I'm going through all my old stories and revising them. This one had an almost total re-write, so I thought I'd share it with ya'll. ::smiles:: Enjoy.
Disclaimer: The song Juliet sings belongs to Sarah Crauder who wrote it for me way back in 1998. Remy LeBeau, Belladonna, and Jean-Luc belong to Marvel. But pretty much everyone else belongs to me. Oh, and Œnone is pronounced ee-NO-knee, *not* onion, and when Sydney calls her 'None, it's not none, it's NO-kNee, I can't stress that enough.
Feedback to writers is like water to flowers, so water a writer today.
And remember, flowers wilt next to flames.
Angels Weep
Raven Lee
Wisps of multicolored hair flipped around in the cool breeze that blew through the streets of New Orleans. People pushed past it, around it, even through it at times; never noticing the hair, never seeing the way it slowly, constantly, changed colors as it danced in the breeze. They walked through the owner of the hair as well. Some people felt that something was there,
without really knowing it, and moved around her.
She ignored all the people, save one. The Rings-Demon leaned against a street lamp, looking across the street. She watched as an angry young man moved along the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, muttering angrily to himself as he stared down at his feet.
The result of another argument with his father, no doubt. She shook her head. They had been arguing a lot as of late, not that she could fault either father or son. Father wanting to protect the son, while the son just wanted to understand the nagging feelings he was having.
Well, it was time for one of those feelings to come to life.
She grinned an almost evil grin, a twinkle coming to her ever changing eyes. One slender finger pointed at him sent a bolt of Magi out. It swept his feet out from under him as if he had slipped on a sheet of ice. His curses could be heard across the street as he fell on his ass.
She laughed, the sound of tinkling glass.
Sydney, as that was her name, had watched over Remy LeBeau since the day he was born. Before that, she had watched over his mother and father, brothers and sisters. She wasn't able to help them when they had needed it, but she'd been able to help Remy. His life wasn't as privileged as it should have been, but he grew up to be strong, proud, and true to his heart. Just like his father.
Pulling her cloak around her more to ward off the chill of the late night wind, Sydney smiled fondly to herself watching Remy step into the nightclub he'd fallen in front of. She was only supposed to watch over him, to keep him safe, when necessary. She changed the rules a little, showing herself to him when he was a small, frightened child on the streets, offered him a shoulder to cry on as a teenager. Now she was bending them just a little more, making sure the future that was supposed to happen actually did.
Remy didn't know it, but he was stepping into his destiny.
***
As it was, Remy didn't think the night could get any worse.
A fight with his father, Belle screaming at him, and now people were laughing at him because he'd fallen on his fucking ass. He glared up at the nearest person, looking over his sunglasses at him. The man sobered quickly, looking at his eyes, his mouth agape.
He stood and brushed himself off, looking around to see where the hell he was. He'd just started walking, not even caring where he went. For all he knew, he could be in the Assassin's part of town. Luckily the glowing neon sign of a familiar strip club greeted him.
He pushed through the line of people, some still chuckling over his fall, and moved up to the bouncer, who smiled at him and let him in without checking his ID. The people in line stopped laughing and started yelling about cutting in line. He flipped them all off and left a line of angry people behind the closing doors.
A smile jumped across his face, brief, happy for the moment. It disappeared as three screaming, topless beauties left the tables they were serving and ran up to him, two grabbing his arms, the other standing in front of him.
"Where 'ave you been, Remy?" the third waitress asked him, putting her hands on her slender hips while the other two ran their fingers along his chest.
He couldn't remember their names. "Been 'round," he said with a shrug, also trying to shrug off the two who wouldn't let him go.
"Want a drink, Remy?" the blonde on his left arm purred. She had a thick phone sex kind of voice but didn't have a face to match.
"N't up 'ere." A soft laugh. "Fat Peri water down de drinks t' much."
"We 'ave good cognac in da back," the one on the right said, rubbing herself up against him.
Remy sighed finally and pushed away from them. "I t'ink t'night I go solo." The girls pushed out their painted lips, pouting.
He couldn't help but smile and captured the blonde's chin in his hand. "Ah, don' do dat, bien-aimées. Remy n't be t' good company t'night, non?" His hand came out of his pocket with his wallet, he tossed them everything he had, three hundred or more.
What did he care about the money? It wasn't his.
He grinned looking down at Jean-Luc's drivers license in the open wallet.
The young thief tossed it into a trash can as he passed it and moved through a curtained off area at the back of the club, going down stairs to where the real party was held.
The Nightingale. An illegal gambling hall owned by Fat Peri. It was the only club in New Orleans that was considered neutral ground for both Thieves and Assassins. There was no fighting in the Nightingale. Only gambling, drinking, and the use of private rooms in the back.
The bar was to the left of the room. It reached from one end of the room to the other, meeting up with the stage where a black man sat playing the piano. Remy headed straight for the bar, ignoring the looks he was getting from people dressed in tuxes and expensive sequined gowns, and ordered cognac. Fat Peri only watered down the drinks in the strip club upstairs.
Down stairs he charged three times the amount for his drinks and he was smart enough to know for that price he'd damned well better serve the good stuff.
Roulette, craps, blackjack, just about everything that you would find in a Vegas casino was here. Often times, people came in rich, and left without a dime to their names. Remy'd seen that happen more than a few times. Not to him, of course.
He knew how to cheat at the tables without it actually seeming like he was cheating. That, and he wasn't stupid enough to lose all of his money in one place, unlike some of the other people he knew.
He turned his back to the bar, leaning against it, once his got his drink, eyes sweeping over the people in the hall, looking for familiar faces.
There weren't too many that night, mostly assassins, few thieves, even fewer normal people. No one he really felt like taking money from that night. He sighed, picking up his glass. The cognac was like cold fire going down his throat, he drank it all in one gulp. After ordering a second shot, he thought better of it and ordered the whole bottle.
Beyond the hordes of people gambling, there was a dance floor where people were stumbling, more than dancing, to the pianist's version of "Strangers in the Night." Disgusted for some reason, Remy turned his back to the hall, facing the bar again. He drank his next glass a little shower this time, and was into his third when a feminine arm slide around his shoulders and he felt her hot breath blowing in his ear.
"I told you, n't t'night, ~mesdames~," he grumbled, shrugging the arm off as he looked into his glass like the answers to the world's questions were in there.
"An' a ~bon soir~ t' you t', Remy," she sat down on the stool beside him and took the half empty bottle away. "Don' look like you 'ave much o' dis, but I t'ink you 'ave 'nough."
He swallowed the last in his glass before she took that away from him too.
"Sorry, petit sœur. T'ought it was one o' de girls from upstairs."
She flinched, her lightly curled brown hair falling into her purple catlike eyes. "Eh, now I *know* you 'ave t' much o' dis stuff!"
Remy laughed and looked at her for the first time. "Mon Dieu!"
"Wha'?"
"Œnone, no one is attached t' you!"
Œnone laughed, "Non, Red n't wit' me t'night. He don' like comin' 'ere f' some reason. 'Sides, he be workin' t'night. Your père's been keepin' him busy wit' de apprenticeship, non? Did he work you so hard?"
"Harder," Remy grunted, trying to get his bottle back from her.
She held it out of his reach. "Ah, so it come out, huh? You an' Jean-Luc 'ave 'nother fight? Wha' 'bout dis time?"
"Nonya."
"Wha's dat supposed t' mean?"
"Non ya business."
Œnone frowned at him and punched him in the shoulder. "You know you c'n' keep a secret from me, LeBeau, so you be'er tell me now, 'fore I find out from someone else, den I go an' tell *every*one in de bayou."
He sighed, knowing the truth in that. "Belle push de weddin' back again, an' Poppa t'ink I 'ave somet'in' t' do wit' it. I lucky your mère be dere.
Don' know wha' Poppa would 'ave done if she n't calm him down long 'nough f' me t' get out," he grumbled. "I get tired o' dis, Œnone. She don' wan' marry me, so she be stallin' 'til she find a way out."
