Participants:
| Scene Title | Garçon |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | One unexpected visitor meets another. Or. Two not exactly friends in a small space. |
| Date | May 31, 2011 |
Endgame Safehouse
The day has worn on, hours passed since his vaguely announced arrival at the safehouse, and Devon's only emerged from the unused room to assist Ygraine in making lunch. He made sure to take care of all his business before disappearing again, where he entertained himself by listening to music on his iPod and charging up those devices the Briton had left for him to see to.
But now it's getting late, and he should be finding his way home.
After pressing his ear to the door to listen for voices he doesn't recognize, Devon pulled the door open a crack. Still no sounds, people must be away doing their own tasks, on rounds for watch and security of the building. Things he's presently not involved in. Everything in the room is left in order to be claimed by whomever later on, and a note hastily scribbled on the sign left outside his temporary door to say he's left.
With his pack slung over his shoulder, the teenager steps away from the room. He keeps his gaze lowered, watching the floor as he moves through the hallway and toward the entrance. It's the safest way to travel without risk of seeing someone he isn't yet supposed to.
She doesn't know why she's out here, in the entrance, really. She could be in Jaiden's room, curled up in bed, but really…she was getting a bit restless. So she came out here, sitting on one of the camping chairs with her knees drawn up to her chest as she quietly smokes a cigarette. There's that, too. She didn't want to stink up the room with cigarette smoke.
The smell is probably the only thing that announces her presence. She certainly doesn't make a sound, nor a move, save to turn her face toward the hallway that Devon is making his way through. It's hard to sneak up on a telepath, especially one as restless as Remi is right now. Her mind is open, a sort of first alert. She makes a great alarm, that's for sure. She's close to the door, too; if anyone comes within 50 feet of her, she'll definitely notice.
Quietly, she puffs away at her cigarette, waiting to see the fellow that's heading her way. She almost does a double take when she actually sees who it is, though she manages to keep her calm. She'll let him talk first. Maybe. That all depends on what she might hear.
Devon's learned to keep his thoughts bottled, since that first run in with the telepath. Even when not expecting to run into one in a place that's supposed to be safe and unknown to the general public he keeps a tight lid on things he'd rather not let anyone else know. Even still, the thoughts that do ride the surface are calculations and mental lists of bus schedules and cab fares, the errant thought that he should go get his motorcycle license to avoid the hassle of public transportation. Nothing of consequence, just the mental babble of a teenager.
As Devon draws into the main room, the smell of smoke stops him first. his eyes slant in one direction and then the other, not precisely trying to look at whomever is present but locate whoever the stranger is. It's Remi's shoes the teen sees first, unrecognized and unremarkable. "Sorry," he offers quietly. "Might be better if you took that to the roof. Don't know how they feel about smoking inside the house."
Ah, yes. It is that boy. The one who looked like he wanted to kill her last time they met. She takes a deep puff of her cigarette, inhaling briefly, before letting it out. "Don't you think ze roof is a bit conspicuous? Zis is a safe'ouse, after all." She says this in a quiet tone, turning her eyes toward one of the windows. "Zey will live. You will live, too."
Blue eyes turn once more to peer at Devon, her head tilting to one side. She hugs her knees closer to her chest, for a moment, before she sets her feet down on the ground. She doesn't move to get out of the chair just yet, however. "I would rather stink up ze foyer zan risk being seen, oui?" She bats her lashes at the boy for a moment, taking yet another puff of the cigarette.
He was the boy who threatened to kill her, more appropriately. But such thoughts are boxed away, so far out of reach that he hardly touches it himself. Devon recognizes the voice, and that threat, or the memory of it, flashes in a dark shadow briefly across his expression. His head comes up, eyes and expression going cold as they alone turn toward Remi. "They go up to the roof for watch all the time," he explains evenly. "So long as you sit in the middle, it wouldn't be conspicuous at all."
Using a hand to pull his pack higher onto his shoulder, Devon regards the dancer for a long moment. "I'd rather you not risk killing the rest of us with the poisons that come off the unfiltered end of that stick. It's a flat roof, you won't be seen." He maneuvers his other arm into the free strap, settling his pack between both shoulders. "Thought you were out of town. S'what Graeme said, anyway."
Eyelashes flutter as Remi promptly…rolls her eyes at Devon. "You do know zat zere is absolutely no real scientific link between second 'and smoke and cancer, oui?" She shakes her head slowly, apparently quite content to sit in her chair and smoke. "And really? You 'ave more important things to worry about zan ze smoke coming out of zis tobacco rolled in paper."
Suddenly, the woman gestures toward the window, scowling at it. "Like ze country we are in right now. Far more terrifying zan brief exposure to second 'and smoke." She rolls her eyes again, turning to look at Devon with a dubious look settled over her features. "If Liz asks me to smoke on ze roof, I will."
Then, she snorts. "I was out of zis god forsaken land, oui. I was back in France, until someone decided to drug me and drag me to zis 'orrible place." She takes another puff of the cigarette. "Believe me, I would rather be at 'ome, in Marseilles, sitting in ze sun and reading a book among ze lavender fields. Sadly, zat is not ze case."
