2019-05-27 - Everyone Needs Coffee


Bobby acts as Betsy's welcoming committee, and then there's coffee in the kitchen. Sam and Remy make appearances.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Mon May 27 00:00:00 2019
Location: Xavier Institute

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Theme Song



If someone tried to sneak into the Institute, it could and likely would, be very, very ugly. So when the door opens without a sound, and there's no one right there, it may be a little odd, but not as odd as anywhere else in the world.

A moment later, there's a supermodel walking into the foyer. Purple hair in perfect Princess Aurora curls, bouncing against the fluttery fabric of her yellow and lavender sundress, that ends inches above her knees, and is in the cold shoulder style. Her heeled strappy sandals are several shades deeper, a more intense purple, and perfectly rose toenails gleam. Her hands are occupied with shopping bags, which explains the non-manual opening of the door. She will, however, nudge it closed with a foot in a more usual fashion. Hair is shaken away from her expertly made up face, a glow about her as she hums softly with a faint curve of a smile.

Bobby's upstairs when the door opens to reveal this purple-haired beauty. He hops up on the bannister, testing his balance only a moment, and slides down the length of it as it curves into the lobby. "Hi there," he says cheerfully, landing expertly on his feet. It is most certainly not the first time he's done that, despite all of the Professor's requests that the bannister remain a safety feature rather than a mode of transit. "Wait." He knows this woman. "Betsy? Betsy Braddock?" A real live supermodel in his house! Well, not _his_ house, but you get the idea. "Oh my god." It's going to take him a minute.

Brows lift, as Betsy sees the slide down the bannister. "Hello." She responds, her accent upper class British and crisp. "Bobby Drake. How lovely to see you again." She breaks into a wide smile, as she walks closer. "I haven't seen or heard from you since you went off to the other coast. Back now, a graduate and all of that? Excellent. Staying a while? I just returned myself, several shoots in a row that required travel."

Oh my god she knows my name. "Yeah, I, uh, finished." Pull yourself together, man! Bobby clears his throat, straightens up, and takes a few steps toward Betsy, pulling a smile back onto his face to cover up the nerves. "Here, lemme take those for you," he says, offering his hands to hold her shopping bags. See, he's helpful! "I'm back for good now, at least that's the plan. Balancing the books here at the school now, helping out where I can." Yep, that fancy degree sure is going to good use, as he takes an accounting job. "Are you here to see the Professor? Are you staying long?"

"Excellent. I perhaps someday will pursue university, but a model only has so much time to really be at the peak of her game." Which with the trends being set by other supermodels, is longer and longer these days.

She gives him a look, a tilt of her head when he's offering to take her bags. There's a moment where she wants to say something sharp, but instead.. "Why thank you. Such a chivalrous offer, a lady should never decline chivalry." She will slide the bags into his hands smoothly, smiling at his quick pace of speech. "I'm intending to remain, yes, other than jaunts for shoots and shows. Just something I feel the need to do." She's listened to too few of her 'gut feelings' over the years, so this one she's giving heed to.

"Cool," Bobby says, taking the bags off her hands, feeling like such a gentleman, especially since she invoked the concept of chivalry. This can't be the first time she's come across a guy stumbling over his words. She's famous and beautiful, after all. "Seems like a lot of us are coming home to roost these days," Bobby says. "Guess it's a sign of the times, circling the wagons and all that." He'll wait to see where it is she wants to go before trying to follow with his arms full of shopping bags. Seriously Bobby, you used to be cool, what happened?

Betsy Braddock shrugs, hands spreading wide. "It might be. A sign of the times, or maybe something is on the wind that we sense. I hope perhaps it just all of us having fond memories, and choosing to return to try and help another generation have the same."

The smile remains as she lays a hand on his shoulder. "I think I could use some caffiene as a pick me up. Do you prefer coffee or Tea, Bobby?" She pauses. "Is Bobby still okay to call you?"

Bobby would be cool to the touch, even through his clothes, but he doesn't bristle at the hand on his shoulder. If anything, she might even sense him calming down a bit internally, despite the whole 'supermodel is touching me' factor. "Oh, yeah. Bobby's what people call me. Only person who calls me Robert is my mother, and then only when I'm in trouble," he says with a smirk, belying the fact that he's probably been called 'Robert' a lot in his life. She'd probably remember his penchant for childish pranks and jokes, too, though in the brief time they spent in school together she'd never have been a target. "Coffee, definitely." Tea reminds him of his grandmother, but he's certainly not going to _say_ that. "Do you have a room here? I can probably figure one out for you if you don't," he offers. Somewhere to put the bags before he has to carry them around the whole school.