"More de fool she be! If it n't be f' who she is, den my momma would 'ave talked your père out o' dis t'in' long 'go. Belle 'nothing but a... a...
enfant gâté!" Calling the leader of the Assassins daughter a brat in the middle of a room full of Assassins probably wasn't a good idea, but Œnone cut a dark look at anyone who looked her way, letting them know they couldn't touch her.
Remy finally grabbed the bottle from her hand while she wasn't paying attention, and put it to his lips, forgetting about the glass. Œnone frowned snatching it back a little too quickly. The rim hit the back of his teeth loudly. "Ow! Œnone, dat hurt!" he winced.
She smiled. "Good, you deserve it, you coonass! You don' drink good cognac from de bottle, might as well go buy wine from a gas station wit' a screw-on top! C'mon, Remy, why drink your life 'way? Wha' de point? It only make you feel be'er f' a short time, an' den wha' do you 'ave? A hangover, dat wha'."
"Ah, but de short time so nice."
She laughed at the helpless look he gave her, then grabbed his arm with both of her hands. "Up we go, Remy. Since Red n't 'ere, you c'n be my escort f' de night, an' I feel up t' playin' a few card games, what'dya say?"
"Anyt'in' f' a pretty face, chérie." He stood, leaving his bottle on the bar with an unhappy sigh, and together they walked over to one of the tables were a game of bòurre was being played out.
***
Her bra strap was rubbing against a raw spot on her shoulder. She didn't want to look at it, knowing what she would see. Her body was lined with dark bruises, some weeks old, others hours. The thought of taking her bra off crossed her mind, but she didn't want to give Peri the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt her.
It'd been a year since she'd come to New Orleans, searching for her cousin Simon. Two months on the streets taught her to take what little good luck she could find, and finding the job at the Nightingale had been the luckiest thing to happen to her in a long time. It was worth the beatings she received at the hands of Fat Peri.
Long fingers played over the top of a gold jewelry box, following the intricate designs that covered the lid. It was a trick box. You had to push a hidden button in order for it to open. She did this now, pressing down in just the right place to make the latch click. The lid opened smoothly, showing the treasure hidden within.
Two thousand, six hundred seven dollars and fifty-two cents. It was a lot of money, to her at least, but it wasn't enough. She needed a little less than three thousand more just to hire a private detective to find her cousin. And she needed enough money to rent her own apartment, and be able to get herself out of the mess she was in before she could ever actually leave the
Nightingale.
She met her own eyes in the mirror. They were green. The same as her mother's and grandmother's.
There had been a time, when her parents were alive, that her eyes had always lit up with laughter. Now she had to apply heavy make-up just to hide the bags under them, and to try and make them look more alive than they did. Was it truly a year ago since she'd had her last night of real sleep? A night not troubled with the fear of her employer bursting down the door and beating her?
Fingers moved over her cheeks, fixing her make-up. She looked like a hooker. Worse, she felt like one. Whoring her voice out. Her eyes left their reflection, drifting over to the corner of the mirror where her only picture of her family was. Her parents looked happy in the photo. So did she, in fact. But the girl in the picture wasn't her. Not anymore.
She pulled the picture down, staring at it for long moments.
She would not become a prostitute. She couldn't.
Her parents stared back at her. They were dead now. Long gone. They stared accusingly out at her from their photo.
The picture droped from her hands, falling into a drawer in her dressing table. She shut it before standing, smoothing out the long black dress that hugged her curves a little too well. She checked herself over in the full length mirror, making sure every bruise was well covered. After staring at her figure for a long time, she run her hand up and down her too thin stomach.
Anything was better than being a prostitute. Even Peri. At least he only beat her for not putting out, he had never raped her. Those poor girls out on the street, the ones with dead eyes, who knew how many times they had been hurt, and how? That wasn't her, she wouldn't *ever* let something like that happen to her...but then...she never thought she would just sit back and let someone beat her night after night, either.
A knock sounded on her door and she jumped.
"Hey, doll?" a woman's voice called through the door, her northern accent heavy. "Yer on in five, kiddo."
Soon. She just had to keep telling herself that. Soon.
She'd have enough money, and she'd leave.
Find a better job, a place to live...find Simon.
Soon. She just had to wait a little longer, and pray, pray that her dreams wouldn't come tumbling down on top of her before soon came.
She sighed again, and fought back tears, because in crying she would ruin her face, and she would have to put it back on, and tonight she didn't have the luxury of going on late after most of the people were too drunk even to care what she looked like. One of the other singers had called in sick, and Peri had told her she was going on stage early, or out the door.
She took one last look at herself in the mirror--she looked so much older than nineteen--straightened her dress again, and she walked out into the hall. When she closed the door behind her, her fingers reached up and traced the gold star, *Juliet DePray*. Her name.
~Soon.~ She thought again. ~Soon.~
***
Juliet moved down the corridor and out the curtain. Jared was finishing up his last number when she walked out. He smiled at her and winked. When he played the last cord of the song, he patted the piano and she sat down on it, crossing her legs.
"So, wha' you wan' t' play t'night, Miss Jewel?" Jared asked her.
She looked thoughtful for a minute, looking at the crowd then said, "Something thirtyish I think. I don't think they'll boo us off the stage."
Jared chuckled, "Missie, I don' t'ink anyone wit' a right mind would boo you off de stage." Before he'd finished speaking, his fingers had started gliding over the keys with an expert's ease.
She tapped her leg to the music, searching her mind briefly for the right words, hoping she wouldn't forget anything. At her cue, she opened her mouth, the words flowing off her tongue, the world faded away.
Suddenly, she was lost in a smoke filled bar in New York city. Behind her, a blues band played lightly with the piano, never drowning out the soft keys. The lights dimmed, a spotlight was turned on her, all of the patrons put down their glasses, and the place quieted.
Every eye was on her.
"Some of you might say that I dwell on the past I'd have to agree with you, but I hope it doesn't last 'Cause ever since my baby came, my life's been a burnin' hell, But ever since he left me, I've got nowhere else to dwell.
I was born in the midwest, down in St. Louie, I came to find my fortune in the streets of New York City, I came to the Big Apple to catch my bit of fame But ever since he left me,
I've got no one else to blame.
I thought I could sing, I thought I could dance, I thought I'd try my hand at a bit of romance, I thought I could act,
I thought I'd be a star,
But all my dreams are shattered,
and I'm singing in this bar."
As Juliet sang, she was lost in the world of the song, and all of her problems melted away from her, leaving her free. Even though she was still in New Orleans, she left it behind her, and in doing so, she never saw the one pair of eyes staring at her.
***
Remy took the cards he was handed and looked at them. Not a bad hand. He shifted the cards around, taking all of the cards in the same suite and putting them beside each other.
He drew a card, and tossed a few chips onto the pile. The man across from him was making googoo eyes at Œnone and Remy had to force himself not to smile, keeping his poker face on. Œnone, on the other hand thought it was hilarious, so she kept rotating her shoulders and pushing her lips out, looking at the man over the top of her cards.
Remy had taught her to play cards when they were children, so, of course, she was a smart player, she remembered everything he taught her. Take the man's attention away from the cards and you've got him just where you want him, but never fully take your own attention from your own cards or the other players. Œnone was doing that just then, watching the man over her cards, but she still kept her attention on the other two players as well.
She sighed, her shoulders going up in her seeming despair as she drew a card and tossed a few chips into the pile just like he had.
He had to hide a smile again, then concentrated on his cards. The card he had just taken wasn't the one he needed, but he could use it and he put it in place. His eyes flicked up to the stage when a voice started to sing, deep, quiet-like. A woman sitting on the piano. Eyes back to his cards, and then...
A double take. His eyes went back to the woman, and his cards were forgotten. "Rossignol," he whispered. Nightingale. She had the voice of a nightingale, it wasn't deep like he had first thought. Just low, quiet, and the most sexy voice he had ever heard.
