A Few Thousand Dollars, and an Egg

October 04, 2017:

Elinor Ravensdale is kind enough to extend a hand to Remy LeBeau after a blast from his past pays him a visit. Unfortunately, this Cajun con man is sometimes too clever by half.

A grocery store in Hell's Kitchen

We don't know much about it, but we know it's got a passing decent International section.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

A Hell's Kitchen Grocery Store

Other than the red eyes, which are kind of hard to miss, the man known as Remy "Gambit" LeBeau doesn't look particularly interesting today. He's not even doing any thing particularly exciting today, by most people's lights. He's discovered he can get the Saints vs. the Packers on television, and he wants to watch the game. He's also discovered one can find a credible impression of every single kind of food known to man in New York City, except Cajun food. The moment some lady on 51st Street told him enthusiastically how good the 'Ay Two Fee' was over at a place called Louie's Gaurontee'd Good Cajun he died a little inside.

No, if he wants good game food he's going to have to cook it himself. Dressed in jeans and a black and gold t-shirt bearing the fleur de'lis symbol of that self-same team, along with his signature black duster, he gets to discover that he cannot locate either a proper andoille or a proper tasso at a New York City grocery store either. But that is okay. He has found all the ingredients he needs for chicken jambalya anyway. Furthermore, the International Aisle has yeilded an unexpected gift. And if the location of said gift is cause for a chuckle, he's gonna take it nonetheless. Because up there. On the highest shelf. Is a little green cannister with a rotund little chef throwing ingredients into a pot with all due gusto.

He has located the local store that can and will sell him a can of Tony Chacheres.

He is anticipating a fine afternoon.


The international isle is the whole reason Elinor comes to this grocery store. Sure she could get her things from a more expensive store that all the hipsters shop at, but there is something quaint about this little place. Besides, Esperanza is very picky about the salsa Elinor buys for their Telenovella nights. Not that the ghost actually gets to eat the spicy treat, but she has standards for her living 'roommate'.

Shes dressed for the weather, black leggings are tucked into her knee high black boots and a long black sweater is keeping the chill off. She's 'talking' on her phone, or at least pretending to so she can converse with her dead roommate and not get stares from other people. "Look, I don't see the one you want, that part of the shelf is empty. What can I get as a substitue." She pauses, as if listening to the other end of the conversation and sighs. "You know my Spanish is terrible you need to slow down and try that again." She looks at the Ghost next to her, but it would at least appear that she's staring at the air.

It's hard to live up to the demands of the dead.


Remy pays the woman with the angry Spanish person on the phone little enough of a mind. He puts the Tony's into the buggy and whistles his way down the way, pausing at the Asian section for a couple more things. Not for the game, but the man has to eat on other days too. His current accomodations do in fact have a nice kitchen, and will until the owner of them gets back from his timeshare in like 6 months. Might as well pick stuff up while he's here…

Elinor will see it first. The broad, muscular, and very dead man who walks through Remy's cart. He focuses, the way fairly new ghosts do, and then he manages. He picks up the bottle of Tony Chacheres and twists the cap open. As Remy turns to put something else into his buggy, the ghost flings the contents into his face. Salt, various preservatives, and most importantly three kinds of pepper (cayenne, white, and black, for those following along in the home audience)…flare into his face and eyes.

He's a relatively tall, muscular young man, so when he gets a mouth, nose, and eyeful of this stuff he staggers back hard enough to knock several items off the shelves, growling a sound of anger and pain even as soy sauce hits the floor— pop, pop, pop, little glassy shatters and that singular soy smell.


Elinor only glances at Remy as he passes, and glances again once Epsy points out that he is a good looking man. Elinor rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the ghost as she continues her fake conversation.

She feels the other ghost before he starts his antics. She does a mental tally of the ones she knows in the area, or in the near by buildings but this one feels new, and different. She moves to the Asian isle and observes the other ghost before he explodes the spice container on the unknowing Red-eyed man.

She rushes forward, and sets her basket on the ground and puts her hand on Remy's arm. "Are you okay?" She seems to ask him, but she's looking at Julian, narrowing her eyes as she fishes in her purse. She pulls out a packet of moist towlettes and passes one over to him. "You're going to want to get that out of your eyes quickly."


"Thanks, Miss," Remy says, accepting the towelettes. These words roll out of his mouth in the deep, rich, slow drawls of Cajun country, one more accent and culture to add to New York City's melting pot. Though a rather unusual one, here. He scrubs at his eyes, wincing as they tear up involuntarily. All the same, he recovers a certain charm and joy kind of quick.

He flashes her a bright, winning smile around all this, even as he sniffles back something rather less attractive thanks to his irritated nose.

"Mais! I've heard of beauty enough to make a man cry, but this a little ridiculous, yeah?"

