let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Today's Document
Mike Driver
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DEAR READER
Xuebing Du
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NASA
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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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Love Begins
One Nice Bug Per Day
almost home
Sade Olutola
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tannertan36
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@celinelaurent
ABOUT
Full Name/Nickname: celine laurent
Age/DOB: 25 / March 26th 1996
Zodiac Sign: aries
Gender: female
Place of Birth: nice, france
Arrondissement: 20th
Sexual/Romantic Orientations: bisexual
Religion: no religion but raised catholic
Occupation: full-time sales assistant at chinemachine vintage store / part-time events catering at point êphémère arts centre (occasional evenings and weekends)
biography | pinterest | connections
marvelousmarvellakrofter:
The woman before her was beautiful, that much Ella couldn’t deny no matter how she tried – not that she would want to, though. A playful smile crossed her lips as she slung her guitar around her back, strap crossing over the front of the sweater she had on. “Whatever you’d like, mademoiselle. Anything for a lovely lady like yourself.” Ella couldn’t help herself, she was a flirt and when an attractive human comes along, she takes the opportunity to let them know they’re attractive. People building up people, right? “Buvons de la bière!” The woman declared before carefully placing her guitar in its case. She decided she wanted a drink after all. “My treat if you’re up for it?” It came off as more of a question than a demand, for she didn’t want to push the woman into anything or instantly seem demanding. She’s just been working all day and something to relax seemed heavenly right now.
---
Celine raised her eyebrows at the compliment. It was not that she didn’t enjoy flattery - I mean who didn’t? - or that it was unwelcome. There had been a time when going out was all about finding someone to pay her a pretty compliment and begin the harmless game of back and forth. Now it was about giving her just one night off from her real life. She glanced down at her scuffed shoes and worn out jeans. She certainly didn’t put anywhere near the effort in she once had, but if someone was going to call her lovely. Who was she to dispute it.
“A free drink? Who would I be if I turned that down,” she agreed with a shrug. It would certainly help the near-empty purse she had if her first drink was on the house.
“But not beer though,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Even if the drink was gifted to her she didn’t want to waste it on something warm and watery.
# Me and my siblings
“Don’t,” She furiously wiped the tears from her eyes, “Don’t say that you won’t leave me. Everyone says they won’t leave,” She hiccuped, pressing her palms against her eyes before letting out a loud sigh, “But they always do.”
“I won’t leave you,” he said. (via stephanieofrp)
Favourite Charmed Scenes: ♡ Once Upon a Time (3x03)
everly-desantis:
.
“A concert pianist, a ballerina, prima of course, a model would have been acceptable, and she almost had Eden convinced- sold on Ford agency before she did a fake-out and went and rode the whole equestrian train for a little while.” Everly hadn’t realized how casually she had brought up Eden until the color drained from her face and the empty ache inside of her reminded her that Eden wasn’t around anymore. Everly opened and closed her mouth, willing something new to come up, to force herself out of this terrible show of feeling things she’d rather not. And when she could not will it away, when her anger and sadness demanded her attention Everly gulped wine until her belly ached for a new reason. Physical discomfort was something she could manage, so she did and waved a dismissive hand about and made a vague noise of meh. “I can play almost anything on piano and my ability to play quick tempo versions of lullabies or play piano versions of pop hits is my favorite party trick. So I guess it turned out okay even if I didn’t make a career of it- child hood whimsy.” She added even though if she were honest about her childhood dreams piano nor acting or ballet had been on the lists- but acting had become so engrained in who she was that it was the next logical step she took.
---
Celine was about to ask who Eden was - though she was quite obviously a sister Everly hadn’t mentioned yet. But the look on her face as she cut herself off from speaking made Celine think twice. It was such a terrible expression, so anguished and hurt that Celine found it hard to meet her eyes, opting instead to stare down at the half-eaten tiramisu between them. There was always something confronting about other people’s pain that left her unsure of what to say or do. She felt awkward and unprepared to deal with it.
She glanced up to see Everly draining the contents of her wine glass with gusto. Though she could make no assumptions about the woman sat opposite her, it was a sight intimately familiar to her. She worried her lip as Everly continued her spiel about her former life as an aspiring pianist. She recognised the look of someone fighting against pain and putting up a strong front, Celine did it almost everyday herself.
It would have been easy to play along, to ignore the blip. And part of Celine wanted to, if only for the sake of her comfort. And because she had told herself this friendship was going to be fun and easy. But she wouldn’t be a very good friend if she did.
