Based on a poem by Carol Ann Duffy that's called, oddly enough, Stealing. Parts borrowed *corrupted* from the poem are in bold italics.
Remy lounged in the chair in front of Professor Xavier's desk. He was sitting, the professor noticed, bolt upright, and yet still he seemed to lounge.
"Y' wanted t' see Remy, Proffeseur?" He asked, Cajun accent strengthened since he had kidnapped Rogue.
"Yes, thank you. I wanted to ask you – what was the most…unusual thing you ever stole?"
"De most unusual t'ing I ever stole? A snowman. It was midnight. He looked magnifique; a tall, white mute b'neath the winter moon."
"And may I ask why?"
"Hein?" Remy looked up from where he'd been lost in thought.
"Why steal a snowman?"
"I guess…I wanted him, un ami (1) wit' a mind as cold as ice…jus' like mine."
"You considered your mind like ice?"
"Oui. It was hard gettin' him back home dough. I started wit' de head. Better off dead dan givin' in, not taking what y' want. Dat's de unofficial motto of de Guild. He weighed a ton; his torso, frozen stiff, hugged t' my chest, a fierce chill piercin' my gut. I tell y' Proffeseur, it was bloody freezing', if y'll pardon m' French."
"Not at all, please carry on." He made a small scribble on the notepad on the desk.
"Dere ain't much lef' t' tell. Jus' dat once I put him back t'gether in de yard, he didn' look de same. I took a run up an' kicked him over, booted him over an' over. It seems daft now. Den I was standin' alone 'mongst lumps o' snow, sick o' de world."
"Tell me…why didn't you use your powers to destroy the snowman?"
"Remy didn' have dem den. Still had dese cursed eyes dough."
"I see. I have to confess a certain curiosity. What sort of thing did you normally steal?"
"When I was on de streets…money, food. In de guild, I was hired t' take t'ings, normally family heirlooms, paintings. Did y' know dat de Mona Lisa in de Louvre is a fake? De real one was taken by an art t'ief in de eighteenth century. Remy took it from his family. Piece o' cake. Sometimes I stole t'ings I didn' need. Joy-ride cars t' nowhere, break into houses jus' t' have a look. I was a mucky ghost. Would always leave a card, but no' take anyt'ing. One time, I stole a guitar an' thought I migh' learn t' play. Nicked a bust of Shakespeare once. Still got dat t'ing somewhere."
"You were speaking in the past tense. Does that mean you no longer steal things?"
"Oh, mebbe a wallet or two…bu' not'in' major. Jus' fer de thrill o' it, y' know? De rush o' excitement, de adrenalin, an' o' course, Remy's got to keep his skills sharp, non?"
"Why do you … refrain from thievery?" Remy shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
"D' y' want me to? Remy assumed dat de X-men looked down on dat sorta t'ing. Dey're superheroes, after all."
"Mmhm." Professor Xavier replied sceptically.
"What? Don' y' trust Remy?" The professor just looked at him over steepled hands. (2)
"Fine, so dere is somet'ing else… ma Cherie. Elle est belle, intelligent, spirituel, élégant, gracieux mais elle n'aime pas quand je vole des choses. Donc je ne fais pas. (3) vous ne comprenez pas de mot que je dis, n'est-ce pas ? (4)
"Au contraire, mon ami, au contraire." (5)
(1) a friend
(2) You know, that thing where you put the tips of your fingers together!
(3) She is beautiful, intelligent, witty, smart, graceful...but she does not like it when I steal things. So I don't.
(4) You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?
(5) On the contrary, my friend, on the contrary