He flashes her a wink, all to the seething fury of his stalker, who seems about to be his own age. Right in the early twenties. Still, the hot-headed ghost flickers in and out and is gone. It also seems to be one of the ones that is too new to hold his form and function for very long, who, having expended all that energy, will have to go and save up more of it before coming back and, no doubt, making a real nuisance of himself again. Julien does, however, shoot Elinor a poisonous look of her very own before he pops out of view.


'Someone had their bowl of asshole this morning.' Esperanza says to Elinor as she rolls her eyes and makes a rude gesture at the other ghost. No one gives venom looks to her living roommate!

When he starts to rub the spice out of his eyes, that's when she spots their unusual color. She's used to seeing strange things, but this is a new one. "You might want to flush your eyes out, I think the spices are changing your eye color." There is a hint of a smirk on her dark lips, but when he gives the compliment she shakes her head. "I think peprika is blurring your vision Mr…" She leaves him space to say his name.

Thankfully Julian is flizzling out and out of juice, which saves her from having bo banish him herself. "What caused the little bottle to explode? I haven't heard of spontainous spice combustion." She's faking it, at least while they're in the store.


Remy offers a bow and a grin. "LeBeau," he replies. "Remy LeBeau." His red eyes sparkle with amusement, as she says the spice did for them. He tap taps the side of his head, right next to those eyes, and says, "Those just my contacts."

Then he frowns inside his buggy. Did he lose control of his abilities? But no, the top is just open. The can hasn't exploded or anything. There is a mess of red and white spice all over the place, and he grimaces back from the mountain. That is not pleasant to see or smell or be around; it can irritate even from the floor in that quantity, to say nothing of the ruin of his buggy. "Careless packaging, one spill can make a mess with this stuff," he decides, though he frowns in a way that says he's not convinced. He looks all around, too, a motion that looks momentarily guarded and wary beyond what a spice mishap should produce.

But then? It's all smiles again. "That's almost done cured me of my craving."

He then swipes up the second and final, in tact bottle, from the shelf, bounces it on his palm, and says cheerfully, "Almost. Anyway, you've been real nice, Miss…?"


"A pleasure to meet you Mr. LeBeau." Elinor says with a smile and a bow of her head. "Those must be very uncomfortable contacts, but I applaud your dedication." She might not fully believe him, but she doesn't want to poke him about it either.

She follows his gaze inside of the cart and frowns. She sighs as she looks through the isles just to make sure they have some privacy. "Or perhaps you've gotten on the wrong side of someone no longer on this plane." Her voice is a little lower. She picks at the polish on her nails as she works through her nerves, it doesn't matter how often she mentioned the dead to the living, she never knows how they're going to react to her knowledge.

"Oh, where are my manners, Elinor Ravensdale, I live near by." She says, gesturing in the direction of her apartment.


It's true that a tiny fib about his eyes probably doesn't even warrant the touch of hypnotic vibration in his warm tones to try to nudge her towards a desire to believe him. Not that he really has conscious control over that, but it is there, ready to serve him when things are a little more important. He sort of looks around for a place to stash the ruined buggy, and finally chooses a pair of 10 for $10 bins that are full of food nobody would want to eat. Just slip and in and there you go, that can just sit between the InstaMac and the zillion-year-old beans.

Elinor Ravensdale introduces herself, and drops an explanation for the event worthy of a mambo's pronouncements. He stares at her, and then eyes which are definitely not covered by contacts glimmer in delight. "Oh I see," he says, with amusement. "And for a few thousand dollars and an egg, you'll remove that curse for me I bet. Throwing things at the mark! A new twist on an old old con, yeah?" He finger waggles at her and starts passing by her, still chuckling, snatching a buggy someone else has left so he can make his merry way to the meat aisle.


Elinor narrows her eyes at his words as her mouth presses into a hard thin line. Further down the isle, a jar of marshmellow fluff lifts off the shelf, but with a raise of her hand, it slowly settles back in. "Those were not my next works, but if you're so quick to dismiss me, than I will trouble you no longer." She looks over his shoulder before looking back at him. "Good day." Leaning over she grabs her basket from the floor and walks in the opposite direction of the meat isle.

Remy might not hear it, but he is getting a scolding in rapid Spanish from Epsy, and Elinor isn't in the mood to tell her not to.


Her huffiness only seems to increase his amusement really. Indeed, it all but seems to confirm to him that he's right, in ways that will surely be aggravating as all get out. His laughter is full and rich as he settles a new chicken into his cart. He adds: "A plus tard!" in completely cheerful tones. And then goes whistling his way down the aisles.

He is, indeed, completely immune to the rapid-fire Spanish.

Is he going to regret this?


He just doesn't know it yet.

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