PI LOG: Aftermath Diner -- Remy and Rogue
After tromping around in the tunnels behind the subway tracks, Remy and Rogue emerge into a late afternoon having worked up a decent appetite. Time away from the scene of his shame allows Remy go return to his true self, and the pair enjoy a nice, cheap dinner at a nice, cheap deli.
Manhattan -- New York
Regaining true composure after his yearly ritual probably took Remy something closer to an hour, an hour carefully spent picking their way back to the surface and wandering around Central Park while the blaze of the Cajun's eyes calmed down. Now, he's a little bit firmer on stable ground, and his thoughts have turned from dark memories to something more mundane--food. The sun is only starting to really lean towards the horizon, and Gambit looks towards it briefly before he turns to Rogue. "So. You got any t'oughts on dinner?"
"After ev'rything else," Rogue says, tipping her head back a little to look up towards the sky, "Ah think we oughta keep it low-key. Find some little diner or somethin'. There's no sense in gettin' fancy, an' we ain't dressed for it anyhow."
"Aw, but de cobwebs in your hair'd go so nice wit' de stuffy atmosphere." Remy teases, reaching up to pluck at Rogue's curls where the white that wisps through the brown is not at all growing out of her head. "But mebbe you's right. I start spoilin' you like dat an' you're gonna expect it ev'ry time."
Pleased that he's feeling himself enough to tease her, Rogue grins. "On second thought," she tells him airily, teasing right back at him, "maybe we *oughta* go someplace fancy, so's you can prove t'me you appreciate me proper."
Remy laughs a little, although the sound is vaguely subdued, and hoods his eyes as he considers Rogue. "Mebbe I let you take a raincheck on dat, so's you don' have to put up wit' havin' cobwebs in your hair an' muck on your shoes in some four-star Michlin place." Even though his own hands aren't gloved, he is sure hers are, and he offers one as he gestures up the sidewalk with his chin. "C'mon, if dis New York keeps on bein' like de one I know, dere's a l'il deli up here dat ain't big on class but makes up for it wit' taste."
Rogue curls her fingers companionably around Remy's hand, offering him a smile as she does. "Suits me fine," she says, letting the teasing go in favor of more honest affection. "Let's go for it."
"Aight, den." Remy nods, and starts off in the direction he previously indicated. The sign for Peter's Deli is already looming on the sidewalk when the Cajun tilts his head away from Rogue a little so that he can look at her through the corner of his eyes, through his bands, and say quietly, "Glad you came."
Rogue inclines her head a little in response to the words, that smile still lingering on her face and curving up the corners up her mouth. "Glad y'let me," she answers, her voice light and just as quiet as his. And, in a more conversational tone, she adds, "So, what d'you recommend t'eat at this joint?"
That's that taken care of; Gambit seems perfectly willing to let the entire thing go. He reaches out instead to open the door for Rogue, looking past her into the cozy-if-a-little-shabby establishment. "It's been *years* an' a diff'rent world las' time I was here." Remy reminds her, his shoulders giving a lopsided shrug. "Jus' 'bout anyt'in' coul' be good dese days."
"Guess we'll just have t'find out, then." Rogue doesn't seem to mind the prospect; she steps in ahead of Remy and then pauses briefly to let him catch up before she heads for a booth next to a window. "Ah sure am hungry, anyhow." Nothing like catharsis to work up an appetite?
Something like that. Remy slides into the booth across from Rogue rather than next to her, if only for the very true reason that booths are not meant to seat two adults side by side in any facimile of comfort. The waitress that attends them almost immediately is nearly as wide as she is tall, affected by the general disinterest that seems to have swallowed New York whole in any world. At least she's delivering menus.
Rogue pounces cheerfully on the menu she's given, flicking it open to survey the selection. "Lessee, what'm Ah in th'mood for? Could get a burger. Can't go wrong with th'classics..." She spends a moment or two skimming descriptions before she glances up over her menu and across the table to Remy, and grins. "Speakin' of, you impressed Michiko pretty well th'other day."