The black gown she wore made her skin seem oh so pale, yet it somehow brought out the green in her eyes. Those eyes. So much pain. He pulled his sunglasses off for the first time that night and set them on the table beside his glass. His cards forgotten, he watched the woman instead, listening to her voice and the song.
"My baby found me wanderin' on the second day, He put his arm around me and he took me to a play, He took me out to dinner and he found me a hotel, But ever since he left me, I just wish he'd go to hell.
Then one night, he took me out to dance, He thought he'd try his hand at a little romance I thought it was fun, but it turned out all wrong, And now I'm sitting in this bar, and singing you this song."
"Yoho! Remy, anyone home?" Œnone waved her hand in front of Remy's face, breaking his gaze from the chanteuse.
He blinked in surprise. "Huh? Wha'?" he asked, his eyes flicking to her face, then back to the stage.
"Remy, it your turn, draw or discard?"
"Oh." He looked at his cards, picked up a new one and tossed in a few chips from his pile. "Draw," he said looking back up at the woman again.
"He left me with nothing but the clothes that I wore, He took back all his gifts, and put a lock on his door, He said that he dumped me for some other girl, But ever since he left me, my head's been in a whirl.
And now I'm here and singing this song, My trip to New York has turned out all wrong I'm broken-hearted, and oh so blue
But I'm stuck here in this city... And the rent is due."
Remy put his cards on the table and clapped. He was the only one in the whole casino that did. The woman looked at him, surprise on her face. She smiled, a real smile, her eyes flashing, then she was singing again. He shook his head watching her until he realized that everyone at his table was looking at him as if he'd grown two heads.
"Uh," he started, embarrassed, and sat back down. "It a good song?" he asked more then stated.
"Look kid, if you n't goin' t' pay attention t' de cards, I t'ink you should play your hand an' leave," one man said.
"Oh, oui, ami, sorry," he said. "Um, wha' we playin' 'gain?"
***
Juliet sang the last cord of the song, the smoke-filled bar and the standing ovation she had received shimmered away from behind her half closed eyes. But the clapping didn't stop.
Jared tapped her arm with one hand. She looked at him and he pointed out into the casino. She followed the way he pointed and saw one man standing over one of the bòurre tables clapping for her. She was so surprised that she almost laughed out loud. A smile, one of the first real ones to grace her face in a long time, came to her lips as she looked at him.
He sat back down when she started to sing again, but this time, instead of losing herself in the song, as she always did, she watched the man through her eyelashes. Every once in a while he would look down at the cards he was holding, but mostly, he kept his eyes on her.
***
Two hours later, Remy had lost eight hundred fifty dollars simply because he was paying more attention to the singer than to the cards in his hands.
Œnone put the back of her hand up against his forehead looking at him worried. "You 'right, frère? I never 'fore see you lose cards dis badly."
"I a'right, Œnone," he pushed her hand away.
"Well you don' look it. An' why you keep starin' off inta space? You n't seein' t'in's are you?"
He sighed a happy little dreamy kind of sigh, "I see an' angel wit' de voice dat a thousand nightingales would envy."
Œnone followed his gaze up to the stage, then frowned. She hit him over the back of the head. "Remy LeBeau! Don' you even be t'inkin' 'bout wha' you be t'inkin' 'bout! You betrothed! 'Round 'ere, dat mean you as good as married already."
His eyes flashed brightly and he stood up quickly, knocking his chair over.
Eyes from nearby tables turned on them. "I be marryin' someone who don' love me, who does wha' she want, an' flouts her own lovers in front o' me, an' you tellin' me I can' even *look* at 'nother woman?" Because what he said was spoken softly enough that only Œnone could hear, they rang more true, and Œnone flinched as if the words had cut her.
"Remy, she a Assassin," she lowered her voice to say this, Assassins were everywhere. "You give 'er one reason, an' she call off dis weddin' f' good, an' your Guilds be at war 'gain, non? Remy, I jus' tryin' t' look after you."
Remy took a step back, frowning at her. "I don' need my li'le sis'er takin' af'er me all de time tellin' me wha' good and bad, wha' right an' wrong.
Œnone, I *don'* need dis from you! Wh-why don' you jus' go back t' your own world an' leave me de 'ell alone, eh?"
Œnone's arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowing, their purple color swirling, they turned silver, then back again. She shook her head, then turned around and walked away.
Where she had been, a mist that only he could see stirred and a pair of rainbow-colored eyes blinked at him. "Here lies Remy LeBeau, dead where he stands," a woman's voice whispered in Remy's ear. "You're a *real* smoothy, LeBeau. You do know that, right? A real lady's man."
He swiped at the mist half heartedly. "Go af'er her, Sydney, tell her I sorry," he said softly, the eyes disappearing and the mist dissipating.
"She shall forgive you, she always does. *I* am another thing entirely. We will talk about your manners later."
He picked up the chair he'd knocked over and sat back down. It was only then that he realized the woman wasn't on stage anymore.
***
Juliet's head snapped to the left and she fell backwards onto the dressing table, knocking off make-up and perfume. She slid down to the floor, refusing to let the tears now blurring her vision fall.
Peri practically growled, shifting his heavy frame so he could pick her up by her shoulders. He shook her and slapped her again, one ham fist was clenching the left shoulder of her dress. When she fell back again, the dress tore.
She dropped to the floor again, pulling her knees up to her chest. The piece of fabric was thrown in her face before he spat on her. His belt had come down under his great belly and the fat hung out under his shirt.
She was going to be sick.
"I'm gonna ask you one more time, girl, why you be makin' googoo eyes at Remy LeBeau out dere? So help me, if you been turnin' tricks behind my back, an' ain't been given me my cut, I beat you black an' blue!" Even his voice sounded more like a pig's squeal then a human voice.
When she didn't answer, just sat there cowering, he turned back to her. His little eyes set in his huge, round face squinting angrily at her, his nostrils flaring. He took one step and leaned down with some great trouble to pick her up again.
With one hand he grabbed the part of her dress already torn and started pulling at it again, ripping it down.
She cried out, realizing what he was doing, and tried to fight him off. But her punches and kicks did little harm to his flab. When she tried to bite him, he punched her, *really* punched her, in the face. He hit her so hard that the inside of her cheek cut on her teeth and she tasted blood on her tongue.
She tried to scream, but his hand came over her mouth and muffled it. He pushed her to the floor, his knee in her stomach holding her down, cutting back on her fighting. She couldn't breath, she was suffocating and she kept trying to pull his hand away with both of hers.
She had to do something, so she did the only thing she could.
A thousand needles pushed into his brain. He screamed, letting her go, grabbing his head. She crawled away from him, going to the door. She reached up and tryed to turn the knob.
It was locked.
The key was in his shirt pocket.
She pounded on the door, yelling for help. Her scream, as her feet were knocked out from under her, was somewhat muffled as her chin hit the floor and she tasted even more blood.
Moving faster then any man had a right to, Peri pulled her under him and pinned her there with both legs. She yelled at him in French, cursing him as loud as she could. His fist came down on her again and she stopped yelling, crying loud, ragged sobs. Tears mixed with blood ran down her cheeks, pooling in the wrinkles of her neck.
His fist was raised, he was going to punch her again, but he was taking his time with it, making her flinch every time he moved it slightly. "N't givin' me my cut o' de money, so I t'ink I take my payment ri-"
And the door fell in.
Peri's head whipped around, his chins shaking. She couldn't see anything because of his huge frame, but she knew she was being rescued.
"Wha' de-" Peri started. A man--*the* man! The one who clapped for her--grabbed Peri's upraised fist and pulled his arm behind his back, pinning it there. Peri yelped in pain.
"Dat's no way t' treat a lady, mon ami," the man said red eyes glaring at Peri, then let his arm go. Peri took a swing at the man, he ducked it, and kicked him in the chest.
The fat man got up, the wind knocked out of him, and stumbled, gasping for enough air to call for security. He managed to get out of the room, the other man followed.
***
Fat Peri had hair long enough to put into a ponytail. Once out the door, Remy grabbed hold of it and yanked the man back. Peri let out a sound like a woman screaming, yanking his head foreword which only caused a big tuff out his hair to be pulled out his scalp.
