#remy verse: le coquin errant

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"Good bar needs two things," Remy said with an easy laugh. "Good bourbon an' a good bartender. Dis place got both." Having a corner table suitable for a game of cards was a bonus but hardly necessary; Remy could find space for a card game no matter where he was.

Taking the drink - far be it from him to argue free bourbon if Logan felt that generous - he lifted it in salute both to Logan and the barkeep before taking a sip and shrugging casually. "Nah, ain't nothin' like dat, don'tchu be worryin'," he said with a chuckle. "Jus' passin' through town, figured I'd stop an' enjoy a glass'r two. Take it you tryin'a 'void trouble f'a while?"

Remy wasn't blind, and neither was he stupid. He might not know Logan that well, but he knew the man well enough to know there were levels to his grouchiness. Right now…well, Logan wasn't being completely antisocial, but neither did he seem in the mood for more than peripheral company, which probably meant something had happened. It also almost definitely meant that if Remy asked outright he'd either get ignored or told to fuck off.

"Good taste in bars?" Logan snorted out a laugh, the corners of his lips curving into a faintly reluctant half smile. "You don't have a high standard for your bars then." He lifted his hand, signalling to the bartender to bring them both a drink. He shifted in his seat so that he could turn more towards Remy, watching him for a moment. "What brings you here? Not looking for me, I hope." He knew that he was being particularly grouchy, however it'd been one of those days and god forbid Logan let anyone see him having a vulnerable moment.

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"Remy," he corrected easily, pouring the boy a glass of water and bringing it over. "Ain't never been one t'stand on ceremony, don'tchu worry 'bout dat wi' me."

He retook his seat on the couch and studied the boy hero in quiet, amused thought. "Gon' guess de name's a legacy, then?" he asked with a knowing smile. "Gotham got stories a Robin prob'ly not too much older'n you are. Good on you, makin' it y'own." Legacy names weren't exactly common, but they weren't unheard of, either. Taking up the mantle of a fallen hero, stepping into someone's shoes while they were out of commission, there were any number of reasons to carry a title that hadn't begun with you.

"Go on'n sit down, petit," he added, motioning for Robin to take a seat. "Ain't no call t'go standin' 'less y'jus' want to. Make y'self comfortable. Given de lack o' panic an'urgency I'm guessin' Gotham enjoyin' a quiet night f'once."

" I didn't pick the colours, I just added pants." He grinned back.

Maybe it was the general attitude but this stranger was oddly easy to talk to. And if the guy had only ever passed through Gotham and not caused trouble then fine by him. Probably nothing to worry about and if it was, it wouldn't be his problem to tackle unless the man decides to go ham in Gotham one day. The people were proud of their vigilantes... or at least they'd started to be proud again after everything. Tim might prefer his black and green outfit these days but he still liked to bring out the classic traffic light colours for a while. A great deal of meaning had been assigned to them.

The old classic was for calmer nights, for reminding the people that he was still here and still willing to inspire hope. His Knighthood, as everyone had dubbed their respective versions of the suit, were for nights when someone had fucked up and Tim was leaning harder into the stealth and silent brutal takedowns.

"Water please, Mr Lebeau." A polite smile though he was finally breaking the habit of slipping immediately into gala mode.

Not attending for a couple of years had done wonders.

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"Uhhhh.... hi there? I uh. Got a little turned around so I'll just-" Robin jabs his thumb towards the exit and starts to sloooooowly back away. -arobinwithoutbatman ((up to you whichever Marvel muse you use, I just find DC Marvel crossovers fascinating and thought this would be funny))

Remy doesn't even bother moving, staring at the kid in quiet bemusement. This isn't the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him. "Ain't gotta leave on my account, petit," he says with a chuckle. "But how you got turned roun' dis bad gotta be some kinda story, hein? Where you tryin'a go in 'at get-up?" Not that he really has any room to comment on someone's outfit, considering the things some former teammates of his has worn. This boy's gear is positively normal by comparison.

