xp_logs | (no subject)

Takes place immediately after Manuel's cooking lesson. First half is Lorna/Remy, and the second was Amanda/Remy

Remy slipped the lock with a practiced hand, rewarded with a click only a moment after he'd taken the tension bar and pick to it. The door swung open, and Remy walked in, stuffing the picks into his pocket. "Chere?" He said, only to hear the sounds of retching. He opened the bathroom door, and found Lorna hanging over the toilet, vomiting copiously.

At any other time, Lorna would have died of embarrassment to have someone walk in on her like this. But with Manuel's emotional high still coloring her perceptions, the situation seemed hysterical. She tumbled away from the toilet to lie on the cold tile, giggling up at Remy. "Hi!" she said, brightly.

"Uh, bonjour." Remy said. Her green hair was widely askew, and he winced at the sight of her hand on the porcelian. The hand was swathed in bandages, slightly darkened from the blood. Remy crouched down beside her, hands on his knees. "You feeling alright, chere?"

"I'm wonderful. Felt sick." Lorna waved at him, amused, then sat up again. Her head spun and felt as though it might drift away. She giggled. "I'm better now."

"Dat might not be so." Remy said, taking hold of her arm and helping her up. "sides, it not Remy's style t' leave de pretty femme on de floor." He balanced her, taking most of her weight as he led her out of the bathroom and to her bed.

"That's nice of you. Everyone here is really nice," she laughed, "I thought Manuel was a jerk but he's nice too. Nice boy with soft hands." She leaned heavily on him as they climbed the stairs.

"Remy not nice. Mean young man." He joked lightly, wondering if it was just Manuel or drugs in her. "Been talking t' Manuel, chere? He do somet'ing nice for you?"

Lorna shook her head at him, "You're nice too. You just bad-ass so that people will respect you." Using bad-ass as a verb made her laugh again. "Manuel and I made dinner. Well, I made dinner. He can't cook."

"Thought you were going t' teach him? Dat what you said a few days ago." Remy said, finally reaching her room. "Change of plans?"

"He didn't even know the proper way to hold a knife, can you believe it?" she snickered, "Totally a lost cause." She pushed the door open and pointed him toward her bedroom.

Remy finally just swept her up, making it easier to manevour in the room. She giggled and buried her face into his chest. "Can't cook at all."

"Dat right? Dat why you decide t' cook for him?"

"Well, he was just so frustrated. And hungry. Food makes people happy. And people should be happy." Her bed looked soft and warm and she contemplated sleeping with a happy grin.

"And Remy bet Manuel helped make you happy, right chere?" He said, setting her down carefully on the bed. She smiled and made a cooing noise as she part snuggled into her pillow.

"It's nice here."

"Remy bet. Chere," Remy took her wrist, holding it carefully. "Let me have a look." He said, carefully untieing the bandage. It was sticky with fuild from already exploded blisters, and a little blood. It looked like she'd picked up an iron barehanded, the ridges showing in the burn.

She whimpered a little when he peeled the bandage away. It reminded her of Hank doing the same thing not too long ago. The next moment the memory passed and the easy happy feeling returned. "I was silly. Forgot to grab an oven mitt first. Stupid junior class mistake," she explained to Remy as he examined her hand, "Some fabulous chef, I am, right?"

"Remy t'ink you a fabulous chef, chere. Get you t' make some real Cajun food soon." He said. Remy leaned out and snared a washcloth, running it under the cold water in the sink and returning to lightly wrap her injured hand in it.

Again came the sense memory and she instinctively tried to pull away but Remy held her firmly. The flicker of pain and fear showed briefly on her face before once again the manufactured emotions won out. "That would be great. I haven't actually done much Cajun so you'll have to give me pointers," she beamed at him, delighted to have found a new resource.

"Course, chere. Bet you tired den, right? Long night over de stove?" remy stroked the hair out of her face. "Maybe you should get some sleep den?"

Lorna nodded, "I think I should." She patted his cheek in a friendly fashion, "Thank you for putting me to bed. See? You are nice."

"Remy a mean mean man, chere." He helped her settle, and brushed his lips on her forehead. "Especially t' de people he t'ink involved in dis."

"You don't make any sense," she told him, almost half asleep, "You'll have explain later."

"Dat a promise." He muttered as she drifted off to sleep, a smile on her face. His own smile faded, and he got to his feet. First, he would take care of her hand. Next, he'd take care of de la Rocha. A cruel flicker tugged his mouth at the thought as he turned to the door.

Remy ducked his head out into the hall, made an aggravated noise and closed Lorna's door behind him. He stalked down the hall in cold anger, a vicious blade in his emotions. Remy took the stairs three at a time to the second floor, and walked over to the room that Sefton and Guthrie shared. He tried the door and found it was locked. He eyeballed the lock for a half second before pulling a small tool from his pocket and slipping it in. There was a snap and a click, and the lock sprang open. He walked in, not caring about niceties.

