Candy Quackenbush can walk on water. (toitshour) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-10-03 02:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, candy quackenbush, remy lebeau (gambit) |
Who: Candy Quackenbush and Remy LeBeau.
What: Meatloaf and chatting.
When: Tuesday (see this texty thready)l
Where: Candy's apartment.
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 for glossed conversation about sex, but it's mostly tame.
Status: Complete!
It was a date, technically, but Candy didn’t have a whole lot of extra income for things like movies. Instead, she figured they could watch bad horror movies on Netflix, fire up the XBox and play a few games, and maybe make out. She made dinner for him as well - the boy ate like an ox - and hoped he’d appreciate it. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes; she’d wanted it as well. She even did her hair a little, fluffing it up so it didn’t hang so flat and limp down her back. Her mother had always said she had beautiful hair, but her mother’s long curls had been Candy’s envy. The grass was always greener. She popped open a beer as she waited for the potatoes to cool enough so she could mash them when she heard a knock at the door.
Remy had come straight from work; he was still wearing slightly grimy clothes and hoped Candy would understand; he didn’t want to be late. When she opened the door he was leaning against the frame, smiling a little. “Evenin’, chere. M’ sorry I look like this. Shoot ran late.”
He looked great, actually. “It’s no problem,” she smiled, kissing him gently and tugging him inside. “I made dinner, and if you want a shower, you can have at.” She kind of liked him grimy. Of course, she kind of liked him no matter what. He was alarmingly perfect.
“Might take you up on dat later.” Remy sighed, enjoying how simple this seemed so far. He was just waiting for it to blow up, but for now he could enjoy himself. “How you doin’?” He came inside, taking his shoes off.
She padded back toward the kitchen. “Good, good. I had today off so I spent most of it in the tub with my GameBoy.” She shrugged and smiled at him over her shoulder. “Do you like meatloaf? If not, we can always order a pizza.” She didn’t ask about the mashed potatoes because everyone liked those. She liked these evenings with him; they were already comfortable but still filled with ‘will we or won’t we’ promise. She could already feel her blood pumping.
“You didn’t worry you might drop it?” Remy laughed, following her back into her kitchen. “You got so much to live for.” He kissed her cheek. “I will eat damn near anyt’ing. Specially after a day like this one.”
“Please, it wouldn’t have killed me.” She rolled her eyes but grinned. “Well, it’s almost done.” It was close, and she didn’t mind the company in the kitchen. She took out a hand masher, moving to smash the potatoes as they were finally cool enough. “So, what did you do that made you look all dashing? And seriously, why aren’t you in front of the camera?” He was the most handsome guy she’d ever seen.
Remy laughed, shaking his head. “You gonna give me some big head, girl.” He sat in a kitchen chair; if she needed him, she’d call. “We were settin’ up a bridge explosion. Bridge was part made out of sand and part outta concrete, so the sand wound up on my head each take.”
“You deserve it!” She added some cheese to the potatoes, smiling at him over her shoulder. “Poor thing. Want me to wash your hair?” She couldn’t help but grin wickedly at her suggestion, waggling her eyebrows. Then she assembled his plate, handing him a beer along with it. “Figure you don’t get a lot of meals like this in your line of work.”
Remy laughed. “No need for that, but your comp’ny is always good.” He took the plate and a beer, smiling at the smell. “Looks good, and I ain’t just being polite. We do tend to get craft services, which is … well, it’s grub.” Working for this studio was better than the one he’d started with. And nobody here gave him much shit about his Youtube videos.
“I always figured it would basically be cafeteria food.” She made up a plate for herself, tucking in after dousing the whole thing with ketchup. “I’m from Minnesota, lay off of me.” She was preemptively trying to get him to not mock her for her use of the condiment.
“You ain’t too far wrong.” Remy chuckled, not bothering with ketchup. “You use a lot of that there?” He didn’t really understand what she meant; he just took food as it was given to him most of the time. “You like any seafood? I should show you good ol’fashioned N’Orleans oysters.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s basically water up there.” She nodded at liking seafood. “Yeah, whenever my dad would try to get sober when I was a kid, he’d take us fishing. I’m still good at cleaning them,” she laughed. “Hidden talents.”
