Disclaimer: I Do Not Own The X-Men Or Anything Related To The X-Men.
Thank you to everyone who looked at the previous chapter. I appreciate you guys and gals taking time out of your lives to look at this story. I will admit that this one may be a little rougher since I had to use Google Translate so much. I know from talks with Mrs. Jehilew that sometimes Google translate can be a little off and some of the phrases are definitely a little off in this chapter since I couldn't quite do the word-for-word meaning. Anywho, hope it doesn't bother any of you who speak and/or read French well.
Remy LeBeau is a big stupid crybaby.
Scratch that. Remy LeBeau is a big stupid French crybaby.
All I did was beat him in one little board game and he goes all international on me! Seriously, he is the one who cheated! Why am I the one getting the attitude? He thinks he is so clever tossing out all those French phrases. Like I have no clue he is calling me every name in the book.
Really, I thought he was handling it all somewhat well. You don't spend thirteen days trapped with the same person and not pick up on their moods. Sure he was annoyed that he lost, but last night he was at least talking without requiring subtitles. Then all of a sudden, he comes out of the bathroom this morning with his man panties all in a twist.
"Je vis avec un slob complet! (I live with a complete slob!)"
"Hey!" I could pick out a few of those words even through the grumbles.
"Sérieusement, vous avez votre propre rasoir! (Seriously, you have your own razor!)"
Okay, that one was a little harder to piece together. Too bad for Monsieur LeBeau, I happened to have some high school French class under my belt. And no, I absolutely did not take that because of him. I mean, I just happen to like the language a little. At least, I enjoyed it before the crazy croissant over there started protesting and throwing his hands in the air.
"Vous savez que vous pouvez nettoyer ce putain de vidange! (You know you can clean the damn drain!)" He pointed an accusatory finger at me, then added, "Vous vous rendez compte que méchante que la boule de poil que vous quittez est? (Do you realize how nasty that hairball you are leaving is?)"
"Oh yeah?!" My temper flared as I pulled out my French book and struggled through the best insult I could think of. "Well," It's not like a school textbook would offer many curse words, though. "Vous êtes une tête de céleri! (You're a celery head!)"
Remy paused his rants for a moment and stared at me with a slightly agape mouth. His left eyebrow began to slowly rise as the right one slid down, giving him a complete look of confusion and surprise. It was kind of exhilarating to finally be the one stumping him with my language skills. Bout time the shoe was on the other foot!
"And you know what?" I hobbled together the first sentence I could from the textbook's vocabulary list, "Vous êtes aussi intelligent que l'orteil d'un âne! (You are as clever as the toe of a donkey!)"
Suddenly, the shocked look on Remy's face began to shift. His hand covered his mouth and he closed both eyes for a moment. A deep, tiny, itty-bitty part of me worried for a second if whatever I said had really shaken him up. Then, those broad shoulders began to tremble and he took in a huge breath…. Oh, crap… Did I make him cry?
"That is the worst French Remy has ever heard!"
The jerk cackled and chuckled so hard his body shook! That idiot fucking laughed till a tear rolled down his cheek, and then kept on laughing as he walked over to me.
"Really, Chere," He wiped away a tear and, without a shred of his former frustration, poked my book, "Tell me you are not that poor of a French student."
"Hey!" I yanked the book from him and offered the sternest frown in my arsenal, "I'll have you know, that I have a solid C in French!"
"Must be un professeur miséricordieux (A merciful teacher)," He laughed once more to get it out of his system, then dared to wrap an arm around my shoulders, "What you say Remy tutors you till you actually earn a grade that high?"
"Yeah right, Cajun. You expect me to believe you would want to be all nice after all those curse words you been yelling at me?"
"Curses?" Remy blinked and suddenly grew a goofy grin like he had still managed to pull something over my head.
"Stop laughing Swamp Rat!" I pushed him away from my side and the boy fell into another deep round of chuckles, "I caught you and you know it! You can't just throw your French words around and expect me to not understand!"
"Oh, Chere," He stopped laughing for a moment and clutched his side, "Remy takes back his complaints." The man stepped forward again and swept my gloved hand up to his lips, "Vous pouvez être un slob complet, mais vous êtes mon slob préféré. (You can be a complete slob, but you're my favorite slob.)"