PI LOG: The World Of Me And You -- Remy and Rogue
A beautiful day, but the Cajun and his paramour spend it inside, speaking in silliness and generally re-learning that they can, indeed, be comfortable in each other's company.
Remy's Apartment -- Greenwood Properties
Outside, the day is calm and easy, warm for winter and clearskied. Usually, Remy would be out and about in weather such as this, but for whatever unfathomable reasons the Cajun has opted to stay inside. He's at least thrown the shades back from the living room window to allow for some natural light, and from the fire escape he is clearly visible seated on the couch, a growing dog sprawled across his lap. Gambit has the remote in one hand, pointed towards the television as if he's been surfing channels, but whatever is on the screen has captured his attention at least for the time being. Examination will prove it to be one of those semi-documentry shows following a woman through her pregnancy; the woman in question has curly, long brown hair and bears a passing--but no more than a passing--resemblence to Rogue. There's some sort of sad longing in the Cajun's eyes that he isn't bothering to hide, considering he believes he's alone, as he dallies on the show.
Rogue didn't really expect Remy to be in, but she had some time to kill anyhow, and it's become a natural inclination to drop by. Play with Jolie if he left her in. Water the fern. Whatever. As usual, she lands on the fire escape rather than coming to the door, and is actually in the process of opening the window when she realizes that Remy is actually *here,* and not just here but watching TV with the must peculiar expression on his face. Huh.
Just before he's aware of Rogue's presence, the expression on Remy's face changes, dipping slowly towards true sadness and frustration. Screwing his mouth up petulantly, he jabs the 'channel up' button on the remote a few times until the programming lands on something safe like 'Mythbusters'. And it's about then that the motion to the side attract his attention and Gambit glances over, the previous motion washing away frighteningly quickly to allow him to smile at Rogue and motion her in with his free hand.
Rogue offers an answering smile as she climbs in through the window and pulls it shut behind her... not without a curious sidelong look towards the TV. "What on earth are you watchin', sugah?" she wonders, her tone amiable and affectionate.
"Not'in'," Remy demurs, tossing the remote to one side while he lets the debunkers of urban legends do their thing. "What're you up to, t'day? 'S an awful pretty day to be wastin' visitin' my lame ass." As if he wasn't just lounging around inside like a slug. A little shifting, and Remy has arranged Jolie so that Rogue can sit on the couch. Rogue is enough of an entity that Jolie barely even looks up, her tail thumping against the couch. Hithere.
"Which explains why your lame ass is parked on th'couch watchin' TV," Rogue jibes back, wandering over to sit down in the space that was cleared for her. Gloved fingers reach out to ruffle Jolie's fur. "Hey, baby." The subject of the TV, she will let go, though something in the way she watches Remy's face may suggest she hasn't quite accepted his nonanswer.
Remy perks an eyebrow softly, setting the remote aside as he chooses to ignore the TV more than watch it. "Quoi?" He prompts, at Rogue's dubious examination of his face; he's managed to school whatever that peculiar longing was completely out of his expression, if there's any lingering, and instead he shows only a sort of distantly bemused curiousity. "Somet'in' on my face?"
Rogue laughs a little, a slightly exasperated sound, and shakes her head. "No, darlin', there's nothin' on your face. Ah was just wonderin' why you're cooped up inside on a nice day like today. Ain't usually your style."
"Felt like watchin' TV, I guess. Figured I'd take de Harley out later. Mebbe I jus' knew you was gonna drop by." Remy grins cheekily, almost smugly. "Ain't gonna miss out dat if I don't gotta. Harley better damn well still be down dere when I go later." Maybe Rogue will even come with him. Gambit wouldn't object to that.
Aw. Rogue grins back at him, foolishly pleased. "Ah didn't look, but if it ain't, Ah didn't take it anywhere. Where d'you go when you're out ridin', anyhow?" Inquiring minds want to know! Plus it sounds like fun.
