PI LOG: Late Night Line Cook -- Eris, Remy and Warren

[rlebeau]

Remy takes Warren to Ogori's after hours for some quick-made stir-fry and conversation. The former turns out just fine, but the latter turns sour several times.



Ogori's -- Chinatown

The rain that had fallen off and on all day has left the air smelling clean, if somewhat wet and heavy in the lungs. It's stopped now, at least for the moment, the cloud cover drifting off until the stars are once more visible. Eris has taken this chance to climb back up onto her roof - something she's been unable to do for most of the winter. It's still a little too chilly, and she's wrapped herself up in a thick comforter, her feet tucked between folds of the blanket, and is leaning against the air conditioning vent that sits just off to the side of the huge skylight that looks down into her apartment. Cold or not, it's peaceful up here - though, truth be told, she's far too stoned, and far too drunk to care about the cold, wrapped in the comforting haze of brandy and valium.

Technically, Ogori's is closed. Technically, Remy LeBeau has never cared about little things like *locks* or *business hours*. He barely passes his hand over the knob and the door springs open for him--the Cajun only pauses long enough to throw his cigarette to the curb before he's stepping inside, saying over his shoulder to a companion, "-ey ain't gonna care, c'mon. Worse comes to worse we raid de kitchen an' leave some cash on de table. But I s'pect *somebody's* home." Bright eyes flicker through the darkened dining room, while Remy steps inside and to the side to let his friend enter, sweeping a hand through his hair.

Said companion is six feet of blue-skinned blue-blood, with stylish blonde hair, a white tee shirt, and a pair of bluejeans. "You know, this ain't Xavier's kitchen, LeBeau," Warren chides the Cajun jokingly. Still, Warren brushes back his hair and follows Remy in with hands in pockets. "If we raid and go, you're leaving a tip as well as full price for the food."

The dining room is, indeed dark, and completely empty - but there's food aplenty to be had, if one knows where to find it, and Remy ought to know by now. There's cold gyoza in the fridge, and rangoons made up, ready to be fried the next time they're needed. Cold stir fry sitting in a bowl, carefully covered - though Remy ought to also know that that's Eris', and she might swat if she discovers him eating her food. Then again, she might be grateful. Michiko has been giving her hell lately over the fact that more and more, too much of what's left for her goes uneaten.

The door that leads upstairs to Eris' apartment is open, faint light from the bathroom near the top of the stairs spilling downward - along with the smell of brandy. She'd had a bit of trouble, negotiating her way up the stairs with both a full bottle of brandy, and a full snifter. It's a miracle she made it up to the roof, without getting splatted on the ground.

"Oughta call it my bill for all dose lessons," Remy says, under his breath, before his eyes are drawn to the light spilling down from the door. It's faint, but in the absense of other light, it's obvious. Quiet feet lead to the staircase, and when the smell of brandy strikes his nose, Remy frowns softly. He knows, too well, that Eris isn't the type to waste good brandy. "Eris?" He calls, softly, up the staircase.

"Eris?" Warren parrots Remy softly, but the mockery is gone. Now he's quiet and curious. "Girlfriend?" he asks, but it's a half-hearted mock. He glances up the staircase, then crosses his arms and leans up against a wall. "Smells like she's been hitting the good stuff," he comments.

There's no answering call from the apartment - but that, in and of itself, is meaningless. Eris has been known to drug or drink herself into too deep a sleep for easy waking before. And she's not always home, particularly when the weather is very nice - or very awful. A chill breeze drifts down the stairs, at odds with the warmth of the kitchen.

"Yeah," Remy confirms to Warren, looking back over his shoulder with flat and not-quite-amused eyes. "*Scott's*. An' she does dat a lot." The breath of a breeze brings another frown--and a twinge of irony--to Gambit, and he waves meaningfully at Warren. "Hold on a sec." Then, he's creeping up the stairs, straining to see. "Eris?" It's a little louder, this time.

