Choses De Riz


ff_remi_icon.gif ff_silas_icon.gif

Scene Title Choses De Riz
Synopsis Silas visits Remi in the brig.
Date December 25, 2018

Ark Brig

After the events of their first meal in their new prison home, Remi was dragged to the brig, where she woke up with a massive hangover, a massive headache, and a massive heartache. Surprisingly, her prison cell is a run-down luxury apartment, so at least her accommodations are somewhat comfortable, despite the fact that they lock from the outside.

She hasn’t eaten since that tiny bite of fish she had at the ‘feast’, and she has only really taken water for the spiteful act of surviving. She cleaned herself off a bit when she woke up, removed the blood of the last of her crew from her face and clothing, but has otherwise been curled up in a cocoon of blankets for the past two days — and she hasn’t been much for conversation since.

Today, though, she’s a bit better off. Her head is outside of the blankets, at least, the thick hat that she wore in sitting atop her head. That, at least, didn’t get covered in blood. She’s even taken a nibble of the food that has been brought to her, if only to sate the hunger enough for her to further dwell on her thoughts.

That’s progress, right?

Silas has been keeping as busy as he possibly can during the two days since their 'welcoming banquet'. They've been given free reign to roam, at least, and he's been doing his best to put it to good use, to learn about this place and about his fellow travellers.

He'd tried twice to drop in on Remi in that time. Thankfully, Kenner's directive to allow them to roam had included allowing them to visit their comrades in the brig… either that or the security staff was taking it as such. The first time she hadn't answered at all when he'd knocked; the second, she hadn't seemed to feel like talking much. Silas had carried the mostly one-sided conversation for awhile (based on his own theory that time alone with one's thoughts after losing everything you've ever loved and being thrown in prison on top of it is not necessarily a good thing) before eventually taking his leave.

Now, on Christmas night, he knocks again. He's got a small light in one hand and a bag in the other, filled with… something. "Hey. You awake?" he calls quietly, rapping on her doorframe.

The appearance of the light causes Remi to lift her head, inhaling a sharp breath as she composes herself — it’s a bit dark in here without electricity, so she squints a bit as her eyes take a moment to adjust. After a moment, the blob of blankets shifts, and Remi is sitting up, still wrapped up in the warm blankets and looking, all told, pretty miserable.

Not that anyone can blame her, really.

“Oui,” is the blunt, one-worded reply as Remi draws the blankets tighter around herself. “Not as if I can sleep very well anyhow,” she adds, freeing one hand to push a strand of hair away from her eyes.

Silas nods to the security staffer accompanying him and steps in to Remi's cell. His clothes are different than the last time he visited… the most obvious and immediate difference being a greyish, threadbare apron, the words 'Raise the Steaks' still barely visible through the stains ground into it.

"Merry Christmas, Sunshine," he says quietly. He grins a bit as he raises the bag. "I brought frosted ricethings. Made 'em myself."

Normally, such things would put a fond smile on Remi’s face, and she would hug Silas and thank him in some grand way in French. But things are rather different now; the telepath blinks owlishly at the bag, and at Silas’ attire, and snuggles back into her blanket a bit.

This definitely isn’t the Remi he knew at the Pelago.

“It’s Christmas?” She asks this uncertainly, even though she already knows what the answer is going to be. She frowns a bit, nuzzling half of her face into her blankets and closing her eyes. Jasper always made Christmases special — but there’s no more of those with him. “Thank you,” is about all Silas gets.

"It's Christmas," he confirms quietly. He hesitates for a moment, then drags up the only chair in the room — an unsteady thing that wobbles as he sits in it. He grimaces for a moment, then turns his attention back to Remi. He puts the ricethings down on the tiny bedside table.

"We've been put to work. They're giving us rations, at least. Some of the others are doing laundry, tending the gardens, cleaning… that sort of thing. Luckily they also had kitchen jobs available, else I'd have probably flipped out and would have a room right here next to you," he says, mustering a grin.

After a moment, his grin fades, becoming more somber. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asks quietly.

Unfortunately for Silas, Remi is a tough crowd. Again, where there normally would be smiles and small laughs, the French woman is a stone wall. The confirmation of the holiday prompts Remi’s gaze to cast down toward the floor, losing focus for a moment, and then she’s curling in on herself a bit, pulling her knees up to her chest.

At least she’s not crying yet?

