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chic-a-gigot · 2 months ago

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La Mode nationale, no. 338, 15 octobre 1892, Paris. No. 11. — Costume de deuil. No. 13. — Robe de deuil en barpour. No. 16. — Toilettes de deuil. No. 17. — Manteau de deuil. No 18. — Robe de deuil, en drap de dame. Modèle(s) de la Maison À Saint-Roch, 197m rue Saint-Honoré, Paris. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 11. — Costume de deuil. Corsage plat, ouvert derrière, recouvert par une veste Figaro en crêpe anglais. Taille ronde, mise sur la jupe, sans ceinture. Manches bouffantes du haut, recouvertes par un double jockey, dont le second est en crêpe anglais. Ruche de crêpe autour du cou. Jupe froncée tout autour de la taille, très étoffée derrière, garnie dans le bas, devant, par une haute bande de crêpe anglais.

Capote de crêpe, garnie devant et sur la nuque par une garniture semblable. Grand voile derrière.

No. 11. — Mourning suit. Flat bodice, open at the back, covered by a Figaro jacket in English crepe. Round waist, placed on the skirt, without a belt. Puffed sleeves at the top, covered by a double jockey, the second of which is in English crepe. Crepe ruffle around the neck. Skirt gathered all around the waist, very full at the back, trimmed at the bottom, in front, by a high band of English crepe.

Crepe capote, trimmed in front and on the nape of the neck by a similar trim. Large veil at the back.

Métrage: 11 mètres lainage, grande largeur; 2 mètres crêpe anglais.

—

No. 13. — Robe en barpour. Corsage-jaquette long, boutonné sur le devant, ouvert en cœur et entouré d'un revers habit encadrant une chemisette de crêpe, avec col montant et nœud de crêpe en dessous.

Bande de crêpe anglais autour de la jaquette.

Manches bouffantes et remontantes du haut, étroites du bas avec poignets de crêpe.

Jupe plate devant, plissée derrière, garnie dans le bas, tout autour, par trois bandes dégradées en crêpe.

Petite capote de crêpe, garnie devant par un groupe de petites coques semblables, avec bande de mousseline blanche en dessous.

No. 13. — Barpour dress. Long jacket-bodice, buttoned on the front, open in a sweetheart and surrounded by a coat lapel framing a crepe chemisette, with a high collar and crepe bow underneath.

English crepe band around the jacket.

Puffed sleeves and raised at the top, narrow at the bottom with crepe cuffs.

Flat skirt in front, pleated behind, trimmed at the bottom, all around, by three graded crepe bands.

Small crepe bonnet, trimmed in front by a group of similar small shells, with a band of white muslin underneath.

Métrage: 11 mètres barpour, grande largeur; 2 mètres crêpe anglais.

—

No. 16. — Toilettes de deuil.

(1) Robe en drap diagonal. Corsage plat, à trois ceintures, recouvert par un biais en pointe et les petits côtés en crêpe anglais. La pointe du milieu s'étend, en s'évasant jusqu'au bas de la jupe. Manches flottantes, très larges, à hauts poignets semblables. Jupe polonaise, faisant suite au corsage, très plate devant et plissée derrière en petite traîne. Chapeau rond, en crêpe anglais, orné devant par un groupe très pressé de coques en crêpe, avec coquillé semblable s'allongeant sur la nuque.

(1) Dress in diagonal cloth. Flat bodice, with three belts, covered by a pointed bias and the small sides in English crepe. The point in the middle extends, flaring to the bottom of the skirt. Floating sleeves, very wide, with similar high cuffs. Polonaise skirt, following the bodice, very flat in front and pleated behind in a small train. Round hat, in English crepe, decorated in front by a very pressed group of crepe shells, with similar shell extending on the nape of the neck.

Métrage: 8 mètres drap diagonal.

