half-hearted laugh of your own, one that was cut short by the first explosion rumbling from far off.

You would have liked to consider yourself a brave person. Could claim many instances where you had proven to possess that very quality. And yet there was something about death raining down from the sky that made your muscles freeze, made your mind go traitorously blank. Warm hands were suddenly seizing yours, coaxing you down the last few steps into the basement.

“Almost there gorgeous, just a bit further.” Curt murmured softly, grip not letting up as he felt his way along the stacks of boxes and furniture the back corner of the stone basement with you in tow. “Just sit right there.” He helped you settle on a worn wooden bench before sinking down beside you, Delphine and Hugo’s presence across from the pair of you only recognizable by the way your feet met in the middle of the cramped space.

The sound of bombs impacting buildings and earth grew in volume, intensity, frequency. The windows began to rattle in their frames upstairs, making you clasp your hands together before clenching them tightly between your knees.

“Gotta be the RAF.” Curt muttered and you nodded weakly despite the fact he could not see you, closing your eyes tightly as though it might drown out the noise.

All it achieved was to summon images of explosions behind your eyelids with each resounding ‘boom.’ Explosions of homes, factories, bridges. You forced your eyes open quickly to stare at the worn edges of your coat, no more than a shadowy outline. A comforting warmth slowly pressed against your side, Curt’s solid frame striking a sharp contrast to the rigid, icy fear seizing you, and you slowly allowed yourself to lean into him as you tried to remind yourself to breathe.

“Don’t worry, those boys couldn’t hit anything if they tried.” He whispered into your ear, breath tickling slightly against your skin as his arm snaked around your shoulders to squeeze reassuringly, and you managed to exhale a small laugh through your nose.

Gradually the cacophony abated, taking with it your pounding heart and sweaty palms, the peace of the night returning before the single blast of the all-clear siren sounded.

“Safe to return to bed.” Delphine sighed and stood, shuffling back upstairs with Hugo, Curt and you following close behind the sound of their footsteps.

Reaching the top of the second set of stairs, you were startled as Curt insisted on escorting you to your door, eyeing you softly in the dim hallway.

“You sleep well, alright?”

“You too, Curt.” You nodded softly, faint smile fighting its way onto your lips before you slipped back into your room.

It took some convincing, some reassuring of your senses that you were safe to fall back asleep, but once it returned to you, it took you over deeply, Delphine needing to shake your shoulder firmly to rouse you the next morning.

“Breakfast, Marie. Hugo has checked, trains are still running to Paris.” She smiled to your groggy face as you snuffled awake, struggling to shake off the deep desire to sink beneath the covers in a fit of teenage petulance.

“Thank you, Delphine, I’ll be right down.”

She looked you over with a trained maternal eye, waiting expectantly and silently until you tossed back the quilt with a heavy sigh and sat up. “Now I believe you.” She smirked and stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

As you dressed for the next leg of your journey, you took a moment to pack your clean and dried clothes before retrieving your French papers from the bottom of your suitcase. Slipping them into your handbag, you carried the Belgian ones downstairs in your hand to slip into the flames of the wooden cookstove to destroy forever. It was yet another stab of pain, of failure, to your heart, but that identity was no longer safe to use. That country was not one you could return now until the Nazis were rooted out once and for all. You lifted your eyes to meet Delphine’s over the skillet in which she was preparing breakfast, her mouth drawn into a grim line, but she stayed mercifully silent on the subject.

Bustling about the kitchen with her, you helped prepare breakfast, looking up as Curt finally appeared from upstairs.

“May I please have your Belgian papers, Curt?” You asked, voice still a bit fractious, which you tried to cover with a cough.

“Guess I won’t be needin’ ‘em again huh.” He nodded, pulling them from his inner pocket and double-checking he had the right ones before passing them to you, watching silently as you tossed them into the stove for incineration.

“No, just the French ones now.” You replied quietly, taking his prepared plate from Delphine to set on the table in front of him.

You could feel both of their eyes on you now, trying to read through your muted attitude, making you feel remarkably like a specimen under a microscope.

“This looks amazing, thank you Delphine.” You forced a smile, taking your plate from her work-roughened hands to join Curt at the table and immediately digging in.

“Bon. I made lunch for your train ride, I will pack in your bag?”

Swallowing your mouthful quickly in order to answer, you began to shake your head, but she was already shooting you that look. “You know you didn’t have to, but we are very grateful. I will fetch the bag–”

“After you eat hot food.” She cut you off, punctuating her decree with an officious nod as Hugo shuffled in the backdoor to partake in breakfast.

Working at eating your plate, you watched the pair of them chatter, Hugo earning an affectionate swat for trying to eat food from the skillet with his fingers before receiving a plate and kiss on the cheek. The banter only swelled as he sat down next to Curt, the two men discussing the state of the harvest in Hugo’s endearingly heavily accent English, punctuated by numerous French words.

God you were going to miss them.

Quickly forcing yourself to your feet, you gathered your dishes to take to the sink of hot water, scrubbing at them aggressively as you fought back the blur of tears. Someday the Nazis would stop taking things from you and you could hardly wait for that day to come.

“Marie…” Delphine appeared at your elbow as you set the spotless plate in the drain tray, and you straightened.

“I will grab that bag, just one moment.” You offered the ghost of a smile but did not dare to meet her eyes, stepping into the parlor to open your suitcase where you had stashed the canvas bag from Doctor Legot.

“We will miss you, child.”

You looked up to see that she had followed you, swallowing roughly at the threatening tingling in your nose.

“I will miss you both more.” You somehow managed to voice, allowing her to pull you into a tight embrace. “You must stay safe, please.” You murmured into her faintly lavender-scented hair and felt her nod fiercely.

“Us?” She scoffed a watery laugh before sniffing and pulling back with a stern mask on her face. “You are the one who must be safe out there, you reckless, brave woman.”

A self-deprecating laugh rang hollow in your throat as you sniffled in kind, holding out the bag to her.

