Aramis (romantichero) wrote in the100, @ 2016-04-01 09:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, !storybrooke, aramis, porthos |
Storybrooke Backstory; Rene & Isaac
WHO: Rene d’Herblay & Isaac Anthony
WHEN: Backstory! Several years ago.
WHERE: Rene’s house.
WHAT: Isaac (Porthos) breaks into Rene’s (Aramis’) house, and instead of getting shot he gets a friend.
WARNING: PGish, no warnings realy.
For six months, Isaac had hit one bad break after another. An apartment fire, a lost job, even his cat had wandered off and never come back. Now that wasn’t an excuse for why he was lurking outside a window that wasn’t his, but it was part of the reason. The other part being a history of bad choices and sticky fingers. He’d never hurt anyone he’d stolen from, and the knife in his boot had never even been pointed at a person, but that didn’t really change the fact that he was about to commit burglary. Isaac just needed enough to keep his head above water for a few months. Get back on track. On track for what, he didn’t know. It’s not like he had a real plan beyond ‘buy a meal, sleep in a real bed, don’t get arrested’. Honestly, he was terrible at plans. But he had spent a few nights casing this neighborhood, and this place in particular seemed to be empty a lot. He had yet to spot a tenant. What he had spotted was a few nice things, easy to grab, and no alarm system or dog. Keeping the hood of his sweatshirt snug over his head, Isaac used the knife in his boot to unlatch the old hook-style lock on the window and quietly slipped inside. For a big man, he could be stealthy. He used it now to creep through the moonlit living room and started bagging the things he’d mentally tagged during his prep. If he moved fast, he could be in and out in under two minutes - not a sound made, no print left behind. Isaac was likely not anticipating a former soldier-turned-priest to still be awake, nursing an aching knee in the darkness of his bedroom, however. René heard the window open instantly. You could take the soldier out of the field, but the heightened senses, the paranoia? That never left. He’d been in Storybrooke a few years by now, and had settled in nicely. Better than he expected, coming from France. The people were cheerful and polite, and he had yet to come across an issue that wasn’t resolved with kind words since he’d arrived. Until now, of course. As part of his old-habits-die-hard, he silently removed the gun he kept in the drawer next to his bed - only one of the many sins he had stashed there - and crept out the open door of his room to the moonlit living room. It was a small house, church owned, but Aramis was something of a packrat who liked nice things. He resisted the urge to sigh as he spotted the seemingly giant man from behind, as things were slowly ferried into the thief’s bag. The gun wasn’t loaded, but that didn’t stop René from cocking the gun while pointing it at the back of the hooded man’s head. “I hope you pray often, mon fils.” Isaac froze at the sound of the gun and cursed under his breath. He damn sure had not been expecting an anyone-turned-anything. Certainly not an armed one with a hot voice lurking in the dark. He had one hand in the bag, one reaching for an antique frame, and stayed that way for the few seconds it took to consider his options: fight, flee, talk until he figured out a way to fight or flee without getting a bullet in the back. He was a damn good brawler, and even pretty decent with the knife in his boot, but he wasn’t good with guns. He chose not to be good with guns. Guns meant serious prison time and possibly dead people. No way, no how. Stuff could be replaced. Lives couldn’t. “Alright, alright,” Isaac murmured, one hand going up immediately, palm out. He risked a glance towards the gun-toting shape behind him. “Easy does it. I’m gonna pull my other hand outta of the bag, okay? Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.” It was amusing to René that he still had it. That shitting-pants sort of terror he could invoke in someone because of a gun. A gun he had no intentions of using, aside from a threat. Isaac couldn’t see the grin on his face, which was probably for the best. He’d likely come off as a sociopath for getting enjoyment out of that, and no doubt he’d have to repent later, but… ah well. A risk he’d take for this bit of amusement. Reaching forward, he settled a hand on Isaac’s shoulder soothingly and lowered the gun. “Relax, my friend. I’m not going to shoot you, provided you stop stealing my things. That frame was a gift from my abuela. You wouldn’t want to earn her ire, trust me on that.” Confusion fluttered across Isaac’s face. He'd been at the end of a gun before, and it usually involved a lot more negotiating to get out from in front of it. There definitely wasn’t a history of calm words and charming ‘threats’. Confusion turned to suspicion pretty fast as a result. isaac narrowed his eyes at the hand on his shoulder and slipped his hand out of his bag. Unfortunately, his knee-jerk reaction to danger, even the surprisingly de-escalating kind, was to snap a smirking taunt right back. “Don’t know what an abuela is, but odds are I can take her.” The snark was barely out of his mouth as he swiveled towards René and finally got a look at him. It was dark, but not so dark that Isaac couldn't tell exactly how good-looking he was or how well he wore his jeans. Too bad it also wasn’t dark enough to miss the flash of white at this collar. Isaac closed his eyes with a ‘yeah, that’s about my luck’ sigh. “Fuck’s sake. You ever get the feeling somebody’s--” Isaac opened his eyes and pointedly stared at René, one finger crooked towards the ceiling. “--He’s havin’ a good laugh at your expense?” “My