—

(2) Robe de lainage noir et de crêpe anglais. Corsage-plastron en crêpe, à pointe allongée, recouvert par une petite veste courte, à revers semblables. Manches très bouffantes du haut, à ballons bouillonnés, sur bas de manches plats. Jupe de lainage, plate et unie, recouverte par une seconde jupe plus courte et froncée tout autour de la taille, en crêpe anglais. Capote de crêpe anglais, à fond plissé, ornée de biais et de coques semblables. Long voile derrière, brides de crêpe, voilette de crêpe lisse sur le visage.

(2) Dress in black wool and English crepe. Crepe bodice-plastron, with elongated point, covered by a small short jacket, with similar lapels. Very puffed sleeves at the top, with bubbled balloons, on flat bottom sleeves. Wool skirt, flat and plain, covered by a second shorter skirt and gathered all around the waist, in English crepe. English crepe hood, with pleated bottom, decorated with bias and similar shells. Long veil behind, crepe straps, smooth crepe veil on the face.

Métrage: 8 mètres lainage, grande largeur; 6 mètres crêpe anglais.

—

No. 17. — Manteau de deuil, en cachemire de l'Inde. Corsage plissé à la taille sous une ceinture de crêpe et ouvert en cœur du haut sous un empiècement aussi en crêpe. Grandes manches pèlerine derrière, ornées par une bande de crêpe et surmontées de jockeys semblables. Jupe longue, froncée tout autour, garnie dans le bas par une bande de crêpe.

Petite capote de crêpe à fond plat, bouillonnée tout autour, avec groupe de nœuds sur le devant et grand voile plissé retombant derrière.

No. 17. — Mourning coat, in Indian cashmere. Bodice pleated at the waist under a crepe belt and open in a heart at the top under a yoke also in crepe. Large cape sleeves behind, decorated with a band of crepe and topped with similar jockeys. Long skirt, gathered all around, trimmed at the bottom with a band of crepe.

Small flat-bottomed crepe hood, ruffled all around, with a group of bows on the front and large pleated veil falling behind.

—

No. 18. — Robe de deuil, en drap de dame, forme redingote. La redingote en drap est ornée devant, à partir du dessous de bras, par une large bande de crêpe anglais, retombant jusqu'au bas de la jupe. Elle est largement plissée derrière. Du haut, elle encadre un plastron de crêpe anglais, retenu à la taille par une ceinture semblable faisant très petit corselet. Jupe plate en tablier sous l'overture de la redingote. Manches très étoffées, bouillonnées dans le haut et très étroites du bas, sous poignet de crêpe.

Chapeau rond en crêpe, garni par un entourage de coques couchées.

Devant, nœud alsacien d'où s'élèvent deux plumes Méphisto en crêpe.

No. 18. — Mourning dress, in lady's cloth, frock coat shape. The frock coat in cloth is decorated in front, from the underarm, by a wide band of English crepe, falling to the bottom of the skirt. It is widely pleated at the back. From the top, it frames a plastron of English crepe, held at the waist by a similar belt forming a very small bodice. Flat apron skirt under the opening of the frock coat. Very full sleeves, shirred at the top and very narrow at the bottom, under crepe cuffs.

Round crepe hat, trimmed with a surround of lying shells.

In front, Alsatian bow from which rise two Mephisto feathers in crepe.

Métrage: 11 mètres lainage, grande largeur; 2 mètres crêpe anglais.

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nicolettecallednikki · 1 month ago

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Just a small Esteban x Gasly!sister fix that I've been working on for ages for fun. Enjoy 🫶🏼

She'd always had a thing for Esteban. It seemed silly to say, with Charles right there, the Prince of Monaco, Il Predestinato, widely acknowledged hottie, but for Martine Gasly, the only full-sibling of Pierre and the only girl in their blended family, it had always been the slightly goofy looking dark horse, Esteban. For all Pierre had to say about his complicated past with Esteban, it went double for Martine, who'd seen first hand what their families fighting had done to the two young boys. She'd been helpless to fix anything about their relationship, all her attempts only making it worse.

