1964-08-06 - Wine, Women, and Remy
Summary: Because they go together so well.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
remy-lebeau vesper 

All men want something from life. From nature's creatures. It's a gimme.

Vesper may be young but she's not stupid. Thoughts wheel around in her head while she treads the streets of New York. For the most part she hasn't done anything noteworthy in the past hour. Twenty-six and a half of then in fact. Losing herself for a day in the electrical wires teaches her a lesson or two about physicality.

For the moment she's walking out from a very questionable alley in Soho where a connection point leads to a generator suffering some problems. A crew might try to figure out what's up in a few days. She's brushing down her skirt, direly hoping it's not on fire. It isn't, but her touch will shock.

The door out to he alleyway opens up and a dark figure pulls a cigarette up to his lips. There's a flicker of orange light as the tall, thin man lights up. As he clicks the lighter closed he looks down the way and notices someone he thinks is someone he knows. Remy begins to walk down towards her.

Her feet squish against the ground, hinting that those shoes have met puddles to deleterious effect. Vesper considers stopping. She leans down to remove them. Bare feet might be an uncommon sight around here though not for the reasons anyone might wish to consider. She shuts her eyes and huffs out a breath. Breathe. That's key. Remember her skin. Her body in the muggy air. Her head lifts at the flicker of something hot and orange. To be blue-white, to hear the song of the hour… those are the dangers, always a danger. For a moment she's staring in Remy's direction but not really seeing.

"Far way from home, chere," Remy says as he takes a slow drag from the cigarette and comes closer into view. "Y'lucky all you found was ole Etienne and not someone lookin' for your money." He chuckles. "How you been, girl?"

"«I think you're mistaken.»" Parisian French answers the Cajun in a neat rattle of consonants that clatter across teeth and tongue. Her chin tilts at an angle to imbue deeper shadows upon the fall of her auburn hair. Absent full shadow Vesper's face still reveals those spectral traces of electric sylphs dancing over unnaturally blue fields. "«I haven't any money for them to worry about.»" Truth in that fact, her hands held to her sides in overt demonstration. The static drag pulls into herself. "Studying. Like I should. You?"

"Drinkin' and smokin, like ah should," he replies with a grin. "You want any company or you flyin' solo tonight?" Remy has the decency to exhale somewhere other than into her face and then leans against the old brick wall.

"Drinking and smoking and dancing, all those terrible things. Why, monsieur, I may think you are a corruptive influence." All this comes without a beat missed by a girl whose head is filled by the chatter of conversations and phone calls. Her clear blink follows. Vesper might not even remember to inhale until her brain kicks her into motion anyways. "It is a good thing I am old enough not to listen to my parents."

"Dat right? Your parents tole you about ole Etienne, hmm?" Remy asks with a bit of a laugh. "Ah ain't lookin' to corrupt, chile, just lookin' to walk ya where you wanna go." He shrugs his shoulders, "If dat bad, den ahm a bad man."

Depends which ones he's referring to, but that's neither here nor there. A girl has to have her mysteries. The faint smile allowed no depth to reveal its hidden facets forms. She reaches into the pocket of her light coat for those sunglasses and on they go, cool as a cucumber. "I think I have a… ah, what do you call it? A navigator? Oui, that might be it. Hello, mon navigateur."

"Bonjour, chere. And where, prey tell, may ole Etienne be takin' ya this evenin?" he asks with a grin. "Ah ain't eva been called a navigator at all, before. First time for everyting, ah spose."

"Suggestions like that would say Saint Patrick's, non? Perhaps some proper parish church where I may make amends for missing a Sunday mass." Or many. Vesper's living differently here than she did in Paris where things were formal and controlled. Not at all like in Cambridge where the issues of faith paled to the fruits of the great enlightenment. "Turn your heading to the north star and follow it all the way home? I thought wine might be well." Wine reminds her how to drink, and walk, and dance.

"Well wine ah can do," Remy replies. "An' if we gun go pray for our sins, den ah hope you got yoself some time. It gunna take ole Etienne a while."

