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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]ballerinadreams
2009-06-11 07:32 pm UTC (link)
I'm not playing a game with you, Shannon thought. "I'm just trying to survive, but you know? I don't think I'm alive at all..." she replied. It might've sounded a little random to him without the thought she had before it being vocalized. She was too tired to care. "You know what I think?" she asked, looking over at him and laughing humorlessly, a wince passing over her features again at the movement. "I think I died in the plane crash. I think the Island and this place? They're Hell. Because I was never a good person and now I'm being punished. None of this is real, but it feels like it because I lead a life that wasn't worthy. That's what I think, Remy," she said.

"Alors, je ne joue pas un jeu avec vous. Je suis ni sexy ni confiant. Il y a non 'dur à obtenir'. Merde, les gens pourraient vous dire ici je suis assez fichu facile si vous jouez votre droite de cartes; vous arrivez avoir juste le mauvais moment." With that, Shannon gave him an almost apologetic look. "Vous êtes très bon regarder. Et très lisse. Il y a deux jours. ..I aurait été du mastic dans vos mains."

Again, Shannon blushed slightly and shook her head. "Non. Elle est meilleure. Je suis seulement moi. But thank you," she replied. "I'm glad you think so. It's really nice to know someone does," she said sincerely.

She laughed a little and hissed in pain when she did. "You're gonna kick my ass after I die? That's mad skills right there, Remy," she pointed out, winking. Her brow furrowed at the nickname. She found she almost preferred "Chere" to the name that Boone had exclusive rights to using, but she said nothing. "Los Angeles. 2004. How about you? Clearly you're from Louisiana, but were you from there originally? And, you know, when?" she asked.

[Translation: So, I'm not playing a game with you. I'm neither sexy nor confident. There's no 'hard to get.' Shit, people here could tell you I'm pretty damn easy if you play your cards right; you just happen to have bad timing.]

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[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-11 07:47 pm UTC (link)
She'd find that he wouldn't use that name much.. 'Shan' had been a direct result to their little name exchange. He wanted to let her know that he knew her name.. even though he would probably never use it again. So she had nothing to worry about. "You ain' dea', Chere, an 'dis ain' Hell. You know how I know? 'Cause it ain' filled up wit' my ex's." As he said that, he broke out into a grin and lifted his eyebrows, nudging at her lightly with his elbow, before dropping it again. "C'est bizarre. Je ne crois pas que j'aie un simple excepté ce qui n'a pas essayé de me tuer*." He flashed her a grin seconds later. "You wan' hop on 'de ban'wagon?" A joke, of course.. the whole thing sounded like a joke, in fact. But he was quite serious about the first part. Very serious.

"An' you sexy, Chere. You confi'en'. Maybe you t'ink not, but you wrong." He knew sexy women when he saw them, and she was definitely a looker. She was right up his alley. His wife, after all, was a blonde. The thought made him actually scrunch his nose up. If all blondes acted like her, maybe he should rethink this. But then he was drawn back into the present again and smiled at her, shaking his head a bit. "You my kinda girl, Chere." However, he would leave it there, and wouldn't make mention of it again, unless she brought it up.

"Kick your ass, oui. I kick 'de asses o'dea' people 'fore, don' t'ink I can' do it. 'Dere some weir' people ou' 'dere. I run into some freaks." So said the man with red eyes.. which were, in fact, turning onto her at that moment, as if daring her to say something about his eyes making him a freak. His eyebrows went up slowly. Well...? How brave was the little Princess feeling?



[Translations: *It's funny. I don't think I have a single ex who hasn't tried to kill me.

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