“Are you alright Everly?” she asked carefully, “It’s just you...if it’s none of my business, you don’t have to tell me but, you don’t look okay.”
marvelousmarvellakrofter:
LOCATION: outside le comptoir bar WHEN: January 21, 2022 at 11PM WHO: OPEN ( @paristarters)
Her eyes were shut lightly as she strummed at her guitar, the ending to Je te promets by Johnny Hallyday played amongst the few people who were roaming the streets. “Je te promets le sel au baiser de ma bouche.Je te promets le miel à ma main qui te touche.Je te promets le ciel au-dessus de ta couche,des fleurs et des dentelles pour que tes nuits soient douces,” she sang softly as she finished out the song. This one was always one of her favorites and her and her dad would listen to it on repeat back home when they missed her mother. At the sound of money landing in her guitar case, she looked up at the person before her. >
“Bonjour – je vous remercie,” she thanked them before continuing in English, “– any requests or are you ready for a drink? You did just pay for one, anyways.”
---
Celine had been ready to enter Le Comptoir when she’d paused, noticing the girl stood out the front of the bar, strumming lightly on her guitar and singing softly in French. She stopped for a moment, vaguely recognising the song. It took her back to the days before her mother had grown quite so reliant on glasses of wine to make it through the day. She would slot a tape into their ancient stereo and her and Christophe would push all the furniture to the side of the living room so they could dance. Celine - barely tall enough to reach her brother’s hip - would toddle around after them, laughing with delight.
Unlike her usual memories, this one simply made her smile. So she reached into her bag and fished out a two euro coin. It wasn’t the most generous offering in the world but she had come out with a strict three drink budget and she wasn’t about to blow it.
She looked up as the girl addressed her realising that, despite her choice of song, she wasn’t French at all but American, by the sounds of it.
Another American in Paris, just what the world needs.
“A song or a drink? I thought the bar was inside, not out here?” Celine asked, raising an eyebrow, the English sounding heavy and foreign on her tongue. She understood and spoke English well - her previous grand ambitions had demanded it - but beyond a few customers at work, she rarely found herself needing to use it. It was clear, even to her ears, that the accent she had once trained herself to soften was quite obvious now.
gianlucanicoli:
“Shouldn’t you be demanding a higher salary at this point if you’re carrying the store on your shoulders?” Luca quipped with a grin. He knew how hard Camille worked for her commissions, her work ethic and overall demeanor was always so pleasant to come across when he stepped foot into the vintage store. The other sales associate, truthfully he found to be a little overbearing. As she pulled out the racks stacked with items that he hadn’t yet seen, Luca kept his hands at his sides, not wanting to tarnish the condition if he wasn’t going to commit.
Then as Celine brought out a small velvet box, his eyebrow raised and he listened as she explained what they were. There weren’t a lot of times now where he found himself having to suit up these days, but when he did, Luca did consider himself to be a bit picky when it came to the cufflinks he had.
“May I?” He asked curiously, hand extending for the velvet box to take a closer look. The gold gleamed, it was in eerily pristine condition and the cut of the item certainly looked to be as if it came from the era Celine had confirmed. But what reason did he have to purchase this, besides letting it sit amongst the rest of his cufflinks. “They are quite an item,” Luca began softly. “But what if I just kept them stowed away instead of letting them be out in their glory?”
---
“Probably,” she nodded in agreement, “I should be participating in the hallowed French art of striking and gathering together the other sales associate to try our hand at collective bargaining.”
There was not nearly enough camaraderie between herself and the other employees of Chinemachine to make that work. But it was fun to daydream.
She watched Luca’s face as he observed the box in her hand. Despite her jokes about how easy it was to get him to spend, he never did anything without intention. He had a respect for the articles she sold, probably even more than she did.
“Of course,” she said letting him take the box. As ever, the inevitable question came about how one could justify such a purchase. She was well used to this kind of conversation. Absolutely nothing they sold in the shop was essential but if all their customers thought that way, then they’d be out of business.
“I mean look at them, are you telling me you wouldn’t find an excuse to wear them?” she asked, a small grin playing on her lips, “Plus being vintage, items like these are an investment. Their value will only go up, so as long as you take care of them, you’ll be able to sell them at profit.”
