(Untitled)
Title: (Untitled)
Author: ladyames
Rating: PG-13/R-ish
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not for profit.
Pairing: None. Gen-ish.
Spoilers: None. A/U
Summery: He’s growing to dislike the South, if only because of the weather.
Notes: Alright, so I wasn't planning on sharing this, but with a little tiny push from othersideoftime I have decided to post this here. This piece is a bit different than most of my stuff because it is almost 100% A/U and inspired by RP. Not sure what else to say except that most of the A/U-ness comes from the fact that I have my way with Remy's background and Victor's still hanging around and... well, that's about it. Logan is still pretty much Logan. There may be more of this sort of thing in the future so consider yourselves warned. Italics indicate Remy's age. Have I mentioned the A/U-ness of this? Right, I have. And any butchered French is my fault and mine alone. Anyways, I'll shut up now. Enjoy.
Six
The streetlight flickers and he frowns. From the looks of him, the kid isn’t planning on moving any time soon. It bothers Logan, a kid his age left alone like that at night. Not that he’s going to go all parental on the boy, but it’s just not right.
As he approaches, the kid doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t look up from where he’s staring, doesn’t move a muscle. The bench is uncomfortable for him, has to be for the kid who has been sitting there for hours.
“Waiting for someone?” There’s no response, not a twitch, nothing.
“Last bus left hours ago, kid.” Nothing, again.
“Where’s your ma? Pa?” That gets him a muscle twitch in the kid’s jaw and a flick of the eyes.
“Poppa… Mama…” Those eyes look past Logan’s shoulder and he has to crane his neck to see what he’s looking at. Damn. Hospital. That can’t be good.
“They’ll be alright,” he says lamely. Reassurance has never been his strong suit.
“Non.” The word is whispered before the kid gets up and walks away. “Non.” Even with his enhanced senses he barely hears it as the kid disappears around the corner.
Alone on the bench in front of a rundown hospital in New Orleans, Logan’s more than a little confused. He looks back at the hospital and then to where the boy disappeared before standing. Turning his neck this way and that, it cracks loudly before he walks down the street towards his bike.
Ten
He doesn’t know why he’s back in Louisiana, but he is and it’s damn hot. Rolling up his sleeves, he wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. Damn humidity.
Normally he’s not one to venture out where he knows there’s going to be a lot of people, but something about the day makes him leave the stuffy hotel room he’d booked. Really, it’s nothing more than a rattrap but it has a bed and that’s all he cares about. And now that he’s outside, he’s not sure the heat is any less oppressive out here than it had been inside.
With a sigh, he heads towards the people that mill about the town center. Baton Rouge isn’t New Orleans by any means, but the music that floats across the park from the tiny stage is something. Something nice that seems to soothe him for the moment.
He sticks to the edge of the crowd, hanging in the back and taking things in. And suddenly he’s being shoved into by a small body that seems intent on going through him instead of around him. The kid dangles from his hand by the collar of his shirt and stares at him wide-eyed. “Excusez-moi, monsieur,” the kid drawls, accent thick, as he shuffles his feet and looks mildly embarrassed. “Didn’ see ya there.”
“Right.” He lets the boy down as he resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Watch where your going next time, bub.”
“Oui, monsieur,” the boy shouts over his shoulder as he scampers away with a grin.
It takes him a few minutes to notice the lightness in his pocket. He scowls as he pats down all his pockets. “Sneaky little bastard,” he growls as his eyes search the crowd. Nothing. The kid’s long gone.
It’s not until much later that he realizes he recognized the little pickpocket.
Fourteen
He’s growing to dislike the South, if only because of the weather. Next time he vows to visit in the winter. He’s already sweated through his shirt, but hasn’t bothered to change. What would be the point? It’d only happen again.
This time it’s southern Florida. Miami to be precise. Again he’s not sure why he’s here, probably has something to do with the fact that he’s chased after Victor. Can’t let his brother go off and get into more trouble. Not alone, anyways. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t massacre an entire town or do something equally stupid.