"I do, but that can wait. They're just clothes. Catching up wit you is much more the priority. We can just put them by the stairs, I think, no? No one would likely take them. Not with a telepath around to find out who did." There's that model perfect smile again. "Coffee first. Then I can take my things upstairs."

Bobby breathes a little sigh of relief, and moves to set the bags down. Not that he was really having _problems_ carrying them, because he's a _man_. At least, that's what he'd like to believe. "Yeah, it seems like that'd be a pretty dumb move," he says with a laugh, and stretches his fingers out after releasing his grip. "Not to brag, but I make a pretty decent iced latte." Bobby then turns in the direction of the kitchen, waiting for Betsy before he starts walking without her; they both know their way around, no doubt, but he's not going to just leave here there in the foyer alone, because _gentleman_.

Considering most of them were filled with light dresses and lacy things, they weren't heavy at all. But Betsy doesn't want to make a pack mule of her fellow mutant friend. "I would like to think so. I'm not scary unless I have to be, but.." There's a sly, slick smiles, as she glances at him.

She laughs at his iced latte joke, bumping him with her arm. "It is nice to see you again. You always have such a wonderful sense of humor. Lots of people need to laugh more."

"Oh, that wasn't a joke, Bets," Bobby says, relaxing a bit more as the conversation flows. "If anyone around here makes a better iced coffee than me I'd have to give up the codename." There's a grin, and the two start toward the kitchen. "I always try to keep things light and breezy. Not always easy, considering the things happening in the world, but we should try," he says. "How long have you been gone? I've only been back a few days, myself. Long enough to get my ducks in a row, but it feels like there's more and more I've missed the more time goes by."

"It feels like forever. There was a time I…couldn't come back. Difficulties to be dealt with, all of that." She says, dismissing being kidnapped, her consciousness being forced into another body, being trained as a ninja, getting a new power, and being swapped back as 'difficulties' and a wave of her well-manicured hand. "I came back, and barely had time to sit still, before the shoots started calling for me."

That's a lot of things to be dismissed. Of course, Bobby is blissfully unaware of all this, so he just nods along as she glosses over the horror she no doubt experienced. "Sometimes being away is what we need to grow up a bit," he says. "Certainly was in my case." Of course, that's him just assuming he 'grew up', which isn't necessarily true. There's a fart joke just waiting to be made, stirring around in the back of his head. The kitchen isn't too far down the hallway, and lo and behold, an espresso machine. Xavier is a very wealthy man, after all, so if there hadn't been on when he got here, Bobby would have found a way to acquire one; he controls the budget now, after all.

"I hope you haven't grown up too much. Your sense of humor and mischief is part of your charm. Too many people let it go, and get too serious. There's no point in crying, if you never laugh." Betsy smiles at him, before she hops up onto a counter to sit. "Are you any good with that contraption? I'm not used to them. Too many coffee shops and too much tea."

Bobby smiles at the compliment, and saunters into the kitchen with his head held high. He's more used to the 'stop kidding around so much' approach, that it's refreshing to hear his sense of humour might actually be appreciated. "I worked at a coffee bar in Berkeley for longer than I like to admit," he says with a smirk, moving to face down the machine. "Picked up a couple tricks." He measures out the espresso, presses it down, loads it into the hopper. Am I using the right terms? Whatever the case, within a minute or so, the rich black liquid drips steadily into two waiting cups. Bobby moves about the small area with a smooth grace you don't often see from him otherwise. Putting together the drink isn't difficult; espresso and whole fat milk, essentially, with a little vanilla syrup for flavour. Clearly not his first time doing this. As for ice, it's not just ice. He first pours one of the espresso shots into a small tray, which he immediately freezes solid, and cracks it into the glass before adding the rest of the ingredients. Voila, no watered down coffee here. The glass is then offered to Betsy, while frost forms on the rim. It might be a little cold. But then, it's practically summer now, right?

Betsy Braddock beams at him. "Hey, an honest job is never something to look down on. I've done some print ads that I cringe to think about now." She watches him, chuckling at the frozen shot of espresso. She uses her TK to keep the liquid stirring slowly as she takes it. "Thank you. This looks great."

