fandomtownies | Needful Things, Tuesday

"... Rats?"

That was it, that was the entire question, after Harley made it down from the apartment into the store, and took a quick look around.

"Really?"

"Hmm?" Remy looked up from his cards. "Oui. Rats."

Harley's head tilted way off to the side as she considered that.

But nope, all she come up with was, "Why?"

Remy tilted his head to match. "Why not?"

Was he gonna match her unimpressed nose scrunching too? "That's not an answer."

He was likely aware of that. The same could not be said for any self-awareness Harley ought to have had around the topic of people blithely giving non-answers and/or not explaining themselves.

Nope! He spread his hands instead.

"I suppose it's not."

And proceeded to continue not to answer.

Harley squinted at him for a few seconds longer, then straightened up again, clearly deciding not to bother.

"Well, just don't bring any actual rats in here," she decided, shrugging. "'Cause Bruce is gonna eat 'em if you do, and he deserves better snacks than some rodents from God knows where."

She had fed the hyena a grown man in the past. But sure, rats were where to draw the line.

Remy's mouth pinched a bit -- he'd never used to care, but he'd been a nice, clean rat, thank you!

"It's your store, chef. Fake rats only."

Well maybe if he'd said what was up with him and rats, he might have gotten something nicer than what he did! Not that Harley had even made reference to the hypothetical rats being dirty.

She nodded, and chirped, "Good, we're learning about boundaries!"

"I may not have a classic education, cherié, but I can eventually be trained."

Very eventually, if you asked some of the X-folk. But still.

Progress was progress! Not that Harley looked particularly taken with it.

"Everything else all cool with the store?" she checked, dropping that topic altogether. "No random break-ins?" Apart from the usual. "Haunted objects?"

"Oui, non, and non," Remy said. "Doesn't look like the island's, ah, adventures did any damage to your shop."

"Didn't turn it into one of those places that charge ya eighty bucks for a bottle of unidentified blue ocean goo, either," Harley agreed approvingly, and gave the closest horizontal surface a loving little pat.

Someone had gone into Erewhon the day before and not been impressed.

"That woulda been some bullshit," she added, musing on it. "If anyone's gonna start selling anything in here that looks like sea monster jizz in a can, it should be me. And I don't plan to make that my business."

“Not without cutting the sea monster in on the profits,” Remy said cheerfully.

Harley had started it, so she had no business to be making the face she was making, and yet.

"Think it sounds like the sea monster'd already be gettin' something out of the deal," she hazarded, "it doesn't need profits in money, too."

Remy raised an eyebrow. “I got some very good friends who’d argue with you. Sex work is work, non?”

Harley looked like she wasn't following.

Because she wasn't following.

"Yeah, and that's why I should be gettin' the money," she said, "exactly."

It was very likely they had two different mental images of how that whole business would operate.

"And the monster providing the product shouldn't?" Remy asked. "I mean, if this theoretical monster is into being paid in sex, that's one thing. But if not . . . I'm a thief but I'm not that kind of thief."

"Ya don't pay the one that's getting the handy," Harley argued, and, Remy, why were you indulging this? "Also I don't think you know how monsters work."

She held a hand up almost immediately, like she was anticipating a likely counter argument.

"And I'm talkin' real, actual monsters, not -- not whenever people just can't handle someone bein' different from them and start throwing words around."

Oh Harley. If only Remy really didn't know how real monsters worked.

"Maybe I'm just a stickler for consent," he said with a shrug. "My girl could literally kill you without meaning to, you touch her when she doesn't want it." And frequently even when she did want it. "Boundaries, neh?"

Presumably still thinking of the wrong kind of monster. Harley's taxonomy hadn't exactly left any room for the real, real kind.

Also her expression was beginning to sour in earnest. Or, really, continuing to. "Sounds like you're makin' some real rude assumptions here, buster."

Remy nodded thoughtfully, sensing he was treading too close to an edge now. "Maybe. Better to just change the subject now, hmm?" He shrugged. "Did you enjoy the island's weekend of being other people?"

Harley's face scrunched up further. "None of your business."

If only he'd known just how petty she had to be feeling to not start immediately gushing about Barbie at him.

(Because Barbie!!)

That was far cooler than being a rat for a weekend, yeah. Remy would be a little jealous.

So . . . sorry you're missing that opportunity, Harley.

"Oookay," he said. "You pick the topic, then."

She was just determined not to like him. (It reminded him of home.)

Harley fumed for several seconds.

Then the expression on her face shifted - but when she erupted, this time, it was more exasperated and maybe a little... disappointed, than angry.

"Ya can't just 'maybe I am' your way outta bein' told you're being rude, Remy!"

... Wow, who even knew she still remembered his actual name? She called him Frenchie to his face and behind his back!

Edited 2024-08-14 16:23 (UTC)

He was, in fact, a bit taken aback by that.

