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N’oublie Pas

“I’m telling you man, if Fletch doesn’t get his shit together, I’m shipping him off to Syberia,” Fran shook his head, Oliver responded with an amused smile and a knowing look.

Empty threat. Empty talk. Both of them knew it. For the Hell would sooner freeze over than François St. Clair ever give up on any of his men. He knew all of them, their middle names, their families, their favourite cars and their saddest stories, everyone, from commandants to errand boys. They were his family. To most of them, Fran had given a second chance at life, found them on the streets, took them in, give purpose and more than they could ever dream.

“Come on, let’s go, it’s almost midnight,” Aurélie rose to her feet. Fran looked around to spot his date, but to no avail. Sévérine had been an old friend from Paris, one of Julien’s most capable commandants, and one of the first Fran had asked to join him once he took over as the head of Launceston. It cost him his finest Whiskey to shut Julien up.

Launceston had been as hellish as ever, yet Fran, for the first time in nearly four decades of his life, had finally felt at peace. Gone were the days of trying to impress the man that would never be impressed by him, the father who would never appreciate his son and the value he brought to the Organisation. Any chance of finally getting the validation Fran had so desperately sought had died along Nicolas. But perhaps it was a good thing. He was free.

2019 had been tough, but they hadn’t lost a family member. That, in Fran’s book, had been enough of a win. Adrienne, Aur, Faye, Daniel, Delphine, Oliver – they were all safe and sound. 2020 would be even better, he had a feeling. The Russians had been foolish to think they could fight the war on two fronts, they’d spread themselves too thin.

With these thoughts, Fran followed Aurélie and Oliver outside, where guests had been asked to gather to countdown together and enjoy the lavish fireworks show once the clock would strike midnight.

“Looks like you’re in need of a partner for a midnight kiss,” the brunette teased and squeezed his arm.

“Oh, Alliot. I knew you couldn’t keep your hands off of me for too lo–,” he turned around to face Maya, but caught Sévérine looking at him in the background. She stood near the fountain, in the corner of the building. Before Fran rushed off to see what was up with her, he leaned in for a kiss. “It’s New Year’s, I’m feeling charitable,” the St. Clair shrugged and left Maya behind, shaking her head.

Ten..

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Fran asked, but Sévérine averted her eyes.

Nine…

“I’m sorry, Fran…”

Eight…

“Sorry? For what?”

Seven…

Only when Sévérine turned around and ran, Fran noticed another figure in the shadows. He reached for his gun, but it had already been too late.

Two…

“Tell Aurélie, Andrew Rutherford says hello.”

One..

Gunshot. Then another. And another… Bullets after bullets, for no one to hear, as the celebratory fireworks went off with a deafening sound. Fran was on his knees now, but he had to move, he had to warn them. He tried to drag his shredded body, but his left leg had completely given out. Inching closer to the hotel steps, Fran struggled to yell, but only blood came out.

A strange sensation washed over him. The pain was gone now.

He stopped moving, and collapsed on the concrete, he heard Maya scream. He could feel the cold grasp of death taking a hold of him. A fitting end, he mused. Many years ago, Fran had made his peace with the fact that his end would be at the end of a blade or a barrel of a gun.

The last thing François St. Clair would ever see, would be fireworks over the London sky, in a shape of a Russian flag, and Aurélie’s face that looked so much like Emily’s.

Emily.

“See you soon, big sister,” he thought with his dying breath, “see you soon.”

#Plot drop pt1

genemoreau‌:

Spinning around as fast as he did with a drink in his hand wasn’t probably the smartest idea, but Gene knew that voice, that intonation when he said ‘kid.’ Not to sound dramatic, but he’d know it anywhere. Fran had always been one of the kindest people to Gene.

“Slap my ass,” Balancing his drink expertly in one hand, Gene hugged Fran with one arm. “and call me Sally! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!”

“Why do you always have to be so gross?” He shook his head.

The genuine excitement from the younger man made him smile. He seemed to be doing good. Mental note to let Claire know once he got back to Launceston. “How have you been adjusting to London? I hope you’re behaving. We don’t want your psychopath boss leaving the trail of rage all the way from Launceston to here.”

@genemoreau

“Hey, kid.”

It was almost ironic, how someone as paternal as Fran, who treated his younger loyalists as his own children had adamantly refused to be a parent and shipped off his literal daughter as far away from himself as his family as possible. All to keep her safe.