"Hope it's up to snuff," Bobby says cheerfully, and he then goes about putting together his own. Of course, his is a triple shot of espresso, a lot more syrup, and a tiny amount of milk, because caffeine and sugar is life. He didn't grow up all that much. Bobby might as well be drinking Jolt Cola. "I think everyone's got at least one job they'd rather not admit to on their resume somewhere. I mean, I didn't _hate_ it, but I'd never go back to it. Four in the morning opening shifts are pure hell." He hops up on the counter himself, something they constantly give students grief over, but hey, he's not one of those brats any more. Now he's a fully grown brat!

Betsy Braddock just stays perched on the counter, sipping at her delightly cold, lightly frothy latte. She will watch him go through the steps again, hoping to learn by watching. She smiles as he joins her on the counter. "Well, I'm not ashamed, just.. the clothes and makeup. They were not up to my current standards. 4 am? That's just torture."

From outside an odd thing happens, well, relatively odd considering this place and all. But a pair of figures appear in the sky above the grass. One of them is a man with a giant fan attached to his back and a parachute high above him, and the other is… Gambit, hanging from the fan-man's feet.

They soar by some of the windows, and over the stone railings and gardens outside with Remy lifting his feet up over those obstacles to narrowly avoid them, then once they're over the safety of the grass, Remy releases his grip on the pilot's feet and he drops down to the ground below!

Leather trench coat whipping around the cajun as he rolls across the grass… while the para-motor-flyer zips on back up into the air over the lake and disappears over the trees.

Remy? He just lays there in the grass on his back. If anyone were able to hear out in the yard they'd hear him laughing, quite entertained by it all, as he starts to roll over onto his knees and force himself back onto his feet, now whistling a happy tune of some distant song inside his mind.

Bobby doesn't so much sip at his drink as take giant mouthfuls. "Yeah, never again. Part of why I didn't pursue a teaching degree, too. Early mornings are not my scene," he says with a grin. "I'm sure you looked great. Can't imagine it's easy to make you look bad," he says, offering a bit of flirtatious smile at her. Clearly, getting more comfortable with the pretty lady. But then, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and much to his dismay he feels the need to check it. A frown crosses his features, and shoves it back inside. "Welp, duty calls, I'm afraid. I'll see you around the mansion? Hopefully?" There's another obvious flirt, and even maybe a wink, before he hops down and saunters casually out of the kitchen, coffee still in hand.

Betsy Braddock flushes, just a bit. "Oh, you'd be amazed." She sounds amused, sipping at coffee. Her brows lift, looking at him. "Well, as I live here, I'd hope to be seen. Provided no one's powers go all out of whack and turn me see through." She waves, smiling, as he heads out.

Then she sees Remy, and she…stares, mouth agape a long moment. She's off the counter and running out into the grass in her heeled sandals and pretty sundress. "Oh good lord! Are you okay?"

Remy is back up onto his feet, his long coat waving around his body as he saunters back toward the school. Once he sees the form of the impressive specimen known as Psylocke rushing out of the kitchen doors he flashes her a big grin and waves his right hand off to the left. "Neve'ah better, Pretty'n Purple." Remy says then.

With a nimble lunge he leaps up onto one of the stone railings outside the hard that is beside the grass and a large fountain and seating area. Up on the railing now he walks across it toward where Psylocke is and then pauses, skips once right over a pot of freshly groomed flowers, then lowers down into a seated position on the edge of the railing with his booted feet dangling and swaying.

"How is you?" He asks her then and now, grinning at her. "Havin' a tasty drink?" He reaches for his coat pockets, finding his gold zippo, but struggles a few times to locate his cigarettes before finally slipping them out with a sigh of relief at having been worried he'd lost them.

There's a couple of blinks at what he calls her, laughing. As she'd been away for a few years and missed his previous stay, but it is clear he belongs here… She will walk a little closer, watching him do his faux tightrope act.

"I'm all right. I was a little concerned, seeing you drop to the grass like that." She will turn her head, looking at where the copter-man had headed off. "You sure you're okay?" The words are soft, yet edged with that crisp British accent. She will offer her well manicured hand, with tips a rose pink that matches the toenails. "Betsy."

Remy has a cigarette lit with a snap of the lighter and then a huff inward and a puff outward off to his right so that the wind takes the bulk of the smoke away from he and Betsy when she approaches and introduces herself.

