Cajun Casanova

gam·bit \ˈgam-bət\ noun 1: a chess opening in which a player risks one or more minor pieces to gain an advantage in position a (1) : a remark intended to start a conversation or make a telling point (2) : topic; b : a calculated move X-man, thief--an' a real good one, too. I'll swipe your gems an' your girl. Your move, homme. (And mine, apparently. An RP blog that's open to nearly everyone, but READ THE RULES PLEASE)

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

“Pot nothing.” Estella closes her menu. “Make it a keg.”

The waitress, a stately brunette with curves that would put certain types of ripe produce to shame, tips Remy a wink as she takes their order, and is kind enough to bring them the biggest portable coffeepot on the premises, with milk and sugar to match.

The little blonde busies herself with the highly important task of doctoring her cup until it’s almost sweet enough to pour over pancakes. The Cajun isn’t the only one in need of caffeine this morning. If she’s honest, she wouldn’t mind a shot of whiskey to go with it just now.

“So…um…that school you were talking about.” She pulls her sweater around her shoulders, the self-conscious mien returning. “Is it just for kids or is it like university where older people can sign up?”

He smirks at her amendment. Sunglasses on, he casts a glance at their waitress’ assets. She’s certainly pretty enough, but no brunettes. Not unless they’re Rogue. 

And Remy certainly doesn’t need to be hoping from waitress to waitress. That seems a bit... preying. His coffee black, he takes a sip and sets his mug down.

“It’s got open doors for anyone, petite,” and that’s the honest truth. “School’s only equipped to handle up t’ twelve grade, mais they never turn down someone in need.”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

Estella bites her lip, but she can’t help the blush, or the grin that puts a little slice of sunshine on her face.

“It was a good night,” she says very quietly, staring at the menu as if it held the secrets of the universe. She rather likes the teasing, and the little innuendos. It feels easy and familiar, almost friendly, and…did he just turn his napkin into a swan?

“French toast. Definitely.”

“Glad y’feel that way, petite.”

She’s got that uncorruptible purity vibe going on, and it’s an adorable way to start the morning. Most of his partners try to keep up the sexy allure, which certainly has it’s place, but this is refreshing. Occasionally, all his lovers begin to blur together--not that he’d ever forget a girl, mind--but this cute blonde is going to stand out in his memories. 

“Country fired steak f’ me.” Remy stop preening his origami swan. “An’ they can leave da pot of coffee.”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

There’s a brief moment where she’s mesmerized by the movement of those hands, and can’t help a little shiver remembering just how nimble they are.

She also can’t help wondering if he’s stuck around out of pity or politeness, if last night was special or just a passing fancy. Guys like Remy don’t come around every day, let alone sporting those eyes, let alone with connections that might help her get her condition under control. And they certainly don’t form attachments to dirt-poor Irish orphans.

Hey, even if things wound up being purely business, at least she might’ve made a friend, right?

Then again, he could walk after breakfast and leave a girl high and dry. That would be her luck.

Nothing for it. She’ll just have to enjoy this while it lasts. If nothing else, she’ll eat well today.

“D’you think they’d be mad if I handed over the menu and said ‘Yes’?” There’s that little smile again. “French toast with the works sounds good. I’m famished.”

“Most French things do are good.”

He’s teasing her now. Just the smell of coffee makes him more alert. Remy takes the offered paper napkin out from beneath the fork and knife, unfolding on the table, ignoring the menu.

Idle hands and the Devil’s handiwork. Certainly a true enough statement in Remy’s life. So he’s learned the busy himself, and now, for example, is folding and creasing the napkin into an intricate origami.

“Get whatever y’ heart desires, petite. Breakfast is m’treat for a good night.”

[cajuncasanova]

Home for the Holidays

[cajuncasanova]

actslikeeverybodysdad:

“I ever don’t?” he asks with a grin around the cigar in his mouth. The extra is offered to his friend, held out in a rough hand. “Smoke em if ya gottem, it’s time ta be a family again,” he says simply, his slight smile the only evidence of his jolly mood. He sits beside the other mutant, leaning back a bit. “Been a while, Gumbo.”

Cigarette crushed into the tray, Remy takes the cigar, with a grateful look. “Too long,” he agrees, using his power to light the end of the cigar. He always struggles with quitting smoking, but life is too hectic to thrive without nicotine and a good cigar. “School’s lookin’ mighty fine, Logan. Très bon.”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

“Ah. That’s convenient.” A shy smile breaks through as she shrugs into her coat. “Maybe you’ll be able to get some sleep.”

