Graah. Sorry I made it sound like I was snapping meanly at people in my last Author's Note. That wasn't my intention, really… Apologies.

Hmm. So, since I'm interested in vampires, etc. (according to a friend, I'm a vampire myself…lol), and I'm off on a Romy kick, I was thinking about mixing the two in another fic… But of course that would mean I'd have three fics on the burner… thoughts?
Anyway, here's another Stuff From The Guild chapter. : ) Good Lord, this one took me forever to write! I don't know why, really… Hope you all like it. And remember—whether you like it or not, please review!

Enjoy!

Oh—and for you people who don't read French (which I read rather badly, I only learn what I need to sing!): la rose noire is pronounced (roughly) "la RO-zuh NWAH-ruh" … if anyone has a more accurate way to spell out that pronunciation, PLEASE put it in a review or e-mail… fanfic. net doesn't accept IPA characters…

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Xanadu

by Alara

Chapter 14: "I would build that dome in air,"

After breakfast was finished, Rogue and Remy decided to leave the dishes for later, and investigate the contents of the boxes from the Guild. They sat where Remy had left them, slowly steaming dry in the hallway, their blank paper coverings beginning to wrinkle.

Rogue stayed in the doorway, watching, as Remy approached the largest of the boxes. He eyed the letter attached to the top in much the same manner as a man would eye a wild animal—as though it were ready to pounce on him.

Carefully, he removed the envelope from the top of the box, walked over to the couch, sat down, and stared at the envelope in his hands for several minutes.

Several long minutes.

Rogue crossed the room. "Cajun," she drawled, "I don't care how good those pretty eyes of yours are; you are not going to be able to read that letter 'til it's out of the envelope."

He turned his head to look at her. "I know…" he said hoarsely, and she was startled to see that his eyes were teared up. "I know, but chere… I miss them so much," he said on a sigh.

She sighed, sat, and placed a comforting arm around his. "I know. It's been, what, more than a year since you've seen them, right?"

He sighed again. "Oui. A very long year."

She nudged his shoulder encouragingly. "Well, at least you'll see them again soon." She winced; despite her best effort, a hint of bitterness had seeped into her tone.

"Chere…" he said softly, following her train of thought. "It's all right to be angry at your former teammates…"

"It's not that I'm angry at them, exactly…" She said, and shot him a wry glance. "Sorry to be still on about this whole thing, you'd think I'd have gotten over it by now…"

"Nah, chere," he replied easily. "You'll get over it when you get over it, and not before." She smiled wanly at that comment, and continued.

"Well, it's not like I'm angry at them, exactly… Well, no, I am angry at them, but that's not most of it. I feel like—like even if I showed up on the doorstep this minute, after so long away… I feel that I wouldn't be welcome."

"Why's dat, cherie?" He prompted, when she paused.

"Well… if they could just cut and run on me like that… not really try to get me if there was any risk involved… I don't know how valuable I really ever was to them all, except to make sure they knew where I was and who I was absorbing."

"Ah. Because of your power, and your lack of control," Remy murmured. "Y' mean to say, you think Xavier took you in because he wanted to know where the world's potentially most powerful mutant was, not necessarily because he wanted to help you."

"Well, I'm sure he wanted to help me," Rogue swiftly replied, then wilted. "I'm just not sure how strong 'helping me' versus 'keeping tabs on me' ever was, now. I mean, I didn't really have any friends besides Kitty and Kurt. Kitty was my friend mostly because we were rooming together, and also because that's just the sort of nice person both she and Kurt are. But after I lost control—even they didn't want to be around me so much. Too scared of the freak amongst freaks."

"Mmh." Remy considered that for a moment, then asked gently, "Chere… you said you felt as though if you turned up on de mansion's front steps right now they wouldn't welcome you. But what about you? Do you want to go back there?"

Rogue sighed again. "Honestly? No. I really don't think I'd fit in there anymore, if I ever really did, what with all that's happened to me—to us—over the past several months. No, I think I'd much rather meet this crazy, thieving family of yours…" She shook off the mood, and added teasingly, "Speaking of which, are you just trying to avoid opening that letter, or what?"