"It's him or me," Pierre said harshly, once when the two had had a fight and she'd tried to go to Esteban to comfort him. Esteban, who had no one but his parents and a nothing but a motor home, against Pierre and their brothers, Maman et Papa, Antoine and Charles who always, even when he was in the wrong, sided with the blonde, and all his friends at school.

"That's not right," she'd squeaked, trying to stop from crying, "You two are friends."

"Not anymore, sœurette," he said, coldly, "Not ever again."

To this day, the way Pierre spoke of Esteban in the media made her quite anxious. She knew her brother, and knew the longer Esteban stayed silent on the matter the more he'd speak on it, and the more stupid he'd sound. He was getting kind of frantic about the whole thing, fanatical, to the point where even he made note of it.

"I'm talking about him as if he were my girlfriend," he'd stopped himself once, to point it out, his ears tinged red in embarrassment.

It had been years since that final argument, at least the final argument she'd witnessed, and Martine had stood firmly- proudly at times, not so much at others- by her brother's side ever since. Blood was thicker than water, after all, and thicker too, than the pressée they'd all enjoyed as kids together, she supposed.

But when Pierre's move to Alpine was announced, Martine's throat constricted as if she'd lost access to air. She knew Esteban wouldn't want him there, that he'd been pulling, quite publicly, for Mick Schumacher, and she didn't blame him. The picture he'd posted of the two little boys from Normandy? He'd cropped her out, she knew he did, because she had the same picture hidden in the bottom drawer of her desk at home. She'd been at Pierre's other side, even then, but there was no question she was staring adoringly at the brun, as she was prone to in those early days.

It was only when it was announced that Alpine wouldn't allow the Gasly and Ocon families to attend the same races that she was able to take a deep, full breath again. She didn't know what she'd do when face to face with Esteban again, but at least it wouldn't happen often.

It wasn't like she hadn't spent time at Grand Prixs before, but she'd always had the safety net of being in a separate garage from Esteban. When Pierre was at Alpha Tauri, she'd spent plenty of time in the garage, and therefore plenty of time with his teammate, Yuki. Since school had been mostly online after covid she'd traveled more than ever before- the mechanics joked that if she spent any more time hanging around the garage, they were going to make her start doing pit stops with them.

She and Yuki had had a wonderful friendship, and she was the one behind most of those "Yukierre" photo ops. She still spoke to the younger boy sometimes, and his mother had even invited her to stay at the family house during the Japanese Grand Prix weekend.

Somehow, she couldn't envision the same for her and Esteban. Every time they passed each other in the past he'd been polite, too polite. Greeted her like she was a stranger, and just kept walking.

The only respite had been at Anthoine's funeral.

He'd hung near the back of the church, head down, trying to appear shorter than he was in an effort not to draw attention. For Pierre and even Charles, it was never like that. They were very open with their grief, and they had every right to be, but when you're more vocal, people come to comfort you. When you're quiet, you're alone.

So, she'd spotted him there, his once long hair now short and gelled into another sort of helmet. She knew, of course, he'd had a bad season- he was the Mercedes Reserve driver and not racing, all because some boy's father bought him a seat- which Esteban's own father could never do. Then she'd learned the two became friends- something only Esteban could do, would do. For all his brashness and his reputation for fighting, she knew all he really wanted was to be accepted, make friends.

He looked- aside from sad- uncomfortable, in an ill-fitting suit. The sleeves, and probably legs, were too short. Neither of his parents were seated with him, although they had accompanied him, but rather a girl- his girlfriend, maybe? Martine tried not to pay too much attention to who he was dating at any given point it time.

Once they all exited the church, she couldn't stop her feet from going to him, despite what her brothers would say. She'd tapped him on the shoulder, a shoulder much higher than it used to be, and if he was surprised to see her when he turned around, he had the good grace not to show it.