Remy tossed the loose hair to the ground and ran into the fat man, pushing him into an open doorway. He went in after him, slamming the door closed.
Minutes later, Remy came back out. Fire raced down his arm and hand, kinetic energy rushed out onto the door knob, turning it bright red, fiery hot. The knob melted slightly, the lock busting inside.
Peri was stuck in there for a while.
Remy turned back and went into the dressing room again. The woman, Juliet DePray the name on the door said, was still on the floor, trying to hold her torn dress together.
He bent down and gave his hand to help her up. She looked at him, frightened, but didn't take his hand. "Go, 'head, chérie. Remy don' bite," he said softly.
She reached out timidly and took his hand. He pulled her gently to her feet and led her to the dressing table's chair. She sat down in it.
Her mascara ran twin black lines down her face, but when he looked at her, he didn't see any more tears. Her hair was a mess, tangled from when Peri had grabbed it, but it still framed her face, and cascaded over her shoulder. Her make-up ruined, her bottom lip was bleeding and getting fat.
One of her striking green eyes was beginning to swell shut.
"He do dat t' you?" he asked pointing to her eye.
She looked then into the mirror and drew a breath. She gave herself a pathetic look as she gingerly touched the place around her eye. "He's never hit my face before," she said more to herself then to Remy.
Remy frowned. "He done dis t' you 'fore?"
She nodded, still looking at herself. It was long moments before she spoke again, "Thank you." She looked at him through the mirror, their eyes met.
"Thank you, I... I don't know how I would have gotten out of that if you-"
"Non," he said holding up his hand. "Someone should 'ave done dat long 'go.
He don' 'ave no right t' hit you, chérie. Remy only do wha' anyone wit' half a heart do."
She sighed softly. "Well, it seems that it was only fitting that you came and save me. He was angry because I was looking at you tonight."
"I didn' mean t' cause you harm. I watch you 'cause you 'ave a beautiful voice I never heard de likes o' 'fore."
Her voice shook as she spoke, "Probably never again, because now... well, now I'm out of a job. And once Peri tells people about this, I won't be getting another around here." She looked at the mirror again, her eye now swollen so badly she couldn't open it. Her lip had stopped bleeding, but there was a bright red line where it was cut. She laughed dryly. "Listen to me. Here I am looking like a bus hit me, and I'm worrying over my job!" Her dry laughter turned into wet tears.
Remy didn't know what to do. There was a box of Kleenex on the floor at his feet, so he bent down to pick that up, offering her a few. She took them, dabbed at her eyes, then balled them up in her hands. They were trembling.
The young man slid his arms around her without even thinking about it, hugging her tight as she buried her face in his shoulder.
All this while, Remy could hear Peri yelling and banging on the door in the distance. Now he heard other voices and wood splintering. He stood up, bringing Juliet with him. "C'mon, I take you home."
"Home?" she whispered through her tears, "this *is* home. I sleep in the room back there." She pointed to what Remy had thought was a closet.
"Well, den, I take you t' a friend home. She fix you up, make you feel better, an' you be good as new, non?"
"No... No!" She pulled away from him, and sat back down. "If I leave, Peri will kill me."
"If you don' leave, he'll still kill you. Safe wit' me, I take you where he can' come." Remy held out his hand for her. This time she took it without hesitating.
***
The door opened slightly and Œnone's eyes peered out. They narrowed. "Wha' do you wan', LeBe- Mon dieu! Wha' 'appen t' her?" The door swung all the way open, reveling Œnone in a red nègligèe, a matching robe hanging off her shoulders but left untied.
"Œnone, dis is Juliet DePray. She needs a place t' stay f' a while."
Œnone's arm came around Juliet's shoulder as she led the young woman inside, looking at Remy over her shoulder. "O' course."
Remy shut the door behind him as Œnone sat Juliet down on one of the couches in the living room. He came over and sat down beside her, she grabbed his hand in hers and held it between them.
"S'okay, chèrie," he told her, squeezing her hand. "Œnone like de sis'er I never 'ave. You c'n trust her."
Œnone scoffed, "I de sis'er you didn' deserve, Remy." She looked at Juliet's eye. "Saints, you look you been hit by a bus. C'mon, I draw you a bath an' get you somet'in' t' wear, den we 'ave a look at dat eye, 'kay?"
"I don't want to be a burden." The words were a little slurred. Her cheek was raw inside and she kept biting down on the swelling tissue when she talked.
"Non, non, non," Œnone shook her head. "You n't a burden. Come. You look 'bout my size, I sure you c'n wear somt'in' o' mine."
Juliet smiled softy. "Thank you, very much. Both of you."
***
A few minutes later Remy heard the water stop running in the tub and Œnone came out of the bathroom. He was sitting on the couch, both feet propped up on the coffee table, shifting through a magazine. He put the magazine down and looked at her.
"She 'kay?"
"She'll live. As for 'kay..." she leaned up against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. She had belted the silk robe and taken her hair down.
"Merde, Remy, wha' 'appen?" she asked. "Der be old bruises everywhere."
"I found Peri beatin' on her."
"Peri? Who... De blob man?" she walked over to sit in a chair across from him. "Dat man's always been scary t' me, if it n't f' de fact dat I like t' play cards so much, I wouldn' ever step foot in dere."
Remy grinned. "Don' t'ink you be welcome dere too much no more. I beat de crap out o' him. He deserved it."
"Wha' she do t' make him so mad?"
"My fault, Œnone. It my fault. He saw me lookin' at her or somet'in' an' you know how much he hate me. T'ink I cheat at cards."
"You do cheat at cards."
"Oui, I know, but dat don' mean he got t' beat on de lady 'cause o' me."
They were silent for a while, both thinking the same thing. Only Œnone gave voice to it. "If Belle find out, you know wha' she gonna t'ink."
Remy sighed and sat back all the way on the couch. He closed his eyes. "She didn' 'ave no where t' go, Œnone. I couldn' leave her there. I jus' couldn'," he opened his eyes and looked at her. "Wha' would you 'ave done, eh?"
She nodded, her hair falling into her eyes. It was turning green at the roots. Remy watched as the brown faded from her hair, replaced by green.
Her eyes faded from purple to gray, then brightened to silver, and her skin turned blue. Her fingers grew together and webbed like frog's feet, and a set of gills formed on each side of her neck.
She blinked both sets of eye-lids and sighed a sigh of relief, the gills flaring out. "I've been wanting to do that all day," she said. Her voice had changed only slightly, more of a whispered bell-like sound now than actual talk and her accent melted away.
"Don' see why you don' jus' stay like dat. I t'ink you beautiful."
"You're supposed to. Besides, hate walking down the street, and people yelling 'mutant' wherever I go. I'm not one, but it's still an ugly word.
Now, what are we going to do with this... Juliet. Mother will undoubtably want to keep her here, but you know your father..."
A pair of keys dropped out of the air and into Remy's lap. He looked down at them surprised and picked them up. They were house keys. "Wha' des f', Sydney?" he asked the air.
The same mist that came up in the casino came up now. The eyes formed, the rainbow colors swirling, then her face and, finally, her body. Sydney stood there, her waist length hair changing colors with her eyes, hands on her hips. "What is this for? I have... bought you a new home, just outside of New Orleans, Remy. Out in the bayou where it is pretty." She grinned, "You're going to love it."
"And wha' am I gonna do wit' dis new home you get me?"
The door to the bathroom opened and Juliet walked out. She was wearing a long white robe that belonged to Œnone. Her hair was wet and plastered to her face, her eyes shone brightly, and she smiled. Even with bruises along her neck, a big one on her cheek, and her black eye, Remy's breath caught, his heart racing, beating so hard against his rib cage, he thought it would burst out.
Without thinking about what he was doing, letting his instincts take him where he had to go, he stood up, and walked over to her. He took one of her hands in his, and brought it to his lips.
