Who: Remy LeBeau, Miniver Cheevy and Pickles the Drummer What: Kickin' it. Where: Guildhall, New Orleans, LA When: Todayish Warnings: Profanity, sexual innuendo, probably some other stuff, for sure.
Remy was home, and he'd slept a full seven hours for the first time in possibly years, which in itself was a miracle. If he thought he could get away with it, he'd probably thank The Joker for the best night's sleep he'd had in ages. Sinister probably drugged him or something, because he never slept that long.
But it was well into the day, edging on evening in the bayou, when Remy and Miniver talked. He figured if they'd show up anywhere, it'd be on the outskirts of the back yard, which is where most of the Shadows convened. They weren't afraid of the resident gators nearby, or the guards that stood out on the boundary lines, protecting Guildhall from intruders. The Shadows were there to Inspect and Watch, mostly. Remy liked watching back. He was poured into a wicker seat, smoking a cigarette and looking slightly scuffed up, but he was clean, having taken a shower after waking up. All the blood that had been on him two nights ago was now a memory, one that surfaced if he twisted his body in certain ways. He decided that he rather disliked knives, and for that matter, anyone wielding them.
He wouldn't talk about most of what went on, he decided. But these were people who liked a good story.