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Birthday starter for @defectivexfragmented's Matt, because Remy had Ideas™ >w>

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He'd at least given Matt warning. Admittedly not much; just a vague text letting him know to expect a surprise when he got home that night, but warning nonetheless. Remy himself wasn't due back in town for another day or two, theoretically, but he'd managed to get his latest job done faster than he'd thought so the timing worked out perfectly.

Letting himself into Matt's apartment was not hard; Remy had bested security on par wth Stark Industries before, so anything Matt might have was hardly going to prove too much of a problem for him. He'd come prepared, his belt replaced with a ribbon of fine silk velvet - burgundy, not that Matt would be able to see that - with matching bands running over his shoulders like suspenders leading down to the charcoal grey silk slacks he'd chosen for the evening. He'd foregone a shirt entirely, though he'd kept his long coat. Matt had never seemed to mind the scent of leather it held, and it served nicely as part of the gift wrapping Remy had prepared in any case.

He'd also chosen the cologne Matt had seemed to favor, handily also Remy's own favorite; a warm, slightly smoky fragrance by Jo Malone with notes of leather, vetiver, and juniper. A light spray was enough; he wanted to hint, not broadcast. Setting up birthday surprises wasn't anything new for Remy, but this was his first time doing so for a blind man…while scent and touch usually factored into his plans to some degree, he'd always placed far more emphasis on sight. Planning this had been an exercise in bringing other senses to the fore.

Now all he had to do was wait, Matt's secondary present already set out on the coffee table and waiting to be opened in celebration. There was no way Remy was going to be opening a bottle of 72-year-old Scotch without its intended recipient actually present, after all.

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@arobinwithoutbatman [x]

"New York? Dang. Been here plenty of times. I'll make it to New Orleans some day." Probably not until he was at least twenty one if his siblings had their way. Well... Dick and Babs anyway... Jason would probably encourage him as long as he could tag along too. And he was recognised! Huh. He'd never really stopped to think about how he and the others were perceived outside of Gotham. Sure San Francisco got used to him and Young Justice but the city had never really been theirs, it was just where Titans Tower ended up being. And of course there were the cities protected by the Flashes and Supers. New York had that other team that people liked to pit against the Justice League. Avengers, wasn't it? They did good work. He wasn't so sure he liked the idea of not having a secret identity... "You're right, though, only one state over. Could've been way worse." His curiosity was caught again by those very striking eyes. Black with red irises. "I'm... not sure how to feel or react to being recognised." Maybe he should be paying a little more attention to major goings on outside of Gotham City and New Jersey in general now that the city had stopped trying to implode on itself every five seconds.

"She a good city." Remy smiled, faint and nostalgic. One day he might get to go home, but not any time soon. Not until his exile was lifted, which might be never as far as he knew.

For now, he had a junior superhero - well, vigilante - sitting in his living room after what Remy could only assume was a teleporter accident. Which was interesting, given he hadn't thought anyone in Gotham had a teleporter to begin with. "Well, if y'worried 'bout folk outside'a Gotham knowin' ya well enough t'recognize ya, don't be," he assured the kid with a laugh. "I done enough travelin' through y'city t'at least know of ya. Might never'a seen ya b'fore, but heard plenty a folk describin' ya." Remy smirked at him. "Y'gotta admit, y'kinda stand out, non?"

He pushed himself up then, starting for the kitchen area of his loft. "But 'scuse my manners, y'want a drink? Got soda, 'r water if y'prefer." He paused, hand on the refrigerator door, and flashed another grin at Robin. "An' my name's Remy, if y'curious. Remy Lebeau." Though whether Robin would put together his eyes and his name with the master thief - and sometime-hero - Gambit Remy didn't know. If he did…well, Remy was hardly doing anything illegal at the moment, in his own apartment with a cocktail and a book.

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“   How can I live, laugh, love in these conditions? ” (Clint @ Remy)

[Absolutely Unhinged Comic Relief || accepting]

"I suggest you stop worryin' 'bout dat an' start actually shootin' some a dem arrows you apparently savin' for a rainy day; I ain't holdin' dis line by myself!