He bent down to kiss her cheek, but she caught him by surprised and hugged him. After only a moment's hesitation, she felt him sink into the hug. She had been almost worried he'd knock her down, but he was so thin! If he had told her he was lighter than she was, she would believed it.

"Esteban," she breathed and he sucked in a sharp breath, "It was good to see you, Titine."

In the days following the Belgian Grand Prix, most of the drivers took off to start their summer break, but a few stuck around the hotel for a couple of days to blow off steam, and Martine elected to stay with them, wanting an inside look at what all mischief they got into and enjoying time with her brother and his friends.

While Pierre took Kika shopping, Martine made her way down to the pool where she knew Charles and Arthur were hanging out. Age wise, she was between the two brothers, but they acted like she was eons younger, still a child- worse than Pierre, at times. She and her mother had long suspected it was because they didn't have their own little sister to pick on. So, in retaliation, she made it her life's work to get a rise out of them, Charles especially.

Speaking of the handsome Monégasque, she sat on the edge of his chaise so he could put suntan lotion on her. His ex had always side eyed them for this type of thing, but Alex took her at her word when she said she had grown up with all boys- her brothers, the Leclercs, Esteban, the Huberts, not another girl among them- and merely needed someone to apply lotion so that she don't burn to a crisp. Kika, she assumed, had probably quietly reminded her that, while WAGs may come and go, little sisters tend to stick around much longer, and it was better for Alex to be on Martine's good side, than against her.

"Oh, Carlos is gorgeous," she sighed dramatically, leaning against Charlie, "God, I always forget how good looking he is. Up close? It's unreal."

"Ma crevette," came Charles response, "I will drown you in that pool."

"Relax, Calamar," she tsked, "You know you're my favorite Ferrari. Plus, Carlos wouldn't go for a girl as young as me, I asked around."

"Who'd you ask?" Charles shot up from his seat.

"Lando," she shrugged, "Figured it was best to go to his closest pal. He said, unlike you and Pierre, Carlos likes girls his own age."

"The drowning threat stands," Charles replied, but the flush growing up his bare chest to his neck and face told her she'd gotten him good this time.

A moment later, another thought occurred to him, and he pulled off his glasses to glare at her, "Why were you talking to Lando?"

"He's gotten quite handsome, himself, hasn't he?" she winked, "Grown up nicely, if I may say so."

"You may not," Charles growled and, having had enough of her, promptly picked her up and tossed her into the pool.

From years of experience, she knew better than to shriek or thrash about when being thrown into the pool, as that was just the type of scene the boys were looking for, so she simply plugged her nose with her free hand and accepted her fate.

A second splash followed hers, and when she swam back up to the surface, she was delighted to see it was none other than Lando himself who had followed her in.

"Funny meeting you here," he giggled. She wasn't sure yet if she liked a man who giggled, but at least someone was flirting with her, for a change.

That night they headed to the club, Pierre leading the way and her following- always following- with Charles on one side of her, his hand at the small of her back, and Arthur on the other. You'd think she was the celebrity and they her bodyguards, the way they carried on, but at the end of the day, at least she never had to pay for her own drinks with this trio. Even if they did make her change out of her first choice of outfit.

After getting settled at their table and getting a drink in her system, she spotted George and Alex- easily seen in most crowds, but especially when surrounded by drivers, who were not known for their height- and headed to the dance floor to join them. She was dancing like mad with Carmen and Lily, just being silly, when she must've danced a bit too close to George, by mistake.

"No, no," he tsked, "None of that. You'll not get me in trouble with the missus, just to needle your brother."

She laughed, but didn't deny it, and Lily leaned into her, conspiratorially, "I can think of someone who'd probably love to do the honor."

She froze for a moment, like a deer in headlights, wondering how Lily of all people- lovely, but not someone she was particularly close to- had guessed about her crush on Esteban. A moment later, when Lando made their way over to them, she let out a relieved sigh, hoping the others were too far gone to notice, and allowed herself to be pulled closer to the Brit on the dance floor, trying for the life of her not to think about a certain other driver.

