Fandom Island and Town

Remy had been spending most of his time of late on the mainland -- he'd never been great at staying one place (that wasn't New Orleans) -- but he managed to remember his shift at the store this week and after checking in on the cats, made his way over to make sure Harley hadn't accidentally burned the place down or anything.

Instead he discovered she'd been getting creative with displays. Because who didn't want to see weird taxidermied birds when they went junk shopping?

There seemed to be an excess of taxidermy in the shop today, in fact. Remy patted one of perhaps a dozen little stuffed alligators on the head as he passed by. "Almost makes it feel like home, non?" he mused aloud.

The little alligator snapped its jaws at him, making him jump.

"Mon Dieu," Remy hissed, bending down to peer at the little guy. "Homme, you scared the shit out of me!"

The alligator stared back.

"This ain't a good place for you." He picked it up, careful of its teeth, and carried it over to the checkout desk where he could keep a closer eye on it. "There's a hyena that lives here! Bruce'd snap you up in two bites. You'd best hang with me 'til I can figure out a better place to put you."

In the meantime, Fandom, have a sale on weird stuffed gators.

[Inspired by this. Open!]

One of the great indignities of being a superhero was that, despite what many in his universe tended to believe, Remy was still human. Which meant he still needed to make, say, dentist appointments.

He'd spent most of the morning on hold trying to do just that, in fact. It was especially aggravating when, after being redirected to a text message system and failing to get it to work, he'd had to sit on hold listening to how great the new text messaging system was.

Anyway, have a sale on old teeth. You freaking weirdo.

[What? Sometimes you gotta just use your day as inspiration. Open!]

Remy didn't pay a whole lot of attention to things like calendar dates as a general rule -- honestly, time was pretty meaningless in his world. A single battle might happen and yet six months would have gone by. Or he'd go through what felt like several years and discover it was still the same month. . . .

But everyone felt like that, right? Everyone watched their friends age from young teenagers to full adults taking care of babies of their own without seeming to age a single day themselves. That was just how life worked.

Anyway, that was all to say: even if he did track things like the Ides of March, he'd have no idea it was happening this weekend.

The store, on the other hand?

"Huh." Remy looked around, bemused. "Harley got a thing for pots now, I guess."

Enjoy Needful Things' sale on elaborate Grecian urns.

[I just finished giving a demo to see if we could get an AI to do part of my department's job for us. Phoned in post is phoned in, but ultimately OPEN!]

So. Remy wasn't being harassed by clocks or hounded by robots today. And he'd had a quite enjoyable weekend, what with the speed dating and all. So he was in a pretty good mood today as he idly dusted the shelves in the shop and then set himself up behind the sales counter.

Surely -- surely -- nothing else would come along to ruin that good mood. Right?

Right?

. . .

Time would tell.

[open!]

Remy had put out fliers. Had anyone seen them or read them or decided to check out his little training experiment, well. . . . That was up to them.

Either way, he was here, ready to let any non-Midnight residents in to join them, with a nice classic "sentinels attack New York City" program worked out with Midnight for the inaugural open training.

Oh, and he'd remembered to stick a sign on the doors -- both the front door of Midnight and on the all-purpose room itself -- too.

DANGER CLUB!
Training in process
Knock for entry

There. That should do.

[opnn! Feel free to handwave contacting Remy for entry if you are not a Midnight resident!]

It had been ages since he'd put the fliers together at Needful Things, but life -- and the weather -- had interfered with Remy's plans to get a training club started.

Look, you get left for dead in Antarctica a time or two (how had that happened more than once?!) and see how much you liked walking around outside in subzero temperatures!

Anyway, he was out and about now, with a roll of tape, a staple gun, and a stack of fliers:

Have powers you're not quite sure how to use?
Have powers you do know how to use but want to practice?
Don't have powers but want to test your mettle anyway?
Come to DANGER CLUB!
Friday afternoons, Midnight Manor All-Purpose Room^^{starting this February!}
See Remy LeBeau for more information

Was "Danger Club" a good name? Ehhhhhh. Remy was a lover, not a writer, okay?

[open! And I will do my best to start posting Danger Club posts on Fridays starting next week!]

Remy was here. Remy was hungover again, but he was here. For some reason every antique clock in the place was chiming intermittently, so Remy was also contemplating some mass destruction.

But he was here.

Have a sale on those damned antique clocks.

[open!]

Remy had spent the week making plans, and was now making use of what office supplies he could find in the store to make said plans a reality.

By cobbling together a flier. Like he was in high school or something.

Seriously, there were, like, glue sticks involved.

If you actually wanted to buy things, well. Have a sale on chatelaines.

[open!]

Remy had been a kid again this weekend. Which was a new one for him, he had to admit, though he'd first met Storm when she was temporarily de-aged. It'd been kind of fun! The island had been kind enough to zap him back to an age after Jean-Luc had adopted him, if not all that long after, so he'd been more focused on getting away with as many thefts as possible, rather than hunting for food and shelter or trying to figure out what had happened to his fellow members of the local Fagan's Mob.

