⸻ 𓆸 LES FLEURS DU MAL.

JULIEN ANDRÉ. 34. Writer / Novelist. Belleville / 20th. All you are searching for, dear friend, is gone, devoured by brutes—savaged or swallowed whole. The mob has sacked the palace that was my heart: raging drunk, they loot, and brawl, and kill.

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 ABOUT

Full Name/Nickname: Julien André / Jules

Age/DOB: 34 / March 26, 1987

Zodiac Sign: Aries

Gender: Cis male

Place of Birth: Toulouse, France

Arrondissement: Belleville / 20th

Sexual/Romantic Orientations: Heterosexual / Heteroromantic

Religion: Catholic

Occupation: Writer / Novelist

Biography

⸻ 𓆸 PERSONALITY:

Goals/Desires: There’s some part of him that desires following in his father’s footsteps into politics, though it’s been shaken recently it still lingers in the background. Sometimes he fantasizes about writing a book/story so profound that he could be acknowledged with something like a Pulitzer.

Fears: Never feeling whole again. Losing his ability to write. Finding the truth of what happened to Sébastien. Never finding the truth of what happened to Sébastien. 

Hobbies: Writing, journaling, photography, mountain biking, hiking, reading, coffee tasting, collecting records, people watching, bookstore binging, and visiting museums and art galleries.

Likes & Dislikes: Julien likes deep conversations, introspective people, books, classical music, eucalyptus hanging in the shower, long night drives to nowhere in particular, cheese, coffee, and a well tailored suit. He dislikes impatience, ignorance, when people who are too engrossed in their phones, black licorice, tea, those that judge a book by it’s cover, and when people use words they don’t understand.

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

⸻ 𓆸 FAMILY

Parents: Marcel, the prime minister of France & Lucille, a fashion designer

Sibling(s): Sébastien, identical twin brother, deceased & Camille, younger sister, model

Pet(s): None

⸻ 𓆸 POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS:

Childhood friendships

First girlfriend — The first relationship he ever had and person he felt romantic love for. It would’ve been in high school or when Julien was in his early years of university. Mostly for comparative reasons, to see how different he is now to back then.

Publisher

Agent

Exes, flings, former FWB and one night stands (though there really weren’t many of these)

Best friend — Someone that knows him through and through, like another brother of sorts, and possibly the only person Julien might have contacted when he returned to Paris.

Movie producers, screen writers, directors — anyone looking to adapt his novels into films or a series.

[emptystic]

A broken heart is the worst. It’s like having broken ribs. Nobody can see it, but it hurts every time you breathe.

(via emptystic)

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 MARVELLA K,

Ella wanted to comment that yes, yes he did look like he needed borrow her smile but she didn’t want to ruin the moment. Her goal now was to distract the stranger and maybe catch herself a smile. A sexual innuendo played on her tongue and she wanted badly to say it and she somehow managed to resist the urge. She didn’t want to scare the poor guy off. “French to feel at home? I can do that for you” Her fingers played the soft melody of an old French song as she racked her brain for which one might be best. 

“Hmmm,” Ella hummed in thought then tuned back in to what the male before her was saying. “The first song I played?” She remembered back to second night here and how homesick she was. She longed to just run back to her father and pretend this Paris dream didn’t happen, but she knew she couldn’t do that. She felt as if she belonged here and she couldn’t just leave. “I played this song on my second night here. I missed my father terribly and this was the song he would sing to my mother all the time before she –” Ella stops and realizes she’s oversharing about herself again so she clears her throat and strums the beginning of the song Ne me quitte pasSong by Jacques Brel. “Ne me quitte pas. Il faut oublier. Tout peut s'oublier,” she sang softly to him.

.

     “Very kind of you,” he thanked her, voice and eyes softening a touch. Having returned to Paris one month prior had left Julien feeling on edge, and a small kindness did make a difference. From the age of ten he’d called this romantic city of lights home, memories were stretched across the landscape and etched into so many of the buildings and landmarks — all the places he’d run around to in the company of his late twin. Since his return, this city he once had loved so much felt suffocating. 