“At least there’s that,” she replies quietly. “Don’t let them know you can do maintenance work. You shouldn’t fix their stuff.” She sounds bitter. Who wouldn’t be, though? She glances toward the ricethings, then back to Silas, hugging her knees under the bundle of blankets.

His final question brings forth another small bout of silence from the telepath. “Jasper and I always had a special Christmas tradition — we’d send all of the crew off into the Pelago, and we would keep the Sayonara to ourselves, and we would drink and talk, and we would make Palmiers and hot chocolate.” Suddenly, her eyes begin to sparkle with tears in Silas’ light.

“We didn’t put it on display or anything, but Jasper…he was my everything. Even without the Sayonara, even without her crew, he was the only one who was always there, ever since the water came.” Her voice cracks — apparently, it’s been long enough for her to start talking about him, again. “If my ability ever got to be too much, I could just hold his hand, and he would bring me back.”

She leans back against the wall, then, legs still hugged close to her chest. “And Geneva…I promised her that I would get her to this new world the travelers were taking us to, that she could have a new life. She was so young…” She shakes her head once, before placing her forehead against her knees.

“Everything is gone, Silas. All of the people and things that I loved…” She doesn’t continue, her slender form twitching with silent tears.

Silas produces a handkerchief from up one sleeve, but Remi's buried her face in her knees again; he holds onto it for the moment. This is more actual words than she's said at once since the Sayonara sank; it's encouraging. He hadn't expected her to be an easy audience, but just the fact that his friend is talking is hopeful.

"I don't think they trust me — or any of us, really — enough to let me do maintenance work. Same as they don't trust us enough to let us have our little tricks," he says, a trace of concealed bitterness slipping through for a moment. As she starts to talk about Jasper, though, Silas falls silent, giving her his full and undivided attention. "That sounds… sweet," he says, finally, giving a rueful smile. "Really sweet. Better Christmas story than any of mine, that's for sure."

He doesn't speak again immediately; he lets her have awhile with her grief. It gives him time to think, really think about what he's going to say. In a way it's funny; he can whip up shiny lies and glittering half-truths as easily as breathing, but this… this is hard. Terribly hard. Pyrite lies lose their glitter in the face of grief like this.

"In a way," he says quietly, "it kinda sounds like the Flood all over again."

Silas turns. Not away from her — not entirely — but towards the door, so all she can see is his face in profile. "The news just keeps coming. One blow after another… then another, and another," he says. His voice is low, distant, and his eyes glitter oddly in the half light. "First, you lose your home. Then you hear about your family… parents… a sister. Bits and pieces, just… torn away, one by one."

"And when all's said and done, when the damn Floodwaters finally stop taking things from you… it's just you. Alone with the ghosts and everything you wish you could have done differently."

Silas comes back to the here and now with a faint grimace. Oh for God's sake, man, what are you doing? She's got troubles enough of her own without you dumping your ghosts on her, too! he curses to himself. Oh, yeah, because it's not like throwing yourself into others' problems isn't your coping mechanism… a particularly sarcastic thought pipes up in the back of his mind. Which… is true, actually, so perhaps that little spiel wasn't entirely awful of him. He can hope, at least.

“Except when the flooding stopped and left the water in their place, I still had him.” She closes her eyes against her knees, taking several long, measured breaths to calm herself. She shakes her head a few times, then, and lifts it, turning red-rimmed blue eyes to Silas. “I wish, at least, my ability wasn’t negated when he died. I could have…I could have maybe talked to him one last time.”

She sighs.

“Do you know how to make Palmiers? They’re those little flat pastries that are rolled in on themselves.” She seems to be implying that if he has access to the kitchen, perhaps he can make some. “They’re delicious with hot cocoa or coffee.” Though coffee…well, that’s for the more affluent members of society.

She’s trying not to be a mess, for what it’s worth — though it’s difficult to pull herself out of that mourning mindset.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's the extra kick in the pants, isn't it," is Silas's glum reaction to her mention of her lost ability. He doesn't even use his trick all that much, but not being able to is like having a phantom itch that he can't scratch… and he's well aware that his trick is nowhere near Remi's. Even worse when it's your main means of communication with your other half…

He's a bit puzzled when she shifts gears to talking about pastries, but he's not gonna argue it. "I don't, actually. I'm usually more of barbecue kinda guy than pastries. Usually my approach to sweets involves coating things in sugar, frying them, and then adding more sugar," he admits with a rueful grin; what this says about the health qualities of his ricethings is hard to say, but there's definitely some grease stains on the bag already.