Remy gestures vaguely with a hand, indicating twisting winding roads. "Anywhichwhere dat ain't closed off, really. A l'il bit nort' out of town an' de suburbs, dere's some roads dat get real twisty. Dey's real fun at about t'ree times de speed limit." He grins slyly, looking to Rogue out of the corner of his eyes. "B'sides, dere's 'lmost 'lways some sort of construction up dere, an' sholomin' de barrels really freaks de workers out."
"Remy!" The exclamation comes out amidst sudden incredulous laughter. "You're not s'posed t'do shit like that, you could hurt somebody!" Tsk!
"Aw, I ain't hurt nobody yet!" Gambit defends, putting a hand up as if it will protect him from Rogue. "I got quick reflexes. An' she's a good bike." Mostly due to Rogue, as Remy's grin somehow betrays.
"Yeah," Rogue agrees, with the satisfaction of one who knows exactly who is responsible for the bike's quality, "she is. An' you *best* be takin' good care of her, so Ah ain't tempted t'take her away from you. An' you're *still* not s'posed t'go tearin' through construction while there's people workin' on it. Just 'cause you got good reflexes don't mean they do."
Remy's expression shades almost to the insulted, and he cranes his neck to give Rogue an incredulous look. "I *do* take good care o'her. An' I got reflexes good 'nough for all of us." A heartbeat, and then he sniffs dramatically, eyes rolling. "Spoilsport."
"Rakehell," Rogue counters. "All it takes is one accident with a power tool, an' you'd feel real sorry 'bout it - if you weren't goin' too fast t'notice."
"*Spoilsport*." Remy repeats, with a little more gusto, eying Rogue out of the corner of his eye. "Comin' over here jus' to ruin my fun. What're you gonna do t'make it up t'me?"
Rogue's green eyes roll in humorous derision. "Oh, sure. Ah try t'keep you from gettin' someone hurt, an' Ah have t'make it up t'you? Like you can't have just as much fun drivin' someplace where people ain't tryin' t'work."
Remy gestures with his hand again, zig-zagging, before rousting the dog so he can flop over and put his head in Rogue's lap quite as if he owns it all. "Ain't no brightly colored barrels to weave t'rough, where dey ain't tryin' to work. Ain't *my* fault dey don' leave dem hangin' 'round."
"If it means that much t'you," Rogue drawls, eyeing Remy dryly as he settles his head oh so casually into her lap, "Ah will *get* you some barrels of your very own." In spite of her stern tone, it doesn't take long before her fingers are combing absently through his hair.
The childish sort of glee that Remy's eyes light up with is probably put on, but it's somehow complete anyways, and he grins up to Rogue behind the hand she uses to rearrange his hair. "You'd do dat, for me? Steal me m'very own big orange barrels? Aw, Roguey, I'm *touched*."
"Touched in th'head," Rogue retorts good-naturedly. "An' you go tellin' people Ah stole anything for you, Ah'll deny it up an' down an' call you a damn liar."
"An' dey'd never b'lieve it anyway. You ain't t'ief, neh?" Remy grins lopsidedly, still managing to consider Rogue with that vaguely smug and superior look he often has despite the fact that his hair is splayed over her lap. "B'sides, I'd never live it down, lettin' somebody else pull off a job so easy for me."
"Mmm-hmm," Rogue agrees, smiling indulgently as she keeps right on absently stroking his hair. "Which does beg th'question of why you ain't gone an' stolen your *own* barrels by now, y'big lazy-ass."
Remy's eyes almost closed, the distinct look of a pleased cat. "Jus' ain't de same. Dat's how you know a girl really likes you, see. She steals construction barrels for you." In leiu of so many other things Gambit would rather have, really.
"That a fact?" Rogue wonders, in a deliberately light, vague tone, as though in mild interest. "An' here Ah been thinkin' this whole time flowers were th'way t'go. Ah'll have t'keep that in mind next time Ah wanna let a guy know Ah like him."
