Operation: Lousiana Lowdown - Toxic Recruitment

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Remy and Cammie have a talk.



Cammie liked this place. The music was loud, the drinks were strong, and the fights that broke out... well, those were good. The band tonight was doing decent enough covers of Rage Against the Machine, loud enough that no one really noticed when they messed it up somehow, as everyone's ears were ringing either from the speakers or from repeated blows to the head.

Cammie was taking her time away from the bit at the moment, and far enough away from the music she could actually hold conversations while drinking. Though there weren't any worth having. She had been trying to brush off some poser punk for the last hour and was about ready to put his head through the wall to make him get the point. That was not on the menu tonight.

Unfortunately, the young man was very far from taking the hint, instead redoubling his efforts to impress her by ordering another round of shots and launching into a story about his latest tattoo experience. His earnest efforts had an uncommon tenacity, even for the usual range of clueless idiots that did their best to pick up.

Cammie felt like planting her head on the bar. If she got up and left the idiot would follow her. She supposed she could and then leave him face down in the alley. It wouldn't be the first time she had to resort to that to get someone off her back. She just hadn't done so in awhile. Mostly because she was trying not to flip out without a real reason to. A fight in the pit was one thing. Leaving a clueless moron face down in an alley where he might not come to was something else.

"Okay, um, fuck," the last was muttered as a curse and not an invitation, "Look, normally I'd be so in to you," blatant lie was blatant, "but I have somewhere I have to be." Both lies! It was somewhat kinder than telling him to go fuck himself. That was option B if option A didn't work.

"Fine. Bitch." He said, getting up and stalking away after all but spitting the epitaph into her face.

"Better luck next time," she said cheerfully, still taking the last shot before grabbing her coat to leave. Tonight hadn't been nearly as fun as she had hoped.

As she grabbed her coat, someone slipped on to the seat behind her. Glancing automatically, the unseen person was revealed as Remy LeBeau, who waved for a drink from the bartender.

Cammie stopped when she saw him and walked over, "Funny, I didn't think this was your kind of place." She didn't know him well enough, of course, to really say one way or another, but it was a feeling she got. That, and most people she could name didn't like the kind of places she thrived on.

"Non, dis is more tourist punk den Remy prefers." He said, accepting a glass of bourbon from the bartender and taking a sip. "See dat you avoided company dis evening. Losing you touch?"

"Yeah, this place is for mostly posers, but they have good bands on occasion. Not tonight, but sometimes," Cammie said then snorted, "Nah, he just wasn't my type. I require more than two braincells in any guy I might actually have to have a conversation with. Besides, his tattoos were out of a magazine."

"I'm amazed dat you didn't put his lights out. After what he called you."

"I could've," Cammie said with a shrug, "I'm not always about the ultra-violence though. Sometimes I just don't care, and he wasn't worth the effort and it wouldn't have started anything worth starting. Not here, anyway."

"Hmm." Remy said, taking a sip from his glass. "In Remy's experience, most of de time its not worth de effort, 'pecially when it's about pride."

"You say that like I care what he thinks, or he cares what I think and if he's smart, he really, really doesn't," Cammie said dryly, "Anyway, you just taking in the sights or what? Because you even noted, there are better clubs in this town than this one."

"Non. Remy here because you should care what I think." He took another drink and set the glass down. "Your wouldbe boyfriend was paid to be as annoying as he could to you. By me."

"Well if you really want me to, I'll just skip right on back and punch him in the head. Or maybe I don't rattle as easily as everyone thinks, is that so damn hard to believe? Though now I really want to hit you," Cammie returned.

"You shouldn't. Mainly because I can kill you before you have time to blink. Which was de point of dis little exercise." Remy said, his red on black eyes reflecting oddly in the club lights. "I don't need thugs. Dey get killed too quick. I don't need people who get into fights because dey think its fun, or dat dey have to respond like dat when someone deserves it. And I don't need people ready to die heroic deaths in de face of impossible odds. What I need are people who understand de importance of doing de job, and dat means staying anonymous, unremarkable and alive long enough to finish. Dis make sense to you?"

"Yeah..." Cammie said, not quite sure what he was getting at. What he was describing, to her, sounded a lot like staying alive on the streets. Where staying alive had more to do with staying off the radar than it did with someone's ability to kick ass. She didn't deny being violent, but she also liked to think unless her emotions got involved she also wasn't stupid. "And now I'm wondering just what the fuck you're getting at," she said, putting a hand on her hip, not apologizing for the bad language. She had an idea in the back of her head, but she'd been wrong before.

"Dere are people who think dat you might be worth de time and effort to train into something halfway useful before you get youself killed. Remy not entirely sure dat I agree, but you didn't punch out someone extremely annoying just because you could, which suggests dat you have learned something since de last time we had dis talk." He got up, tossing a couple of bills on the bar. "So, I'm here to offer you a job. It's conditional on you taking on a very long list of courses and training dat you need, and for de moment, probationary. What it also means is be ready to change a lot of de way you live you life, whether you really want to or not. De pay isn't great, de hours are long, and if you do everything right, no one will ever know it was you involved. On de other hand, when you find our monsters out dere, we don't wait to go after dem."

"Really?" Cammie blanked for half a second there, a whole half a second devoid of sarcastic replies, stupid glibs and even devoid of any sort of cocky 'I told you So' grin of which she was normally so fond.

Then she did grin, but it wasn't cocky, "Sign me up. I'd promise not to let you down, but everyone fucks up occasionally and I'm not making a promise I can't be sure I'll keep. I will however try not to fuck this up."

"Dere's a big difference between fucking up and fucking something up. You going to learn dat." Remy was suddenly in front of her, almost nose to nose, and so fast that he seemed to had just snapped into existence. "Saying yes means dat fun time is over. From dis point on, de decisions you make won't be based on what you want or what's best for you. It's going to be about de job, and at de end of de day, it could cost you everything dat you care 'bout bit by bit. Be absolutely sure dis is what you want, because once you start, dere's no way to walk away."

"If I wasn't sure this was what I wanted, I wouldn't have bothered to ask. You don't go back on something because suddenly because you suddenly have to take it seriously," Cammie said, "I'll do this because it's what I want to do."

"Believe me, dere's going to be a night soon enough dat you going to curse youself for saying dat." Remy said, and then stepped back. "Normally dere'd be a lot of training before you even saw de field, but Remy has a job that your current skills and lack of training make you perfect for as is. Come by de office tomorrow morning and we'll sort out some arrangements and a cover to get you down to New Orleans."

"Okay, I'll see you in the morning then," Cammie said, not commenting on the lack of training comment, she supposed it was true from a certain point of view. Right now, she was a bit too proud of herself to be drug down so easily anyway.