She wasn’t technically sure whether that was true. But she knew the price she would give Luca would be good so if he did resell them, he’d make some money.
micaylaharris:
starter for: @celinelaurent location: celine’s apartment
It never really occurred to Micayla that what she was doing could be construed as… well, creepy. She had one brief encounter with the sisters and now here she was, showing up at their doorstep, with several bags of groceries and no warning whatsoever. Hell, the fact that she had found out where they lived might even be a bit… surprising. The club owner knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who’d been able to track the address down. But when Micayla got an idea in her head, it was going to happen. Everyone else might as well just get out of her way. So, here she was, at Celine’s doorstep, pushing her sunglasses up off of her face and placing them to rest atop her head before reaching up to ring the doorbell. Take her or leave her, Micayla Harris was never anything but herself. As she heard someone approaching the door, she moved to stand in a better position so whoever answered could see as soon as they opened it.
---
Celine had been watching Gabrielle over the top of a book, trying to make sure she was doing her homework, when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t actually reading the book, so she didn’t bother to mark her page when she got up. The book had just been an excuse she could have used if her sister accused her of watching her too closely. She had learnt that if Gabrielle thought she was being overbearing - an assessment that had a very low barrier to entry - then she was 100% less likely to do what she was asking.
Her sister looked up interestedly as Celine pulled the chain on the door, clearly grateful for the distraction. Neither of them had been expecting any visitors, at least not to Celine’s knowledge. If she had to guess it would probably be one of her neighbours on the other side of the door - either Ambrose needing someone to mind Elodie for half an hour or Nephi asking to borrow an extra pan. But when she opened the door it took her a minute to place the woman stood on the other side.
She had seen Micayla Harris a few times on the occasions she had visited Le Rouge and she thought she’d had a conversation with her once, or maybe twice. Certainly nothing significant enough to warrant her showing up on her doorstep. For one panicked second she wondered if she’d somehow ended up on the wrong side of the frankly intimidating woman.
“Hi, uh, can I help you?” she asked, not quite opening the door fully.
everly-desantis:
.
Everly almost couldn’t believe that there was a time when she had considered walking away from the stage, turning to something more practical at her mother’s behest. A secretary, a teacher, a doctor- anything more stable. All from the lips of a woman who had once been an influential and talented fashion designer who was rivaling Gucci and Versace with her talent. Everly wouldn’t put her talents on hold for a man, a child- for anything - well, anything but her sister, and even then, it was only a break while she moved and settled in before Everly was back in a theater. Stepping into the part of another character often felt more natural to her than being herself. Easier to explain the motives of some fictional woman than to try and pick apart why she was the way she is- Too brash, pessimistic, flirtatious- not pretty enough, you’re not loud enough, not loyal enough. She was constantly doomed to be either too much or not enough, and it was exhausting trying to balance being authentic while also desperately wanting to be adored. However, playing a character, Everly knew what to expect. She knew that while she was on stage, she could play a crowd, inspire emotions and feelings that felt so real that people wouldn’t care to know her, not really. They’d throw flowers on stage anyway. Stand and clap for her, and sometimes that superficial admiration was enough. “I’ll have tickets for you and whoever else you want at the front booth every night. You can come whenever. I love seeing friends in the crowd.” She smiles and takes a bite, a flicker of a frown as she recalls that Eden had only ever seen her perform once- a consequence of her actions when she got banned from the theater by a director for their illicit affair. Everly spoons another bite and sighs, “When I was little, my maman wanted me to be a concert pianist.”
---
Everly’s mention of performing on stage in front of a crowd sparked memories in Celine’s mind and she allowed herself to indulge for a moment. She remembered that one golden year at Cours Florent when she’d felt like she was taking on the world. She’d felt invincible when she’d stepped on stage like she could become anyone she liked - and she had. Even before then, standing on the small makeshift stage in her local church hall or the first time she’d stepped out onto the stage at the Francis Gag Theatre. Back then she had always been to look out and see Christophe sitting in the group, glowing with pride.
She allowed herself a moment, then pushed it all back into the imaginary box inside her head that she kept tightly locked. As cherished as the memories were, they hurt more than they helped.
“A concert pianist?” she asked with a small laugh. It seemed like a lovely ambition to have for your child, if not a little lofty. She couldn’t have imagined her own mother suggesting anything other than a steady job and a regular paycheque.
“How did that turn out?” she asked, “Since obviously things didn’t go according to her plan.”
nephi-almasri:
Nephi grinned. “Good taste, I knew you were one for that,” he said, winking. “Honestly, I can’t really say much about it, I can’t remember ever getting further than… uhm Lile and Lyon. I don’t think I’ve ever been in Nice.” And he hadn’t ever been further than the German border and two or three cities in Belgium. While growing up he had a dream to become a famous rapper and go everywhere. Every week a new city, to go to the beach and visit all the classic and historic cities. “So, I am probably biased.”
