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Jessica has arrived.
*
There's a sound that the bowling alley makes. It's difficult to describe the plunk of the ball hitting the glazed hitting the hardwood, starting on its long roll down the aisle. The sound gets further and further until replaced by a loud crash of the pins being knocked all around. There's something comforting about how it continues, over and over. Some crashes are louder than the others. Some are good shots. Some are not. But there's always a similarity that seems to put Remy LeBeau at ease.
He leans against the desk with his arms folded, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a beer dangling almost as precariously at the edge of the machine where the balls come out.
*
Jessica squints. "These are the ugliest shoes known to man," she stares at the red and green pair she wears. Her eyes trail back towards the pins and her arms cross over her chest. This isn't her forte, and it shows. She's irritable. Not that that's news to anyone. Her cheeks puff out with some of the unrestrained annoyance and finally picks up one of the balls. Her form is all wrong when she slides it along the floor. And… gets a gutter ball… that jumps out of the gutter into the next lane. And then the next. And the next.
She knocks down a single pin several lanes over. It's possible super strength does not make bowling easier.
*
"You be wantin' a pointah, lil lady or you be wantin' to pout all by yo lonesome?" Remy says with a grin. "Eider way, I be tinkin' you be makin' dose shoes look as good as could be hoped, non?" The Cajun smashes his smoke down in the ashtray and leaves it, despite a small trail of smoke still wafting upwards. He dips over toward her and leans, almost in a half bow, "May I?"
*
The question prompts Jessica's expression to steel. She assumes a measure of silence, but the vague turn at the edges of her lips calls attention to her silent appreciation. "You know better, Cajun?" she straightens as he nears her, falling against him with a measure of intrigue as she does so.
*
Remy approaches behind her and puts his hand upon her hip, "Course Remy know. Remy tink he know erreyting, non?" He pulls her hip back a little bit and pressed downward. "Gotta bend dose knees first. Dat important. Den wit d'otha hand you gotta keep dat arm straight. Doin it de same errytime, love."
*
Jessica's head turns slightly at the contact, and her eyebrows lift wryly with a note of skepticism. "You just wanted to feel my backside," she states blandly, but Remy has spent enough time with Jess to see through the cynicism — amusement edges her eyes, albeit ever-so-slightly. With a vague sigh, she follows the directions and bends her knees. She keeps her arm straight and follows through.
*
"Mebbe," Remy says with a bit of a grin as he gives her a chaste kiss upon the cheek. "Or mebbe I know dat if I try real hard I might be gettin' a chance to see de old gal smile once or twice." The ball makes that familiar roll and seems like it's going well. It has good pace and looks straight, but unfortunately at the last moment it tails to the left and ends up in the gutter.
"Hey!" An angry drunk is yelling at them. "Hey mutant! Get the fuck out of my alley!" The thrown bottle misses Remy but it shatters upon the floor close enough for both of them. Remy sighs, "Shoulda wore de glasses."
*
The mention of a smile and the gutter ball cause Jessica's expression to deaden. "This is a terrible game," she says flatly. But then the bottle flies and crashes son the floor. Her expression tenses further, however, at the bottle that comes crashing towards Remy. "Hey. Buddy," she calls back to the fellow, "go fuck up someone else's night. My boyfriend is just teaching me to bowl. Mind your own business." It's possible she's making this worse. Or that she wants to get kicked out of the bowling alley.
*
"Listen, bitch, in this town women are spoken to and spoken about. Leave the speaking to us." He waddles over and he is big. Big and looks straight out of central casting for dangerous hick. Remy slides in between the guy and his girl, not wanting her to tak flack for his fight. "You bettah be careful, friend. You ain't be knowin' what ole Remy has behind door numba three."
*
Jessica's eyes roll at the notion of being called a bitch. Her head turns and her eyes flit towards Remy. "Good fucking luck with that," she mutters about being spoken to and about. She takes a step to move between the pair, but stops and just shakes her head. "Look Bud. Go back to your drink. I'll get back to this terrible fucking game."
*
"Control your whore," the bastard adds and Remy just shakes his head. Normally the calm one, the Cajun reaches for that ashtray with the still smoldering cigarette in it and flicks it towards the man's face. Odd—before it was a black ashtray. Now it looks like it's pulsating with a purplish energy.
Kapow!
It's not a giant explosive, but the ashtray blows up right in the guys face, knocking him backwards while people start screaming. Uh-oh`1
*
Jessica's eyes roll and she mutters, "Fuck," as she reaches for Remy's hand. "Come on, Romeo." Her head shakes and she's tugging him back towards the exit. "Let's go. Like. Now." She eyes the man who'd been knocked to the ground, albeit temporarily, and tugs him to follow her.
*
Remy is tugged along and by Jess, but keeps his eyes on the hick long enough to make sure he got him as good as he hoped. For good measure, he spits a big ole loogey that lands on the man who now has a little hamburger face going on. Jess pulls him towards the exit, but before they arrive, it's blocked by another heavy who gives Jess an icy stare from under a bald head and over a biker beard.