“Ah, perfect.” She took it quickly, bustling back to the kitchen, revealing a concerned-faced Curt loitering in the doorway.

Avoiding his gaze, you knelt quickly to reassemble your suitcase, snapping the latches shut and sliding it to stand next to his.

“You should come back here after you get rid of me…live with them.”

Oh how the temptation of that clashed with the cruelty of reality, stealing your breath and leaving an ache deep within your chest. You shook your head sharply to clear it, to chase the harsh reaction away.

“I am a liability. The Gestapo will never stop hunting me, and here, they will have the Carlingue to help. I would only put them in danger, as I already endanger you. I have to leave France as well. I have to leave it all.” Straightening as you spoke, you summoned your fierce determination. “But not before I get you to safety.”

Curt’s brow furrowed over his breathtaking blue eyes, his lips parting, surely to voice some endearing bravado or perhaps protest on your behalf, but Hugo stepped into the parlor.

“Come, time to leave.” He nodded, picking up your suitcases before making for the backdoor, wearing his efficiency like armour.

“Let’s go.” You quickly added, moving to the kitchen to collect your lunch and exchange one last set of cheek kisses with Delphine before bodily forcing yourself to turn and follow after Hugo, not daring to glance back.

Hopping up into the cab of the rusted farm truck, you rode in silence, sandwiched tightly between Curt and Hugo, into Lille. Evidence of last night's raid scarred the streets – collapsed buildings, still burning fires, yet Hugo was still able to navigate a route that brought you within a few blocks of the train station.

“Told you they can’t hit nothin’…” Curt murmured as much of the city seemed to continue about its day as usual.

Your parting from Hugo was much more subdued, Curt sliding from the vehicle onto the sidewalk to fetch the suitcases from the back of the truck as he squeezed your forearm gently.

“Bonne chance.” He murmured fiercely, gazing forward through the windshield into the bright yet cloudy morning.

“Toi aussi.” You forced out past the lump your throat before lurching from the truck cab, grabbing your suitcase from Curt and heading toward the station at a determined clip, torso bent forward in your drive to continue your forward momentum.

Papers checked at the door, tickets purchased at the booth, your pace did not relent until you boarded the train and secured a compartment, sliding the door closed for now.

“In the past, this has been a very busy train, so do not be surprised if we have company.” You murmured quietly, settling in against the window as Curt slid the luggage up onto the rack.

“Even in war everyone still wants to go to Paris, huh?” He smirked, settling onto the bench opposite you, shaking his head as he smoothed his hair. “Still can’t believe she basically has my ma’s name.” He murmured in awe as the train jolted into motion and you eyed him fondly. “What…what’s that look.” You shook your head, feeling caught out, but he was shaking his harder. “Nuh uh, c’mon Marie.” His narrowed eyes pinned you ruthlessly, making you swallow tightly.

“It is a codename, Curt.” You spoke quietly, barely above a whisper. “It makes the resemblance no less remarkable, however.” You assured him gently.

He seemed to mull it all over for a few silent moments before he slowly tilted his head. “So… ‘Marie’….?” You quickly pressed your lips together into a thin line, reticent to answer either way, and he huffed dramatically. “Well, then.”

Moving rapidly to try and distract him, you reached into the canvas bag to offer him some lunch. “Sandwich?”

Swiping the parchment paper packet from your hand with all the grace of a disgruntled toddler, you chewed on the inside of your cheek as he devoured half of the sandwich, glancing out the window when the train pulled into the next station. True to your suspicions, a sizeable line of passengers waited on the platform and while no one intruded on your sanctuary at that stop, two stops later, a mother and her two small children had politely asked to join you. Nodding your ascent, you had explained that your friend was deaf so they should not expect a response from him. Curt, for his part, spent the rest of the journey alternatively watching the blur of scenery and napping, while you made idle conversation with the clearly exhausted woman and watched over him.

Pulling into Gare du Nord, you showed your tickets to the conductor, prodding Curt awake to do the same, before letting the woman and her children disembark first. The city was infinitely busier, more crowded than anywhere you had been thus far, and thereby also infected by markedly more Nazi soldiers. Sending a silent prayer of thanks to the paper forgers back in Belgium as you both made it through the checkpoint, you led Curt down to the crushingly over-crowded Metro. Riding a few stops, you arrived in the 19th arrondisment, finding your way to the apartment of ‘Emile’, another Resistance contact whom you had not imposed upon in a while.

Walking up the worn steps to the door, you swung the brass knocker and held your breath as always, hoping to find this safe haven still intact. After an agonizing thirty seconds, the door opened a crack before swinging wider. Your greeting was no more than a silent nod before he gestured you both inside quickly with a wave of his hand. Leading you through the sparsely appointed space, he took you into the bedroom, opening the closet door before pushing open a false wall in the back to reveal a small hidden room with a twin bed and enough floor space for you to sleep on.

With another nod, the pair of you slipped into the secret space, moving as quietly as possible as you set down your things and shed your outerwear. Unpacking the rest of your uneaten lunch, you and Curt finished up the apples and the rest of the sandwiches while sipping at the bottles of water, perched side-by-side on the edge of the bed. Emile reappeared nearly an hour later with two bowls of thin broth decorated with a smattering of vegetables to add to your meal, whispering a quick goodnight before he was gone. Enjoying it for warmth more than anything, you drained your bowls and stacked them near the door before moving to lay on the floor, nearly bumping into Curt as he tried to do the same.

What ensued was a silent comedy of exaggerated facial expressions and wild gestures, each trying to convince the other to take the narrow bed. That the floor was a perfectly fine space for yourselves but not the other person. Eyes widened, jaws jutted forward with frustration, Curt rose to his feet to tower over you as though height might make his argument more convincing. Not to be outdone, you leapt up quickly, hands on your hips, a small noise of surprise escaping you as his hands seized your hips and pressed you down to sit on the mattress.

