Log: Remy and Jake in the laundry room

[x-courier.livejournal.com]

Jake had no more clean clothes left, and doubted his abilities to get, say, Alison to do his laundry for him, so he'd tossed nearly every piece of clothing he owned into a basket and carried it down stairs. When he discovered that the place was fairly quiet, with the exception of the buzz from the washing machines, he'd wandered back upstairs and picked up a biography of George Washington. He was currently sitting on a chair, which he'd tilted back until it was leaning against the wall, and wondering if the biographer even knew who George Washington was.

There was a metallic tapping noise that made him look over the top of his book. A quarter bounced brightly down the top of one of the machines. Jake looked around and saw no one. Shrugging, he got up and picked the quarter up off the floor. As he turned, he found Remy LeBeau in the chair he'd vacated, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Jake looked from Remy to the quarter in his hand, then sighed, put-upon. "I take it this is yours?"

"Depends what Remy can get for it?" He sneered, taking a deep drag and swinging his legs up, assuming the same careless position Jake had left.

"Cute." Jake pocketed the coin and remained standing where he was, tilting his head to regard Remy somewhat curiously. He was still freaked out, but the terror had abated. Not the suspicion, however.

"See somet'ing, chere?" Remy said, blowing a plume of smoke at Jake. "Somet'ing you like?"

He wrinkled nose. "Eh. Not really." Pause. "What are you doing here?" Not especially subtle, but who cared about subtle? Getting answers, that was the important thing.

Remy looked around surprised. "Remy thought he was sitting? You sure you work for de big spy company, chere?" He said, smiling.

"No, I meant... Eh, forget it." He changed the topic. "Did you bring anything to eat? I'm starving."

"Do you normally walk around wit' a cake in your pockets, chere. Think maybe you should talk t' dat shrink." Remy smirked. "Non, Remy left de picnic lunch in his room."

Jake shrugged, realising he'd been considering taking food from Gambit. He wasn't just going soft, he'd apparently gone insane at some point as well. "I'm a very optimistic person."

"Dat optimistic? Sound like you just nuts." Remy stood up very quickly. "Dere an old wine celler down de hall, and de kitchen not far away."

"THEY HAVE A WINE--" Jake lowered his voice. "They have a _wine cellar_ and no one _told_ me?"

"Don know dat dey know 'bout it. Not a bottle in dere younger den thirty years. Small. Remy guess it used t' be a private one." He shrugged. "De locked just feel off one day when Remy walk by."

"It just fell off, huh? Just like that?" Jake looked amused. The other man was one of the most dangerous people Jake'd been in contact with, but he acted like... Like a lovable rascal or something. "There still any wine in there or have you nicked it all?"

"Course. You t'ink Remy can drink five hundred bottles of wine in a month? Need at least two." Remy said. He's fought with the computer to slowly catalogue some of the bottles he's found down there. Their value was not unremarkable.

"Five hundred..." Jake looked from Remy to the door to the washing machine. It was still making lots of noice Jake could only pray didn't involve all his clothes shrinking drastically. "...Want to show me the wine?"

"Non." Remy said, savouring the look on her face. "Right now, it just dere for Remy t' enjoy. Why would I want to share it wit' you, femme?"

Jake shrugged, pouting. There could be some _good_ wine in that cellar, provided Remy was telling the truth, which was never certain. "You could get me drunk enough to agree to have sex with you. That'd be a reason." Pause. "On second thought, nah, would never happen."

"So you just lost one barginning chip, chere. What else can you offer Remy?" He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the washer.

"For wine I'm not even sure exists?"

"Guess you just have t' trust Remy, chere." His' red on black eyes glittered with amusement.

Jake arched his eyebrow. _Yes, that'll happen._ He folded his arms over his chest. "Well. I've heard money is a popular option..."

"Money. I like money." Remy nodded. "How much money are we talking here?"

"Money is good," Jake agreed. The worst part of Remy, Jake decided, was the way he made Jake feel like he was seventeen again. It was disturbing. "Depends on the wine, now, doesn't it? Or we could just say that I'll keep on holding my mouth shut about you and call it even. Provided it's a very good wine, of course." He had no idea why he'd just said that, and by the looks of it, neither did Remy.

"Dat blackmail, chere. Remy thought you were above dat? Hurts, right here." He held his hand over his heart. "So, we go back t' money, because it de... safest transaction t' make."

"All right." Jake unfolded his arms, and dug into his pocket. "How's about a quarter for a glass of red?"

"If you t'inking cranberry juice, den oui. Otherwise, dat not even an offer." Remy said, and headed for the door. "T'ink maybe Remy get a bottle for himself t' drink while you t'ink."

"You're a fucking bother, you know that?" Jake sighed. They'd been talking about the wine long enough for him to be wanting some now. "So what would _you_ consider a fair price?"

"Dinner. Remy don feel like cooking tonight, and dey stopped taking dat Shaw's card at de take out. Somet'ing nice. No pizza." He said, and looked back over his shoulder at Jake. "Dats for de first two bottles. We talk about de rest later." Remy smirked and left the room.

Jake blinked in surprise, then remained standing stock still staring at the door. Dinner? What the hell? _Dinner_? This was too weird for words. But on the other hand, Jake had never said no to an opportunity to get food yet, and if the wine was any good, that was a small price to pay. Even if it meant actually having the food _with_ Remy. The man was starting to become... interesting.

Comments

[x-shinobi.livejournal.com]

Hey, nobody told me he was keeping Shinobi's card, or stealing it more than once. :p

Ah well. He's loaded anyway, won't make a dent. But he will want it back.