"What are you to do with your new home?" Sydney whispered in his ear, "I'm sure you can figure something out."
See Ya!
Rave
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Disclaimer: The song Juliet sings belongs to Sarah Crauder who wrote it for me way back in 1998. Remy LeBeau, Belladonna, and Jean-Luc belong to Marvel. But pretty much everyone else belongs to me. Oh, and Œnone is pronounced ee-NO-knee, *not* onion, and when Sydney calls her 'None, it's not none, it's NO-kNee, I can't stress that enough.
Feedback to writers is like water to flowers, so water a writer today.
And remember, flowers wilt next to flames.
Angels Weep
Raven Lee
Wisps of multicolored hair flipped around in the cool breeze that blew through the streets of New Orleans. People pushed past it, around it, even through it at times; never noticing the hair, never seeing the way it slowly, constantly, changed colors as it danced in the breeze. They walked through the owner of the hair as well. Some people felt that something was there,
without really knowing it, and moved around her.
She ignored all the people, save one. The Rings-Demon leaned against a street lamp, looking across the street. She watched as an angry young man moved along the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, muttering angrily to himself as he stared down at his feet.
The result of another argument with his father, no doubt. She shook her head. They had been arguing a lot as of late, not that she could fault either father or son. Father wanting to protect the son, while the son just wanted to understand the nagging feelings he was having.
Well, it was time for one of those feelings to come to life.
She grinned an almost evil grin, a twinkle coming to her ever changing eyes. One slender finger pointed at him sent a bolt of Magi out. It swept his feet out from under him as if he had slipped on a sheet of ice. His curses could be heard across the street as he fell on his ass.
She laughed, the sound of tinkling glass.
Sydney, as that was her name, had watched over Remy LeBeau since the day he was born. Before that, she had watched over his mother and father, brothers and sisters. She wasn't able to help them when they had needed it, but she'd been able to help Remy. His life wasn't as privileged as it should have been, but he grew up to be strong, proud, and true to his heart. Just like his father.
Pulling her cloak around her more to ward off the chill of the late night wind, Sydney smiled fondly to herself watching Remy step into the nightclub he'd fallen in front of. She was only supposed to watch over him, to keep him safe, when necessary. She changed the rules a little, showing herself to him when he was a small, frightened child on the streets, offered him a shoulder to cry on as a teenager. Now she was bending them just a little more, making sure the future that was supposed to happen actually did.
Remy didn't know it, but he was stepping into his destiny.
***
As it was, Remy didn't think the night could get any worse.
A fight with his father, Belle screaming at him, and now people were laughing at him because he'd fallen on his fucking ass. He glared up at the nearest person, looking over his sunglasses at him. The man sobered quickly, looking at his eyes, his mouth agape.
He stood and brushed himself off, looking around to see where the hell he was. He'd just started walking, not even caring where he went. For all he knew, he could be in the Assassin's part of town. Luckily the glowing neon sign of a familiar strip club greeted him.
He pushed through the line of people, some still chuckling over his fall, and moved up to the bouncer, who smiled at him and let him in without checking his ID. The people in line stopped laughing and started yelling about cutting in line. He flipped them all off and left a line of angry people behind the closing doors.
A smile jumped across his face, brief, happy for the moment. It disappeared as three screaming, topless beauties left the tables they were serving and ran up to him, two grabbing his arms, the other standing in front of him.
"Where 'ave you been, Remy?" the third waitress asked him, putting her hands on her slender hips while the other two ran their fingers along his chest.
He couldn't remember their names. "Been 'round," he said with a shrug, also trying to shrug off the two who wouldn't let him go.
"Want a drink, Remy?" the blonde on his left arm purred. She had a thick phone sex kind of voice but didn't have a face to match.
"N't up 'ere." A soft laugh. "Fat Peri water down de drinks t' much."
"We 'ave good cognac in da back," the one on the right said, rubbing herself up against him.
Remy sighed finally and pushed away from them. "I t'ink t'night I go solo." The girls pushed out their painted lips, pouting.
He couldn't help but smile and captured the blonde's chin in his hand. "Ah, don' do dat, bien-aimées. Remy n't be t' good company t'night, non?" His hand came out of his pocket with his wallet, he tossed them everything he had, three hundred or more.
What did he care about the money? It wasn't his.
He grinned looking down at Jean-Luc's drivers license in the open wallet.
The young thief tossed it into a trash can as he passed it and moved through a curtained off area at the back of the club, going down stairs to where the real party was held.
The Nightingale. An illegal gambling hall owned by Fat Peri. It was the only club in New Orleans that was considered neutral ground for both Thieves and Assassins. There was no fighting in the Nightingale. Only gambling, drinking, and the use of private rooms in the back.
The bar was to the left of the room. It reached from one end of the room to the other, meeting up with the stage where a black man sat playing the piano. Remy headed straight for the bar, ignoring the looks he was getting from people dressed in tuxes and expensive sequined gowns, and ordered cognac. Fat Peri only watered down the drinks in the strip club upstairs.
Down stairs he charged three times the amount for his drinks and he was smart enough to know for that price he'd damned well better serve the good stuff.
Roulette, craps, blackjack, just about everything that you would find in a Vegas casino was here. Often times, people came in rich, and left without a dime to their names. Remy'd seen that happen more than a few times. Not to him, of course.
He knew how to cheat at the tables without it actually seeming like he was cheating. That, and he wasn't stupid enough to lose all of his money in one place, unlike some of the other people he knew.
He turned his back to the bar, leaning against it, once his got his drink, eyes sweeping over the people in the hall, looking for familiar faces.
There weren't too many that night, mostly assassins, few thieves, even fewer normal people. No one he really felt like taking money from that night. He sighed, picking up his glass. The cognac was like cold fire going down his throat, he drank it all in one gulp. After ordering a second shot, he thought better of it and ordered the whole bottle.
Beyond the hordes of people gambling, there was a dance floor where people were stumbling, more than dancing, to the pianist's version of "Strangers in the Night." Disgusted for some reason, Remy turned his back to the hall, facing the bar again. He drank his next glass a little shower this time, and was into his third when a feminine arm slide around his shoulders and he felt her hot breath blowing in his ear.
"I told you, n't t'night, ~mesdames~," he grumbled, shrugging the arm off as he looked into his glass like the answers to the world's questions were in there.
"An' a ~bon soir~ t' you t', Remy," she sat down on the stool beside him and took the half empty bottle away. "Don' look like you 'ave much o' dis, but I t'ink you 'ave 'nough."
He swallowed the last in his glass before she took that away from him too.
"Sorry, petit sœur. T'ought it was one o' de girls from upstairs."
She flinched, her lightly curled brown hair falling into her purple catlike eyes. "Eh, now I *know* you 'ave t' much o' dis stuff!"
Remy laughed and looked at her for the first time. "Mon Dieu!"
"Wha'?"
"Œnone, no one is attached t' you!"
Œnone laughed, "Non, Red n't wit' me t'night. He don' like comin' 'ere f' some reason. 'Sides, he be workin' t'night. Your père's been keepin' him busy wit' de apprenticeship, non? Did he work you so hard?"
"Harder," Remy grunted, trying to get his bottle back from her.
She held it out of his reach. "Ah, so it come out, huh? You an' Jean-Luc 'ave 'nother fight? Wha' 'bout dis time?"
"Nonya."
"Wha's dat supposed t' mean?"
"Non ya business."
Œnone frowned at him and punched him in the shoulder. "You know you c'n' keep a secret from me, LeBeau, so you be'er tell me now, 'fore I find out from someone else, den I go an' tell *every*one in de bayou."
He sighed, knowing the truth in that. "Belle push de weddin' back again, an' Poppa t'ink I 'ave somet'in' t' do wit' it. I lucky your mère be dere.
Don' know wha' Poppa would 'ave done if she n't calm him down long 'nough f' me t' get out," he grumbled. "I get tired o' dis, Œnone. She don' wan' marry me, so she be stallin' 'til she find a way out."