The lopsided grin of triumph on his face was enough to make you consider murder and you almost hopped off the bed to take revenge, but his grip stubbornly held you in place, face dangerously close to yours, making you look aside quickly as you exhaled harshly in frustration. Tossing your hands up in a markedly annoyed display of surrender, he slowly released you, before stepping back and settling down on the floor. Diving beneath the blankets, you listened intently, waiting for his breaths to even out, signalling he was asleep – something that did not seem to take long for him.

As sleep seemed to roll over him smoothly, you slid the top blanket from the bed and carefully lay it over him, feeling a small sense of victory as his eyes flashed open with a huff, shooting him a victorious smirk of your own before returning to the bed and switching the shadeless lamp off.

Emile’s return just after six the next morning, bearing sandwiches made of canned creamed corn on thick slices of coarse bread, was a less than gentle way to wake-up, the lamp searing through your eyelids as he turned it on before shaking you awake roughly. Leveraging yourself out of the bed, you quickly re-assembled it with the blanket you snatched from Curt’s still-prone form before sitting down to make quick work of your meal, knowing your host had to get to his occupation mandated shift at the factory soon. A groggy Curt thankfully followed suit with minimal prodding, shooting you only one or two looks at the metallic tang marring your breakfast.

Offering a nod of sympathy, you slid to your feet, tidying your hair and clothes before sliding on your jacket and shoes. Curt managed the luggage while you gathered the dishes, taking them to the kitchen to wash before you each shook Emile’s hand and slipped out the door. It was easy to blend into the crowd of the morning commute and you chose to forgo the chronically crowded Metro in favour of a pricey fare for a pedi-cab ride to Gare de L’Ouest to catch a train to Bordeaux. Only a small train was in service, with no private compartments, and so the pair of you sat in the open car amongst the other passengers, Curt catching up on sleep with his head braced against the foggy window as you fought against heavy eyelids and the lulling sway of the train.

The first sign that your day would not go according to plan came when the train stopped ten minutes short of your destination, the conductor walking through the carriage ordering everyone off due to damaged track ahead. You stood and began collecting your luggage, pleased at the limited protest in your arm as you reached overhead for the suitcases. Climbing from the train, the jumped the last bit of distance onto the gravel, glancing over your shoulder to see Curt following close behind. The wind was cold, biting at you through your thin coat as you walked along a dirt road that ran beside the tracks into town. The sun did its best to shine, but it was losing the ability to warm you, heralding the approaching winter, only making you more nervous for your mountain crossing to come.

The gasps of some of your fellow passengers made you turn your head to glimpse a tangle of warped steel above a gaping crater – a direct hit to the rail line. Casting a glance to the side, you met Curt’s eyes and he nodded firmly to confirm that he saw what you saw. Someone else had been raided recently. Nearing the edge of the city, you were feeling both hungry and fatigued, pointing to a café that seemed to have a few open tables despite the increase in foot traffic.

Lunch was still mostly potatoes, but effort was put into the preparation, so spirits were lifted, and bellies were feeling full as the pair of you set out to catch the electric tram to Bordeaux-Midi where your train should have arrived originally. Dishearteningly, there appeared to be damaged to the track between Bordeaux and Toulouse as well, and service was not expected to be restored for several days. This was not welcome news, but you were nonetheless always prepared with a back-up plan.

Returning to the tram, you made your way through the city to the modest home of ‘Gilles’ to seek refuge for at least the first night or until you could come up with another way to make it to Toulouse. You were agonizingly close to your jump-off point into the Pyrenees, if only your damn Allies had not blocked your path. More than a little weary from your meandering journey, you were very much looking forward to holing up for the night as you rounded the corner onto Gilles’ street only to be treated to the sight of him being forced into a car by a fleet of Vichy police officers just outside his home.

The warmth stolen from your blood, your heart began to pound rapidly beneath your ribs as adrenaline closed the gap in what little energy you had left. Rounding quickly on Curt, you broke your own protocol and began to address him urgently in English out in the open.

“Curt, go back two blocks, left two blocks, and find a place to hide.” You hissed sharply, shoving him away, not waiting for a response.

There was a slim chance that you might be able to talk your way out of this, but most definitely not with him at your side. You could feel him hesitate, resist against your hand, and so you shoved again harder. Hearing him take off, you exhaled softly, turning to face to disaster behind you.

“Halt!” One of the policemen shouted out, and you slid your hand into your bag hanging from your shoulder, fingers seeking the cold metal of your pistol, hoping it would not come to violence, but prepared for any eventuality.

“Good evening, sir, is there a problem?” You asked sweetly as you stepped out into the street, feigning innocence and confusion.

“Your friend will stop, or I shall shoot!” He barked out, spittle flying from his lips and clinging to the square shaped moustache beneath his nose.

It was quite clear whom he idolized.

The metal of his gun flashed in the growing gloom of twilight and without further hesitation you drew your own weapon, bracing your arm against your your hip to fire two shots into his chest as trained by the SOE before bolting after Curt. He was not difficult to find, a wall of muscle you narrowly avoided as he was already running back towards you, against your explicit instructions.

“I heard gunshots and I–” He gasped out.

“Fucking run.” You hissed and continued to dash through the streets, weaving through several back alleys to hopefully pose a difficult target, until the pair of you came across a man walking towards his car with keys in his hand. “We are taking your car.” You growled, pulling a wad of francs from your bag to shove into the pocket of his coat before trying to swipe the keys from his hand.

Aggravatingly, the man balked, taking a step back and emitting a string of derogatory curse words concerning you, your appearance, even your family. Seriously concerned your time was running short, you once again pulled your pistol from its hiding place in your handbag. You had no desire to harm or kill a French civilian, but you had even less of a desire to be taken into custody.

“Now.” You insisted firmly, chest heaving, sweating rolling down the back of your neck from your exertions.

The tenor of his protests only became more irritating, reaching a higher pitch and volume, until there was a clatter on the sidewalk beside you. That sound was your only warning before Curt’s solid right hook collided with the man’s glass jaw. You watched, stunned, as he crumpled soundlessly into a heap upon the sidewalk as Curt shook out his fist.

