Remy LeBeau: Here For Your Entertainment. (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mssr_lebeau) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valarlogs,@ 2014-10-22 23:16:00 |
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When: Oct 22nd
Where: Frank’s Microbrewery - Tink is apparently an alcoholic because she knows the bartender by name! Bad Tink!
What: Drinking. Then Tink shows of her wings and scares Wade.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for Language
Status: Complete
There had been something particularly disgusting about the cab Wade had been riding in. He wasn’t sure what it was. In fact, it bothered him that he couldn’t place it. Was it the smell? The feeling of the pleather? Maybe it was something about the way the windows looked like someone had tried to clean them up and really only done the middles of them.
Something was off inside the yellow cab.
But, luckily for Wade, he had an address and an intent to get the hell out of the cab as quickly as possible. Straight from the airport with his luggage in the trunk, he didn’t even pretend to be interested in small talk with the driver. Nope, he wanted his beer. He wanted to be happily back on American soil after a whole fucking day on a plane.
He’d pay his fair, tip poorly, and take his bag and his suit-clad self into the Microbrewery that stranger had suggested online. It was five o’clock, so the place wasn’t too crowded yet. No, he didn’t want a table. Yes, he just wanted a seat at the bar.
Sitting there with one foot up on his suitcase and the other hooked onto his stool at the heel of too-expensive shoes, the bar tender was heralded with instructions of, “One of anything, and keep it coming until I tell you I hate it.”
He was exhausted, and he didn’t want to go to a damned hotel. He wanted that apartment, like they’d agreed.
Wade hated not getting what he wanted immediately.
-
“Here on business?” Came a familiar Southern drawl from his left, and Remy would come around the back, then settle down on his right side, slipping up onto the worn stool with a smile on his face. And boy, did Remy have a smile. He always had. He was a born politician.. everyone had always told him that.
He was beginning to consider it.
Newport Beach did need a mayor.
“Scotch.” He’d ask of the bar tender.
-
That fucking voice.
Wade knew that voice.
The problem was, he’d moved here thinking that maybe he wouldn’t actually know any of the voices. You know, this could be the place he came to hide when work was done. This could be his own personal kingdom.
Dammit if the kingdom didn’t already have a damned king.
“Not exactly,” Wade turned his head to face Remy and raised his beer a touch. “What the hell are you doing here? Not stalking me again, are you?”
That was half of a joke. Lots of people stalked him - it tended to be the only way to find him since he was shit at paying attention to his cell phone and moved around like a man with a bad past. Not that he had a bad past - he just didn’t believe in roots. Not really.
“What you need this time?” He smirked, tugging down the knot of his tie a bit more. He couldn’t imagine Remy LeBeau turning up in the same place as him and not needing some kind of job handled.
-
The Kingdom had a King.
But this King was benevolent, and he was ready to welcome Wade.
The OC was slowly beginning to get its fair share of people who didn’t wear spandex-- er, well. Who didn’t wear justice spandex.
“I actually live here now. Sort of. Been here three months.. bought a place.” He still had the place in New Orleans, but this was where he stayed these days. He had a penthouse.. and he was thinking of buying an actual house. He wanted a private beach.
“Don’t need anything now. Maybe later.” Surely later.
-
Tink pulled up to the Micro-Brewery--the one that she visited after her paychecks came in, since she could spend several hours drinking here and chatting with the various bartenders and waitresses--and saw a very familiar car in the parking lot. "Shelley!" She said the name out loud, and, once she was off her bike with her helmet stowed, she rushed over to Remy's car and bent to kiss the hood. She would make out with the car if she could.
But something told her not to. Something told her he might have some sort of weird, anti-making-out defense system on the thing.
Reluctantly, she moved from the car toward the front door of the brew-pub, pulled it open and stepped through. Her eyes scanned the bar quickly, and settled on the familiar redhead and the guy next to him--one foot on a suitcase. This must be it. She headed across the bar to join up with the guys, a grin breaking out across her her lips.
"I wasn't expecting to see you here, Remy." She said, squishing between the two guys to flag down the bartender. "Aren't you supposed to be off in Vegas or something?"
-
“There’s always a ‘later’ with you.” He shook his head, taking a long pull from his beer. “I’m not going to lie, Remy, I was kind of looking forward to a little anonymity.” Just a touch. Look at you, LeBeau, ruining the one thing he’d hoped and dreamed for.
Alright, he hoped and dreamed for other things; but, he was making a point.
“Don’t you--” He would have finished that thought except a blonde in coveralls had squeezed herself in between him and Remy. Well, Wade would be kind and stow away any sort of innuendos before they could actually get out of his mouth. Make friends, Wilson. Make fucking friends.
