Remy Lebeau (lediableblanc) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-09-27 00:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, candy quackenbush, remy lebeau (gambit) |
Who: Candy and Remy
What: Remy's looking for a new bar.
Where: The aforementioned bar
When: Monday 9/24
Rating: Teen for innuendo and mild flirting.
Status: Complete
Someone had recommended the bar two blocks down from his apartment, and Remy figured he'd check it out. Maybe he could get a little card game going in the back room. This was Orange County, after all; not like lawmen would be looking for it.
He pushed open the standard-issue sanitation-green door, looking around at the delightfully anonymous bar. It was mostly empty at this hour, except for a bored girl listlessly wiping down the countertop. Remy laughed softly; this would do fine.
He sidled up to a stool, perching on the closest one without a spring poking out. "Afternoon," he said to the girl, not expecting her to look up. "Whisky, neat."
The girl behind the bar didn't look up. She just nodded and turned around to face the booze cabinet. The guy sounded new, so she started him out at a midrange whisky, pouring him a standard glass with no ice. She turned to hand it to him, setting it on a coaster, still never looking at him. It was a gift born of practice.
She did, however, look up to see the clock. Her face was young, far younger than anyone expected behind a bar, and she sighed. It was only ten-thirty. She put her long dark hair up into a bun before moving to pour herself a Coke.
Remy noticed. And he noticed the whisky. He couldn't help but laugh softly; it might have been midrange, but it was a damn sight better than the rotgut he was used to. "Now you just flatterin' me," he murmured, looking down at the glass. He'd play her game, but he did have to comment. "Miss, ain't flirtin', just makin' a statement of fact, you look good for twenty one."
She didn't miss a beat. "Sunscreen and moisturizer," she demurred, pulling a cigarette case from her back pocket and offering him one. She handrolled her own; it was miles cheaper than buying them. "And you're new here, figured I'd give you something decent before you start asking for the Wild Turkey."
Remy took the cigarette, taking a sniff to make sure it was tobacco and not something that could get him hauled in. He wasn't on probation and it'd just be a hassle to get it now. But it was tobacco, and he lit it, taking a deep drag. No filter; strong. The way he liked it. "Merci," he said, expelling the word with the smoke. "I'd ask what sunscreen you use, but ain't nobody gonna t'ink I'm twenty one." He smiled, but just a little; if he pissed off the only bartender, this place was dead to him.
She smirked lopsidedly. "What a pain in the ass it must be to look all of twenty-five," she eyerolled. She lit it with a zippo that she kept behind the counter for customers who didn't have a lighter, or who had such alcohol withdrawal shakey hands that couldn't light their own. She winked at him before she winced at someone actually starting up the battered old jukebox in the corner.
"Aw. Given I'm t'irty, I'm touched." Remy laid a hand over his heart, grinning, but then the jukebox started. Not only was it something ancient and banjo-driven, but the record sounded skippy. He closed his eyes, asking the loa or God or whoever ran the damn universe for some strength.
"You must use the same sunscreen," she winked. But the jukebox made her flinch, and she handed the new guy her cigarette. Walking over to it, she unplugged the juke, glaring at the man who'd started it up. "I told you it's broken," she glowered.
"But it was just playing - "
"If it's not broken now, I'll break it for good, so just leave it alone, okay? Please?" She ruffled the older man's hair who then batted at her hands. He was clearly a regular and clearly thought she was adorable. Without being asked to, Candy took his glass to snag him a refill. That done, she took her smoke back from the newbie. "Thanks."
Remy took her cigarette, watching the girl practically stomp over to the ancient jukebox. He tried valiantly to keep his eyes above rear level, given she was probably about sixteen, but he couldn't help being vaguely amused by her motherly handling of the old man. "You handled that diplomatic like," he said, handing her her smoke back. "Saved me a trip." He wouldn't have been so nice.
Candy shrugged, leaning against the bar and grinning. "Sal's a sweet thing." She took another long swig of her soda, looking at Remy. "You don't look like a townie. I know you're not, accent, but you don't even look it. You don't look like a douche."
Remy grinned a little. "Proper term for me would be swamp rat, actually." He doffed his hat. "You c'n call me Remy. I'm from Terrebonne, down in Louisiana swamp country. I work out in Buena Park."
"Ooh, you work out in money. I hope you're taking it for all you can get, country boy." Candy looked up when someone else came into the bar, one of the regulars who sat in the corner and swilled Miller Light until she called him a cab. She poured him a mug without being asked, moving to hand it to him without a word.
