Remy, Amanda - Monday evening
Apr. 9th, 2007 08:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_daytripper posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsAn unexpected phone call.
"Hey Ange, how's... Oh, sorry, thought you were someone else." The blonde witch frowned at the voice on the other end of her cell phone, straightening in her seat. "No, sorry, Betsy's not here." She reached for a pencil, balancing the phone in the crook of her shoulder. "Can I take a message..." Her eyes widened at the response to that. "Natasha Romanova? From Russia? Um, look, sorry, Betsy's really not here, so I can't... Remy? Um, yeah, I can put you onto him."
Amanda got up from her desk, ignoring the curious glance of Marie-Ange at the conversation she was having. "Can I ask how you got this num... yeah, I didn't think I could." Reaching Remy's office, she tapped on the doorframe, since the door was partially open. "Yeah, here he is." She handed the phone to the startled Cajun with nothing more than a 'Romanova, wanting Betsy or you', and then left, closing the door behind her.
It wasn't much more than five minutes later before the eruption of Creole swearing, and a muffled crunch against the wall. Amanda winced, about to protest the apparent death of her cell phone, when the door jerked open and Remy emerged. One look at his face closed her mouth - he looked ready to disembowel the first person in his path. When he looked at her, she almost stepped back, expecting to receive the barrage. Instead, he said:
"I need you to get me a flight to Russia. Two seats on de way back."
"Sure, but two?" Amanda frowned. "Who's the other one for? I'll need a name for the airline people."
"Illyana Rasputin."
"Hey Ange, how's... Oh, sorry, thought you were someone else." The blonde witch frowned at the voice on the other end of her cell phone, straightening in her seat. "No, sorry, Betsy's not here." She reached for a pencil, balancing the phone in the crook of her shoulder. "Can I take a message..." Her eyes widened at the response to that. "Natasha Romanova? From Russia? Um, look, sorry, Betsy's really not here, so I can't... Remy? Um, yeah, I can put you onto him."
Amanda got up from her desk, ignoring the curious glance of Marie-Ange at the conversation she was having. "Can I ask how you got this num... yeah, I didn't think I could." Reaching Remy's office, she tapped on the doorframe, since the door was partially open. "Yeah, here he is." She handed the phone to the startled Cajun with nothing more than a 'Romanova, wanting Betsy or you', and then left, closing the door behind her.
It wasn't much more than five minutes later before the eruption of Creole swearing, and a muffled crunch against the wall. Amanda winced, about to protest the apparent death of her cell phone, when the door jerked open and Remy emerged. One look at his face closed her mouth - he looked ready to disembowel the first person in his path. When he looked at her, she almost stepped back, expecting to receive the barrage. Instead, he said:
"I need you to get me a flight to Russia. Two seats on de way back."
"Sure, but two?" Amanda frowned. "Who's the other one for? I'll need a name for the airline people."
"Illyana Rasputin."