He adjusts the cigarette out of his right hand and into his left, then extends his right out to shake hers, his hands are both wearing old black leather fingerless gloves that look pretty beat-up. "Right as right, Betsy Boo." He has that unmistakable southern Louisiana accent that she can likely place to some degree.

"That was just mah friend, Jim." He points up into the sky and the para-flyer can be seen off to the north, curving his way back around to the east just below the clouds. "He flyin' around in da park south'a here. I hitched a ride back."

The cigarette is placed back between his lips then and he speaks through it, making it bounce up and down as he puts the lighter away once more inside his jacket pocket. "You'a new here?" He asks her. Second later and he pulls the cig out again once his hands are both free. "My name, Remy. Remy LeBeau. I do things here. Not sure what things, but I do them real good."

There is a mild look if disbelief at being called "Betsy Boo", but the model just… rolls with it. "Your friend just.. flies around like Inspector Gadget?" Brows draw together a bit, even as violet eyes look amused. "Had to be quite the ride."

"New? No. I was here for a couple years, then I .. had other things that kept me away, so I've just recently returned. I do some modelling, so there's been a lot of distant shoots, bouncing from one to the next."

Remy flashes a grin at the part about inspector gadgeting, he glances back to see Jim in the far-away-and-way-high then looks back at Betsy once again. "Para-flyers? They git around here, they do air shows'n such. Get the audience all riled up for the big jets. Fly over head and drop bags of chips on people's heads. You'd like it, show and free chips." He holds his grin and takes another puff on his cigarette.

The modeling bit just makes him softly shake his head. "I swear, da people who get jobs around this place… its like they either underwear models, or about t'be underwear modelin'." Whatever that means! "Either way, I can see why you got lotsa work, I can't imagine you ever have enough time t'stop by this place, come t'think of it."

He's just smirking softly then. "Lucky us though." And quickly he looks around to make sure Rogue's not here, he doesn't wanna get nose-punched, or anywhere else punched for that matter.

He places his eyes back upon her own then. "So what bring you back? Social call? Or you comin' here to mock the resta us ugly people with your pretty pretty everythin'?"

"Well, I… generally model designer clothing and jewelry, not so much in the lingerie circuit, though that's certainly lucrative and becoming more and more acceptable. And thank you, I think, for the compliments." There's a tug at her perfectly painted rose hued lips, a flash of her model smile.

"I have good memories here, and since I want to be based out of New York and not London anymore, it seemed to make sense I could come back here, maybe offer some help."

The cigarette is finished off then and the last inch or so of it is sent flicking off into the distance toward the grass, but about five feet off of the ground it pops into a little pink starburst like a firework going off, its fairly loud and even sizzles for a second or three after before vanishing without touching the ground at all.

"New York better than London." Remy says then to the woman's words. "You makin' da right call. And dis place?" He glances over to his left at the big huge mansion turned into a school. "It needs all da help it can get." He looks back at her, then hooks a thumb back at the building. "Institute the right word, same as places they put crazy people, yeah?"

A litlte smirk is shown then as he inhales and sits up straighter. "Good place though, there way worse places for crazies t'be livin'." A gaze is sent out to the lake, an exhale is released, and then he looks back to her. "So whats goin' on inside, Jewelry-Model-Now-Lingerie-Model-Maybe-Later? People fightin'? Blowin' stuff up? Or did they feed the kids and now everyone's playing video games and phone olympics?"

"I don't think most people here are crazy. Trust me, I'd know." There's a touch of a fingertip to a temple, even as she keeps smiling. "Marriage is an institution, but that's something you need to be pretty crazy for, I guess." She's joking…right?

She glances back towards the doors. "It was all quiet on the westward front, when I came out here. I was just in the kitchen, getting a lovely iced latte made for me, by the new school accountant."

When she talks about the institution of marriage maybe being for crazy people he reaches up to tap the side of his head just like she had, but he follows it up with a pointing gesture at her. "You more right than you might know, lemme tell ya." He's had bad experiences with nuptials in his past… but he hasn't told anyone here about that, not even Rogue. "So you're a head gamer, huh? Like the big bald one, and or the one with the fire hair?" Charles and Jean.

"I'm on the level. I swear it." This is said after he raises both of his hands like she were a Cop who just found him pilfering jewelry. At the mention of the drink though he just tries to sit up higher on the stone rail and look past her on the left, then the right, then over her head. "The accountant makes drinks? I want one… where they at?"