Across the street, Victor sneers at him before trotting off down an alley with a boy on his arm. The only thing that keeps Logan from following is the fact that the boy seems to be going willingly. Probably some poor kid turning tricks for money. Logan hopes it doesn’t all go horribly wrong.
Just to be safe he jogs across the street and stops. At the beginning of that same alley, some kid has set up a pile of boxes for a table. He shuffles a deck of cards like he was born with them in his hand (something a kid his age shouldn’t know how to do yet) and smiles at passing tourists. The boy’s drawl carries across the distance left between them and Logan cocks his head to the side. Something’s familiar about that voice.
“Can I trouble you with a game of chance, monsieur?” The kid says as he approaches. Logan frowns, but nods. Lithe fingers shuffle those cards again and people start to gather around as soon as they notice the kid’s drawn a mark. “Pick a card.” Cards fanned out, Logan eyes the kid and the cards.
“Not this time, kid. You ain’t going to play fair.”
The kid has the balls to look affronted. “Non, monsieur, always play fair, me.”
Logan snorts and shakes his head. “If that’s true, you owe me a wallet and a hundred bucks.”
Something in the kid’s eyes flashes and his body goes tense. Logan can smell the perspiration on the kid that hadn’t been there before. And as quick as a rat, the kid pockets the cards and dashes off down the alley shouting something in a mix of French and English that sounds like gibberish to Logan’s ears.
The boy who’d disappeared with Victor suddenly appears and takes off with the kid. A growl greets him before he sees Victor walk out of the shadows zipping his pants and glaring.
“What the fuck did you do? He was just getting to the good part.”
Logan shoots an exasperated glare at Victor and walks off.
“Got your eye on that little piece of street hustler, Jimmy? Shame on you.”
Nineteen
New Orleans again. Thankfully it’s winter. But that means it’s raining. Logan makes a promise to himself never to come down here again. He can’t seem to catch a break where the weather is concerned.
Stepping into the bar, he shakes his head to get the water out of his hair and eyes. The overwhelming scent of sweat and smoke and liquor slams into his senses and he smirks. Now this is better.
He takes a seat at the bar and orders a beer. It’s nice, he’s being left alone and he likes it that way. Two beers in and he notices a man take a seat at the beat up piano across the room.
A few practice notes and then the music really picks up. Something mellow, jazzy, perfectly New Orleans. Logan watches as nimble fingers dance across the keys.
Another couple of beers and the music takes a decided turn for the depressing. Slow and melancholy and Logan wonders just what inspired it. And that makes him frown and turn away. Spending too much time wondering, old man, he chides himself.
More slow songs and then as Logan’s about ready to get up and leave the tempo picks up. Smooth and quick, those fingers move as Logan finds himself watching again. The man looks up and Logan sees something in the eyes that meet his. It’s only a second but he could swear those eyes are far too old to be in such a young man.
The music stops and a few of the drunker patrons clap and one even whistles. As he stands, the man tips his head in the direction of those cheering and gives them a gracious (albeit forced) smile. He walks towards Logan, eyes not leaving his once, and leans against the bar next to him. A quick nod to the bartender and a glass of amber liquor appears in front of him. Logan wonders if the kid is even old enough to be legal.
“Enjoy yourself, monsieur?” The smooth voice startles him out of his thoughts and he glances up as the kid swallows down the liquor in one smooth gulp. Not a wince or a twitch as the burning liquid slides down his throat.
“Well enough,” he mutters after another swig from his beer.
“Good to hear.”
And just like that the kid’s gone. Later, while grabbing his keys from his pocket Logan finds a wad of bills that hadn’t been there before. He blinks at them before it clicks.
“Goddamn kid.” He shoves the bills back in his pocket and climbs onto his bike. Looks like he’ll be sticking around for a little longer. He’s got some hunting to do, weather be damned.