"What?" He glanced down at the letter, lying forgotten in his lap, and laughed. "All right, chere, I'll open it." He did so, ignoring her muttered comment of 'Finally.'

To Remy's surprise, not one, but two smaller envelopes fell out when he removed the outer covering. He handed one to Rogue.

"What's this?"

"I dunno… Has your 'name' on it though."

She turned the envelope over in her hands, frowning slightly as she examined its surface. "Remy… there's a very good drawing of a flower on it, but nowhere does it say my name."

"Sure it does." He tapped the hand-drawn flower. "Le rose noire, de black rose." At her look, he explained, "Ma famille has a strange sense of humor, sometimes."

"Ah," was her only comment, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. Shrugging, she opened the heavy envelope, and pulled out a few sheets of paper. The neat, Palmer-method-perfect handwriting that graced the first page could only belong to Remy's Tante Mattie, and reading the first words only confirmed that suspicion: "Bonsoir, ma petit cherie!..."

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"Bonsoir, ma petit cherie! I am so looking forward to meeting you… if that child Remy ever comes home, that is!

Ah. Perhaps, as Mercy is suggesting, I should introduce myself. (Mercy, by the by, is Remy's brother's girlfriend.) I am Remy's Tante Mattie, and if that's not enough information that you don't know who I am, then Remy hasn't been doing his duty by me. You just let me know when you get home whether the boy ought to be yelled at or not, the latter of which is unlikely. So: Merry Christmas, my dear! I hope you don't mind, but I've sent along some gifts for you—nothing special, just things like the scarf. I do hope you like them, and I do hope they fit. But there are notes in with the gifts, dear, so I won't waste space here.

Rogue paused, and thought, I hope it fits…? Uh-oh… that sounds like clothes. She returned to the letter.

But that's enough nattering on from an old woman; I'll let Merci write for a bit.

Here, the handwriting changed to a rounder script that Rogue could only think of as being 'good-natured.' The words were equally warm.

Hello, Rose Noire! Well that's how everyone else down here is referring to you now… Don't worry, a few of us will remember that you go by 'Roisin'! I'm Mercy, Henri's girlfriend. Tell Remy he'd better have only said nice things about me, or else. You see, we women are terribly outnumbered in the LeBeau house, and even in the Guild as a whole, so I am truly looking forward to having you here. Which, I pray, will be soon. I know you cannot write back an answer, so I will try not to ask any of the thousand and one questions I have for you… Well, actually I will include a few here, so you can have your answers ready when we finally meet. From what that budding pickpocket/courier Henry says, I believe you and I will get along very well indeed. So! Some of my questions: Where did you live before you met Remy? What did you do there? Do you have any hobbies? Personally, during the winter months, I end up doing embroidery a lot, but I also like dancing and horseback riding. If you've never been, I must get you out on some of the trails here—they're such fun! What is your favorite color, and book, and movie? And most importantly: HOW did you and Remy contrive to meet, and in the Federal Witness Protection Program at that?

Well. I'm sure I've given you enough questions to think about, and I'm equally sure you'll be telling the Family as a whole the answer to that last question, so I shall stop writing now, and only repeat how very much I am looking forward to meeting you! I believe Tante will add something now. Regards, Mercy.

The handwriting switched again, back to Tante's neat script, which was only a few more lines:

Yes, Mercy is right: we are all looking very much forward to meeting you, Rose Noire… the sooner the better! Now, keep yourself healthy 'til you get down here where it's warm. And come down as soon as you can!

All of our prayers are with you both. Sincerely, Tante Mattie.

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Rogue gently placed the letter in her lap, much touched by the warm welcome and excitement apparent in both women's writing. So long as that's not all for show, she thought, I actually might fit in down there, a little. Despite her tendency toward cynicism, she felt a bit of hope blossom within her at Remy's family's apparent welcoming nature. They're very polite thieves, is all I'll say for now, she decided, and turned to see how Remy was coming along with his letter, which was a good deal longer than hers.

He still wasn't reading it.

