Author's note: Oh man some real news here: I am trying out a new form of section breaks! Please let me know what you think. I want the easiest readability for you, the reader. So please let me know, otherwise I will not know what to do! :-D Thanks.

Again, I only own Mercy's family at this point (specifically Marie Thibeau, who contrary to popular belief is not Rogue in any way shape or form) and the plot.

Please read, review, and enjoy! THanks very much, have a nice day!

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Marie ran her eyes across two adjacent sides of the foyer in Henri LeBeau's house and calculated the number of marble tiles in the room before her sister started babbling in her usual cheerful manner.

She easily tuned Mercy out. Mercy rarely said anything spectacular enough to warrant paying more attention to her than the exquisite mansion, which continued to astonish her. She was so used to her quiet and quaint suburban home that she never even imagined living in a place so... beautiful, so... opulent.

If she had imagined such a place, it wouldn't have been with her trailing after Mercy and her redheaded boyfriend.

For the first time, Marie was jealous of her sister.

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Remy LeBeau usually jumped at the chance to meet a member of the fairer sex.

But not today.

Today, Remy was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and shuffling a deck of cards with one hand while he waited in the basement for his brother to bring down the girls.

He'd run down one of the old servant's staircases, which were now referred to as secret steps by Remy, Henri, and their cousins. He liked going down the tightly wound stairs— it was fantastic practice not touching the floor, and if he focused enough, he could see the glow of his eyes on the wall.

And no one who wasn't perfectly okay with him could ever ridicule him for it there.

Now, he fidgeted on the couch, uncomfortable even before he'd really seen Marie Thibeau. Henri hadn't really told him anything except that she was good at cards, according to Mercy.

Mercy don' know how good Gambit is aux cartes.

Remy was confident that he could beat her, no matter what game they played. He played religiously, online and in real life, and there was no way that teenaged, skinny Marie Thibeau could be at his level. With a smirk, his confidence was restored.

As the door from upstairs opened and Mercy's voice wafted down from the kitchen, Remy started dealing a game for four.

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Henri was thoroughly impressed with Marie's indifference towards her sister. Even though it was probably more contrived than it seemed, he was impressed.

It took a mean sort to completely ignore your own sister.

Of course, Marie was quite busy looking around the place. Henri couldn't quite blame her for that, although he was slightly worried that she'd start asking questions. Her face was more intense than Mercy's had ever been, and while that was a good quality for, say, someone in his line of work, he didn't like it on fifteen-year old girls of any caliber.

Especially not his girlfriend's sister.

He led Mercy and Marie through the kitchen to the basement stairs, glad that Tante Mattie wasn't there to rope them into an hour-long conversation.

Henri really wanted to see Marie and Remy duke it out over the cards.

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Mercy's face broke into a sunny grin when she saw Remy dealing out cards.

"Hi, Remy!"

He looked up smiling, and Mercy felt Marie jerk to a stop behind her. Remy's smile faded as his eyes strayed behind her to Marie. Mercy desperately didn't want to turn around, but once she reached the bottom of the stairs she couldn't help it— Henri already was looking at her curiously.

"T. Marie, somet'in wrong?"

Mercy was horrified by the look of utter shock on her sister's face. She thought Marie would understand and not say anything, so she hadn't either. But Marie was staring at Remy like he had two heads.

Oh God, this is all my fault. Remy's going to hate me and Henri's never going to want to see me again— Oh, God, please let her stop—

Mercy squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them again, Marie was staring at her with something like resentment.

"Why didn't you tell me, Merce?"

Henri's arm closed around her shoulders. "Mercy did what she t'ought was best."

"I've never met another one before! You think she'd'a warned me or something!"

Mercy buried her face in Henri's shoulder, mortified. This was not how she imagined Marie and Henri spending time. Henri froze.

"Un autre? Y' mean, y' are—"

"Jesus H. Christ, you didn't even tell him." Marie shook her head slowly. "I can't believe you, Mercy. I just cannot believe you."

"Hein, petite, je pense que tu fermerais ta bouche, non?"

Remy had stood up. He brushed past his brother and Mercy to stand at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes glowed as he looked up at Marie.

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Marie felt something akin to rage pumping through her.

Not only had Mercy withheld important information about Remy LeBeau, she had failed to tell Henri one of the most important things about her. Something more natural than her growing-in blonde roots.

Something that hid itself too well.

Not for the first time, Marie wished the numbers came with something more telling than simple genius.

Now that she was seeing someone with unbelievably glowing eyes— glowing eyes!— look up at her with his hand outstretched, she found she couldn't stay angry. All she could do was take Remy LeBeau's hand and follow him to the couch.

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Remy sat on the couch and his charm pulled Marie down with him. He looked towards Henri and Mercy, who were exchanging whispers.

He already regretted using his charm on Marie. She had already snapped out of it, but now she was back to looking at him. He waited as long as he could before turning to her.

He was surprised at the look on the face. Rarely did girls look at him without any sort of attraction, but here was a fifteen-year old girl, much less pretty than her sister, who was assessing him in much the same way his father would. He had been prepared to rebuff any advances, but now he was unsure how to get her to relax.

"I'm Remy."

"I figured."

Another heavy pause.

"Alors you're Marie?"

"Your brother's calling me T. Marie. You can too, I don't mind." Marie pushed her hair behind her shoulders. "It's some Cajun thing, I'm assuming."

"Oui. D' T's short pour petit."

"Right."

He shared a look with Henri as the other two sat down on the couch across the glass coffee table.

Mebbe she'll be harder t' beat den I t'ought.