"More de fool she be! If it n't be f' who she is, den my momma would 'ave talked your père out o' dis t'in' long 'go. Belle 'nothing but a... a...
enfant gâté!" Calling the leader of the Assassins daughter a brat in the middle of a room full of Assassins probably wasn't a good idea, but Œnone cut a dark look at anyone who looked her way, letting them know they couldn't touch her.
Remy finally grabbed the bottle from her hand while she wasn't paying attention, and put it to his lips, forgetting about the glass. Œnone frowned snatching it back a little too quickly. The rim hit the back of his teeth loudly. "Ow! Œnone, dat hurt!" he winced.
She smiled. "Good, you deserve it, you coonass! You don' drink good cognac from de bottle, might as well go buy wine from a gas station wit' a screw-on top! C'mon, Remy, why drink your life 'way? Wha' de point? It only make you feel be'er f' a short time, an' den wha' do you 'ave? A hangover, dat wha'."
"Ah, but de short time so nice."
She laughed at the helpless look he gave her, then grabbed his arm with both of her hands. "Up we go, Remy. Since Red n't 'ere, you c'n be my escort f' de night, an' I feel up t' playin' a few card games, what'dya say?"
"Anyt'in' f' a pretty face, chérie." He stood, leaving his bottle on the bar with an unhappy sigh, and together they walked over to one of the tables were a game of bòurre was being played out.
***
Her bra strap was rubbing against a raw spot on her shoulder. She didn't want to look at it, knowing what she would see. Her body was lined with dark bruises, some weeks old, others hours. The thought of taking her bra off crossed her mind, but she didn't want to give Peri the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt her.
It'd been a year since she'd come to New Orleans, searching for her cousin Simon. Two months on the streets taught her to take what little good luck she could find, and finding the job at the Nightingale had been the luckiest thing to happen to her in a long time. It was worth the beatings she received at the hands of Fat Peri.
Long fingers played over the top of a gold jewelry box, following the intricate designs that covered the lid. It was a trick box. You had to push a hidden button in order for it to open. She did this now, pressing down in just the right place to make the latch click. The lid opened smoothly, showing the treasure hidden within.
Two thousand, six hundred seven dollars and fifty-two cents. It was a lot of money, to her at least, but it wasn't enough. She needed a little less than three thousand more just to hire a private detective to find her cousin. And she needed enough money to rent her own apartment, and be able to get herself out of the mess she was in before she could ever actually leave the
Nightingale.
She met her own eyes in the mirror. They were green. The same as her mother's and grandmother's.
There had been a time, when her parents were alive, that her eyes had always lit up with laughter. Now she had to apply heavy make-up just to hide the bags under them, and to try and make them look more alive than they did. Was it truly a year ago since she'd had her last night of real sleep? A night not troubled with the fear of her employer bursting down the door and beating her?
Fingers moved over her cheeks, fixing her make-up. She looked like a hooker. Worse, she felt like one. Whoring her voice out. Her eyes left their reflection, drifting over to the corner of the mirror where her only picture of her family was. Her parents looked happy in the photo. So did she, in fact. But the girl in the picture wasn't her. Not anymore.
She pulled the picture down, staring at it for long moments.
She would not become a prostitute. She couldn't.
Her parents stared back at her. They were dead now. Long gone. They stared accusingly out at her from their photo.
The picture droped from her hands, falling into a drawer in her dressing table. She shut it before standing, smoothing out the long black dress that hugged her curves a little too well. She checked herself over in the full length mirror, making sure every bruise was well covered. After staring at her figure for a long time, she run her hand up and down her too thin stomach.
Anything was better than being a prostitute. Even Peri. At least he only beat her for not putting out, he had never raped her. Those poor girls out on the street, the ones with dead eyes, who knew how many times they had been hurt, and how? That wasn't her, she wouldn't *ever* let something like that happen to her...but then...she never thought she would just sit back and let someone beat her night after night, either.
A knock sounded on her door and she jumped.
"Hey, doll?" a woman's voice called through the door, her northern accent heavy. "Yer on in five, kiddo."
Soon. She just had to keep telling herself that. Soon.
She'd have enough money, and she'd leave.
Find a better job, a place to live...find Simon.
Soon. She just had to wait a little longer, and pray, pray that her dreams wouldn't come tumbling down on top of her before soon came.
She sighed again, and fought back tears, because in crying she would ruin her face, and she would have to put it back on, and tonight she didn't have the luxury of going on late after most of the people were too drunk even to care what she looked like. One of the other singers had called in sick, and Peri had told her she was going on stage early, or out the door.
She took one last look at herself in the mirror--she looked so much older than nineteen--straightened her dress again, and she walked out into the hall. When she closed the door behind her, her fingers reached up and traced the gold star, *Juliet DePray*. Her name.
~Soon.~ She thought again. ~Soon.~
***
Juliet moved down the corridor and out the curtain. Jared was finishing up his last number when she walked out. He smiled at her and winked. When he played the last cord of the song, he patted the piano and she sat down on it, crossing her legs.
"So, wha' you wan' t' play t'night, Miss Jewel?" Jared asked her.
She looked thoughtful for a minute, looking at the crowd then said, "Something thirtyish I think. I don't think they'll boo us off the stage."
Jared chuckled, "Missie, I don' t'ink anyone wit' a right mind would boo you off de stage." Before he'd finished speaking, his fingers had started gliding over the keys with an expert's ease.
She tapped her leg to the music, searching her mind briefly for the right words, hoping she wouldn't forget anything. At her cue, she opened her mouth, the words flowing off her tongue, the world faded away.
Suddenly, she was lost in a smoke filled bar in New York city. Behind her, a blues band played lightly with the piano, never drowning out the soft keys. The lights dimmed, a spotlight was turned on her, all of the patrons put down their glasses, and the place quieted.
Every eye was on her.
"Some of you might say that I dwell on the past I'd have to agree with you, but I hope it doesn't last 'Cause ever since my baby came, my life's been a burnin' hell, But ever since he left me, I've got nowhere else to dwell.
I was born in the midwest, down in St. Louie, I came to find my fortune in the streets of New York City, I came to the Big Apple to catch my bit of fame But ever since he left me,
I've got no one else to blame.
I thought I could sing, I thought I could dance, I thought I'd try my hand at a bit of romance, I thought I could act,
I thought I'd be a star,
But all my dreams are shattered,
and I'm singing in this bar."
As Juliet sang, she was lost in the world of the song, and all of her problems melted away from her, leaving her free. Even though she was still in New Orleans, she left it behind her, and in doing so, she never saw the one pair of eyes staring at her.
***
Remy took the cards he was handed and looked at them. Not a bad hand. He shifted the cards around, taking all of the cards in the same suite and putting them beside each other.
He drew a card, and tossed a few chips onto the pile. The man across from him was making googoo eyes at Œnone and Remy had to force himself not to smile, keeping his poker face on. Œnone, on the other hand thought it was hilarious, so she kept rotating her shoulders and pushing her lips out, looking at the man over the top of her cards.
Remy had taught her to play cards when they were children, so, of course, she was a smart player, she remembered everything he taught her. Take the man's attention away from the cards and you've got him just where you want him, but never fully take your own attention from your own cards or the other players. Œnone was doing that just then, watching the man over her cards, but she still kept her attention on the other two players as well.
She sighed, her shoulders going up in her seeming despair as she drew a card and tossed a few chips into the pile just like he had.
He had to hide a smile again, then concentrated on his cards. The card he had just taken wasn't the one he needed, but he could use it and he put it in place. His eyes flicked up to the stage when a voice started to sing, deep, quiet-like. A woman sitting on the piano. Eyes back to his cards, and then...
A double take. His eyes went back to the woman, and his cards were forgotten. "Rossignol," he whispered. Nightingale. She had the voice of a nightingale, it wasn't deep like he had first thought. Just low, quiet, and the most sexy voice he had ever heard.
The black gown she wore made her skin seem oh so pale, yet it somehow brought out the green in her eyes. Those eyes. So much pain. He pulled his sunglasses off for the first time that night and set them on the table beside his glass. His cards forgotten, he watched the woman instead, listening to her voice and the song.
