PI LOG: Valentine's Dinner -- Remy and Rogue
Mysterious flowers are finally explained to Rogue, to a conclusion much like the one she was expecting, and the Southern Belle and the Cajun finally have a little time undisturbed and to themselves.
Various Beacon Harbor Locales
For a week, now, long-stemmed roses have arrived in pairs at Ogori's, addressed to the 'waitress with the white-streaked hair'. Descreet but rich-colored flowers, questioning the Cajun of their origin would have only resulted in apparent confusion on Remy's part and something near a sulk for a few hours. Today, an entire dozen arrived; still deep red and fresh, with a card attached that reads "I would be honored if you would meet me for dinner at Rosmarino's at nine PM." Directions to the little italian restaurant off of Main Street have been provided, and a short epitaph of 'business casual'. Gambit himself has made no noise towards plans in anyway--it's likely he's still shaken from the month of almost complete seperation--so there is very little, really, that could prevent Rogue from at least investigating. From the outside, the restaurant is dark and elegant, with candlelight flickering through the windows decorated with flowers done in frosting around the edges.
She's feeling a little guilty about the whole thing... but, well, Remy still hasn't copped to it, and while the two of them are doing well at the moment... she might as well at least meet whoever it is and explain, politely, that she's taken. And then go tell Remy everything. Or something like that.
Plus, after that stunt with the scavenger hunt that one time, she's not entirely putting it past Remy to do something like this, his conspicuous silence on the subject notwithstanding.
Her wardrobe is only passingly equipped for "business casual," so Rogue ends up wearing the kimono Eris and Michiko gave her for Christmas, on the grounds that it is both flattering and modest. At about nine o'clock, a cab pulls up at the restaurant, and she emerges, her hair pinned up and the earrings Remy gave her glittering in her ears as she wanders in through the front doors.
Remy frequently has something up his sleeve. There's no evidence of him yet, however, as Rogue walks in the front; the dining room is dimly lit by candle, the sort of stately elegance that lends the atmosphere only emphasized by the fact that there is a real, live harpist nestled in the corner, bent over her harp. The kitchen is seperated from the back by a bar-counter, the brick oven and professional stove clearly visible. Standing at a little podium at the front of the restaurant, a young girl perks to attention, reaching for a stack of menus. "Just one, tonight?"
Rogue cranes her head this way and that, peering around the dining room and finding no indication of whoever it is she's supposed to be meeting. With a faintly rueful smile, she turns her attention to the hostess. "Ah'm s'posed t'be meetin' someone," she says, a little apologetically. "Guess they ain't here yet."
"Ah, two, then. I'll just set you at a table, and you can look over the menu while you wait." The hostess seems completely nonplussed, retrieving two menus from the pile and beckoning over her shoulder as she strides off through the dining room. It's a table as secluded as the hostess can manage, its side against the wall and closer to the harpist than the door. With a bright smile, the young woman sets one menu at each place and pulls out a chair for Rogue. "I hope you enjoy your meal."
"Thanks," Rogue tells her, and settles into the seat she's been offered. She spends a minute or so looking around, just in case, and presently unfolds her menu to scan its contents. Geez. Waiting sucks.
Luckily, Rogue won't have to wait very long at all. He isn't there one second, and the next he just *is*, a small box covered in blue velvet presented on an open palm. "I tol' you lately how very *nice* you look, in dose t'ings?" It's an unmistakable purr in an unmistakable patois, complete with a little twist to the word 'nice' that makes it mean just about anything. Remy leans just over her shoulder--just distant enough to keep himself out of real danger, laughter lighting his bright eyes. He's tried to make himself relatively presentable; sharp-creased black dress pants and that same deep black-burgundy dress shirt he so often wears. He's even pulled his hair more-or-less back, although as always the bangs seem to want to tug free.
Rogue swats at him with her open menu, though since he's out of reach it only whiffs harmlessly through the air between them. "Jerk," she accuses affectionately, laughing in spite of herself. "Woulda served you right f'Ah'd stood you up 'cause Ah thought Ah'd be cheatin' on you." Honestly, though, she's not really surprised. It's like him to be sneaky.
"Since when you known me to lose a gamble?" Remy grins, rolling the box in his palm until he is presenting it towards Rogue with his fingertips. "You gonna take dis, or I gotta find some ot'er femme to give it to?" The Cajun seems to draw an undue amount of pleasure from being sneaky, and even being batted at with the menu doesn't dissuade the light in his eyes. Look at how clever he was, luring her here with the live music without once letting on.