"Scott's?" Warren asks at Remy's back as he starts to climb the stairs. Clearly Warren's both amused and bothered simultaneously. "Scott without Jean is like a world without Xavier," he mutters, then sighs and shakes his head. Turning away from the staircase, Warren heads into the kitchen to search for some scotch. This world just got a whole lot less homey.

Vaguely, Eris can hear Remy calling her - the balconey door is open just enough to allow her to hear that much, but it requires far too much effort to call back, so she just smiles vaguely, and pats the skylight next to her. Warren will have no trouble at all finding scotch - Eris keeps a rather full bar down there. Most of the bottles there are of fair to middling quality, with a few bottles of high quality booze.

Remy pauses, just long enough to call back to Warren, "I'd say so, since dat's where you is. Dere's a Jean, she just ain't wit' Scott. Go figure." He finishes the climb to the apartment just in time to hear the patting of the skylight, and for a moment his bright eyes are clearly visible through it as he looks up through, and tries to decide--or remember--how to get up there. "Hey, ain't it a l'il cold to be doin' dat?"

Warren skims through the bar and finds a Johny Walker Gold Label recently cracked. "Hmm," he says as he pulls it out and eyes the year. Skimming around, he finds a scotch glass and fills it to half. Capping the bottle, he puts it back under the bar, then heads over to a booth where he can await Remy's return.

Getting up to the roof is fairly simple - the door to the balconey reveals a ladder set into the wall, that leads right up to the roof. Eris grins down at the flash of red eyes from below, and climbs to her feet, bottle of brandy in one hand, blanket in the other. Somewhere along the way, she lost her snifter. More likely than not it's a part of the ever-present broken glass that scatters the alleyway next to the restaurant.

The Cajun narrows his eyes for a moment, trying to decide if Eris is wobbling, before he sticks his head out onto the balcony and cups a hand to call up. "Hey! You gonna come down here? I brough' a friend. If not, we's gonna raid de fridge an' run off wit' all de good booze." Remy's tone is playful, and does well to hide the lurking concern.

Bringing the glass to his mouth, Warren takes a shallow sip of the scotch. He lets it roll on his tongue for a moment, considering the smokey taste before swallowing it. "Wonder what's keeping Gambit," he mutters thoughtfully, eyeing the staircase. "He takes too much longer I ain't gonna wait for him."

Oh no no no. She can't be allowing that to happen. Eris needs her good booze. She's not done with it yet. Tottering towards the edge of the roof, she trips over the edge of her blanket, recovering with a drunken giggle. At the very edge, she drops the blanket over the side of the roof. She can't climb down that ladder and hold onto blanket and bottle both, after all. And it's much more important to hold onto the bottle. Bare feet reach for each rung of the ladder, as she descends, holding the bottle of brandy tight to her chest, her other hand wrapped tightly around the edge of the ladder. "Remy! You can't take my booze. I'm not done with it yet!"

"Well, you'd better hurry, den, ain't you?" Remy half-chastizes, watching Eris' progess with a critical eye. He's already reached out to take the blanket and coil it over one arm. "Take yer blanket too. Jus' clean de place out, hunh? C'mon, you oughta meet Warren. Try not to drunk at him too much. An' don' remind him his wings ain't fluffy no more." A flash of a charmer's grin, and Gambit is already moving away. Once Eris is safe on solid ground, that is.

Warren eyes his scotch a moment, then looks back towards the door. "Mmm," he grumbles softly, then takes another sip. "God only knows why we can't have dinner at a reasonable hour," he mutters after swallowing, then sets the scotch back to the table. He spins the glass lightly, then sighs. "Come on, Remy. I'm gettin hungry," he breathes.

"I'm not drunk." Eris protests, drifting through the open balcony door and across her living room. There's a reason why she doesn't tend to have a lot of furniture. Less to trip over when she's plastered. She gives Remy a wounded look as she weaves past him, reaching out impulsively to tap her finger against his nose - her eyes are wide, but the green in them is nearly eclipsed by huge, distended pupils. She *is* drunk - but that's not all she is. Giggling, she just shakes her head and starts down the stairs, leaning against the wall the entire way. Warren. That name ought to mean something. Something. It's niggling at her, but she can't remember why. "Hello Remy-friend," is called, before she even makes it into the kitchen.

