As a response to my reader's reviews and requests, from now on anything
spoken in French will be in one quotation mark 'so if adrienne talks it's
still french' because it's confusing and i'm too lazy to remember that much
of my french. english will have "two quotes" and remy's screwed up half an'
half will be "with a few french words tossed in" so that better? good.
THANK YOU for reviewing! review this chapter too! it's nice to see what
people think of my work.
and gambit's accent will not be applied in the french, because he is speaking de french and not de english so the accent that affects his english wouldn't affect it! yeah.
Marbie Rouges - a slang for Marlboro Reds. Rouge is French for red. ( pronounced rooj ) coined term.
oh btw , codes! telepathy ~inner thoughts~
oh, and for the sake of continuity, first chapter starts at sundown.
Language Barriers: Sleeping Beauties
That night, after having shown the boy where his room was, a slightly pissed off Remy LeBeau made his way back to his own room - a disturbingly short journey. Three doors down. He pushed his door open but didn't slam it. He wasn't that angry. It was just an inconvenience, and a tempting one at that. Remy'd never lied to himself about his sexuality. He chose his relationships and bedpartners based on personality or looks, not gender. Yes, he was a vain, self-righteous egotistical jerk - but only on the outside. He was still cold from the frozen wasteland and that was NOT a train of thought he wanted to catch, as it led straight back to his own personal hell. But there was something about the boy, aside from that fact that he was damn hot, anyway. (Not to mention the possibilities of his hair...) He looked and acted so goddamned innocent. Like the world had never really hurt him.
What Remy didn't know was that the boy was as good a masquerader as he was, and that his Mask had been perfected through years of hard work.
The Cajun stopped worrying about all the shit that was wrong in his life and went to bed, stripping out of his clothes and curling into his fluffy down pillows and flannel sheets, trying to get some sleep.
~three doors down~
Adrienne unpacked slowly and methodically, knowing that his room would be a horrid mess in two days or less, but trying to keep it neat while it still stood a chance. He sang softly to himself as he worked, a song he'd heard on the radio on his last day in Paris. 'Don't you cry, or suffer over me... I will be waiting for you...
Don't you cry, angels never fade away.... I'll be watching over you.'
It meant nothing, really, just a catchy tune by one of his better liked bands. He had an album of theirs somewhere; unfortunately most of the songs were in English, so he didn't understand the lyrics and had only gotten the opportunity to play it once. The boy didn't have much and how he'd gotten the CD in the first place was a complete and utter mystery. Most likely he'd found in lying in the street. All of his things had fit into one backpack and his extremely tattered black trenchcoat into which he had sewn dozen of extra pockets. (Living on the street gave one odd skills. He could pick pockets passably, at least off of oblivious tourists, but he could run really fast too. He could also sew - not too well, but pockets are simple enough. He was extremely athletic and in good shape, though he was too skinny for his own good. All in all the boy had the usual mishmash of skill that are acquired from living on the streets of a big city.)
He finished putting his meager supply of clothing into the far-too-large dresser and pulled off his trench, slinging it over the back of the chair. The room was simple, but more than anything he'd called his own since he ran away - a twin bed with nice fluffy sheets and soft pillows, the floor carpeted in a light blue. A wooden desk stood along one wall with a folding chair in front of it. A door led to a small bathroom - a sink, a toilet and a small square shower. A small alarm clock/radio sat on the edge of the desk. The dresser in the main room took up a whole wall across from the bed and had a large mirror on its back, against the wall. He leaned down and pulled off his old, beat up combat boots, leaving them to lean against the desk. He locked the door and stripped his clothes off, walking into the bathroom for a quick shower. 'Many years of filth will either make you love it, or hate it. I, for one, am firmly on the latter side,' he mumbled as his hair washed itself happily with the shampoo he'd found in the cabinet under the sink.