“Of course,” he said in return, despite knowing that Celine would always thank him regardless of how small the effort actually was. “And that’s true, I always just think Gabrielle eats all of it,” he laughed. Of course, neither ate more than he did, but he enjoyed the effort.
“And they deserve to be annoyed for once,” Nephi agreed. Though he knew it was more difficult than that. The walls were just too paper thin - his roof was always leaking. Older buildings like that needed far more reparations than land lords had money for. “Just tip-toe when you move past my door, alright. I have an early shift tomorrow.”
---
“I like to think so too,” she grinned, “Well if you ever fancy lying on a beach for a week, I can tell you all the places to go. It’s nice to visit, good for tourists, less so for the people who actually live there.”
She wondered if she would ever go back. For the past three years the idea had felt too painful. There was hardly a single memory she had from the city that didn’t involve her brother in some way. But they weren’t all bad memories, far from it. And maybe if she could make peace with it all one day then going home wouldn’t feel so scary.
“I think it would be a pretty shitty way to repay you for dinner if I ruined your beauty sleep,” she laughed, patting his shoulder.
She felt her phone buzz in her jacket pocket and realised it was her alarm telling her that it was three o’clock, meaning she had to high tail it to the museum exit to pick up Gabrielle.
“Merde. Sorry, I have to go,” she said, gesturing with her phone, “Gabi’s trip should be done by now.”
She leant in to press her cheek to Nephi’s, a customary faire la bise, and gave him a broad smile as she stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans.
“I’ll see you tonight anyways. Thank you again, as always.”
malloryhou:
~
“Very true.” That was one thing Mallory could never bring herself to complain about; her job paid well especially with her credentials. Even if her hands were even more destroyed than they had been when she was dancing or doing Gymnastics. She thought nothing could hurt more than the way uneven bars rubbed the palms of her hands raw. As it turned out, getting torque on a wrench was enough to put that pain in a number two slot.
She laughed a little at the sentiment, though the amusement didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you. I guess we’re good enough to keep the lights on.” Mallory despised the job, but she tried not to voice it too often. She worried it made her sound ungrateful. Especially when she knew money could be tight for Celine.
Everything with Celine always felt like it was a moment away from imploding, though. All it would take would be one huff or wrongly timed sigh, and it could all come crashing down in a split second. Which was why Mallory didn’t understand why she cared for the friendship so much. But, she was desperate to keep it afloat if only to have someone who could silently understand.
“Well, if they wanted you to only work for them, they should pay you more,” Mallory said plainly, her tone more bitter towards the company than anything. “You have to pay the bills somehow, right? They’ll just have to find a way to survive without you.”
---
There was something hollow in Mallory’s laugh and Celine felt a sting of bitterness. The look in her eyes spelt out just how little she enjoyed her job. Celine knew the look well. She often felt herself carrying around that same feeling. But the woman sat opposite had options, she’d had choices. Celine had all her choices ripped away from her. She had no option but to keep going and very little way out of the new life she had fallen into.
She scolded herself internally. It was a mean spirited way to think - to compare her own pain to Mallory’s just so she could feel righteous. But when she had her pain hanging from an invisible millstone around her neck, it was hard to resist the urge.
That bitter feeling was softened a little by Mallory’s support in her ongoing struggle of trying to juggle two jobs.
“Thanks,” she said, genuinely, “I’ve been there three years. You think I’d be due a pay rise by now.”
Her salary had been stagnant the entire time.
“Maybe it is time to start looking for something else,” she mused, more of a though than a genuine ambition she had. She doubted any other job would be as accommodating of her commitments to her sister. And moving on to something else would make her feel like she was really admitting she had to move on with her life. Working at the shop she could convince herself that this was just a momentary diversion from the path she was meant to be on.
CLT
c - can they swim well?
answered here
l - what is their favourite board game?
answered here
t - where are they ticklish?
her ribs. though she will insist she is not ticklish and fight to keep a straight face. and fail, obviously.
myrtle, daffodil, hibiscus
myrtle - do you like going on airplanes?
answered here
daffodil - what's the most thoughtful present you've ever received?
answered here
hibiscus - did you ever play an instrument? if so, what?
she's not as musical as she wishes she was. so alas!
victcrias:
DING!
The chime of a bell pealed overhead as Victoria pushed the door to Chinemachine open, a delightful note welcoming her into an otherwise empty store save for the rogue customer buried in a rack or off in the farthermost corner of the shop — how she liked it, in truth, providing her the opportunity to sift through clothes to her heart’s content without accidentally ramming her elbow into the shoulder of someone else. Chinemachine, it turned out, was not the rare, undiscovered gem she believed it to be, not her personal secret thrifting haven.