Gene, though, Gene had been one of those kids he had a special soft spot for.

emilia-lefebvre‌:

@The Kingdom

Emilia had been looking forward to Amir and Aurélie’s party since the day the invitation had arrived. The idea of getting to catch up with one of her most trusted and beloved friends from Launceston was too good of a chance to pass up on. Christmas had come and gone, and the girl had been trying as best she could to keep herself busy. She and Varden had done a private Christmas with just the two of them on Christmas day. However, it didn’t fill the hole that had been left by her family back in Launceston. She couldn’t deny anymore that missing them was basically like breathing at this point–it was just something she did.

Having busied herself immediately with finding a dress, she’d gotten ready in her condo, music blaring as loud as possible, Lady Gaga in the background.

It helped of course that one of her best friends was her date whom she’d arrived with quite some time ago. She’d parted with him in order to run to the ladies room when she stopped to greet a familiar face. “Hi!” She said, her million watt smile on full blast. “Happy New Years Eve! They’ve really pulled out all the stops, haven’t they? This is stunning. Though I haven’t managed a drink yet.”

“That is unacceptable,” Fran declared and took a drink from the nearest waiter, “London, huh? This is what you left me for?” He joked.

Seeing familiar faces had made tonight more tolerable. It took a long time for Fran for Launceston to feel like home, even though he was literally born there. Paris had always felt like one. He looked around, so many of the St. Clair loyalists have moved in the British capital, leaving him wondering if they’d ever feel like home here. If it was even possible. The Rutherford roots were deep.

Launceston had kept him busy, too busy to catch up on everything going on in London, but he’d hoped they were safe. His men and women were safe. His other family.

#Emilia

mayaalliot‌:

@francois-st-clair

“Well fuck this is a great surprise,” There was no hiding the smile that pulled on her lips as she weaved her way around a couple and towards Fran. It had been way too long since she last saw the man whom she considered one of her best friends. “How was the flight in?

“You know how much I love dramatic entrances,” Fran extended his arms to pull her into a hug, “Look at you,” he said in a mock surprise, “you could almost fool somebody into thinking you’re a lady.” Even though being a St. Clair meant being grown up into high society events, Fran preferred sharing beers with his men, but there was no chance in hell he’d miss this event. Not only for Aur’s sake, but to see all of his friends together.

François St. Clair attends the opening of The Kingdom Hotel, co-hosted by Amir Dawar and Aurélie Parra. –Tuesday, December 31st, 2019. Escorting: Sévérine Favreau, one of the Launceston commandants.

#:)#another St. Clair

HAVE MY BABIES FRAN

That didn’t go so well for Maya, but we could try...

#ethanhathaway

mobscene-rp-archive

François ‘Fran’ St. Clair | 37 | French Organization | Commandant of Bridgend | TAKEN

Borough: Anderson Island. Affiliation: French Organization, St. Clair Family. Spouse/Partner: None. Family: Nicolas St. Clair (father), Adrienne St. Clair (mother), Faye St. Clair (sister), Emily St. Clair (sister), Daniel St. Clair (brother), Aurélie St. Clair (niece), Jenifer Bennett (niece, deceased), Margaux St. Clair (aunt), Arnaud, Élise St. Clair (cousins), Lisette Marseille (cousin)

The streets of Paris always felt like more of a home than Launceston. Didn’t seem right, when he thought about it.

Though he generally acted as Americanised as if his ancestors spanned back there for generations–much to the distaste of his very French mother, of course–he felt like he belonged in France. Travelling to his father’s home had never been a choice he’d made for himself, though. It had always been for Nicolas. Just like everything else he did, for that matter. Of all his siblings, Fran St. Clair was by far the one most actively involved with the darker side of his family’s expansive empire, as all the others had all but turned their back on it entirely. Faye was acting Mayor; ready to do everything in her power to get re-elected, and put an end to the activities her family had monopolised, and thrived upon. Emily was a respectable businesswoman; her refusal to venture into the illegal no doubt praised by those outside of their family unit. Daniel was an officer of the law, for crying out loud…and not even a corrupt one! But Fran? Well, he dedicated his time solely to whatever his father asked of him.

One of them had to do the right thing. One of them had to be ready to do whatever it took to ensure the continuation of power of Launceston’s most feared family.

It hadn’t always been his plan, you know; to get involved with what could only be considered a dirty line of work. In fact, if his older brother hadn’t completely turned his back on the family, he probably never would have started down the road in the first place. When Daniel had upped and left for Paris–unsurprisingly failing to return–it had shook the otherwise tight-knit French family to the core. It felt natural for Fran to assume the role as the older brother of the family; filling the hole that Daniel had so callously left in his wake. Daniel had given up that responsibility without qualms, and if he was capable of that, then he was no longer a brother at all in Fran’s eyes. No matter what people might think of him now–judged by his vulgar and inappropriate sense of humour, cockiness, and apparent inability to be serious outside of work–looking out for his sisters was innate. Being a protector came naturally.