"I've just never been attracted to the idea of marriage. I'm not sure why. I'm young yet, maybe in ten years I'll care." There's a twitch of her lips there, betraying the brit. "I'm a telepath, yes. Among other things." There is just a hint of teasing in those words.

"He made me an iced latte. Just before I saw you…drop in, he got a call about something, had to head off. I watched him make it, but he has ice powers, and I don't."

"Dagnabbit." Remy says upon hearing that the ice powered accountant had left and he was out of luck when it comes to a frosty and tasty latte treat. "Now I gotta go back inta town before I'll be able to get any sleep." This is said and instantly followed with a grumble to punctuate the emotions of it all within the Cajun.

His right hand reaches up and his first three fingers stroke at the left side of his face, rubbing the dark stubble of his unshaven jawline while his left points at Psylocke again. "Don't ever get married just cause ya feel ya gotta." He drops both of his hands back down to the tops of his thighs. "Only do it if ya meet someone that ya can't stand t'live without. If the very thoughta them not bein' around in life is too much t'bare, then ya grab'em, tell'em ya wanna hold onta them, that ya wanna marry'em, and not ever live a day where you're not close by each other."

He shows a slight smile then. "But, hey. I'm a romantic. What can I say?"

"I mean, I can use ice in it, versus the frozen espresso he dropped in mine. I just don't think it would taste the same." Betsy offers, a shrug. "Just have to have a latte now?"

She laughs. "I am not a woman to do things because I think I have to. I've never exactly run along with society's … channels for a woman like myself." There's a faint, wistful smile. "Maybe you can be romantic for both of us. I'm not sure romance is in my cards."

Not a second after she says that about romance and in her cards does Remy's right hand toss out reflexively and with it he sends a Queen of Hearts twirling right at her midsection where it'll collide and fall to the ground if she doesn't catch it. "Don't be so sure about dat, Chere." He says to her then with a sly grin.

"Drink time!" He suddenly drops off of the stone railing and back onto his booted feet, then darts around her toward the kitchen doors. "You can't take it back now, you said you'd make me something!" These words are offered by the man as though he were still just a little boy. He throws open the door and pulls his heavy leather coat off to toss it over the coat rack beside said door, then runs his hands through his long dark hair as he walks deeper into the kitchen.

Betsy Braddock doesn't catch it with her hand, but the card is snagged by some force, lazily turning around and around as it rises to hold still in front of her eyes. "Clever. Very clever, Mister LeBeau."

She watches him race towards the door, laughing. "Maybe you need some coffee, after all." She perhaps thinks he needs some sobering up.

Once in the kitchen, Remy starts to gather up a glass and set it aside, then he makes a little "Ooo." noise as he spies a bowl of chocolate covered pretzels on the counter. This is where he is should she join him inside again, up against the counter wit hthat bowl in his forearms, popping the lid off the top of it to get at the treats. "Coffee is great, latte is better." He states as he turns around and pops two of the pretzels into his mouth then grins at her as he chews on them and speaks through them, the sun from outside shining through onto the left side of his face. "Efen bedder whenf someone efse makfes ift fffor you." He says through the pretzels and motions to the glass he'd set out.

"Have you been drinking, Mister LeBeau?" Betsy will ask, taking a sip of her coffee. She sets her almost empty glass mug down, to start building his latte, following the steps with espresso and milk that Bobby had, albeit putting ice in the glass versus frozen espresso shot.

As she asks this, Remy is on his way over to the kitchen table in the room. Once at it he nudges a chair out from under the table and then lowers himself down into it. "Drinking?" He asks, shaking his head. "Nope. I do not come into this buildin' if I have been drinkin' any alcoholic beverages. It messes with your mind, and people here already think little of me. I do not wanna make them think any less." He pops another pretzel into his mouth as he's still holding the glass bowl loaded with them.

Remy's feet are propped up onto the chair in front of him and he crosses them at the ankles. "I'm just happy, Miss Betsy." He tells her. "Had a good day, had a good week. Had a good month. Taking it all in and makin' sure I… ya know." He does a little flourish with his hand as he tries to process his own words. "Savor it. Like a nice steak dinne'ah."

"I doubt people think little of you. You seem perfectly charming and optimistic, to me. The world could use that." She's using the machine carefully, but lacking any signs of self doubt. "Well, at least you are wise enough to take the good that is, and savor it, and you're not taking it as your right. That's very smart, indeed."