     ‘Tough question, I know,” once more his features softened and Julien’s ocean eyes found the space between them. He was tired and frustrated, and he hadn’t anticipated this moment being so difficult. It was a direct reminder of his late twin, and that knot forming in his throat was slowly becoming painful. Releasing a quiet sigh, his gaze lifted to the street performer and he swallowed moments before blinking away the extra moisture in his eyes and nodded his head at her song. When he discovered that she too had lost someone close to her, Julien expressed his condolences. “Je suis désolé.” It seemed this city collected broken hearts as well as lovers. “Has your father come to hear you play?” Briefly, Julien wondered where she was from, though the way she shied away he refrained from intruding. His hands slipped into his pockets when she began to play and sing, and once more his eyes burned. “Belle chanson,” he commented quietly.

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 GEORGIE L,

Georgie simply stood there, coffee in hand as she simply stared down at the man that was still sitting on her table. The audacity. It shall come the day when she will make people respect her and her wishes. People in Matamata should know by now that she had her priorities and her preferences. This place being her go-to coffee shop, they definitely should know better by now.

“I believe you are deaf since I’ve been very clear on what I just said,” she stated, hand on her hip as she still, waited for him to move a muscle. If this was complete childish behavior, Georgie ignored as she still waited for him to leave. “You can go busy yourself in another table since this one is mine.”

.

     With his jaw flexing in brewing frustration, Julien’s ocean eyes rose to peer at the childish and rude young woman once more. “How old are you?” In his peripheral, he saw the barista behind the counter notice this exchange and begin their way. His fingers lifted from the table to halt them there, this was something he could handle. As the prime minister’s son and being an international best selling author, he could understand the need for other’s to step in, especially when it came to protecting the reputation of their establishment.

     “No, it isn’t.” Simply stated even if anger was gathering under the surface. There was so much pent up inside of him and the last thing he wanted was to unleash it on someone, but even Julien had his limits. “Leave now.”

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 EVERLY D,

“No ordinary nightclubs can be all the same-” Everly let the words drop from her lips in an almost ominous manner. Because she knew this was not an ordinary nightclub, and part of her had wondered how much Julien knew about Le Rogue. Everly’s gaze became far off, a wistful dip into her memories of New York, Broadway, and the years she had spent there. “Did it help me escape the inevitable?” She said, still far away in the memories of the life she had lived before Eden had died- before her entire world was turned upside down. It suddenly didn’t make sense at all for her to continue down the trajectory of doing things just for the sake of it-Everly shook her head and frowned at the way his blue eyes seemed to still like an ocean with no waves. Everly had had many homes. Italy and France back and forth depending on how much her mother was committed to her fashion career that month or not. California, tho she had to admit, California wasn’t a place she’d call home. So that left Brooklyn. She’d lived there for years before Eden passed, picked a path for herself, and didn’t stray from it. Her eyes drifted momentarily to the bare ring finger. She could still feel the phantom of promises broken, promises that never should have been made. Everly decided she’d never known a home that felt just right, and if it was a place that would make her feel the way Julien was looking, then she wanted no part in it. His admission wasn’t a cold slap she’d have expected under normal circumstances. Her stomach lurched, and something selfish brightened behind Everly’s eyes- like a flame wanting to connect to another small flame, to become something more extensive that would burn bright enough to be seen finally. She took a small step closer, her chest tightening. “I believe you,” Everly spoke on a woosh of a sigh, her chin dropping to her shoes a moment before looking back at him. “I’ve been looking for answers for Eden.” She admitted and looked back up at Julien, a little more hopeful now. “The detectives have found nothing a year later- my mother she just wanted to lay her to rest. Without answers it feels impossible to be done, to relax.”

.