"I'll expect to see lots of barrels." Gambit says, his voice picking up a playful tone of onorous intoning. She'd better not be giving anything to *other* guys. "B'sides, flowers are for girls. Ev'rybody knows dat."
Rogue makes an amused little "hm" sound. "Oh, Ah dunno," she drawls airily, "Jean-Paul sure seemed t'like th'roses Ah gave him." Now she's just teasing.
Remy smirks, doing an admirable job of stifling the almost reflexive jolt of jealousy. "I don' see where you're contradictin' what I said, chere," He says, almost lordingly, before reaching up to tug at some of the curls of Rogue's hair, the gesture pure and unadultered affection.
Remy smirks, doing an admirable job of stifling the almost reflexive jolt of jealousy. "I don' see where you're contradictin' what I said, chere," He says, almost lordingly, before reaching up to tug at some of the curls of Rogue's hair, the gesture pure and unadultered affection. (re)
Rogue can't hold back a yelp of giggling laughter, even as she swats gently at the hand that's tugging at her hair. "Remy! You are *awful,* boy. Just plain awful."
When Rogue laughs, Remy does as well, and for once the sound isn't stifled behind teeth as it often is. He lets it hang in the air for a moment--not once denying Rogue's accusation--before darting his hand away from her swatting only to reach up and tug again. "Why d'you always do dat?"
Rogue lets out a sound of amused exasperation through her teeth, like a quick chuff of a sigh. "Do what?"
"Bat my hands 'way every time I play wit' your hair." Remy says, placidly and with an almost child-like innocence that's terribly deceptive and terribly *wrong* on his face. He isn't considering her own expression, but rather the hair he has caught between his finger tips.
Rogue eyes him sternly, not in the least taken in by his expression and doing her best to make sure he knows it. "Well, maybe if you wasn't always *pullin'* on it. What are you, five?"
Now it's almost a pout. "But it bounces back to shape." Remy demonstrates by releasing the hair, to let it do just that. "An' it ain't like I pull it hard 'nough to hurt you." Only enough to pull it straight, mostly because he's fascinated by the way it moves, and partly because it's the only thing he *is* allowed to touch without gloves.
"You *are* five," Rogue says, but it's in an affectionate tone and she doesn't further protest his playing with her hair. It's not like he *could* pull it hard enough to really hurt, in any case.
"Only when I ain't fifty, chere." Remy says, quietly, still watching how her hair moves as he pushes it around, pulls curls straight or just runs them between his fingers. For a few seconds, whatever his reasons, the Cajun lets that mask he keeps up so often fade away and he smiles foolishly at her hair to mutter nearly below the threshold of hearing, "Ma belle femme."
Rogue can't help but smile, tenderly, green eyes lidding for a little while as she watches Remy with her head tucked down towards him. "Fifty, my ass," she says fondly. "You ain't gonna be grown up even when you *do* turn fifty." And she likes him that way.
"You gonna stick 'round an' tell me 'I tol' you so' when dat day comes?" Remy asks, still quietly, finally releasing Rogue's hair to simply fold his hands peacably beneath his chest. "B'cause dere ain't no use in provin' you wrong if I can't rub your face in it."
The question makes her pause, though the affectionate smile lingers on her face. "We should both live so long," Rogue says after a moment, lightly, and skims her gloved fingertips over his forehead. "But if we do, Ah'll give you an Ah told you so for your birthday. See f'Ah don't."
Letting his eyes close fully, Remy's mouth curls up more on one side than it does on the other. "I hold you to it." He assures her, with a quiet conviction, as he lets himself concentrate on the feel of her fingertips over his face, as marred by gloves as they are. "In fact, soon as I get up here, I'm gonna go write it down so I don't forget."
Rogue laughs quietly, and goes back to combing her fingers gently through Remy's hair. "Uh-huh. Sugah, by th'time you get around t'gettin' up, Ah bet you've forgotten all about it."
"Mmm," Remy says, almost sleepily, his mouth still twisted in a smile. "'F you keep dat up, you migh' jus' turn out t'be right." That's nice. She could do that for forever and Gambit might also forget everything else he wants or needs.
