I Would Prefer Boring


graeme_icon.gif remi_icon.gif

Scene Title I Would Prefer Boring
Synopsis Graeme finds out that Remi (not so) secretly hates being treated like a princess.
Date March 11, 2011

Dorchester Towers - Remi and Graeme's Apartment

Graeme's actually been home for a few hours now, but he's been in his room, headphones in so that most of his thoughts are taken up by the music. First an hour spent with the punching bag, and then two hours spent asleep, making up for that he hadn't slept much since before Mardi Gras. Now, showered, dressed in dark blue pajama pants that have tractors on them, he's wandering out towards the kitchen.

"What're we having for dinner tonight?" The question is addressed to Remi, regardless of where she happens to be in the house. "Aric and Liz are going to be coming over tomorrow evening, just in case you forgot." As if she could forget. It's one of the foremost things on Graeme's mind, overall. Along with having run into Aric at Mardi Gras.

Remi hasn't been home much, lately, tied up quite a bit with organizing the dancers into a lovely ballet. Lots of dress rehearsals on the stage itself. The great thing about having Remi for a teacher is that she's not afraid to show the dancers exactly how it's done, exactly how she wants them to do whatever move is in question. Probably why she's doing well at American Ballet Theater.

Which is probably why she looks so tired as she steps in the door, her dance gear summarily dropped to the ground. After closing and locking the door behind herself, she promptly trudges into the living room — right as her room mate asks his question. He doesn't get much of a response. A grunt, mostly, as she flops down on the couch, face-first, and just…lays there.

Graeme's eyebrows raise, and he's picking up his cell phone from the kitchen counter. "Right. We're having Italian, because they deliver here, their portions are huge, and you don't seem to have a better idea." He's teasing, though, and he walks over to the couch, perching on the arm of the couch, before rubbing Remi's shoulders slightly. "And I think they deliver gelato, too, so we could get dessert…"

"Oh, zat feels nice. Don't stop." If she were saying that to anyone else, it would probably sound a bit on the dirty side, but…it's a shoulder rub, and it feels good. "Italian sounds delicious. I would love some manicotti right about now. And gelato, too. Chocolate." She sounds just as tired as she looks. "Some days, I wish I 'ad your ability. It would make life so much easier."

Graeme obliges, and continues rubbing Remi's shoulders. Gently enough, but also with enough force that it is felt. "It gets boring, I promise," he says. By now, the Italian place is actually in his phone book, and he slides his way onto the couch while moving so that he can dial to order. "So, how was your day?" The question is asked while Graeme is waiting for the restaurant to pick up.

Remi moves so that she's laying on the couch, her head resting on Graeme's leg. He can be her pillow, too. "Oh, I would prefer boring. I could dance more." She smirks up at her room mate. "It was long. We are crunching for next Friday. One week, and Swan Lake will be on stage." She offers a yawn as a pause. "I went and saw Richard Cardinal today. I 'ad flirted with 'im when I was getting something for my 'ead, and ze occasional 'eadaches my ability gives me." Another pause. "'E told me to ask you about 'im."

For the moment, Graeme focuses aloud on ordering. Manicotti, rigatoni alla carbonara, a rice dish, and something with chicken, as well as two varieties of gelato. But his thoughts immediately snap to an answer to Remi's question. What about him? Richard Cardinal is a good person. Graeme's puzzled, though, to say the least. Even if I put a hole in his office wall. That's slightly immaterial here. Why would he tell you to ask me about him?

Remi, her head still in her room mate's lap, smiles faintly up to him, reaching up to idly fuss at his horribly short hair for a moment, while she responds to him. He's cute. I've been flirting with him, and I can tell he's a good person, but he seems to think that I really don't want to see what's in his head. Which, as you know, means that I am curious as hell about him and want to know more. He knows how to deal with telepaths, sings 'Mary had a Little Lamb' in his head instead of thinking.

At that, Graeme chuckles. His own personal tactic, as he's found when necessary, is reviewing his mental playbook of soccer plays, something he can throw ninety nine percent of his attention to. "Thirty minutes? Good, thank you." The phone is hung up, and Graeme addresses Remi aloud. "I can't particularly blame the man, Remi. Curious or not, it's his business, and frankly, you don't want to see what's in his head." The things that make up Graeme's nightmare fuel, things that unfortunately actually happened, are bad enough. And then there's a faint smile on his face. Soccer playbook.

Remi reaches up, tapping Graeme's forehead. "'E 'as said, more zan once, zat it's not for his sake, but mine." She tilts her head. "Why does everyone treat me like I am a perfect little princess 'o must be protected?" A pouting expression forms on her face. "It's not like I can't keep a secret. I know things about you zat you probably don't know about yourself." Not that she's going to tell. Thus, the remark about secret keeping.

His cell phone is pocketed. Graeme gives Remi a bit of a quizzical look, and rests his hand on her shoulder. "Remi, it's not a matter of keeping secrets. It is a matter that you don't need that sort of nightmare fuel." He pauses. "Protecting people … that is what a lot of this is about." Then he falls silent.

There are flickers of thought, but it's vague, and the impression is that that's as much as he'll say.

And then, as his hand comes to rest on Remi's shoulder, with her head still on his lap, Remi's eyes go slightly out of focus, and Graeme…isn't alone in his mind, with only a thin barrier between his mind and the second mind in his head. I'm getting tired of nobody ever telling me anything. I am not a child, and I'm not some pretty princess who needs protection. I can take care of myself. The voice in Graeme's mind sounds stern. Irritated, even.

Graeme is, mainly, frustrated at the moment. Angry at Cardinal, even, and there is an intention that he'll be drawing Liz aside into the hallway to have a discussion with her tomorrow. And then he falls silent, mentally acknowledging her arguments. "It isn't my place to continue this discussion," he says, quiet. "Not yet." He sighs, and runs his hand through her hair. "Get out of my head, please? That's disconcerting."

After a moment, the second presence in his mind withdraws, Remi's eyes coming back into focus as she peers up at Graeme with a small frown. "Why won't anyone tell me anything?" The Frenchwoman's frown grows for a moment, before she raises up from Graeme's lap, sitting up and hugging her knees. "I can take care of myself. I can protect myself." It's not a lot of protection, screaming into people's minds, but it's enough that she can get away from danger.


Graeme scoots over a bit, and wraps his arm around Remi's shoulder. "Right now, it's not my place to. My sister's a … a part of Humanis First, you know that. Whether or not I wanted to be, I am drawn into this fight. That doesn't make it my place to tell you things." After that, he sits quietly. That's the last thing he'll offer aloud until dinner arrives, and his thoughts? Aren't much more insight.

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