She’d only taken two steps inside, the door brushing along her back before there was a cacophonous crashing noise that filled the space. Her head jerked up, pace grinding to a halt to take in the scene: one of the sales assistants, standing with a puddle of liquid at her feet.
It was one way to be greeted.
Victoria found herself bemused, the near frantic and erratic way the younger woman moved in an attempt to clean up the spilled coffee. She approached her cautiously, kneeling down to the same level a few inches away from the outskirts of the splash zone. “Are… are you alright?” she asked, the corners of her mouth upturned in a small smile. “I don’t mind helping.”
---
Celine was sure she had stepped into one of her nightmares. Except she didn’t even think her brain could have dreamed up a scenario this horrifying. She could have pinched herself, but she didn’t think that would actually help here. Scrubbing at the floor furiously, out of the corner of her eye she saw a pair of incredible shoes pop into view. Part of her considered just ignoring the woman who had now knelt beside her. But that would be incredibly rude which, firstly, she really ought not to do at work. And secondly, and more importantly, she did not want someone she admired so much thinking she was a bitch.
“Yes I’m fine, I think I have most of it,” she said, aware she still looked incredibly flustered but finally lifting her head to meet the her new customer’s eyes. There was a slightly surreal moment when she realised she was only about a foot from Victoria Moreau. She felt a very girlish squeal of excitement bubble up inside of her before she remembered the undignified position she was in. The saving grace was that at least she wasn’t looking at her like she was completely demented.
She stood and gathered up the damp tissue paper giving herself a few seconds to compose herself as she dumped them in the bin. She put on her best sales smile and was ready to redeem herself. That was before she found herself blurting out:
“Also I’m a huge fan, I’m sorry I just had to say that. I used to watch your films all the time and I never actually thought I’d get to meet you, so I didn’t want to regret not saying something-”
She paused but only because she had to breathe at some point. As opposed to just spewing her entire internal monologue to this woman who probably came in to spend her afternoon shopping peace.
“Sorry,” she said shaking her head, “I should be asking you if you need any help. Oh and, uh, apologising about that mess when you came in.”
Well done Celine, you nailed that, the unhelpful voice in her head told her.
gianlucanicoli:
He hadn’t been due to go to work until later on the afternoon, and with the recent boom in business Luca decided he wanted to check out one of his favorite shops along the way to give himself a break from his normal routine. It wasn’t an easy assumption to make about him, but he enjoyed collectibles, loved to know the history behind an item and how it came into the possession of the vintage shop, but most of all he enjoyed watching Celine’s customer service face go from practiced to relaxed.
From the very first interaction they’d had where she not only outsold beyond her own expectation, he came to realize he would need to come in with the mindset that there would be something Celine would always succeed in persuading him to buy.
Luca thought of it was peer pressure, but in the form of retail therapy, plus he was always glad to be sure Celine’s commission was cushier on the days he was in. As he entered the shop, he marveled at the uniqueness of the items on display right before he caught wind of the woman in question. He stepped towards her and placed a kiss on both of her cheeks. “Did you sort through this stash yourself or was this a group effort?” He asked with a chuckle.
---
Celine used her foot to wheel away the steamer so she could step out from behind the till - the area had turned into a bit of a bomb site of empty boxes, pricing guns and security tags. But she would deal with that later. She smiled as Luca greeted her, already grateful that the monotony of her morning would be broken up by a genuine conversation.
“Group effort? Please, you know I’m the only one who does work around here,” she said with a playful eye roll. It was not technically the truth. The offer sales associates worked just as hard as she did. She just happened to be the one there most often. Her boss on the other hand...well that was a different matter.
She didn’t know if she was very good at this part of her job - the selling, the attempts to be charming, to bend to the customer’s every will - but if Luca’s visits were any indication then she was. But then, he might just have been incredibly susceptible to persuasion.
“Here we are,” she said pulling a rail towards them, running her finger over the tops of the hangers, “Oh! And also we got these in...”
She leaned over the counter to reach for a small velvet box she’d tucked behind the till. She turned back to him and opened the box with a flourish to reveal a pair of cufflinks.
“I don’t know if they’re your thing. But the seller said they were from the 50s, 18ct gold and enamel well, I just thought they looked nice.”
Truthfully she knew little of what made good vintage pieces. But when the box had come in she had been drawn to the shining adornment like a magpie building its nest. She coveted them - even though she would have never worn them even if she had the money for them - like so many of the beautiful things in the store. She would like to see them at least sold to someone she liked.