Rolling her eyes amusedly, Rogue sets her menu down on the table so that she can reach out and take the box from Remy's fingers. "How 'bout you sit down, then, since you put this all together so slick? You been plannin' this all month, ain't you?"
Once the box has been liberated from his grasp, Remy will swing around the table, dropping into his seat with all the ease of a hunting cat. "Mebbe not *all* mont', but long 'nough dat I was 'fraid if I jus' *asked* you'd say 'no'. By de time I knew you'd say 'yes' I'd already put too much into it." There's no way for the Cajun--even as good as he is at masking his true emotions--to hide that he is well-pleased that Rogue chose to show up tonight. "An' see, now you can have a good time not havin' to worry 'bout where the flowers an' gifts are comin' from."
"An' a good thing, too," Rogue agrees easily, grinning over the box as she pries it carefully open. "Ah was half set t'tell whoever-it-was that Ah was already taken, an' that was just gonna be awkward." This is much nicer.
Remy's smile shades towards foolish, head tucking a little. "Well, could say it 'gain. I don't mind hearin' it much." Inside the box is a bit of jewelry the function of which may not be immediately obvious--it is a silver design marked with small chips of emerald and diamond in a vague swirling and symetrical pattern. Between the two halves of the design--which almost seems like a butterfly, if one looks at it right, and matches the earrings well--there is a very distinctly intentional hole that runs from top to bottom through the design. There seems no immediate means of attachment to any part of the body or clothing.
Aww. Rogue's playful response to his comment is forestalled by the sight of the contents of the jeweler's box, and her expression softens into admiration. "Remy, sugah, this is beautiful. You're gonna have t'explain t'me how t'wear it, though, Ah think."
"You t'read de chain of your necklace t'rough de hole, see, an' de whole t'ing sits on de feat'er." Assuming she's still wearing the feather these days. "For dressin' up, so it can look a l'il nicer of you wan'." Remy didn't expect her to figure it out immediately; he seems pleased enough that she called it 'beautiful'.
Rogue brightens a little in understanding as he explains, and sets the box down on the table in front of her so that she can reach up with both gloved hands and fish the chain that holds the silver-plated feather out of the neckline of her kimono, fussing briefly with the clasp until she gets it unfastened. "Pretty tricky," she says, voice warm with approval.
Eyes hooding, Remy looks for the moment insufferably smug. "I hear I am, from time t'time." He might be about to stand and help Rogue with the necklace, but it's right about *then* that the waitress chooses to approach. She doesn't even get to ask if they'd like drinks before the Cajun is pointing out a particular bottle of wine, and indicating it ought to come with some ice water.
Since he's got that under control, Rogue devotes her attention to threading the chain through the proper space in the charm he's given her, until it slides down and settles against the feather the way it was intended, and she can replace the necklace around her neck. She leaves it out this time, laying it carefully against the fabric of her kimono and looking down to admire it.
Since he's got that under control, Rogue devotes her attention to threading the chain through the proper space in the charm he's given her, until it slides down and settles against the feather the way it was intended, and she can replace the necklace around her neck. She leaves it out this time, laying it carefully against the fabric of her kimono and looking down to admire it.
The man might be Cajun--and therefore tied by heritage to the French--but he knows what to order with Italian food. It's a thick-bodied Chianti that arrives with the water, and the situal of wine pouring is carried out before Remy wholly approves of the bottle. He'll open the menu and make a pretext of reading it while really watching Rogue over the top edge of it, his smile hidden by the cover.
He's not fooling anyone. Rogue looks up from her preening to favor him with a cat-in-the-creampot smile across the table. "Look at you," she drawls, "lookin' so smug. You done good, sugah. Done real good."
Remy's grin only goes more sly at the confirmation, as the Cajun tries to hide affection behind his general veneer of mischievious amusement. It is only partially successful, really, which may speak on how much there is he's trying to hide. "Oui? You keep tellin' me dat, enough, an' I swear my head's gonna swell up. An' dat's jus' gonna be ugly."
"Yeah?" Rogue replies, fondly teasing as she reaches for her menu to pick it back up again. "That case, darlin', maybe we best see 'bout orderin' 'fore your ego squeezes us right outta th'restaurant, hmm?"
Remy's eyebrows corkscrew just a hair, shading sly into almost bemused amusement. "Hey, managed to stay on de lighthouse, hien? More room in here. I t'ink mebbe we got a few minutes yet b'fore we hit critical mass." His words aside, however, the Cajun is skimming over the menu, trying to decide between the many, many dishes listed.
"Ah could always take you down a peg or two," Rogue offers teasingly, "but Ah don't think that would be very nice, on Valentine's Day an' all. Hm." She considers the menu, eyes skimming over the print. "Manicotti sounds good. What d'you think?"