For a bare moment, Remy doesn't seem to know what Rogue's talking about, looking up over his own menu with a blank expression. Then the realization dawns, and his grin goes a little sly, eyes hooding as if to feign demurness. "Yeah, well, you tol' me to go get you time off."
"Ah did," Rogue concedes. "An' you don't do anything by halves, do you? She was tickled. So was Ah, f'that matter, considerin' Ah got a nice vacation outta th'deal. You do good work, LeBeau, when you put y'mind to it."
Remy laughs, then, dipping the menu a little so he can see her better. "I brough' her chocolates. Not a whole lotta chocolates. Happened to be Mot'ers Day, so, well, ain't hard to say 'Happy Mot'er's Day'." He's playing down the importance Michiko has grown to have over his time in Beacon Harbor and knowing the woman, and Rogue probably knows that. "An' den Eris said somet'in' 'bout cookin', an', well."
Rogue can read between the lines, and she laughs a little, pleased and entertained by the story and by what Remy's not quite saying. "Y'couldn't resist a chance t'show off, y'mean," she teases amiably.
Red eyes open wide, and he gestures with one hand as if to supplicate to Rogue. "It's a *professional" kitchen!" Remy says, as if that should explain everything. "Eris practically *told* me to go in dere. I didn' wreck not'in'." Defensive much, Gambit?
"Did Ah *say* you wrecked anything?" Rogue counters, still grinning. "Now you got me suspicious, boy. Ah wasn't thinkin' 'bout *that* kinda showin' off."
Remy isn't sure what other kind of showing off he could have been doing, so instead of answering Rogue's comment, he focuses studiously on the menu. Which may look like an admission of guilt.
It does make Rogue's eyebrows go up, but she keeps her avid curiosity to herself, at least long enough to order a loaded burger with fries. Her patience lasts a little while after that - long enough for Remy to order, at least. If he doesn't take too much time about it.
Philly cheesesteak, with just about everything on it--except for onions, which is perhaps for Rogue's sake. When the waitress is moving away again, Remy looks back at Rogue, his eyebrows lifted placidly. "Quoi?"
Rogue can't help it. She tries, really - well, she sort of tries. A little. "What *did* you destroy in there, sugah?" she asks, trying very hard, and failing, to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upward.
"Not'in'!" Remy defends, straightening a little against the booth. "I made her dinner. An' den we all ate it. An' Michiko said it was good." In a second he might poke his tongue out, too. Gambit is just a bastion of maturity.
Rogue smothers a giggle at Remy's reaction. She can't help it; it's so endearing. "Yeah," she drawls, as deadpan as she can possibly manage. Which isn't very. "That's what she told me."
Folding his hands on the table, Remy leans forward over them, his eyebrows furrowing. "An' jus' what else does she say to you, 'bout me, when I ain't 'round?" This could be dangerous, Rogue working with the woman who's adopted him without any sort of paper. At least Michiko doesn't have a horde of Remy's baby photos to trot out.
Rogue doesn't say a word. Not one word. She just raises her eyebrows, breen eyes glittering with humor, and primly unfolds a paper napkin to lay it over her lap. In other words, 'I'm not going to say anything, I'm going to make you wonder.'
Now that's just downright evil. Remy's eyelids drop to allow him an apparently unamused look, tucking his head a little to follow the line of Rogue's gaze. "You ain't gonna tell me, are you?"
Rogue pretends to think about it, makes a show of tapping her fingertips against her lips and tipping her head contemplatively to the side. "Mmmmm... nope!" And she beams at him, just as angelically as she possibly can.
Remy doesn't believe that angellic look for even half a second. Instead he throws his hands a little into the air, looking to the side as if expecting some sort of salvation. "Lord. I'm doomed."
