Marie was having a hard time adjusting to their new 'open policy' relationship. At first, she figured she could just ignore Bobby when he was with someone else. That didn't really work. In fact, it made Bobby more noticeable. By mid week, she had taken to just hiding away in her room, placing her headphones over her ears and drowning out the world. She knew what everyone must be thinking, must be saying. She'd already caught a few whispered echoes in the hallways.
Poor Marie, did you hear? She and Bobby are no longer exclusive.
She's nice and everything, but you just can't get close to her, know what I mean?
By Friday night, Marie had had enough. She'd had enough of being the pity case and had enough of people avoiding her eyes, because no one knew what to say to her. Bobby and Kitty were quite frequently seen out in the open, holding hands, and having lunch dates. Talk about the three of them circulated viciously around the mansion. Marie was cast as the dowdy, boring housewife, and Kitty, as the glamorous, exciting mistress. Marie had become the Betty to Kitty's Veronica.
Marie wasn't going to bother to try and date someone here. It was a lost cause, and she suspected that Bobby had planned it that way. He liked the idea of being free to dabble around, but he didn't like her doing the same.
Pretending that she was incredibly cool and agreeable with the whole situation, she was going out tonight. It made her less pathetic in the eyes of her peers. After all, what's good for the goose was good for the gander.
Marie was by no means a stupid girl, she knew the score and she planned to even it a little. Bobby was the jealous type, and Marie planned on playing on that. She had agreed to this stupid free for all dating, but she wasn't going down without a fight.
She was getting ready to go out like she had a hot date. She didn't, but no one here needed to know that. It was the art of illusion. She wore a short jean skirt with a black tank top, and long, arm length black gloves. She swept her hair up effortlessly, letting a few white tendrils hang in her eyes.
She looked ready for an evening of fun and whatever else may follow, when in fact, she was actually just going to sit on a bar stool and drink away her sorrows. It seemed to work for Logan, so it was worth a shot.
She had no place really in mind to go; it was all an illusion. So long as she looked like she had a destination and was excited before she left the mansion, no one would be any the wiser.
She had made sure Bobby had heard through the grapevine that she had a date. Mentioning it calmly in a nonchalant way to Jubilee after a Danger Room session was a sure fire way to get the ball rolling. For as long as she had known the tiny girl, her mouth was the biggest. Jubilee ate gossip like it was candy coated and dipped in syrup. She also passed it along the minute it slipped through her ears. Soon everyone had heard about Marie's mystery man—who was suddenly tall, dark and handsome, with eyes to die for. Jubilee also enjoyed exaggerating stories.
However, to add insult to injury, Bobby had actually told her to have fun tonight and not to stay out too late. She beamed at him, answering that she was sure to have a great time. She left muttering curse words down the darkened driveway to her car, suddenly thankful she had no date and was going to drink herself silly instead.
For some reason, she ended up in a pub with a back alley entrance. The surroundings were familiar, yet they were completely unrecognizable to her. She had never been here before, but someone she had absorbed had. She passed it off as Logan. The cigar smoke haze, and dingy jukebox playing early nineties rock sort of gave it away.
She found a small table at the back and sat down, ready to waste a night. It seemed she picked the right place. Everyone else here was doing the exact same thing.
Trying to forget they were miserable.
"What'll it be, sweetheart?" a haggard looking waitress asked.
"Something happy to drown sadness, I guess," Marie answered dully, really not having any clue what to order.
The woman laughed. "Not a beer drinker then?"
"No," Marie answered.
"You like irony?"
"I guess so."
And that was how Marie ended up drinking champagne in darkened bar full of lost souls.
Needless to say, it drew her a lot of attention. Soon she had the most obnoxious men hitting on her, and sidling up close to her. The champagne had hit her hard, which was initially what she wanted. It went down smooth and sweet, the fizz easing along her buzz. Still, she was in no mood for company, and the occupants of the bar that dared to go near her table dropped, unconscious to the floor like flies.
The bartender and waitress gave each other wide eyed glances, but appeared to pay no mind to the mutant girl at the back of the bar dropping customers to the ground left and right with a mere touch, and kept bringing her champagne.
When Remy set out for his favourite watering hole that night, he had no intention of doing anything but drinking. The plan was to get as plastered as he possibly could, so he could ignore the fact that he had just lost over fifty grand. Pyro was coming tomorrow for his final answer. It would still be the same, and Remy would just have to deal with the consequences. He was not looking forward to what the Marauders were going to say about him ditching the Brotherhood job in favour of a cute girl, but he'd deal with that when the time came.
He dashed silently through the back alley and grabbed hold of the door, entering the dark, smoky bar. The first thing he noticed was how un-crowded it was.
Odd for a Friday night.
The second thing he noticed was Louie, the bartender, standing stiffly with the waitress. They caught his eye and motioned him over.
The third thing he noticed was the bodies on the floor.
What the hell?
He slowly slinked his way over to Louie, careful not to draw attention to himself. He leaned casually up against the bar, dipping his ear close to the burly, sweaty man.
"Thank God you're here, Remy. We've got another one of your kind here tonight," the man began nervously; whispering like the Devil himself was in the bar.
"A mutant?" Remy smirked. The man was afraid to say the word. Perfect, Remy was itching for a fight. Blowing off some steam on some poor sap would make him feel a whole lot better.
"Yeah, she, um, came in and fellas started dropping to the floor just from one touch," Louie answered quietly.
Remy raised his eyebrows. She?
"Melissa here's been keeping the champagne flowing, y'know to keep her happy," Louie continued to whisper. "Didn't want to confront her or call the cops, y'know make her angry. Just been sorta pacifying her 'til you showed up. We kinda hoped you'd take care of it."