She has to be drunk, because she *touched* him, without *needing* to. Remy's surprize actually shows on his face, briefly, washing out before he has a chance to haul his empathy back inwards and lock it down. Uh..okay. Still, he ghosts down the stairs after having set the blanket down, passing Eris just at the bottom of the stairwell with careful fingers over her shoulders to alert her to his presence. "See, Warren, I found Eris. Now, we's jus' usin' de food, not stealin' it."

Warren raises a brow of questioning as the obviously drunk woman makes her way into the kitchen. He still doesn't respond as Remy follows her. Finally, when Remy speaks to him, Warren takes another sip of his scotch, then asks, "That means you're cooking, right?" He grins at Remy, then sets the drink down and slides out of the booth to go greet Eris. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Warren Worthington." He offers his hand.

Eris stops, just short of the table, looking at Warren for a long, long moment. "Remy," she says finally, that hand all but ignored. "Your friend is very blue. Should I turn the heat up?" Blue. Blue-skinned. Warren. Something.. no. It's gone again. Turning back to Warren, she weaves another step towards the table, and sinks down into the chair, graceful for all of her tottering. "Eris. Welcome to Ogori's. We're closed, but Remy doesn't know what that means."

"Freak blueberry accident when he was younger," Remy says, solemnly, walking not to the bar but behind it, where he can lean on it and watch the other two with ready access to a Professional Grade Kitchen! "Mebbe if you rub hard 'nough, it'll come off." Warren's probably just about to kill him. "An' I t'ought 'closed' don' count wit' family. What'm I makin' for you two, anyway?"

He might be, if he weren't in a good mood. As it is, Warren simply reaches up and smacks the Cajun on the back of the head ... hard, but with the underside of his fingers. "Chicken and fried rice with vegetables," he says as he heads back towards his table. "And no blueberries."

"Not hungry," Eris demurs, leaning over to snag a glass. The brandy is poured and a cigarette is lit before she stops, staring down at the table in dismay. "Remy? I don't have anything for my ashes. Michiko will kill me if I get them on the table." Huge green eyes, pleading expression. "Fix this?"

Remy doesn't bother to duck the backhand--although he probably saw it coming--instead tanking the hit with a little hissing 'yeow' at the edge of his voice. Then his eyes are trailing to Eris, and he shakes his head scoldingly. "'Course you're hungry. B'cause you ain't gonna insult a man by turnin' down his cookin', are you, chere?" But then he's detaching from the bar to retrieve an ashtray that can be slid in Eris' direction. "Wouldn' do wit' Michiko kickin' nobody. Like to break her foot on your hard head."

Warren raises a brow at the verbal banter, but he doesn't say a word to it. Instead, he chooses an entirely different course of action. "Quit gawkin and talkin and get with the cooking," he says to Remy, then brings his scotch up and takes another sip.

"Not hungry," Eris says again, sullenly - but it's mostly under her breath. "You're as bad as the other two," is what she tells Remy instead, rolling her eyes. "Always making me eat." Warren gets a glance, her eyes filled with hazy mischief. "You put up with him on purpose?"

"He jus' likes m'pretty face." Gambit says to Eris, poking his tongue out briefly at Warren before he's ducking back into the kitchen--which serves both to allow him to start on making food and to get him away from the blue man's liberal smacking hand. "'F you ate on your own, girl, we wouldn' try an' pipe it into you."

"Put up with?" Warren asks mock-quizzically. "No, I don't put up with Remy. /Someone/ has to keep the bastard in line when Rogue's not around." He gives Eris a wink, then finishes off his scotch and sets the glass down. "Besides, he's a half-decent cook, and I'm lazy and like bossing people around."

"Good luck with that." Eris drains her brandy, filling the glass again, and leans back in her seat, running her fingers through her hair. "I do eat, y'know," she calls over to Remy, turning her head to watch him cook. "We can't all be bottomless pits like you."