"I'd kill for a cup of coffee, though. And a cigarette. An actual cigarette," he amends, recalling Mad Eve's smokes.

Changing the subject — it’s a good distraction technique, one Remi used to use frequently when she wasn’t a telepath who could distract herself with the thoughts of others, She’s slowly remembering what it was like before she had her ability — though it’s definitely not something she is enjoying. “Maybe if they ever let me out of here, I will teach you.” She smiles faintly. “It’s just puff pastry and sugar. You roll it in on itself and cut it into little cookies, then you bake them. It’s simple but delicious.” She offers the tiniest of smiles, though it doesn’t quite get to her eyes.

She glances to the bag, before reaching out to pull one of the ricething out. She examines it thoughtfully for a moment, before taking a bite. Simple, but delicious, and not too harsh on her empty stomach.

“Mm, a cigarette. I would kill for one of those. I used to have these cigarettes with black paper and a gold filter, they were amazing.” She closes her eyes, quietly remembering that whole experience. Anything to get her mind off of the past few days — she never realized that, when she left the Pelago, she would lose everything. She could have run, could have even stayed to fight — but instead she chose this path.

She regrets it.

"Something to look forward to," Silas says agreeably, matching her smile with one of his own.

Silas watches Remi for a moment; he's not a telepath, but it's not hard to read her expression. He lets out a rueful chuckle. "We have kinda hit rock bottom, haven't we?" he asks, his tone one somewhere between gentle amusement and regrets of his own.

"You've lost everything. As for me… Forthright's still out there, somewhere… but I'll never see any of 'em again. Doyle's lost Meredith. Des and Other Des lost Woods. We've all lost our powers and our freedom. The only thing we've got left right now is each other," he says, gesturing broadly to include the travellers as a whole. He's smiling, but there's a deep weariness to it.

"…and ricethings," he adds. He glances around and then sneaks one out of the bag himself.

Remi’s face twists up in a grimace for a moment, her knees still drawn up to her chest as she enjoys the sugary fried rice creation.. “We really have,” she replies, her head slowly bobbing. She stares long and hard at the last bite of her confection, before slipping it into her mouth. This is so unhealthy, but it’s also a bit of a comfort food, too.

“Who knows if they’ll let me out of here after I tried to attack Magnes,” she murmurs, slightly bitter that she wasn’t able to get even one punch in. She still blames him a lot for what happened, even though he couldn’t have truly known what would happen.

“…Hot showers.” She turns, peering quietly at Silas. “I miss hot showers. And hot baths, with those fancy bath bombs that make the water glitter and smell so good.”

"Bath bombs, huh?" Silas asks, looking amused. "Not my cup of tea. I do miss hot water, though." His lips curl up into a grin as he recalls something.

"You know, though… Mad Eve had us build a hot tub fed out of the Forthright's bilge. Can you believe it?" Silas asks, shaking his head and laughing. "Had all kinds of fun running around Lowe's trying to get a good water purifier so anyone using it wouldn't get sick with god knows what," he laughs.

He trails off for a moment, his expression growing serious again. "There isn't any here, though. No hot water, I mean. Not in any of the quarters of anyone I've spoken to. The kitchen's warm from all the burners, at least, but there's no actual heating." He lowers his voice. "No electricity in any of the quarters, either… rust stains everywhere. The Ark was a hell of a nice place once, but it's not looking so good now… and creeping decay really isn't the best look for a base on the bottom of the ocean, you know?"

He grimaces. "I know, I know. 'Merry Christmas, have some bad news'. But… I wanted to keep you in the loop, at least. I'm hoping they actually let you out of here at some point, you know?"

“Oh, they smelled so good, and they made the bath water fizzy, and left my skin feeling soft. And it made me look like a fairy after my baths.” She smirks slightly, lifting a hand to push her hair out of her eyes.

She purses her lips a bit as Silas describes the living quarters upstairs, frowning. “This is no place to be at the end of the world,” she mumbles, rubbing one hand over the side of her face. “I feel like we’re one mistake away from being washed out into the ocean.”

She tips her head to one side. “Heat up water in the kitchen. Get a big stew pot, fill it with water, and boil it. Then combine it with cold water — should make at least a somewhat warm bath, non?” She smiles faintly. “Maybe I can help out in the kitchen if I can get out of here.”