Finis!
Remy's Apartment -- Greenwood Properties
Outside, the day is calm and easy, warm for winter and clearskied. Usually, Remy would be out and about in weather such as this, but for whatever unfathomable reasons the Cajun has opted to stay inside. He's at least thrown the shades back from the living room window to allow for some natural light, and from the fire escape he is clearly visible seated on the couch, a growing dog sprawled across his lap. Gambit has the remote in one hand, pointed towards the television as if he's been surfing channels, but whatever is on the screen has captured his attention at least for the time being. Examination will prove it to be one of those semi-documentry shows following a woman through her pregnancy; the woman in question has curly, long brown hair and bears a passing--but no more than a passing--resemblence to Rogue. There's some sort of sad longing in the Cajun's eyes that he isn't bothering to hide, considering he believes he's alone, as he dallies on the show.
Rogue didn't really expect Remy to be in, but she had some time to kill anyhow, and it's become a natural inclination to drop by. Play with Jolie if he left her in. Water the fern. Whatever. As usual, she lands on the fire escape rather than coming to the door, and is actually in the process of opening the window when she realizes that Remy is actually *here,* and not just here but watching TV with the must peculiar expression on his face. Huh.
Just before he's aware of Rogue's presence, the expression on Remy's face changes, dipping slowly towards true sadness and frustration. Screwing his mouth up petulantly, he jabs the 'channel up' button on the remote a few times until the programming lands on something safe like 'Mythbusters'. And it's about then that the motion to the side attract his attention and Gambit glances over, the previous motion washing away frighteningly quickly to allow him to smile at Rogue and motion her in with his free hand.
Rogue offers an answering smile as she climbs in through the window and pulls it shut behind her... not without a curious sidelong look towards the TV. "What on earth are you watchin', sugah?" she wonders, her tone amiable and affectionate.
"Not'in'," Remy demurs, tossing the remote to one side while he lets the debunkers of urban legends do their thing. "What're you up to, t'day? 'S an awful pretty day to be wastin' visitin' my lame ass." As if he wasn't just lounging around inside like a slug. A little shifting, and Remy has arranged Jolie so that Rogue can sit on the couch. Rogue is enough of an entity that Jolie barely even looks up, her tail thumping against the couch. Hithere.
"Which explains why your lame ass is parked on th'couch watchin' TV," Rogue jibes back, wandering over to sit down in the space that was cleared for her. Gloved fingers reach out to ruffle Jolie's fur. "Hey, baby." The subject of the TV, she will let go, though something in the way she watches Remy's face may suggest she hasn't quite accepted his nonanswer.
Remy perks an eyebrow softly, setting the remote aside as he chooses to ignore the TV more than watch it. "Quoi?" He prompts, at Rogue's dubious examination of his face; he's managed to school whatever that peculiar longing was completely out of his expression, if there's any lingering, and instead he shows only a sort of distantly bemused curiousity. "Somet'in' on my face?"
Rogue laughs a little, a slightly exasperated sound, and shakes her head. "No, darlin', there's nothin' on your face. Ah was just wonderin' why you're cooped up inside on a nice day like today. Ain't usually your style."
"Felt like watchin' TV, I guess. Figured I'd take de Harley out later. Mebbe I jus' knew you was gonna drop by." Remy grins cheekily, almost smugly. "Ain't gonna miss out dat if I don't gotta. Harley better damn well still be down dere when I go later." Maybe Rogue will even come with him. Gambit wouldn't object to that.
Aw. Rogue grins back at him, foolishly pleased. "Ah didn't look, but if it ain't, Ah didn't take it anywhere. Where d'you go when you're out ridin', anyhow?" Inquiring minds want to know! Plus it sounds like fun.