There's an eternally satisfying sound when Remy fires up the big hibachi, a sort of deep hum from from the hood that breaks an unadulteredly pleased smile to his face. To Warren, he briefly flips the bird, but Eris gets a flash of that pleased grin. "Anyt'in' in de fridge I oughta leave be, Eris?"

Warren casually ignores the finger, then stands and goes to refill his glass. "Want something to drink?" he asks Eris as he heads towards the bar. "Don't burn yourself Remy," he calls in to the kitchen. "That fire's hot."

"Mama-san has some meat marinating for bulgogi tomrrow. Y'touch that *I* will take your hands off," Eris promises, though she's grinning. "Other than that - help yourself. If you happened to throw some rangoons into the oil for a bit, I might not say no to a couple." She blinks over at Warren, then looks dazedly down at her glass. "Still full. I think."

"Don' you be encouragin' her," Remy points a scolding finger at Warren before he opens the fridge and peers inside. "Rangoons, check. Don' touch de stuff in de marinade." The Cajun shuffles through ingrediants, pulling out some and leaving the others, before he starts alloting things between the hibachi and a wok set to the side with oil for deep-frying. He could use the deep-fryer itself--but that would take real effort and probably envoke line cook flashbacks.

Warren snickers at Remy's mother-henning and fills up his glass of scotch once again. "Scott's, eh?" he mutters softly to Remy as he watches the man put together what he'll need, then shakes his head. "Shame." All this quiet enough that the flames on the grill should be loud enough to cover it from the ears at the table. Warren winks at Remy, then heads back over to reclaim his seat. "So, you a native or an import?"

"Native." It's ridiculous, how easily the strange becomes normal here. Eris sips at her brandy, her cigarette burning, largely unattended, in the ashtray. "Most of my friends are imports, though - like the Cajun over there. And Rogue. She works here." Another large swallow of brandy, and Eris sets the glass aside. "Remy? If you're making stir-fry, I think Michiko had some leftover shitake mushrooms from dinner tonight. They're probably already sliced, if you want to use them. Just look in the veggie bin in the fridge."

Nodding, the Cajun goes for the vegetable bin, fishing out price-sliced mushrooms for ease-of-cooking. One of them goes straight into Remy's mouth without stopping to pass the hibachi grill or collect any sort of sauce whatsoever. The noise of the grill such as it is, Gambit can't hear Warren's muttering, and therefore can't warn of the apparent empathic bond Scott and Eris share, or of Scott's gun. "So, when's it dat *I'm* gonna get somet'in' to drink, eh?"

"After I have food?" Warren asks, but he winks at Eris and pushes himself out of the seat once more. "What do ya want?" he asks as he returns to the bar. "We've got milk and water ... not much else."

Sliding out of her own seat, Eris grins at Warren, making her way towards the kitchen, with much use of the walls, and chairs along the way. "I can warm up some sake for you, Remy," she offers, snitching a piece of mushroom for herself on her way past him. Mmm. Sake. That would go nicely with brandy.

"I promise," Remy says in a flat voice, "I'm over twenny-one. I can handle a l'il liquor. But not," There's a beat now, where Gambit looks over his shoulder at Warren, sternly. "As much as las' time." He doesn't need another tongue ring, damnit. Eris gets a more genial smile. "See, *one* of you's got some sense."

"Sake and brandy," Warren says in a voice almost as flat as Remy's. "That's like Coffee and blue cheese." He screws up his face in distaste, then says, "Great on their own, but together? You're just begging for trouble." Warren returns to his seat and his drink while Eris fetches the Sake. "And Remy ... just a few moments ago you were telling me not to encourage her, and now you're saying she's the sensible one?"

"I am the sensible one," Eris says, setting up the pot to warm the sake. "Ask anyone. Except Michiko. And.. well, maybe not Scott." That makes her smile, though, her expression warming. "And what's wrong with coffee and blue cheese? You just have to make the right kind of coffee." Eris frowns down at the sake pot, though, her expression growing troubled for just a moment, before she pushes the thought away.

