1963-07-06 - Eight Balls and Bad Beer
Summary: Remy LeBeau meets Wanda at a bar.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
wanda gambit 


*

The Eight Ball in Mutant Town is a great place to hang out. They've got pool tables, cheap drinks, and that haze that Remy LeBeau also looks for—the cigarette smoke that hangs out right underneath the lights. They also have bartenders who will give him a heads up if the cops show. It's why he sits at the back, smoking his cigarettes and listening to bebop with large sunglasses. He's a bit on the run, you see. Kidnapping a cop with an assassin and torturing him has that effect, you see. Such is life in the mutant revolution.

*

Once upon a time, Wanda danced. It's a happy set of memories for her — her father played a battered violin, her mother clacked spoons, and both sang. Wanda's contribution to this musical effort was to dance. Sometimes it was to draw attention, so that money might find its way into a hat on the cobblestones. Sometimes, though, by the campfire, it was just out of joy.

In the Eight Ball, Wanda tries to reconnect with that feeling. It's not the same, though. She's not a little girl anymore, and this music is different — guitars, bass, drums, crooning. Wanda doesn't drink much, because she's stingy with her pennies, and because she doesn't like the idea of losing control in a way that she can avoid. The thing is, when a redhead in a decent dress wants to come out and dance to Elvis on the jukebox, a lot of bartenders really don't mind.

*

Gambit casually watches the girl, dancing alone to Elvis, as he reaches for a new pack of cigarettes, removes the cellophane and the rest of the wrapper. As he lights it, he leans back, arching his neck as he waves his hand to put the match out. He stands. Walks over. "Evenin' miss." He looks to the empty space to her side. "May ole Remy cut in?" He nods to the empty space before turning towards her. "What's a nice gal like you doin' lone in a place like dis?"

*

When Wanda speaks, she has an accent — might be tricky to pin down exactly where from. 'Transia' isn't the first guess of many people. Maybe she's Russian, or from one of those other Commie countries over there. "I am dancing," Wanda says. She doesn't smile, but the way she says it, a certain sly smile is implied.

"I am told America is a free country," Wanda continues, still dancing next to Remy, though slowing her moves down a bit so she can converse. "If you wish to dance, dance. This is not music to waltz to."

*

"'Merica be all sorts of tings, lady," Remy responds as he begins to dance with her, cigarette still in his mouth intermittently between comments towards her. His accent is, obviously, a French creole style straight from the bayou. "Diggin' the accent, cherie. Where you be visitin' from?"

*

"I am from Transia," Wanda says. Her dancing isn't particularly salacious — this might be that kind of bar, but she's hardly that kind of girl. Besides, she hasn't even seen Elvis from the waist down yet. She has no objection to Remy dancing next to her. "Where are you from? I have not heard an accent like yours before." She definitely doesn't come off as the sinister Boris-and-Natasha type of European. Maybe more of a farm girl?

*

Remy keeps a respectful distance. This is that sort of place, but he's a kind and respectful sort. "Transia? Dat one of dem little tiny places behind the curtain?" He nods as he takes a moment to ash with the flick of his finger. "N'awlins."

*

Wanda has to smile just a little bit at his description of Transia. "That is one way of looking at it," she accedes, and then points out: "I do not know where Nollins is."

*

Down on de Bayou, cherie. Lee'siana. In de sout'." Remy shrugs his shoulders as he throws the cigarette on the grounds it with his shoe. "Long way from here, 'course. Tell ole Remy bout Transia."

"

*

"Oh! Lou-wiss-ee-ana. I understand now." Wanda says it wrong. The song on the jukebox changes, to "Telstar" by the Tornados. It's not Elvis, but it's danceable enough. Still, it's nowhere near as raucous as good Elvis, so Wanda's dancing slows considerably. "Transia is… it is not like here. There is one large city, and even then, it is small compared to a city like this. There are other, smaller villages and campsites. There is a mountain, Mount Wundagore. There are men who turn into wolves… not many foreigners come to Transia. Nor do many Transians leave."

*

"'Cept for you, chere. Dis place is a free country, sho'nuff. Yet we dun get too many of yer kind. Specially not in Mutant Town. You one of us?" Remy's words are a lot more exclusionary than how he comes off. He doesn't seem like he's going to deck her if she's a human, but 'one of us' has a clear connotation that's deeper than his cheerful demeanor.

*

"I think so," Wanda says, like someone says they think they might be one-sixty-fourth Native American. "I have no other explanation. Besides. The rent is cheap here, and the bar has music that I enjoy." The song fizzles out, and nothing follows for a moment. Wanda stops and takes the few paces over to the jukebox. She looks over her shoulder at Remy. "Do you have a dime?"

