xp_logs | Ororo and Remy | Friday night (Reply)

Remy and Ororo go out to celebrate - Ororo her upcoming birthday, Remy the fact that he isn't stuck in 1959 anymore. Hooray!

230 FIFTH had just reopened in Manhattan, celebrating a new renovation dubbed the Crystal by the Times' bar critic. Situated at the top of the Market Center building, it offered a spectacular view of the city, unimpeded through huge triangular panes of glass. The remainder of the rooftop was still closed in the winter months, but with the installation of the asymmetrical glassed in lounge, it could take advantage of the view for patrons all year around.

Remy chose it because he liked the view, the still undiscovered nature of the bar, but most of all, because it was new. It smelled new. The tables used brushed steel and black laminate, the lights were meant for a small theatre, the art was Nordic industrial fusion; in sort, it looked absolutely like nothing found in 1959, which was exactly how he wanted it.

In keeping with the ultra-modern theme, Ororo was wearing a slip of a black dress that would only have been welcome in the 1950s as a napkin, perhaps, or a handkerchief. She hadn't heard everything about Snow Valley's unfortunate time-traveling situation, just enough to know that Remy would probably be happiest if he never had to see another poodle skirt or letterman's jacket again.

The waiter took their drink orders and disappeared, leaving them sitting under a silver glazed eco-friendly flourescent. Remy looked around for a moment and finally leaned back in his seat.

"Never in my whole life have I ever been dis happy to be home."

"I suppose that is one way to learn to be grateful for what you have," Ororo remarked, amused. "And, it seems, when you have it."

"Chere, you know dat I'm grateful everytime dat Remy have you." He said, running his fingers over the bridge of his nose, adjusting to no longer having the weight of the glasses there. Hie eyes had returned to their normal red on black feature, once again identifying him as a mutant, but more importantly, as truly himself. "Insane dictators, evil Nazis, meat computers... Remy take dem over 'yana in a cheerleading squad any day."

Ororo smirked and slid an arm over Remy's shoulders, leaning in to brush her lips over his temple. "I think it must say volumes that your phobias run towards blondes in cheerleading outfits; there are magazine racks full of material that would send you into shock."

"Not all blonde cheerleaders. Just de half-demon queen dat badly sorts my mail three days a week." He ran his thumb down the lines of her side, enjoying the feel of the skin under her dress. "Everyone, really. Being caught up in someone else's life." He shook his head.

"So... you are happy to return to your own, then?" This was said carefully, with a modicum of curiousity she hoped wouldn't put him on edge. She couldn't help it, though; while of course it was in her best interest to make sure Remy was happy with his life, even beyond that she wanted to know that he was content.

"Chere, Remy spent too long trying to figure out what dis life is to let it slip 'way." He touched her chin. "'specially not one dat I'm left missing you in."

This made her smile, and she settled against the Cajun, taking his hand in hers and turning it over so that she could trace her fingers over the lines in his palm. "You know that no matter how long you were trapped in another decade, or another dimension, that I would be waiting for you when you emerged," she said, in the same careful tone as before.

"You sure 'bout dat, 'Ro? One day, Remy going to go out on some job and not come back. Dis not self-pitying. Dere's only so long dat you stay lucky in what we do, and most of de time, de only way to tell dat you've screwed up is dat you just never are seen 'gain." His voice was serious. Remy had long since accepted the value of his life. He no longer wished for death, or felt the same level of crippling guilt from his years as Gambit, but the memories were still there; still telling him that there was no way he could stop and live with himself. He'd be in the field until he finally made one mistake too many, and that would be the end. The idea of leaving Ororo there, waiting for a deadman, worried him.

"Do you know just how many people I've known who came back from the dead?" came the deadpan response. "The only thing more futile than waiting for someone who has disappeared, in my experience, is assuming they are gone for good. And besides, I am very patient." Though Remy was right, there were no assurances or promises in what they did, she was equally convinced that living without some sort of committment wasn't worth it, either. "You do not think I could occupy my time? Budgets, inventory, essays to grade, training modules to watch... there are a dozen ways I could pass the time without pause."