Remy brandishes a kitchen utensil at Warren, briefly, "When she's gettin' me booze, she's de sensible one. An' if you ask me, blue cheese don't go wit' *not'in'*, but dat's jus' me." Chop chop, fry fry; the food is a symphony. At least, to Gambit, it is, and working with it only improves his mood. That impish grin hasn't faded since he started up the hibachi.

Warren chuckles and takes another sip of his drink. "Sure, Remy, sure." he says as he leans back and gets comfortable. He watches Eris prawl around the kitchen beneath lidded eyes, considering her. But he doesn't say anything ... he just lets her and Remy do their thing while he nurses his scotch.

The stimulation of company has done Eris good - she rarely gets quite so messed up when she's with other people. It's put color into her cheeks, and she's smiling more - though some of that *can* likely be attributed to the booze and drugs still in her system. She still moves like she's not quite there, drifting back through the kitchen, and sprawling into her chair, a half-dreaming smile on her face as she reaches for her glass. "So.." she asks Warren, pulling herself out of her daze enough to look over at him. "Are *you* an import? I think I'd remember if I'd seen you before."

Fot the moment, Remy will let the other two talk, focusing his attention on fixing the food. Luckily, stir fry doesn't take long, and it won't be but a few more minutes before the Cajun is done cooking altogether.

"Yea," Warren says in response, giving a slight shrug. "Got dropped in the badland on Remy's head." Grinning, Warren says, "He decided to show me Beacon Harbor's finer atmosphere that first night ... and speaking of, Remy, didn't I hear something about a tongue-ring?"

Eris can't help perking a little at that, and shuddering just a little too. Because, ow. "Tongue ring?" she calls, glancing over towards the Cajun curiously. "And just what did Rogue have to say about that?" The brandy glass is refilled, before Eris rememebers that she has sake warming. Ahh well, not as though any of it will go to waste before the night is done. "Do you all want to take this upstairs? I've a stereo up there we can try out, and less mess to clean up before Michiko gets here in the morning."

The change in Remy's demeanor is sudden, and drastic. He looks up over his shoulder at Warren, eyes bright and hard. "I don' want to talk 'bout it. An' I'd 'preciate it if you didn' go talkin' 'bout it to anybody else. *Merci.*" The Cajun doesn't speak for a few moments, maybe to get a hold of himself, before he's saying to Eris as if he didn't snap at all; "Where-ever. Pretty much done here anyway."

Warren raises an eyebrow at Remy's rather cold response, but he doesn't push the point. Instead, he heads back into the bar and grabs the bottle of scotch. "After you," he says to Eris with a warm smile.

Eris hasn't moved since Remy snapped, staring at the Cajun with wide eyes. It takes her a moment to pull out of that enough to nod at the both of them, leaning against the handrail as she leads the way upstairs. "Don't worry, Remy-san," she calls quietly to Remy as she flips lights on. "I won't say anything to Rogue. I - have occasionally done stupid things when I was drunk."

It's probably a good thing Remy has a certain sense of agility and balance, since they're leaving him to carry all the food upstairs alone. He manages anyhow, carefully shutting the kitchen down again before he follows. "'Preciate it, Eris. I can't figure it's somet'in' Rogue'd take too well." Mostly, he's thinking of what came *with* the tongue piercing he's since had removed.

"I doubt she'd much mind a tongue ring on you," Warren says with a cheeky grin at Remy. But he shrugs anyways and glances about the upstairs apartment. "Not a bad place, you've got," he comments.

Eris is rather proud of her home. It might not be huge, but it's all hers, neat and tidy - aside from the piles of books stacked around the walls. She clears the table for Remy, and then settles into one corner of the couch. "Thank you. I like it - I know it isn't very big, but.. it's about perfect for me." One hand points out the bathroom, then shifts to point at the balcony doors. "Bathroom and the porch. Help yourself to either."

