Love is kind

Remy stopped the bike and stared in astonishment. He turned his head to look back along the empty road behind him. Then swung back to stare in front again.

"One fine morning in the middle of the night..." (1) John whispered from his seat in the bike's sidecar. Once they'd escaped the police, Remy had pulled over to let John swap seats, and put on the spare helmet. He was now holding a bag of Remy's possessions on his lap, and around his feet lay other items belonging to the thief. John himself claimed to have no possessions, apart from an ever constant lighter, the clothes on his back, and a toothpick. Remy was, at first, curious about the toothpick, but decided that his sanity was safer if he didn't know.

He turned to look behind himself again. While John's statement wasn't entirely accurate, it was pretty close. They were on a hill, looking down at Bayville. The time was about 11:30 am. Looking back, it was bright and sunny. Up ahead, the sky was covered in clouds.

"Let's turn back, mate. That's just too strange. Brrrr, freaky." St. John rubbed his arms to emphasise the point.

"Non. Y' can turn back if y' want t', John, bu' I'm carryin' on. Dis freaky weat'er ain't enough t' turn back Remy LeBeau!" Then he added, as an afterthought, "It's prob'ly dat weat'er witch o' Xavier's messin' aroun'."

"But don't forget, Dorothy, where there's a good witch, there's a bad one!" (2)

"Oui, bu' if some p'tite fille in a blue an' white dress (3) can beat 'er, so can I."

"That's the spirit!" John cheered as they headed off into the shadow of the ominous cloud. "But just so we get this straight, I'm not Toto!" (4)

As the two former Acolytes headed into town, Remy considered his options. He needed a place to stay, and a way to get money, hopefully without resorting to thievery. Wallets didn't count in that ban, though, he quickly decided. There was a double thrill in taking those. The initial excitement – will I get caught? And then the lottery of the contents of the aforesaid wallet. A lot or a little? Just old bills and a couple of coins, or a big cash-in? He could get a job, and rent a place to stay, with minimal chance of meeting Rogue, which was what this trip was actually for, or he could go to the mansion, cap in hand, and ask to join them. Cap in hand was not the way Remy liked to imagine himself, but if it brought him closer to Rogue... No question. He'd do it. He only hoped that Wolverine didn't kill him before he made his request to the professor.

Almost as soon as he decided this, he felt a poke in the leg. St. John, damn him. What was he going to do with the psychopath? He entertained a wild fantasy of the professor curing his insanity for a second, before brushing it aside. The bucket head had tried to get Mastermind to do the job, but the little old man refused to go anywhere near John's brain.

"What d' y' want, John?" He asked, not taking his helmet off. His friend Thierry had wired a comm.-link into them, so that he could talk to his passenger while they were driving. John jumped, and then grinned.

"A pit stop please, mate. My bladder's full to bursting!"

"Bu' we're nearly dere!" The impatient Cajun replied angrily.

"Please, Remy. Pleeeeeeeeease!"

"Fine." Remy turned a left instead of driving straight through the town. They stopped outside a small café, which had the added advantage of being next to a shop which sold sunglasses. As soon as the 'bike stopped, John jumped out and raced into the café, not bothering to take his helmet off on the way. Remy kept his helmet on as he headed into the shop next door, but for different reasons. His eyes were freaky, he knew it well, and he didn't want to startle anyone.

The shopkeeper, an old lady, looked up in surprise to see a biker come in to her shop, still wearing his helmet. He walked over to the sunglasses, chose a pair, and took them over to the desk.

"That will be ten dollars, sir." She said tremulously. He took out a few notes and laid them on the desk. Closing his eyes, he pulled the helmet off, and then put the glasses on over his closed eyes. Opening them, he smiled at the confused lady.

"Merci. My eyes, dey are ver' sensitive to ligh'." He explained. She glanced out at the thickly overcast sky. He bowed slightly and left the shop. The old lady looked down at the money, and saw that he had paid her three times too much. She smiled, and put the money away in her till.

Next door in the coffee shop, things were not going quite so smoothly.

"All oy want is to use your lav. Oy have no use whatsoever for coffee right now. My bladder's already full!"