For the job his father entrusted him with, being bilingual was key. Fran had absolutely hated it when he was growing up; how insistent his mother was that he would learn both English, and French with fluency. Usually if he was against something, he would dig his heels in, and not let up until his opposition gave in. Unfortunately, that was a trait he’d inherited from an equally perseverant mother. She’d never given up. Now he could only be grateful for it.

Fran systematically hopped back and forth from his home city of Launceston, to the streets of Paris he so adored, using his undeniable charm and charisma to lure vulnerable French citizens back to the United States with him. Drug addicts were the easiest, and Oliver Parra was a memorable addition to the family Fran had continued to remain friends with since. Out of nowhere, he and the loyalists of his aunt, Margaux, would swoop down on them with promises of getting clean, and offering a fresh shot away from the hole they had dug themselves into. As it turned out, he was pretty fucking persuasive. That’s not to say it was always easy–sometimes they got violent, and oftentimes he was met with resistance–but finding people who would work for the family was exceptionally important if they were going to remain a viable threat. Especially now everybody was desperate to take to their throne. Who better to source than fellow countrymen of the boss himself?

When Daniel finally returned home from France, almost three years ago, everything seemed to change in an instant. Fran went from being his father’s favourite, to being pushed back into the shadows. He began to spend more time in France. The desperation with which Nicolas tried to earn back the trust of his eldest son was as obvious as it was enraging. Fran was furious. Disappointed, perhaps. He’d done everything his father had wanted. He’d sacrificed a normal life to prove to his entire family that nobody could be more dedicated to the cause than himself…and yet this was his repayment? Maybe she should have turned his back on him, there and then. That‘s what his spiteful streak told him. It would never have been that easy, though. Not when the Russians and Italians kept making moves against them. There was no way in Hell he was going to be the kind of asshole that turned his back on his family. There was no way in Hell he was going to be like Daniel. So instead he worked harder. For longer. With more determination than he’d ever possessed before…

Three years later, and he began to re-solidify his position in his father’s good books. Though he was pretty much arrogant when it came to every other aspect of his life, this was the single place in which he lacked confidence: the opinion of his father. But it was coming back. Slowly, but surely. When his brother joined the LCPD–refusing to use his job to aid the family, all the while–Nicolas had backed off him slightly; disappointment clear. Even though Fran still had the undeniable feeling that he would always be considered second best, it didn’t take long to realise that none of that was going to matter when he was the one calling the shots. His father couldn’t live forever. This was the time in which he would prepare to one day assume leadership of the St. Clair family. Until that moment? He reigns as the Commandant (the Italian equivalent being Capo) of the Anderson Island neighbourhood of Bridgend–one of the most profitable in the entire city.

The family may well have been splintered–pushed apart by conflicting ideas, and a fair share of heated arguments–but that all swiftly changed with the disappearance of his sister. Emily had seemingly vanished without a trace, shortly after the murder of her daughter, his niece, Jenifer Bennett. It was one blow after another. Fucking ridiculous. They were the God damned French Organization, and someone had the nerve to attack their very heart? Their blood? A part of him felt like he’d failed; once the protective brother, but now powerless in his waiting, and vain hopefulness. They all assumed the worst, even if no one voiced as much. People didn’t just go missing in this town. People were destroyed. When the bloody, bruised, and severed hand of Emily St. Clair arrived at his apartment, he vowed there and then that the person responsible was going to suffer at his own. It wouldn’t be the loyalists. It wouldn’t be his father. It would be him.

Fran knows it’s time to break the habit of a lifetime. Doing this isn’t going to be for his father. This one is going to be all for him…

Face Claim: Jensen Ackles. Must Read Bio(s): Zahra Besharra.

#Meet François

hoziernatural

0v3rsh4r1ng

So the question is, is that gonna be today is that gonna be that gun

View this post on Instagram

↳ INSTAGRAM: @franstclair uploaded a new video.

@franstclair: @aurelieparra if you’re wondering how our “very busy” day in Porto looked like.

#le twins #adorable

Open to Frenchies.

“The day these Brit fucks start to handle their liquor is the day Chelsea Carrigan learns to keep her legs closed,” François tossed the leather overnight bag on the chair as he entered the French Organisation safehouse in Tower Hamlets.