When she returned to Remy, she smiled. "My name's Candy."
"I live 'round de corner." Remy smirked; he didn't actually lie to most women, even as young as this one; it was a bad habit. "I do special effects, and most of the studios shoot in Orange or in Buena Park, so most of my nights is spent there." He downed the whisky in one long swallow, setting the glass down. "One more, s'il vous plait?"
"Oh, so you're not milking it as much as you should." Candy laughed a bit at that, shaking her head. "You and me both. And you do special effects? Do you do the makeup or the stunts?" She took his glass, pouring him another whisky in a different glass. She'd take the Johnnie Walker Green out of her tips and put it in the till. He was kind of cute.
"Stunts; I ain't pretty enough to know makeup." Said without a trace of humility, Remy knew, but again with the not lying. "Done car flips and explosions for action movies; de ship battles in Avatar were part me." He smirked just a little when he saw the different whisky. "You trying to spoil ol' Remy, here? Too used to Sazerac an' Whiskey Red." He was grateful, though; this was not a girl who was nice to people, never mind anything more. He knew that hunch in her shoulders. Bad father, bad boyfriend, bad something. Remy shrugged inwardly, taking the glass once she was done pouring, swirling it just a little. He didn't know if it was polite or anything, but it always tasted better to him.
"Eh, you're plenty pretty. That's why you don't know makeup, you've never had to." Candy's Midwestern lilt came out on "know"; her 'o's were a bit more round and long. She chuckled when he accused her of flirting. "Maybe a little. You're the first cute guy my age in here in ages. Usually I get guys my Grandpappy's age." Oh, what she wouldn't have given for a hug from him. He'd passed too soon.
"Ain't got any family, me. Grew up with the nuns." Remy smiled as innocently as he could. "Hit the road when I could; wound up here cause homme saw me in the Quartier and thought I could do magic on stage." Yeah, that hadn't worked out.
"You know magic?" Somehow she liked that idea, plus it helped that they didn't have to talk about family anymore. She could just change the subject and never mention it again. "What, beyond making whisky disappear?"
That got a laugh from him. "I was doin' card tricks since just outta diapers. They thought it'd keep Remy out of trouble." He carried a deck of cards on his days off, but he'd come from work. "You got any, I'll show you a few." He'd always liked sleight of hand, for whatever reason; it was flashy and got people marveling.
She rifled around under the bar and pulled out a wicker basket. It had cards, dice, poker chips, and dominos in it. "Here, whatever you need." She smiled to herself, leaning forward and watching him curiously.
He finished off the whisky first, smiling at the nice bite. Remy set the glass aside, taking the cards and opening the box. He slid into his old rhythm, smiling easily at her. "Easy one to start," Remy murmured, shuffling the cards, making sure he felt each card. "Okay, chere. You can know I ain't ever seen these cards before, oui? No marks, no cheats?"
"Eh, besides what the boss puts on 'em for the times he plays with his friends, but you wouldn't know that. So yeah." She smiled at him, lighting another smoke.
Remy nodded. "Not my marks, though." He shuffled a few times, as eye-catchingly as possible. "Now. You pick any card; it don't matter if I see it."
She picked one, looked at it, and handed it back to him. "You take care of your hands," she observed. They didn't look overly calloused or beat up.
Remy didn't answer; he'd been told it looked feminine. Instead he focused on the deck, shuffling again, then making the Move that made the trick work out. "This your card, oui?" It was the eight of hearts.
That made her smile slyly. "Of course it is." It wasn't one of the unmarked ones either. She felt herself smirk lopsidedly, shaking her head. "You're impressive, Remy. I'm glad you came in here tonight."
"Ain't done. Put the eight between your hands, like you prayin'." Remy couldn't resist smirking. She obeyed and he took another card from the deck, it happened to be the queen of spades. "Now, watch de queen. If I rub it - " He moved it fast over her closed hands, but he knew the trick - to her untrained eye, the eight would appear to jump into his hand. She would find the queen between hers.
She blinked, then couldn't help but laugh. "How many times has that gotten you laid? Color me curious?" She was kind of glad that it was slow; she had more time with him. And if she leaned forward a little while she said it, well. Nobody would blame her, and it was harmless.
Remy almost replied, but he had to stop, sighing. "B'fore I talk to you about those sorts'a things ... tell me really. Nineteen?" He'd lowered his voice, but he wanted to be sure. He'd never been hauled in in his whole life, but he'd come close. Cops made him nervous.
