Another Light

December 14, 2017:

While casing the jewelry store and solidifying their plan, Elinor Ravensdale proves she's just as good at counseling the living as the dead. Remy LeBeau figures out he does stand for something, after all. And, incidentally, receives the important memo that he is not the romantic lead in a Jane Austin novel.

A snowy NYC rooftop.

Rooftops are made for brooding.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Kitty Pryde, Peter Quill, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Sizani, Polaris

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

While Elinor and Remy made some sort of plan for their 'heist', they still had some research to do. When is the best time to go? What do the guards shifts look like? There are a lot of questions they need to answer and there really is only one way to do so. Rooftop Brood.

This is not something Elinor does all that often, since it requires climbing up a long fire escape, and she lacks a cape to really make it look cool. Also it's usually cold and windy on a rooftop with very little to shelter yourself against the elements. However it's the best vantage point in this area so, she gave in, but she needs Remy's expert eyes to help her decipher what she's seeing.

She packed for the cold snowy weather they're having this evening. The snow is falling slowly in very large fat flakes, putting a nice dusting on everything around them. She has a long black jacket with a hood and a sturdy pair of boots to keep herself from slipping off of the fire escape. She's of course brought a thrumos of tea, since it's unwise to have a rooftop stakeout with out something to keep you warm!


Cape, schmape. Remy LeBeau relies on his trusty duster, a piece of clothing he pretty much picked up on a very cold job some time ago. Nevertheless, this is way, way colder than he's used to. He's got a black turtleneck over a black sweater, black jeans, black boots, and a royal purple scarf that manages to neatly contrast with his red eyes. He's got on gloves, also black, skin-tight in a way that makes them suitable for not getting 'grab metal chills' but not quite suitable to stop the cold from burning through and chapping his hands. The Cajun has used some artifice of his own to basically melt or otherwise get rid of all the accumulated snow off the ledge of the rooftop; he is not at all pleased by the notion of sitting in it. And for all this he's shivering, because 'tea' did not occur to him.

Dieu merci, it occured to Elinor.

But for all this, he's been working. Paying close attention while he waits for her. He points to a Securitas rent-a-cop that's sort of hanging out in the main showroom. "Guard presence is un tite probleme," he greets her. "Mostly stationed as a deterrent, him. Maybe, if we're unlucky, got some law enforcement or military experience. If we're real unlucky, he is a cop, moonlightin'. But there's only one. So far? Biggest problem is them shoppers."

He points to the crowd of Christmas shopping hopefuls streaming in and out of the jewelry store.


Elinor pours out a bit of tea for herself and Remy and passes it over. It's filled with warm spices, definatly something Christmas related and it helps ward off the cold. When he points out what he sees, she nods her head as she sips from her mug. "I could easily find out what sort of guard he is, at least we'll know what getting into." She watches as the shoppers walk in and out of the store which is packed to the brim with people. A frown spreads over her lips and she sighs. "At this point, we're getting all of the last minute shoppers. The men who have forgotten about getting their wives presents because they spent so much time at the office. Or with their misstresses."

She doesn't seem to mind sitting on the cold snow, perhaps she's cheating with her magic to keep the chill off of her, but she doesn't share her secret outloud. "I know we have Kitty's abilities to help, but even with that, it's not going to stop nosey people and their curious eyes. This place isn't going to clear out until after the new year." She sighs as a wave of frustration rolls off of her.


"Yeah. We're gonna have to wait and we're going to have to hope he don't trot 'em out and sell the things. You got one of your revenants keepin' an eye on them? Reckon you can ask he or she to move them somewhere inconvenient? Outta sight, outta mind kind of deal?"

He tilts his head. "New Years Day would be a great time to do it. Early mornin'. Everyone's sleepin' off the hangovers and makin' their blackeye peas, if y'all do that here."

He accepts the tea with real gratitude shining in his crimson eyes, curling his fingers around it and lifting it to his lips. He lets out a sigh of relief.

He also shows what he's doing, almost absently. He peels one hand off the curve of the cup and touches the accumulated snow. There's a soft glow of energy, and it sort of ripples around whatever has piled up too close to him. It seems mostly to just kind of disintegrate into steam; using kinetic energy to excite water molecules into a gaseous state is child's play.