“You ain’t lived til you had real Gulf oysters,” Remy vowed before taking a bite. It was hearty and simple and tasted good, and he said as much. “Somethin’ like this is perfect after one helluva long day.” He didn’t frankly know why he wasn’t weirded out by this; it felt domestic and he wasn’t looking for that right now. But he liked her company, and he liked her smile.
Normally Candy Quackenbush hated dating. She didn’t want to settle down with anything, she was only eighteen. But this felt comfortable. Right. She smiled, leaning back and taking a long pull of her beer. “I do like oysters, I have to admit. I’m a big believer in food you can take like shots.”
Remy laughed out loud at that. “Atta girl! Is how we in the country take ‘em. A real good oyster’s worth its weight in gold.” He ate more, closing his eyes and relaxing a bit. “Best way to spend a night in the Quartier when it’s hotter’n hell is to get a dozen oysters and a coupla beers. Heaven. Cools you off, too.”
“Do you go back often?” She had been super hungry before he came over, but suddenly, listening to him talk, she found herself much less interested in what she’d been eating. He was more fascinating than anything she could’ve prepared.
“Nah. Want to move home, but can’t afford it.” And to go home without being able to go home for good? Hurt. Remy polished off the mashed potatoes. “Remy don’t belong here, though there’s some t’ings I been glad to find.”
“I don’t think I belong anywhere,” Candy confessed. “I moved here to be closer to the ocean, and to get away from things back home, but I don’t know. I don’t really feel like I belong here, but I didn’t feel like I belonged there, either.” She certainly didn’t want to move to Minnesota again. She’d just about squeed when she found out there wouldn’t be snow at Christmas.
“I hate to sound cliche but you gonna know where you belong, when you get there.” Remy shrugged. “Could be lots worse here. Just it ain’t home.”
“Exactly.” She ate contentedly, watching Remy’s movements. “I haven’t found it yet, but I’m still looking.” She was glad he was there. She hadn’t found home yet, but it helped having him around. She felt more comfortable and more like herself when he was there.
Remy caught her hand, smiling lazily. “What you have in mind for tonight, chere? You already been sweet enough to cook dinner.”
“Movies if you want, and I really don’t mind helping you wash your hair. Sand’s hard to get out.” She smiled impishly. “My intentions are altruistic and pure of heart.”
“Sure, sure.” Remy smirked. “You just want me here ‘cause the sex was good.” But his tone was fond, even affectionate. She made him laugh, simple as that.
Her jaw dropped in mock surprise. “That is completely untrue, Remy! I want you here because you’re … you.” She hadn’t thought out that reaction very well, but it was still honest.
“Because I’m me. Who happens to be good in bed.” Remy liked teasing her. She got this offended Disney style face that was … worryingly cute.
Mismatched eyes went wide and her lower lip wobbled. “See, you’re pulling a girl on me here. If I reiterate that I like having you over because you’re amazing, I marginalize your sexual prowess. But if I go on and on about how you make me do the fucked up walk and my boss has started calling me Cowgirl at work, then you think I just want you for your cock. Can’t I want you for both, Remy?” She pretended to flounce onto her sofa, laughing at her own silliness. Even if everything she’d said had been true.
Remy laughed, and laughed hard. He got up and sat down next to her, looking over at her. “I’m glad you like me,” he said. “You just get t’is cute offended face.” He tried to make it, so she’d laugh. He shrugged, figuring what he was about to say was shallow, but it was still true. “You made me call you back.” She’d been funny, been interesting and pretty enough for him to want more.
It did make her laugh. “I do not make that face, you look constipated.” Candy socked him lightly in the arm, amused at how the evening had turned out. “I do not make grumpy constipated indignant faces.”
“Ow!” Remy laughed, tickling her, belatedly hoping she wouldn’t be angry. “You do.”
Candy was squealing, kicking her feet and all but shrieking. She was more than a little bit ticklish, and it made her laugh that he knew it. “Do not!”
“Do so!” Remy wound up on top of her, laughing, though he couldn’t help but be surprised at himself.
His smile made something inside of her melt and she couldn’t help wrapping her arms around his neck and lightly kissing him. “Do not.”
“Do so.” Remy kissed her right back, mashed-potato breath and all. “M’glad you like me,” he told her. “Kinda like you too.” There was just something about her that set him at his ease, and that was worth its weight in gold.