Lando was a good dancer, and even with no evidence she could guess he was a better dance partner than Esteban would be, all lanky limbs jumbled about. But then again, Lando was the one who kept breaking trophies and things, so maybe he was uncoordinated and Esteban would be a better dance partner. She tried not to think about that.

She never saw him out- maybe Alpine made sure he and Pierre went to separate clubs, or maybe he didn't go to clubs at all, just went home for a quiet night in with whatever girl he was dating- she still refused to learn their names, so that if they were ever introduced she could realistically act like she didn't sit up nights thinking about them, about him. She thought she might prefer that herself- a quiet night in, as opposed to the noisy, sweaty club- but if she was honest with herself, she'd probably just prefer to be anywhere Esteban was.

She knew, psychologically, that she wasn't in love with him- she didn't even know him anymore, not really, not like she had- but was only attached to him because she'd never had closure. She'd been in love- thought she'd been in love- with him for so long, only to be separated and then expected to never speak to him again. Naturally, that did her head in, so of course she'd spent the rest of her life comparing every other man she met to the imaginary version of him she had in her head, an amalgamation of his past self, his media persona, and the tortured soul she'd made him into.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she let Lando pull her impossibly closer.

She awoke in her own bed, alone, having been escorted to her room by Arthur in the wee hours of the morning. Her legs were deliciously sore from dancing, but she was ravenous and headed to the dining room for the buffet breakfast, assuming it would be quicker than waiting for room service.

She did not expect Esteban to be there, a Belgian waffle in front of him, piled high with strawberries and whipped cream. She considered sitting with him, but when he didn't look up from his phone at her, she chose a table across the mostly empty room, instead.

Her dropped spoon clattering to the floor got his attention, though, and his a small, polite smile enraged her enough to make her approach him.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked in French.

"No?" he said, "What made you think that?"

"You don't speak to me," she said, losing steam at his genuinely surprised tone.

"I don't-" Esteban tried and failed to explain, "What is there to say?"

He was actively resisting the urge to untangle her hands which she anxiously twisted and wrung.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, "Nothing. Anything. Like when we were kids, just talk."

"We haven't been kids for a long time, Martine," he said. Esteban was starting to wish he'd gone home- gone anywhere else- but Mick and Lance had wanted to stay and it wasn't like he had a girlfriend to go home to these days.

Just then Carlos entered the dining room, startling them both, and Martine abandoned the thought of eating to run back to her room and wallow.

It wasn't like his sister to miss a meal, even with the hangover Pierre was sure she had- Arthur said he practically had to carry her back last night- so Pierre was mildly concerned when he'd knocked repeatedly on her door, with no answer.

"What's wrong, sœurette?" Pierre asked from her doorway. Once he was sure she wasn't in there with Lando, of all people, he'd let himself in with the second key she'd given him.

"Nothing," she choked out, face first in her pillow, "Please, Pierre, leave it alone, just this once."

"Ma crevette," he said after a long moment. Even though they hadn't discussed it, he knew his sister well, "Is this about Lando or- "

She swallowed back a sob to hastily cut him off, "I'm okay, I promise, I'm just being stupid. I'll be by the pool in a bit."

Her brother pushed on anyway, "If this is because of who I think it is... I am the last one who would want something between the two of you, but if he doesn't see how amazing you are, he's the stupid one, yes?"

"Thank you," she squeaked out, and felt him lean over to kiss her cheek, before leaving the room.

Next, Pierre banged on Esteban's hotel room door, not for the first time in their racing career.

"This is stupid," Pierre sputtered, before Esteban could even register his appearance.

"Excuse me?" the younger man returned.

"I- we don't," Pierre took a breath, "We know our relationship, but even I am shocked you'd treat Martine this way."

"What way?" he asked, exasperated, "I don't even speak to her."

"That's what I mean," Pierre snarled, "What did she ever do to you? She always showed you kindness, even when I asked her not to."