“Thought he’d never shut up.” He muttered before grabbing the keys, tossing them up for you to catch with numb fingers, before he deposited the unconscious man behind the bins beside his home.

Remembering yourself and the Vichy police not far behind, you turned to quickly unlock the trunk, loading the suitcases inside. Opening the driver’s side door, you started the car before reaching over to unlock the passenger’s side for Curt, pulling away at a forcefully reasonable pace once he was safely inside the vehicle. It would not do now for the pair of you to attract undue notice.

Driving towards the tramline, you used it as a landmark to make your way to the outskirts of the city before finding the road out of town, towards Langon. There was a safehouse there, and a train station where you might have better luck tomorrow. As you put Bordeaux firmly in your rearview mirror, you shifted into a higher gear, letting your lead foot rest heavily on the gas pedal, hoping to spend as little time as possible on the open road so close to curfew.

Curt gazed over his shoulder through the back window before his eyes flicked to the speedometer, a grin blooming on his face as the needle crept higher before his bright laugh filled the car. The sound of it combined with the thrumming of the engine was like petrol in your very veins, making you shudder slightly.

“Damn I need a cigarette…” You sighed wistfully and his laughter graduated to a howl.

“You are full of surprises, gorgeous. The fast driving, cigarette smoking, gun toting woman of my dreams…”

A smirk slowly crept across your face, and you quickly shook your head. “Ghosts of my misspent youth. Gave up the cigarettes when the good tobacco left town, and the fast driving when the gasoline became scarce. The gun will leave when the war is over.”

Curt chuckled warmly. “But the attitude most certainly will not.” He settled into his seat properly, sighing deeply as your escape finally seemed to have been successful. “My misspent youth involved intense games of kick-the-can or baseball in the nearby empty lot. Yours certainly sounds a lot more interesting.”

A soft laugh escaped you and you glanced at him warmly. “Yours sounds a lot more idyllic.”

“Wouldn’t trade growing up in New York for anything in the world…” His sigh smacked of nostalgia and, for all your envy, you most certainly felt the same way about your upbringing, despite its more morose ending.

A sign indicating you were two kilometres from Langon flashed by and you began to gear down, casting frequent glances to the left for an approach to the Garonne River. Spotting an opening between two fields, you turned off into the small clearing, much to your passenger’s confusion.

“What are we…?” He asked as you cut the engine and began rolling down your window.

“Getting rid of the car.” You replied, sliding out to unlock the trunk.

Without needing direction, he quickly retrieved the bags and you turned your attention to scavenging a sizeable rock from the nearby landscape. Not too heavy that you could not carry it, but not too light that it would not hold the gas pedal down. Most importantly, it needed to be flat on one side so it would not roll off.

“All clear?” You asked quietly.

“Yup.” He replied at a similar volume, and you opened the driver’s door, leaving it ajar as you set the rock onto the floor of the car, depressing the clutch and gas pedal to start the engine back up before shifting into first.

Pointing the tires towards a gap in the trees lining the riverbank, you sunk your teeth into your lower lip as you rolled the rock with your right foot to replace your left on the gas pedal, the car jerking slightly but thankfully not stalling. Inhaling sharply, you turned to leap from the vehicle as it began to lumber towards the water, a small exclamation of surprise leaving your lips as Curt seized your elbows to help pull you free, gathering you into his chest protectively. Pressed against him, heart hammering so hard you were convinced he could certainly feel it impact his chest as well, you turned your face to watch the vehicle careen over the bank and into the river before beginning to sink rapidly beneath the murky water.

You turned to face him, matching grins of triumph gracing your faces. You could feel his short, sharp breaths caressing the skin of your cheeks, making your tongue dart out and wet your lips nervously. His mouth was treacherously close to yours. Mere millimetres. A final burst of air bubbles breaking the surface as they were forced from the car when it reached the riverbed pierced the night, sending your heart leaping into your throat, making you wrench yourself from his arms.

“We must keep moving.” You rasped, bending to pick up the nearest suitcase, uncertain whom it actually belonged to, before taking off down the road towards Langon.

Hopefully towards safety for the night.

-------------------------

Read Part Four

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra, @beingalive1

[cliozaur]

And good old misogynist Hugo returns with his description of Mme Thénardier. Yes, she is cruel to Cosette. But in Hugo’s eyes, her main offence is her lack of femininity. Nothing about her fits the tiny and fragile ideal of an "Angel in the House." However, she is hard-working and single-handedly manages all the tasks in the tavern: “She did everything about the house,—made the beds, did the washing, the cooking, and everything else.” And since her shitty husband has squandered all their money, they cannot afford to hire any servants and instead exploit Cosette. In Hugo’s view, the only redeeming quality of Mme Thénardier is her submission to her husband. Such a judgment doesn't come as a surprise.

Moving on, Hugo delves into the character of Thénardier, devoting pages upon pages to his description. He relishes portraying despicable characters, and Thénardier is one of his personal favourites. None of Les Amis deserved such lengthy characterization. But just look at this vile man! And it’s not even the first time he is portrayed, and there’ll be more ahead. I don’t want to know all these things about him! Enough! Stop!

However, several curious points caught my attention this time around. Firstly, he is NOT EVEN A FRENCH: “some Fleming from Lille, in Flanders.” This revelation explains his perceived flaws in Hugo’s eyes, especially his involvement at Waterloo, from whence he emerged. Additionally, his peculiar fashion choices are noteworthy: “he wore a blouse, and under his blouse an old black coat”—HOW? Even his few good qualities are tainted when he employs them. He drinks but doesn’t get drunk. He possesses some education and pretends to knowledge of philosophy, yet he is barely literate, using his limited knowledge and literacy for scheming and fraud. What a truly despicable man.