She grinned, leaning closer to him so she could whisper into his ear. "Eighteen, but they think I'm twenty-one. And I kind of need the work." She hoped he got the hint.
She seemed like the kind of girl who'd seen The Sting. Remy ran his finger along the outside of his nose, smiling a little. "Ain't gonna hear it from Remy."
Candy responded in kind, chuckling to herself. “Before you ask, no, we don’t have The Entertainer on the jukebox, so don’t even ask. Even if we did, it’d probably skip.” She was still leaning forward, face close to his, her shirt riding a bit low on her chest. Of course, if you asked Candy, there wasn’t much chest there anyway.
There was enough. Remy smiled, still idly flipping the cards in his hands. “To answer your question from before? Enough. I like company, me.” He looked around for the card box, making sure to sound teasing. “I get so lonely.”
That made her roll her eyes and lean back. “That’s why some very clever nerds invented the internet.” She grinned cheekily at him before going back to the other end of the bar to take care of her other customers there. It was nice that the hot guy knew he was hot, but still.
Remy shut up, watching her idly, toying with the deck of cards, doing things like cutting them with one hand. She was kind to the old guys, when she didn’t really have to be - one of ‘em even reached out and played with her hair, and Remy could see her flinch all the way down at the other end of the bar. He half rose off his stool instinctively, but sat down. Most women didn’t thank him for butting in, even if they needed the help.
The flinch was instinctual, something that had come with years of habit. It only happened with men of a certain age, even if they were sweet like this customer was. She just moved out of his reach and shot him a half smile once she was out of reach. “Careful, James, what will your wife say?” She moved back to Remy’s end of the bar, taking another sip of her Coke. “He’s always handsy,” she sighed. “Mostly my hair, dunno. It’s his thing, I guess.”
“Still ain’t right. Least they don’t mean it to harm.” Remy shook his head. He smiled a little, leaning forward. “May I grab dat bit o’fluff behind your ear?” It was a magic trick, really, but he’d make a good impression if he asked first before reaching.
“Of course.” Remy was young and Candy wanted him to touch her; she wasn’t totally touchy-phobic when it was on her own terms. Leaning forward again, she smiled at him. “But really. Fluff? What happened to quarters? Is it the recession?”
“Merde, I guess that one’s too old.” He pulled the quarter out and showed it to her, but then he looked down at it. He sniffed, and (to her eye, appeared) to bite off the top of it.
Despite herself, she laughed. “Okay, that’s impressive. Bet you it still spends.” She wondered how he did it, and the wheels were fairly obviously turning. Anyone could see she was thinking, and she drummed her chipped fingernails on the counter as she did so. “You’re an impressive guy, though. Figures.”
He “spat” and the quarter was magically whole again. Remy handed it to her with a grin. “Somethin’ tells me it takes much to impress you, chere.” He took it as a compliment when anyone called him impressive, really.
She smiled and took the quarter in hand, holding it over her heart for a moment before slipping it into her pocket. “I’ll treasure it always, promise. Now let me show you the real magic trick you did.” She dug around for a Sharpie, then took a cocktail napkin and jotted down her number. “That’s actually my cell number. Normally I don’t give that out, usually it’s a number to the local methadone clinic. I’m a giver.”
Inwardly, Remy cackled. She’d been a challenge. Outwardly, he just smirked. “Methadone clinic? Nice touch, that.” He took it and pocketed it, getting serious for a second. “I’ll call. Can’t promise much, but c’n at least show you a good time.” His idea of a good time usually involved either liquor, cards, sex or all three. At least she was legal.
“How do you know I don’t just want to talk about my feelings?” She batted her eyelashes, but then cackled, unable to keep up the joke. “You can take me out for a drink and a nightcap. Second base for sure, maybe more if you’re sweet to me. I’m off on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, unless you’re a crazy night owl, then I’m off at two.”
“Une vraie femme.” Remy shook his head, grinning. “Been workin’ nights, me, so night owl fits the description.” He shrugged. “Tomorrow I give you a call when I get off? Should be one-ish. Even gonna lay in de good whisky for you.”
“You’re a sweet thing,” she smiled. Then she leaned over and pecked him lightly on the mouth, much to the heckles and hoots of the other patrons.
She actually surprised him, which was unusual. Remy had guessed she’d either not let him touch her, or she’d be all over him once they were in private. He blushed faintly, but kept his smile. “That’s Remy’s middle name.”