"An' when, 'xactly, woul' she have de oppertunity to form an 'pinion on me havin' a tongue ring, Warren?" There's that inexplicable coldness in Remy's voice again, as he follows Eris to the table so he can set out the food he's precariously balanced up the stairs. It fades almost immediately, however, as he fusses with the food, a vaguely distant expression and telepathic shielding protecting his true feelings from edging through again.

"I'm not going to tell her," Warren says with a slight roll of his eyes as he joins them at the table and slinks down on one of the cushions. Setting the scotch and his glass down on the table, he continues with, "I'm just saying I doubt she'd be all that upset if you did tell her. It's just the circumstances that might bother her." He gives Eris a wink.

Eris is growing uncomfortable - she can feel the flicker of cold anger from Remy before he gets it back under control, and there's something about the way Warren is teasing the Cajun that disturbs her. Habit has her returning the wink with a smile, playing along - but she's cold inside, reaching for the sake to try and warm herself up. Nor will she ask about the circumstances. Some things are none of her business - and with Remy and Rogue both friends - some things she doesn't *want* to be any of her business.

Remy looks up through his bangs at Warren, the expression still distinctly unamused. "B'cause Rogue's 'lways been a real rational, forgivin' girl." Apparently, at least tonight, this is a Button and Warren keeps mashing it. "Look, I said I didn' wanna talk 'bout it." Gambit is going to choose to blame Warren's stubborn bullheadedness on the blue skin, just now.

Warren raises a brow at Remy's response. "You're missing the point entirely, but that's alright. Not really important anyways." He takes another sip of his scotch, then eyes the food. Grabbing a pair of chopsticks, he picks through the conglomeration, then puts a bite in his mouth and smiles. "Not bad," he proclaims as he swallows.

"He's not a bad cook," Eris allows grudgingly, though she helps herself only to a rangoon, settling comfortably onto her pillow and eating the fried treat in between sips of sake. "You should come here some night when Michiko is cooking. She's been teaching me, but I'm nowhere near as good as she is yet."

"Ev'ry time I come here when Michiko's 'round, I swear I leave five pounds heavier." Which the Cajun probably burns off by the end of the night, but that's a moot point. Remy half-glowers a little longer, unwinding little by little in the privacy of his own mind. "'Dough I don' want her to be gettin' de idea I'm 'voidin' her."

"I should come here some time when it's /not/ after-hours," Warren replies back to Eris with a grin, then shrugs and picks at his food some more. "I'll make it a point to, with or without Remy."

That disturbs Eris again - something about it tugging at her. Uncomfortable with the entire situation, she takes another long drink of sake, before popping the last of her rangoon into her mouth. Swallowing, she shakes her head at Remy. "She thinks that, she'll just be sending me to fetch you. Hell, Scott *tries* to avoid her, and only succeeds half the time."

Here, Remy grins, the expression heralding a gradual return to good humor. "Well, I wouldn' wanna put you outta your way lookin' for me b'cause Michiko's got it in her head Son Number Two's runnin' off every which way without a proper supper." Gambit's then looking for a cup of sake he might call his own, even as he's allotting himself some of the stirfry with careful chopsticks.

Warren chuckles softly, but doesn't seem to have anything else to say. He sits in silence, eating his food and seeming to enjoy it. Periodically, he goes for the scotch again, but in general he remains silent.

Eris won't take her pills around someone she doesn't know, but she will think about it, now and again glancing over at the counter where she keeps her supply hidden, distracting herself from the thought with small sips of sake. "You know mama-san - she just wants her family happy, is all," she says finally. "I think she understands why Scott hides - that's why she doesn't go after him so much, unless she has to. You - she'd worry more if you vanished. It's not your way."

"Don't know me very well," Remy says, the amusement back in his voice. "When you gotta worry is if I don't show back up after disappearin'. Us'lly means I got m'self in over my head." Which *never* happens, no, *never*.

"Of course not," Eris replies, more tartly than she has so far tonight. She might as well have said "Men," as clearly as it comes through in her tone. "Just be grateful that never occurs to *her*, Remy." Eris glances at Warren, her smile not dimming. "Mama-san is a bit protective. And she tends to adopt people rather randomly."

Finis!