     For a few long moments Julien’s expression turned pensive as his ocean eyes shifted between her and the nightclub looming in the distance. While he’d never call Le Rouge an ordinary nightclub, Julien sensed something hidden in her comment. Perhaps he’d been spending too much time with the detective hat on his head, that beating thing in his chest reaching for anything to consider a possible clue — or maybe there was no sinister implication, and Everly simply felt strongly over a favorite place to play. Whatever it was, Julien’s suspicion was roused, as if his brother’s frequent visits hadn’t already put him on edge. “That’s the thing, one can never escape something fated.” As his eyes found hers once more, locking into her specific shade of hazel flecked with mossy green, Julien decided he didn’t want to continue speaking in code. “Did it help you run from the pain for a while?” That’s what he had been asking. His own walkabout he was numb for the first couple of months. In denial. Complete refusal that his other half was no longer of this world. Then the inconsolable grief hit him and took him down to his knees. That was a dark time, something Julien has little memory of and a loss of time that he doesn’t dare try to get back. 

     When she stepped forward, his eyes refocused and he was brought back to the moment. His lack of feeling toward Paris dissipated and suddenly he could feel his heart pounding in his chest once again. For a few seconds Julien felt alive for the first time in a year. “You do?” Without him saying much he already had someone that wasn’t begging him to let go and move on. Then it made sense and Julien nodded his messy blond head. “You can’t move on when there’s nothing but mystery and secrecy,” he agreed. “I can help you,” Julien quickly informed. As the prime minister’s son and an international best selling author, he could reach into places that others likely weren’t able to. “What do you need?” Because if there was anything he understood, it was Everly’s need for answers and closure when it came to Eden. 

[lifeinpoetry]

Tell me again about the part where grief is not my name.

Brenna Twohy, from “Conversations About Top Chef,” swallowtail

[waywardreveries]

[danmaru]

Visit Original Link

Goldmund - Threnody

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 EVERLY D,

Too long and suddenly not long enough at all. There was a moment after Eden’s demise, albeit a brief one, that Everly found a support group specifically for surviving twins. The whole thing was a gaping wound that didn’t heal. The absurdity of sitting in a room full of people and knowing with undo certainty that not a single one of them would ever be whole again. It was maddening. She had contempt and nothing but it for these people adamant on healing when she herself couldn’t heal, not without answers. And, even then, maybe not ever. She felt a flutter of that same contempt when she had first seen Julien, and the moment she realized that maybe he was no more healed than she was, that contempt turned into something more akin to understanding. The pain she could fathom, anger, emptiness that yawned far and wide- healing was foreign. Everly nodded in mild agreement, even without knowing what she agreed to. Everly welcomed the warmth of his jacket and cursed him all the same for his chivalry when she had forgotten manners more than not. Then, melting into the warmth, she cast a cautionary glance towards the club, “Oui.” She looked to him now, a shadow of curiosity, “Do you visit Le Rogue often?” Her dark brow raises in question, and Everly pulls his jacket around her arms to fend against the bite of the cold. “I wasn’t here in truth.” She replied, “I was in the states, New York to be exact. I only came back six months ago- six months after Eden.” She proded the inside of her cheek, hating how her sister’s name felt like wool and metal as much and painful as it came off her tongue. Everly raises her shoulders and makes a vague disinterested sound as if her heart wasn’t a heavy weight plundering awkwardly against the bones of her chest. “Why are you back?” She asked rather unceremoniously, “Don’t tell me it’s for the charming weather.”

.

     “No,” he answered, perhaps a little too quickly, “nightclubs have never been all that enjoyable for me.” They had been for Sébastien, though. Which was the driving force for his appearance this night; to discover what had repeatedly drawn his twin here. There was something beyond the establishment simply being a good time, from the little he’d gathered on Sébastien thus far Julien had discovered there was something almost requisite about his regular attendance. Mostly, the biggest rouse of suspicion had been that his twin had become habitual with his visits. For someone so hedonistic and visceral, that kind of routine wasn’t common. “And you?” Seeing Everly get comfortable in his jacket, Julien glanced over her shoulder at Le Rouge. Inquisitional. Ocean eyes returned to her at learning that she too had left. There were too many parallels between them. “Did it help?” After a beat, Julien tacked on, “New York?” For him, there had only been one response to the loss of Sébastien, and that was to walk the earth, to find anything to make the chasm in his chest feel less than what it was. As Everly posed her question, he shifted his weight and he broke direct eye contact, looking slightly off from her inquiring gaze. “This is home,” he finally answered, simple and completely void of any emotion. “Nobody believes me when I say that Sébastien wouldn’t have taken his life. So, I’m here to prove it.” And he owed his presence and comfort to his family. 