"No shit?" Devon, contrary to rolling his eyes simply arches a brow. "You think I'm blind to what's going on out there? Hell, I need the air inside clean just so I can handle what's happening out there." He waves a hand dismissively, choosing instead to simply keep his distance from the stink of tobacco and chemicals, it's something he can ask Liz or Jaiden about another time. His hands grasp the straps to his pack, another long moment of silent regard is given to the Frenchwoman.
"Why'd they bring you here," the teenager asks aloud. That's followed by a shaking of his head. "Don't answer. They want me to know, they'll tell me. You'd be better off in France if you can go back. Safer there, for now. Here it's…" It's a nightmare, or worse. "— Good to see you're alive though," the statement comes with a frown, a furrowing of his brow like he's unsure of where the sentiment came from.
"You were going outside any'ow. Zere is plenty of fresh air out zere." Remi shrugs quietly. "We all 'ave our ways of coping with stress. Zis is mine. I 'aven't objected to your death threats, oui? So if you don't like ze smoke, my apologies. I 'ave trouble climbing, in any case." She puts a hand on her left leg, running it over the scar that Devon can't see through her pants.
"I'm 'ere because it is safe. I know about as much as you." Not really; it's not like she can't hear what's going on in the tumultous minds of those gathered. Not like she can't see it, when she sees Jaiden's dreams at night. It's difficult to sleep next to someone when touching them can bring you into their dreams.
The statement prompts a raised brow from Remi, as though she, too, is unsure of where the sentiment came from. Though, in a way, she is quite sure of where it came from. Her handiwork, likely. The handiwork that she got a migraine for three days over. "Merci beaucoup."
Residual effects of the suggestion Remi had planted in his mind. The reason behind Devon's not so empty threats. The impulse that causes him to shake his head firmly as she goes into details for why she's at the safehouse. Better if he doesn't know until 'upper management' decides to tell him what's going on. "I'd be floored if you knew as much as I did," he quips, brow raising again. What he knows is well hidden and shared only with a couple others.
"Look, whatever." Devon sighs, a hand raising to scrub over his face. "If you're gonna be here, let's make an agreement. I'll… I'll keep the threats to a minimum, if you…" He pauses, eyes lifting to meet her gaze. That coldness is still there, that distance he so readily puts between himself and strangers. And that something else, left over from Remi's ability. "You have to keep your mind way the fuck away from mine. Like don't even …brush it or whatever. What goes on in my head stays there or we both get killed."
The woman tilts her head toward Devon, brows raising as she watches the young man. See, forbidding a telepath to peek into your mind…especially one like Remi…is like holding candy out to a baby and saying they can't have it. That piques her interest, really. But, now isn't the time to show that horrible curiousity she's known for.
Instead, she nods quietly to the young man. "I will do my best. I cannot make promises, because I cannot turn off zis ability." She snubs out the cigarette, then reaches a hand up to touch her temple. "It's always on. I always 'ear, I just do my best to ignore it. Muffle it. But I still 'ear everything." She closes her eyes. "If I could turn it off, I would still be in Russia, still dancing for Bolshoi. I wouldn't be…'ere."
It may be a tease in Remi's eyes, but to Devon it's deadly serious. There's more than just his life and hers at stake. A fluttering thought that manages to escape his otherwise tight grip, just how horribly bad he perceives it could be if his knowledge were to be loosed where it shouldn't. "Fine. Just… do what you can. Or… have the good grace to ask next time. Or warning that you're gonna be around." So he can clamp down on everything further.
Arm coming away from its shoulder strap, Devon looks at the watch strapped to his wrist. He sighs and gives his head a shake. "I got to go or miss my bus. —I'm Devon, by the way. Not 'Kid' or 'Boy', just Devon. You gotta earn the right to call me anything else." He could be joking, it's difficult to tell, even if one tried to judge by his thoughts. "Guess I'll see you around, next time I'm over here."
A faint smile forms on Remi's face as she regards Devon. "I will do what I can, but once again. No promises." She tilts her head toward Devon, brows raising slightly. He's telling her what she can call him? It doesn't work that way in Remi's world. "Go catch your bus, Garçon. I will call you by your name when you earn ze right to be called by it, oui?"
Then, the willowy redhead stands from her seat, and with a walk that is half limp, half graceful floating, she brushes past Devon, making sure not to touch him. She doesn't want to see what he's so scared of. Not yet, at least. She doesn't give him much of a chance to respond, really; she's already on her way to the room she's been sharing with Jaiden.
"Devon," the teenager repeats with a frown. Something else he'll chance to mention to …someone. Remi's world isn't the real world, and the people here treat him as one of their own. He doesn't want unrest in the safehouse. He watches Remi move, head turning to allow his eyes to follow until she's disappeared into Jaiden's room. He lets out a short breath and turns the opposite direction. Feet carry him down the stairs, light steps growing fainter until the sound of the door opening and closing signals he's left.