Silas nods at Remi's hot water idea. "Yeah, it's a thought. I'll run it by the head cook tomorrow," he says… then chuckles. "Gotta mind my ps and qs, after all," he says, rolling his eyes and giving Remi a smirk… although it's not that funny. Really, it's not funny at all… but he's quite certain that dwelling on the looming threat of sudden death is a sure path to going bonkers.

At her talk of helping in the kitchen, he nods. "I'm sure the crew would welcome the help. They seem like good people, and a bit understaffed; I was able to get my honorary apron after just two days!" he says, grinning briefly.

"Plus… maybe this is just me, but keeping my hands busy and my feet moving always helps me when I'm feeling down. I'm always at my best when I've got a project or two cooking," he says, more seriously. "Just… keep me posted, okay? If you need to talk or… whatever, then please, don't hesitate to let me know. After all…"

He trails off, looking like he's concentrating intensely. "Tout ce que chacun d'entre nous ont est un autre."

Silas pauses, then looks back to Remi ruefully. "How bad did I butcher that?"

“Little comforts.” That’s how she’s gotten by in the past, at least — treating herself to tiny luxuries when she could. Right now, she’s getting by on the hopes that they’ll let her out of here — it’s not like she attacked any of the guards, after all, just one of their own.

His offer of aid in whatever way she needs it prompts a small smile to appear on her face. In her best Midwestern American accent (which is terrifyingly good thanks to her acting career), she replies, “It’s not the worst attempt I’ve heard at French.” She shakes her head, corners of her mouth upturned in a faint smile.

“When you speak French, keep your mouth small, but also relaxed. Like you are kissing every word that comes out.” She gestures to her mouth to emphasize.

At Remi's shockingly good Smalltown Americana rendition, Silas abruptly and immediately bursts into uncontrollable snickering; it takes him a moment to get it reined in. "That bad, huh?" he asks, eyes alight with mirth. "Sorry. Just… not used to that," he says, raising a hand to his mouth to try to hide the grin that's still lurking there.

He straightens a bit, hand lowering at her next comment. "'Kissing every word', huh?" he repeats, he leans forward, just a bit, eyes studying her. "I see," he says after a moment, his lips curving into a smile. "You know, I have heard the French are very good at kissing," he says, a bit teasingly. "Maybe that explains it."

"Maybe I should try to learn the language," he observes. "Have any more pointers?"

The telepath can’t help but smile a little bit at Silas snickering — it always does put people off, hearing the normally French accented woman speak with an American accent. Like most Europeans, she does a rather amazing job with her impressions of Americans.

“You should learn, oui.” She always likes to encourage people to use her native tongue. “My best advice is to learn it, accept that you’re going to mangle it until you get a hang of it through practice. And practice speaking with a French person.”

She grins. “And try practicing with an actual French person — we make fun of Canadians and Cajuns behind their backs.” It’s a very frank, but very true assessment of the French.

Silas nods, looking contemplative. "God knows, I'll probably have time," he says slowly. He shifts a bit, leaning back and resting his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his hands. "Not a whole lot in the way of extracurricular pursuits down here, so I might as well try self-betterment," he says somberly, a grim expression on his face.

Then he realizes the face he's showing. He takes a deep breath, leans back, and dons a mirthful grin again. "Well. When they let you out, if you join me in the kitchen we'll have plenty of opportunity to practice, yeah? Something for me to look forward to…" he chuckles.

"But… I think I'd probably better get moving," he sighs, rising reluctantly to his feet. "Like they say, no rest for the wicked."

“When I get out,” Remi replies, “perhaps I can teach you a bit. It would be nice to have someone to converse with in my native tongue.” She smiles faintly, leaning back against the wall that her bed rests against. “It might even be fun.”

She nods toward Silas, then, scooting herself up a bit more. “Thank you for the ricethings, and for the visit. I’m…slowly feeling better.” She glances to the ricethings, sneaking another out of the bag and taking a small bite.

“Hopefully I will be out of here before you know it, oui?” She smiles to Silas.

Silas nods. "Oui," he agrees with a chuckle. "Until then… take care of yourself, Sunshine," he says, raising a hand in farewell… then he strides over and raps on the door.

Silas can hear the footsteps of the guard approaching; he glances back to Remi again and gives a lopsided smile that seems faintly sad. "And you're welcome. For the ricethings, I mean. Merry Christmas," he says, sounding almost apologetic.

Then the door opens. Silas nods and steps through, and he is gone.

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