"I don' know, dere's dis t'ing here dat's a whole lot of Italian but says it's got shrimp an' crab an' chicken in it dat looks pretty good." Remy taps the corresponding point on the menu with a finger, before looking up at Rogue with a grin. "An' I promise dis time I won't t'row none of it at you."
Rogue rolls her eyes, grinning back over her own menu. "Yeah, you best not, 'less you wanna be humiliated when Ah drag you outta here by the scruff of your neck like a puppy. You oughta at least be able t'behave yourself in public."
Remy laughs, almost demurely for all the mischief in his eyes, giving his head a little shake. "I b'have if I got a *reason* to, chere." Any other thick-throated and thinly veiled suggestions he might have made, however, are waylaid by the arrival of the waitress; for all his claim of 'a whol lot of Italian', the complicated name rolls off his tongue with a better sound than his everyday English.
That saves Rogue from having to answer that, in any case, and once he's gotten his order made and the waitress turns towards her, she requests the manicotti for herself. "...an' a small salad."
The 'salad' seems to amuse Remy yet more, his eyes hiding behind his lashes as he hands the menu back to the waitress. "So, didn' fool you at all wit' de anonymous flowers, neh? Seems I got to work a l'il harder next time." Because of course Rogue seems so disappointed by the results. In the corner, the harpist bends carefully over the instrument.
"Too sneaky for y'own good," Rogue tells him, her drawl warm with amusement and affection. "S'just like you t'try t'do somethin' all anonymous an' pretend you didn't know nothin' about it."
"Ain't not'in' gettin' by you," Remy says, playfully exhasperated and waggling a hand in the air. "I'm jus' gonna give up on surprizin' you wit' anyt'in' one of dese days."
Rogue laughs, shaking her head at him as she reaches for her glass of wine. "Ah don't b'lieve it," she retorts. "You'd get bored too quick if you didn't have somethin' t'get up to. You enjoy it too much."
The laugh Remy produces implies he can't quite argue with Rogue's observation. "Man's gotta get his fun somehow, n'est pas? B'sides, I said it b'fore an' I prob'ly be sayin' it 'til I die; you wouldn' know what to do wit' me if I jus' went straight-arrow all of de sudden. Whole time you'd be lookin' for whatever I was hidin' b'hind my back, whet'er dere was anyt'in' dere or not." It touches, a little, on how little Remy percieves other people trusting him, but he's in much too good a mood at the moment to dwell on that as he might have some other time.
"Oh, Ah dunno," Rogue answers easily, "but it might get kinda borin' for one or th'other of us."
Under harp music and over good food, the night will linger, but it of course can't last forever. Once the bottle of wine has been emptied and the bill paid, it is will a softer and again secretive smile that Remy stands, offering his arm to Rogue even as he makes to pull out her chair. "Well, you said somet'in' 'bout me plannin' dis for a whole mont'...I guess in someways, I been plannin' dis for two years. So I don' know if dis next bit gets to be rehash for you, but I s'pose you'll humor me even if it is?"
Rogue accepts the arm he offers with a smile, though her expression shades quickly into interest and vague confusion at his words. "Ah'm sure Ah ain't got th'first clue, darlin'... but if it turns out Ah covered this ground before, Ah promise Ah won't be disappointed."
"Well," Remy says, drawing the word out as he escorts Rogue to the door of the restaurant. Just outside, she'll find, the Cajun has again pulled the strings and rung the bells he always seems to have at hand to arrange for a horse-drawn carriage; in the dim light, its black seems all the more glossy, the dapple grey horse standing tall and patient. "Ain't so much the ground as how it's covered I'm worried 'bout."
Oh, yes, Rogue remembers this - and it's a memory that she's more than happy to revisit. Her response is a bubbling-up of surprised and delighted laughter. "Damn. Ah didn't even know you could get a horse-drawn carriage ride in this town."
This Remy, of course, never got a chance to impliment his first Sneaky Plan For Horsedrawn Carriage Rides because of the rude interruption that the Infinity Portal imposed upon his life; there's a certain not-terribly-small part of him that is eternally grateful for the chance to try it again. "Can't, us'lly," The Cajun says, that oh so self-satisfied smile dancing over his face again. The footman already has the door open, so for Remy it is only a matter of standing by the carriage and lending Rogue a hand as she clambers in, and then climbing in behind her.