Remy gestures vaguely with a hand, indicating twisting winding roads. "Anywhichwhere dat ain't closed off, really. A l'il bit nort' out of town an' de suburbs, dere's some roads dat get real twisty. Dey's real fun at about t'ree times de speed limit." He grins slyly, looking to Rogue out of the corner of his eyes. "B'sides, dere's 'lmost 'lways some sort of construction up dere, an' sholomin' de barrels really freaks de workers out."
"Remy!" The exclamation comes out amidst sudden incredulous laughter. "You're not s'posed t'do shit like that, you could hurt somebody!" Tsk!
"Aw, I ain't hurt nobody yet!" Gambit defends, putting a hand up as if it will protect him from Rogue. "I got quick reflexes. An' she's a good bike." Mostly due to Rogue, as Remy's grin somehow betrays.
"Yeah," Rogue agrees, with the satisfaction of one who knows exactly who is responsible for the bike's quality, "she is. An' you *best* be takin' good care of her, so Ah ain't tempted t'take her away from you. An' you're *still* not s'posed t'go tearin' through construction while there's people workin' on it. Just 'cause you got good reflexes don't mean they do."
Remy's expression shades almost to the insulted, and he cranes his neck to give Rogue an incredulous look. "I *do* take good care o'her. An' I got reflexes good 'nough for all of us." A heartbeat, and then he sniffs dramatically, eyes rolling. "Spoilsport."
"Rakehell," Rogue counters. "All it takes is one accident with a power tool, an' you'd feel real sorry 'bout it - if you weren't goin' too fast t'notice."
"*Spoilsport*." Remy repeats, with a little more gusto, eying Rogue out of the corner of his eye. "Comin' over here jus' to ruin my fun. What're you gonna do t'make it up t'me?"
Rogue's green eyes roll in humorous derision. "Oh, sure. Ah try t'keep you from gettin' someone hurt, an' Ah have t'make it up t'you? Like you can't have just as much fun drivin' someplace where people ain't tryin' t'work."
Remy gestures with his hand again, zig-zagging, before rousting the dog so he can flop over and put his head in Rogue's lap quite as if he owns it all. "Ain't no brightly colored barrels to weave t'rough, where dey ain't tryin' to work. Ain't *my* fault dey don' leave dem hangin' 'round."
"If it means that much t'you," Rogue drawls, eyeing Remy dryly as he settles his head oh so casually into her lap, "Ah will *get* you some barrels of your very own." In spite of her stern tone, it doesn't take long before her fingers are combing absently through his hair.
The childish sort of glee that Remy's eyes light up with is probably put on, but it's somehow complete anyways, and he grins up to Rogue behind the hand she uses to rearrange his hair. "You'd do dat, for me? Steal me m'very own big orange barrels? Aw, Roguey, I'm *touched*."
"Touched in th'head," Rogue retorts good-naturedly. "An' you go tellin' people Ah stole anything for you, Ah'll deny it up an' down an' call you a damn liar."
"An' dey'd never b'lieve it anyway. You ain't t'ief, neh?" Remy grins lopsidedly, still managing to consider Rogue with that vaguely smug and superior look he often has despite the fact that his hair is splayed over her lap. "B'sides, I'd never live it down, lettin' somebody else pull off a job so easy for me."
"Mmm-hmm," Rogue agrees, smiling indulgently as she keeps right on absently stroking his hair. "Which does beg th'question of why you ain't gone an' stolen your *own* barrels by now, y'big lazy-ass."
Remy's eyes almost closed, the distinct look of a pleased cat. "Jus' ain't de same. Dat's how you know a girl really likes you, see. She steals construction barrels for you." In leiu of so many other things Gambit would rather have, really.
"That a fact?" Rogue wonders, in a deliberately light, vague tone, as though in mild interest. "An' here Ah been thinkin' this whole time flowers were th'way t'go. Ah'll have t'keep that in mind next time Ah wanna let a guy know Ah like him."
"I'll expect to see lots of barrels." Gambit says, his voice picking up a playful tone of onorous intoning. She'd better not be giving anything to *other* guys. "B'sides, flowers are for girls. Ev'rybody knows dat."
