|
|
Post by Nomz on Sept 20, 2024 0:02:40 GMT
The bell above the door chimes as the last group exits out into the muggy air outside and the little pumpkins pit-pat against the doorframe. They match the thirty other hideous, grinning pumpkins draped across the dimly lit dinner along with the orange leaves of trees that never could take root in the city's sandy soil. Three wide ceiling fans spin idly above his head with almost enough force to brush his hair into his eyes and Remy hums softly under his breath. His fork cuts sideways into the remaining half of his hashbrowns. Covered in a slice of plastic American cheese and topped with Bert's Chili, Remy has to admit that this is both the best and the worst dish he's ever eaten. Which is saying something since he grew up on the streets. Still, whoever Bert is, he sure as shit can't make a good chili. Curious eyes shift across the Waffle House as Remy chews, noticing not for the first time that he is the only customer. He does notice for the first time that the cook and waitress have disappeared into the back, likely to catch up on sidework or get high. He carries no judgment either way. There's only so many times a person can listen to the jukebox play Raisins in My Toast before you want to jump the counter and stab the kid who keeps putting quarters in the machine. Not that Remy would know. Of course not.His thumb rubs over an old scar on his palm that he's never explained to anyone as he turns his attention to the tv nearest him. It hangs from the ceiling from a metal bracket that may be older than Remy. A line cuts through the picture, distorting the voice of the news anchor as they talk about something rather unimportant, and the man resumes eating his late lunch in peace. |
|
|
|
Post by KittsMitts on Oct 8, 2024 7:06:34 GMT
The slow diner, in the slow town, with the slow news. An empty waffle house at any time of day or night felt out of time, but things had slowed to a crawl in Biloxi. The faint sound of a car door could be heard outside, though none could be seen from the spot where Remy had chosen to sit. The bell of the entry door made a sad attempt at signaling someone had entered, but the pathetic fanfare petered out too quickly to matter. A woman stepped inside, smoothly past the already closing door as she tucked her hands back into a leather jacket.  Most people, when they enter an establishment, scan the place. This woman didn't. Her eyes, as green as her hair, were intent on exactly where she was headed, and she stalked to the counter with enough cool confidence that it seemed to radiate off her. She sat next to Remy, leaning over the counter to grab a mug and coffee pot still on the employee side. She rocked back into the seat in a near unceremonious way, but this woman carried a grace and ease with her that was hard to disguise behind whatever brashness she presented. A chip on a shoulder that couldn't diminish the sense of self and ownership. She poured herself a cup and took a sip, setting the kettle down in arm's reach. The coffee wasn't strong enough to satisfy, though enough to taste the metallic burn of the kettle. She had no reaction to it. But she did finally look somewhere other than straight ahead - glancing up at the broadcast. Her mouth pulled into a mild grimace at how dull it was, and she looked back down to examine the tile and steel of the cooktop across the counter from her and take another sip. Without prompting, she spoke. "You've come a long way." |
|
|
|
Post by Nomz on Oct 8, 2024 23:56:34 GMT
Crimson eyes stay glued to the plastic menu Remy is using as a placemat. The chocolate chip waffles sound like they just might hit the right spot and give him enough energy to make the last few hours' drive to New Orleans. One step at a time, he will get his house in order. For himself and his Rogue. Even so, years of living on the streets earn you a type of perception that never quite leaves. Remy does not outwardly react as the woman perches herself on the bar stool beside him when all of the dinner is open. He must have been in the North for too long because he feels like this shouldn't bother a good old Southern boy such as himself as much as it does. His gaze lifts enough to watch her hands as she steals a coffee mug and the coffee pot. If Remy was a better man, he might have been tempted to warn her that this pot was made several hours ago and has long since burned. As she stares straight ahead, he decides that maybe she just is a tired traveler. Hell, he is. " Quoi ca die," Remy asks around a bite of hash browns, turning a bit in his seat to face this woman. He takes in her appearance before a sense of dread fills out his expression. He sighs deeply with a roll of his eyes. " Hoo Lawd, you gonna beat de words o' y'lord n' savior down ol Remy's throat, no?" He holds up both hands, letting his fork clatter on the plate loudly. Exasperated patience blends into the dread as he addresses the strange woman. " I don mean ta make ya haunte, mais I ain't got whatcha lookin fer." Quoi ca die? means what’s going on, what’s happening?