*

"I have several," Remy says as he approaches. In fact, he stole a whole slew of them not too long ago. Along with a lot of other things. He stands off to her side and puts a dime along the ledge where the glass meets the metal. "I meant a mutant, love."

*

Wanda gives Remy a look, one eyebrow raised very slightly, but she's not confrontational enough to really press any further. "I am aware of what you meant," she says. "I read magazines. It is how I work on my English." Wanda takes the time, and says "thank you" before she puts it in and selects a song. "There is a singer in here named Wanda Jackson. I picked her once because her name is like mine, Wanda. But she sings very well, so I play it often." The song "Whole Lotta Shakin Going On" by Wanda Jackson starts to play, and Wanda dances away from the jukebox, circling around Remy.

*

"Sorry, mademoiselle. Y'see it's sometin' you gotta answer before what I'd planned on doin' next." Remy lights another cigarette as he begins to dance slowly. With the matches still lit he reaches upwards and holds two fingers in the air to the bartender. Apparently Remy only buys drinks for mutants.

*

Wanda's dancing picks back up — rockabilly's tempo suits her. She even lifts her hair and occasionally mouths along to lines like 'shake, baby shake.' "Hm? What is it you plan on doing?" She totally missed the motion to the bartender — her eyes were closed for a second.

*

"Ole Remy was fixin' to buy you a drink. But your choices are pretty much whiskey an' beer," LeBeau says with a chuckle. "You got a name?"

*

Wanda shakes her hips when Wanda Jackson commands her to shake them. "I told you already. Wanda. Like Wanda Jackson, the singer. And your name is Ole Remy? I do not drink much. I will have a beer, I think."

*

"Oh, right. Wanda. Sorry. And, no, just Remy. Remy LeBeau," he says reaching up to the back of his head. The bartender puts two beers up on the bar for each of them when they finish dancing. Like hers, his dancing intensifies. It's not something he does often or is particularly good at, but an E for effort.

*

"Remy LeBeau," Wanda repeats, though it doesn't sound quite as Creole-cool with her accent. Wanda has to stop dancing so she can go over to where the beers are being served. She hands Remy his, and has a sip of hers. She has to process it for a second, nodding slowly as she seems to like it.

*

"I ain't so sure the next thing I'm supposed to ask ya," Remy says as he brings the beer up to his lips. "T'ink we got all de idle chit-chat outta de way." He shrugs. "How long you been in town?"

*

Wanda is too polite to ask what she wants to ask, which is if all American beer is this weak and watery, or if this is just actually a terrible bar to drink in. Cut her some slack — she grew up in Eastern Europe. "Several months," she replies. "It has been quite the learning experience."

*

Remy is too polite to ask what he wants to ask, too. "Oui? What have been de tings about dis country dat you like de best?" Remy takes the time to put the smoke out in a nearby ash tray, blows smoke out, and listens for her answer.

*

Wanda sips her beer and thinks for a moment. The gears are visibly turning behind her eyes. Finally, she replies: "It is very big." She seems to realize how silly that sounds, and blushes a bit. "I am from a very small country. I knew of America but it is only since coming here that I realize it seems to go on forever, from one side to the other."

*

"Have you gotten t'see much of it?" Remy asks before taking another swig. "Went hitchhikin' a few years back and ole Remy learned quite a few tings 'bout dis country and dis world. Won't be beyond recommendin' it if your fixin' for an adventure."

*

Wanda shakes her head. "Just New York so far," she replies. She looks up and around, as if the cityscape surrounded the pair, instead of just some walls and a roof. "It is like a country by itself. More than Transia has ever had."

*

"Certainly is someting, that's for sure. It's a big place, Manhattan. Remy could show you 'round sometime. Give you the gran' tour, as it were." LeBeau shrugs his shoulders. "Or not. Eider way, be sure you do some enjoyin' before you settle down and do whatever it is you aim to do in dis big city."

*

Wanda smiles. Not a big smile, but a smile. She seems like the sort of person who doesn't do big smiles. Maybe it's a Soviet thing. "I will, Remy LeBeau. But for now… the hour is getting late. And my brother will soon wonder where I am. I do not want him to have to come looking for me. So I will see you around?" She says 'see you around?' like she's not sure if that's the correct phrase. "You know where I come to dance, after all."

*

Brother? Sounds like she's giving him the easy let down. Even the Great Remy LeBeau has been here before. Just never with the brother for an excuse. "And you know where I like to come watch folks dance," he adds with a grin. "Nice talkin' to ya, Wanda."

*

Wanda has another sip of her beer, and then sets the glass on the bar. She gives Remy a small wave goodbye — a little wag of her fingers, even. Then she turns and exits, into the night, no doubt to do mysterious, witchy things.

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