[wonder-worker]

"If anonymity was required [for reconnaissance and espionage] the woman going about her business, between markets, was the perfect messenger. The Compaignon's news was taken to Lille by a female courier. Writing to the English government on the eve on a projected Scottish invasion Sir William Bulmer was interrupted by the arrival of the wife of one of his spies who had come because 'hir husband was suspect, so that he durst not come hyself. . .'. Equally, Sir William reported that among his spies in Scotland in 1523 he numbered one he called 'the Priores'. In the border war of intelligence it was reported, two years later, that the Scots had lost a female spy at Durham where she was captured and interrogated. There should be little surprise at this, for as Philippe Contamine points out women were much involved in medieval warfare and were employed as messengers and spies throughout the Hundred Years War. But again it is to Edward IV, and the great crisis of his reign, that we must turn. With Warwick and Clarence in France allying with Margaret of Anjou, the king sent Lady Isabel Neville one of her servants bearing an offer of peace. The woman's real business was to plead with Clarence not to be the ruin of his family, and to remind him of the deadly feud between York and Lancaster. Did he really take Warwick at his word when, having done homage to Henry VI's son, he said he would make Clarence king?* The choice of this woman was made because of her shrewdness and because she could gain access to her lady, and thus Clarence, quicker than any male agent."

— Ian Arthurson, "Espionage and Intelligence from the Wars of the Roses to the Reformation", Nottingham Medieval Studies (1991)

*The source for this is the memoirs of Philippe de Commynes, who later served in the French court and was very cognizant of espionage in contemporary politics and warfare. It's not proven or disproven by any other source.

[troius]

well, you finished Nanao (plus Shunsui) vs Lille. From this point onwards things really start to rush.

Good to know?

And that's a shame, because this fight I felt was a lot better than most of the TYBW fights so far. Lille was a really interesting opponent, and his whole angel appearance and religiosity really made him stand out as an embodiment of what makes Soul Reapers and Quincies different. And then on the good guys' side, you had Kubo employing BOTH of his usual ways of juicing a fight, first giving us a long-ass flashback to contextualize the combatants, and then having the Heart be the cause of the ultimate triumph.

Unfortunate if this trend doesn't continue!

[jerseydeanne]

"Adam Lilling founded Plus Capital in 2012, which says it aims to partner “the world’s top influencers – those who can affect more change in a day than most can in a lifetime – with the best entrepreneurs and operators in the world”.

The Sussexes have been working with Mr Lilling for some time, the Telegraph understands. 

Plus Capital is an investor in BetterUp, a coaching and mental health firm which employs the Duke as chief impact officer."

[uniteds]

Mason Mount and Declan Rice have to be two of the most overrated players ever

they're not though.

like, this is genuinely one of the most frustrating takes i've seen and it's not even particularly about mason mount or declan rice. lately the discourse on social media when discussing players has been "x player is overrated and y player is better" and it's like, okay and? mason mount and declan rice are, at a baseline, very good players with very good technique who offer quite a bit to most teams in the world, but because social media exists as an echo chamber, as soon as someone says a player is overrated, everyone else will echo it until the predominant take is that they're somehow bad when that's rarely ever objectively true.

it's perfectly fine for players to be good at a baseline level, even if there's better players. i hate to break it to united fans but we're not getting some french teenager from lille or players like frenkie, and we employ mcfred. at some point, we're gonna have to settle with players that can hold possession and make some progressive passes. the alternative is way, way, way worse.

[freenewsreport]

Louis Joseph César Ducornet: The Inspiring Story of a One-Armed Artistic Genius

Louis Joseph César Ducornet stands as a testament to the power of determination, creativity, and resilience. Born in Lille, France, on January 10, 1806, Ducornet overcame significant physical challenges to become one of the most celebrated artists of his time. His story is not only an inspiration to the art world but also a powerful narrative of triumph over adversity.

Early Life and Physical Challenges

From birth, Louis Joseph César Ducornet faced unique challenges. He was born without fully developed arms, a condition that might have seemed insurmountable in an era with limited resources for individuals with disabilities. Despite his physical limitations, Ducornet demonstrated an innate passion for drawing from an early age. His family recognized his talent and encouraged him, providing tools and opportunities to nurture his creative abilities.

Ducornet adapted in extraordinary ways. He learned to use his left foot to hold and maneuver pencils and brushes, displaying a level of skill that astonished everyone around him. His early sketches revealed a natural understanding of perspective, shading, and anatomy, setting the stage for a remarkable career.

Artistic Education and Development

The young Louis Joseph César Ducornet's talent caught the attention of local artists and patrons, who saw his potential despite his physical limitations. At the age of 12, Ducornet was admitted to the prestigious École des Beaux-Arts in Lille, where he studied under François Souchon, a prominent painter of the time. His education further honed his artistic techniques, allowing him to master classical styles and subjects.

Ducornet’s work often reflected themes of mythological and religious significance, as was typical of the period. He developed a meticulous style, emphasizing fine detail and emotional depth. His ability to depict human expressions and dynamic scenes was extraordinary, given the physical method he employed to create his masterpieces.

Overcoming Societal Expectations

In 19th-century France, physical disabilities often subjected individuals to prejudice and limited societal roles. Louis Joseph César Ducornet, however, defied these expectations. He refused to be defined by his disability, focusing instead on his artistic aspirations.

His determination and the quality of his work earned him recognition beyond his hometown. By the 1820s, Ducornet began showcasing his paintings at various exhibitions, including the prestigious Paris Salon. His contributions were highly regarded, with critics praising the complexity and emotional resonance of his art.

Notable Works and Artistic Legacy

Louis Joseph César Ducornet produced a diverse array of paintings that continue to captivate art enthusiasts today. Among his most notable works are "La Mort de Cléopâtre" (The Death of Cleopatra) and "Saint John the Baptist Preaching in the Desert." These paintings highlight his ability to blend dramatic storytelling with technical precision, hallmarks of the Romantic and Neoclassical movements.

Ducornet’s paintings often explored themes of human resilience, divinity, and the triumph of the human spirit. These themes resonate deeply, perhaps reflecting his personal journey. His ability to convey complex emotions and profound narratives through his art remains one of his most celebrated achievements.

