Soft Pitch

October 19, 2017:

Lorna Dane approaches Remy LaBeau with an offer.

Aqueduct Racetrack, Queens

A lively and thoroughly modern track.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Remy LeBeau is either a very hard man to find in New York City, or a very easy man.

It all depends on how one looks.

Looking with psychic methods, like using Cerebro, produces pings but no hard fixes. It's enough to pinpoint a neighborhood at least, but there's something just a little bit slippery about the mind of this man. It seems to want to wriggle away from the grip of a psychic touch the way a puppy squirms out of the hand of a too-rough handler.

After that it requires a little footwork and a little luck. There are things about him which don't make him the most inconspicuous of folks, to be sure.

At the moment, a dedicated searcher will locate the thief and gambler at the Aqueduct Racetrack. He's dressed relatively nicely, in black slacks, a black vest, and a wine colored collared shirt. Unlike many of the gamblers, he's not particularly excitable. He's clearly enjoying himself, leaned back in his chair and observing the races from a rather good seat, and he's clearly made bets— there are tickets poking right out of his vest pocket— but he carries himself with the assurance of a seasoned gambler who knows how to take some solid, calculated risks.

Down below, Little Pepper, Desert Rose, and Dark Secret are nose-to-nose, with the other horses and their jockey partners streaming some distance behind.


Lorna had no psychic abilities. Which always left her at a disadvantage when it came to finding people. It wasn't her strong suit. Though from what Jean had gleaned and told her, she had a vague idea of what she was looking for. Vague being the key word. So she was left to mill about the stands, looking entirely out of place at a race track.

The green haired young woman wore a leather jacket, jeans and some kind of a band T-shirt from the 80s. A multitude of cheap looking rings and bracelets hung around her wrists and fingers. Her steel toed boots oddly didn't make much of a sound as she wandered about the area.

More than a few annoyed glances were sent her way as she passed a few people, stopped and looked around, blocking their view. Still, she didn't seem to care overly and continued about her way, muttering under her breath something along the lines of 'stinkin' horses.'


Several rows down, Remy happens to look up. There, he sees a green-haired woman who doesn't seem to know her racetrack etiquette. Who seems to be looking for someone.

Well. Far be it from him to ignore a lady in distress.

He rises, and says, "Excuse me, ma'am," to the lady at the end of the row as he slips out. Then he makes his way up to Lorna. He offers her a bright smile, and lifts his eyebrows. "Need some help finding someone?" The accent is low, rich, imbued with the rhythms of Cajun country. He flashes a smile at the betters who are annoyed; a smile which says he'll have this little problem taken care of in just two shakes of a donkey's tail.


Lorna slowed her steps again, the chaos of the race track enough to make her head hurt just from the noise of all the cheering and shouting. She hated crowd. She hated people to be fair, honestly, Jean should've been the one out here. Not here. But here she was.

So when the gentleman approaches her, she arches an eyebrow as she turned about to face him fully. Green eyes raked over his person, looking him up and down, and she settled a hand on her hip. "Mmm, just might. A bit lost actually. This really isn't my sort of scene." Her voice was dry, vaguely amused at something that she wasn't inclined to share.


"C'mon, let's get out of everyone's way, and I'll see if I can help." Remy says. He even offers her a gentlemanly arm, flashing her another smile. "I'd be happy to buy you a coffee at the cafe."

He's certainly capble of catching the dry amusement, but it doesn't ruffle him. Indeed, everything about him just seems to be easy-going. Whether she takes his arm or not he'll settle into an easygoing lope, heading towards one of the many little eateries at the racetrack— the smallest one, in fact, and the one that at this hour of the day tends to be neglected either for the much fancier dining or the far more casual hot dog and pizza fare, depending upon who is doing the betting and the eating.

And once they're somewhat out of the noise, indoors instead of out and away from irritated patrons, he adds, "Remy LeBeau, at your service."


Lorna took the offered arm, though her faint amusement at the gentlemanly behavior didn't cease. "Well how kind." She settled into the pace he set, a glance spared briefly for the annoyed patrons who's view she'd inadvertantly been blocking—or perhaps entirely on purpose. She smiled back at the offer of coffee though, "Coffee sounds good, thank you."

Of course, as they made their way over and away from the irritated patrons, her gaze swept toward the now quieter cafe. It was entirely a different environment, and the way the green haired woman relaxed was immediate. "Huh. I never would've guessed they had these things at race tracks."


Her focus returned to Remy and she flashed him a smile as he introduced himself. "Lorna Dane. Nice to meet you."


He gestures towards the muted television in the corner. "You can keep up with your race in just about any corner of this place, but not everyone wants to sit out on the track. There's all sorts of different restaurants all up in here."

He orders a coffee and will indeed pay for hers if she takes him up on it, then says, "And it's real nice meeting you, too. Who you looking for, Lorna? Can't say I know everyone around the track yet, but I've been making the rounds, met a few here and there. Might could be I can point you in the right direction." He settles into his seat, looking as comfortable as can be. "Might could be that I can't, of course."


