Who: Raven pretending to be ‘Valerie’ & Remy LeBeau When: September 16th, around 7pm Where: A little bar Remy frequents What: Chatting, flirting, and then Raven shoots him. Rating: PG13 for Language & Violence Status: Complete
Raven had murder in her heart and on her mind. Oh, she’d give him a chance to prove her wrong - she wasn’t entirely like herself in her dreams - but it felt good to wear Mystique’s mask. She stared at herself in the mirror and wondered what she was actually doing, and if she wanted to go down this path.
It led nowhere good in the dreams, but she was violently protective of Rogue, whether the woman wanted to be protected or not.
She tried on a few faces, finally settling on someone who’s features vaguely resembled Jean Grey’s, because why not. She shifted on something low cut and with a high hemline.
Being a red-head for this was somehow extra funny to her.
*
It didn’t take Remy long to show up, a pale gray suit with a slightly metallic shimmer, a dark blue dress shirt and a silver tie. Man, he must have had a team of gay men dressing him because he was always at the height of fashion and looked good in all sorts of anything. No boring black suits for him, it was always something daring and eye-catching for the Cajun.
The Cajun that deliberately and painstakingly culled his accent so he’d sound just like everyone else-- a Southern twist, but nothing to butcher the English language. Years and years of acting classes, focused on an American accent, had fixed that up rather well.
So, maybe she was expecting something a little more Cajun and a lot less wallstreet when Remy approached her with a smile-- that had to be her. She looked a little familiar, but he didn’t place he and didn’t give it more thought beyond that. He’d lift a little pink and white striped bag he’d gotten from Victoria’s Secret and flash her a charming smile.
“I brought you something.” Socks.. and panties. The bag was extended out on a single finger.
**
"Mmm...you're a gentleman." She leaned forward, taking the bag with one single finger of her own. Her nails were perfectly manicured and it looked as though she'd filed them to slight points. The better to mark his back with, perhaps. She looked at him from under long eye lashes with eyes as green as the sea. "I like that."
She peered into the bag and raised her eyebrow. "With good taste." Oh he was smooth already. That was dangerous.
**
“I like the finer things in life.” And that, clearly, involved women. “So how about you let me take you somewhere quiet, and I buy you a drink, and you tell me what such a sexy woman is doing meeting up with a serial killer like me.” He’d flash her that easy, charming smile and offer her his arm, like any proper gentleman in those movies he’d watched.
“And I’ll tell you how amazing your legs look in those shoes.” Tit for tat, right?
**
“I’m sure yours will look as good,” She retorted, resting the bag on her arm and tilting her head in his direction. “I don’t really know what came over me. Maybe I needed more excitement in my life. Maybe I was a little tipsy when I sent that text and I’m much happier that it ended up with you than it’s original target.” The lies slipped easily off of her tongue, two hundred years of practice in her sleep.
It would really grind Rogue’s craw if she slept with him. It would also prove her point. But that hadn’t worked as Foxx, and her point now was to put something sharp between his ribs if she could. Or a bullet. She wasn’t picky. She probably wouldn’t kill him, but she wanted him to know she’d be watching. She could be waiting. She could be anyone.
Raven smiled. “I’m Valerie.”
**
“I’m much happier it ended up with me, also.” The Cajun would assure with that easy, flirtatious smile. “There’s nothing I like better than suggestive texts from a beautiful woman.” He would turn and begin moving slowly, drawing her to walk along with him. He knew a little bar with a private back room meant for... well.. private things.
He’d been there a few times before, though surprisingly mostly for meetings. Plenty of the men he did business with enjoyed these sorts of places.
“I’m Remy.” He’d say with a wink, pushing a gloved hand into his pocket. Usually, he was rather good at picking up on lies. He knew human behavior well and he could call out someone like himself in a heartbeat.
But she was just better at lying than he was. Hard to believe, we know, but he certainly wouldn’t be catching her in this act.
And he did love red-heads.
“Right in here.” Remy would be pushing open a door for her a few moments later, as they got to the little bar in question, waving to the owner as they came inside, he’d take her right through and to a little curtained area. It was clearly made for lapdances or something of the such.
“Please, sit.” He’d indicate, then turn as the waitress came in. “Scotch.” He indicated with his fingers how much he wanted, then looked at her. What did she want?
**
"French?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, falling into step next to him. She had a bit of sashay to her hips, but it was subtle, as though she weren't consciously trying to sway them. Of course, this was very deliberate. She wanted him to think she was open, but still a bit of a challenge.
The venue amused her. Raven glanced around with both her eyebrows raised, then let out a breath as though she were making a decision. "Bourbon."
The redhead slipped into a seat, leaning back and crossing her legs.
**
“The name, yes. I’m actually Cajun by birth.” Though you wouldn’t know it by the sound of him. “French Cajun.” Well, that made all the sense in the world.
He would enjoy the sway of her hips as he followed her into the establishment and into the back.
“Bourbon.” He’d repeat to the waitress with a smile and a wink that sent her grinning from the room. He was incorrigible.
He’d take up a seat across from her and stretch long legs out, getting comfortable as he watched her.. then he’d finally speak after a few heartbeats, which was good because Remy had a tendency to stare at people like he could see all their little hidden secrets, and it either freaked them out of gave them a thrill.
Usually it gave them a thrill.