The Gallic scientist nods to the normal state of matters. "You expect to spend a long time on your knees? A thousand Hail Marys for the state of your soul?" These are quiet points of curiosity on Vesper's part. Rest assured, she does not push too deeply into territory where she is not wanted. Her smile leaves a tinge across her pale skin. "Time is something we have at hand. Wine first before the bread, though."

"Guess dat depend on what kinda night ahm gunna have," Etienne responds with a laugh. "Quiet place not to far away. Jus' 'round de corner."

"Show me?" It is invitation enough as one can receive, and she heads that way, bare of feet and sooty of stocking. The streets in New York are never clean, not even for the mistaken seraphim. And she's not one of those. Her head tilts to the man calling himself Etienne. Then she offers her arm. It's a wise precaution given the state of her shoes.

He takes her arm and turns the corner towards a small pub. Etienne opens the door for her and then follows her in. There are, count them, four patrons. Three of them may have been born in the previous century. Country western plays on the radio.

Four patrons! Imagine, they might be four immortals of a horse-riding sort, and interrupted by Lord Luck and Lady Light. What could happen over wine then?

She steps inside. Vesper is not used to such places and it takes her some uneasy steps to get her bearings. But she can fake it even if the music is alien. Some kind of high top stool suits her unless Remy carries her off to a corner or a game of darts. Risky, that. "I might have said the sin," she murmurs, teasing him. So there's a girl under all that formality somewhere.

Etienne laughs as he pulls up to the bar next to her. "Wine for de lady." The bartender reaches for the house wine. "For you, Cajun?" He shakes his head once, "Jus' bourbon. De usual."

"Red." Not white. White has its moments, light and shining memories. Nuances of a summer day. The reds are truer to the earth and the soil that birthed them. They hold life and joy along with the slow coursing thoughts of yesteryear in a winter's seed. Vesper finds red perfectly suited. "Cajun. Are you known in every bar this way or only a select few? Some people, I know, they have their places to drink. They do not seek outside the place where their heart and their head rest. Are you one of those? Or will you always search for a different space and see if it matches your tastes?"

"Ah like findin' spots to find people ahm comfortable wit. Dat bein' said, all good tings come to an end. From den on ya gotta keep dat stone a rollin." The pair get the drinks they requested and then are left alone. That might be why Remy likes this place.

"Something cannot endure forever, you would think?" Vesper takes the glass when offered and raises it to the night as all drinkers do. A sip. She tilts it back to taste the flavour and the terroir on her tongue.

"Tink of sometin on dis Earth dat does and ah'll buy ya all de drinks ya want," Remy replies with a grin. He shrugs his shoulders and takes his shot.

The young woman inclines her head. "Time." Hey, Mr. Hawking hasn't proven totally that it doesn't end right yet, and if he does. He has a conversation yet with a creature who has a different perspective surely. "A thought. They like to say the dust of the first stars even now. All the matter that was ever formed is present here now and will be forever. The Earth won't look exactly the same and you are made from ancient, long ago lights that burned and fall apart."

"Spose yo' right," Remy says as he nods to the barkeep. "De lady gun need anotha pretty soon. Keep em comin. And leave it on my tab."

"Sure thing, Etienne."

Vesper might well have won a riddle. She could be treading dangerously here. She sips her wine with a faint, small smile for the man suddenly paying up for many things. Possibly many more debts than anticipated. "We may be here a while yet, no?"

"Ahm hopin' so. Least for a few more drinks, chere." Remy looks to her with a chuckle, and then, after all this foreplay, he slips in what he really has asked her out here for. Of course, he hides it as best he can. "How that research you doin goin?" he asks, making small talk. "Work goin well?"

"None this weekend. Nature of the work, we cannot be in every hour. Test runs to do. Things to consider. See how bits link up. It is always challenging." Her lips press to the rim of the glass in a hum of thought. "You?"

What did he do again? Oh, that's right. He fixes cars in this persona. "Nobbad," he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. "Not dat many cars dis week, so I got Friday afternoon off."

"Likely better spent than mine. I shall have to figure out where the hours went." She tips her glass up again for a good sip. Vesper needs it, for certain. "And a week of hardwork ahead."

"I'll drink to that." Etienne has been trying all week on his current mission. We'll see how the rest of the night goes to see how successful he is.

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