"I have someone keeping an eye on them, though he doesn't have the ability to affect the physical world, I can get someone in there that can. Maybe if they keep ending up on the jeweler's bench they'll think it has a flaw and they'll try not to sell it." Though when he mentions New Years day, and blackeye peas she shakes her head. "That's not usually a tradition up here. Though the hangovers are definatly a thing. Everyone will be busy crawling to their favorite bunch spot that they reserved months in advance that they'll likely not think of buying jewelry." She nods her head at his idea, and while she's glad to have a plan, some part of her deflates. She was ready to take care of this, and forget about it over the holidays.

She watches his little trick with a smirk amsued at how he's keeping himself from getting damp. Remy might notice how some of the shadows are flowing around her and acting as a shield against the chilly wind. "You know, I've never really asked you about your powers. I've seen what they can do of course but, I guess we've never had the I'll show you mine you show me yours conversation." She pasues for a beat before looking at the store. "Not that sitting on a rooftop is really a place to discuss that."


"Store will most definitely be closed too. Come around 4 AM, when it's still pitch black, you make it even darker, maybe even a little creepy."

Now that he's looking at it, Remy points at the roof. "Me on northside roof, Quill on southside roof, we'll see everything. We might even be able to hop down and fast talk anyone who looks too interested, or at least distract them. You in the alley ready to back Pryde up; she enters west side wall, through the alley, right by that jeweler's bench, if I recall what I spotted back in there."

He also smirks and shakes his head slowly. "No cabbage and black-eyed peas. Mais! No wonder this city has such terrible luck. We'll pull this off, I'll cook some up for the four of us, start the New Year off right. Pryde will waste it checkin' for poison, but that's her problem, not ours."


"Yeah, anyone who can close will be closed. Four am? I suppose most of the partying will be off the streets by that time. I suppose that I'll have to alter my plans for the evening. I can't go out to some wild party if I'm going to have to work at four am." Her tone is teasing, and honestly her palns were going to be her couch and a bottle of bubbles, but still! It was a plan. "If no one is here than we're less likely to get caught and that should ease others minds. Though I think Quill would prefer if it all ended in explosions."

She watches where he directs and nods her head. "I think that covers all of the vantage points, Kitty and I can take the ground no problem, there will be pletny of ghosts around to help keep people at bay." She nods her head, happy that a real plan is coming together. "Hopefully they don't already have plans for that morning."

She laughs as he mentions the peas again and shrugs her shoulders. "I think Bloody Mary's are the brunch food of choice on New Years day. Some people make it a damned meal, honestly it's too acidic for breakfast for me. I've never had black-eyed peas before, I've heard of them but are they really all that amazing?"


"They can be made decent," Remy admits, choosing to address black eyed peas rather than Quill's penchant for explosions. Privately, he agrees, but the man seemed professional enough to be capable of pulling off a smooth, well-planned job if someone else came up with the plan. He just doesn't think Quill would, in particular, ever be the one to come up with that plan.

"Little ham, bacon, or tasso, the right seasonings. Cabbage can be made tender and good. In this case the point ain't to eat the most amazing food you ever done tasted, it's about bringing good luck to you and yours. Prosperity. But Bloody Mary's are also part of the tradition. I mean."

His smile turns into a grin. "The recipe calls for couple dadgum dashes of Tobasco. Unless folks up here in the Big Apple are improvisin'. Truth be told though I don't care for 'em either, and it's also tradition back home that a cold beer goes with just about everything, and if you don't like that, well, the rest of the tradition is you don't make snark about what a body chooses to wash their good luck meal down with."


"Well anything can be made decent with enough time and pepper." Elinor says with a shrug, and she finds it a little odd that they're talking about cooking, while brooding on a rooftop and casing a jewelry store. However she likes how he talks about food, the way he describes how he'd make something and the tradition behind it. Most of the time food is just food for her, despite what some of the dead chefs she talks to have tried to fix.

"Well, I am sure I could use good luck for the year to come. This one ahs been up and down and I would love something a little less.. unpredictable. So I suppose get me a shopping list, and I'll fetch what's needed and… maybe get out a card table for my apartment?" Not that she enjoys having people over, but she doesn't think they'll get invited to Kitty or Quill's.


A flash of a grin. Remy approves.

"You got it, darlin'," he says.

He won't verbally spam her with the list right this second. Instead, as snow continues to pile into great sloping drifts in the street below, he finds his mind drifting to something else. He puts his empty teacup aside.

