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Post by Nomz on Sept 2, 2024 16:14:15 GMT
A bead of condensation rolls down the length of his glass, gaining size and speed as it goes. Dark eyes follow it until it forms a stain on the cheap, coarse napkin tucked under it. The beer inside the glass shifts as he starts to lift it before changing his mind. It's his second or fifth pint. Probably.
"I said, your father was a damn good lay and I'd do it again!" Remy tilts his head, dark strands falling across his closed eyes as he listens.
"Craig, don't-"
The unmistakable sound of a meaty fist slamming into a face is followed by the thump of a falling body and the clatter of tipped-over chairs. A ring of shouts rises around where Remy sits at the bar, trying to remember if he picked this bar for a specific reason or if it was bad luck. The thought makes him snort.
"Guys, come on. Take it-" The words end in a yelp as some well-meaning pedestrian gets pulled down into the brawl and more people start to join in. He's content to ignore it all until someone snatches his beer from his hands and uses it as a makeshift projectile. Remy drags a hand down his face before pushing himself to his feet.
"A'right, now. 'S enough," he manages, reaching to pull a man in a black shirt off of another. It's as much as Remy gets to say before a fist smashes into his mouth and he stumbles back into the bar, hand over his face. Remy's fingers come back coated in bright red blood. His blood.
A twist of a grin and a snarl curls his lips and Remy decides he's had enough. He tried ignoring it. He tried being nice about it. Now, he's gonna resolve it.
"Hoo Lawd," he growls low in his chest as his fingers wrap around the wrist of a younger man, yanking him forward and into his balled fist. The feeling of delicate bones cracking under his hand serves as a match to ignite all the booze in his blood. Remy drops the man a second too late to block an elbow to his ribs, the air rushing out his mouth even as he turns to the newest attacker.
The woman's eyes are red and glazed with alcohol, but that doesn't stop him as Remy ducks low to catch her around the waist. He hears her cry of surprise as he lifts her and tosses her further into the brawl, knocking an older bald man to the ground in the process. Remy doesn't get a chance to breathe as another drunkard tries to blindside him, brandishing a knife and he only has enough time to fall back on his heels to dodge the swipe.
Too many years of arguing with a hotheaded knife man tends to leave it's impression on a person. Remy catches the elbow of a guy on his right, simultaneously saving him from a haymaker and shoving him into the knife guy. His distraction cries out in surprise and Remy distantly realizes that he's grabbed Craig, the shithead that started this. Remy rams his shoulder into both men, sending all three of them to the ground in a heap, and he reaches out to snatch the knife man's hair. With more force than needed, he slams the man's head into the ground and grins as the man's eyes flutter shut.
This tangled dance of drunken ballet and stumbling samba continues as faces meet fists, heads are introduced to tables, and even a few chins are acquainted with the sticky, tacky bar floor. The last man's will crumbles like a child as he books it out the door. Remy stands, chest heaving and blood smeared across his face in the epicenter of it all. Wild eyes dash from corner to corner, looking for further challengers to this unofficial throwdown.
Swollen knuckles ache where they cover a dash in his side, keeping the blade there with the last shreds of self-preservation that the Cajun clings to.
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Post by Countess on Sept 2, 2024 16:48:10 GMT
Well, at least some things never change.
Ricky had found himself needing a walkabout, needing a bit of outside time, needing a drink he didn't transfigure. Not a man with money, not this current stuff, he had called a long favor from someone who did, and walked off with about a grand. It means nothing to him- he is just using it until it runs out. When he was a lad of 23, a thousand pounds could feed someone for the rest of their lives, buy a modest home, and set up a business. Now, well... all it does is give him a handful of nights at cheap bars, or one in a really nice bar.
Always a man with a bit of a rind to him, he isn't one to go to the ritzy places. The seedy underbellies; the illegal boxing clubs; the places where a man could lose his life, his means, and his reputation in a series of stupid actions.... those are the places he likes. He remembers profiting off those types of men, the ones that stumbled in where they sure as hell don't belong, and like a shark, he followed the blood in the water. Feels like a few months ago. It was more like two centuries. Or, getting close to it.
When the fight starts, Ricky grins into his whiskey, something to feel the burn and little else. American. Figures they hadn't figured it out yet, they had only just become a country last he checked. Whiskey, like the country that birthed it, young and shitty.
