Who: Harry Dresden & Remy LeBeau When: September 24th, About 5pm Where: 601 Lido - Newport Beach (Remy’s Building) What: Harry Dresden moves into Remy’s building. Rating/Warnings: PG13 for Language Status: Completed
Hotels were fun for a while, but apparently Harry was going to need a more permanent place to stay. As much money as he had, he didn’t gain it by giving it all away. It was a series of things including inheritance and money from his father’s shows. He wouldn’t have to worry about work for a while if he didn’t want to, but he didn’t tell many people that. Harry Dresden was a humble sort of guy.
He still dressed in t-shirts and jeans, he still ate Lucky Charms in the morning, and he still read the morning paper. Yep. Just your average guy-who found a beach house in a prime location and paid cash. It was a nice idea, he’d have to thank his Chicago partners for mentioning it. He wore a Clash t-shirt and pair of jeans that particular evening as he watched movers manhandle his belongings. “You break it, you buy it.” He muttered coldly as he watched a man stumble under a particularly heavy box. Though he did lend him a hand, he just made sure the man didn’t really notice, or was too busy scowling at him instead.
Finally then he got less involved and lit up a cigarette to watch the rest of the move. They could handle it from there, or why else was he paying?***
“You must be the guy moving in on the 9th floor.” The Southern drawl of the Cajun, who had practiced so very long and hard to squash his Cajun accent-- and he did particularly well at it, if he did say so himself.
He was sitting on the bench outside the building, dressed in a nice, tailored suit and looking rather languid as he watched. He, too, had a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Apparently, this was the designated smoking and watching people area.
“Got a name?” Of course he knew. It wasn’t like people moved in and out of here often. He’d nearly bought the ninth floor and expanded his penthouse to be two stories. Well, there was always the second half of the ninth floor, unless this man was buying that up too, like Remy had taken the entire top floor?
It was a lot of space for a single man.
Remy had already found it useful.
** “Harry. Harry Dresden.” Harry never gave out his entire name. He didn’t know why, in his office it was customary to do so. Of course his business was quite a bit different, getting to know vendors and mafia alike. It was all about tradition, and he had nothing against that-he was just more than a little paranoid.
“Lebeau wasn’t it?” Of course he also had done his homework on his new neighbor. He wasn’t an idiot. Harry didn’t own many things, so it didn’t take long for the workers to clear out. As much money as he had he was a bit of an odd guy in that sense, not many physical items brought with him.
He was friendly enough, but there was something in his eyes, a certain edge that made them terrifying to look into directly. Even the man who’d run up to him to gather his cash for the move had avoided looking straight at him, friendly as he seemed. He paid the man of course, and held out a hand then to Remy to shake with an amused expression. “Seems like things will be interesting from now on.” That probably came off more ominous than he thought, but he’d honestly just meant that he rarely had neighbors. Or when he did-they didn’t stick around very long at the least. *** “That’s me.” He wasn’t surprised by the fact his new neighbor knew of him-- everyone in the building did by now. And Hell, maybe this guy wanted to know who was in the building. He wouldn’t blame him-- he’d done the same thing.
Sharp, hazel eyes watched as that man came to retrieve his money, watched those eyes remain down in a subservient way. Oh. That made Remy’s insides all twist up with excitement. Just the way that man acted around the new guy.. the way the new guy dismissed him so easily.
He was going to enjoy this man.
“I think you’re right about that.” He’d say as he took that hand and gave it firm shake. When released, he’d take another drag of his cigarette and puff out a few smoke rings casually.
“Been in Orange County long?” **
Remy hadn’t found some excuse to back out of shaking his hand. Impressive. Most people even avoided that simple act if they didn’t have to. It’d happened ever since he was a child. He was never sure why. He assumed people were just strange. The man that came to collect his money was no less strange than the rest of them. His lips quirked upward into smirk at those words and the lack of nerves displayed by his new neighbor.
“Not long. Month or so.” Long enough to make some poor decisions. He watched the mover leave as quickly as they came. Neither of them had bothered speaking to Harry beyond basic introductions. They didn’t have much to say after that.