"I don't want to see you put you own happiness on hold, chere. Remy know dat dere even half a chance dat I'm coming back, you wouldn't give up for a second trying to make dat happen, but I don't want you left living half a life because you not able to let go either." He stroked his thumb along her cheekbone. "If dere's even de slimmest way back to you, Remy gon' claw my way through it. Dat's a promise. If dere's no chance, you need to tell me dat able to move past and let go one day. Find someone dat make you smile, neh?"

"Only you would be reassured by the promise that I would move on," Ororo joked lightly, shaking her head. "And yes, I would, one day, if I had to. All I am trying to say, Remy, is that..." and here her voice dropped even more, wavering just slightly, "as long as you are here, then I am too. Because I love you."

Remy didn't say anything for a long moment, letting the words hang. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low; rough. "In Africa I wanted to hurt you; needed to hurt you, because I knew dat no one else would. I knew dat dey'd try reason, and give you time, and by de time it got through, things would have gone far 'nough dat dere would have been dat stain on you, dat deep guilt dat never comes out. De idea of dat twisting you, de way it does Remy-- I couldn't take de thought of you being like me, chere. But since den, since us... we not dat different, neh? Maybe dat means I'm not as broken a man as I think I am, and dat you're not making de big mistake being wit' me dat most of de time I'm sure is happening."

Remy took her face in his hands, the intensity of his red on black eyes matching his words. "Whatever happens, chere, no matter what, as long as I am, Remy wit' you. Mi aime jou, chere."

There really was no other response to this but to lean forward and press her lips to his, and she did, closing her eyes as their mouths parted and their tongues met. Though they were both physically affectionate people, it was another thing entirely to verbalize the emotions that, in Ororo's mind at least, had been present for some time. It had not been as nerve-wracking as she had expected, though of course the reciprocation was welcome all the same.

Remy, uncharacteristically, broke the kiss off, reaching into his jacket pocket. "Oh, Remy almost forgot." He said, pulling out the small box. "Found out dat its you birthday tomorrow. Thought dat you might not want to wait." Remy passed over the unwrapped box.
Inside was a complex necklace; a multitude of tiny beaded strings, all of rich and dark toned kazuri beads spread back from the central brooch into a gathered gold catch. The brooch, a roughly oval disc of slim gold, had been carefully embossed with rich Kikuyu designs, accented in silver and centered by a carefully cut ruby. To a Western jeweler the piece might have seemed somewhat crude, with the filemarks on mould lines showing, but that belied the energy of the work; the willingness to show the joy in construction that marked East African art in particular. There was a tiny stamp on the back, identifying it as Dzifa Asante's work; an artist deeply regarded for his excellence, and yet entirely unknown to those outside of Kenya. Or so people had thought.

Ororo's face lit up at the sight of the necklace, and she reached down to smooth her fingers over the brooch, feeling the intricacies of the metalwork under her fingertips. Lifting her eyes to Remy's, she smiled again. "It is truly beautiful, Remy. Thank you. You have excellent taste, I must say."

"More like Remy know people dat have excellent taste." He picked up the necklace and slid it around her throat. "I know dere's a part of you dat never wanted to leave Africa, chere. Best dat I can do is find part of Africa dat never has to leave you, neh?"

The dark jewel glinted under the low lighting above the table, the beads warming quickly against her skin. Ororo leaned in to kiss Remy again, sitting back abruptly when she felt the tickle of electricity run over the back of her neck. It was a feeling that had once been so common she barely noticed it, but now with its absence every little static shock seemed noteworthy. But where did it come from? She blinked, and looked around in slight confusion, finding nothing that could have caused the sensation around them.

"I am sorry," she murmured a moment later, realizing her behavior the past minute must've seemed odd. With a shake of her head, she leaned in to kiss Remy properly this time, pushing all thoughts of errant electricity from her mind.

"Nothing to be sorry for." Remy said, holding her close against him as they kissed. "Happy birthday, chere."