Midlife Achievements

By the mid-19th century, Louis Joseph César Ducornet had established himself as a respected figure in the French art community. He received commissions from churches, private patrons, and cultural institutions, further solidifying his reputation. Despite the physical demands of his work, Ducornet never let his limitations dictate his output.

His innovative techniques and unyielding spirit inspired contemporaries and future generations of artists. Ducornet's story also began to spread beyond France, making him an international symbol of perseverance and creativity.

Personal Life and Challenges

While Louis Joseph César Ducornet’s professional life was filled with accomplishments, his personal life was not without challenges. Living with a physical disability required constant adaptation and resilience. Yet, Ducornet approached life with the same determination he brought to his art, refusing to let societal biases or physical hardships deter him.

His ability to achieve so much with one functional limb continues to amaze historians and art enthusiasts alike. Ducornet's story is a reminder that creativity knows no boundaries, and the human spirit can overcome even the most formidable obstacles.

Conclusion

The life and career of Louis Joseph César Ducornet are a source of inspiration for anyone facing challenges. His extraordinary ability to overcome physical limitations and excel in a highly competitive field underscores the boundless potential of human creativity and determination.

Today, the works of Louis Joseph César Ducornet are celebrated not only for their artistic merit but also for the remarkable story behind them. His legacy continues to inspire artists, historians, and admirers, reminding us that greatness is not defined by physical ability but by passion, perseverance, and the courage to dream.

In every stroke of his brush, Louis Joseph César Ducornet left a piece of his indomitable spirit, making his story an eternal testament to the power of art and resilience.

[actu-juridique]

France, Conseil d'État, 9ème - 10ème chambres réunies, 29 novembre 2024, 494063

https://justifiable.fr/?p=2041 https://justifiable.fr/?p=2041 #10ème #9ème #chambres #Conseil #dÉtat #France #novembre #réunies Vu la procédure suivante : Le préfet du Nord a demandé au tribunal administratif de Lille d’annuler l’élection de Mme G… A… au conseil municipal de la commune de Douchy-les-Mines (Nord) et de proclamer M. C… H… élu à ce conseil municipal. Par un jugement n° 2402148 du 23 avril 2024, ce tribunal a rejeté sa demande. Par une ordonnance n° 24DA00792 du 6 mai 2024, la présidente de la cour administrative d’appel de Douai a transmis au Conseil d’Etat, en application de l’article R. 351-2 du code de justice administrative, la requête d’appel, enregistrée au greffe de cette cour le 24 avril 2024, formée par M. H… contre ce jugement. Par cette requête et un mémoire en réplique, enregistré au secrétariat du contentieux du Conseil d’Etat le 10 juin 2024, M. H… demande au Conseil d’Etat : 1°) d’annuler ce jugement ; 2°) d’annuler l’élection de Mme A… au conseil municipal de la commune de Douchy-les-Mines ; 3°) de le proclamer élu au conseil municipal de cette commune ; 4°) de mettre à la charge de Mme A… la somme de 3 500 euros au titre de l’article L. 761-1 du code de justice administrative. Vu les autres pièces du dossier ; Vu : – le code électoral ; – le code général des collectivités territoriales ; – le code de justice administrative ; Après avoir entendu en séance publique : – le rapport de M. Lionel Ferreira, maître des requêtes, – les conclusions de Mme Céline Guibé, rapporteure publique ; La parole ayant été donnée, après les conclusions, à la SCP Rocheteau, Uzan-Sarano et Goulet, avocat de M. H…, et à la SCP Boulloche, Colin, Stoclet et associés, avocat de la commune de Douchy-les-Mines ; Considérant ce qui suit : 1. Il résulte de l’instruction qu’à l’issue des opérations électorales qui se sont déroulées le 15 mars 2020 pour le renouvellement du conseil municipal de la commune de Douchy-les-Mines (Nord), commune de plus de 1 000 habitants, la liste conduite par M. F… I…,  » Douchy au cœur avec passion « , a obtenu vingt-sept sièges sur les trente-trois que compte ce conseil. A la suite de la démission de Mmes K… L… et Florence Carboulet, ont été appelées à siéger au conseil municipal Mme D… J…, vingt-huitième inscrite sur cette liste, et, compte tenu de la démission de M. E… B…, vingt-neuvième inscrit, Mme G… A…, trentième inscrite sur la même liste. La proclamation de leur désignation a été rendue publique par la mention de leur nom dans le tableau du conseil municipal de Douchy-les-Mines établi le 16 février 2024, notifié au préfet du Nord le 19 février 2024. Par un jugement du 23 avril 2024, le tribunal administratif de Lille a rejeté le déféré du préfet du Nord tendant à l’annulation de la désignation de Mme A… en qualité de conseillère municipale et à ce que soit prononcée l’élection de M. C… H…, trente-et-unième inscrit sur la liste. 2. D’une part, l’article L. 2121-4 du code général des collectivités territoriales prévoit que la démission d’un membre du conseil municipal  » est définitive dès sa réception par le maire, qui en informe immédiatement le représentant de l’Etat dans le département « . Aux termes du premier alinéa de l’article L. 270 du code électoral :  » Le candidat venant sur une liste immédiatement après le dernier élu est appelé à remplacer le conseiller municipal élu sur cette liste dont le siège devient vacant pour quelque cause que ce soit (…) « . La désignation faite en application de ces dispositions résulte de la proclamation du candidat, rendue publique par la mention de son nom dans le tableau du conseil municipal. 3. D’autre part, aux termes de l’avant-dernier alinéa de l’article L. 231 du code électoral :  » Les agents salariés communaux ne peuvent être élus au conseil municipal de la commune qui les emploie (…) « . 4. Il résulte de l’instruction que le maire de la commune de Douchy-les-Mines a été informé le 9 janvier 2024 de la démission de M. B…. La désignation de sa remplaçante, Mme A…, est intervenue le 16 février 2024, date d’établissement du tableau du conseil municipal comprenant son nom. Il résulte en outre de l’instruction que si Mme A… était, le 9 janvier 2024, salariée de la commune de Douchy-les-Mines, elle ne l’était plus à la date de la proclamation de sa désignation comme conseillère municipale, rendue publique par la mention de son nom dans le tableau du conseil municipal établi le 16 février 2024, à la suite de sa mutation à la communauté d’agglomération de la Porte du Hainaut à compter du 1er février 2024. Il s’ensuit que Mme A… n’était pas atteinte par l’inéligibilité édictée par les dispositions de l’article L. 231 du code électoral citées au point précédent. 5. Il résulte de ce qui précède que, sans qu’il soit besoin de se prononcer sur sa recevabilité, la requête de M. H… ne peut qu’être rejetée, de même, en tout état de cause, que les conclusions du préfet du Nord. 6. Les dispositions de l’article L. 761-1 du code de justice administrative font obstacle, d’une part, à ce que soit mise à la charge de Mme A…, qui n’est pas la partie perdante dans la présente instance, la somme que demande M. H… au titre de frais exposés et non compris dans les dépens et, d’autre part, à ce que la commune de Douchy-les-Mines, qui n’est présente qu’en tant qu’observateur et n’a pas la qualité de partie au litige, puisse obtenir une somme au même titre. En outre, il n’y a pas lieu, dans les circonstances de l’espèce, de faire droit aux conclusions présentées par Mme A… au titre des mêmes dispositions. D E C I D E : ————– Article 1er : La requête de M. H… et les conclusions du préfet du Nord sont rejetées. Article 2 : Les conclusions présentées par la commune de Douchy-les-Mines et par Mme A… au titre de l’article L. 761-1 du code de justice administrative sont rejetées. Article 3 : La présente décision sera notifiée à M. C… H…, à Mme G… A… et au ministre de l’intérieur. Copie en sera adressée à la commune de Douchy-les-Mines. Délibéré à l’issue de la séance du 13 novembre 2024 où siégeaient : M. Jacques-Henri Stahl, président adjoint de la section du contentieux, présidant ; M. Bertrand Dacosta, Mme Anne Egerszegi, présidents de chambre ; M. Nicolas Polge, M. Vincent Daumas, M. Olivier Yeznikian, Mme Rozen Noguellou, conseillers d’Etat, M. Jérôme Goldenberg, conseiller d’Etat en service extraordinaire et M. Lionel Ferreira, maître des requêtes-rapporteur. Rendu le 29 novembre 2024. Le président : Signé : M. Jacques-Henri Stahl Le rapporteur : Signé : M. Lionel Ferreira La secrétaire : Signé : Mme Fehmida Ghulam La République mande et ordonne au ministre de l’intérieur en ce qui le concerne ou à tous commissaires de justice à ce requis en ce qui concerne les voies de droit commun contre les parties privées, de pourvoir à l’exécution de la présente décision. Pour expédition conforme, Pour la secrétaire du contentieux, par délégation : Source link JUSTIFIABLE : Indexation des Jurisprudences depuis le 1er novembre 2024 JUSTIFIABLE enrichit son offre en indexant désormais les différentes jurisprudences publiées depuis le 1er novembre 2024. Cette nouvelle fonctionnalité couvre les décisions rendues par les juridictions françaises, offrant un accès rapide et structuré à une base de données constamment mise à jour. Ce service vise à faciliter la recherche juridique et à garantir aux professionnels du droit, étudiants, et particuliers un accès clair et précis à l’évolution des décisions judiciaires en France. Explorez dès maintenant cette catégorie et restez informés des derniers développements juridiques.