It's different this time. No pall cast over the evening by the death of a little girl. Not so much mistrust between them. Rogue is smiling as Remy helps her up into the carriage, a bit of a secretive smile not unlike the one he was wearing moments ago, and though she remembers what she told him on that other evening as he helped her up into that other carriage, she doesn't feel the need to repeat it now. Instead, as she settles into the seat and arranges the skirt of her kimono, she says airily, "Thank you, darlin'. You do know how t'treat a girl." Sometimes, anyhow.
"I try." At least, sometimes. Remy swings up into the carriage easily, and something passes between he and the driver-slash-footman that is almost silent and mostly consisting of gestures. No opportunity for witty implications this time--apparently Gambit knows where the carriage is going. "You know, for a girl dat don't seem to have a *lick* of Oriental blood, you sure do make the Asian fashions look *damn* good."
Rogue is content to snuggle up against Remy's side, and lean her cheek against his shoulder. "Ah think they mostly look good all on their own, but you are sweet t'say so." She doesn't ask where they're going - for once, maybe, she'll be content to wait and see.
Remy makes a soft, dismissive noise, completely willing to let Rogue cuddle closer to him. "Non, dis time I'm jus' speakin' trut'. 'Course, mebbe I'm biased b'cause I t'ink jus' 'bout anyt'in' looks damn good on you." It's okay for him to say things like that because it's Valentine's Day and she's snuggled up against him in a horsedrawn carriage. The city slips away past the vehicle slowly, to the steady rhythm of clopclop-clopclop.
Rogue laughs softly, pleased by the compliment. "Could be," she agrees in a warm, fond tone. "Ah don't think that's exactly whatcha call 'objective.' But it's awful nice t'hear."
"Well, you know me, got an opinion on everyt'in'." Remy grins, doing absolutely nothing to resist the urge to lean his head against Rogue's gently. "Y'know," He says, after a moment of quiet passes, "Seems t'me you laugh a lot more den you used to."
Rogue makes a quiet "Mmm," sound. "Think so?" she wonders, and then takes a moment or two to consider the possibility. "Could be right. Could be Ah got more t'laugh about than Ah used to."
The carriage swings around slowly; the horse doesn't seem at all perturbed by the late-night traffic, instead making his placid and sure-footed away from the restaurant towards the park. Remy leans back a little, just to consider Rogue a little better, his smile soft. "You t'ink so? C'est bien, je pense. So many of de ot'ers I talk to, dey miss what was on de ot'er side of de portal. Regret dey was ever sucked t'rough." Gambit is pretty sure he likes this side better.
"Mmm, well, Ah kinda miss havin' th'Mansion an' all its facilities at my disposal," Rogue will allow, "but 'side from that, seems t'me that ev'rything important Ah had there's here just as good." Better, in some cases.
"Everyt'in'?" Remy asks, quietly pleased, as the carriage turns off of the street onto the pathway that winds through the park. It's just wide enough. "C'est vrai?" Tonight just keeps turning out better and better, and the silly way Gambit's mouth quirks evidences that even as he lifts his head briefly to watch the scenery.
"Mmm-hmm," Rogue confirms, in a sleepy sort of sing-song. This is nice, especially now that they've left the city lights behind for the stillness of the park. "S'right."
Remy will let the silence stretch out, comfortable, as the carriage meanders around the park. The Cajun is quite content with the way things have grown to be, these days, secretly pleased at the fact that the silences aren't always uncomfortable any more. It's probably almost a half an hour later, as the carriage is turning out of the park again towards School House Road that he murmurs almost below the edge of hearing, "Je t'aime."
Rogue doesn't answer - at least not in words. Instead, she lifts a gloved hand, pressing her fingertips to her lips in a silent kiss, and then reaches up with the same hand to lightly touch Remy's mouth.
There is a little pang, there--just a little one--that shadow kisses from well-worn gloves are as close as he gets, but it's an old, old pain and despite it Remy's mouth curves into a deeper smile under Rogue's fingers. When the carriage finally swings around to stop just before Kitty's house, the Cajun will squirm out from beneath her only so that he can dart around and offer her a hand down again. Sure, the girl could just levitate to the ground--but it takes away some of the moment, really.
This way is more fun. When her feet are safely on the ground, Rogue leans in for a brief, warm hug. "Thank you," she says, half into his shirt. "Ah had a wonderful time." And then she's stepping back, smiling fondly up at him.
"Anytime, ma chere." At least, any time they aren't trying to keep on opposite sides of the city from one another. Remy lingers before her, and in the light of her smile, before he's stepping back again. He has to be getting back to Chinatown, after all, and paying the coachman. "Happy Valentine's Day, Rogue."
Rogue begins picking her way to the front door of Kitty's house, her progress rather slowed by a tendency to smile back at Remy over her shoulder. "Happy Valentine's, Remy," she answers before she finally turns her attention to unlocking the door.