He stares down at the jewelry store and asks softly, "Hey. Sha. You followin' this debate about registration, you? I mean it affects you too, ain't nobody gonna ask where your powers done come from, it's just enough to some that you got 'em at all."

It is one of those rare moments where he lets his guard down, where he lets the human beneath show, perhaps aided by the fact that talk of cooking and home always seems to ease that transition.


"It's something my grandmother used to say, granted she only used black peper, or Mrs. Dash, but some flavor is better than none right?" Elinor smirks though she notices that he gets contemplative and lets him have his moment to brood. They are on a rooftop after all, and that's their whole purpose.

His tone surprises her more than the topic, and she takes a moment to think about her answer. "I've heard of it, but I'll admit that I didn't think I fit into that catagory." Her tone is serious as well, she knows these moments of Remy talking like a normal human and not an arrogant Cajun prince he normally is. "You are right, even if I know where my power comes from, that doesn't mean those in power would believe me, or care. It's a scary thought, and I don't get many of those often."



He doesn't say anything right away. He finally scoops some snow into a gloved hand. He could talk about snow, instead of this. Talk about how in second grade a few sparse flakes fell from the sky and the teacher had them all run out there with black construction paper so they could see it at all. Talk about the year they actually got enough for people to go scrape decent handfuls up. All across the area, people proud as punch because they'd made tiny snowmen on top of their cars, no bigger than a hand high, or giggling at their very first (and very short) snowball fight ever. Instead, he shapes it, marveling at the way it packs together in his fingers, even as it begins to burn and redden the skin beneath his unsuitable gloves with its icy bite.

"Other day," he says, "I found m'self watching a rally. Housewives. Scared women, scared for their children, scared for themselves, yelling about registration or whatever. Didn't bother me. Sound and fury. People always findin' all kinda couillon crap to divide themselves up over."

He is working towards something with this story, confiding in the only friend he has in all the world right now, and for all that he can be a total ass he nevertheless quietly treasures it, finds himself wondering if Elinor Ravensdale is the first person who ultimately has wanted nothing from him, who ultimately had no ulterior motive, who helped because it's the right thing to do. He wasn't too fooled by the fee; she also has to eat when she's got a shot at making bank, but he rather thinks she would have exhaled and sighed and done it anyway had he been unable to provide. Because she runs around helping people who will never even know they got helped.


If there is something Elinor has learned over the years it's how to wait for a story to finish. Speaking with the dead, their thoughts are rarely coherant and it takes time to pull up a memory that could be decades old. She's learned how to listen, to let the other person guide the conversation, to encourage them to speak instead of derailing them. She also knows that she could talk about the snow as it melts in his hand, and how easy it is to comment on the weather. To talk about sports, or news or anything that is immedate yet fleeting. Those are easy topics, ones you can give automatic answers to while hiding your true feelings behind a mask.

When he pauses in his story, she nods her head. "Fear is very powerful, you only have to look at hisotry to know how powerful it can be." That's all she says, as she could go on, talking about the hudreds of ghosts who were victims of fear. However she doesn't want to get in the way of the story, instead she lets her own thoughts wander.

It's strange to think of how she came to being friends with Remy. Sure he still annoys the everloving hell out of her, and she knows he enjoys it, but these rare moments where you see the man behind the arrogance reminds her why she helped in the first place. She knows what it's like to show up in a strange city and not have anyone at your back. Knowing that if she failed, there would be no one else there to help her pick up the pieces. It's even harder still when you're fighting an enemy that you cannot see. She saw part of herself in him and helped him when no one else had offered it to her.


"Weh," he agrees, to her statement.

He looks down, frowning.

"Things started happening. Someone jostled me. I had on glasses; hiding the eyes. Someone might have seen and gone apeshit. Human woman in a sort of black tech suit, I dunno, she could have been a mutant, I don't think so. She just hands me them glasses back without saying a word."

He exhales. "Mais. Then things get crazy-town all over, yeah? These two folks show up. Mutants. They sort of attackin' people. Making the leader of the thing write the word bigot. In her forehead. Gruesome, scary, but this speedy guy, he was making a lot of good points about atrocities committed against us. I ain't never been much for that kinda political whatever, I got approached to join some other group before and I told them I didn't see a compelling case to do that. Suit lady, she starts fighting those two. So do couple members of that other movement— I know, cause the lady who done recruited me was there, her. Saying these two were doing more to hurt people like us than to help. With I dunno, some undercurrents that making housewives carve into themselves is maybe a bit horrorshow."