Rogue breaks up giggling, clamping both hands hastily over her mouth. It doesn't help much. The waitress is back with their food before Rogue finally has more or less regained control of herself enough to reply, cheerfully, "Maybe so!"
Finis!
Manhattan -- New York
Regaining true composure after his yearly ritual probably took Remy something closer to an hour, an hour carefully spent picking their way back to the surface and wandering around Central Park while the blaze of the Cajun's eyes calmed down. Now, he's a little bit firmer on stable ground, and his thoughts have turned from dark memories to something more mundane--food. The sun is only starting to really lean towards the horizon, and Gambit looks towards it briefly before he turns to Rogue. "So. You got any t'oughts on dinner?"
"After ev'rything else," Rogue says, tipping her head back a little to look up towards the sky, "Ah think we oughta keep it low-key. Find some little diner or somethin'. There's no sense in gettin' fancy, an' we ain't dressed for it anyhow."
"Aw, but de cobwebs in your hair'd go so nice wit' de stuffy atmosphere." Remy teases, reaching up to pluck at Rogue's curls where the white that wisps through the brown is not at all growing out of her head. "But mebbe you's right. I start spoilin' you like dat an' you're gonna expect it ev'ry time."
Pleased that he's feeling himself enough to tease her, Rogue grins. "On second thought," she tells him airily, teasing right back at him, "maybe we *oughta* go someplace fancy, so's you can prove t'me you appreciate me proper."
Remy laughs a little, although the sound is vaguely subdued, and hoods his eyes as he considers Rogue. "Mebbe I let you take a raincheck on dat, so's you don' have to put up wit' havin' cobwebs in your hair an' muck on your shoes in some four-star Michlin place." Even though his own hands aren't gloved, he is sure hers are, and he offers one as he gestures up the sidewalk with his chin. "C'mon, if dis New York keeps on bein' like de one I know, dere's a l'il deli up here dat ain't big on class but makes up for it wit' taste."
Rogue curls her fingers companionably around Remy's hand, offering him a smile as she does. "Suits me fine," she says, letting the teasing go in favor of more honest affection. "Let's go for it."
"Aight, den." Remy nods, and starts off in the direction he previously indicated. The sign for Peter's Deli is already looming on the sidewalk when the Cajun tilts his head away from Rogue a little so that he can look at her through the corner of his eyes, through his bands, and say quietly, "Glad you came."
Rogue inclines her head a little in response to the words, that smile still lingering on her face and curving up the corners up her mouth. "Glad y'let me," she answers, her voice light and just as quiet as his. And, in a more conversational tone, she adds, "So, what d'you recommend t'eat at this joint?"
That's that taken care of; Gambit seems perfectly willing to let the entire thing go. He reaches out instead to open the door for Rogue, looking past her into the cozy-if-a-little-shabby establishment. "It's been *years* an' a diff'rent world las' time I was here." Remy reminds her, his shoulders giving a lopsided shrug. "Jus' 'bout anyt'in' coul' be good dese days."
"Guess we'll just have t'find out, then." Rogue doesn't seem to mind the prospect; she steps in ahead of Remy and then pauses briefly to let him catch up before she heads for a booth next to a window. "Ah sure am hungry, anyhow." Nothing like catharsis to work up an appetite?
Something like that. Remy slides into the booth across from Rogue rather than next to her, if only for the very true reason that booths are not meant to seat two adults side by side in any facimile of comfort. The waitress that attends them almost immediately is nearly as wide as she is tall, affected by the general disinterest that seems to have swallowed New York whole in any world. At least she's delivering menus.
Rogue pounces cheerfully on the menu she's given, flicking it open to survey the selection. "Lessee, what'm Ah in th'mood for? Could get a burger. Can't go wrong with th'classics..." She spends a moment or two skimming descriptions before she glances up over her menu and across the table to Remy, and grins. "Speakin' of, you impressed Michiko pretty well th'other day."