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 GEORGIE L,

WHERE: Matamata Coffee Bar, in the morning

WHO: open / @paristarters​

For someone that didn’t claimed herself as a creature of habits, Georgie more often than not was seen having a routine and following through it with ease. If questioned about it she would always claim to just like what she liked and doing the things she wanted to do. Period. But deep down she knew it wasn’t just that, she liked the routine because it gave her life a sense of normalcy.

Although she had a very good working coffee machine back at home, every day she went to Matamata, the coffee bar becoming, easily, one of her favorite things about the neighborhood she choose to live in five years ago. She came to the coffee shop so much that everyone knew who she was by now and she didn’t even need to put in her order, she showed up, they already started making it. 

This place had a feeling of home. Period.

And since it did feel like home for her, Georgie had her favorite spot to read, to drink her coffee, to just be. And it was said spot that clearly started to ruin her day in that morning.

”Okay, so this? This definitely isn’t going to work out and we need to do something about it.” She said to the complete random stranger that was sitting in one of the chairs in the corner. Her corner. “You are in my spot.”

.

     Matamata had been a regular stop for Julien André for many years. Like most, he enjoyed the pick up that caffeine offered. There were many days and evenings, sometimes mornings, where he’d sat among the bustle and wrote his trilogy of novels that had ended up becoming some of the best selling books in the world. However, after Sébastien and leaving the city, he hadn’t touched his laptop to indulge in his passion — writing. For the past year the machine had been left in his apartment, along with most everything else he owned, while he ventured away from the city and everything connected to his childhood and life there. 

     Today, this morning, the laptop had been dusted off and charged up, sitting open on the table he’d nabbed after ordering his espresso more than an hour prior. Only, it wasn’t displaying an open document on the screen with a runaway of words; not even a blank document — Julien had the internet browser up and several tabs open doing some research. His brother’s cell phone records sat on the table beside his Macbook Pro and an open notebook on the other side with a bunch of notes inked onto the page with the pen laying idle on top. The espresso had long gone cold, only half devoured, and their was a line between his eyebrows as he studied some of his brother’s bills he’d taken from Sébastien’s apartment. 

     “Pardon?” Ocean eyes drifted from the page to that of the woman claiming the table he’d been occupying for more than an hour. Julien’s furrow didn’t dissipate. “I believe you’ve just transported me back to secondary school.” There was no smile or laughter, he ran a hand through his messy sandy blond hair, unappreciative of being interrupted. Especially over something such as this. “I’m a little busy, do you mind?”

[parisrp]

un — THE CHARACTER

NAME: Julien André

AGE: Thirty-Four

BIRTHDAY: March 26, 1987

GENDER/PRONOUNS:Cis Male | He/Him

OCCUPATION: Writer / Novelist

BIRTHPLACE: Toulouse, France

ARRONDISSEMENT: Belleville ( 20th )

LENGTH OF TIME IN PARIS:Since the age of 10, recently returned after 1 year away.

deux —  THEIR STORY

Trigger Warnings: suicide, death

Born into the world of politics and high fashion was intoxicating for a child like Julien André, who was more like his father Marcel than his mother Lucille. From an early age he displayed the qualities of a disciplined and academic type of personality, and as he grew into himself and the position of his family to the world outside Julien was something of the golden child. His twin brother, Sébastien, was the free-thinking, march to his own beat spirit that sat in the middle of the three André children, acting as some sort of glue and buffer. When Julien and his brother were four years of age they helped their parents welcome in a baby sister that became the apple of everyone’s eye. Camille shared Julien’s poise yet displayed Sébastien’s charm, and though they were all very close it hadn’t gone unnoticed that his brother and sister shared a closer bond.