Author: ladyames
Rating: PG-13/R-ish
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not for profit.
Pairing: None. Gen-ish.
Spoilers: None. A/U
Summery: He’s growing to dislike the South, if only because of the weather.
Notes: Alright, so I wasn't planning on sharing this, but with a little tiny push from othersideoftime I have decided to post this here. This piece is a bit different than most of my stuff because it is almost 100% A/U and inspired by RP. Not sure what else to say except that most of the A/U-ness comes from the fact that I have my way with Remy's background and Victor's still hanging around and... well, that's about it. Logan is still pretty much Logan. There may be more of this sort of thing in the future so consider yourselves warned. Italics indicate Remy's age. Have I mentioned the A/U-ness of this? Right, I have. And any butchered French is my fault and mine alone. Anyways, I'll shut up now. Enjoy.
Six
The streetlight flickers and he frowns. From the looks of him, the kid isn’t planning on moving any time soon. It bothers Logan, a kid his age left alone like that at night. Not that he’s going to go all parental on the boy, but it’s just not right.
As he approaches, the kid doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t look up from where he’s staring, doesn’t move a muscle. The bench is uncomfortable for him, has to be for the kid who has been sitting there for hours.
“Waiting for someone?” There’s no response, not a twitch, nothing.
“Last bus left hours ago, kid.” Nothing, again.
“Where’s your ma? Pa?” That gets him a muscle twitch in the kid’s jaw and a flick of the eyes.
“Poppa… Mama…” Those eyes look past Logan’s shoulder and he has to crane his neck to see what he’s looking at. Damn. Hospital. That can’t be good.
“They’ll be alright,” he says lamely. Reassurance has never been his strong suit.
“Non.” The word is whispered before the kid gets up and walks away. “Non.” Even with his enhanced senses he barely hears it as the kid disappears around the corner.
Alone on the bench in front of a rundown hospital in New Orleans, Logan’s more than a little confused. He looks back at the hospital and then to where the boy disappeared before standing. Turning his neck this way and that, it cracks loudly before he walks down the street towards his bike.
Ten
He doesn’t know why he’s back in Louisiana, but he is and it’s damn hot. Rolling up his sleeves, he wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. Damn humidity.
Normally he’s not one to venture out where he knows there’s going to be a lot of people, but something about the day makes him leave the stuffy hotel room he’d booked. Really, it’s nothing more than a rattrap but it has a bed and that’s all he cares about. And now that he’s outside, he’s not sure the heat is any less oppressive out here than it had been inside.
With a sigh, he heads towards the people that mill about the town center. Baton Rouge isn’t New Orleans by any means, but the music that floats across the park from the tiny stage is something. Something nice that seems to soothe him for the moment.
He sticks to the edge of the crowd, hanging in the back and taking things in. And suddenly he’s being shoved into by a small body that seems intent on going through him instead of around him. The kid dangles from his hand by the collar of his shirt and stares at him wide-eyed. “Excusez-moi, monsieur,” the kid drawls, accent thick, as he shuffles his feet and looks mildly embarrassed. “Didn’ see ya there.”
“Right.” He lets the boy down as he resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Watch where your going next time, bub.”
“Oui, monsieur,” the boy shouts over his shoulder as he scampers away with a grin.
It takes him a few minutes to notice the lightness in his pocket. He scowls as he pats down all his pockets. “Sneaky little bastard,” he growls as his eyes search the crowd. Nothing. The kid’s long gone.
It’s not until much later that he realizes he recognized the little pickpocket.
Fourteen
He’s growing to dislike the South, if only because of the weather. Next time he vows to visit in the winter. He’s already sweated through his shirt, but hasn’t bothered to change. What would be the point? It’d only happen again.
This time it’s southern Florida. Miami to be precise. Again he’s not sure why he’s here, probably has something to do with the fact that he’s chased after Victor. Can’t let his brother go off and get into more trouble. Not alone, anyways. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t massacre an entire town or do something equally stupid.