Harry took a drag of his cigarette and leaned back nearby Remy. He would finish his cigarette there. There wouldn’t be smoking in his new home. He was determined to keep it that way.
Suddenly however the moving truck backed up the driveway and an orange tabby cat jumped out of the driver side door. Harry raised an eyebrow as it meandered it’s way toward the two men, clearly taking it’s time. “Fell asleep again didn’t you?” The cat gave it’s owner an indignant look and stuck it’s nose up in the air.
Again the men drove off without a word. *** Remy didn’t have nerves. Nerves were reserved for people with actual feelings. If he knew he was supposed to have nerves, perhaps he would have faked it well enough to be believed. As it was, there was nothing, just smiles and rather friendly body language.
“Long enough to know this place is a crazy house.” He meant, of course, a mental institution. Surely if Harry had been here a month, he knew that already.
But oh, look at the way his eyes lit up when he saw that cat, cigarette forgotten as he leaned forward just some-- then his body betrayed him and tightened up, causing him to have to lean a little to the side to try and lessen the pain in his chest. It didn’t work.
That smile, though, never slipped from his face. A well placed mask the would-be politician wore.
“Is he yours?” He lowered a hand and wiggled his fingers.
Were Remy LeBeau ever to be an animal, he’d be a house cat. A long, languid, lazy, but incredibly graceful and spoiled house cat.
**
“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that part out.” He snorted some in amusement at the comment and gave a roll of his eyes at the cat as it rubbed against their legs demanding attention. Much like the owner himself, not taking no for an answer, the cat jumped up when Remy shifted positions away from it nearby on a fence. Just conveniently enough for him to reach over to pet him.
“For better or worse.” Harry chuckled somewhat gruffly. The creature had stuck by his side even in the worst of his moods and had earned his affection. It was rarely a side Harry let out in the public light though. Remy ought to take note of that.
“His name’s Mister.” He knew it was corny. But it fit. “He’s a glutton. Feed him and he’ll never leave you alone.” Without that cat though Harry would certainly be alone.
***
The laugh had hazel eyes racing back to the other man and his smile curled into a grin-- something a little sharper, a little less politically correct. “He’s wonderful.” And he could reach up and stroke a hand down his back with very little effort, eyes falling partly closed as he considered the animal. “Mister. Could be worse-- you could be Mister Whiskers or something horrible.” That was spoken to the animal. Of course he was one of those.
Remy needed a pet.
“Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Mister and Harry Dresden.” He’d finally bring his attention back around to the other man. “I think you’ll fit right in.” You were just as strange as the rest of them.
** The cat was almost insulted at the mere mention of that sort of name. If cats could glare it probably would have. In fact it was likely doing it anyway by staring so intently at the other man. “I think he’d disown me at that point. I really don’t think I’d blame him either.”
Harry had trust issues when it came to other people. He hardly gave out any information about himself, as it stood it was very likely that Remy had more information on him than anyone else he’d met. He was a paranoid guy at heart. Didn’t like to let people in, and yet the damn cat was insisting. He sighed as he enjoyed that cigarette. There was going to be a scotch or something in his future as well after those damn movers.
“Not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” He grinned toothily at him. ***
“It’s a compliment if you don’t mind being called a weirdo.” He’d flash a grin right back. “But you’re in good company.” He was a weirdo, too. “Maybe I could interest you in a scotch? I could bring it down, help you and Mister unpack a few boxes?” Snoop around his things just a bit.
You know, normal things neighbors do to the new people.
** “Wouldn’t be the first time someone did.” That grin remained as he finished off his cigarette and stamped out the rest of it with a converse sneaker. To the average eye he certainly wouldn’t appear to have any money at all to his name. However, living in a building like he was going to be obviously he had. He’d bought it out, wasn’t even renting. The place was his even if he decided to go back to Chicago eventually.
“You a mind reader?” He smirked, how had he even known otherwise? Or maybe he’d been hanging around too many damn magic shows for his own good these days to first think of mind readers.
“Not much to move in, but I wouldn’t turn it down.” ***
“I never smoke without a Scotch chaser. It’s sort of my drug of choice.” Though he had no business drinking it with the medication he was taking.. but who was counting? Man, this idiot needed a mother to tell him no once in a while.