All of this mean that he showed up at the shop today with a backpack full of miscellaneous pilfered items, most of them worth a fair amount of money. He'd always had a good eye for that, able to pick the real stuff from the paste and costume jewelry with little more than a glance. He laid his prizes out on the checkout desk to sort through them.

He should probably try to return it. Rather than sell it. He was an adult now, after all, and he lived here. He held up a particularly glittery purple ring and angled it into the light.

Liliana was going to kill him.

Anyway, have a sale on jewelry that isn't purple.

[open!]

Guess who'd wandered back into the shop for "work"! Remy had decided that if Harley really wanted him gone, she was going to have to actually fire him.

What? He was really good at outstaying his welcome places. If he did it long enough, they stopped bothering not to welcome him!

. . . Or they tried to kill him in Antarctica. One of those two.

Anyway. Have a sale on random coronation china.

[open!]

The holographic dogs were still there. So either: a) Harley liked them, b) she hadn’t noticed them, or c) she didn’t care.

After the weirdness of Arden and her weekend guests, Remy found he didn’t care that much either. He grabbed his usual spot behind the counter and dealt out a game of solitaire, wondering if he’d get yelled at again today.

Have a sale on miscellaneous folk art while you’re at it.

[open!]

Working for Harley was turning out to be extremely frustrating. Especially when she kept yelling at you to get out but wouldn't say whether you were actually fired or not.

And, well. Remy was extremely stubborn. And very frequently not entirely wanted where he happened to end up, but sticking around anyway. And, really. At least this time he hadn't, say, slept with the boss's wife accidentally.

It did mean that he found himself doing some very odd things to blow off steam, though. Like stealing and stocking the shop with holographic dog art. Would Harley like it? Would she hate it? Who knew? Was Remy trying to annoy her or win her favor back?

. . . Yeah, the jury was still out on that one, too.

[Open! I had this idea last night but did not realize that I would find the actual holographic dog art I have on my own personal wall in the image search, but here we are. What can I say, I am a being of impeccable taste.]

There was a booby trap attached to the front door. Some kind of bomb, though not with a destructive charge or anything. Remy had to assume it was loaded for embarassment and hilarity, not for nefarious purposes.

"It's cute," he muttered to himself as he slipped past it. "Really."

He was almost insulted.

He considered disarming the thing for any customers that came in -- but where would be the fun in that? Again, he'd confirmed that it wasn't dangerous. Unless Harley had loaded it with, like, a common allergen or something, he figured he wouldn't have to feel too guilty for anyone who fell into the trap. So he left it alone and went to lounge behind the sales desk as usual, shuffling his cards and laying out a game of solitaire.

And, well, let's see. Have a sale on old . . . traps? Sure. Why not.

[open! Booby-trapped door is rigged to "go off when the door is opened in an explosion of WAY TOO MUCH pink and blue glitter", per Harley-mun. Come! Get Remy covered in glitter by proxy! He's getting overconfident over here.]

Remy had rather pettily avoided coming to the store for a good couple weeks there, after his last conversation with Harley. Today, he was back -- if a bit late -- and determined to behave as if none of it had happened.

She'd kind of said he wasn't fired, after all. Even if it was in the process of not understanding the difference between a store and a house.

Whatever. She was running right into Remy's weird stubborn sense of pride and determination to see things through. So. He was back in the store. And had only pocketed a few small items from it so far.

And, sure. Let's throw in a sale on weird bug shit.

[open!]

Remy couldn't say he hadn't been warned. And frankly, spending the weekend as a French rat was probably the easiest random wander through an alternate version of himself that he'd ever had.

It beat out that time he'd been a sniper in a never ending war against humanity by leaps and bounds for instance.

Still. Being a literal rat instead of a metaphorical one had been . . . interesting. He'd managed to wake up in bed again this morning, a fact that he'd thanked Midnight for profusely, since he was pretty sure he'd gone to sleep in about a four inch space inside the wall. He'd given the kitchen a good once over while putting his lunch together just to reassure himself that it wasn't all a dream. Then he'd taken his sandwich and a beer up to the roof. He always did his best thinking on the edge of a precipice, after all.

Remy the rat had been brave and kind and had never hurt anyone in his entire rat life. Remy the mutant stared out over the town, slowly ate his sandwich, and wondered what his life would look like if he could have said the same.

[it was only a matter of time before Remy used this roof for emo. Open, but likely to be slow as I am Having a Day]

Remy had found himself in Toronto this weekend -- never mind why -- and had spent most of yesterday sleeping off the after effects of having been thrown through a wall of the Royal Ontario Museum. So it was a groggy, extra disheveled Remy who showed up to his not-actually-a-job that day.

And yes, he knew he could just stay home. But his deep dark secret was a damn work ethic, so here he was. Doing a sale on . . . things with Chinese dragons on them.

Everyone admire his fish-fear-me mug. He stole it from Serval Industries.

[open!]