The sidewalk is easier to navigate in the daylight, and Molly’s isn’t far off. It’s in the same vein as Peth’s, with bright simple decor and lots of pictures on the walls, but the menu is more American Southern Classics than Ireland’s Finest. They find a booth in a quiet corner and order some much-needed coffee.

Estella wraps her hands around the mug and inhales the steam like the breath of life itself. Mornings after are inherently awkward, but breakfast? That she can do. One she’s caffeinated.

“Gosh, this seems oddly familiar, doesn’t it?”

“That it does, petite,” he says, swiveling the menu around to have a look at it. Why bother, really. Remy gets what he always gets. It’s merely polite to let the ray of sunshine across from him have a chance to peruse her options.

He idly picks up the knife from the paper napkin and begins to absently twirl it. Gambit is one of those people where his hands have to be doing something at all times. Normally, its his cards or a cigarette, but neither are appropriate for a late breakfast with a sweet girl.

He reclines in his seat, still spinning the knife around his thumb. “Anythin’ be jumpin’ out at y’, petite?

[cajuncasanova]

Home for the Holidays

An eerie magenta glow casts hard shadows on his handsome face. The pink flickers and fade, and Remy takes a much needed drag from his cigarette. He’s in the unoffical smoking section of Jean Grey’s with a mounting headache. He came home for Christmas, and was immediately put to work.

He missed the kids, really, but he didn’t miss managing them. They’re young, he figures, let them make some mistakes. Stormy won’t have a word of it, though. She wants the peace kept this holiday, and he was going to be a part of that--whether he wants to or not.

Remy palms at his left eye, where the pounding in his head is most prominent. No longer alone, he glances over to find Logan entering the room. 

“Mais, mon ami. Tell me you brought a cuban to spare?”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

“That sounds good to me.” She stows her work clothes and carefully stashes her tips from the night before. She knows thieves tend to look in certain places, and the best she can do is hiding her cash in plain sight until she can get it to a bank. A homemade hollow book slipped into the stack of reading books under her nightstand has worked so far.

“Er…don’t you have to work? You did say you work at that school, right?”

Sunglasses slipped on, Remy watches her quiet movement around her bed. The book trick impresses him a little bit. This girl has some street smarts; her head isn’t just a pretty ornament. 

How refreshing.

“Winter break, petite. My li’l hoodlums have been released unto they parents.”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

“Well, there’s a few places in the area, but I mostly eat at work. Astrid lets her full-timers eat for free up to a certain amount if we happen to come in on our days off, so…” She shrugs and sits down to tie her boots. “I’m pretty sure we could find something on the ‘net.”

Privately, she really hopes they do. Peth’s is a nice place with good food, but she’s not sure if she’d ever be able to live it down if she showed up at her workplace with the guy she’d taken home the night before.

He’s already scrolling through their options. Not a lot places they can go, unless he keeps sunglasses on. Oh well. Such is the world they currently live in.

“How ‘bout Molly’s?” he asks, pocketing his phone. “They country fried steak could use some work, mais they biscuits an’ gravy are top notch.”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

Unsure what to say, Estella just ambles back into the bed-corner and retrieves her non-working-day clothes. It’s nothing special, but it’s comfortable and it wears well. And thrift-store kit or not, she makes it look good.

It seems silly to be self-conscious about showing skin after last night, but she still hesitates to drop the improvised toga, and not just because the apartment is hella chilly in the morning.

Still a shy young thing in the day light, Remy chuckles to himself. Still, he gives her what little privacy he can by looking out the small kitchen window. Age and neglect have built up in the glass, but he’s sure it’s not from lack of trying. It’s a tiny place, but she clearly put work into making it a home.

There’s a whisper from the bed where the sheet hits the floor, and Remy has half a mind to go in there and keep her clothes off. She might die of a heartattack, though.

“Where y’wanna go, petite?” he asks, checking the time on his phone. “What’s good ‘round here?”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

She can feel the red creeping into her cheeks again. He’s being so nice. It almost feels like…like charity. The cheap apartment and the second-hand clothes laid out for the day seem shabbier in the daylight, and she can’t help but feel a little ashamed. She may be poor as a churchmouse, but Estella Callaghan is no mooch.