How he likes it.
As the fight biggers, gaining drunks and stupids, he grins a bit wider. He's got his work cut out for him. He can hear the sound of meat hitting meat, a dull thump of wanton violence. It is so... mundane. Better than a wizard's duel, but just as deadly in its way. He spins in his stool, taking his drink with him. The music plays on, and he finds himself getting lost in the rhythm of a fight mingling with the music. Ricky bobs his head along, bemused.
There are a couple times where people try to pull him in with a projectile or fist, but they always seem to find nothing hits. All of it sails past him, and he just keeps vibing. When people get too close, he redirects them, sending them into someone else. He can fix it later.
Grabbed byt the energy of the bar, he finds himself standing, moving through the crowd. He doesn't fight, no, but rather dances. It is an easy spell, cast under his breath and with a sacrifice of his drink as the price... No one can hurt him, he cant hurt them, but damn he can dance. Bends, dips, kicks, spins... It is comical, magically so.
But then the song and the fight end all too soon. Ricky chuckles, looking about. There are a lot of injured folk. Do people care about magic anymore? He isn't sure he cares, with the amount of cheap Tennessee (what kind of name is that?) whiskey in his veins.
"Don't worry, everybody, I'm a..." he pauses to hiccup. "Healer," he finishes. Nailed it.
"Come on over, handsome, I'll make sure that nose isn't crooked as your grin," Ricky says, spinning to Remy. Fuck, wait, do they care about gays? Isn't that illegal still for the mortals? Who cares. Ricky can always cast a love spell~ No one is ever harmed with a touch of love.
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Post by Nomz on Sept 2, 2024 19:49:06 GMT
The sound of laughter draws his attention and Remy turns to face the owner. He watches the man declaring to be a healer, hiccuping mid-sentence, and he can't fight the low huff of amusement escaping his busted lips. Then, Mr. Healer is spinning and calling out to Remy and calling him handsome.
Remy swallows the blood and spit in his mouth, knowing better than to spit in the presence of such a beautiful man. Tension eases out of his shoulders as he rolls them, glancing around one more time before taking a stumbling step toward the other man. Those red eyes trace the tattoos along the Healer's throat and Remy realizes that this had been the man dancing through the brawl.
"S'long as ya promise Remy'll s'll be handsome afta," he says around the swelling, pulling his face into as close to charming of a smile as he can get. His hand stays glued to his side and, honestly, a more alert Remy wouldn't be so quick to trust a gorgeous stranger. He's had more than enough run-ins with the 'wrong' kind. "Yer not go'a turn Remy into a frog, no?"
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Post by Countess on Sept 2, 2024 20:02:17 GMT
Ricky has... no idea where that accent is from, but damn he likes it. Something a touch French mixed with something else. He doesn't know enough to place it, but enough to enjoy it. His own accent is dated, British, but muted. Not thick, not overly pronounced, but almost musical.
"Keep talking like that, I'm likely to promise you anything," Ricky says, smiling like the devil. He starts to walk towards him, pulling out a simple black wand from nowhere. It looks closer to a branch than anything, dark like charcoal. It is the first wand he ever had, a relic from a time of very dark magics. At the end of the day, it means little more than a sign of the sensibilities of the wielder. It is just a tool, after all.
Ricky flicks it to and fro, twirling it briefly. So much to fix. He pauses to squat over the very passed out man Remy had lovingly put to sleep. Best not to wake him from his dreamless slumber. "Always a shame to see such handiwork wasted," he says, using his wand to gesture vaguely at the man. There is a touch of light from the tip, like sunlight, and he gets to work getting him in... better shape. Does an alcoholic deserve a fresh new liver? Hate to ruin his tolerance, have him kill himself the next night drinking like he usually does...
"Can't do that, Remy," Ricky says to the comment of being transformed into a frog. "Little harmful, don't you think?" he asks, winking. "Against the rules," he says, standing back up. He just made sure the idiot wouldn't be healing for months, but weeks. "Now is when you ask, 'What are the rules?' angel," he says, turning back to Remy, giving him a wink.