As expected, Julien performed very well in school, earning high marks and much praise from every single one of his education programs. For much of his youth he’d hear talk of how he was a spitting image of his father, and was encouraged by the man himself to be so. With his closest bond in life being his twin, he often picked up the pieces for Sébastien when he’d struggle in academics or fell out of the bounds of what was deemed permissible behavior by their strict parents. The twins were opposites yet couldn’t exist without one another, they knew what the other was thinking and feeling through their twin bond and were each other’s best friend — though, sometimes, Julien felt as though he were carrying the adventurous Sébastien along. While he did what he was told and within the high expectations of their parents, his brother was all for spontaneous fun.

Often his argument against his siblings, who desired more freedom in their lives, was that their family had an image to uphold. They lived in a glass house with parents in high profile social positions and from a young age Julien understood that. Or, maybe, in his youth he was simply easier to groom as the heir apparent to the legacy Marcel was pursuing. He was the dutiful child, and proudly so. When he went onto university, Julien studied literature and business, with the goals in mind to be the next great French writer and he’d also had the thoughts stirring that maybe one day he’d follow his father’s footsteps into politics. He believed in his father’s mission and policies, appreciated that Marcel was working for the greater good because he dreamt of a better life for the citizens in France.

While still in the midst of his university degrees, Julien landed a deal with a publishing agency and sold his first novel. He had been writing for years; publishing essays in school publications, magazines and literary journals, and pieces for news websites. The goal had been to be a voice, to point at societal missteps and display his view on political standpoints. Julien’s success had been an absolute shock given that most of his writing before the publication of his first novel had been heavily criticized and passed over — with many comments on nepotism. The journey into novel writing had gone from a sequel to a trilogy in the political-crime thriller genre, eventually turning him into one of the best selling authors in the world.

Even though Julien André had become international figure, he remained loyal and supportive to his father’s political aspirations — often showing his support for Marcel’s presidential run. However, when his father lost the election to a professional friend and was appointed prime minister instead, he too shared the suspicions that something was amiss. The plan had been to return to the days at the start of his writing career when his learning curve and exposure was as an investigative journalist, however only days following the election tragedy struck the André family. Julien’s twin brother and best friend had been found dead in an apparent suicide. And because of a note the police had found no one would hear his protests that the loss of Sébastien had not been self inflicted.

Inconsolable, Julien left Paris, left France entirely and set out on a walkabout. It felt as though half of him was gone, there was a pain of absence like nothing he’d ever felt before and at first he hadn’t even considered how his actions might have effected his family. Months passed by that are dark to Julien, so deep in grief that his memory only recognizes a period of lost time. Then, in honor of his twin, he checked a few things off of Sébastien’s bucket list for him, and began to dwell deeper into his brother’s suicide. Without a shadow of doubt he knew that Sébastien wouldn’t take his own life, he wasn’t in a state of depression and Julien would have known if his twin was struggling. Eventually, somewhere around a year after his brother’s death, he returned to Paris. Only, he did so silently and with determination to turn every stone in finding the truth.

trois — THEIR PERSONALITY

+ disciplined, forthright, imaginative

- dogmatic, hidebound, willful

PORTRAYED BY SARAH.

[musicbylittlewarrior]

Visit Original Link

[waywardreveries]

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 EVERLY D,

@julienandre​

OUTSIDE LE ROGUE NIGHTCLUB

A flushed face image of her typically milky complexion stumbles from the pit of Le Rogue, and Everly couldn’t have escaped sooner. There were times when she questioned why she wasn’t questioning the choices she had made. The hunt for answers was dragging her deeper and deeper into this dark depth that felt both shades familiar and unfamiliar. The knowing and unknowing of the loss of her sister and all that came unfolding with it dizzied Everly in a way she didn’t care for not one bit. And yet she pushed herself anyway. Stumbling into a secret club her sister had frequented- an underground club where they held rink-style bare-knuckle fights with men and women who rivaled gladiators- Everly seldom saw any glory in it, just brutal sport. Sucking in the cool winter air Everly rubs her bare arms realizing quickly she had left her coat inside, and she curses under her breath, thinking she’ll go back for it when a familiar face draws her attention. “Julien?” Everly calls despite knowing it’s him- her heart squeezes, and Everly distinctly recalls the funeral of his twin was around the same time about a year ago. He’s a ghost of a different kind, the kind Everly knows too whenever she catches a glimpse of her reflection—jarred for a moment at the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek- things that she once shared with another person and now were hers and hers alone. It was a lonely sort of loss, one that Julien would understand better than anyone else could. Everly doesn’t jog to catch up to him, but she does move less leisurely than if he were someone a little less familiar to her, and when she breeches the space between them, leaving only a foot of space around them, she wraps her arms around herself to save of the cold. “I’m sorry.” She says, and before he can interpret his own meaning, she adds as if it were the plan all along, “that I haven’t reached out sooner. How long has it been?” Everly forces a weak but believable smile at that, despite the shivering cold that still has her thinking she should turn back for her coat.