"I'll say it only one more time, sugar," she drawled threateningly. "Letters work better if you open them. Like sometime before the New Year?"

He shot a half-grin in her direction. "I know. Just trying to get t'gether the courage to read what Tante has to say to me."

"She was nice to me," Rogue protested.

He shot her a glance. "Dat's because she wants to be nice an' charming to you. Once we get t' N'Orleans, though, well…" he shrugged. "You can't say you weren't warned: Don't make Tante Mattie angry."

"Oh, quit being such a wimp," Rogue replied. "She's already 'yelled' at you for not coming home in the last letter; what else could she possibly have found to be angry at you since then?"

"Don't ask," he replied mournfully. "You'll see for yourself, she'll have found something." So saying, he opened his envelope, which had the words "Mon fils," "My Son," scribbled on its front.

Remy gave her a glance. "Well. At least she let mon pere write first." Rogue rolled her eyes in response as he carefully unfolded the papers, and began to read.
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Mon fils: I shall reiterate here how very much you are missed here in the family seat. Unfortunately, it's not just because I miss my son, Henri his brother, or the Guild one of their best, one of their princes. No, we really need you back here, Remy, to aid in planning more seamless heists—Jacques simply doesn't have your panache—and for helping this blasted frustrating peace process progress! The new recruits also could use some discipline from their Wild Prince—there are actually a few, now, who have never met you and frankly disbelieve all of the tales the older Thieves tell them of you. We've had more of our new ones get caught in the past few months than in the past year altogether; so please, do return as quickly as possible. And this time it's not a request—bring that Roisin girl back with you. The things young Henry reports of her intrigue me…

Speaking of whom, a side note to the girl herself. To Roisin Dubh: I, Jean-Luc Anton LeBeau, do formally pledge you my protection and safety from all that is mine and all that is on my lands, from the moment you cross into my borders. Should any try to do you injury or insult, my people and I will defend you to the utmost of our ability.

Now, Remy, heed what I've written above… Here is your frere to write to you.

Mon frere Remy—I can only repeat what pere has writ, that we do miss you greatly. Between your absence and the peace accord, things are far too boring around here! The cousins have little to occupy their time, so they are getting up to more and more mischievous pranks within the Guild. You're the only one who can shut them up, you know it, so please, for all of our sanity's sakes, come home soon. Pere is correct, also, when he says the trainees are getting uppity without their Wild Prince to govern them… several of them sorely deserve a good beating into the ground.

You might be interested to know that I've spoken with Julian. Apparently, Belladonna is still with her Assassin thug, and may they have joy of one another, so long as they're not trying to kill you. Julian, of course, does not approve of his sister's current choice of beau, but there is little he can do. He does apologize for trying to skewer you on your wedding day, and would be very much obliged if you would return and sign the annulment papers. I must run now—Tante is heading this way, and I do believe she'd tear my hand off along with the pen, she's so intent on writing to you.

Remy LeBeau! Didn't I tell you already to get your self back here, boy? This time I really mean it. I met with one of the voudouns a few days back; she said that the Guild's second son was needed back in town by the ball or some bad juju would be coming down—many will be hurt, and many will die. So if you don't come back, that harm will be on your head—you've been warned. All my love, Tante.

Here Remy had to pause and blink, for the handwriting changed to a much younger hand, one which had not yet gotten the hang of cursive writing, who apparently was also being corrected on his spelling, since there were many cross outs and corrections. He laughed when he realized the author.
Hi Roisin! Hi Remy! Everybody else is writting writing it, but I will writte write it too. I miss you. Travelling Traveling down here was really really fun, and all of your paswords passwords and stuff worked, and now I'm lerning learning a ton of stuff. I'm in school and that's not so great, but it's with the Guild and I guess my parents would like it if I wasn't some dropout. The teacher says my speling spelling isn't the best th tho thogh though. (Did your Tante Mattie correct your spelling for you too?) Are the police still looking for a runaway in Ohio? I hope so, so that they can't find me here. See you soon, Very Sincerely Yours, Mr. Henry Walter.