Across the street, Victor sneers at him before trotting off down an alley with a boy on his arm. The only thing that keeps Logan from following is the fact that the boy seems to be going willingly. Probably some poor kid turning tricks for money. Logan hopes it doesn’t all go horribly wrong.
Just to be safe he jogs across the street and stops. At the beginning of that same alley, some kid has set up a pile of boxes for a table. He shuffles a deck of cards like he was born with them in his hand (something a kid his age shouldn’t know how to do yet) and smiles at passing tourists. The boy’s drawl carries across the distance left between them and Logan cocks his head to the side. Something’s familiar about that voice.
“Can I trouble you with a game of chance, monsieur?” The kid says as he approaches. Logan frowns, but nods. Lithe fingers shuffle those cards again and people start to gather around as soon as they notice the kid’s drawn a mark. “Pick a card.” Cards fanned out, Logan eyes the kid and the cards.
“Not this time, kid. You ain’t going to play fair.”
The kid has the balls to look affronted. “Non, monsieur, always play fair, me.”
Logan snorts and shakes his head. “If that’s true, you owe me a wallet and a hundred bucks.”
Something in the kid’s eyes flashes and his body goes tense. Logan can smell the perspiration on the kid that hadn’t been there before. And as quick as a rat, the kid pockets the cards and dashes off down the alley shouting something in a mix of French and English that sounds like gibberish to Logan’s ears.
The boy who’d disappeared with Victor suddenly appears and takes off with the kid. A growl greets him before he sees Victor walk out of the shadows zipping his pants and glaring.
“What the fuck did you do? He was just getting to the good part.”
Logan shoots an exasperated glare at Victor and walks off.
“Got your eye on that little piece of street hustler, Jimmy? Shame on you.”
Nineteen
New Orleans again. Thankfully it’s winter. But that means it’s raining. Logan makes a promise to himself never to come down here again. He can’t seem to catch a break where the weather is concerned.
Stepping into the bar, he shakes his head to get the water out of his hair and eyes. The overwhelming scent of sweat and smoke and liquor slams into his senses and he smirks. Now this is better.
He takes a seat at the bar and orders a beer. It’s nice, he’s being left alone and he likes it that way. Two beers in and he notices a man take a seat at the beat up piano across the room.
A few practice notes and then the music really picks up. Something mellow, jazzy, perfectly New Orleans. Logan watches as nimble fingers dance across the keys.
Another couple of beers and the music takes a decided turn for the depressing. Slow and melancholy and Logan wonders just what inspired it. And that makes him frown and turn away. Spending too much time wondering, old man, he chides himself.
More slow songs and then as Logan’s about ready to get up and leave the tempo picks up. Smooth and quick, those fingers move as Logan finds himself watching again. The man looks up and Logan sees something in the eyes that meet his. It’s only a second but he could swear those eyes are far too old to be in such a young man.
The music stops and a few of the drunker patrons clap and one even whistles. As he stands, the man tips his head in the direction of those cheering and gives them a gracious (albeit forced) smile. He walks towards Logan, eyes not leaving his once, and leans against the bar next to him. A quick nod to the bartender and a glass of amber liquor appears in front of him. Logan wonders if the kid is even old enough to be legal.
“Enjoy yourself, monsieur?” The smooth voice startles him out of his thoughts and he glances up as the kid swallows down the liquor in one smooth gulp. Not a wince or a twitch as the burning liquid slides down his throat.
“Well enough,” he mutters after another swig from his beer.
“Good to hear.”
And just like that the kid’s gone. Later, while grabbing his keys from his pocket Logan finds a wad of bills that hadn’t been there before. He blinks at them before it clicks.
“Goddamn kid.” He shoves the bills back in his pocket and climbs onto his bike. Looks like he’ll be sticking around for a little longer. He’s got some hunting to do, weather be damned.