2017-10-26 Layover in Paris
This scene is rated Everybody
Warning: N/A
Players: Phantasm and Gambit
GMed by .
Title: Layover in Paris

Although it is late in the evening, the Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport still has a small amount of foot traffic. However, the private lounges, while still thankfully open, are much quieter. The lounge Mike finds himself passing the layover in, is no different. As his traveling companions wander off in search of regular food. Mike has opted to hang back, sit in the comfortable chair and drink the complimentary whiskey that was provided. Hmm. Traveling on a record label's dime does have its perks from time to time.

A slender yet muscular form of a man walks, no, shambles through the door into the lounge. He carries nothing with him, no carry-on, no cellphone, nothing. Hes dressed very conservatively in a pair of jeans, and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt that looks like it just might be 40 years old. His eyes are hidden behind a dark pair of sunglasses, even at this time of night. Dark brown hair cascades over the side of his head, and falls about at his collar bone. He certainly doesn't appear to be the sort that would be in the private lounge. With an exhausted sigh, he plops down sloppily in a sofa adjacent to the rocker, seemingly oblivious to his presence. As his body hits the sofa his lips draw back and a concealed hiss of pain escapes his lips. It would seem he has had a rough night, or two.

Considering how under dressed the darkly clad musician is in the lounge, he is not one to judge another's attire. Pale blue eyes shifting on the knit capped man's face, Mike looks over to Remy, giving a tired smile to the only other non-staff person in the lounge, "Sounds like you could use one of the drinks they're serving as well."

The man slouched across the sofa, is one Remy LeBeau, one of the greatest thieves known to those in the know. He tilts his head slightly to regard the rocker. He manages a slight grin, which actually seems quite effortless. Mon ami, he says, Ah'd drink de whole bar, if'n dey let me.

Considering how much the seats are that get you into the lounge I'm sure they would." Mike replies, a bit of amusement betrayed in the tone of his voice, "They're already included on the flight…" He pauses, "New York?"

Remy snorts a slight chuckle at that. "C'est vrai, je suppose," he says. His French is impeccable, but his accent gives away that hes certainly no local. He nods at the question of destination, and fixes his gaze toward the ceiling. Even with the sunglasses on, he lifts his hand to seemingly block the light from his eyes. "Been out de world a spell," he says to Mike, or perhaps just the air itself. "Figure'd is 'bout time ta head back somewhar familiar." His head tilts very slightly again to assure that he was indeed talking to Mike. "You?"

Mike tilts his head, before looking down to his drink, giving a small chuckle, shaking his head, "About the same." His head turns, looking over to the closed door that leads into the lounge, pausing in consideration before turning back to his drink once nothing produces itself over there. "For as long as life allows."

The thief clicks his tongue disapprovingly against the roof of his mouth. "La vie est ce que vous faites," he says wearily. "Life what you make it, mon frere." He smiles weakly, which causes something in his torso to cause him discomfort. He shifts his weight in the sofa a bit, trying to regain some measure of comfort.

"Leis na posa a bh agam, is draoi m" Mike murmurs, pausing to sip at his drink. No translation offered. That jerk. There is a pause as he considers his statement, a small laugh escapes before he shakes his head, getting up from the sofa, turning to offer a slight toasting gesture towards Remy, "May your glass be ever full. May the roof over your head be always strong. And may you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead."

Remy for the first time since arriving peaks out from over the top of his sunglasses. An intentional move to be sure, as it reveals his rather unique eyes. Ruby red irises float in the blackness of night. "Mon ami," he says with a devilish grin, "Le Diable ain't got nothin' on me." He pushes the sunglasses back up to once again conceal his eyes. With a grace the belays the signs that he was in pain earlier, he as well stands from his sofa. He grins at the rocker, again. "Time fo me ta be movin' on, homme," he says in a familiar tone as he begins to move towards the doors out of the longue. As he gets to the door, he stops, looks back over his shoulder with a mischievous grin and adds, "By de way. Loved yo' work on dat Magic Pony movie." He lets out a constrained laugh as he makes his way out the door and into the airport proper.

Mike looks over to the thief. Not even blinking at the sight. If the red irises were meant to cause a reaction, it is likely not what Remy expects from the Hell Dimension veteran. His gives a knowing smirk, not speaking until the door closes behind Remy. "Whatever you say." He replies, "Whatever you say."


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