Finis!
Various Beacon Harbor Locales
For a week, now, long-stemmed roses have arrived in pairs at Ogori's, addressed to the 'waitress with the white-streaked hair'. Descreet but rich-colored flowers, questioning the Cajun of their origin would have only resulted in apparent confusion on Remy's part and something near a sulk for a few hours. Today, an entire dozen arrived; still deep red and fresh, with a card attached that reads "I would be honored if you would meet me for dinner at Rosmarino's at nine PM." Directions to the little italian restaurant off of Main Street have been provided, and a short epitaph of 'business casual'. Gambit himself has made no noise towards plans in anyway--it's likely he's still shaken from the month of almost complete seperation--so there is very little, really, that could prevent Rogue from at least investigating. From the outside, the restaurant is dark and elegant, with candlelight flickering through the windows decorated with flowers done in frosting around the edges.
She's feeling a little guilty about the whole thing... but, well, Remy still hasn't copped to it, and while the two of them are doing well at the moment... she might as well at least meet whoever it is and explain, politely, that she's taken. And then go tell Remy everything. Or something like that.
Plus, after that stunt with the scavenger hunt that one time, she's not entirely putting it past Remy to do something like this, his conspicuous silence on the subject notwithstanding.
Her wardrobe is only passingly equipped for "business casual," so Rogue ends up wearing the kimono Eris and Michiko gave her for Christmas, on the grounds that it is both flattering and modest. At about nine o'clock, a cab pulls up at the restaurant, and she emerges, her hair pinned up and the earrings Remy gave her glittering in her ears as she wanders in through the front doors.
Remy frequently has something up his sleeve. There's no evidence of him yet, however, as Rogue walks in the front; the dining room is dimly lit by candle, the sort of stately elegance that lends the atmosphere only emphasized by the fact that there is a real, live harpist nestled in the corner, bent over her harp. The kitchen is seperated from the back by a bar-counter, the brick oven and professional stove clearly visible. Standing at a little podium at the front of the restaurant, a young girl perks to attention, reaching for a stack of menus. "Just one, tonight?"
Rogue cranes her head this way and that, peering around the dining room and finding no indication of whoever it is she's supposed to be meeting. With a faintly rueful smile, she turns her attention to the hostess. "Ah'm s'posed t'be meetin' someone," she says, a little apologetically. "Guess they ain't here yet."
"Ah, two, then. I'll just set you at a table, and you can look over the menu while you wait." The hostess seems completely nonplussed, retrieving two menus from the pile and beckoning over her shoulder as she strides off through the dining room. It's a table as secluded as the hostess can manage, its side against the wall and closer to the harpist than the door. With a bright smile, the young woman sets one menu at each place and pulls out a chair for Rogue. "I hope you enjoy your meal."
"Thanks," Rogue tells her, and settles into the seat she's been offered. She spends a minute or so looking around, just in case, and presently unfolds her menu to scan its contents. Geez. Waiting sucks.
Luckily, Rogue won't have to wait very long at all. He isn't there one second, and the next he just *is*, a small box covered in blue velvet presented on an open palm. "I tol' you lately how very *nice* you look, in dose t'ings?" It's an unmistakable purr in an unmistakable patois, complete with a little twist to the word 'nice' that makes it mean just about anything. Remy leans just over her shoulder--just distant enough to keep himself out of real danger, laughter lighting his bright eyes. He's tried to make himself relatively presentable; sharp-creased black dress pants and that same deep black-burgundy dress shirt he so often wears. He's even pulled his hair more-or-less back, although as always the bangs seem to want to tug free.
Rogue swats at him with her open menu, though since he's out of reach it only whiffs harmlessly through the air between them. "Jerk," she accuses affectionately, laughing in spite of herself. "Woulda served you right f'Ah'd stood you up 'cause Ah thought Ah'd be cheatin' on you." Honestly, though, she's not really surprised. It's like him to be sneaky.
"Since when you known me to lose a gamble?" Remy grins, rolling the box in his palm until he is presenting it towards Rogue with his fingertips. "You gonna take dis, or I gotta find some ot'er femme to give it to?" The Cajun seems to draw an undue amount of pleasure from being sneaky, and even being batted at with the menu doesn't dissuade the light in his eyes. Look at how clever he was, luring her here with the live music without once letting on.
Rolling her eyes amusedly, Rogue sets her menu down on the table so that she can reach out and take the box from Remy's fingers. "How 'bout you sit down, then, since you put this all together so slick? You been plannin' this all month, ain't you?"