There were new faces, old faces, faces he distantly recognized. Nevertheless, they were family. His other family. Whether it was Launceston, Porto Velho, Paris, London, Brussels or Montréal, anyone who was part of the St. Clair organisation, Fran considered one of his own, his brothers and sisters in arms. He felt as protective of them, as mother hen is of its chicken. Perhaps decades of recruiting nobodies from the Parisian streets and giving them a second chance at life, giving him a family and sense of purpose made Fran partial to his soldiers, and he never saw any of them as expendable.

Then again, as caring as he was to his loyal men, as ruthless he could be to the unappreciative cunts who turned their back on the Organisation. A certain assassin came to mind as his eyes caught Laurent’s second-in-command...

#when your character hates your other character #mobstarter

mayaalliot‌:

“You’re either really stupid or really desperate.”

The commandant hadn’t bothered to looked up to see who had let themselves into the restaurant, but she had known that they had ignored the closed sign. So, whatever they needed had been worth the clear indication that she had wanted to be left alone. She had more important things to focus on right now than entertaining anyone. The fact the Russians were not only so close to them but that they had been in Porto Velho. It was enough to cause her blood to boil. Maya finally put the glass in her hand down beside the Glock and lifted her eyes away from the computer screen she had been watching. A hand lifted as fingers pressed the top of the laptop down, so nobody had a chance to catch what she had been watching on the screen.

“Clearly, you don’t understand signs; so, how can I help you?”

“Well, for starters you can stop whining for a second and pour me a drink, Alliot.”

There weren’t many people in the French Organisation whose friendship counted as many years as Fran’s and Maya’s. But to define their relationship as friendship was to limit. What they haven’t been to one another? What they haven’t shared together? They’ve fought side by side, they’ve fought one another, they’ve cried, and laughed, and mourned, and killed together. They’ve loved, and they’ve hated. They’ve led together.

But most important of all, they’ve brought a human being to this world together.

How, indeed, do you define a relationship like that? if there was a word, it certainly wasn’t in Fran’s vocabulary.

Trip to London had been a last-minute decision. On his last day in Paris, as he downed yet another shot with Julien, Fran felt a sudden, unexpected rush of sentimentality. An urge to check up on old friends had gotten the better of him, and the next day he found himself ordering his pilot to change the course for London, rather than Launceston. After all, the news of Marine’s death and Theo’s imprisonment had made him concerned, even though he had no doubt in Laurent’s capabilities.

#Maya

How the fuck is Fran going to have fun in London without Michel. He AIN'T.

#ethanhathaway

l-valastro

Gesù, careful where you aim that thing!

francois-st-clair

Don’t be afraid, Valastro, I’m not going to shoot you by accident.

#Lia Valastro

elenaduarte

“That’s more of a reason as to why I’m telling you to put the gun away.”

francois-st-clair

Fine, fine. How are you?

#c: Faye

austin-kirov-blog

“Just passing through. that’s not a crime last I checked. Pointing a gun at someone when they’ve done nothing is I’m sure.”

francois-st-clair

“Why don’t you call 911 then.”

#c: Austin

margaux--stclair-blog

Her blonde head tilted to the side, displeased with his answer. Of course she knew things could be better, they always could be and especially here. Yet to hear that her favorite nephew was unhappy tightened her heart just the tiniest bit.

“That will not do. I am here now, we will make it right, Francois.” Margaux nodded once, curtly, as though to affirm her words. They needed no affirmation though. Margaux would right what was wrong. It was what she was born to do for this family; keep them at the top.

She turned her head to smile at her nephew. “They are en route as we speak, in fact. Arnaud should arrive tomorrow and Élise the day after.” Margaux laid a hand on his cheek. “They have missed you as well. Especially Arnaud.” She let herself pause for just a moment before returning to the business at hand. “Maintenant, tell me what needs to be done here. Vorshevsky, is it?”

francois-st-clair

“We will,” Fran nodded, too. More to assure himself rather than Margaux. Her confidence and strength was surely what he needed right now. It seemed like St. Clair family suffered too many blows. First Emily, a year later Aurélie was almost killed, now Michel and Laurent were most likely dead or tortured as they spoke.

At the mention of his cousins’ names a slight hint of smile appeared on his face. He remembered their time spent together in Paris, previous two years they were almost inseparable. “Vorshevsky, yes. They are taking more and more because we didn’t strike them when they...”

Speaking about Emily’s death was still impossible to him. He looked at Margaux, his eyes pleading for revenge. As if, he was asking his aunt to promise him he wouldn’t lose anyone dear to him. Probably no one knew what Margaux St. Clair was capable of, except Nicolas, like Fran did. True, she was a little too ruthless, but her ruthlessness was very much needed right now and Fran had realized that. Her presence brought relief and calmness, like everything would be better now.

#c: Margaux

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