Finally clean for the first time in a long time, he made his way back to the main room, toweling off his body and his hair. He smiled happily and flopped onto the bed, and was asleep in moments.
~the next morning~
Remy shot up in his bed at way-too-godsdamned-early-A.M. He'd had a particularly vivid dream, one involving a pretty face and lots of hair. He didn't want to remember it. He headed for the shower, blasting himself with the ice-cold water in an attempt to banish his case of morning wood. It, however, seemed more resilient than normal due to his dream. After a good ten minutes it subsided, leaving a tooth-chattering Cajun who quickly turned the water on to hot and scrubbed himself down.
He exited the shower with a great yawn. ~I need coffee... and a smoke...~ He dressed himself quickly, in tight black jeans and a dark red shirt, tugging his brown duster over it all and patting a pocket of it to make certain his Marbie Rouges were in their place. He headed down to kitchen with a quick glance at his bedside clock. 7:26. What an ungodly hour.
He headed down the hall, passing the boy's room and stopping short as he heard music coming from it. Surely the kid wasn't awake... He knocked softly, aware that his stomach was growling and he was sure the kid's was too.
The door was opened a moment later, showing a smiling Adrienne. 'Good morning, Mr. LeBeau.'
'Just call me Remy.'
Adrienne nodded, slightly confused. He'd turned the little clock radio on when he got up, bored and wanting something to do. Now it was blaringly loud in the silence, and he walked over and shut it off. He turned back to Remy.
'You hungry at all, Adrienne?'
The boy blinked, a bit thrown off at the offer of food, but recovered quickly and nodded, smiling. 'That would be nice.'
Gambit nodded. 'Alright then. Kitchen's this way.' He waited for the boy to jerk on his boots and swing his coat over his shoulders, then set off down the hall with Adrienne a half-step behind him.
Food called.
end chap 2
the end is so abrupt because - well, food calls, and i'm hungry. next chap out maybe today or tomorrow. this will end up being many chapters long if i ever actually work on it, considering just how little i put into a chap. but anyway, i'm trying to make the chapters longer. just be happy i'm actually working on this and doing moire than one chap and forgetting aboput it. this might go somwhere. anyway i'm gonne upload it now, please review!
and gambit's accent will not be applied in the french, because he is speaking de french and not de english so the accent that affects his english wouldn't affect it! yeah.
Marbie Rouges - a slang for Marlboro Reds. Rouge is French for red. ( pronounced rooj ) coined term.
oh btw , codes! telepathy ~inner thoughts~
oh, and for the sake of continuity, first chapter starts at sundown.
Language Barriers: Sleeping Beauties
That night, after having shown the boy where his room was, a slightly pissed off Remy LeBeau made his way back to his own room - a disturbingly short journey. Three doors down. He pushed his door open but didn't slam it. He wasn't that angry. It was just an inconvenience, and a tempting one at that. Remy'd never lied to himself about his sexuality. He chose his relationships and bedpartners based on personality or looks, not gender. Yes, he was a vain, self-righteous egotistical jerk - but only on the outside. He was still cold from the frozen wasteland and that was NOT a train of thought he wanted to catch, as it led straight back to his own personal hell. But there was something about the boy, aside from that fact that he was damn hot, anyway. (Not to mention the possibilities of his hair...) He looked and acted so goddamned innocent. Like the world had never really hurt him.
What Remy didn't know was that the boy was as good a masquerader as he was, and that his Mask had been perfected through years of hard work.
The Cajun stopped worrying about all the shit that was wrong in his life and went to bed, stripping out of his clothes and curling into his fluffy down pillows and flannel sheets, trying to get some sleep.
~three doors down~
Adrienne unpacked slowly and methodically, knowing that his room would be a horrid mess in two days or less, but trying to keep it neat while it still stood a chance. He sang softly to himself as he worked, a song he'd heard on the radio on his last day in Paris. 'Don't you cry, or suffer over me... I will be waiting for you...