“If it isn’t the girl in coveralls. I thought you were just making that up.” He did. He really did.
Or, maybe, he was making it up for her - because that was a porno he’d seen somewhere once.
-
“I’m only in Vegas on days that end in Y.” He told her with a smile, turning to offer his hand out to her and kissing hers once he got it. Of course he did. She was his most favorite mechanic in the entire world.
Releasing her hand, he scooted over to allow her to sit between them. “Tink, this is Wade. Wade, Tink. The best mechanic you’ll ever meet. And the hottest.” So said Remy. That made it true.
He wouldn’t comment on Wade’s line of work with Tink around, though. Remy liked to be seen as a relatively good guy, after all.
-
Tink smirked, motioning to the bartender for her usual. "Hey, Frank," she called out to him. (He responded in kind, giving her a playful "Hey, Tink" before setting an opened bottle in front of her on the bar. )
"I never make up things about wearing coveralls." She said. And, indeed, she was wearing coveralls today. Tonight? This afternoon? Anyway, they were a dark, olive green, and obviously had been washed dozens of times. There were patches on both knees and elbows--though that may have been a style thing. Tink's hair was windswept, and pulled back off her neck.
"Hi, Wade." She grinned brightly. "You liking the place so far? They have some really amazing hard apple stuff." She held the bottle out to him and pointed to the label. It was hard cider, not actually beer.
-
Wade wouldn’t ask if Remy and Tink were fucking - he liked to at least appear like some kind of nice guy.
Sometimes.
Every other Wednesday.
Though, the question burned right in between his eyes.
“I don’t know what’s in this glass,” honestly appraised, “But, it’s tasty.” Another long pull followed by a hasty gulp - and he was sliding his glass in the direction of Frank - hopefully Frank had been paying attention when Wade gave his instructions. Keep ‘em coming until he said he hated them.
“So, Tink?” He looked back and forth between the blonde and his former employer for confirmation. “Did your parents hate you or is that a nickname?”
-
“No.” Remy would say to Wade, making sure no question did come out.
He’d swirl the scotch in his glass and lean against the bar to watch the two of them, smiling just so. Really, he wanted to pipe up with something smart, but would just let the two talk for now. Business could come later.
-
Nope, Tink was pretty happily fucking someone else. Funny that they both (Remy and her someone else) had ended up with a bullet inside. Of course, Neal's came in his sleep, and Remy's was delivered the much more usual way.
"Ah... it's definitely a nickname. My brothers gave it to me when I was little. Don't you think it fits?" She asked, lifting the bottle to gulp it, too. They were here to drink, right? Tink could hold one or two down, but that was her limit.
-
“No?” Feigned confusion, Wade knew exactly what Remy was saying. Maybe the confusion was just as to why not?
“If you’re not careful I’m just going to have to make up all my own stories about you, Tink.” Something about that certainly sounded like she didn’t want him making up stories.
“Fits?” Well, that was a question he was unsure how to answer. “Makes you sound like an annoying little bell.” That’s what bells did right, tink? “You don’t seem annoying.”
-
Yes, Remy’s was delivered by a psychotic woman who had shot him when he refused to sleep with her.
He was amazingly in demand, apparently.
“No.” Came the response to the other man’s question. No, he wasn’t sleeping with her, and no, he wasn’t explaining why.
“She’s not annoying.” Remy would chime in. “She’s fantastic.” So said her most pleased customer.
-
"Oh, anything you can come up with would be far far more interesting than the truth, I assure you," Tink said, ignoring the weird 'no' conversation between the two guys at the bar. She just drank from her bottle, then moved around Remy to grab a stool and drag it over. Sitting. Sitting was preferable to standing.
"Aw, two minutes in and you don't think I'm annoying. That must be a record." Tink nudged Remy with her elbow, grinning, and gulped from the bottle again. "No no, I'm a fairy." True story.
-
“Well, look, Rem agreed. So, my two-minute assessment must be right.” He took back his refilled glass and raised it in mock salute. “You can both now call me amazingly perceptive.” Which he was. Sometimes. Mostly he just winged it and trusted his gut.
“Well, I understand what it means when a man calls himself a fairy,” remarked to her self-applied label. “Like if Rem said he was a fairy I’d know exactly what he was talking about.” Dark eyes shifted back onto the mechanic, “So, if you’re not that kind of fairy, I guess you’re going to grant some wishes then? Oh, wait, that’s a genie, right?”
-
“If I called myself a fairy, would anyone be surprised?” Remy was still grinning away, though. He had no issues wearing drag for fun things. He had no issues flirting with men. Or sleeping with them, really.