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Post by Nomz on Sept 2, 2024 20:37:40 GMT
Those words land on Remy's throat, tracing down until they rest in his belly. He tries to clear his throat as he watches the Healer pull a wand from thin air as if he had been there the whole time. His mind wanders to Dr. Brooks and her tarot cards. Two magic people so close to together feel so very unlikely. What's next? He meets another student of Xavier's so far from home?
"'S not proud handiwork," Remy admits as the Healer squats down to wave his wand at the unconscious man on the floor. His free hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck in something that almost looks like embarrassment. High above the tide of alcohol and very far from his reach is a sober voice telling him that he shouldn't have brutalized a bar full of people.
Thankfully, he can't really hear it.
Each wink lands against his breast and it's a bit hard to breathe. "'Pends on if ya plan ta kiss the frog, no," Remy asks with a wink of his own. There is a confidence, natural and full, that warms his expression. "Wha'r the rules, angel? 'Side from causin no harm and no turn'n folks inta frogs."
"Do ya always use the wand or can ya use yer hands, cher?"
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Post by Countess on Sept 4, 2024 0:41:51 GMT
"No? You did it so artfully," Ricky says, looking over to Remy with a touch of a pout. "Why do it if you aren't proud of it?" he asks, genuinely curious. "Could always just... walk away, right?" he adds, quirking his shoulder. He had done so, reveling in the fight without actually taking part.
"Jeepers, where did you get those peepers?" Ricky says, getting a little closer. "Oh, darlin, you look a fright," he continues, looking Remy up and down. He starts to move around him, almost like a shark. "But it is definitely working for you. The roughed up look, bit of blood on the knuckles, slightly tired heave to the chest. This is not your first ball, is it?" he asks, getting closer. Remy could grab him now, if he wanted to.
"I don't typically kiss frogs, but I do kiss handsome strangers," he says, grinning. Does he? He could. Not like he is going to remember it. Salem did say to get out more, and here he was, out and maybe finding something to get him through the lonely nights... and days...
"I don't usually use my hands, but I am very willing to make an exception for you," he says, lips quirking up into a smile. At least this one flirts back. Strange was more of a wall to bounce a ball off of, rather than someone passing it back. It is almost nice. Almost.
"Ask for healing, and you shall receive, no strings attached. Everything else, however... I am very much a man who loves strings and their many versatile uses. Bit of a wheeler and dealer, a middle man, a broker. Favors are my currency, and I do love when people owe me."
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Post by Nomz on Sept 4, 2024 1:41:51 GMT
"Ain't neva walked from a fight, no. I end 'em or go down." Remy tries to put hands on the feeling of indignation that flared to life at the mere idea that he would walk away. "Ain't in my blood, darlin."
He doesn't move as the mage walks around him, hardly bothering to track him with his eyes. Remy knows very well that he is something worth appraising and he's been appraised in many ways in his life. When the angel stops in front of him again, he is all too aware of how little distance there is between them and, well, he never was a man to back down from anything.
Especially tattooed men with charming smiles and sweet words of praise.
"S'not my first, no. This-" he gestures between himself and Ricky with one finger, "Ain't a first either. Yer real easy on the eyes and I wonder how long you'd last bound in strings." A dark, rich chuckle sounds from his chest and Remy stares down into the other man's face. He takes a half-step closer, leaning down just a little and his hair falls from behind his ears. Everything about him promises recklessness and danger and a time not easily forgotten.
"Please, heal me, cher. A knife in ma ribs ain't so great."
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Post by Countess on Sept 4, 2024 3:23:01 GMT
"Spoken like a man that has either everything or nothin to fight for," Ricky says, musing. "No in betweens for those," he says with a shrug. Ricky is of the latter sort, nothin left to really put his all into like that. Sure, he will protect the Oblivion and those who need that protection... but he isn't going to fight. All the fight left him a long, long time ago.
Ricky grins a bit wider at Remy's admission. Makes his life easier. "Sweetheart, I can last for eternity," he says, and it is the honest truth. Just depends if the one stringing him up can, too. the nicer parts of his curse. Here forever, now. He lifts a hand to Remy's face, his palm and fingers glowing like sunlight. It has that warmth to it, too, that pleasant feeling after being in the cold too long. "Don't worry, I'm here now," he says, hand getting to Remy's cheek. Already he can feel the pain easing, parts of his face moving back into place.