No one told Remy LeBeau ‘No’.
Well, except his head of security, but she was back in New Orleans.
“Not a mind-reader.” He’d insist with a grin. “I’m a man.” This implied, of course, that all real men drank scotch and smoked.
Slowly, he’d push up to his feet. It was a slow but fluid movement. Like he had all the time in the world to do anything he liked.
And maybe he did.
“I think we’ll get along just fine.” Remarked as he began to head for the large double-doors, the door man already opening one for them.
** “Keep offering me scotch and I’d say we will.” It to was his choice. He had a small collection in one of those boxes of very expensive bottles of imported scotch. His weakness you could say, though Harry Dresden never admitted to any sort of weakness if he could help it.
He let Remy lead the way, he was still figuring out the layout of the building. The cat followed him in. The doorman nearly shut the door on his furry little companion and paid for it with a swipe of a claw at his ankle. Harry could only grin cockily as if to say Let that be a lesson to you. And the cat seemed to have almost the same expression.
Harry however went to his penthouse with the cat in toe and a shocked looking door man in his wake. He might have felt bad, but it didn’t show. And it wasn’t like he could really scold a cat.
He waited for his new neighbor and his scotch by shuffling some boxes around and beginning to pry them open. *** It didn’t take long for Remy to show up and knock at that door. He’d even wait for it to be opened instead of just letting himself him. Look, he was trying to be respectful!
He’d lift the bottle and two glasses when the door was opened.
“Housekeeping.” He’d say with a smile, then step inside and take a glance around. Yep, set up pretty much like his.
Handing over a glass, he wouldn’t get five paces in before pouring them both a drink. The bottle ended up getting set on the kitchen counter as he wandered in there. Then he’d come back out and lift his glass some.
“To new neighbors and their little Misters.”
** It was mostly set like Remy’s. Except one major difference, he’d requested most of the electronics be removed from the place. Microwaves and televisions were gone. Only the over head lighting still remained, but he’d deal with that one later.
“It’s open.” For a private man he didn’t do too well when it came to locking his door apparently, but he didn’t need to in a place like this. Not well anyway. It had security, and very few of his personal belongings were actually worth stealing.
“Man of your word I see. Good. We’re nothing without it.” Something about the way he said that was cold. Certain things were just off about him. Many of the boxes brought in were books. Not so personalized.
“Make yourself at home. Mister already has.” The cat had taken a spot on the new couch to claim as it’s own. *** That was.. weird.
Maybe the guy was Amish?
No, he was just a weirdo, like Remy, who kept nothing personal.
And apparently, neither did Mister Dresden.
Hm. It meant, to Remy, that he had something to hide. And the Thief liked that.
“Careful, you tell me to make myself at home and you’ll get a bed partner.” Bold, wasn’t he? He knew it. “You’ll never get rid of me.” He liked your cat, Harry. ** “Is that a threat or a promise?” Harry said with a raise of an eyebrow in Remy’s direction and sauntered his way toward the liquor. He was lanky and had an unkempt almost rocker appearance.
He leaned in to grab at a glass with a slender hand and his lips curved into a smirk at that. He’d already made several bad decisions that day, why not add a few more to the list? He raised his own to tip it to Remys own. “Salute.” ***
“Sante.” He would echo back in crisp French, lifting his glass and knocking back the rest of the scotch there. He’d lick his lips after lowering the glass and smiled again, eyebrows lifting.
“Maybe a little of both.” The Cajun finally responded to that first question. “I guess it depends on how you look at it.” Really, Remy wasn’t up for anything except sitting around and looking handsome. Could you blame him?
** “Maybe this little arrangement will work out just fine.” He said with an air of amusement regarding the new penthouse. He doubted Remy got many neighbors, but from what he did say his new ne was rather attractive. He’d been hesitant at first. From what he could tell about Remy he only put up a mask of himself online. Basic information, nothing real or deep. Much like Harry himself, very well guarded about his actual personal life. He leaned in to get a bit more of the drink and ended up within inches of the man. He traced a single slender fingertip along his jawline. “The offer stands.” And left it at that, moving back to one of the kitchen counter bar stools to sit, nursing the drink.