Who: Sinister and Gambit with a side dish of Artan Stillman. What: Equipment drop off and possibly some SUPAR MAZZIV EVUL, who knows? Where: Essex's mansion-shaped-thing, New York When: Middledarkest of night, around the weekend. Warnings: Snark and pride-killing.
Remy wasn't happy about things. Not one bit. Yeah, he could have said 'go for it, kill me', but that wasn't in him. It wasn't like him. Suicidal was something some people considered Remy LeBeau, but he wasn't. Not at all. He didn't believe in suicide. He did, however, believe in reckless behavior on the pretense that he could fix it later.
He flicked the ash from his cigarette out the window as he put his tapped his other hand's fingers on the steering wheel of the large moving van, waiting for his coworker to get done loading the equipment in. Once he felt the jar of the door closing in back, he started up the engine and waited for his coworker to jump in. Artan ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "What the hell is all this stuff for, old man? You sure are aiming low, stealing medical equipment and science junk. You're usually the Demented Objects from Hell type. What gives?" Remy didn't answer, he just drove out of the parking lot and started down the highway.
Artan spoke once more. "Okay, so you're not talking now. Great. So I guess I'm helping you unload this crap, too? What's the payout for me? You sure are getting kinda secretive, and don't get me wrong, it's how we do things but c'mon, I'm marrying your daughter, can't you at least tell me what this is about? What's got you so worked up?"
Remy took another drag of his cigarette and turned on the radio. He didn't need Artan asking twenty questions just then. He knew the kid was just worried, and that was fine, but there were just some things Artan didn't need to know. "You gunna help Remy unload, den you gunna drive off 'fore de guy sees you. You gunna need to cloud y'thoughts, homme, dis guy is one'a dem." "Alright. Fine. Look, you know you don't have to bottle, right? I hate seeing you like this. I mean, seriously. Third person? You quit that shit years ago, bud. You only do that when you're in trouble. If you're in trouble, you can --" "Ain't in trouble. Now you best keep y'mind on de job. Rookie." Remy said with a smirk. He briefly looked over to Artan, who sat stunned for a moment, before huffing a chuckle. "Okay pops, your call."
Once at the dropoff point, Remy and Artan unloaded the back of the truck, and Artan drove off. Remy was the one to get things situated in the man's garage. He had a sneaking suspicion he was already being watched by Essex. That was fine by him, in one of those creepy "Can't do anything about it" sort of ways.