For a bare moment, Remy doesn't seem to know what Rogue's talking about, looking up over his own menu with a blank expression. Then the realization dawns, and his grin goes a little sly, eyes hooding as if to feign demurness. "Yeah, well, you tol' me to go get you time off."
"Ah did," Rogue concedes. "An' you don't do anything by halves, do you? She was tickled. So was Ah, f'that matter, considerin' Ah got a nice vacation outta th'deal. You do good work, LeBeau, when you put y'mind to it."
Remy laughs, then, dipping the menu a little so he can see her better. "I brough' her chocolates. Not a whole lotta chocolates. Happened to be Mot'ers Day, so, well, ain't hard to say 'Happy Mot'er's Day'." He's playing down the importance Michiko has grown to have over his time in Beacon Harbor and knowing the woman, and Rogue probably knows that. "An' den Eris said somet'in' 'bout cookin', an', well."
Rogue can read between the lines, and she laughs a little, pleased and entertained by the story and by what Remy's not quite saying. "Y'couldn't resist a chance t'show off, y'mean," she teases amiably.
Red eyes open wide, and he gestures with one hand as if to supplicate to Rogue. "It's a *professional" kitchen!" Remy says, as if that should explain everything. "Eris practically *told* me to go in dere. I didn' wreck not'in'." Defensive much, Gambit?
"Did Ah *say* you wrecked anything?" Rogue counters, still grinning. "Now you got me suspicious, boy. Ah wasn't thinkin' 'bout *that* kinda showin' off."
Remy isn't sure what other kind of showing off he could have been doing, so instead of answering Rogue's comment, he focuses studiously on the menu. Which may look like an admission of guilt.
It does make Rogue's eyebrows go up, but she keeps her avid curiosity to herself, at least long enough to order a loaded burger with fries. Her patience lasts a little while after that - long enough for Remy to order, at least. If he doesn't take too much time about it.
Philly cheesesteak, with just about everything on it--except for onions, which is perhaps for Rogue's sake. When the waitress is moving away again, Remy looks back at Rogue, his eyebrows lifted placidly. "Quoi?"
Rogue can't help it. She tries, really - well, she sort of tries. A little. "What *did* you destroy in there, sugah?" she asks, trying very hard, and failing, to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upward.
"Not'in'!" Remy defends, straightening a little against the booth. "I made her dinner. An' den we all ate it. An' Michiko said it was good." In a second he might poke his tongue out, too. Gambit is just a bastion of maturity.
Rogue smothers a giggle at Remy's reaction. She can't help it; it's so endearing. "Yeah," she drawls, as deadpan as she can possibly manage. Which isn't very. "That's what she told me."
Folding his hands on the table, Remy leans forward over them, his eyebrows furrowing. "An' jus' what else does she say to you, 'bout me, when I ain't 'round?" This could be dangerous, Rogue working with the woman who's adopted him without any sort of paper. At least Michiko doesn't have a horde of Remy's baby photos to trot out.
Rogue doesn't say a word. Not one word. She just raises her eyebrows, breen eyes glittering with humor, and primly unfolds a paper napkin to lay it over her lap. In other words, 'I'm not going to say anything, I'm going to make you wonder.'
Now that's just downright evil. Remy's eyelids drop to allow him an apparently unamused look, tucking his head a little to follow the line of Rogue's gaze. "You ain't gonna tell me, are you?"
Rogue pretends to think about it, makes a show of tapping her fingertips against her lips and tipping her head contemplatively to the side. "Mmmmm... nope!" And she beams at him, just as angelically as she possibly can.
Remy doesn't believe that angellic look for even half a second. Instead he throws his hands a little into the air, looking to the side as if expecting some sort of salvation. "Lord. I'm doomed."
Rogue breaks up giggling, clamping both hands hastily over her mouth. It doesn't help much. The waitress is back with their food before Rogue finally has more or less regained control of herself enough to reply, cheerfully, "Maybe so!"
Finis!