[puchkinalit]

Une trajectoire exemplaire

N., vingt-cinq ans, est arrêté pour le meurtre de sa compagne. Le juge Guyader lit le journal intime de l'accusé et essaie de démêler le vrai du faux. Dans ce journal qui emploie le tu, N. se dépeint comme une personne velléitaire, amateur de bière et de polar old-school, menteur, voleur, profiteur (et finalement criminel ?). Il habite à Lille, ne travaille pas mais se dit écrivain et parvient à séduire Irène, quarante ans, à qui il pique allègrement des billets de cinquante euros. Jusqu'à ce qu'il fasse piquer... Amateurs de Bukowski, vous apprécierez ce court et cool premier roman truffé de dialogues qui claquent et de scènes oscillant entre le noir et l'absurde. On lui donne volontiers un blanc-seing pour son roman suivant.

8/10

Une trajectoire exemplaire / Nagui Zinet.- Joëlle Losfeld Editions.

[lboogie1906]

President Dr.Faustin-Archange Touadera (born April 21, 1957) in Bangui. His father was a driver and farmer. He attended school in Bangui. His secondary school was Barthelemy Boganda College. He attended the University of Bangui and the University of Abidjan in the Ivory Coast. He earned a Ph.D. in Mathematics from the Lille University of Science and Technology. He earned a second Ph.D. in Mathematics from the University of Yaoundé.

He was employed as an assistant lecturer in mathematics at the University of Bangui. He served as vice-dean of the university’s faculty of science. He was appointed vice-chancellor of the University of Bangui. He was rector.

He was appointed Prime Minister of the Central African Republic by President Francois Bozize. In 2015 he announced that he would be running for president as an independent candidate. He finished second in the first round of voting and gained the support of the candidates he had defeated. In the second round, he won the presidency with 62% of the vote. On March 30, 2016, he was sworn in as president of the Central African Republic.

The French government announced French troops would be withdrawn from the Central African Republic. He was re-elected in the first round of voting having garnered 53.9% of the vote.

In October 2017, he traveled to Russia to sign several security agreements. These included Russian military support, in exchange for access to the CAR’s significant deposits of diamonds, gold, and uranium.

