𝖎𝖑 𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖚𝖓 𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊.

jean had purposefully made it a habit to not intrude in other minds. no matter how noisy the space may be around her. she would describe it as something like white noise - buzzing buzzing in the air but nothing entirely clear unless she truly listened in. though, she was not consciously listening, her mind brushed against his, anyways.

it was a fleeting moment, but it was enough to catch her attention, and even more, it was absolutely not something she was supposed to hear. light gaze could not help, but drift over to the gamblin’ man himself. she was only standing a few paces away from him, a glass in her hand as they were in the middle of some larger gathering arranged by one of their peers. he seemed unbothered, but part of her believed he might have felt something, a presence or figure in the back of his mind, and she felt uneasy wondering if he knew that what she heard.

when it seemed as if his gaze made its way in her direction, she gave a small lift of her glass in greeting, something she cursed herself for rather than pretending she didn’t see him at all.

Having her on the team now made things awkward for him, and the girl had no idea why. Part of him hoped she never found out why. If he was lucky he'd be taking their first true meeting to the grave.

She was too young to remember. Maybe? She didn't have any adverse reaction to him when they were reunited. Maybe the tears in her eyes clouded her vision so heavily that night that she didn't even have the chance to commit his face to memory. But he always remembered hers; even as she had grown up, aside from the obvious mutation, the sandy rose locks were a dead giveaway.

She'll live. Je te jure, madame. On my word she'll live. And live she did...

He remembered that being the last words Marrow's—Sarah's—mother would hear before her death. A death from an event he had put in motion. His own blood stained in the clothes and skin of the poor orphan girl he had left in the care of some officers before fleeing himself. It seemed the powers that be weren't finished being cruel to him yet; he would have gladly accepted the embrace of death that night, bleeding out miserably on that trash barge like he felt he was intended to.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stand on end and his lip twists in slight discomfort. The familiar sting he'd typically experience when someone was trying to—

Remy's gaze moves off of Marrow and on to Jean. She acknowledges him. A simple harmless gesture and he feels his heart drop into his shoes—yet he smiles back at her. Did she..?

Oh dieu.

normally, hal didn't bother coming out to little joints like this [ ... ] he preferred to drink from home. but he hadn't gotten out of the house for fun recently, only to leave the planet once more and save the world from whatever chaos ensued.

but this charming, ruggedly handsome man was chatting with him, and making small talk at the bar counter beside him. the other man's hand reached out, grazing his fingers along hal's knuckles, and for a moment, he was so captivated by the cajun, he didn't see the harm in his question. but then, the comment about his ring became an instant red flag to him ⸻ only because he'd had his ring removed from his hand in the past, and he knew what to look out for.

❛ sure, i'll tell you a bit about it. ❜ the green lantern replied with a sad grin, taking a sip of his smooth glass of honey whiskey. thankfully, he wasn't as susceptible to this ring being stolen off of him [ ... ] considering this new ring wasn't like the others he'd worn. he'd forged this entirely himself, with his own raw willpower. ❛ my dad gave it to me, when i was a kid. last thing he gave me on the afternoon i watched him die. ❜ sad as the tale was, it was a lie ⸻ the last thing he'd been given was the worn brown leather jacket shrugged over his shoulders, bearing the JORDAN name patch. it was arguably his most prized possession, save for the ring. ❛ just a class ring from when he was in high school, small hometown. nothing too special, but it means everything to me. ❜ he brushed his thumb across his ring, admiring it for a moment. ❛ what about you, handsome? you have anything sentimental like that with a story? ❜ his brown eyes flitted over, meeting his gaze as he flirted back.

"Sorry ta hear dat," Remy brings his own glass to his lips, playing along, "don' need ta be not'in fancy t'be valuable."

Damn, did he need to charge triple for this one?

When asked if he too had a sentimental item, he laughs short through his nose, setting his glass back down.

"Since we bleedin' hearts tonight..." Remy pulled one of his many decks of cards from his coat pocket, tapping it against the wood. There was nothing to them, just the typical cheap set one would find at any dollar or game store. Of course, unbeknownst to everyone else, Remy didn't have the heart to turn a pretty thing into an explosive. Cheap was ideal.

"A deck a' cards was de one t'ing 'tween me an' becomin' a child soldier." A truth, which was surprising coming from him. Just not the whole truth.

His proposal was accepted easy enough, barely a second's hesitation. It would be easy enough to sniff out the lower crime part of this town and let Death go ham, drench his own claws in blood and let out some of his own rage. Then the question arose on his part. "Allow me to share my affection with you, see if I can try and convince you my love aint entirely useless. At the very least we can have some fun and a good fuck, I know you want that with the way you were kissing me last time." Logan said with a grin and a wink.

Logan's true jest goes over Death's head. He rises a brow instead, devoid of humour, thinking he was quite direct in his delivery their last encounter, "Was I not clear?"

He watches as the older mutant takes in the scent from the air, locating their supposed targets for the night. He silently follows behind him, making use of the muscle memory courtesy of Remy's acrobatic skills. Balcony to lower balcony made for a smoother drop than a straight shot down.

Death moved through the alleys like a shadow, the slaying temptation strong in his veins at the mere sight of the humans among them. He kept to his word though, allowing Logan to lead him to a surprisingly unassuming part of the city. Hiding in plain sight from the looks of it, the indication of a seasoned operation.

"Do I bother waiting for you?" Death inquires, eyes darting up to an open window. He could easily poison everyone inside and be done with it, why wait for Logan to pop his claws?

He smiled when Remy said he's stay close to shore so they could enjoy the lake together. "We could fish too, I'll clean them and you can cook hem up. Make us a fine dinner." Then listening to his partner talk about how he didn't believe the stories but the other children would tease him about his eyes made Logan pout.

Oh, fishing and cooking a fresh catch sounded heavenly, "Yah, soon as I remembe'a where I stashed ma fishin' rod."

He already had it all planned out in his head about bringing in supplies to make foil packets, bring along some corn and the fixings to go along with it too. While he loved the convenience of a stove, cooking on an open fire brought out a kind of flavour one only could au naturel.

Logan brought him comfort with the compliment and caress, though Remy laughs all flustered and annoyed at himself. His eyes did act as an emotional barometer of sorts, the opposite was also true, they'd dim when he was ill or down.

"Cute? Aye-yiiii." Rose paints across his face, rosier still when Logan nuzzles him, though he smiles at it.