"Pierre," Esteban said slowly, as Pierre was apt to bite off his head at a moment's notice, "I do not speak to Martine, because I don't want to come between you and her. I know you didn't want us to be friends."

"You'd rather hurt my sister than cause an issue between her and me?" Pierre questioned, "That doesn't even make sense."

"Well, if I were to..." Esteban didn't complete the thought, "Wouldn't the first thing you'd do be to tell her it was to spite you. I didn't want her to think I am using her to hurt you either. There was no winning, for anyone, in this situation."

Pierre opened his mouth as if to speak and shut it again, "I don't know what to say to that."

"Finally," Esteban couldn't resist the urge to roll his eyes, "I've managed to shut you up, for once."

That night, as Lando headed to the bar to refresh their drinks, Carlos took his opportunity to take Martine for a spin on the dance floor- quite literally a spin, as he was very gentlemanly about it and didn't grab at her at all.

"So," he said in his thickly accented English, "You and Landito have gotten quite close, no?"

"Yes," she blushed a bit, "I suppose we have."

"You like him?" Carlos asked, "Or you just want a bit of fun while you visit with your brother?"

She clamped her mouth shut, and he assured her she misunderstood him, "I don't blame you for that, that's all I'm saying. Lando, he is a good mate, but... I have sisters, yes? I would not want my sisters to pursue him, you see?"

"I see," she nodded, and something about the atmosphere or the drinks she'd had or Carlos' nature made her almost burst to tell him about her real crush, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Not well," he acknowledged with an indulgent grin, "but you'll tell me anyway. Everyone tells me their secrets, that is how come my hair is so big."

"I can see that," she laughed at his Mean Girls reference- he really did have sisters- before going on tiptoe to get closer to him, "I do like someone on the grid, actually."

He stretched away from her, "Not Charlie, no?"

"No," her nose crinkled and he looked relieved.

"Who?" he asked, and she laughed, "Guess."

"George, Alex, Yuki?" he listed off her brothers friends, and she chuckled, "None of them."

"Someone your brother is not friendly with, then?" his eyes flashed with merriment, and she nodded.

She wasn't sure if he was just being coy by not mentioning himself or if it hadn't occurred to him, since they barely knew each other, but she felt obligated to let him off the hook, "And it's not you, Mr. Smooth Operator."

He clutched his heart in faux hurt, "I am crushed."

She smiled and let the conversation drop for a moment, before he leaned down a bit to give this guess quieter than the rest, "It is Esteban, no?"

She felt herself freeze, but he spun her out and back into his arms while she recovered.

"I told you," he quirked an eyebrow, a wise smiling playing on his overly pretty face, "Sisters. I know how you women's minds work."

She swallowed thickly. While it felt good to finally tell someone her secret, she wasn't sure why on earth she'd picked Carlos, aside from he'd been looking at her with his big brown cow eyes and she'd felt compelled.

Honestly, now that she paused to consider it, he was just about the worst option, as he was close with both Lando and Charles, and therefore her brother, and probably outright disliked Esteban out of loyalty to Alonso. She bit her lip, suddenly stressed.

"Do not worry, chiquita," he let out a light chuckle, dipping her slightly, "Your secret is safe with me."

As vindicated as he'd felt in this conversation with Pierre, both the Gasly's coming at him in one day had Esteban's head swimming and seeing them in the bar he'd purposely chosen to avoid them did not help. The fact that Lando accompanied them and the others was enough to make him order a drink, which he normally doesn't do.

"How's it goin, boys?" Lando had a straw between his teeth and a shit eating grin on his face as he approached Mick, Lance, and Esteban, "Este, you're drinking? Wild night tonight, huh?"

Esteban swallowed thickly, forcing a smile, "Not too wild, I hope."

"Not me," the younger man smirked, "I'm hoping for a wild night."

"Lan," Mick warns, but he continues on, "You must know Marti, from growing up and all? She's great, huh?"