Lorna took up the coffee adding a sickening amount of sugar and cream to it, but settled down in the chair once Remy had as well. She crossed her legs, sipping at her drink that was now more sugar than coffee, and grinned. "I think I found the man I'm looking for, Mister LeBeau." She smirked and glanced over him. "I mean, so long as those were the eyes you were born with and not just cheap colored contacts that is." She flashed him a toothy grin and leaned back in her seat.

She looked almost comically out of place, with the leather jacket and punk-rocker look to her green colored hair. "Seeing as my hair isn't a wig or hair dye and all.."


Now Remy's eyebrows lift. "What you looking for me for?"

This revelation doesn't turn him particularly hostile, or even particularly tense. He is, however, instantly guarded. Even so, he smiles. "I doubt I'm the man of your dreams, me."

It is, perhaps, her very attire that has him relaxed. If she were here to kill him she'd aim to blend in, not to stick out. Unless she just had herself one unusual MO. Nevertheless, as he gets a bit more casual and comfortable there are subtle signs of someone who is taking precautions: he turns his seat a little bit so that he might spring out of it more easily at need, for example, even as he seems to just settle into an even more casual, almost lazy pose.


Lorna grinned over her coffee cup, even if she didn't otherwise move or make so much as a threatening motion. She seemed relaxed, remaining in her leaned back position with her legs crossed. She even chuckled softly as Remy waved away him being the man of her dreams and a green eyebrow shot upwards. "How do you know the man of my dreams? Way to judge. I happen to enjoy men that are trouble, are handsome, and that accent—" She teased lightly, or perhaps she wasn't entirely.

"Plus that whole members of the same oppressed group." She murmured, and held out her hand. A cheap, metal ring floated off her finger and danced around her hand before returning into its proper place.


Remy smirks, and gives her a little wink, but despite his willingness to indulge in a little harmless flirting the skepticism doesn't go away. In fact, it only increases as she shows off what she can do. "Can't say as I've ever felt too oppressed, me," he says.

A con man who feels he's about to be mistaken for a mark, he adds, "What you after, Lorna? I'm thinking you're trying to butter me up for something, and I'd as soon hear what your angle is. Not that I don't enjoy a little vay ya, but someone comes looking for me directly, then starts with that as their opener? Well, I start thinking you want something from me."

Still, he no longer looks quite so ready to bolt. Amused, but less concerned about his physical safety, at least.


Lorna settled back from her careful lean and she shrugged lightly, "Well less me personally. You see, I know people who are very talented at finding others that are very gifted you can say. Mutant." She grinned over her coffee cup. "It's a school for kids really, high school and lower. I'm not usually the one that does this shit, so sorry if it's clumsy." She shrugged again and leaned back, propping her feet up on the cross bar of the table.

"One of my close friends is a telepath that happened to pick you up on our radar."


"Mais! I've gone and passed high school. Years ago, even." He grins. Even a street thief like him did eventually have to find his way into the good old Louisiana Public School System. Even if he skipped and stole test answers more often than he did any particular work. But as she props up her feet he turns even more amused. "But that's okay. You don't normally do it, you say— whatever it is— , so I'll just go right on ahead and listen to what you're getting at."

As willing as he is to hear her out, he does pause to check the race. He does have some money riding on it, after all. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he sees, though, he returns those red eyes back to her.


Lorna shrugged and flashed him a grin, "Great, we have a GED program there. Where was I, oh right, uh.. School.. training, powers.. Yadda, yadda.. we've got a team of people. Mutants. Heard about the X-men by any chance?" She arched a brow, how much was she supposed to say for these things? She wasn't used to the recruitment bit. That was usually, again, Jean. Lorna was usually the heavy hitter used as backup. That didn't involve talking people up about why they should join the X-men. Especially when she herself was more of a …reserve member these days.

She exhaled a breath, and dragged a hand through her hair.

"Well, my friend was the one to pick you up, mentally speaking. I got shit from all of this, honetly. But she wanted me to extend the offer."


"I've heard about the X-men in passing, sure," Remy says with a flash of a smirk. "They don't exactly make it into the news in my hometown much, and I only just came up here."

He shakes his head, smirk morphing into a grin. "Lorna, you seem nice, you. But I don't know if I want to hitch my wagon to some political group. Or join any kind of a team. I just try and live my life, pass a good time here and there."

He drains his coffee. "But give my regards to your friend, yeah?"


Lorna continued to sip at her own coffee. A dry smile on her lips. "To be honest, I haven't been an active member in three years. And I just got a job doing detective work in Mutant Town. But if I didn't try to sell you on the group, Jean would kill me when I got back to give her the news." Her eyebrows shot upwards, "So hey, I totally get you."

"If you're ever in Mutant Town and want to get a coffee again, hit me up."


"Kill you? See, this is why nobody should join strange political groups!" But he knows she didn't mean literal killing. He tosses her another smile and stands up. "But weh, maybe I will look you up at least. You can tell her you tried, and that'll be the end of it. And see, you spared her a whole exercise in frustration."

In truth, the soft pitch is a better opener than the hard sell would have been, at least.

Meanwhile, Dark Secret crosses the finish line, and Remy LeBeau gives a triumphant laugh. "And with that, I gotta go see a man about some money he owes me now!" Tossing her a wave, he leaves the cafe.

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