“Are you talking about in your dreams?” That was posed to Tink. He didn’t have dreams, himself. Just memories. But he knew others had those strange dreams.
-
"Aw, come on, Remy. No one really thinks you're a fairy. You like women too much." Tink laughed, then turned to Wade. "No no, a literal fairy." Tink said, nodding. Then shaking her head, then nodding again. She wasn't sure if she was agreeing or not. Another gulp from the bottle, and she set it down on the counter. "Life-sized. We make the seasons change, we don't grant wishes."
Then she gave her shoulders a little shake, and her wings popped out of sleeves she'd specially sewn into the back of her coveralls. They looked almost like really, really, really big dragonfly wings. And fluttered once they were out.
-
“I do.” He smirked as he said it, cocking a brow in Remy’s direction. Yeah, he couldn’t keep his trap shut. Maybe that was why nobody was ever happy to see him? Wade Wilson was born sans the brain-mouth filter. Sorry.
“Dreams? Oh, fuck not you, too--”
Wade squinted, trying to understand where she was going with that ‘literal’ business. Did she not know the meaning of the word? It was okay, he wouldn’t slight her for it; but, literal didn’t mean what she thought it did. Maybe she realized that as she started shaking her head and then nodding in turn.
“So you’re going to give me an early Christmas?”
That was the last thing Wade managed before those wings jumped out of her back.
He looked at them like he couldn’t really comprehend what he was seeing. He couldn’t. Don’t mind Wade as he actually reached out to touch, Tink.
-
Holyshit.
Remy looked surprised, too. But a grin spread out over his face and he gave Tink a wink. Hah. Tink a wink. He was funny. Ahem.
She was a freak.. just like him. He felt better about himself now.
The Cajun took another sip of his Scotch and eyed those wings. God, he wanted to touch them.
He wouldn’t. He’d let Wade.
-
Tink didn't believe it. She'd seen Remy interacting with women. Well, online. Actually, now that you mention it... Tink wasn't convinced Remy didn't swing both ways. But fairy? Definitely not. And Tink was something of an expert on fairies.
"If only. That's something my sister Periwinkle would have to do. She's a Frost fairy." Tink didn't have a problem with the guys seeing her wings. Or touching them. She gave them a little flutter, and tiny, orange lights--almost like miniature fireflies or glowing sand--came off of them. Pixie dust.
"I'm a tinker fairy, though, which I think is why I'm so good with machines."
-
Wade poked the nearest wing a couple of times, just hard enough that he was sure he was touching something.
It was the weird ass lights that told him what he was seeing was fucked up. Yes, that was fucked up.
“What’d you put in my beer?” Dark eyes slipped over to Remy. He was getting defensive - such was his nature. “If I was here to fuck you over, I’d have told you.” Yes, Remy, he thought you put something in his beer because you thought he was there to fuck you over.
Paranoia was good in his line of work.
-
“Date rape drug.” Remy told him with an easy smile. “But, seriously, it’s real. It’s all real. People who live here sort of... turn into this.” He gestured at Tink. “Well, not fairies. This isn’t San Francisco.” He laughed and would give Tink another grin. “But they get strange powers, or strange things.. weird dreams. People talk about their weird dreams all the time on the net.”
He swirled the scotch again, clearly amused.
-
Uh oh. Tink didn't want to cause problems. She gave her shoulders another little shake and her wings retracted into her coveralls. She lifted the bottle and gulped from it again. "It's uh... it's no big deal." Tink said, trying to calm the waters. She probably shouldn't have shown them? Probably not.
"Not everyone turns into a fairy. I'm ... weird. Like that. Special?" Her new Sister-in-law thought she'd done it to herself--that Tink had altered her body surgically to have these weird wings. "I guess. It's no big deal. Really."
Gulp. Mmm. Hard Cider. Subject change?
Tink turned to Remy. "I see you brought Shelley tonight. How's she running?"
-
Wade’s foot planted against the bar and he pushed back, sliding himself and the stool away from both Remy (and his dream spouting ways) and his accomplice.
“Well, I better get my ass out of Dodge.” Because the idea of turning into something - well, outside of being legitimately crazy, was also horrifying. Wade had been forced to read Metamorphosis in high school - that was the kind of shit that stuck with you.
Leaning forward he’d snap up the handle of his luggage and lock it into place, looking past the now wingless mechanic to his former employer.
“It didn’t have to be like this, Rem.”
You didn’t have to fuck him up.
Reaching into his pocket he was digging for loose bills to slap onto the bar.
-
Okay. Okay. Remy could handle this. “It’s not like anything, Wade.” He’d reach out to pick up one of the dollars and turn it over in his fingers. Then it began to glow pink. He waggled it some in the air. “It’s something in the water. If you stay, you’re going to turn out just like us.”