Rogue makes an amused little "hm" sound. "Oh, Ah dunno," she drawls airily, "Jean-Paul sure seemed t'like th'roses Ah gave him." Now she's just teasing.
Remy smirks, doing an admirable job of stifling the almost reflexive jolt of jealousy. "I don' see where you're contradictin' what I said, chere," He says, almost lordingly, before reaching up to tug at some of the curls of Rogue's hair, the gesture pure and unadultered affection.
Remy smirks, doing an admirable job of stifling the almost reflexive jolt of jealousy. "I don' see where you're contradictin' what I said, chere," He says, almost lordingly, before reaching up to tug at some of the curls of Rogue's hair, the gesture pure and unadultered affection. (re)
Rogue can't hold back a yelp of giggling laughter, even as she swats gently at the hand that's tugging at her hair. "Remy! You are *awful,* boy. Just plain awful."
When Rogue laughs, Remy does as well, and for once the sound isn't stifled behind teeth as it often is. He lets it hang in the air for a moment--not once denying Rogue's accusation--before darting his hand away from her swatting only to reach up and tug again. "Why d'you always do dat?"
Rogue lets out a sound of amused exasperation through her teeth, like a quick chuff of a sigh. "Do what?"
"Bat my hands 'way every time I play wit' your hair." Remy says, placidly and with an almost child-like innocence that's terribly deceptive and terribly *wrong* on his face. He isn't considering her own expression, but rather the hair he has caught between his finger tips.
Rogue eyes him sternly, not in the least taken in by his expression and doing her best to make sure he knows it. "Well, maybe if you wasn't always *pullin'* on it. What are you, five?"
Now it's almost a pout. "But it bounces back to shape." Remy demonstrates by releasing the hair, to let it do just that. "An' it ain't like I pull it hard 'nough to hurt you." Only enough to pull it straight, mostly because he's fascinated by the way it moves, and partly because it's the only thing he *is* allowed to touch without gloves.
"You *are* five," Rogue says, but it's in an affectionate tone and she doesn't further protest his playing with her hair. It's not like he *could* pull it hard enough to really hurt, in any case.
"Only when I ain't fifty, chere." Remy says, quietly, still watching how her hair moves as he pushes it around, pulls curls straight or just runs them between his fingers. For a few seconds, whatever his reasons, the Cajun lets that mask he keeps up so often fade away and he smiles foolishly at her hair to mutter nearly below the threshold of hearing, "Ma belle femme."
Rogue can't help but smile, tenderly, green eyes lidding for a little while as she watches Remy with her head tucked down towards him. "Fifty, my ass," she says fondly. "You ain't gonna be grown up even when you *do* turn fifty." And she likes him that way.
"You gonna stick 'round an' tell me 'I tol' you so' when dat day comes?" Remy asks, still quietly, finally releasing Rogue's hair to simply fold his hands peacably beneath his chest. "B'cause dere ain't no use in provin' you wrong if I can't rub your face in it."
The question makes her pause, though the affectionate smile lingers on her face. "We should both live so long," Rogue says after a moment, lightly, and skims her gloved fingertips over his forehead. "But if we do, Ah'll give you an Ah told you so for your birthday. See f'Ah don't."
Letting his eyes close fully, Remy's mouth curls up more on one side than it does on the other. "I hold you to it." He assures her, with a quiet conviction, as he lets himself concentrate on the feel of her fingertips over his face, as marred by gloves as they are. "In fact, soon as I get up here, I'm gonna go write it down so I don't forget."
Rogue laughs quietly, and goes back to combing her fingers gently through Remy's hair. "Uh-huh. Sugah, by th'time you get around t'gettin' up, Ah bet you've forgotten all about it."
"Mmm," Remy says, almost sleepily, his mouth still twisted in a smile. "'F you keep dat up, you migh' jus' turn out t'be right." That's nice. She could do that for forever and Gambit might also forget everything else he wants or needs.
Finis!