He has two wives, Brigitte Touadera and Marguerite “Tina” Touadera. He has three children. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[datascraping001]

Unlocking Business Insights: PagesJaunes.fr Business Listings Scraping for Strategic Growth

Scraping PagesJaunes.fr Business Listings

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[ijobcom]

Hauts-de-France, France 👉J’ai pensé que cette offre d’emploi vous intéresserait

Python developer H/F SM Smile Lille, Hauts-de-France, France 1 week ago 19 candidates Cet emploi chez Smile pourrait vous intéresser :👇 https://www.linkedin.com/jobs/view/3784096520

[uneaffairequiroule]

Le service de réparation de vélo à domicile : Zoom sur Cyclofix

Avec l'augmentation du nombre d'utilisateurs de vélos et la prise de conscience écologique grandissante, le recours au service de réparateurs de vélo à domicile devient une tendance. Fini les déplacements et les longues attentes pour faire réparer son vélo ! Désormais, il est possible de joindre un professionnel qui se déplace chez vous pour effectuer toutes les réparations nécessaires sur votre deux-roues. Dans cet article, nous allons aborder les avantages et les spécificités de ce type de service. Un gain de temps et de confort Le premier avantage de faire appel à un réparateur de vélo à domicile réside dans le gain de temps considérable qu'il procure. En effet, plus besoin de se rendre dans un magasin ou un atelier spécialisé, souvent situé loin de chez soi, puis d'y attendre que la réparation soit terminée. Avec un service de réparation de vélo à domicile, le professionnel vient directement chez vous aux heures qui vous conviennent. La disponibilité selon vos horaires Vous pouvez ainsi organiser ces rendez-vous en fonction de vos emplois du temps, par exemple pendant votre pause déjeuner si vous travaillez à domicile, ou encore après le travail en fin de journée. De nombreux réparateurs proposent également des interventions le week-end, facilitant davantage l'organisation. Un service rapide et efficace En faisant intervenir un réparateur de vélo à domicile, vous bénéficiez d'un service rapide et efficace. Un professionnel expérimenté pourra en effet effectuer les réparations nécessaires dans un laps de temps relativement court, évitant une immobilisation prolongée de votre deux-roues. La qualité du travail effectué dépend bien entendu du réparateur que vous avez choisi. Cyclofix : Leader de la réparation de vélo à domicile Cyclofix est une entreprise innovante dans le secteur de la réparation de vélos, offrant des services à domicile et en atelier. Fondée en 2015 et basée à Paris, elle s'est rapidement étendue à d'autres grandes villes françaises comme Bordeaux, Lille, Lyon, Nantes, Strasbourg et Toulouse. Cyclofix se distingue par sa capacité à réparer vélos et trottinettes en moins de 48 heures, facilitant ainsi la vie des cyclistes urbains. Leur site web propose une interface conviviale pour prendre rendez-vous avec des réparateurs qualifiés. Sur Trustpilot, Cyclofix bénéficie d'avis positifs, soulignant leur efficacité et professionnalisme. L'entreprise, qui compte entre 11 et 50 employés, se concentre également sur la durabilité et l'écologie, cherchant à réduire son empreinte carbone et à promouvoir l'utilisation de vélos de qualité. En somme, Cyclofix représente une solution pratique et écologique pour l'entretien et la réparation de vélos, répondant aux besoins des cyclistes modernes. Un large éventail de services proposés Faire appel à un réparateur de vélo à domicile, c'est aussi profiter d'un large choix de services disponibles pour entretenir, réparer ou même améliorer votre véhicule. Parmi ces services, on retrouve : - La vérification et le réglage des freins - Le contrôle et l'ajustement de la transmission - Le changement de pneus ou de chambres à air - La vérification et la mise à niveau des suspensions - Le montage et le réglage de divers accessoires (éclairage, porte-bagages, etc.) Certaines entreprises peuvent également proposer la vente de produits liés au vélo, comme des pièces détachées ou des kits de réparation. Des services adaptés à tous les types de vélos Les réparateurs de vélo à domicile sont généralement formés et équipés pour prendre en charge tous les types de vélos : VTT, VTC, vélos électriques, vélos hollandais, vélos pliants, etc. Vous n'aurez donc pas à chercher un spécialiste en fonction de votre type de vélo. La démarche à suivre pour solliciter un réparateur de vélo à domicile Pour bénéficier d'un service de réparation de vélo à domicile, il vous suffit généralement de suivre quelques étapes simples : - Contactez le professionnel par téléphone ou en remplissant un formulaire en ligne pour expliquer vos besoins. - Fixez un rendez-vous en convenant d'une date et d'un horaire qui vous conviennent. - Préparez votre véhicule en veillant à ce qu'il soit facilement accessible au réparateur. Vous pouvez également préparer votre liste de questions à poser lors de l'intervention. Après l'intervention du réparateur, n'hésitez pas à lui demander des conseils pour l'entretien quotidien de votre vélo afin de prolonger sa durée de vie. Les tarifs de la réparation de vélo à domicile Les tarifs des réparateurs de vélo à domicile varient en fonction de plusieurs critères tels que la complexité de la réparation, les pièces nécessaires ou encore la distance à parcourir pour se rendre chez vous. En général, ils sont relativement compétitifs par rapport aux magasins physiques. Néanmoins, il est toujours conseillé de comparer plusieurs devis avant de faire votre choix, tout en prenant en compte les avis des clients qui ont déjà fait appel au service du réparateur. De cette manière, vous pourrez trouver un professionnel compétent à un prix adapté à votre budget. En conclusion : une solution pratique et avantageuse Le recours aux services d'un réparateur de vélo à domicile offre de nombreux avantages tant en termes de confort que de gain de temps, le tout avec des tarifs compétitifs. Simple à mettre en place, ce système est un choix judicieux pour optimiser l'entretien et la réparation de votre vélo sans avoir à vous déplacer. N'hésitez donc pas à solliciter ce type de service lors de vos prochaines réparations de vélo, qu'il s'agisse d'un entretien régulier ou d'une remise en état après un accident. Read the full article