Author's note: I again remind you that I only own the plot, Marie Thibeau, and other original characters. Also, this is EvoVerse, not MovieVerse, and thus there ought to be no correlation between Marie Thibeau and Rogue, as they are clearly different people.
Please read, review, and enjoy!
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Remy was in awe.
He didn't know what Marie Thibeau's powers were, but he figured they had to do with being lucky. She'd beaten him in all kinds of poker, even the obscure versions he had to explain to her. Henri and Mercy had long since stopped playing and had retreated upstairs after Marie told them to get a room.
After the latest game of Billabong, Remy shuffled the cards and put the deck on the table.
He'd moved over to the other couch for a better setup, so now he watched Marie over the coffee table. She looked up from her casual inspection of her fingernails and frowned.
"What?"
Remy shook his head. "How come y' so mean, p'tit?"
"Mean? What do you mean, mean?"
"Y' got this look on y' face. Why de frown?"
She rolled her eyes. "Just because I'm frowning doesn't mean I'm mean."
"Non, c'est pas juste ça. Mercy— you two don' s'addonner. Get along, I mean."
"It's impossible for me to truly respect her. Everything she does completely clashes with me. If we weren't related nothing could inspire me to have a relationship with her."
"Dat's a bit cold, non?" Marie shrugged.
"It's the truth."
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As soon as Mercy and Henri got up the stairs and into the kitchen, they were stopped by Tante Mattie.
Mercy had met the woman twice before, although the first time she'd barely gotten a chance to say hello. Second time around, earlier this week, she'd eaten with Henri, Tante Mattie, and Remy. They all seemed to approve of her love of spices, and she in turn fell in love with Tante's cooking.
Now, Tante Mattie was sitting at the small kitchen table, marking her place in a book.
"'Allo, Mercy."
"Hi, Tante Mattie."
Henri wrapped his arms around Mercy's waist. "Remy's gettin' beat aux cartes."
"Oh?"
"Marie's really good with numbers," Mercy said proudly. Tante Mattie raised her eyebrows. "Oh, Marie's my sister."
"She's fifteen, Tante."
Tante Mattie laughed. "Oh, mon dieu. Remy doit être très choqué."
"Ouais."
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Marie was being extra careful.
If Remy knew how happy she was, she would never live it down. Marie Thibeau didn't believe in emotions, and God forbid if someone thought she had them. Remy seemed so much more perceptive than the average person— although it was fair to say that he wasn't average in any way, shape or form.
Not only did he have the fascinating red-on-black eyes, but he was beautiful. Not even her normal adherence to the golden ratio undermined his good looks.
And the cherry on top: Remy LeBeau was fantastic at cards.
Card with Remy was for Marie more than just a game. She felt herself responding to each move as if they were in a dance; it was almost evenly matched. Remy had skill, so much more than she could have guessed. He must have played an unhealthy amount to be so good— unless his mutation had to do with it.
"Do you have any other quirks?"
Remy looked surprised. "Oui."
"Show me."
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Remy was almost too put off by Marie's superiority to appreciate it. He hated taking orders from people, and Marie's tone mirrored Jean-Luc's almost perfectly. He was so unnerved that it took more than a few seconds to realize how extremely mature Marie was.
He usually liked his girls to be mature. But not only was Marie in no way his, she took maturity to a level that spooked him. It was as if she was a robot— an extremely intelligent, calculating and cunning robot, but a robot nonetheless.
He was half tempted to not show Marie his more dangerous gift, but politess dictated he do so. He'd already realized she had yet to meet another mutant, and he'd be a terrible first example if he didn't show her what he could do.
So with a hint of trepidation, Remy felt in his pockets for something he didn't need. He found it in a crumpled receipt from a grocery store. He held the paper in his fingers and closed his eyes for a moment to find the source of energy he needed.
When his eyes opened, he saw Marie's eyes widen, doubtlessly at the brightness of the red in his eyes. Her eyes moved down to his hand, and she outright gasped when she saw the magenta glow around the paper.
He squeezed the receipt into a tighter wad and tossed it into the air, where it exploded with a small bang.
Marie flinched at the noise, but she was still looking at him. Her expression was unreadable, and Remy couldn't think of anything to do but stare back.
Usually, it was hard to look a girl in the face without turning on his charm, but he would have had to work to turn it on now. Marie might have been decent-looking, but he found nothing about her attractive. Her coldness radiated around her that he felt more naked than he ever had around a woman.
Marie, Remy suddenly realized, turned him off.
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The sudden quirking of Remy's lips at this revelation did not escape Marie's notice. She had a feeling that Remy, clearly a playboy, had just realized that she was unattractive to him. It had been clear to her from the start that Remy would not be attracted to her— it was a similar situation to the one she shared with her sister.
They were too different. Despite their common mutant heritage and love of cards, their personalities clashed. Remy was warmer, friendlier. He was much more genuine than Marie ever cared to be. Only Mike could still make her smile truly real, and she saw him so infrequently that when she did manage to get to Rochester, her cheeks ached.
They were both intense, true. But Remy's passion far outweighed Marie's, and she knew that there was something in her makeup that kept her from being uninhibited. And that stifled spontaneous Remy. For Marie, control was everything.
Logic is what I breathe.
If Remy breathed anything, it was raw passion. Marie was frightened and fascinated by him, but she'd be the last one to say anything.
It was always safer to be interested from a distance.