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ϟ (Remy, Matt)

[Feel Their Scars || accepting]

Remy had slid into a rather contented doze, one arm around Matt's shoulders, just enjoying the other man's warmth and company. Theirs was a nice arrangement, honestly; never any pressure, never any concern, just shared companionship and some pretty good sex. Plus, as terrible as Remy felt about having the thought, Matt's blindness spared him the usual shocked or horrified or pitying looks he generally got when people saw his eyes or his scars for the first time.

The scars, of course, could hardly go entirely unnoticed. Especially the worst of them, still jagged and uneven after all these years, as though he'd been badly mauled by a wild animal. Which, he considered, he technically had. His eyes snapped open as he felt Matt's fingers trace along one of the clawmarks that raked across his chest, Remy tensing the barest fraction before just letting out a quiet, resigned sigh.

"…Dey look 'bout as bad's dey feel, if y'curious," he said quietly. "Don' really recommend gettin' on de wrong side'f a wildcat; I got lucky." Not the entire truth, given Sabretooth was technically a mutant and not an animal, but as far as Remy was concerned that was purely a matter of physical shape.

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🌿 (remy, matt)

[Mistletoe? || accepting]

It was not really surprising that their usual bar had put out some Christmas decorations. Most places did, around this time of year. Tinsel and garlands and ornaments and Santas and reindeer, fake snow, paper snowflakes…honestly the place looks pretty good. It's as they're moving past the door to the pool tables that Remy notices what's hanging from the lintel.

Oh boy. Whoever's idea it was to hang mistletoe in a bar is either going to regret that decision or thoroughly enjoy the show. Remy can't help but chuckle, leaning over to brush a quick kiss over Matt's lips. "Looks like de bar's gettin' into de spirit o' de season," he says. "Mistletoe an' all."

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Towel (Remy, Matt)

[My muse catches yours in naught but a towel || accepting]

To be fair this was Matt's apartment and Remy was sleeping over, but that didn't mean he'd been quite prepared for the sight that met his eyes when he finally rolled over. There was nothing wrong with a man wandering his own damned apartment in nothing but a towel, especially fresh out of the shower; it was just something Remy wasn't entirely accustomed to.

Of course, he didn't usually have recurring partners like this, either; generally he'd have slipped out by now and moved on, but he and Matt had a nice understanding. No strings, no expectations, just some fun and companionship. It had worked out well so far.

"Well ain't dis a sight t' wake up to." Remy couldn't help the drawling tease. Matt probably knew he was awake by now anyway, so why bother pretending? "You puttin' on dat show f'my sake, Mathieu?"

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@defectivexfragmented [x]

[text: Alley Cat] And here I thought I'd been nicely poetic, too. [text: Alley Cat] Ah well. Some men just don't appreciate art. [text: Alley Cat] I'm assuming that means you're either alone or you're using headphones, then.

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@misstisalir

It had been years since he'd last set foot here. After the last fight they'd had Remy had avoided the hell out of New York. Words had been said that couldn't be taken back, on both sides. But here he was, motorcycle paused just inside the gate, staring at the house at the end of the gravel drive. This is a bad idea, Lebeau. But hell, Kurt had asked him to come, said it was important, that they needed his skills, and Remy hadn't been able to say no. He'd at least keep his distance; maybe if he did this right Anna wouldn't even have to know he was here.

Sure, and maybe the moon was made of pure gold.

Sighing he kicked his motorcycle back in gear and finished the journey, parking it off to one side and starting for the front door. Might as well face the music now. It'd save time.

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@nxtsoordinary from [x]

“Time to- oh Christ.” Matt fumbled for the sheet and tugged it up over his face to hide his embarrassment. Yeah, he’d just admitted he couldn’t walk. After a night with Remy. Maybe the guy could accidentally set fire to him and put him out of his (sweet, sweet) misery.

Remy couldn't help it; Matt's reaction really was adorable. The Cajun burst out laughing, reaching over to lazily tousle his bedmate's hair. "Whatchu worried 'bout, Matéo? Ain' no reason t'go gettin' all het up." He grinned, letting out a comfortable breath as he settled further into the bed. "Ain' like y'didn' do your fair share a de work las' night. How's de head?"