*
"Let us through," Jessica demands flatly. "Just fucking let us through," she states as she steps closer to the men. "You don't want to make me ask again."
*
"I don't think so," the bouncer type says. Behind them, there is a swarm of people who are congregating, looking as though they want to take it to the pair. Remy doesn't seem the slightest bit concerned, realizing that the two could wipe the floor with them. But it's not clear if making a mess is a good idea.
*
Jessica stiffens and eyes the forming crowd. "Goddammit. Go bowling, he said. It'll be fun, Trish argued." She reaches out a single hand and pushes the bouncer at the door. And while it is little effort on her part, its hard by any other imaginations. With a flicker of a frown, she offers, "I didn't want to ask twice."
She offers her hand back to Remy, "Grab my waist and hold on tight." She kicks hard off the ground, aiming to hover and fly out of the bowling alley.
*
The bouncer goes flying backwards—ass hitting the bar that opens the door. The large metal barrier opens, but unfortunately the big burly one is still in the way. Not for long as a /flying/ Jessica zooms past him with Remy in tow, hanging around her waist. For good measure, LeBeau kicks the man in the face as the pair escape out into the cool night air, outward and upwards, onto one of the roofs.
And Remy can't stop laughing.
*
The dark New York night spins as Jessica takes them up higher and higher until reaching one of the many rooftops just a borough over. She emits a long breath as she touches down on the rooftop. Vague amusement reflects in her expression as she shakes her head, "I think you enjoyed that far too much." She lifts a single wry eyebrow. Her chin drops and her nose wrinkles, "I'm still wearing their shoes. They are hideous."
*
"I did," Remy says. "Fucker got what he deservin, no?" Remy lets go of her waist, but doesn't move back. He's still looking downward at those shoes. "I kind of like dem. Like I be sayin, you make erryting look good, chere."
*
"I think you're biased, Cajun," Jessica replies easily enough, but she makes no effort to move away from him. Her lips quirk upwards, and she actually chuckles, an unusual reward for an odd night out. "Besides, you're apt to like everything." Her lips hitch up on one side into a lopsided smirk. "Or," she waggles a finger, "you're just that kinky."
*
"Could be, chere. Could be." Remy reaches his hand up to cup the side of her cheek and uses his other hand to brush some hair from her face before he moves in to kiss her. "I be likin' quite a few tings," he says afterwards.
*
Jessica hums at the answer, but the kiss is easily returned, and deepened. When it finally breaks, she lifts her chin, "Which things are those, Le Beau?" Both her elbows lift expectantly, but before Remy can answer, her head tilts to the side. She's thinking about something but not saying much of anything.
*
"I tink you be knowin, belle," Remy says as he tilts his head along with hers, then goes the other way. "What is it, chere? Don't worreh. Be tinkin dat Hamburger face will make a full recovereh. Except for his ego."
*
There's a twitch of Jessica's mouth, a quirk that speaks volumes while she maintains some semblances of stoicism. The consideration continues her her jaw visibly tightens when she observes, "I like your eyes." It's not exactly the tone that would normally go with such sentiment, but it's also not unsentimental. "It's fucking stupid you need to wear those glasses just because other people are assholes." She shrugs. "That's all."
*
"Tanks. Someone gotta. Dey used to call me le Diable Blanc. White Devil." But the memory doesn't seem to make him sad at all. The smile might make one think he kind of likes the name. "Figure if people dun like em dey can go t'hell. Jus sometimes I dun wanna make a commotion simila to what you done seen here tonight."
*
Jessica lifts a wry eyebrow and purses her lips. Her nostrils flare. There's something telling int the look. "They should go to hell," she agrees with a long inhalation of breath. "Is that what you do?" Her eyes narrow slightly. "I mean… when you're not with me. The other side of your life or whatever."
*
"Nah, it much worse den dat, chere. A lot o' times it not people who be talkin shit in bars. It people who be killin' mutants. Torturin. Dat sort of ting," Remy says a little forlornly. "We din g'afta small potatoes." He can honestly say, however, that he hasn't done a thing since they both had their talk.
*
"Right," Jessica replies as she finally steps away, back towards the edge of the building. She stares at the skyline and inhales a slow breath. "Are there lots of those cases? The torture, I mean." Her lips press into a thin line. "We could do that, I mean. Investigate it. Or something." She swallows hard. "Most of our jobs don't pay. We could follow the line of the FoH. Or one of the others. See where it goes." Her teeth toy at her bottom lip.
*
"Better workin' wit you by my side den wit'out. Dat bein' said, we gotta start makin' some money soon. All de money I stole gun run out someday," Remy says with a grin. "As per usual. You be leadin, an' I be followin."
*
"Yeah, someday Trish will figure out I'm just another freeloader," Jessica replies easily with a small shake of her head as she continues to stare at the skyline. "I don't fly much anymore, but man, I love the view." Her lips tick up on one side, "And why you still following? I think I scared everyone else off."
*
"Because I love ya," Remy says as he looks out over the skyline as well. "Idiot."