grandmother, and I’d be willing to take that bet.” René sassed back, eyebrow rising. He was only half joking, knowing exactly how dangerous his abuela was, no matter what age she might be. He was still smiling when Isaac looked around at him, and noting the sigh, that smile didn’t go away even as it should. No, indeed, René was enjoying this reaction far more than catching someone as they attempted to rob him. He full-out laughed at the question, though he did glance up, and made a sign of the cross at the same moment with his free hand. “No, not at me, but right now I think he might be having one at you, yes.” It still occurred to him that he was holding a thief at gunpoint, however, and René looked down at his newfound captive. “What did you hope to accomplish with this?” Isaac wasn't particularly religious, but even he felt a little guilty for how René’s laugh inspired a flutter in his gut. The guy was still armed though. And would probably be calling the cops any minute. Lying wasn't one of Isaac’s better skills, but he could be disarming in his sincerity. He hoped for that now. At the very least he hoped to be distracting long enough to knock the gun across the room and make a run for it. Setting his bag down on the ground, he pushed back his hood and turned fully to face René. Sure he was exposing his face and maybe that would bite him on the ass later, but later wouldn't be mean much if this didn't work anyway. Isaac smiled crookedly, keeping his posture as harmless as possible. “Does it matter? You'd have to take my word for it. Only an idiot takes the word of a thief caught red handed in his house in the middle of the night.” Isaac tipped his back, looking down at René, and the gun, with a glint of his usual good humor in his eyes. “You look a little too armed to be an idiot…padre.” To say he was struck by Isaac was an understatement. He had to close his mouth as soon as the hood was pushed back, and My God the man was gorgeous. Not traditionally so, but- there was something about him. He was large enough that René didn’t outright drop the gun, but he took in the entire form standing in front of him with a mixture of awe and surprise. He was going to hell. “Of course it matters.” He was always surprised when people asked that question. Intent meant everything. Stealing to survive could be forgiven, and there was that image René liked to project of anyone turning their life around if they had the chance. Not everyone was lucky enough to be gifted that chance in multiple opportunities, but René was the sort to do the gifting. It didn’t matter that the thief was attractive. Much. He got his face under control and gave Isaac another once-over. “We have two options here, my friend. my preferred is rather simple. You sit down and honestly talk to me and I offer you a job in order to help you get through whatever it is you’re dealing with.” Isaac couldn't quite pin this guy down. The look on his face could've been misinterpreted for something inappropriate, something that sparked dangerous thoughts to life in the back of Isaac’s mind, but this guy was a priest, right? He had to be startled by Isaac’s size, or maybe the scar. It had been awhile since he'd met anyone new; he almost forgot about the scar altogether. Either way, René suggesting he might get a job out of all this was baffling to say the least. His eyes tracked slowly from René’s waiting face to around the room before eventually Isaac cast his gaze toward the ceiling and sighed. “Maybe I was wrong about the idiot thing,” he teased, surprisingly easy-going considering the situation. And the gun. Still, he growled wordlessly as he dropped down into a nearby chair. “Confession at gunpoint seems a little unfair. Could you at least put that thing away?” He smirked, stretched his legs out, and held his hands up. “I'll be good if you will.” “You call me an idiot and then you ask me to put the gun away?” Rene laughed. He couldn’t help it. This man - though clearly on the wrong side of his life - seemed to do that to him more than he liked to admit. Aramis was used to laughing easily, having that charming spark that made people gravitate towards him, but he wasn’t used to one particular person earning his interest this swiftly or passionately. Rene uncocked the gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans before holding his hands out in a open gesture. “Not looking for a confession. Merely an… explanation. And an offer to penance, if you so wish it.” He smiled, the annoying charm ene often exuded was in full force as he shrugged slightly. “You do owe me, after all.” Noting where the gun was stashed, Isaac unconsciously relaxed into his chair and grinned at the ‘owe me’ bit. He didn't like talking about his problems, and he damn sure didn't care for religious types judging his choices. But he couldn't argue that he was in the wrong here and it was a gift all on its own that he wasn't waiting for the sheriff to show up. Isaac really didn't need another spin on that ride. "I guess I do. I didnt--I wouldn't have risked it if I knew you were here, just so we’re clear.” Isaac rested his arm on the table next to him. His grin faded as his focus shifted away from René. A frown pinched his features, his fingers drumming against the table. “I don't hurt people. I just...I’ve had a rough time lately and legal options weren’t pannin’ out.” “Oh yes, I’m far more comforted that you would have stolen my abuela’s frame if I hadn’t been here.” René sassed back. Most priests weren’t the type to play on sarcasm, but then René wasn’t …. Well, most priests. He often thought the church needed a fresher outlook on things, heralding into the new century, but the more spiritual outlook on things was