Don't you cry, angels never fade away.... I'll be watching over you.'
It meant nothing, really, just a catchy tune by one of his better liked bands. He had an album of theirs somewhere; unfortunately most of the songs were in English, so he didn't understand the lyrics and had only gotten the opportunity to play it once. The boy didn't have much and how he'd gotten the CD in the first place was a complete and utter mystery. Most likely he'd found in lying in the street. All of his things had fit into one backpack and his extremely tattered black trenchcoat into which he had sewn dozen of extra pockets. (Living on the street gave one odd skills. He could pick pockets passably, at least off of oblivious tourists, but he could run really fast too. He could also sew - not too well, but pockets are simple enough. He was extremely athletic and in good shape, though he was too skinny for his own good. All in all the boy had the usual mishmash of skill that are acquired from living on the streets of a big city.)
He finished putting his meager supply of clothing into the far-too-large dresser and pulled off his trench, slinging it over the back of the chair. The room was simple, but more than anything he'd called his own since he ran away - a twin bed with nice fluffy sheets and soft pillows, the floor carpeted in a light blue. A wooden desk stood along one wall with a folding chair in front of it. A door led to a small bathroom - a sink, a toilet and a small square shower. A small alarm clock/radio sat on the edge of the desk. The dresser in the main room took up a whole wall across from the bed and had a large mirror on its back, against the wall. He leaned down and pulled off his old, beat up combat boots, leaving them to lean against the desk. He locked the door and stripped his clothes off, walking into the bathroom for a quick shower. 'Many years of filth will either make you love it, or hate it. I, for one, am firmly on the latter side,' he mumbled as his hair washed itself happily with the shampoo he'd found in the cabinet under the sink.
Finally clean for the first time in a long time, he made his way back to the main room, toweling off his body and his hair. He smiled happily and flopped onto the bed, and was asleep in moments.
~the next morning~
Remy shot up in his bed at way-too-godsdamned-early-A.M. He'd had a particularly vivid dream, one involving a pretty face and lots of hair. He didn't want to remember it. He headed for the shower, blasting himself with the ice-cold water in an attempt to banish his case of morning wood. It, however, seemed more resilient than normal due to his dream. After a good ten minutes it subsided, leaving a tooth-chattering Cajun who quickly turned the water on to hot and scrubbed himself down.
He exited the shower with a great yawn. ~I need coffee... and a smoke...~ He dressed himself quickly, in tight black jeans and a dark red shirt, tugging his brown duster over it all and patting a pocket of it to make certain his Marbie Rouges were in their place. He headed down to kitchen with a quick glance at his bedside clock. 7:26. What an ungodly hour.
He headed down the hall, passing the boy's room and stopping short as he heard music coming from it. Surely the kid wasn't awake... He knocked softly, aware that his stomach was growling and he was sure the kid's was too.
The door was opened a moment later, showing a smiling Adrienne. 'Good morning, Mr. LeBeau.'
'Just call me Remy.'
Adrienne nodded, slightly confused. He'd turned the little clock radio on when he got up, bored and wanting something to do. Now it was blaringly loud in the silence, and he walked over and shut it off. He turned back to Remy.
'You hungry at all, Adrienne?'
The boy blinked, a bit thrown off at the offer of food, but recovered quickly and nodded, smiling. 'That would be nice.'
Gambit nodded. 'Alright then. Kitchen's this way.' He waited for the boy to jerk on his boots and swing his coat over his shoulders, then set off down the hall with Adrienne a half-step behind him.
Food called.
end chap 2
the end is so abrupt because - well, food calls, and i'm hungry. next chap out maybe today or tomorrow. this will end up being many chapters long if i ever actually work on it, considering just how little i put into a chap. but anyway, i'm trying to make the chapters longer. just be happy i'm actually working on this and doing moire than one chap and forgetting aboput it. this might go somwhere. anyway i'm gonne upload it now, please review!