Ricky grips the hilt of the blade in his ribs, making sure to do it slowly, so his friend here doesn't quite notice. If Remy promises danger, Ricky promises Chaos. "Can do," is all he says, and he yanks out the knife. It is a strange sensation, all the feeling of pain... without the painful association. It is just another feeling, as if Ricky had just stroked him instead of pulled out a knife.
"Nasty spot to get stabbed, nicked your lung," Ricky murmurs, getting a little closer. The knife gets dropped to the floor, a clattering almost louder than the new song that has started playing. His now free hand, glowing like the other, covers the wound. It, too, begins to heal. He's doing it slow, to keep his hands on him. "Breathing should be easier now..."
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Post by Nomz on Sept 6, 2024 1:47:15 GMT
Remy swallows as Ricky claims to be able to last for an eternity and an undeniable part of him wants to desperately test that out. His thoughts are sidetracked as the mage's hand comes up to his face, glowing like sunlight and warm too. A shiver teases his spine, tightening the muscles in his back as it goes and reminding Remy that he's quickly getting to the other side of spring chicken. He nuzzles his face into that delightful hand, stubble no longer so sharp as it drags against skin.
"S'nice," he murmurs as the healing magic soothes his injuries, and he finds his gaze following the line his fingers itch to trace along the mage's lips. A grunt leaves Remy as surely as the knife in his ribs, his body instinctively prepared to react to the pain...only for there not to be any. It is a strange feeling. Not bad. Just strange.
One hand reaches out a little blindly, tapping Ricky's elbow before falling to rest on his waist and his other comes up to cover the hand over Remy's ribs. He takes a slow, testing breath as if to verify Ricky's claims and smiles just a bit.
"Mm. Just met 'n yer spoilin Remy," he says, keeping his voice lowered for just how close they are. Remy sucks in his bottom lip, wetting it before he continues. "Ya always pick up wild men in bars or am I the exception, darlin?"
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Post by Countess on Sept 6, 2024 2:52:42 GMT
"Better?" Ricky asks, gently putting his magic into this man. It is soft and sweet, like a kiss on the forehead from someone that loves you. It is everything he isn't. His face continues to heal, and the magic starts to pour into more of his being. It feels like drinking something warm, Remy can feel it go down his throat and bloom in his chest. He watches him nuzzle into his hand and something hurts a little in his heart. Will he ever be able to do this without that pang? That sense of betrayal?
There is a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sweetheart, I own a bar. It is the best place to pick up wild men, I assure you," he says, laughing a bit wryly. "It is how my fiancé met me, if you believe it. Good man, sweet man, somehow felt good to slum it with a wild man like me," Ricky murmurs, playing with fire. "Don't worry, he's dead. The only thing I'm betraying is his memory," he murmurs, liquor making him honest. Foolishly so.
Ricky presses further into his ribs, hand sinking just below the skin. Magic- funny thing, isn't it? "Sh, sh, sh, sweetheart, I'm just a wild man, too," he murmurs, and liquid light comes out of both of his hands. It paints Remy golden, washing over him and making everything okay. "Wild man who has nothing left to fight for," he adds, a bit bittersweet. Ricky lifts the hand from Remy's side, running the hand down his face. It leaves a trail of his blood, fingers snagging on his lips.
Ricky shudders, and the blood starts to dry, then flake, then burn away. They act like embers off a fire, going to the air and trailing off. "As above, so below. What you've wrought, may your blood renew," Ricky says, magic coursing through him. He hasn't gotten to do blood magic in so long... so treacherously long. The thrill of it makes him shiver. The little specks of light seek out the others in the bar, settling in them, healing them.
"Mmmmm..." Ricky says, rolling his head back. "You've got some power, don't you?"
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Post by Nomz on Sept 7, 2024 1:44:52 GMT
Remy turns his mouth into Ricky's palm, lips and teeth grazing the meat of his thumb. It burns. Deep in his chest and heart and the pit of his stomach. He knows the notes in the mage's voice and the meaning of his words. To love someone so damn dearly that every moment with them felt like a little touch of the divine. Like a gift you could have never thought to ask for.
