The Ragin' Cajun
Author: I own Wren and Mirokou owns Chrysie. To our knowledge the Ragin' Cajun doesn't exist
but if does we don't own it. R&R, flames will be given to Logan so he can smoke not chew cigars.
As always New Orleans, or Nawlins as the locals called it, was full of people. On starry nights like tonight, very few places in the Cresant City were slow. One was the Ragin' Cajun, a bar on Bourbon Street that had a homey feel to it. Two things most people didn't know about the bar was that A: it was also a safe house with many rooms and B: it was owned and run by mutants.
Chrysie LeTeur watched as one of her other barkeepers walked over. "It's slow tonight." Wren Devereux said, slipping behind the bar with her.
"Yeah, it is." she agreed.
"I'm gonna change Cd's." she said.
"Go ahead." she told her. Wren ejected a blues CD from the stereo system and put a mixed cd of rock songs on. Alice Cooper's Poisonstreamed from the speakers. "You miss him, don't you?" Chrysie asked. Wren didn't need to ask who he was.
"He's hard not to miss. Gone for two years, back for a bit and then gone again." she muttered. The other woman nodded.
"You know he left with that dark haired feral who came lookin' for him a month back. I hope their both ok."
At that moment the door bust open to admit said feral and Cajun. Wren smiled, moving out from behind the bar and walking up to them. Still smiling, she hauled off and decked Remy in jaw. "Wren!" Chrysie called from the bar.
"Hello to you too, Wren. Now what the hell was that for?" Remy demanded rubbing his chin.
"That happen often?" the feral asked, slightly amused.
"Only when he runs off without tellin' anybody where he's headed or when he'll be back." Wren replied.
"Did you really have to deck me, cher?"
"Yes! It's the only way to get anything through your thick skull."
The feral wandered over to the bar and addressed Chrysie, "Give me a beer and somethin' ta eat."
Chrysie set a bottle in front of him and asked, "What exactly do you want to eat? We got your typical bar food you'd find anywhere else in the country and we got good ol' Cajun cookin'. Got a preference?"
"Give me two of the usual and another beer, Chrysie," Remy said, flashing her a smile.
"Remy," the feral growled.
" 'til you get a job, you're on my tab. One of those usuals is Wren's and put yours on too, Chrys. Dinner's on me tonight." he said.
"Hey, four gumbos! Two beef, one chicken and one shrimp!" Chrysie shouted over her shoulder.
Turning back to the men, she said, "So, Remy, who's your friend?"
"Logan. He's gonna need a place to stay and a job. We ran into some trouble at the island and he lost his memory," Remy replied. Chrysie glanced at the feral.
"Could use a second clean up man. I saw your temper last time, Logan. If I thought you could keep it in check I'd hire you as a bouncer but since you've had memory loss chances are you'll have trouble with controlling your rage. But a feral like you would definitely be nice to have around to put an end to any trouble that gets started." Logan regarded her silently for a moment before she spoke again. "You've got that same look in your eyes that they had when they first came in." she muttered, nodding to Wren and Remy who had taken their food to a table.
"What look?" he asked.
"That haunted, hunted look." she told him. "Think on my offer, Logan. You and Remy can stay here regardless of if you accept it or not."