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Needful Things, Tuesday

Remy had been a rat for a weekend, and then the island had gone on, like, Rumsprigga or something, and Remy had decided it was best to lay low for a bit while things calmed down.

He'd maybe be a little sad later that he hadn't helped fight Mothman, yes.

For now, though, he was at work, playing solitaire, and offering a sale on rat themed things.

As you do.

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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.

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Needful Things, Tuesday

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