"She pushed me away 'spite waxing poetry of how much she loved me. Told me it would never work. To go find happiness." His voice is so ragged, a tapestry that has been torn too many times with only shitty dollar tree patches threaded into it. "Currently single and loathin every moment of it. I ain't meant to be alone."
One eye shuts as Ricky's hand presses deeper into his ribs, sinking into his body and he shudders with the feeling of the magic. So little time and so much magic. How is a man supposed to get his house in order when he keeps coming across so much?
Remy watches silently as his blood leaves a trail across the mage's face, curiosity whole and pure in his gaze. His hand comes to rest on Ricky's stomach as he shudders and the blood burns away like a dozen lightning bugs in the summer evening. "Ya use my blood to heal em?"
"Lil bit o' power, sometimes, cher. Just a lil."
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Post by Countess on Sept 7, 2024 3:38:08 GMT
"'She' sounds complicated," Ricky says, thinking about it. That is really all he can say on it- Lysander was never complicated. It was perfect, their time together. Even the hard parts. They weren't ones to tear apart, but to drive closer together. One team, one fight. He can't imagine pushing him away- but maybe it would have been for the best. Ricky isn't a good man, wasn't a good man. Lys would be alive, maybe, if he had pushed him away, despite his love. Ricky wouldn't be cursed.
What is the point of eternity if it isn't with his love?
"Yeah, I did. Powerful stuff, more than what I am used to... Blood magic isn't... particularly well liked, but I used it for a good reason," Ricky says, taking a step back. He is drunk on cheap liquor and on power. What he would do to do that again. It felt so... good. He sways a little, the spell of grace and luck from before long gone.
"Want to walk on the wild side with me, Remy?" Ricky asks, wanting this to go just a little longer. "Anywhere you want to go, I'll take you. Even drop you right back here, if you like... but..." he says, and grins. There is still a little of his blood in his teeth, where his fingers had snagged on his lips. "I don't think you want to be here much longer. Not after what happened. You are the one waling away, sweetheart. Consider me your getaway car."
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Post by Nomz on Sept 8, 2024 0:17:08 GMT
Remy makes a disapproving sound low in his throat when Ricky steps away from him. His hands instinctively shift and tighten their grasp on the mage's waist. Ricky isn't allowed to leave his circle just yet, not when he has Remy's blood on his teeth and that grin that promises only wicked things.
"Moonlight," he starts slowly, eyes closing as he takes a step forward to close the distance between them again. Remy keeps his head ducked, watching his companion for any hint of discomfort. "Music. You 'n me, dancin where only the stars can find us."
There is just something so enticing about the man that is dragging Remy in like a fish on a bit of fishing line. There is something warm that has him acting like a dog chasing a patch of sunlight across the floor.
"Think you can manage that, darlin?"
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Post by Countess on Sept 8, 2024 0:49:05 GMT
Ricky is all too pleased to be pulled back bending into it so they are pressed against each other from the hip down. "Any moon?" he asks, a little bit breathless. He could have some fun, right? Forget for a moment? No notes? No journals? Just... a moment with a stranger? "Any stars?" he asks, getting even closer. Their chests are pressed against one another.
Just this once. It has been... so many years.
A door appears on the wall behind them. Ricky isn't looking at it, but it takes Remy not paying attention for it to appear. It is a full wood door, chestnut and old.
"Go with me, then. Any moon. Any stars. I'll take you somewhere just for us."
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Post by Nomz on Sept 8, 2024 3:48:56 GMT
Fingers tighten further when Ricky presses them together from the hip down and Remy finds it a little hard to breathe. His adam's apple bobs with the force of his swallow as Ricky closes the little distance between their chests. The Southerner leans down until his mouth rests just above his ear, murmuring, "Any moon an any stars, cher. Just you 'n me."
A wild idea to just start dancing with the other man here and now crosses his mind. Remy almost goes with it, not caring for any bodies they may tramble in the process. He is midstep when Ricky steals his attention again.
There's no time or notion to notice the door on the far wall. The door that certainly hadn't been there and logically does not make sense for its location. All Remy has eyes for is the man in his hands. "Lead the way-" He pauses as an important thought breaks through the whiskey coating his mind. A smirk crawls across his lips and, if a chuckle could sound like sin-
"Tell me ya name, wildman, 'n I'll dance with ya under the moon 'n stars."
A name and a tug and Remy is all his.
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