InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "You'll always be young."

Remy LeBeau (ace_of_clubs) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-06-19 23:47:00

Entry tags:

!complete, day 12, insider, location: barn, remy lebeau

Who: Remy LeBeau & The Insider
What: The Insider checks up on Remy and Remy notices.
Where: In the tunnels beneath the barn.
When: 0108 - Day 12
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete

It had been a long day for Gambit. The barn had been.. sort of taken care of, and was more livable now. He'd had to sacrifice his make-shift room, so he no longer had the privacy that he had the following night. Instead, he'd let Jack, Ianto and the Doctor have a few of the couches that were closer to the standing walls, beneath the cover of the creaking tin roof. Gambit had chosen, instead, to sleep on a couch near the open part of the barn, where there was a nice breeze. In order to do that, he'd had to move the couch there -- which moved it off of the trap door, only by a few feet. No one had taken notice, really, because it was so perfectly seamless, melding into the floorboards. And Remy hadn't given it a second thought. He'd just wanted to push the couch into the shade of a tree hanging over the barn (to block out the dim moonlight) and into a nice spot that would let the wind blow through. Sure, it wasn't as safe here.. something could fall on him, a wild animal could eat him, or some crazy, beautiful Amazon could capture him and drag him off to her secret mountain lair and force him to make sweet, sweet love to her on a regular basis, every hour on the hour, for the rest of his life, while torturing him with fantastic head while they were taking breaks in between....!

That would be just.. awful.

Hopefully, if anyone had to suffer that terrible, awful fate, it would be the unfortunate Cajun who had picked the spot away from the others, reclined on the couch on his back, sock-covered feet propped up on one arm, while his head rested on the other, as a pillow. His boots were next to the couch, neatly lined up, and his belt was folded and tucked into them. He'd worn his jeans and his tank-top to sleep, and was using his leather trench coat as a sheet of sorts. It was actually pretty comfortable.. but then, the cat-like Cajun could have slept on a flight of stairs and been fine. He was boneless and languid that way, all lanky limbs and grace, even sprawled out now on the dingy yellow couch, head lolled some to the side, a bit of that long red hair blowing some into his face. He'd picked a nice, breezy spot alright. Thank goodness for that. But the young man was a light sleeper, despite how easily he could pass out (like a narcoleptic), and it was often that the smallest noises could wake him.

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 12:14 am UTC (link)

"You should close your eyes. The longer your retinas struggle to find light that isn't there, the faster they will burn out and you will be blind forever," came the growling voice again. Then several steps were taken in another direction to keep away from any reaching hands that most likely wouldn't come as the Insider had not seen Remy reach out the first time. Still, better safe than sorry. This was a dangerous game being played now. The Insider knew that many tunnels and turns should have been between them already. Yet there they were. Dancing in the darkness.

This was like playing one's fingers through the flame of a candle. It felt dangerous but was only as dangerous as one allowed it to be. The Insider knew that withdrawal was an option at any time. So curiosity was the winner in this equation, keeping the heavy boots in place rather than running away through the darkness. Maybe it wasn't prudent but this was Remy. This was the man who had charmed and perhaps even flirted through the journals first with attempts to bargain and then with outright temptation. There was no way that the Insider could not be interested in seeing this interlude through a while longer.

"I came to find something. I didn't expect anyone to be in the barn tonight. Je suis désolé que j'ai interrompu votre sommeil." I'm sorry I interrupted your sleep. The Insider was indeed sorry to have disrupted the sleeping man. Especially now that it looked as though there was no avoiding talking unless being counted a coward was on the list of things the Insider desired to accomplish before the end of the day. Being on half of the residents' hit lists was no treat either but that was more relished because it inferred power of some sort. Power that the Insider did not exactly have when not under that particular title.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 12:28 am UTC (link)

When the Insider suggested in that quiet half-growl that Gambit close his eyes, he opened his mouth to protest.. but then closed it. It wasn't like having his eyes shut was going to make it any darker, and he didn't know anything about medicine, or about the eyes, aside from the fact that they made you see. Brilliant though he was, Remy LeBeau was not schooled and there were many things he had no idea about, many things that grade-schoolers knew, that would baffle the street-learned Cajun. He did, though, eventually let his eyes slide closed. They remained that way for a few seconds before opening again, straining in the dark. It was hard, to force yourself to close your eyes when around someone who could probably do you some serious bodily harm, if not kill you. This person said they were L'Initié, but he couldn't be sure. Couldn't know that, really. He also couldn't know that L'Initié wasn't planning on doing something very unfriendly, and he didn't want to be one of those faceless bodies they'd said they'd found.

However, the threat of being blinded loomed over him and the red-head was finally closing his eyes, at least for now. "How you ge' so smar', Initié?" The name sounded thicker coming from his accented tongue, not light and airy, as the language meant it to be. But that was Cajun for you, nothing floated, everything crashed to the ground.. and left craters. It wasn't a beautiful accent, but it was an attractive one.

Though, when the other apologized, Remy broke into a wide grin, flashing his teeth in the darkness as he slowly lowered his hands, forcing himself to try to relax -- but even as he did, the lithe muscles in his arms were bunching under the skin, tensing and relaxing in a nervous fashion. It was one reason he always wore the coat. He had a great poker face, but his body gave away his emotions. The Cajun was nervous. And he had every right to be.

"Gla' you in'nerup'. Been hopin' for 'dat coffee, non?" Though he knew there was no coffee, it at been a good attempt at a joke, from their talk over the journals. "You come to fin' me, you foun' me. You come to fin' somet'in' else, you outta luck, oui?" The smile widened out then and he shook his head a little, good arm lifting to push the red strands from his face. Not that it mattered.. he couldn't see anyway. "Ain' gon' run off on me, are you? Gon' stay a bit? Make a man feel unwan'e', tryin' t' run off like 'dat. Gon' make me chase you in 'de dark, in 'de tunn'l, in 'dese socks." He wiggled his feet some. "Migh' die, chasin' you. Trip, break my neck, an' be all corpsie. Ain' 'tract'ive. So you better stay, non?"

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