Remy's eyes are upon Betsy as she says that back at him and his response to her? He just reaches up and taps the side of his head again as she had outside just moments ago. More pretzel eating is done, his stubble covered jaw moving as he enjoys the sugary and salty treats.

"Maybe you a barista?" He asks then. "Model slash Barista. What you want your coffee makin' apron to say? I custom design one for you." He just shows her a sly little grin then. "'Chocolate, men, coffee: some things are better rich.'?" He sets the glass bowl to his right onto the table then.

"I am not looking into your head, Mister LeBeau. I'm just not." She laughs, sounding amused. She will add the flavored syrup,and put it altogether.

"Me? No. The accountant was when he went to college, though, and I watched him make two of them just a little bit ago." There's more laughter. "I don't need a man with money. I just need a man I can get along with, that can accept me."

Remy leans back in the chair he's seated in and he raises his hands up behind his head so that he has his elbows extended out on either sides of his shoulders. He shows a little smirk at the accountant having been a Barista. "Maybe I get the apron for him then." He teases, having no idea who this accountant is at this point.

The rest of what she says just gets a solid stare from him to her, a calm but confident stare as he processes those words from her and watches her make the drink also… truth be told he has no idea how to operate that machine.

"Whats not to like, Fair Betsy?" He asks of her then. "I seen nothin' but positives in the eight whole minutes that we've known each othe'ah. Please, shock me with your wretchedness that I have not yet been beseiged with witnessing."

Betsy Braddock will move to set the glass of latte in front of him, sinking into another chair at the table. "Oh, lots. I've got a minor title in London, I sometimes have to leave at the drop of a hat for my work. People don't like telepaths…" She shrugs, leaning on the table to cup her chin in her hand.

Remy's hands leave the back of his head, his feet leave the chair they are poised on, he's quick to sit up as she delivers his treat—again like a child might be. "Ooo, gimme gimme." He adds then whilst she takes a seat in an adjacent chair. A sip is taken from the drink and he slaps the table 'softly' mind you, then nods approvingly.

He listens to her list of things about her that aren't good. Then counters. "You make a mean latte of ice and fire. You make jewelry look prettier. You are concerned about men fallen outta da sky and you come rushin' t'help them."

He has to shake his head then and pay her a wicked grin. "You have done little t'convince me'a the bad. Sides, telepath… You read my mind, always know that I tellin' you the truth. So you a good catch for a man who has trouble expressin' his feelins'. Not… to say that I do. I express myself… eloquently." He does another little flourish with his hand and sips his drink again.

"I am just a woman. I get paid to make things look pretty." She startles a moment. "You fell out of the sky! Of course I had to make sure you are okay. That's just… human decency."

She laughs, sits back and crosses her legs. "There's a lot of.. less than great, in me, Remy LeBeau."

Sam Guthrie comes into the kitchen in a t-shirt and jeans, a little sweaty having spent some time jogging up and down the road as sunset approaches, taking advantage of the reduced heat of the day. He opens up the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, draining most of it in a long swallow, the tall blonde lean and well-muscled as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "Sorry, didn't mean t'be rude, just had to get myself hydrated else I was 'bout to fall straight on the dang floor," he says with his usual Kentucky drawl.

"Yes. But—" Remy was about to counter that from Betsy when the arrival of jogging Sam takes place within the kitchen. He then leans back in his chair and looks over to him, raising his glass up to drink the drink that Betsy had just prepared for him. "Get yourself some water." He says to the other. "Before ya dry up like a fish."

A glance is given back to Betsy then and he motions to the glass she'd made for him. "This very good, no matter what. Now I got a new favorite drink maker for me 'round here." And he grins lightly. Remy then reaches for the bowl of chocolate covered pretzels and he holds it up, looks to Sam. "Want wanna these t'counter all that gross exercisin' ya just did?" He teases.

Sam Guthrie grins, "I think there's a barbecue goin' on. I'm a go grab a shower then come down and join 'em. Save those pretzels, though, might wanna bit of dessert, especially if there's actual barbecue to be had," he says, finishing off his bottle and dropping it in the recycling before jogging quickly up the stairs.

"A Barbeque. Well, that does explain the quiet. Shall we go eat, Remy?" She will rise, asking him.

Remy nods his head softly and gathers up the bowl of pretzels in one arm, and his drink in the other. He leaves his jacket on the coat rack and motions to the doorway. "Jewelry Improvement Personell go first." He indicates to the woman who crafted his beverage, offering a light grin before he'll follow after her.

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