Remy angles his bowler down and flips up the collar on his oversized red flannel shirt, and ducks into a service tunnel.
"Queegly, hover 'ere! Dees way!"
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As Lola roars, Remy stumbles forward and his accordion compresses in a sad WHUUUUU-NGE sound, as it falls against the teen. Pinched within some of the inner folds, now hidden within the hard handles and outer casing, is a shiny platinum pager. Remy paws the teen on the back at the same time, and tips his hat. << On l'a l'affaire, einh?>> he thinks to himself. Mischief managed! as he bounds amiably over to the other end of the room, clasping his accordion shut.
As Lola roars, Remy "bumps" the teen who was touching his squeezebox, trying to lift the Platinum pass during the distraction.
Not quite, but... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Whawq00GCxY
Like any good French Canadian, Remy always has an accordion handy. He shuffles over to the display and tries to pose like an animatronic ursine musician.
Remy has found the mini-bar, popped it open with a claw, and found a bottle of something brown and expensive. "'Oo's dis lil frappadingue, den? Hahr you 'ere to 'elp us?" The contents of the bottle quickly disappear into the apparent singularity contained in Remy's stomach. Smacking his lips, he rumbles "When harh we stopping for lunch? J'ai besoin d'la bouffe! I'm 'ungry!"
******** Flashback ******** The combination bait shop/bar is a shambles, shelves knocked over and tables upended. The proprietor has locked themselves in the attic, pulling the ladder up behind them as the beast below continues towards its goal. For a while, there's silence. Almost palpable, it's so thick. The proprietor cracks open the door slightly, as inaudibly as they can. Then it is broken, by a clink and a slow hiss, as the beast finds its prey. After a moment, and a fizzing sound, the empty bottle of Molson Canadian rolls out of the walk-in freezer, onto the tile floor, following a lazy curved arc along the floor, settling directly below the trapdoor, within the proprietor's line of sight. More quiet and stillness follows until, like a dam bursting, a massive cacophony of shattering glass and primal roars follows, rivulets of beer flowing from the fridge onto the floor of the bar. This continues until a car horn blares from outside. The black bear shuffles out of the fridge and hustles into the open limo door outside. "About time, mes ami! Laissez les bons temps rouler!" ************************ Remy occupies himself by watching the scenery roll by out the window, the minor buzz from the case of beer having faded far too quickly.
He's enjoying himself too much to notice the people, or whatever they're saying.
Is two Muscle gonna be a problem?
Ah oui. Dis is more like eet! |