He frowns, troubled. "I just…stood there. Couldn't decide who was right. Couldn't decide where to weigh in. If I even should go weighin' in. I saw both sides, and I couldn't figure out what kind of stand I wanted to make. Couldn't figure out who the Hell I even was. So I just walked off. Could have helped either side, but instead I just— helped nobody at all."


Elinor can see how this was vexing Remy. She listens to the story while a frown grows on her lips. She heard there were protests, just not everything that went on at them. Like she said she wasn't paying too much attention, but hearing what he's said she realizes that was a mistake. It does take her a moment to keep track of just who he's talking about, but none of them sound immedately familiar to her so she remains quiet.

Getting to the heart of it, what is really eating him up, Elinor frowns. She lets a comfortable silence fall between them before she shifts her weight on her brood perch and faces him. "Maybe that was the right thing to do." She begins. "It sounds like both sides had their pros, and both sides had their cons. Granted the forehead carving is a bit much." And definatly a horror show, but she continues. "It ended in violence, and while I know it can not always be avoided, this was a situation that it would have been best to actually avoid it. The fact that you didn't jump in and add to the violence speaks volumes. That tells me, someone who is a complete outsider to the situation, that you don't see that as a way to solve the problem. If they're smart, then they'll have noticed. The one that comes to you and shows you that they also don't believe in bloodshead over a political issue is probably the side you want to go with."

Reaching over she puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. "I know that's not the easy answer, and I'm sorry I don't have one for you. Nothing about this is going to be easy. Not like breaking into a jewlery store to steal cursed objects level of easy."


But he's looking at her very thoughtfully. Reframing is an excellent thing, and though he spends a moment turning that over in his mind he finally offers a decisive nod.

"You saw. I grew up in a war. I was supposed to be the one that brought them two factions peace. Didn't go over that way, but…I guess on some level I still liked the idea. Wanted to be the person that did that. Could do that. I doubt little ole Gambit's gonna be the one to bring 'em to the negotiation table or anything, I don't think I can go arranged marriage, round two, if the Church would even annul my first one, yeah? But…that makes sense, yeah. And if neither does, well, maybe they're both just wrongheaded."

She squeezes, and he puts his hand over hers for just a moment. Not, worth noting, the one with the snowball, still clutched loosely in the other. "Merci," he says, sincerely. She is good at this. Cuts right through to the heart of the matter, lets him, as the song says, see it in another light, one that allows him some sort of…

Well. Something to stand for. Because even as he'd walked away some other song had been running through his head, the one that said 'you got to stand for something or you'll fall for anything.' Now he's got something he can stand for, and something that indeed rings true to something inside him. The man who really doesn't want to see more blood on his hands, accidental or otherwise, the man who will happily steal multi-milliondollar doo-dads, but will also destroy them and make sure nobody gets 'em if they might harm people. Creates a link back through not just to what he is but why he is that way, helps him tease and reason that out, helps him choose that and decide upon it as something he wants to— to value.

He tosses the snowball down, then leans over. Plenty of time to dodge it, he moves slow, but he presses a gentle, chaste kiss to her temple should she allow it.


"No, but perhaps you can talk to the right people and convince them to find a peaceful solution. I know how convincing you can be when you want to." It takes a lot of effort not to lalugh at his joke about arranged marriage number two, and she nudges his shoulder. "Life isn't a Jane Austen novel LeBeau, you can't marry all of your problems away."

"I think a lot of it is that that both sides seem to deal in black and white. Good and evil, all or nothing. You're not a black and white sort of man. You're grey, and you walk that line, dipping your foot on whatever side you need to while keeping the other on the opposite side. People focused on the absolutes don't seem to think they need someone who can see both sides."

Elinor helps a lot of people, though most of them are dead, and they show their gratitude differnetly. Something in Remy's face causes her to pause, she guided him, which is more than she normally does for the living.

It's during that thought that he leans in for the temple kiss, so she doesn't have time to process it until it's over. Of course her brain only takes seconds to start over-thinking it, but she quickly shuts it down to think about later. "You're welcome." She says quietly, as she shakes off the thoughts.

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