Mon Ami


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Scene Title Mon Ami
Synopsis Remi and Silas have a chat that doesn't go so well.
Date March 22, 2019

Novelle Vue - Bridge

There’s a gale coming. Outside, the winds are starting to rise, the waters choppy — there’s warnings out for small crafts to avoid going out, due to difficulties that the winds can produce. Thankfully, it doesn’t matter so much in the giant ship that is destined for show business — the nearly 300 foot long ship is much too heavy to do much more than rock gently against its moors and anchor, providing a comfortable environment for the former residents of the flooded world at least.

Everyone has gone home for the weekend, leaving the ship mostly empty, save for the woman who has taken up residence in the captain’s quarters (at least while the ship is under construction). She feels better, being out here with the ship. Not like someone could very easily steal this hulking beast of a ship — if they could, they would probably deserve it.

Most of the control panels lie dormant as Remi reclines in the captain’s chair — nearby, there is a charming little drinking set filled with amber liquid that could only be a good scotch — the decanter itself is fashioned to look like there is a glass sailboat within. Nobody is around and her ability still hasn’t returned, so Remi doesn’t feel too horrible about putting down a good amount of the harsh liquid, enjoying the burn of the iced liquid as she stares out of the window at the lights of the New York Safe Zone.

Seems someone is in a very broody kind of mood.

Silas steps quietly onto the bridge, poring over one of the operations manuals as he walks; he's familiar enough with the ship at this point that he can do things like walking around without having to pay a great deal of attention to his surroundings. It helps, too, that this is a big boat; the Novelle Vue can handle chop that would've made things very uncomfortable aboard the Forthright with scarcely a tremor.

Silas nods to Remi, glancing her way as she nurses her scotch, only to double-take; he's never seen her drink much. "Penny for your thoughts?" he calls, plopping down into another one of the chairs.

The Sayonara would have been covered up and moored with nobody aboard during a gale like this — so it’s a rather nice change of pace, being in such an enormous ship. It’s relaxing, really — assuming you have sea legs. That’ll be a complication when hiring employees, both servers and actors — finding people who can handle the constant gentle rocking that comes with any boat.

Blue eyes swing away from the windows to find Silas, her expression softening a bit as it turns out to be Silas. “Oh, just thinking about a potentially stupid choice I made.” The scotch glass is raised, ice clinking against the sides of the globe etched into the sides, as she takes another swig. “If I tell you about it, you’ll probably question my sanity.”

Silas raises an eyebrow, considering. The last really stupid choice he recalls making, personally, was a few days prior when he'd run into that burning building and gotten himself set on fire, choked half to death on smoke, and thrown his shoulder out of joint; he still hasn't really talked about that with much of anyone.

Or, before that… going along on Mad Eve's expedition, he supposes. That one had turned out well enough, in the end, he supposes; it'd had its own share of heartaches and regrets, absolutely, but c'est la vie, as Remi might say. "Just… how stupid are we talking here?" he asks tentatively.

“Not life threatening stupid,” Remi replies, eyes turning up toward the ceiling as she takes a swig of the liquor, a small hiss escaping her as the burn travels down her esophagus and into her belly.

“So Magnes stopped by yesterday,” she continues, opting to not look at Silas while she confesses her poor choices. “We had a conversation, and then…well, we were two lonely, grieving people and one thing kind of lead to another…” She doesn’t quite finish the sentence, finally daring to look at Silas to gauge his reaction.

“Pretty stupid, I know,” she adds, taking another swig.

Silas stares. His eyes widen. No. There's no fucking way.

"You aren't serious."

“Told you you’d question my sanity,” Remi replies. Another swig — her glass is almost empty. She raises from her chair, opening the ice bucket next to the decanter set. Another ice cube is placed in her glass, and then two placed in a new one — then, she’s pouring out two glasses of the scotch.

She returns to her seat, offering the fresh glass out to Silas as she takes a swig from her own.

Silas stares for a moment longer… then he starts to shake. He doubles over, and now snickering is audible. "You… PFFFT HAHAHAHAHA!" he throws back his head and roars with laughter for a good half minute.

"AHAHAHAHA! HAAAAHAHAHAHA… ha… oh my god," he says, finally starting to wind down. He raises his head and looks at Remi. "I just…" he starts… and then he erupts into laughter again. "PFFFFFFT HAHAHAHA!" he cackles, laughing so hard he's actually writhing around in his seat, slapping his hand on the armrest; he's laughing so hard it's difficult to even breathe.

He goes on like that for a bit longer before he's got himself under enough control for things like motor function; he snags the offered glass and pours it back in one slug. That, at least, seems to dial the laughter back to a non life-threatening level, at least.

He levers himself up out of his seat, stalks over to the drinking set and fills his glass again before heading back over to his seat and plopping down it once more; the worst of the laughter seems to have passed, at least, but he's breathing heavily, his face is red, and there are actual tears in his eyes from how hard he's laughing. "Hoo… hoo boy."

To her credit, Remi handles the laughing fit with nothing more than a small smirk and a blush to her cheeks. She waits for the laughing fit to grin, sipping intermittently at her own glass — even when she’s drinking more than normal, she still paces herself.

“For what it’s worth, I got to punch and slap him a lot.” She smirks. “Don’t worry, I’m not actually trying to be with him — it was more hate sex than anything else.” She shakes her head slowly. “I’m not proud of it, but it…well, it wasn’t awful.”

She might have enjoyed it more than she’s willing to admit.

"That's a matter of opinion," Silas says quietly, his voice a low, gravelly, empty rasp.

He sits in his chair still, his head low, staring at his cup of scotch. His eyes are hidden in the shadow of his brow.