"Martine," Esteban pronounces the name, "Yeah, she's a great girl. She's special, that one."

"And she's hot," Lando added, "Some girls look a too much like their brothers, and it doesn't work, but she's, like, so hot."

"She's beautiful," Esteban took a large gulp of his drink for fortitude, "Be good to her, eh?"

"You too, huh?" Lando side eyed him, and Este froze momentarily, "God, the speech I got from Pierre and Charles was bad enough, what do you people think of me. I'm not that bad, I swear."

"I didn't mean-" he insisted, but Lando laughed it off, "No worries, I don't mind the fuss, it'll only make her like me more, I reckon."

Esteban took a step forward, as if he had more to say, but Lance clapped a hand on his shoulder, just then to pull him back.

"Have a good night, man," Lance said smoothly, "We'll see you around."

"I'm not leaving," Esteban said stubbornly, once Lando had left.

"Is this more about Lando, Pierre, or Martine?" Esteban's eyes refused to meet Lance's, his stare fixed on the dance floor, where Martine was once again with Lando.

"Pierre?" he asked, "What would he have to do with anything?"

"I don't know," Lance shrugged, "Maybe you're taking your rivalry too seriously, unconsciously."

"I- it has nothing to do with Pierre," he shrugged.

"I don't know, she looks happy, Este," Mick said.

"But do you really think she will be happy with Lando?" he question, frowning at the thought.

"No," Mick agreed this thing with Lando was likely a fling. He'd grown up with him, and it was hard to take him seriously in the romance department, "but I think you know it would be... cruel to break her heart, over this kind of uncertainty."

"You think breaking up her and Lando would break her heart?" came the indignant reply.

"He means it would break her heart to go after her and then change your mind," Lance clarified.

The night quickly got out of hand, Esteban's low tolerance for drinking getting to him, with Lando and Martine close behind.

"Mate," Carlos was bent next to Lando's ear, "Come get some air with me."

"I'm in the middle of something," Lando replied, pawing at Martine, who looked drunkly confused at best and uncomfortable at worst. Behind them, Pierre was seething, only held back by Charles assuring him that sending Carlos to speak to Lando would be better than Pierre embarrassing Martine by breaking up the pair.

"Pierre's gonna put you through a wall if you don't take your hands off his sister," Carlos spoke low enough she couldn't hear, but she could guess.

"Lando, my brother's right there," she pointed out, "And the Leclercs. This is a bad idea."

"Alright, come back to my room," Lando proposed, "So we can have some privacy."

"Mate," Carlos warned, "Bad idea."

Luckily, the arrival of George, Alex, and the girls gave Martine a plausible excuse to extract herself and distracted Lando enough he allowed himself to be dragged to the bar by Carlos.

Forced onto a barstool and made to drink a glass of water, Lando was pink in the cheeks, flushed from the excitement and likely a bit embarrassed his old teammate was pulling rank on him.

Esteban was further down the bar, not looking too well himself, and Carlos leaned in to speak to him- in Italian or Spanish, Lando wasn't sure, but he couldn't understand it, whatever it was. Esteban replied, gesturing Lando's way and then at the girls on the dance floor.

Wonder what all that's about, Lando thought to himself, returning to his glass of water.

The Spaniard ran a hand through his hair, before patting it back into position, rolling his shoulders back, and ordering himself another drink. It was at times like this that he felt a decade older than his peers, rather than just a few years.

"Martine," Arthur approached the girl where she danced with Carmen and Lily, "All is good?"

"My little, big brother," she explained to the girls, before answering him, "I'm okay."

"Come dance with me," he pouted for effect, "You've been neglecting me all weekend."

She laughed, but complied, letting him pull her a small distance from them for a quiet conversation.

"I thought for sure Pierre's head would pop off," he laughed, "God the Brits have no sense of decorum, in front of your own brother!"

