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Remy LeBeau ([info]ace_of_clubs) wrote in [info]vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-06-10 23:23:00

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Entry tags:!complete, day 10, location: museum, remy lebeau, shannon rutherford

Who: Shannon and Remy
What: Gambit eventually makes his way back to the museum.
Where: The museum
When: 1826 - Day 10
Rating: PG13 - Just in case
Status: Complete

Gambit had left the museum just an hour and a half ago, having backed off when Sam had shown up to watch over Shannon. But the Cajun had stared a while at the Post Office, before walking around to look at the carnage of the town, then he'd stood and stared at the felled clock tower for a while. Eventually, he'd left it and had headed back to the museum, for the items he'd been planning to get in the first place. Sam had, for all intents and purposes, chased him off that first time. So he had never got the chance to explore the museum. He was going to go looking for the Doctor's jacket, the Doctor's journal, and a few of those paintings. Definitely a few of those paintings. Then he was going to get the Hell out of this place.

However, when he approached the museum, he was surprised to find that Shannon was still there, and with Jack Harkness, no less! Jack, though, after an easy greeting, had left to do things that needed to be done, and Gambit was once again left babysitting the injured girl. The aftershocks were still shaking the ground every now and then, so going inside wasn't a wise idea on anyone's part, so he avoided the steps leading up to the museum and came back over to Shannon to stand in front of her, hands pushed down onto the pockets of his jacket. He'd wear that thing the rest of his life. Really.

"You still look tire', Chere. How your side feelin'?" His smile was easy, as it always was, and he tilted his head to the side, hair falling into his face.


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[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-11 01:59 pm UTC (link)
"Nooo." It was rare he used the English version of the word, but it worked better this way, so he could stretch out the vowel. "In five minu'e, Chere, you be dea', an' if we ever gon' fin' out which one of us is 'de better fuck, you gon' hafta live. I ain' partial to necrophelia, est-il compris? 'De body get too col', an t'in's swish 'dat ain' suppos' to." But he was smiling as he said it, and when she came to slump against him like that, he lifted his good hand and rest it on the back of her hair.

"I know, Chere. So you gon' hafta put up wit' me, awful as 'dat is. But at leas' I'm pretty to look at, non?" He smiled again and lifted red eyes skyward, as if to check the time. No. Midnight was a long time off. "Non, no where near. But you doin' okay. I tell you, I make sure you stay 'wake. One way or 'de o'ter." He promised in a joking tone -- but when she asked about Jack, he thread his fingers through her hair absently to comb it once or twice, before letting his hand slip down and rest at the small of her back, a few inches from her wound. But he did it very carefully, so as not to injure.

"I don'. I'm jus' tyrin' to puzzle it out. I know people showin' up here all 'de time an 'dey always comin' up wit' somet'in'. But I'm different. Mieux, souvenez-vous? I figure somet'in' out. I fin' somet'in'. We ain' gon' be stuck here forever." The Cajun let his eyes close briefly then, before opening them again. "Ain' sleepin', are you?"

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