agoodyarn | On the Road

On the Road

Being on the road always feels like a mixed blessing.

For one, he appreciates seeing the world, seeing it on the ground level, meeting people and living with them and finding out how their own personal microcosm works. He appreciates the chance to ply his trade as he travels, and learn new trades as well: bartending, freight hauling, carpentry, plumbing, ice fishing...

But every time a lead doesn't work out, every time he feels further and further away from answers about who he is and why he's here and why he can do what he can do...

Every step is towards another success and the fear of another failure.

He doesn't figure he's going to have very much luck today, though. It's rough out, and most of the trucks making their way along this road don't have a lot of room to pull over, which means that while he sticks out his thumb as often as he hears the rumbling of an engine, he's been walking all day.

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It's the sort of thing that everybody's mother tells them about. Never pick up hitchhikers because you don't know who they are or what sort of trouble they could get you into.

In Remy's defense, he's never had a mother.

When he notices the guy at the side of the road, he signals and pulls his bike on to the shoulder about a hundred feet or so past the guy. Dropping the kickstand, he pushes his visor up. "Need a lift dere, mon ami?"

He almost laughs, but some people get offended at that, so he nods and trots up those hundred feet or so, hands up to make sure the guy knows he's harmless. Or at least, that he won't do any harm.

"I wouldn't mind one. And I'll chip in for gas since I'll probably lower your mileage."

Which is good, because he's not actually wearing any of his body armor. That would be a damned stupid thing to be doing in the South, anyway, even if it is a bit cooler than normal for this time of year.

Remy grins, something hidden by most of the helmet, then dismounts from the bike to get into the side bags to pull out an extra helmet. "How far ya goin'? Or are you one of de types dat are trying t' find demselves?" That grins not going anywhere as he offers out the helmet. "You can put your bag in de saddlebags. Reckon dat's easier than tryin' to keep your balance an' keep hold of it, too."

He points towards the direction Remy had been driving.

"I'm going that direction, as far as you care to take me."

Because he was at the point where he was looking for rumors, seeking out something new to investigate either as a journalist or for his own personal quest.

"If I was trying to find myself, I wouldn't need the ride."

Though the question isn't entirely unfair.

He takes the helmet, putting it on, and looks back at the saddlebag before shaking his head. His bag is just a little big to go in there, but it's simple enough for him to strap it on his back with the sides out on either direction.

"It'll stay there. Don't worry."

Once the other guy takes the helmet, Remy shrugs. "Ain't no nevermind t' me." As long as the guy figures it'll stay there, that's fine. "I'm headed back to Nawlins, so if you don' mind putting up with ridin' pillion that long, can get you dere." They were a few states away yet, which meant probably a couple of days ride. But Remy didn't mind the company.

"By de way, name's Remy." Offering his hand because it's polite.

"Joe," he offers, with his hand reached over. "And I don't mind riding pillion. It'll get me where I'm going, after all."

Which, apparently, was New Orleans.

"I'm assuming you're a native?"

"I am. Been 'way from home for a while, but headed back for a while." He takes the hand, shaking solidly before swinging back onto his bike. "We got a fair few miles 'til we need any gas. I'd suggest settlin' in."

"I haven't been home for a while either," he says with a dip of his head since it's been a few years since he's been back in Kansas proper. There's been a lot of phonecalls, but not a lot of facetime.

But he won't hold the guy up much longer. Instead, he nods and settles in with his arms around him.

It's not so much being held up as chatting on the side of the road isn't the safest option. Once they're both settled, Remy signals, checks his mirrors and heads back onto the road.

While there are comms in both helmets, Remy hasn't exactly let Joe know about that. Even so, he's content with the quiet as make their way down the highway. It's pretty obvious that this either isn't Joe's first time on a motorcycle or he has impeccable balance because the added weight may cause some mileage issues but it doesn't cause Remy any issues in driving. Always nice to find.

A couple hours in, he taps Joe's hand on his stomach and points to a road sign noting that the next town is only about ten miles away. One with gas and restaurant symbols as well. Really, they could probably both use a little time off the bike. A bathroom break if nothing else.

Clark shifts his hand into a thumbs up, since that sounds like a plan, and he has no objections to stopping, after all. He's careful to give a little slack, since he doesn't want his thumb ramming into the man's stomach, after all.

Once they're stopped, he'll pull off and back, placing the helmet onto the back of the bike as he stretches a little, his bag going next to the bike as well.

"You've got a nice bike," he says with an appreciative nod towards it.

"Merci." Remy unstraps his helmet and takes it off, moving to put both helmets away so that they're safe. "Have a Ducati back home for doin' running 'round, but I find when I'm goin' for the long haul, ain't nothin' been able to beat a Harley for me." He grins as he straightens and, for the first time, 'Joe' will be able to get a good look at his eyes. They're the only thing about him that screams mutant, but he's not hiding them right now.

Seeing those eyes... well, it makes his shoulders drop a little, something in him relax. He's with someone who might not be upset by his abilities, who won't notice the differences about him as anything but, perhaps, another mutant.

He's not, and he knows he isn't, and there's some part of him that feels like he's lying when he lets people assume that, but it's helpful all the same.

"I've got a pickup truck back home, but I'm pretty sure if you tried to make it go more than twenty miles both ways, it'd fall apart."

It's not the usual way people react when they see his eyes for the first time, and Remy certainly notices it. The people who tend to react that way are either in trouble or are mutants themselves. Joe could go into either category at the moment, but it's something that he'll let Joe talk about or not.