Amanda looked up, startled by the intrusion. She snapped shut the book she'd been reading, and shoved it out of sight under the pillow. "Forget how t' knock?"

"Picking de lock was faster. Get your healing mojo stuff and follow me." Remy snapped, already turning back towards the door, trenchcoat flapping behind him as he turned. The witch opened her mouth to argue, but thought the better of it. Grabbing another book from her desk, she followed the Cajun at a pace that was almost a scurry.

Remy stalked up the stairs, Amanda almost running to keep up. She almost shot a nasty comment about him going to fast when she caught the flicker of his aura; an angry pulsing red, underlined with something dangerous. It was enough to silence her until he stopped short at Lorna's room. He looked around quickly before opening the door and ushering Amanda in.

The smell of burnt flesh hit as soon as they walked in, and the girl swallowed the urge to gag. Anger of her own arose as she realised who her patient was.

"What the fuck happened?" she asked, crossing to the bed where Lorna lay. The burns on the woman's hand were ugly and livid, laid over healing scarring from her previous injuries.

Remy cursed softly. The cold towel he's wrapped her hand in had come off, and Lorna burbled lightly in her sleep. Her smile was wavering, obviously the last traces of the joy starting to fade. He walked over and moved the towel, holding her by the wrist. The blisters had already started, fat and ugly across her palm, the heel of her hand and the pads of her fingers.

"Someone don' like waiting for de cook, femme." Remy said, turning the hand so it would rest without letting the burns touch anything.

"Looks like someone wanted t' cook the cook," Amanda muttered. "Fuck, with the damage already there, this is going t' take a major healin' spell." She flipped through the pages of the spell book, her movements sharp with anger. "After all me fuckin' work on her, too." She found what she was looking for and looked at Remy. "'M gunna need a bowl of water for this one."

Remy walked over to the bathroom and opened the cupboards, finally coming up with a suitable bowl and filling it. The smell of vomit was still very heavy in the room, with splatters of barely-digested pasta in blotches around the toilet. He ignored it, focusing on helping for now.

In the meantime, Amanda was working on calming her mind enough to do the spell. Healing required a serene state of mind, and the sight of Lorna's injury was arousing a state as far from serene as you could get. She'd already noted the woman's emotional state - she'd seen and had enough highs to know one in someone else - : and a nasty suspicion was taking root. As Remy returned, she took the bowl from him, dropping a small crystal from her pocket into it.

"Elements of earth and air, I call upon thee..." she began, cupping the bowl in her hands.

Remy stuffed his hands in his pockets, glaring at the hand and trying to calm down. Maybe it was the bleed off from the close proximity, or some more natural anger, but his normal control was completely fractured. Normally, he had a remarkably good grip on his emotions for a teenager, but not now.

Invocation finished, Amanda carefully dipped the injured hand into the bowl, which was now faintly glowing. Lorna whimpered through the happy haze and tried to pull away, but the witch kept a firm grip. Steam rose from the bowl, and Amanda shook with the effort of maintaining the spell. At last, it was done, the burns not vanished but scabbed over.

"Dat it?" Remy said, arms crossed over his chest, looking at the still ugly scabbing, almost dubious to the results. Amanda shook her
head.

"Best that I can do right now. They weren't too deep, but nasty enough. Looks like she tried to palm a fuckin' iron," she said. Remy shook his head.

"Remy t'ink it was a baking pan. Not sure yet."

"Master chefs don't go 'round takin' baking trays out of the oven with their bare hands," Amanda said grimly. Now the healing was done, the anger was returning. "What the fuck happened?"

"De la Rocha. Least I t'ink it was. Femme had made some noises 'bout trying t' teach him t' cook. Remy in de next room when I watch her go running out of de kitchen." Remy wiped a hand over his face. "Found her in de bathroom, puking up and smiling like it de best t'ing she ever done. Still de remains of a steak dinner in de kitchen."

Amanda closed her eyes. Of course, she thought. She had no romantic illusions about the empath, and she wasn't above using people to her own ends, but this...

"What are you going to do?" she asked quietly.

"Haven't decided yet. 'Sides, Remy not de hall monitor. Maybe one of dem teachers supposed t' keep an eye on de hommes dey bring in here." LeBeau said, words sounding hollow in his ears. "Maybe nothing."

Amanda scrubbed her hands over her face, the effort of a major healing spell hitting her hard. "He... I mean, I've seen how his power works, what he sees, but this...? It doesn't make any fucking sense t' hurt Lorna like this. It's not like she's a threat or anythin'."

"Course not. Dat's why it makes sense." Remy looked at her. "She nothing but a cook t' him. Who cares what she feels? Dat's Manuel. T'inks in terms of trauma. Likes it." Remy shook his head, gathering up the towel and walking into the washroom. He clumsily wiped up the tiles, tossing the soiled towel in the hamper as he left.

Amanda stayed a while longer, keeping an eye on Lorna. Or at least that was her excuse. What she was actually doing was thinking, and she didn't like the paths those thoughts were taking.