|What: Gambit and Domino aren't off to the best of starts, but the Cajun's willing to lend a hand.|
It's not a terribly long drive from the busted-up tenement to Remy's safehouse. He spends most of it watching Dom fairly quietly. Odd, at least for him. He's studying her like a test subject or a member of a sample audience. Taking note of her reactions. Her expressions.
As promised, he tells her where and when to turn, but he doesn't provide her an address or any sort of destination until they're pulling up to a building in Chinatown with a tea house and a market on the bottom floor. Despite the late hour, both appear to be operating. Everything is cheerfully lit, including 'OPEN' signs, but there don't appear to be any patrons.
"Here we are," Remy says quietly as he pops his door and lets himself out of the car. "I'm upstairs."
Domino doesn't have much to say for the drive, itself. Her mind is in a state of conflict, thoughts which are usually more clear and straightforward now seeming to bend into different directions than she's accustomed to. Had she really offered to split the bounty on that guy with someone else she was ready to turn in? Not..her usual MO, that.
With the announcement made she pulls off of the street and kills the engine, only a second behind you in climbing out then following after you. She's on high alert, hands ready to go for her guns, but it isn't you they're wary of. It's everything else. Whatever you did to her, it's still got a hold of her.
Access seems to be via a set of metal stairs bolted on the side of the building. Remy's armored boots clang loudly against them as he hauls himself up toward his apartment with Domino in tow. "And here we are again," he murmurs, fitting a key to the lock and opening the door.
Transferring the bulk of his possessions from New York to Gotham has left his life looking even more chaotic than usual. Somehow, he's managed to move decades worth of trinkets, treasures, and acquisitions, then cram them all into a tiny loft apartment. It's a single room, largish, and cluttered as all hell. Priceless paintings and statues covered with dusty sheets are nestled next to boxes full of technological marvels and a five-gallon bucket full of expensive men's watches. Small bowls gemstones, mostly uncut, have been spread around on the mantle. A couple of the bowls are sitting on a stack of bearer bonds that seem to come from every country under the sun.
Other than that, the room is pretty spartan. A rickety table and two wooden chairs. A small, ancient fridge and stove in the tiny kitchen nook. The bed at least looks comfortable; heavily draped with pillows and blankets and crammed into one of the corners. It's seperated from the rest of the apartment by a thin, sheer curtain.
"'Step into de parlour,' said de spider to de fly," Remy purrs as he walks in and flips on the lights.
Are they using a fire escape to reach your place..? For a mark with as high a pricetag on your head as this, Domino is expecting something perhaps a -little- more posh. Even just a little. What she gets drops way below expectation.
"There's this thing called a fence, you know. Might want to look into that sometime." Because, damn. Did you steal things then hang onto them like a kleptomaniac? What pays the rent! "It's ..cosy," she adds while idly looking over all of the trinkets that you've collected over the ..months? Years? Hours..? "Almost enough room for one in here. Look, if you have to eat your guests because you're short on room then I'm out."
"I forget, you're new in town," Remy replies, shooting Dom a sidelong glance and smiling crookedly. "People know better den to bother me or my things. 'Le Diable Blanc,' dey call me. Anyway, dis just a place to stash my shit. I don't actually live here."
That much is apparent. A thin layer of dust has already settled on much of what's here. The apartment may as well be a storage locker. Remy pauses to pull a dropcloth aside and peer under it. Underneath is a small statue of a woman holding an apple that's got to be at least a few hundred years old. He makes a thoughtful noise and lets the cloth fall back into place. "So, I'm supposed to be begging and bartering for my life, right? What you like? Gold? Art? Rolex? I have a lil' cash, but frankly, I think it's boring and it takes up too much space."
Speaking of dust... The first flat surface not horrifically cluttered by things gets a pasty white fingertip placed against it, wiping a line of dust away in one brisk motion. Bleugh. Taking care of safehouses gets to be a chore and all but with this much stuff hiding in here she really doesn't care to think about what the rodent and roach situation might be. "I think it's because they're too afraid of what's living in your things," Dom offhandedly remarks.
"We've already moved past the begging and bartering portion of our interaction. Rather, I think we've got some other matters to hash out." Although this -is- a lovely white gold choker, here... A moment later she's dangling it from the tips of her fingers, holding it up and blowing the accumulated dust off of it. "What I said before is true, you're no fun dead and you're more than I'd care to have to worry about if we became enemies. Besides, you don't make a habit of killing people. Only their checkbooks." Times -are- tough right now, who knows how many grand she's dangling from her fingers right now? But, it's stolen. She's done nothing to earn this, and it's here for all of the wrong reasons. She sets it back down with a subtle sigh.
Remy chuckles and grins at her rakishly. "Well. Dat was easy," he says, his voice light and teasing. "And I'm glad we agree on dat much, at least. I try not kill nobody if I don't have to. Bad for business. Namely, dead people don't do much business."
He walks by and flicks a gloved finger against the choker as he passes. "You sure? Might look good on you."
Then he's in what passes for the kitchen. It takes him a moment to hunt up two glasses. He's courteous enough to polish them, even. A brief peek inside the fridge shows it's not just empty, it's completely empty. Only thing in it is a silver bucket of ice stuffed into the freezer drawer. A few cubes are plucked out and dropped in each glass. Then a bottle of vodka appears from one of the cupboards. The ice and liquor crackle in the glasses as he offers one to Dom.
Mutter. "I'm really not," Dom admits to the piece of jewelry. Who knows what the previous owner was like? Noo, no..leave it be, girl. For the merc with a conscience, this is almost difficult. Herein lies untold wealth and she doesn't feel right even handling any of these objects! Maybe it would have been better to pull you in half and try to sell one piece to one contractor and the other piece to a different one. Even at a reduced profit...