Mention of Joe's truck makes Remy laugh, mouth kicking up into an easy grin. "I got friends who would be havin' a fit, thinkin' 'bout an old truck bein' in dat kinda shape. Probably even be askin' if they can have a look at if if dey were ever in de area." He steps away from the bike, heading toward the doors of the restaurant. Food first.

"And they'd be welcome to, but I doubt there's much they could do without paying enough in parts for a whole other truck," Clark says as he nods and heads towards the restaurant with him. Food is good.

"In dat case, guess you're gonna have to look into gettin' a new ride." Wouldn't suggest getting rid of it, because Remy does understand that some things are sentimental. There are always reasons why people keep things, after all.

The restaurant isn't a chain place, but some local joint. Picked because it had its own fair share of dusty trucks out in the parking lot. The Harley stands out, sure, but that sort of thing tends to mean that the place serves a good amount of food at a decent price. Always a consideration when going cross country.

Remy flirts outrageously with the waitress once he doesn't get a terrible reaction to his eyes. It gets an adorable blush off the girl, though, and a decent table. He lets Joe pick where to sit first, because it's polite. But he does go ahead and order himself a coffee before the waitress goes.

'Joe' has his own charm, something quiet that draws people to him regardless of his tendency to move around, to stay out of sight. The waitress waits for his drink order as well, just a coke if she didn't mind it, before slipping away. Then Joe's attention is on Remy.

"Should I make myself scarce for a while after the food?"

He's seen flirts and womanizers, doesn't really have much of a problem with them when they're clearly playing to a willing and enthusiastic audience, and the guy's giving him a ride.

"Hmm?" Remy sits, raising an eyebrow. It takes a moment before he gets the reasoning and shakes his head with a chuckle. "Nah, ain't nothin' like dat. I mean, I think I might've poured dat on a bit too t'ick, maybe, but it's jus' flirtin'. I'm too old for her, but she's playin' 'long 'cause it means she might get a good tip." A moment, then, "Which she will. Always make sure of dat."

He respects the man just that little bit more for realizing that fact, but he won't make too much of a point of it; he hadn't done or said anything she hadn't enjoyed and he hadn't crossed the line at any point to where he'd have had to do something about it. Remy's clearly a flirt, but a harmless one, and there's nothing wrong with that.

"I'm glad you realize that."

It makes him like him more.

"And yeah, just a little too thick. Practicing for anyone special when you get home?"

"Ah, non. Closest would be my ex-wife, an' I think she'd rather not get the flirting treatment." And Remy would rather not get close enough to Belladonna for the flirting, either.

Part of him still loved her, sure, but that part was still eighteen and thought love could conquer everything. He'd seen too much since then.

He glances toward the counter. "'Sides, it wasn' just flirtin'. Waitresses, if they've been 'round very long, dey know their customers. Flirtin' is a good way to keep her 'tention on me an' means I get to see where she's lookin'." He raises an eyebrow. "Dere's a couple good ol' boys other side of the place she glanced toward a couple times, including right after she got a look at my eyes. At a guess, they pro'ly don' like strangers of the mutant variety, but dat's just a guess. But it's good to know where trouble might come from."

And from the way Remy was sitting, he could keep an eye on those guys, too. Which is just how he likes it.

Clark is quiet for a moment, taking that in, nodding along with what he says even while he considers what he wants to say to that point, if he wants to throw in his lot. He's found, over his travels, that he always ends up throwing his lot in anyway, which is why he tips his head gently towards the door.

"If it comes to it, don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. And if I have to, I can catch up."

He doesn't want the man to hurt himself to try and defend him, not when any of those men are even close to being a threat to him.

Edited 2018-04-25 13:47 (UTC)

"Ain't interested in a fight. They push, we'll jus' leave. Dere's other places dat won' mind our money." Finding them might be a bit of work and might mean sticking closer to chains, but it wasn't a thing that they couldn't manage.

Besides, as much as they weren't likely to be a threat to Remy, he didn't want to get his new 'friend' into a fight with these guys. Even if Joe might be able to handle himself against them.

"I'm never interested in a fight," he says with a glance up and over to Remy, "but sometimes, they happen."

He'd grown up in a town only a little bigger than this one probably was, had grown up with the kind of men who were sitting over there glancing sidelong at Remy. He knew exactly how small towns dealt with people who were different.

The waitress delivers their drinks, earning a wide smile and a 'merci' off of Remy. He lifts his cup to Joe with a nod. "Ain't it the truth, mon ami."

Because Remy may not have grown up in a small town, but he knew what people could do when faced with those that were different. And hadn't always been able to defend himself as well as he could now, either.

He reaches over, picking up the menu. "Might as well order, though. Still got a long haul ahead."

Clark already knows what he'd like, so when the waitress comes by again, he puts in his order with a nod and a little smile of appreciation. He keeps an ear on the men at the other side of the bar, keeps his face neutral even as he hears them talk about 'that devil spawn' mutie freak', wondering what a 'good boy' is doing with him. They can't figure out if he's a hostage, if he's been seduced, or if he's another one of the 'secret freaks'.

Clark sips his drink and hopes that the food comes quickly before they boil over.

It doesn't take Remy long to order, either. Everybody has their go to order on the road and he just picks one that should have more than enough calories to tide him over for a while. And a mental note to grab some snacks at the gas station.

While he can't hear the men on the other side of the restaurant, he can certainly see them. And, more importantly, the glares they're sending his direction. Joe seems to be left out of it, which is good. Still, he relaxes a little bit when he realizes that the men don't seem interested in starting anything while they're in the restaurant. Once they leave is fair game, sure, but inside the building seems safe enough for the moment.

So he kicks back, wrapping his hands around the cup. Which has nothing to do with wanting to have a weapon to hand. "So. Where you from? General area, don' need specifics."

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On the Road

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