Once the box has been liberated from his grasp, Remy will swing around the table, dropping into his seat with all the ease of a hunting cat. "Mebbe not *all* mont', but long 'nough dat I was 'fraid if I jus' *asked* you'd say 'no'. By de time I knew you'd say 'yes' I'd already put too much into it." There's no way for the Cajun--even as good as he is at masking his true emotions--to hide that he is well-pleased that Rogue chose to show up tonight. "An' see, now you can have a good time not havin' to worry 'bout where the flowers an' gifts are comin' from."
"An' a good thing, too," Rogue agrees easily, grinning over the box as she pries it carefully open. "Ah was half set t'tell whoever-it-was that Ah was already taken, an' that was just gonna be awkward." This is much nicer.
Remy's smile shades towards foolish, head tucking a little. "Well, could say it 'gain. I don't mind hearin' it much." Inside the box is a bit of jewelry the function of which may not be immediately obvious--it is a silver design marked with small chips of emerald and diamond in a vague swirling and symetrical pattern. Between the two halves of the design--which almost seems like a butterfly, if one looks at it right, and matches the earrings well--there is a very distinctly intentional hole that runs from top to bottom through the design. There seems no immediate means of attachment to any part of the body or clothing.
Aww. Rogue's playful response to his comment is forestalled by the sight of the contents of the jeweler's box, and her expression softens into admiration. "Remy, sugah, this is beautiful. You're gonna have t'explain t'me how t'wear it, though, Ah think."
"You t'read de chain of your necklace t'rough de hole, see, an' de whole t'ing sits on de feat'er." Assuming she's still wearing the feather these days. "For dressin' up, so it can look a l'il nicer of you wan'." Remy didn't expect her to figure it out immediately; he seems pleased enough that she called it 'beautiful'.
Rogue brightens a little in understanding as he explains, and sets the box down on the table in front of her so that she can reach up with both gloved hands and fish the chain that holds the silver-plated feather out of the neckline of her kimono, fussing briefly with the clasp until she gets it unfastened. "Pretty tricky," she says, voice warm with approval.
Eyes hooding, Remy looks for the moment insufferably smug. "I hear I am, from time t'time." He might be about to stand and help Rogue with the necklace, but it's right about *then* that the waitress chooses to approach. She doesn't even get to ask if they'd like drinks before the Cajun is pointing out a particular bottle of wine, and indicating it ought to come with some ice water.
Since he's got that under control, Rogue devotes her attention to threading the chain through the proper space in the charm he's given her, until it slides down and settles against the feather the way it was intended, and she can replace the necklace around her neck. She leaves it out this time, laying it carefully against the fabric of her kimono and looking down to admire it.
Since he's got that under control, Rogue devotes her attention to threading the chain through the proper space in the charm he's given her, until it slides down and settles against the feather the way it was intended, and she can replace the necklace around her neck. She leaves it out this time, laying it carefully against the fabric of her kimono and looking down to admire it.
The man might be Cajun--and therefore tied by heritage to the French--but he knows what to order with Italian food. It's a thick-bodied Chianti that arrives with the water, and the situal of wine pouring is carried out before Remy wholly approves of the bottle. He'll open the menu and make a pretext of reading it while really watching Rogue over the top edge of it, his smile hidden by the cover.
He's not fooling anyone. Rogue looks up from her preening to favor him with a cat-in-the-creampot smile across the table. "Look at you," she drawls, "lookin' so smug. You done good, sugah. Done real good."
Remy's grin only goes more sly at the confirmation, as the Cajun tries to hide affection behind his general veneer of mischievious amusement. It is only partially successful, really, which may speak on how much there is he's trying to hide. "Oui? You keep tellin' me dat, enough, an' I swear my head's gonna swell up. An' dat's jus' gonna be ugly."
"Yeah?" Rogue replies, fondly teasing as she reaches for her menu to pick it back up again. "That case, darlin', maybe we best see 'bout orderin' 'fore your ego squeezes us right outta th'restaurant, hmm?"
Remy's eyebrows corkscrew just a hair, shading sly into almost bemused amusement. "Hey, managed to stay on de lighthouse, hien? More room in here. I t'ink mebbe we got a few minutes yet b'fore we hit critical mass." His words aside, however, the Cajun is skimming over the menu, trying to decide between the many, many dishes listed.
"Ah could always take you down a peg or two," Rogue offers teasingly, "but Ah don't think that would be very nice, on Valentine's Day an' all. Hm." She considers the menu, eyes skimming over the print. "Manicotti sounds good. What d'you think?"
