InsaneJournal

Who: Remy LeBeau & OTA
What: The Cajun doesn't wake up alone
Where: Near the clock tower
When: Day 23, 10:02am
Rating: PG-13
Status: Compelte

Following the day he'd had.. not yesterday, oh.. no. Not yesterday.. but following the day before that, the Cajun had needed a rest. He'd been chased by two zombies-- one of which was his rotting, hole-infested former lover-- and one of which was a pirate by the same name of a friend of his rotting, hole-infested former lover. Now, running wasn't something that a sick man did well. He'd managed to escape the first one relatively easily, but he'd had to shoot the Doctor in the thigh to get away that second time. Then what had Remy LeBeau done? He'd done what he always did.. there were no heroic acts this time, not like during the earthquake. He wasn't with the Doctor, he wasn't saving anyone, he wasn't looking to help.

No.

The Doctor was a zombie and Gambit was coughing up bits and pieces of his lungs. Talk about a bad day. So he'd made his way with that shot gun and his four remaining shells, and he'd limped his way back to his home, his barn, and had curled up on his couches with that shot gun and had slept that entire second day of night away. In retrospect, it likely wasn't a very good idea. If a zombie had come in on him, he would have been an easy snack.. but then again, with him laying perfectly still and not making any noise at all, he was likely bypassed by a few zombies all day long.. all night, too. He woke up a few times, stared at the place across from him, then closed his eyes again. He felt awful, he couldn't stop coughing, and the medicine he had taken three days earlier was starting to kick in, but wasn't really helping quite yet. But that had been twenty-four hours ago.

When the Cajun woke up on the morning of the twenty-third day, at about seven A.M., he hadn't done it alone. He'd slowly turned and twisted, pressed that long, lean body up against the one next to him.. then he had smelled it, and red eyes slowly slit open to find the corpse of Logan across from him once again.

Hope you were watching this, Management. Because he jerked a little.. but then just stared across at the dead, rotting face. His eyes roamed down over the stitches that held his head on, and the dirty, decomposing body that he'd buried days ago. Eventually, his eyes came right back up and a gloved hand reached out, reached up, and brushed a thumb along that too-pale, green-tinted cheek. "Bonjour, jeune homme." He whispered across to the carcass laying next to him, a little smile curving up his lips. Yes, folks, Remy LeBeau had lost it just a little. Well, he wasn't all there to begin with. But this? This was just a little too much for his sanity to handle. "Look so peaceful." He remarked again to the body. It hadn't dawned on him that this could be a zombie, or that his gun had been replaced with his former companion. No, he had only recognized that this was Logan, and that he was dirty and sleeping, and that he shouldn't be here.

"Leas' you gettin' some res', homme." He replied to the internal conversation he was having within his own mind. Was Logan actually replying inside? Maybe. Maybe those lips were moving to the Cajun's eyes, speaking to him, replying to this conversation all on his own. But then again, perhaps not. Maybe Remy was just talking to a corpse. It wouldn't be the first time.

There was no screaming, no shouting, no anger as the red-head laid in the makeshift bed there with that dead body. And he laid there for quite some time, an entire two hours, until nine o'clock rolled around and he finally pulled his hand away. He'd been stroking over that face, pushing through the greasy, grimy hair (he'd pulled out a few clumps accidentally, thanks to tangles) and trailing lines down over his neck and chest, along his biceps and over his back. He hadn't said much more, but he had paid very close attention to the dead mutant across from him, studying his face for those two hours. However.. he did eventually get up out of the bed and pad his way across the wooden floors in his socked feet, so that he could push the one and only chair in the barn nearer to his bed of couches and up against the wall there. Then, he had oh-so-calmly collected the heavier, taller man into his arms, and with some strain he'd carried the body those steps over to the chair and settled him into it, sitting him up right and proper. He tilted Logan's head back to lean it against the wooden wall behind him and keep it upright, then he'd taken those hands (claws extended) and carefully rest them both in his lap, one over the other. Then he'd extended out his legs a little and crossed them at the ankle.

There. All better.

With his boots reclaimed and his (clean, thanks to having washed them three days ago, but never worn them) clothing on, the red-head was moving out of the barn and into the dark, fingers stroking through his hair to comb it through and make himself presentable. If Logan's body was here, that meant there were other bodies around. Maybe he'd just collect them all up and sit them around on the extra couches. That way, none of them would be lonely.

It made sense, right? Sure. So that was where Remy was now, coming up that long, narrow road that led to his secluded barn, and stepping out nearest to the clock tower, red eyes taking in the scene around him. Still dark, but his watch said it was a little after ten. Was there going to be no sun ever again? Maybe that was what was driving him a little batty, no? Seeing no sunlight for days could do that to someone. A hand lifted and he coughed into it a few times.. he was still slow moving, but the fluid was gone from his lungs and he now only had a slight fever. It was back to feeling like a bad cold, and he could deal with that.

Now.. if he were the management.. where would he put the Doctor's body?