"My baby found me wanderin' on the second day, He put his arm around me and he took me to a play, He took me out to dinner and he found me a hotel, But ever since he left me, I just wish he'd go to hell.
Then one night, he took me out to dance, He thought he'd try his hand at a little romance I thought it was fun, but it turned out all wrong, And now I'm sitting in this bar, and singing you this song."
"Yoho! Remy, anyone home?" Œnone waved her hand in front of Remy's face, breaking his gaze from the chanteuse.
He blinked in surprise. "Huh? Wha'?" he asked, his eyes flicking to her face, then back to the stage.
"Remy, it your turn, draw or discard?"
"Oh." He looked at his cards, picked up a new one and tossed in a few chips from his pile. "Draw," he said looking back up at the woman again.
"He left me with nothing but the clothes that I wore, He took back all his gifts, and put a lock on his door, He said that he dumped me for some other girl, But ever since he left me, my head's been in a whirl.
And now I'm here and singing this song, My trip to New York has turned out all wrong I'm broken-hearted, and oh so blue
But I'm stuck here in this city... And the rent is due."
Remy put his cards on the table and clapped. He was the only one in the whole casino that did. The woman looked at him, surprise on her face. She smiled, a real smile, her eyes flashing, then she was singing again. He shook his head watching her until he realized that everyone at his table was looking at him as if he'd grown two heads.
"Uh," he started, embarrassed, and sat back down. "It a good song?" he asked more then stated.
"Look kid, if you n't goin' t' pay attention t' de cards, I t'ink you should play your hand an' leave," one man said.
"Oh, oui, ami, sorry," he said. "Um, wha' we playin' 'gain?"
***
Juliet sang the last cord of the song, the smoke-filled bar and the standing ovation she had received shimmered away from behind her half closed eyes. But the clapping didn't stop.
Jared tapped her arm with one hand. She looked at him and he pointed out into the casino. She followed the way he pointed and saw one man standing over one of the bòurre tables clapping for her. She was so surprised that she almost laughed out loud. A smile, one of the first real ones to grace her face in a long time, came to her lips as she looked at him.
He sat back down when she started to sing again, but this time, instead of losing herself in the song, as she always did, she watched the man through her eyelashes. Every once in a while he would look down at the cards he was holding, but mostly, he kept his eyes on her.
***
Two hours later, Remy had lost eight hundred fifty dollars simply because he was paying more attention to the singer than to the cards in his hands.
Œnone put the back of her hand up against his forehead looking at him worried. "You 'right, frère? I never 'fore see you lose cards dis badly."
"I a'right, Œnone," he pushed her hand away.
"Well you don' look it. An' why you keep starin' off inta space? You n't seein' t'in's are you?"
He sighed a happy little dreamy kind of sigh, "I see an' angel wit' de voice dat a thousand nightingales would envy."
Œnone followed his gaze up to the stage, then frowned. She hit him over the back of the head. "Remy LeBeau! Don' you even be t'inkin' 'bout wha' you be t'inkin' 'bout! You betrothed! 'Round 'ere, dat mean you as good as married already."
His eyes flashed brightly and he stood up quickly, knocking his chair over.
Eyes from nearby tables turned on them. "I be marryin' someone who don' love me, who does wha' she want, an' flouts her own lovers in front o' me, an' you tellin' me I can' even *look* at 'nother woman?" Because what he said was spoken softly enough that only Œnone could hear, they rang more true, and Œnone flinched as if the words had cut her.
"Remy, she a Assassin," she lowered her voice to say this, Assassins were everywhere. "You give 'er one reason, an' she call off dis weddin' f' good, an' your Guilds be at war 'gain, non? Remy, I jus' tryin' t' look after you."
Remy took a step back, frowning at her. "I don' need my li'le sis'er takin' af'er me all de time tellin' me wha' good and bad, wha' right an' wrong.
Œnone, I *don'* need dis from you! Wh-why don' you jus' go back t' your own world an' leave me de 'ell alone, eh?"
Œnone's arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowing, their purple color swirling, they turned silver, then back again. She shook her head, then turned around and walked away.
Where she had been, a mist that only he could see stirred and a pair of rainbow-colored eyes blinked at him. "Here lies Remy LeBeau, dead where he stands," a woman's voice whispered in Remy's ear. "You're a *real* smoothy, LeBeau. You do know that, right? A real lady's man."
He swiped at the mist half heartedly. "Go af'er her, Sydney, tell her I sorry," he said softly, the eyes disappearing and the mist dissipating.
"She shall forgive you, she always does. *I* am another thing entirely. We will talk about your manners later."
He picked up the chair he'd knocked over and sat back down. It was only then that he realized the woman wasn't on stage anymore.
***
Juliet's head snapped to the left and she fell backwards onto the dressing table, knocking off make-up and perfume. She slid down to the floor, refusing to let the tears now blurring her vision fall.
Peri practically growled, shifting his heavy frame so he could pick her up by her shoulders. He shook her and slapped her again, one ham fist was clenching the left shoulder of her dress. When she fell back again, the dress tore.
She dropped to the floor again, pulling her knees up to her chest. The piece of fabric was thrown in her face before he spat on her. His belt had come down under his great belly and the fat hung out under his shirt.
She was going to be sick.
"I'm gonna ask you one more time, girl, why you be makin' googoo eyes at Remy LeBeau out dere? So help me, if you been turnin' tricks behind my back, an' ain't been given me my cut, I beat you black an' blue!" Even his voice sounded more like a pig's squeal then a human voice.
When she didn't answer, just sat there cowering, he turned back to her. His little eyes set in his huge, round face squinting angrily at her, his nostrils flaring. He took one step and leaned down with some great trouble to pick her up again.
With one hand he grabbed the part of her dress already torn and started pulling at it again, ripping it down.
She cried out, realizing what he was doing, and tried to fight him off. But her punches and kicks did little harm to his flab. When she tried to bite him, he punched her, *really* punched her, in the face. He hit her so hard that the inside of her cheek cut on her teeth and she tasted blood on her tongue.
She tried to scream, but his hand came over her mouth and muffled it. He pushed her to the floor, his knee in her stomach holding her down, cutting back on her fighting. She couldn't breath, she was suffocating and she kept trying to pull his hand away with both of hers.
She had to do something, so she did the only thing she could.
A thousand needles pushed into his brain. He screamed, letting her go, grabbing his head. She crawled away from him, going to the door. She reached up and tryed to turn the knob.
It was locked.
The key was in his shirt pocket.
She pounded on the door, yelling for help. Her scream, as her feet were knocked out from under her, was somewhat muffled as her chin hit the floor and she tasted even more blood.
Moving faster then any man had a right to, Peri pulled her under him and pinned her there with both legs. She yelled at him in French, cursing him as loud as she could. His fist came down on her again and she stopped yelling, crying loud, ragged sobs. Tears mixed with blood ran down her cheeks, pooling in the wrinkles of her neck.
His fist was raised, he was going to punch her again, but he was taking his time with it, making her flinch every time he moved it slightly. "N't givin' me my cut o' de money, so I t'ink I take my payment ri-"
And the door fell in.
Peri's head whipped around, his chins shaking. She couldn't see anything because of his huge frame, but she knew she was being rescued.
"Wha' de-" Peri started. A man--*the* man! The one who clapped for her--grabbed Peri's upraised fist and pulled his arm behind his back, pinning it there. Peri yelped in pain.
"Dat's no way t' treat a lady, mon ami," the man said red eyes glaring at Peri, then let his arm go. Peri took a swing at the man, he ducked it, and kicked him in the chest.
The fat man got up, the wind knocked out of him, and stumbled, gasping for enough air to call for security. He managed to get out of the room, the other man followed.
***
Fat Peri had hair long enough to put into a ponytail. Once out the door, Remy grabbed hold of it and yanked the man back. Peri let out a sound like a woman screaming, yanking his head foreword which only caused a big tuff out his hair to be pulled out his scalp.