Her jaw sets, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Then there's vodka on the rocks being offered, one eye popping back open to look at you. "I didn't see any mention of being telepathic in your file." Liquor is something that she can do, happily at that. Now, if she's not going to take any of these valuables then she needs to rework matters to her own benefit some other way. "Since you're obviously doing so well for yourself you won't need a cut of that last job. Fence any three things in here and you've more than made up for it." Not that she's going to up and say that she's poor and some freaky-eyed mutie with sticky fingers has her beat ten thousand to one in that department.
"You're showing an awful lot of trust to someone that nearly pulled you apart."
Where the hell did -that- comment come from?
"Why shouldn't I?" Remy says, shrugging and lifting his glass in a lazy salute. "You didn't, after all. Pull me in half, that is. Besides, who doesn't like being tied up every once in a while?"
Languid and relaxed, like a cat waking from a nap, he stretches and settles into one of the wooden chairs. He takes a long sip of his liquor and lets out a low, happy sigh before continuing. "I'm also not afraid of you. Yeah, you beat me. But like you said, if you were gon' kill me, you would've done it by now. Or tried. Anyway, would you rather I didn't trust you? I thought we were supposed to be friends, chere."
The toe of a different tall, armored combat boot hooks around the leg of the other chair, pulling it out so the woman can flop down into it. The one comment brings forth a subtle smirk, looking back at you with glass in hand. "Too used to being in control, huh. That's something I can fix."
Again..with the comments... There's this foggy, leaden air around Domino's mind that feels more like she combined heavy duty pain pills with booze (which she's kinda doing right now, but the effect is happening way ahead of schedule.) "Just that I usually approach making 'friends' with others from a different direction. Stuff like that tends to come well after the fact, not before." There's a quick check of a watch strapped face-down under a wrist, running the numbers through her mind. Time's running short, already. Other cities to be in, other appointments to keep. Not that she's going to tell you that she's going to vanish before long. "You might reconsider the part about fearing me, though not because I'm planning to kill you."
There she goes, again. It's like the wall that normally keeps such thoughts to herself isn't there anymore. Frankly, it's like being drunk. Way drunk. She would know if she had that much to drink in a day. So..what's going on, here?
Eh, does it matter?
"You're looking a little peaked, mimi," Remy observes. "Let me see if I can help."
That's all it takes. Whatever hold he's managed to gain over Domino is released. Simple as that. He gives his glass a twirl, rattling the ice, then drains it to the dregs in a single gulp. He peers down into the bottom of it for a few seconds, then slowly lets his gaze drift back up to Dom. "And now? Feeling better, I hope."
A little what, now..?
-Yerk.- Just like that, everything's clear again. Even the dull ache in her forehead is more acute than before. Domino frowns, breaks eye contact, blinks a few times, then puts two and two together. "Son of a bitch." As soon as she's looking back to you there's a new edge in her eyes, a certain tenseness all around that wasn't there a moment ago. She -did- read something about that in the file, she just hadn't expected it to be so ..subtle. Already there's an urge to draw a gun and level it at your forehead but she already knew that she wouldn't pull the trigger. She has a feeling that you know it, as well. "No more games, Remy. I don't like being played."
"And I don't like being strung up like a plucked chicken," Remy retorts mildly. He's actually smiling. As expected, he doesn't even flinch in the face of Dom's anger. He sucks the last few drops of vodka away from the ice in his glass, sets it down, and steeples his long, nimble fingers into a triangle. "I'm a survivor, chere. I survive, dat's what I do. Dat's all I used it for. I could've had you, y'know." He glances meaningfully at the bed in the corner. "Probably would've taken another hour or so. And if I had, then you'd have a reason to be pissed. As it is, why don't we call it even? I'd love to go to sleep tonight without any new scars."
That you're smiling makes Dom's expression grow a little more cold, though it doesn't last. This time it's because of her own thoughts, not ones which are being influenced by you. As if following your lead she downs the rest of her drink, which was still a fair amount, and roughly sets the glass aside. That stare is only broken long enough to glance over to the bed, considering what you're telling her. ..Maybe she doesn't want to know the answer to that one. "Fair enough. Next time you use that trick on me, you're gonna owe me one. Also, I better not be missing any of my belongings in the morning." A truce is called for the time being, though it's questionable how long that might happen to last.
Remy pushes his chair back and stands up. He's a large man, tall, and the coat lends him a sense of bulk. Suddenly, there's a very big guy looming in the middle of the room. "You won't be," he says. "And neither will I."
And then he's headed for the door. "I was gon' be cute and suggest we share de bed, but I think I'll get outta here. Make yourself at home. Dere's about half a bottle of good vodka in de cupboard. If you need anything else, de market downstairs is open all night."
The imposing size might work on a lot of people (and how does one become such a good thief with that kind of profile?!) but for Domino it isn't about how you're built, it's the skills that you possess. Somehow you've gotten into her thoughts, something which happens so infrequently that she barely recognizes it even after the fact. You're not half bad with that staff, either. Then there's what the report said about your -other- gifts... She may not be afraid, but she is most certainly cautious.
Maybe it's a show of faith that you choose to let her stay here with all of your ill-gotten treasures. Sure she could always drive around to one of her own safehouses but with this awful headache having taken root... "Little early in the relationship for sharing bunks, kiddo. See you around." No thank you, no real sign of appreciation. She accepts the offer, isn't that enough?
Halfway out the door, Remy pauses. He smiles, but he doesn't turn back to face her. Still, you can hear it in his voice. "Yes," he says. "You will."