“What is it you do for a living, Valerie?” Model? Stripper? Porn star? Housewife? For some reason, he wanted her to be a bored housewife.
**
"Just French enough," she joked. Raven leaned forward, the muscles in her thighs tightening as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs. "Nothing like what I wanted to do. Keep the sofa warm and look pretty, mostly." She waved her left hand, the pale mark of a removed ring visible on her ring finger. She could play the bored housewife. She was getting that vibe off of him.
**
His eyes dropped to her thighs as she recrossed her legs. Man. This woman should have been illegal. They came back up with a smile just in time to see that hand flashed and note the lack of a wedding band.
“Divorced?” He’d ask conversationally as the waitress brought their drinks in, handing each off in turn, then leaving quickly. The two clearly wanted privacy.
**
“... Kind of.” She shrugged her shoulder, as if to say she didn’t really care about technicalities or legalities or any of that nonsense. “Lets just say it’s not going to be an issue and leave it at that.” It was vague, and she knew it, but she also had the rest of the story if he was going to press.
**
Kind of. That meant no. And that? Made this stunning, beautiful woman (who gave off that dangerous vibe that Remy found oh-so attractive) one hundred percent off limits. He didn’t touch people in relationships. He was steadfast against cheating and refused to be part of the deed. But oh, housewives were the very best. Angry, hateful ex-wives who would do anything to bleed their former husbands dry? With children they secretly hated and lots of pent up frustration?
It was like a little slice of heaven all wrapped up into a beautiful botoxed body.
“It’s not an issue.” He would agree without hesitation, smiling and lifting his scotch a bit. “So what did you want to do?” Raven would surely pick up on the fact that while he seemed quite interested and was prompting her to talk about herself, he was letting his eyes roam. Not just enjoying her form, but taking in bits and pieces of her. It wasn’t often he met someone who wouldn’t talk much about themselves. Most people blurted out more than he ever wanted to know, with just a little nudge. She hadn’t. It was interesting to him.
He wanted to know why.
Look at the wheels turning, he was trying to figure her out.
**
"Things will be finalized very soon," she elaborated, with the air of someone who was going to take every last pint of blood she could in the process. Valerie put on the air of a woman who was intensely lonely. But she didn't want to look desperate, or like she was trying too hard. "Do? Drink this bourbon and enjoy the company of a man who buys a woman panties sight unseens. What if I'd been hideous?"
**
“I meant besides be a bored housewife.” A grin spread over his features and his eyebrows went up in a playful manner. “If you’d been hideous, I still would have given you the bag and would be having a drink with you. It would have been awkward if you were fat, though.” Because he’d bought size 5 underwear for her. He’d been going on the assumption that she was thin.
He didn’t see many fat people around the OC.
“I do feel a little slighted, though, I’ve brought you this present and I’m not getting anything in return.” It was playful, of course it was. In his pocket, his phone vibrated.
**
She casually undid a button on her top, sliding her hand into her bra. "Who said you were getting nothing?" Her smile was seductive, and when she moved her legs again it was obvious that she'd actually forgone underwear for this particular jaunt. And that she was a natural redhead.
"You're kind, and attractive, and I'm really turned on."
**
His eyes lowered as she moved her legs and his eyebrows went up, indicating he’d seen.. well. Everything. It brought around a little laugh and he lifted his eyes right back up to her face. “Wow.” Was all he’d say, that smile curling his face once again. “Normally, you’d be just my type.” She was moving fast-- it was time to come clean. “But.. I’m sorry, I’m not going to be able to follow through with this tonight. I think we should just finish our drinks and you should let me take you home.”
**
“Valerie” let out a frustrated sigh. “Seriously?” She withdrew her hand from her bra and straightened her top out. “What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep…” Raven was playing up the hysterics a little. Frustrated and lonely housewife, getting rejected. Too perfect.
“It’s not fair!”
**
“There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re beautiful. You’re stunning and you’re incredibly sexy..” He laughed some again, God his chest hurt-- “But you’re still married and I’m..” In some weird, twisted relationship with a girl who told me it was okay to sleep with other women, but I won’t because I hate cheaters? How dare Rogue put him in a relationship without his permission. “Stupid.” He finished his sentence.
“Really.. really stupid.” He continued a moment later. “Let me drive you home.”
**
She shook, like she was angry, like she was going to cry or to scream. Or maybe both. But instead, she lifted a gun and pointed it right at his chest. "You missed out on something wonderful."
Raven really hoped that Remy was less dexterious than in her dreams as she pulled the trigger.
**
It was lucky for him that he was more agile than he had been a week ago-- but no where near like her dreams. He’d jerk back a step and both of the gloves he was wearing would charge up, but he certainly couldn’t throw them-- and that bullet would hit its mark. Thankfully, it wouldn’t hit his heart, but it’d go straight into his chest and knock him down to the ground. His gloves wouldn’t explode, but would rather disintegrate as he lost consciousness almost immediately.
There was shouting from the bar outside of that private room and the sounds of men rushing. She’d better believe that the men who ran this bar had weapons of their own, so if Raven was smart, she’d make herself scarce.
**
Raven darted out, ducking into the ladies room and changing her shape. As a (large) cat, she hopped up onto the counter, and then through the bathroom window. The gun she left in the dumpster (no prints, naturally), and padded away, tail held high like a job well done. Her heart was pounding, though, and she felt in a way particularly terrible. Because she'd enjoyed that.