often unwelcome. He lowered himself into the chair across from his would-be thief and trailed his fingers along the fabric of the arm rest. “I’ll save the lecture for later, as you obviously thought there was no other choice. What’s your name?” His eyes drifted down to Isaac’s large hands, flashes of just how good it would feel to have them wrapped around- He cut off that thought with a small clearing of his throat. “You look like a man good with his hands, yes?” Isaac’s distracted smirk disappeared completely when he was asked for a name. He should’ve expected it would come to that, of course, but he’d been caught up in thinking about what to tell, and what would just make him look bad. There was something freaky going on here. He didn’t just not want René to turn him in; he didn’t want this complete stranger, this priest, to think too badly of him. It usually took Isaac more than five fucking minutes to start worrying about disappointing people. Giving himself a mental kick in the ass, Isaac rested both of his hands palm up on the table. “It’s...Isaac. And yeah. I--well, I’ve trained in a lot of things over the years, trying to get ahead. Construction, plumbing, landscape.” One corner of his mouth curled up and he pointed over René’s shoulder. “You’re overwaterin’ that plant in the corner, by the way. Father…?” “d’Herblay.” Rene answered, but tilted his head slightly and qualified the name with a smirk. “René. We’re not in the Church, you don’t have to call me Father here.” Oh how often he’d said that statement and was ignored. He glanced over at the plant in question, fully aware that in doing so, he put this entire thing at risk by giving Isaac a chance to run. He was, admittedly, too trusting for his own good and willing to put his faith into people that would take advantage, but that didn’t stop him from trying again and again. Every person deserved someone who took a chance on them. Looking back, he shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’ve never had much of a green thumb. I can handle small repairs here and there, but.. .the Church needs some roof repair and we don’t have the money for a full contractor. Are you willing to do the work - for an hourly wage, of course - as payment in kind for my not turning you over to the Sheriff?” “René,” Isaac rolled the word over on his tongue. The little bit of an accent fit the name. Maybe Isaac should’ve taken advantage of René’s attention being elsewhere for even a second, but the urge to run had faded into the background already and René’s profile was distracting as hell. By the time he’d got his staring under control, the chance to bolt was gone. Isaac linked his hands together on the tabletop instead, and lifted both eyebrows at the job offer. “Just like that? You don’t even know about my record yet. I could’ve planned to sell your grandma’s frame to fund a pill addiction for Chr--fuck’s sake.” Isaac huffed a confused laugh and sat back into his chair. He went quiet for a second, and then met René’s gaze across the table. “I didn’t, for the record. But still. And I’m not...I’m not sayin’ I’m not interested. I am. I got laid off a while back. Lost my place. I’ve surfed couches and stayed at the shelter for half a year now and I’m damn sick of havin’ to figure out where I’m gonna sleep and how I’m gonna eat.” Isaac ran a hand up over his curls and rested it at the back of his neck. He didn’t often string that many words together at once, and the faucet seemed to still be open. “I don’t like owin’ anybody. I hate it about as much as pity. So if we make a deal, it needs to be solid. No bullshit.” “As long as you aren’t doing drugs in the church, I am not here to judge you.” Rene answered honestly, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. Even if Isaac hadn’t followed it up with a more comforting answer, it would have remained the same. It wasn’t his place to judge what crimes were worse, and it certainly wasn’t his place to turn someone down over that sort of crime. The only things that would have changed his mind were crimes against children, women and murder - and Isaac didn’t look like he was someone who went that far. “We’ll draw up a contract in the morning, but I reserve the right to inform friends that work in the town if you do exceptional work. If you’d like, you can sleep on my sofa tonight - provided you don’t disappear with my things before dawn breaks - but if you’re hoping for food…” Rene offered a pitiful grimace and gestured to the kitchen. “I can’t cook. At all. So there won’t be any pity meals coming from my end of things.” At least half a minute passed in silence, with Isaac squinting at René. Every time the priest opened his mouth, he just seemed to add to the pile of ‘how are you for real’ inside Isaac’s head. Normally, that would've set off alarm bells for Isaac. Anyone too good usually did. But for once, he wanted to believe this guy was exactly what he seemed. And Isaac was going to trust his instincts. But then he'd always been a sucker for a pretty brunette. “I tell you what…,” he murmured, pushing to his feet and casually stepping into the kitchen like he really was a guest and not a burglar-turned-project. He smiled, pulled open the fridge and kept talking. “I’ll cook you dinner in exchange for the couch.” Isaac pulled out a number of random ingredients that might not have seemed like much, but would work just fine for a foster kid all grown up, and he shot a cocky smile over his shoulder. If he was gonna run with this madness, he was gonna do it with all his hard earned swagger. “And if you feel like throwing in a bedtime story about how a priest ends up with a gun like that, then hey, maybe I'll fix that shitty window lock while I'm here.” |