"Yes, sir, but I'm afraid that you can't use the toilet here unless you by something." The teenage boy behind the desk explained patiently.

"But oy don't want a drink!" He exclaimed again. Just as the boy was about to repeat the lesson drummed into him – 'people can't use the loo unless they're a paying customer', a new, female voice interrupted.

"Let him have my toilet turn, Lewis." The boy nodded his agreement, and the Australian pyromaniac turned around to face his benefactor.

"Thank you, Sheila." He was saying, before he caught sight of who it was. "The Wicked Witch!" He yelped, and ran to the little boy's room.

"'Scuse me, homme. He addressed the teenager. "D' y' know where I migh' fin' a crazy, ginger-haired Australian?" The boy nodded, and pointed to a door saying 'gents'.

"He's in there, hiding from one of our customers." Remy sighed. Of course.

"Could y' tell me which one?" The boy pointed again, this time at a girl sitting at a coffee table, mug in hand. She had short black hair, which had been dyed red at the sides. She was wearing a long red coat, a short red top and tight black trousers, with red stripes down either side. Her ear-rings were shaped like ankhs, as was the pendant of her necklace. Wanda Maximoff, probably the most powerful mutant alive. Remy walked over.

"Bonjour, Wanda." She looked up from her cup of coffee, snorted, and looked back down again. As she didn't say anything negative, he sat down opposite her. "Any idea why m' copain is hidin' from y' in de little boy's room?" He asked her.

"No, sorry, Remy. Lewis wasn't letting him use their toilet as he hadn't paid for a drink, so I said he could have my turn in the toilet. He turned round to thank me, said something about a wicked witch and ran in."

"Merde. D' y' t'ink I'll be allowed t' go in an' fetch him?"

"Probably." Remy thanked her and left. Entering the gents, he saw Pyro immediately. The Australian was curled up in the foetal position, murmuring softly to himself. As Remy got closer, he made out the words.

"The wind began to switch

The house, to pitch

And suddenly the hinges started to unhitch

Just then the Witch

To satisfy an itch

Went flying on her broomstick, thumbing for a hitch!" (5)

"Hey now, John. I t'ought Remy was gin' t' be Dorot'y." St. John looked up from his position on the floor.

"Has the wicked witch gone?"

"Non, bu' we need t' get goin'. Anyway, she ain't wicked. She let y' go t' de toilette, remeb'r ?" John uncurled and sat up. With some help from Remy, he stood. They walked out of the gents, talking.

"Dere are ways of tellin' whet'er she is a witch."
"Are there? Oh well, tell me."
"Tell me. What d' y' do wit' witches?" Remy braced himself, but St. John was having too much fun to spoil it.
"Burn them!"
"And what d' y' burn, apar' fr'm witches?"
"More witches!"
" Wood." Interjected Wanda as they passed her.
"Good. Now, why d' witches burn?"
"...because they're made of... wood."
"Good. So how d' y' tell whet'er she's made o' wood?"
"Build a bridge out of her." They had got out of the coffee shop, and onto the 'bike.
"But can y' no' also build bridges out o' stone?"
" Oh yeah."
" Does wood sink in water?"
" No, no, it floats!... It floats! Throw her into the pond!"
" Non, non. What else floats in water?"
" Bread."
" Apples."
" Very small rocks."
" Cider."
" Gravy."
" Cherries."
" Mud."
" Churches."
"Lead! Lead!" John did each of the peasants' voices differently.
"A Duck." He gave king Arthur a regal voice.
"...'Xac'ly. So, logically..."
" If she weighs the same as a duck... she's made of wood."
" And derefore..."
"...A witch!" (6)

(1) One fine morning in the middle of the night,/Two blind robbers decided to fight./Back to back they faced each other/Drew their swords and shot one another. I don't know who wrote this poem, but whoever it was wasn't me.

(2) A reference to Frank L. Baum's The Wizard of Oz.

(3) In the film of The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy wore a blue dress with a white blouse.

(4) Dorothy's dog

(5) A song from the Wizard of Oz, sung by Dorothy

(6) From Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail. Extremely recommended.