The laughing's stopped.

The silence, now that kind of gets to her. Her cheeks color a bit, and she turns her head downward. She looks a bit on the ashamed side. “I put up masks, but I’m not handling Jasper’s death as well as I wish I could.” This is said quietly.

“It was stupid. So fucking stupid. I hate the guy. No matter how I look at it, he’s the reason…” She shakes her head slowly, and in an uncharacteristic move, drains the second half of her glass in one go. Then she’s standing, going for one more. She’ll be drunk if she keeps this up.

“I don’t even know why I wanted to do it.” She stays near the decanter, taking a big swig of scotch.

Silas exhales a long, slow breath.

There's a part of him that would really like to lash out at her. Magnes? Magnes fucking Varlane? The whoreson who couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut? Who cost her everything? There's a part of him that wants to grab her, shake her, scream at her and ask her why?!


But she already feels bad about it. She hasn't forgotten that awful fucking dinner that welcomed them to Kenner's personal circle of Hell — he knows she hasn't — and he's not enough of a bastard to kick a woman when she's down. Not enough of a bastard to kick a friend when she's down. So he bites back on the hundred and eight hurtful things he wants to say, does his best to keep them buried in the darkness where they belong until they wither and die, as they should. Times like this, he's thankful that Remi doesn't have her ability back yet; it's a terrible thing to even think and he knows it, but he'd feel worse still if she could actually hear what was going through his head right now.

"Where?" he asks dully, the single word slipping past his guard and escaping.

The silence stretches out a little too long for Remi, so she simply stands there, leaned against the counter and staring out of the window, across the water toward the visible Manhattan Exclusion Zone. In the fading light, it’s disappearing, no longer lit up like it once was — it’s a bit of a depressing visage, for all of its beauty.

“Captain’s quarters.” She winces, expecting more judgement for the fact that it happened here, on the ship — even though she is technically living here right now. “You’ll probably hear the workers joking on Monday.” Another swig.

The lack of her ability is probably part of the reason why she had the moment of weakness. It’s quiet in her mind, and while she’s adapted, it’s still uncomfortable. “I know I have friends here, I just…” She closes her eyes. “I feel so alone. I — I should’ve been married by now.”

"Aw Christ, Remi," he says at that, the words again slipping out, and he can't quite keep the hurt out of them. Not just on the boat that he'd sunk his savings into right alongside her, but in the Captain's quarters?

He throws back half his scotch in one drink, letting out a ragged breath. At her last comment, though, he barks out a harsh chuckle. Just… the idea of marriage, that being the thing that she landed on. "Midlife crisis. Sucks," he murmurs, not without a measure of sympathy. He takes another drink of his scotch. "Guess even after jumpin' cross the universe, you can't really get away from 'em."

He takes a deep breath. "I'll probably never get married, myself. Heh… hell, there's not enough left in me to give half to someone else. I spent years bein'… bein' a ghost. Cursin' the fact that I'd lived. Even at the banquet, I cursed West Rosen and his squad of lickspittles for choosin' the wrong damn targets!" he says, grinding his teeth in sudden fury. He's rambling, but it seems like he's working up to something. "I'm… I'm tryin' to live now. For those who couldn't make it. Tryin' to… finally get my shit together. To make somethin'. To be somethin'. But…" he says morosely, eying the scotch balefully.

Finally, he looks back to Remi; there's no rancor in his expression, only a certain tightness around his eyes that indicates the strain he's feeling. "Look. I'm… I'm not gonna remind you of what he did. But even aside from the fact that I can't forgive him… he's a fuckin' Jonah. Everything he touches turns into shit."

He stands up, draining the last of the scotch. "You're a big girl," he says, forcing a chuckle. "What you do with your life," he says, lips curling into a pained smile, "That's your business. Just… keep that sonofabitch out of mine, mon ami," he says, closing his eyes.

As Silas speaks, it’s like Remi is…shrinking. She stands, her back to him, staring out of the window as he speaks to her, but it’s like she’s withering a little under the man’s scrutiny. She knows it was stupid — she knows that she has every reason to hate Magnes Varlane, and a good part of her still does hate him. But there’s the sympathetic part — she watched Elaine disappear into dust just like Silas did. And she feels for Magnes, on that part.

“I used him,” she says quietly, raising the glass to her lips and draining it as Silas finishes his rant. “There was never any fondness there.” Still isn’t, by the sound of it. Still, Silas’ words have their effect — by the time he’s done, she seems…smaller than normal. Her eyes are closed, shoulders hunched up just a little, and her posture is tense.

“I won’t make the mistake again,” she continues quietly, blue eyes opening to look out the window again — or, moreso, her own reflection in the window. “I’m sorry,” she continues, letting her head dip suddenly, hanging down a bit. “You have a good weekend,” she finishes, voice small and quiet.

If she didn’t feel guilty for what she did before, she certainly does now.

That quiet little apology kinda sucks all the steam right out of Silas. "Ah shit. There I go, shooting my mouth off," he murmurs, looking downward. He sighs to himself. "Sorry… I'm… maybe not at my best right now. Not exactly good company, that's for sure," he says, mustering a wry smile. He rubs at his eyes.

He hesitates, trying to think of something he can say to ease the awkward atmosphere that suddenly seems to have settled over the bridge… but nothing comes to mind. He's made a hash of this one, yep. "Well. I'm off. Maybe a walk'll do me some good. See ya Monday," he says. He starts for the door, then pauses, glancing back. "Take care of yourself, Sunshine," he says quietly, looking back with the best smile he can muster.

Then he steps out, and he's gone.

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