.

     The search for answers thus far had been taking Julien places he hadn’t expected. It left him shaky and unable to accept that the one person he knew better than anyone else in the world and vice versa had such mystery cloaked around him. What all didn’t he know about Sébastien? To his knowledge they shared just about everything. It was difficult to hide when you were able to sense and somehow know things without any real scientific explanation as to why. The twin bond was inexplicable to anyone that hadn’t shared a womb with another human being. Perhaps that was what had always bother Julien most when it came to his twin’s death being ruled a suicide — he would’ve known, would’ve felt if something was off. The timing and suddenness of Sébastien’s departure from this world was acceptable. Not to Julien — he knew better.

     Le Rouge Nightclub wasn’t unfathomable, in fact, it was the sort of establishment that was right up his twin’s alley. Where they were identical in appearance, the André twins had differed in personality. Sébastien enjoyed nightclubs while Julien preferred the opera or a concerto. In the few times he’d ventured into the nightclub, following up on leads as he dug into his brother’s final days, it seemed like any other extravagant dance house with pounding music that made the walls vibrate. That was until he discovered the underbelly of the three-level clubber’s paradise. It had been both a blessing and a curse to share a visage with another human being, though the last time he’d been in the pits of Le Rouge someone had called him Sébastien and wore a look of shock and paled as though a ghost had passed through them. 

     Having just lit a cigarette, Julien was strolling to the nightclub and using the nicotine to relax his nerves. He was angry. More than that, Julien was afraid of what he would discover. Blue eyes cast over in the direction of someone calling his name, something unexpected despite the fact that the majority of France knew who he was thanks to Marcel André and his political prowess. A line formed between his eyebrows as he made out the countenance of someone distantly familiar. Julien exhaled the smoke from his lungs and felt unease settle unto his shoulders. Everly de Santis, an old friend, a twin — someone that knew his pain and daily struggle now better than anyone else in the world. He swallowed and slowly began to nod his head, an ocean gaze recognizing that she was closing the space between them.

     “I — I don’t remember,” he replied, looking down at the brunette and seeing the same pain in her eyes that reflected at him every morning in the mirror. The cigarette was held casually between his fingers down at one side, while his other hand stroked through his messy sandy blond hair. It’d been a year since he’d gotten any real sleep. “Too long I’d guess.” Then placing the filter between his lips, Julien slipped his jacket down off his shoulders and placed the garment around Everly’s. “Did you come from inside?” Briefly, he nodded at the nightclub looming in the near distance. The cigarette was returned to his fingers and hung at his side, then leaning in he lightly kissed each of the brunette’s cheeks in greeting. The last time he’d seen her had been at Sébastien’s funeral. “I thought you would’ve left this place.” Like he had.

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 MARVELLA K,

     Her eyes connected with his for a moment and Ella felt this overwhelming urge to hug the male before her. He was an attractive male with such sad eyes. She could tell something was amiss and something was troubling him, but she didn’t want to question on it, nor would she actually try to hug the guy for that would probably be a little inappropriate. Instead, she offered him a soft smile as she looked up at him and gave him a nod. The least she felt she could do is share some music with him and she stood up from her seat.      She played around with a few cords for a moment at his question as she took only a step closer to him, humming softly to herself as she did so. “Would you like it to be French or English? I know a couple from but –” she paused before continuing with “– you look like you could use a smile or two so I figured I’d let it be your choice.” 

