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Sometime last weekend, Lorna seeks out Remy and attempts to convince him he didn't see what he saw.



Lorna twisted her hands nervously together as she crept about the mansion. She kept close to the walls and flinched whenever someone came near. Except for her classes and to visit Doc Samson, she hadn't left her room since Tuesday. She wouldn't have done so now but for the persistent fear that dwelled in the back of her mind. Most people were attributing her reaction to the love potion but at least one person knew that wasn't true. She had to find Remy and be sure that he would keep that piece of information strictly to himself.

Remy sipped from a tumbler full of purloined red and flicked the channel over. The mansion's cable system was truly remarkable, hooked together into a master service of mind numbing entertainment. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, he never had to miss 'Passions'. He was just getting comfortable when there was a tentative knock at his door. Remy scowled as he paused the playback and snapped the lock open.
"Oui, what?"

Feeling the door unlock, Lorna tentatively pushed it open, "It's Lorna. Can I talk to you for a minute?" she pitched her voice low so it wouldn't carry down the hallway.

Remy looked at the television and the whirling interpersonal rivalries it contained before shaking his head. "Oui. Come in, chere." He pulled the door fully open and waved her inside. His room was the typical mess of cigarette butts, empty bottles and unwashed dishes. Remy snagged a sweatshirt from the bed and tugged it over his head, though not before Lorna could get a good look at the multitude of scars crisscrossing his chest and sides.

Neither the mess nor the scars seemed to register with her as she stepped quickly inside. A sharp jerk of her hand shut the door again. She stared at her hands for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. "You...I came to say I'm sorry about last Thursday. I wasn't really...I hope you don't have the wrong idea about what happened. I wasn't feeling well is all." She spoke quickly, stumbling over her words.

"Remy guessed dat, chere." He said, taking a sip and regarding her over the rim. "It was dat Manuel homme. Guess he don like t' wait for his meals. Nothing t' apologize for." Remy sat back down in his chair and motioned to the bottle. "Wine?"

Lorna flinched at Manuel's name and nodded at the offer of wine. "It wasn't like that. I was...he didn't mean any harm. I had been giving him a rough time. You haven't told anyone that he did something did you? Because...really, it was just a misunderstanding." She drew her hands into the sleeves of her voluminous sweatshirt and hunched her shoulders, unconsciously trying to make herself smaller.

Remy poured her a glass, and leaned back in his chair. "Non, Remy going t' deal wit Manuel in his own time. But dat hand wasn't a misunderstanding, chere. If de Brit femme hadn't been dere, you still be walking around in bandages. You sure you want him t' get away wit it dat easy?"

"I was careless. It was an accident." Lorna took the wine and swallowed it hastily, trying to wet her parched throat. "You don't need to get involved. He's..." she hesitated then forced herself to continue, "I'm not letting him get away with anything. It was my own fault."

"You know dat not true." Remy said, and then shrugged. "But Remy involved for his own reasons, chere. Dose not changing anytime soon. But, if you don' wan t' deal wit it, dat you own business. Make as much sense as de rest of dis place."

"Just...don't do anything because of me." Because that would bring Manuel's anger back on her. She shivered, "And don't tell anyone, okay? They wouldn't understand."

"Tell me somet'ing, chere?" Remy leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What is it you so afraid of? Ever since I met you, dere is always somet'ing behind dose pretty eyes dat is ready t' jump; run away. What is it?"

Lorna tensed, "I don't know what you're talking about. I've had a tough couple of months but I'm fine." She shrugged, "Life goes on."

"Bien. Dat's your business." He said, and leaned back in his chair. "Life does go on. Wounds fade... leaves scars." Remy took a reflective sip from the glass, eyes trained away from her, but watching her reactions in his peripheral vision. "Just be careful, chere. Maybe next time it not a hot meal dat de la Rocha is hungry for."

Lorna flinched against the cold wave of fear that Remy's suggestion brought. Her right fist clenched around the glass, feeling the still new scar tissue press into her palm. "I don't think he'd bother with me in that case," she responded in a shaky voice, "I'm just the cook."

"Femme, Remy sure dere a list round here of homes dat want you in dere beds. Manuel no different from dem, 'cept he can make it happen and make you t'ink it you own idea." Remy spared very little, picking up on the self loathing underlying her words. "I can't watch all de time, and dose scars Remy can't find someone t' magic away."

Lorna shook her head and set down her glass, still mostly full. "I don't need you to watch out for me. I don't want you to. I'll be okay." She backed away towards the door. "Just promise me that you won't tell anyone and we'll be square.

"All right." Remy held up his hands in surrender. "You win, chere." He got up, and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Remy make you a deal. I don't tell anyone as long as you be careful 'round him, oui? Just cause you can't see he's dangerous don' mean he isn't."

"I solemnly swear I'll stay the fuck out of his way." Lorna didn't have the slightest bit of trouble promising that one. Ninety percent of her recent seclusion had to do with accomplishing that precise goal.

"Bien." Remy picked up the wine bottle and slapped the cork back into the neck. It was a 1961 Arguzzio, a vintage that probably cost more then her best outfit. He checked the top to make sure it was tight and passed it over. "Maybe you keep dat in your room. Give you some new ideas for de next time you really wan t' cook." He said, and ushered her out the door.

She took the bottle out of reflex and allowed herself to be herded back to the hallway, "I haven't much felt like cooking recently but I'll certainly keep it in mind." She started to walk away then turned back, "By the way, thanks. I mean it...even in this messed up head of mine, I know that I owe you."

"Non, chere. Remy de last person you want t' be owing debts to." He said, and grinned wickedly. "Sides, dere's only one payment dat ever comes t' mind round you." He flicked his eyebrows and closed the door.

Lorna shook her head, unable to take seriously Remy’s suggestion. Bottle of wine in hand, she hurried back to her room and locked herself in. And the rest of the world out.