But somehow he doubted that would scare Wade off.
-
Oh, it was like something. It was definitely like fucking something.
“I’ve been on some really, really fucked up trips in my life.” He was fussing with his wallet, his pockets having turned out a bit light on the cash front, “There was that time in Taiwan and then that other time in Oshkosh--” His hands were moving slowly because he knew if he started moving too fucking fast things would only get worse.
Remy had failed to consider that Wade had a fairly solid grip on reality and didn’t exactly care to have it tampered with. Maybe somewhere in that skull of his he knew that one little crack would just lead to bigger cracks - and bigger cracks.. bigger cracks meant bigger bullshit.
“Just tell me what it was.” In his drink. “For all you know I’m fucking allergic.” He wasn’t. It was a piss poor attempt at a joke - sorry, his focus was elsewhere.
-
Tink climbed up from her stool and set it aside now. She felt horrible that she'd made this mistake. She shouldn't have shown off her wings. There was a reason she kept them hidden so much. But no one at her brother's wedding had cared--well, except the bridezilla--so she hadn't thought... well, now she knew.
Keep it secret. Keep it safe. Conceal it, don't feel it.
"...would you believe me if I told you that they're fake?" Tink asked, wincing. She didn't expect him to buy it. Mostly because it wasn't true. And Tink was a terrible liar. "I had implants put in... next to my shoulder blades." Or something.
-
“Told you. It’s in the water.” He pulled the pink coloring back out of that dollar and set it back down. “Everyone gets it.” The insanity. “Didn’t expect you to run from it, though.” He’d swirl his Scotch and glance at Tink before looking back at Wade with a smile.
“No tricks. You and me, we’re good.” He wasn’t trying to fuck you over, Wade. He hadn’t. Not ever. You’d been good to him, you’d done what he’d asked, and he was happy with your work. He planned to use you again.
Why screw that up?
-
“Sweetheart,” he’d smirk a little bit at the girl, “They don’t make shit like that at party city.” No, they weren’t fake, well, not in the sense she was implying. “Don’t sweat it,” he’d tap his card on the bar and wait for Frank to take it rather impatiently. He’d put a fair amount of distance between himself and the pair by then.
“Let me put some of that shit in your scotch and we’ll see just how fucking good we are.” His palms were fucking sweating - what the fuck?
The situation had somehow turned into a trigger - making him think about turning into some kind of giant cockroach or some shit. He knew that crawling feeling at the back of his neck was the drugs (or, in reality, his own imagination); but, it made him feel no less panicked.
“Like I said,” he was stuffing his card into his wallet. “If I was here to fuck you over, I would have told you. I would have turned up in your damned office and named whoever’s price and we would have taken care of it there. There wasn’t any fucking reason to ruin a perfectly good beer.”
He’d shake his head, rooted in place for a second as he kind of expected to at least hear the name of the damned drug.
Truth was, that shit could be awesome recreationally.
-
If Tink had been thinking properly, focused on Remy instead of herself, she would have noticed the pink, glowing dollar bill and freaked out a little bit herself. As it was, she only sort of caught a glance of it out of the corner of her eye. She'd have to ask Remy about that later. Because it meant that there was someone else here who had powers, like she had wings.
Gulp. Bottle. Drink. Then she set it back down on the counter, mostly finished, but knowing that she wasn't going to get to the bottom of that bottle. She wanted to flee almost as much as Wade did, apparently.
"Wellllllllll I should get going." Tink said. "I'm off to Neal's place. Uh. Sorry." She added, to Remy mostly. But then she added to Wade, "I didn't mean to uh... ruin your beer."
She pulled a couple of bills out of the pocket of her coveralls and slapped them on the counter, waved to Frank, and turned to head out. Kicking herself the whole way.
-
Well. There went a perfectly good night of screwing around with a guy that he happened to know, first hand, was awesome to screw around with.
He knocked back the rest of his scotch and slid a crisp bill across the counter to Frank with a wink. “Bet you see that sort of crap all the time.” Remarked with a smile, but he’d watch as Tink retreated, then set hazel eyes onto Wade. He’d give him some time. After he started having those weird ass dreams, he’d relax.
-
Yes, he would have ridden it like a wave to shore if Remy had just made up a name for the drug and let him believe it was all inside his damned head.
Instead, well, the businessman started talking crazy shit about dreams and things ‘in the water’ and people ‘changing.’
Wade did not want any piece of any of that.
Dark eyes followed the girl - who had apparently expected a different kind of reaction out of him. He wondered what Remy had told her.
“We aren’t good.” He repeated that, shoving his wallet away and making for the door. He’d stand outside and call his cab, thanks.