Remy tossed the loose hair to the ground and ran into the fat man, pushing him into an open doorway. He went in after him, slamming the door closed.
Minutes later, Remy came back out. Fire raced down his arm and hand, kinetic energy rushed out onto the door knob, turning it bright red, fiery hot. The knob melted slightly, the lock busting inside.
Peri was stuck in there for a while.
Remy turned back and went into the dressing room again. The woman, Juliet DePray the name on the door said, was still on the floor, trying to hold her torn dress together.
He bent down and gave his hand to help her up. She looked at him, frightened, but didn't take his hand. "Go, 'head, chérie. Remy don' bite," he said softly.
She reached out timidly and took his hand. He pulled her gently to her feet and led her to the dressing table's chair. She sat down in it.
Her mascara ran twin black lines down her face, but when he looked at her, he didn't see any more tears. Her hair was a mess, tangled from when Peri had grabbed it, but it still framed her face, and cascaded over her shoulder. Her make-up ruined, her bottom lip was bleeding and getting fat.
One of her striking green eyes was beginning to swell shut.
"He do dat t' you?" he asked pointing to her eye.
She looked then into the mirror and drew a breath. She gave herself a pathetic look as she gingerly touched the place around her eye. "He's never hit my face before," she said more to herself then to Remy.
Remy frowned. "He done dis t' you 'fore?"
She nodded, still looking at herself. It was long moments before she spoke again, "Thank you." She looked at him through the mirror, their eyes met.
"Thank you, I... I don't know how I would have gotten out of that if you-"
"Non," he said holding up his hand. "Someone should 'ave done dat long 'go.
He don' 'ave no right t' hit you, chérie. Remy only do wha' anyone wit' half a heart do."
She sighed softly. "Well, it seems that it was only fitting that you came and save me. He was angry because I was looking at you tonight."
"I didn' mean t' cause you harm. I watch you 'cause you 'ave a beautiful voice I never heard de likes o' 'fore."
Her voice shook as she spoke, "Probably never again, because now... well, now I'm out of a job. And once Peri tells people about this, I won't be getting another around here." She looked at the mirror again, her eye now swollen so badly she couldn't open it. Her lip had stopped bleeding, but there was a bright red line where it was cut. She laughed dryly. "Listen to me. Here I am looking like a bus hit me, and I'm worrying over my job!" Her dry laughter turned into wet tears.
Remy didn't know what to do. There was a box of Kleenex on the floor at his feet, so he bent down to pick that up, offering her a few. She took them, dabbed at her eyes, then balled them up in her hands. They were trembling.
The young man slid his arms around her without even thinking about it, hugging her tight as she buried her face in his shoulder.
All this while, Remy could hear Peri yelling and banging on the door in the distance. Now he heard other voices and wood splintering. He stood up, bringing Juliet with him. "C'mon, I take you home."
"Home?" she whispered through her tears, "this *is* home. I sleep in the room back there." She pointed to what Remy had thought was a closet.
"Well, den, I take you t' a friend home. She fix you up, make you feel better, an' you be good as new, non?"
"No... No!" She pulled away from him, and sat back down. "If I leave, Peri will kill me."
"If you don' leave, he'll still kill you. Safe wit' me, I take you where he can' come." Remy held out his hand for her. This time she took it without hesitating.
***
The door opened slightly and Œnone's eyes peered out. They narrowed. "Wha' do you wan', LeBe- Mon dieu! Wha' 'appen t' her?" The door swung all the way open, reveling Œnone in a red nègligèe, a matching robe hanging off her shoulders but left untied.
"Œnone, dis is Juliet DePray. She needs a place t' stay f' a while."
Œnone's arm came around Juliet's shoulder as she led the young woman inside, looking at Remy over her shoulder. "O' course."
Remy shut the door behind him as Œnone sat Juliet down on one of the couches in the living room. He came over and sat down beside her, she grabbed his hand in hers and held it between them.
"S'okay, chèrie," he told her, squeezing her hand. "Œnone like de sis'er I never 'ave. You c'n trust her."
Œnone scoffed, "I de sis'er you didn' deserve, Remy." She looked at Juliet's eye. "Saints, you look you been hit by a bus. C'mon, I draw you a bath an' get you somet'in' t' wear, den we 'ave a look at dat eye, 'kay?"
"I don't want to be a burden." The words were a little slurred. Her cheek was raw inside and she kept biting down on the swelling tissue when she talked.
"Non, non, non," Œnone shook her head. "You n't a burden. Come. You look 'bout my size, I sure you c'n wear somt'in' o' mine."
Juliet smiled softy. "Thank you, very much. Both of you."
***
A few minutes later Remy heard the water stop running in the tub and Œnone came out of the bathroom. He was sitting on the couch, both feet propped up on the coffee table, shifting through a magazine. He put the magazine down and looked at her.
"She 'kay?"
"She'll live. As for 'kay..." she leaned up against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. She had belted the silk robe and taken her hair down.
"Merde, Remy, wha' 'appen?" she asked. "Der be old bruises everywhere."
"I found Peri beatin' on her."
"Peri? Who... De blob man?" she walked over to sit in a chair across from him. "Dat man's always been scary t' me, if it n't f' de fact dat I like t' play cards so much, I wouldn' ever step foot in dere."
Remy grinned. "Don' t'ink you be welcome dere too much no more. I beat de crap out o' him. He deserved it."
"Wha' she do t' make him so mad?"
"My fault, Œnone. It my fault. He saw me lookin' at her or somet'in' an' you know how much he hate me. T'ink I cheat at cards."
"You do cheat at cards."
"Oui, I know, but dat don' mean he got t' beat on de lady 'cause o' me."
They were silent for a while, both thinking the same thing. Only Œnone gave voice to it. "If Belle find out, you know wha' she gonna t'ink."
Remy sighed and sat back all the way on the couch. He closed his eyes. "She didn' 'ave no where t' go, Œnone. I couldn' leave her there. I jus' couldn'," he opened his eyes and looked at her. "Wha' would you 'ave done, eh?"
She nodded, her hair falling into her eyes. It was turning green at the roots. Remy watched as the brown faded from her hair, replaced by green.
Her eyes faded from purple to gray, then brightened to silver, and her skin turned blue. Her fingers grew together and webbed like frog's feet, and a set of gills formed on each side of her neck.
She blinked both sets of eye-lids and sighed a sigh of relief, the gills flaring out. "I've been wanting to do that all day," she said. Her voice had changed only slightly, more of a whispered bell-like sound now than actual talk and her accent melted away.
"Don' see why you don' jus' stay like dat. I t'ink you beautiful."
"You're supposed to. Besides, hate walking down the street, and people yelling 'mutant' wherever I go. I'm not one, but it's still an ugly word.
Now, what are we going to do with this... Juliet. Mother will undoubtably want to keep her here, but you know your father..."
A pair of keys dropped out of the air and into Remy's lap. He looked down at them surprised and picked them up. They were house keys. "Wha' des f', Sydney?" he asked the air.
The same mist that came up in the casino came up now. The eyes formed, the rainbow colors swirling, then her face and, finally, her body. Sydney stood there, her waist length hair changing colors with her eyes, hands on her hips. "What is this for? I have... bought you a new home, just outside of New Orleans, Remy. Out in the bayou where it is pretty." She grinned, "You're going to love it."
"And wha' am I gonna do wit' dis new home you get me?"
The door to the bathroom opened and Juliet walked out. She was wearing a long white robe that belonged to Œnone. Her hair was wet and plastered to her face, her eyes shone brightly, and she smiled. Even with bruises along her neck, a big one on her cheek, and her black eye, Remy's breath caught, his heart racing, beating so hard against his rib cage, he thought it would burst out.
Without thinking about what he was doing, letting his instincts take him where he had to go, he stood up, and walked over to her. He took one of her hands in his, and brought it to his lips.
"What are you to do with your new home?" Sydney whispered in his ear, "I'm sure you can figure something out."
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