"I don' know, dere's dis t'ing here dat's a whole lot of Italian but says it's got shrimp an' crab an' chicken in it dat looks pretty good." Remy taps the corresponding point on the menu with a finger, before looking up at Rogue with a grin. "An' I promise dis time I won't t'row none of it at you."
Rogue rolls her eyes, grinning back over her own menu. "Yeah, you best not, 'less you wanna be humiliated when Ah drag you outta here by the scruff of your neck like a puppy. You oughta at least be able t'behave yourself in public."
Remy laughs, almost demurely for all the mischief in his eyes, giving his head a little shake. "I b'have if I got a *reason* to, chere." Any other thick-throated and thinly veiled suggestions he might have made, however, are waylaid by the arrival of the waitress; for all his claim of 'a whol lot of Italian', the complicated name rolls off his tongue with a better sound than his everyday English.
That saves Rogue from having to answer that, in any case, and once he's gotten his order made and the waitress turns towards her, she requests the manicotti for herself. "...an' a small salad."
The 'salad' seems to amuse Remy yet more, his eyes hiding behind his lashes as he hands the menu back to the waitress. "So, didn' fool you at all wit' de anonymous flowers, neh? Seems I got to work a l'il harder next time." Because of course Rogue seems so disappointed by the results. In the corner, the harpist bends carefully over the instrument.
"Too sneaky for y'own good," Rogue tells him, her drawl warm with amusement and affection. "S'just like you t'try t'do somethin' all anonymous an' pretend you didn't know nothin' about it."
"Ain't not'in' gettin' by you," Remy says, playfully exhasperated and waggling a hand in the air. "I'm jus' gonna give up on surprizin' you wit' anyt'in' one of dese days."
Rogue laughs, shaking her head at him as she reaches for her glass of wine. "Ah don't b'lieve it," she retorts. "You'd get bored too quick if you didn't have somethin' t'get up to. You enjoy it too much."
The laugh Remy produces implies he can't quite argue with Rogue's observation. "Man's gotta get his fun somehow, n'est pas? B'sides, I said it b'fore an' I prob'ly be sayin' it 'til I die; you wouldn' know what to do wit' me if I jus' went straight-arrow all of de sudden. Whole time you'd be lookin' for whatever I was hidin' b'hind my back, whet'er dere was anyt'in' dere or not." It touches, a little, on how little Remy percieves other people trusting him, but he's in much too good a mood at the moment to dwell on that as he might have some other time.
"Oh, Ah dunno," Rogue answers easily, "but it might get kinda borin' for one or th'other of us."
Under harp music and over good food, the night will linger, but it of course can't last forever. Once the bottle of wine has been emptied and the bill paid, it is will a softer and again secretive smile that Remy stands, offering his arm to Rogue even as he makes to pull out her chair. "Well, you said somet'in' 'bout me plannin' dis for a whole mont'...I guess in someways, I been plannin' dis for two years. So I don' know if dis next bit gets to be rehash for you, but I s'pose you'll humor me even if it is?"
Rogue accepts the arm he offers with a smile, though her expression shades quickly into interest and vague confusion at his words. "Ah'm sure Ah ain't got th'first clue, darlin'... but if it turns out Ah covered this ground before, Ah promise Ah won't be disappointed."
"Well," Remy says, drawing the word out as he escorts Rogue to the door of the restaurant. Just outside, she'll find, the Cajun has again pulled the strings and rung the bells he always seems to have at hand to arrange for a horse-drawn carriage; in the dim light, its black seems all the more glossy, the dapple grey horse standing tall and patient. "Ain't so much the ground as how it's covered I'm worried 'bout."
Oh, yes, Rogue remembers this - and it's a memory that she's more than happy to revisit. Her response is a bubbling-up of surprised and delighted laughter. "Damn. Ah didn't even know you could get a horse-drawn carriage ride in this town."
This Remy, of course, never got a chance to impliment his first Sneaky Plan For Horsedrawn Carriage Rides because of the rude interruption that the Infinity Portal imposed upon his life; there's a certain not-terribly-small part of him that is eternally grateful for the chance to try it again. "Can't, us'lly," The Cajun says, that oh so self-satisfied smile dancing over his face again. The footman already has the door open, so for Remy it is only a matter of standing by the carriage and lending Rogue a hand as she clambers in, and then climbing in behind her.
It's different this time. No pall cast over the evening by the death of a little girl. Not so much mistrust between them. Rogue is smiling as Remy helps her up into the carriage, a bit of a secretive smile not unlike the one he was wearing moments ago, and though she remembers what she told him on that other evening as he helped her up into that other carriage, she doesn't feel the need to repeat it now. Instead, as she settles into the seat and arranges the skirt of her kimono, she says airily, "Thank you, darlin'. You do know how t'treat a girl." Sometimes, anyhow.