“I…That’s really nice of you, but…I don’t want to, y’know, impose.”

He can sense slight apprehention, and he finishes off his cup of coffee. “M’ ladies are a treat, not a favour. It ain’t imposin’ when I invite y’ out, ma chérie.”

Setting his mug down in the tiny sink, he turned to her. It only takes two steps to plant himself in front of her. He takes her by her thin shoulders and places a kiss on her head. “Get y’self changed up, girl. We got a mornin’ t’take on.”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

This is unprecedented. He’s supposed to have vanished, leaving behind only a moderately-pleasant memory. Instead, her legs are still faintly wobbling and he’s standing in her kitchen and he’s made coffee.

She does not know what to do with this. All she can do is pray there’s something in the fridge worth serving.

“I…I think I could make you some eggs and toast or something. Today’s supposed to be market day.“

His smirks, eyes slowly fixing his red stare on her fridge. Remy had already perused the sad appliance and its even sadder contents. “Then mebbe it’s best we go t’market, hein?”

Her brow crinkled in confusion and the steady pink of her cheeks is more than adorable to Remy. He doesn’t usually go after sweet, young things--there hearts are so easy to break. It’s been a long time since Remy played house, however, and he’s no hurry to be anywhere.

Except the market.

“Mebbe y’ let this ol’ cajun take y’ out t’breakfast.”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing: 

Estella just stares at him. Surprise and confusion war within her. What should she do? What do you say to the greatest one night stand you’ve ever had when he hasn’t skipped out before dawn? (Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?)

She’s suddenly very aware that she must look one hell of a fright, with her hair all over the place, no makeup, and wearing nothing but a clumsily-wrapped sheet. Hardly the impression a girl wants to make.

“I…you’re still here.” Her eyes drop to the mug. “And you made coffee.”

She stands there, hair mussed, wrapped in a sheet, like a lazy Greek goddess just rolled out of bed in a loose toga. Of course he’s still here. Remy tends to make it a point to stick around unless he’s leaving straight away. 

Last night was exhausting in the best possible way. His sleepy waitress had given herself up for anything he had mind, and Remy poured all his energy to pleasing her once, twice, four times--and she appreciated it. Mon dieu, did she appreciate it. It’s been a long time since he had a partner that rewarded his efforts like that. Normally there’s a power struggle--not that he minds that at all. A good tussle is fun.

But it damn nice to know shook up her little world. “Couldn’ leave without a goodbye, ma chérie,” his voice as dark as his coffee. “Mebbe some breakfast?”

[curiousgoldenthing-blog]

The Morning After || closed

[cajuncasanova]

curiousgoldenthing:

The last thing a waitress coming off a double shift usually wants is a late night. Usually, the most that can be desired is a hot shower, a quick bite to eat, and then a swan dive into bed to sleep for as long as possible.

Upon waking to her phone alarm, Estella has a brief moment of panic. Is she late? Does she have to get up for work? Wait…no…it’s her day off. And…

And she hadn’t gone to bed alone.

A warm, weary feeling is in her muscles, the slight soreness of limbs well-used, an echo of remembered pleasure. For several seconds, she just lays there, still tangled in the sheets, cheeks turning pink as she recalls the events of the previous evening.

The other side of the bed is empty, but she expected that. Probably for the best. She’s awful at these things, and probably won’t be able to look the crimson-eyed Cajun in the face if they happen to meet again.

Then she realizes that she smells coffee.

“What in the…?”

Remy knows his way around a kitchen, but Estella’s cramped kitchenette has him pulling some awkward stunts. Her coffee is in the freezer, which is an urban myth he wished he could debunk world-wide. Pre-ground, damn-near-insta coffee. Pity. He could have gone for a stronger roast.

Still, it’ll do. Even if he left to buy coffee beans, there’s no grinder to pour them into, and he needs caffeine and how. Rarely up and around before noon, a headache saw to rousing him with vigor at barely nine. It feels like a beetle boring a hole behind his left eye, and the sweet lady asleep in the bed doesn’t even have aspirin.

Which Remy finds oddly adorable for some reason.

Steaming, chipped mug in hand, he breathes in the caffeine, already feeling better. He casts a sideways glance at the girl stands awkwardly in the doorway. 

“Good morn’, ma chérie. Sleep good?”

[easygoingfuture]

[easygoingfuture]

[easygoingfuture]

[tasty-guybrows]