"Was tryin' to 'maybe' our way out of an argument, cherié."

"That's not how it works! It's a coward move!"

Yeah, weird how someone would want to avoid an argument with her. So weird.

Remy sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "All you do is say whatever I say is wrong. That ain't no fun for anyone but you. So if I gotta be a coward . . . I been called worse."

"Fun?!" Harley asked. Shrieked? It was kind of loud and not particularly pleasant, either way. "You think that was fun for me?!"

It wasn't often that Remy ran across someone as easy to piss off as his exes. He rubbed his forehead.

"I think I've been bending over backwards to try and make you smile since we met and all you do is yell at me."

Even when she very clearly enjoyed the giant dog sculpture.

And the little frogs and ducks, too!

But they wouldn't help him against this big frown: "'Cause ya waltzed into my store and wouldn't fucking listen to me!" Okay, yeah, that was still a sore spot in the process of healing. "And now you come in here actin' like I don't know consent. I don't owe you a smile!"

"You're the one talking about stealing a monster's spunk to sell," Remy said. He'd already apologized for the waltzing into her store thing. He wasn't going to apologize for it again. "You can maybe see where a body might think you're not totally clear on that."

It was going to keep coming back to bite him in the face for awhile, probably, whether he apologized for it again or not. Not that Harley was even looking for another apology - she'd brought it up as background for why this thing sucked so bad.

Tried to, anyway.

"Aw, Jesus, you have such a thief brain," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes, or really just briefly looking at the ceiling. "There's more shades of gray than just stealing or payin' with money!"

"Mmm." Remy idly shuffled his cards. "Oui, you seem to think your attentions should be payment enough for this monster. Most monsters I've met don't tend to feel that way." He flicked her a smile. "Suppose you could always let it eat you. They do seem to like doing that."

"I'm the one who came up with the monster in the first place!" Harley retorted, seemingly unaware that saying so just highlighted what a stupid, absurd thing this whole argument was. "You started adding things that make me look bad!"

"You made a joke. I made a joke. We did that for a bit. All of a sudden, though, you started taking it all seriously." Remy shook his head. "So I backed off, but you were too busy getting your mad on about it to let me. So now. . . ." He held a card up between his index and middle fingers, gave it a light charge and flicked it into the air. ". . . Boom."

The card exploded with a little fuchsia flash.

"I'm used to explosions, me. But from most I get a bit more warning."

"Well here's a warning: do not explode things in my store!"

Harley wanted to be distracted by that little trick, but unfortunately it appeared she was still too mad for it.

"See?" Remy leaned back in his seat. "All you want to do is argue."

It wasn't as though he'd blown up merchandise!

Harley had half a mind to try and kick that chair right out from underneath him.

Instead, she inhaled sharply through her nose, and smiled. But not like an actual smile, no, one of those real tight and empty and openly 'fuck you' ones.

"And now I want ya to get the fuck out of my house."

He'd manage to fall gracefully. She'd hate it.

"I'm not in your house."

Hadn't he just said something about not wanting to argue with her? Apparently that ship had sailed.

Harley shook her head.

And folded her arms.

"Oh, honey, trust me, you don't wanna start splittin' hairs with me on this one."

Remy was tempted to blow up another card.

"Say what you mean, cherié. You firing me?"

"I said what I said," Harley replied, raising her eyebrows way, way up. "Which was get the fuck out of my house."

Over enunciating every last of those words like a champ!

Remy picked up another card -- the queen of clubs -- and flicked it at her.

"We are still. Not in. Your house."

What? Now Remy was irritated, too. And he wasn't above splitting obnoxious hairs when he was in a mood.

(He was at least clearing up his solitaire game, though.)

Harley batted the card away with an annoyed flick of her hand.

"Okay, ignoring how you're sittin' under my couch right now," she replied, undeterred and unamused, "fine, get the fuck out of my store."

"Ignoring that, 'cause it has nothing to do with this being 'your house' or not," Remy noted as he finished cleaning up his remaining cards. He stood gracefully and, without looking way from her, picked up a rat statue to tuck into his pocket with them. His eyes flashed fuchsia, the same color as the earlier explosion, as he snapped her a little salute. "Au revoir, cherié."

"Got everything to do with whether this is my house," Harley told him. Of course. She had feelings about it, alright? She'd never really had a place that was hers before - not that he'd care.

It was in the deep scorn in her voice, though.

"Yeah, fuck you, too, Frenchie."

She didn't give two shits about a rat statue, either. She might have if she'd actually taken a closer look at it, but she hadn't! So there!

Remy tossed her a very rude gesture as he turned to head for the door.

"Talking about boundaries, can't even figure out the boundary between residential property and commercial," he muttered.

. . . She never had actually clarified if he was fired or not.

Needful Things, Tuesday

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