"I try." At least, sometimes. Remy swings up into the carriage easily, and something passes between he and the driver-slash-footman that is almost silent and mostly consisting of gestures. No opportunity for witty implications this time--apparently Gambit knows where the carriage is going. "You know, for a girl dat don't seem to have a *lick* of Oriental blood, you sure do make the Asian fashions look *damn* good."
Rogue is content to snuggle up against Remy's side, and lean her cheek against his shoulder. "Ah think they mostly look good all on their own, but you are sweet t'say so." She doesn't ask where they're going - for once, maybe, she'll be content to wait and see.
Remy makes a soft, dismissive noise, completely willing to let Rogue cuddle closer to him. "Non, dis time I'm jus' speakin' trut'. 'Course, mebbe I'm biased b'cause I t'ink jus' 'bout anyt'in' looks damn good on you." It's okay for him to say things like that because it's Valentine's Day and she's snuggled up against him in a horsedrawn carriage. The city slips away past the vehicle slowly, to the steady rhythm of clopclop-clopclop.
Rogue laughs softly, pleased by the compliment. "Could be," she agrees in a warm, fond tone. "Ah don't think that's exactly whatcha call 'objective.' But it's awful nice t'hear."
"Well, you know me, got an opinion on everyt'in'." Remy grins, doing absolutely nothing to resist the urge to lean his head against Rogue's gently. "Y'know," He says, after a moment of quiet passes, "Seems t'me you laugh a lot more den you used to."
Rogue makes a quiet "Mmm," sound. "Think so?" she wonders, and then takes a moment or two to consider the possibility. "Could be right. Could be Ah got more t'laugh about than Ah used to."
The carriage swings around slowly; the horse doesn't seem at all perturbed by the late-night traffic, instead making his placid and sure-footed away from the restaurant towards the park. Remy leans back a little, just to consider Rogue a little better, his smile soft. "You t'ink so? C'est bien, je pense. So many of de ot'ers I talk to, dey miss what was on de ot'er side of de portal. Regret dey was ever sucked t'rough." Gambit is pretty sure he likes this side better.
"Mmm, well, Ah kinda miss havin' th'Mansion an' all its facilities at my disposal," Rogue will allow, "but 'side from that, seems t'me that ev'rything important Ah had there's here just as good." Better, in some cases.
"Everyt'in'?" Remy asks, quietly pleased, as the carriage turns off of the street onto the pathway that winds through the park. It's just wide enough. "C'est vrai?" Tonight just keeps turning out better and better, and the silly way Gambit's mouth quirks evidences that even as he lifts his head briefly to watch the scenery.
"Mmm-hmm," Rogue confirms, in a sleepy sort of sing-song. This is nice, especially now that they've left the city lights behind for the stillness of the park. "S'right."
Remy will let the silence stretch out, comfortable, as the carriage meanders around the park. The Cajun is quite content with the way things have grown to be, these days, secretly pleased at the fact that the silences aren't always uncomfortable any more. It's probably almost a half an hour later, as the carriage is turning out of the park again towards School House Road that he murmurs almost below the edge of hearing, "Je t'aime."
Rogue doesn't answer - at least not in words. Instead, she lifts a gloved hand, pressing her fingertips to her lips in a silent kiss, and then reaches up with the same hand to lightly touch Remy's mouth.
There is a little pang, there--just a little one--that shadow kisses from well-worn gloves are as close as he gets, but it's an old, old pain and despite it Remy's mouth curves into a deeper smile under Rogue's fingers. When the carriage finally swings around to stop just before Kitty's house, the Cajun will squirm out from beneath her only so that he can dart around and offer her a hand down again. Sure, the girl could just levitate to the ground--but it takes away some of the moment, really.
This way is more fun. When her feet are safely on the ground, Rogue leans in for a brief, warm hug. "Thank you," she says, half into his shirt. "Ah had a wonderful time." And then she's stepping back, smiling fondly up at him.
"Anytime, ma chere." At least, any time they aren't trying to keep on opposite sides of the city from one another. Remy lingers before her, and in the light of her smile, before he's stepping back again. He has to be getting back to Chinatown, after all, and paying the coachman. "Happy Valentine's Day, Rogue."
Rogue begins picking her way to the front door of Kitty's house, her progress rather slowed by a tendency to smile back at Remy over her shoulder. "Happy Valentine's, Remy," she answers before she finally turns her attention to unlocking the door.
Finis!