.

     “Est ce que je?” A brow raised only slightly in question. Julien was sure he looked a bit rough around the edges with tired eyes and a two day scruff going along his jaw. There hadn’t been much sleep coming his way, his motivations upon his return leaving him to toss and turn when he did find a few winks. “French would be nice. Something to make me feel more at home.” Though it didn’t reach his ocean eyes, a soft smile curved Julien’s lips. He ran a hand through his messy sandy blond hair as a slow revelation resonated that he felt something of a stranger in the city he’d called home since he had been ten years of age. 

     For weeks now he’d pounded the pavement and scoured la Ville Lumière with the familiarity of someone once so prominently featured. Street performers had always been someone that Sébastien would stop for and now, eyeing her as she stepped closer, he felt himself weighted with his lost twin’s presence. “Do you have a favorite song?” The way his heart pounded against the confines of his chest, hearing his pulse in his ears — Julien knew it would be best to converse rather than let himself feel haunted in that moment. “Or, better yet, what’s the first song you ever played on one of these streets?”

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 late sunday morning, january 23rd, standing outside of CAFÉ DU TEMPLE when CAMILLE ANDRÉ enters the scene ↠ @camilleandre​

     The powers that be were finally taking matters into their own hands. Given Julien André’s inability hit send on a familiar number still stored in his cell phone, the one he found where he’d left it a year prior in his residence in desperate need of a charge and reactivation of service, it seemed the world was no longer going to wait on him to muster the courage to call his baby sister. To let her know he was returned and he was relatively okay. 

     When he’d left, Julien hadn’t said a word to anyone. Hadn’t even packed a bag. Grief propelled him to move, to go anywhere where the crack in his chest wouldn’t have felt so intense. He ran from the pain, from his anguish, from a loss he couldn’t comprehend. Half of him was simply no more. Without Sébastien he didn’t know who he was. Since birth he’d always half of a pair, and there was no one in the world that knew or understood him like his twin brother. 

     Risen that morning, on the verge of beginning week five of his personal investigation, he had no idea that this was what was in store for him. To be forced to face a piece of the family he’d abandoned at the worst possible time. Julien had returned a full month prior in silence. Not one word to any of his family nor friends. The moment his feet were returned to the city he’d grown in Julien was at work to uncover the truth of what had happened to Sébastien. There was no doubt in him that the ruling in his death was incorrect. 

     As he stood there aside a table in front of the café on the sidewalk, he saw her coming from many strides away. That blonde hair, her distinctive walk — maybe he didn’t know her better than anyone but his sister was unmistakable to Julien. For a long time he’d thought of what to say when they’d be face to face once again, hoping for some happy reunion and doubting that was what was to come. Standing at 6′1′’ among the light late morning crowd, he and his messy sandy blond hair were striking. “Camille,” he murmured quietly as she came close, turning his blue eyes to her and flexing his jaw, unsure what to expect.

[julienandre]

⸻ 𓆸 MARVELLA K,

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.”

.

     Since his return to Paris Julien had been occupied with the one immediate goal he had, and most of his time was spent digging into Sébastien’s final days. He’d visited his late twin brother’s apartment more than a few times, the frequency unfortunately wasn’t due to the plethora of information to sort through — it was just difficult. It was a year later and Julien still hadn’t fully come to grips with the loss, that hole and emptiness wasn’t getting gradually easier each day. The only thing that kept the emotional turmoil at bay was his determination to find out what had happened to Sébastien. He was on his way from his brother’s back to his place. This time he hadn’t broken down while amongst his things, yet as he strolled past the bar he had to stop and listen to the musician giving a little performance. Sébastien loved to stop and enjoy street performers.

     When the song was nearing it’s end he dropped some money into her guitar case and his hands stuffed back into his pockets. His eyes were a little distant and glassy. “Uh, no... I probably shouldn’t do either. That wasn’t me paying for anything, that was a tip for your performance.” It was odd to feel like a stranger in the city he grew up in, the world simply felt off now. Shifting his weight, he decided to entertain her a moment longer. “Can you play anything classical?”