Mais means but
Haunte means embarrassed. “When that cop pulled me over on the I-10, I was so haunte.” |
|
|
|
Post by KittsMitts on Oct 21, 2024 3:29:38 GMT
The stranger's eyes, the same exact shade of green as her hair, turn to Remy when he responds. The clatter of his fork draws them for just a moment before they come up to find his again. Her head doesn't yet follow them, but her lips twist up with the ghost of a smirk before she lets out an unexpectedly boisterous laugh, looking ahead again as she considers the idea. It seems that surprise banished a good deal of fatigue from her, as the smirk is clear and now fixed in place. The last chuckle peters out and she finally turns to look over her shoulder, chin tucked just behind her arm on the counter.
"Don't worry, Remy. You're not about to hear any of that from me,"she says, amusement clear in her voice. Her tone is rich, deep amber, with an occasional rasp she lets slip to it that doesn't suit her age, but sounds like it comes with long stories and more burnt pots of coffee. She takes a long drink, evidently finishing her cup as she reaches forward and refills it. As she does, her nonchalance returns, and the rasp retreats. "But don't sell yourself short –– you do have plenty of what I'm looking for."
She glances over at him one more time before making a decision - she puts the pot down and shifts her upper body to angle towards him. Just enough that the conversation feels more natural. "I'm Lorna. As long as we're sharing names."It's strange - she speaks normally enough, the rasp in and out, but there is an intensity to this woman that can't be turned off. Her voice is clear as a bell when she continues, "I have a proposition for you."
|
|
|
|
Post by Nomz on Oct 22, 2024 3:08:35 GMT
Confusion breaks across Remy's brow as this woman starts cackling and he watches in silence, dipping his toast in the leftover chili. Even on bread, it still tastes like shit. Maybe some homemade cornbread? He throws away the idea with a little frown. No, he wouldn't dare desecrate Anna-Marie's fresh baked goods like that. His gaze focuses on the woman again as she speaks, ears tuning in for whatever she has to say for herself. His previous confusion disappears like the clouds breaking for the sun and his lips purse in understanding. " Pauvre bête," he murmurs under his breath, breaking eye contact to look down at the scraps that remain on his plate. Remy is many things and he has done so much. This time? This time, he won't add cheater to his list again. Even if he and Anna-Marie aren't...together. Those red eyes are soft behind a few loose strands of brown hair as he tries to let her down easily. " Listen, Miss Lorna," Remy starts, voice oddly kind. " 'M know dat 'm easy on de eyes, but Remy ain't a tree fer ya to bark at. My heart rests in someone else's hands." He tries a smile but it is full of such pity. Even so, his words lose a little of their accent, " I am sorry, miss." Pauvre bête translates to 'poor stupid', but it is an expression of pity, the equivalent of “poor thing.” |
|
|
|
Post by KittsMitts on Oct 25, 2024 21:17:45 GMT
The woman, Lorna, has a spark of recognition in her eyes at Remy's change in demeanor. But she doesn't cut him off, instead continuing to watch him with that same amused look. When he's finished, she pats a hand flat on the counter in his direction and leans in with a patient smile. She waits a beat. "Not happening,"the smile is revealed to be sarcastic when she leans back with her elbow on the counter, looking entertained again. "Sorry to disappoint. Your reputation precedes you, Gambit, and that's not the part I'm interested in."
Her eyes flash with the calculating look of a woman in control, and her fingers interlock in front of her as she takes a moment to take Gambit in again. She is taking her time, but, "If these are your guesses, I'd better not leave you to think of any more scenarios or who knows what kind of person you'll take me for,"she says, not insulting but still keeping that bit of amusement. When she continues, Lorna grows a touch more serious. "Have you heard of the MLF?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Nomz on Oct 27, 2024 4:30:37 GMT
"Far from disappointed," Remy quickly retorts while reaching for his glass of water, drinking from it in the hopes of erasing the disgusting taste of Bert's chili. He isn't particularly fond that she knows him by his other persona, but he supposes he should get used to that the closer to New Orleans he gets.
His eyes are scanning the area behind the bar, eyeing the heavy metal skillets resting near the flat top. When Lorna speaks to him again, he only tips his head a little in acknowledgment that he is listening. Worn fingers push his plate closer to the bar's edge, stacking his fork and knife on it as she asks if he knows about the MLF.
"Didn' take ya fer de type," he says with plain curiosity in his tone. Remy glances at her out of the corner of his eye, "There's a Bass Bro Shop further down de road. Y'll find yer kind there." Gambit winks at her in mock playfulness, feeling none of it in his heart. "Bit odd to ask folk if they're into Major League Fishing."
A pause.
"What do you want?"
|
|