Remy suddenly felt ill. He had a pretty good idea which mutant was sitting at his dark, corner table with the ground around her littered with unconscious bodies. She was here.
Sidetracked, Remy shook his head in bewilderment. "I'm sorry, but did you just say you've been feeding her champagne?"
"Yes."
Very few things made Remy nervous. The girl sitting in the corner, downing champagne amongst unconscious bodies did. It screamed psychopath. He could only assume that she was here looking for him. He wasn't sure if she was here to try and fight him again. If she wanted to finish him off she could have done that earlier this week when she'd grabbed the upper hand in their pointless fight.
No, he reasoned, she was here for entirely different reasons all together. The fact still remained that she was here, and that gave Remy plenty of options. The fact that she was drunk, gave him plenty more.
Perhaps if he played his cards right, he could find out exactly what she knew about his connections to the Brotherhood. They might even come to some sort of an arrangement that resulted in him keeping his job and not having to 'off' her. She was here anyway and it couldn't just be coincidence...
"Let's get another bottle at her table," Remy said slyly before slinking over to her table.
She noticed him right away, which was good, because he didn't wait to be invited to sit down at her table. He just did.
She leaned forward, the glass in her hands sloshing liquid carelessly up the side. She was already very drunk, but still surprisingly coherent.
She peered at him suspiciously. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "I know you!"
"And I know you, although I don't think we've actually formally introduced ourselves," he answered holding out his gloved hand for her to shake.
She didn't and stared at his hand instead, almost mesmerized by the black leather encasing his hand.
"Did it hurt badly?" she asked.
"When you knocked me out? No, I don't think so, I'm—"
"No!" she interrupted. "When you blew up your hand playing cards with your brother. You wear the glove to hide the scars."
Remy froze, curling his fingers from her reach, back into his palm. He pulled his hand away and guiltily tucked it under the table. He hadn't expected her to know those kinds of things. Those deep, dark things from long ago. Things he didn't want to remember.
She stared at him with her head slightly tilted waiting for an answer.
"I don't remember," he lied uncomfortably. "It was a long time ago."
"Oh," she answered, taking a large gulp of her champagne.
The waitress brought another bottle and a flute for Remy. He eagerly poured himself a glass of the champagne, cringing as the sickeningly sweet liquid fizzed down his throat. He was going to need a lot more than champagne talking to this girl. His nerves were already set on edge. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what else this girl knew about him.
He was pouring himself another glass along with hers, surprised at how quickly the first one went down. He really was on edge tonight.
"So?" he broached carefully, in a flirty tone. "What else do you know about me? Anything more recent?" He tucked his hands under his chin and leaned his elbows on the table.
She caught on to the flirty tone and giggled, the glass swishing wildly in her hand. Remy smiled. She was at ease with him. That was good, very good.
She grinned. "I know you like to steal things and—" She stopped, caution fleeting back into her eyes.
"And?" he pressed gently.
"And you kissed me."
"You kissed me first."
"You left me no choice," she answered pulling away from him, slightly swaying in her chair.
"No, I didn't, did I?"
"You're with the Brotherhood," she answered, finally realizing exactly where she knew him from.
"Technically, I'm on loan to the Brotherhood."
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means, I work for a different organization and have been hired out to the Brotherhood for a job. Once the job is done, I get hired out again."
"Like a mercenary?" she asked.
"Oui."
She giggled. "You're cute when you do that. I'd hire you just for that!"
Remy relaxed. She was warming up to him again, fading back into her bubbly, drunk happiness. He gave his best flirtatious smile and leaned in closer to her, letting his knee brush against hers under the table. This was proving to be a piece of cake.
She smiled shyly at him, tipping her head down and glancing up at him with those sparkling, adorable eyes. He had her now.
"Say, ma cherie? You don't happen to know what I'm doing for the Brotherhood do you?"
"Getting paid," she answered, giggling again.
"And?"
Her face wrinkled in thought, trying to find an answer to a trick question. "I don't know," she answered, laughing like it was a joke.
Remy breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know anything. He poured her more champagne, almost finishing the bottle.
He clinked his glass with hers.
Here's to you not having to die, Chere, he toasted silently.
With that out of the way, his better manners kicked in. He thought it was best to get her safely home just in case Magneto had sent out any of his goons early for the girl. Considering that Remy had so ardently refused to get involved, he wouldn't put it past Magneto to take precautions. The last thing Remy wanted was that damned Creed scenting her trail.
She didn't know anything, and was extremely drunk—something Remy had encouraged by keeping the drinks coming. She was very vulnerable if he left her alone right now.
"I think we'd better call it a night, ma cherie," he purred, offering his hand again to her.
She gleefully accepted it this time, stumbling slightly and laughing loudly. He tucked her under his arm, keeping her steady. Keeping her safe.
He gave Louie a look that told him everything was okay and under control as he walked her from the bar.
"Just throw it all on my tab," Remy called out before he left.
"Sure thing, Remy," Louie answered gratefully.
"Remy?" Marie giggled delightfully.
"Hmmm?"
"That's a cute name!"
More euphoric giggles.
He smiled. She was turning out to be really cute herself. He needed to get her home safely before he got any more bright ideas. He never could seem to resist a cute girl, even one with a suicide kiss.
They reached his car and he helped her into the passenger side seat before he got in on the driver's side.
"Where do you live, ma petite?" he asked, pulling out of the parking lot.
She didn't answer.
He glanced over and swore. She had passed out cold in the passenger seat.
He nudged her a bit. "Chere? Wake up. I need you to tell me where you live."
She remained blissfully asleep in his car.
Remy ran his hand through his hair. She was an X-man, so there was no point checking her driver's license as to where she lived. The address would no doubt be a fake, along with the name. That left him with one other option.
"Okay," he said to himself, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "My place it is."