"It's sexism though," she objected, "You boys are allowed to do whatever you want with whoever you want, but I can't even dance with a boy."

"Ma cherie, that was not just dancing," he said, and she giggled into his shoulder, "Okay, you've made your point. Were you sent to bring me home?"

This is how it went, usually. Pierre and Charles got to stay out and have fun and poor Arthur was forced to babysit Martine, which he secretly didn't much mind, as he wasn't too keen of a partier anyway, especially not in the Formula 1 scene, were he was constantly faced with the reminder than he's not one of them.

"If you want to leave, of course I can take you," Arthur said, "but I calmed Charles and Pierre down, so you should be okay."

"Merci," she stretched to kiss his cheek, "You're the best little, big brother a girl could ask for."

"I know," he puffed up his chest, smiling brightly.

He and Martine had only gotten closer when he took up the role of development driver at Ferrari, and she felt less like his brother's-best friend's-sister and more like his own best friend, these days. Enough so that he could tell Lando wasn't the one on the grid she was most focused on.

"Ma belle," he said, taking a chance that she was drunk enough to forgive him if he overstepped, "I am wondering... is all this with Lando worth it?"

"It's no big deal," she said, "We're just having a bit of fun."

"I hope so," he said, "Because I think you're trying to distract yourself from something- someone, and I hope I'm wrong."

"Am I that obvious?" she bit her lip, suddenly feeling tears well in her eyes, "Does everyone know."

"Surely not Lando," he tried to lighten the mood, "I don't think Pierre and Charles suspect-"

"Pierre does," she admitted, "He said as much earlier today. And Carlos knows."

"Carlos?" Arthur looked confused.

"I told him," she said, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, "Or he guessed, I don't know."

Arthur grabbed her face to wipe her eyes without smearing her makeup more than she already had, "Martine, I've known you a long time, and I know everything that went on with him and your brother, or, if not everything, a lot of it. I just don't think it is healthy to hold all this in for so many years."

"What should I do?" she asked him.

"Talk to him," he suggested, "Pierre will forgive you, I am sure of it."

The breeze was cool against her skin as Martine gripped the railing outside the club, her shoulders tense. After her talk with Arthur, she'd spoken briefly to Lando, who'd probably need to be reminded of the conversation in the morning, before heading outside to get some air.

When she heard the door open behind her, she turned and was surprised to find Esteban, looking at her like he hadn't since he started F1, since all this nonsense with Pierre. She realized she hadn't really made eye contact with him in years, not properly. He was always looking past her, over her shoulder. Now, his eyes were soft, his smile almost shy.

"Don't look at me like that," she frowned, "Like you pity me. Pierre's silly, little sister with her silly, little crush."

"You know I don't pity you," Esteban reached out to touch her arm, "I feel a number of different things, but definitely not pity."

"Why'd you come out here?" she wondered aloud.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, "You said you wanted us to talk, no?"

She nodded her head, but suddenly found herself without any words.

"I can't tell you how hard it's been to ignore you over the years," Esteban started, "It's only gotten worse now with Pierre at Alpine, and you always so- close, but I swear I never meant it the way you took it."

She nodded, and he continued, "I never thought in a million years that you were- wanting me to not be ignoring you. If I'd known you were interested, in being my friend even, I would've- I didn't know. I don't know, now, what to say. I didn't think this was even a possibility."

"You don't know how long I've wanted to hear that," she was surprised to find her eyes tearing up again, "I didn't think I ever would, honestly."

"Titine," he said softly, the name a relic from their childhood, only Maman and Pierre ever called her that anymore, "I know we haven't been close in a long time, but I would like to get to know you again, if you think you would like that."

"I think I would like that a lot," she grinned and he smiled back as he kissed her.

#f1 #formula 1 #esteban ocon #eo31 #Esteban Ocon x Gasly!sister #Pierre and the leclerc brothers are overprotective #lando is kinda a fuckboy #but we forgive him #Carlos is exasperated #also a mind reader

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