Mon fils—I did not let the cousins write you this time; they're being punished again. I know, you are shocked and appalled. Included in the packages is some cash; please use it to get here safely, subtly, and quickly. The ball is in mid-February, try to get here by then at least, please. Merry Christmas from all here! Love, Jean-Luc LeBeau.
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Remy smiled fondly at his father's final words, and gently refolded the letter and replaced it into the envelope. Both young people sat there for a moment lost in their own thoughts. Rogue was considering how nice everyone seemed, while Remy was pondering how quickly they really could get down to New Orleans. With a shake, Remy freed himself from his thoughts, and instead began opening the gift-boxes, which were filled with smaller boxes.

He pulled out a box or two marked with his own name before coming across a smallish one for Rogue, which he tossed at her without warning.

"Hey! Watch it, Cajun!" she said.

"What, you don't like me t'rowing gifts your way? Okay," he said complacently, causing her to grin. "Guess I'll just kee—"

"You keep the gifts meant for me, I'll sic your Tante on you."

"Chere, I had no idea you were so cruel!"

She laughed, "You have no idea."

He threw his hands up in mock-defeat. "Fine, fine, take your gifts."

"Don't mind if I do," she simpered at him, and tore the paper off of the gift. Beneath the paper was a long narrow box, with a hinged lid. The box itself was stained an exquisitely rich reddish brown, and inset into the top was the Thieves' Guild logo in brass. Rogue lifted the lid and blinked at what she found inside: To the left, in a compartment perfectly sized for it, was a small bottle of purest black ink. To the right of the ink-bottle was a shallow tray, further compartmentalized to hold several dip-style pens. Two were wooden holders with exchangeable metal nibs, and one was a spiraling long twist of glass. Eagerly, she lifted out this tray to reveal the materials needed to wax-seal a document. Curiously, she lifted the seal to find that it was carved so that it would leave a rose in relief in the molten

wax. She laughed aloud when she realized that the sealing waxes themselves were silver and, of course, black: she could seal her correspondence with the Black Rose. They sure have taken to that name, she thought to herself in amusement, but then, I bet they nickname everyone: Remy's the 'Wild Prince,' after all…

Her next gift proved to be more practical, a lovely hand-tooled wallet and matching bag of rich, soft black leather. Obviously, it was an expensive gift; she just hoped it hadn't been stolen from someone who loved it too much. There was a gift certificate to one of her favorite music stores inside of the bag, when she peeked inside; she grinned in delight. How did they know?

She turned to see Remy opening his own gift, which proved to be a beautiful silver dagger, with the ever-present Thieves' Guild sigil set into the pommel. The hilt was inset with small precious stones, which winked at her from across the room. The blade was double-edged, long, and narrow. Remy examined it curiously. "Huh," he said, almost involuntarily.

"What?"

"I t'ink dis is one of the Assassins' work," he said. "For ma pere to have bought a dagger for his son from them, de peace talks must be going pretty well." He shrugged, and returned the dagger to its case. He pulled the next large box over, glanced inside, and shoved the entire thing toward Rogue. "Dat's all for you, chere. But don't be too nervous about it all."

"Nervous? Why would I be—" Rogue cut herself off as she opened the largest of the boxes inside of the shipping box. Inside was a simply gorgeous dress, from what she could see of it. She stood, and shook it out. It was vaguely Victorian in style, crafted of silver, forest-green, and antique white satin, with a bit of deep blood-red thrown in at accent points. Black lace trimmed the gown, covered parts of it, and upon closer inspection, Rogue could see that it was the same black rose/Thieves' Guild motif that graced the scarf upstairs. The skirt was wide, the bodice seemed to be well-fitted, and the neckline was one that would flatter her most. How the heck did they know that? She wondered briefly, and continued opening boxes; obviously, these all went together. In one was something that looked suspiciously like a corset; in another, an under dress; in a third, a layered underskirt simply covered in yards of lace. My God, this is all so expensive, how can they just—mail­—something like this to me? Aren't they concerned about me ripping or damaging it? Despite herself, she found her fingers stroking the satin smoothness of the gown.

She'd never admitted it back at the Institute—it would ruin her image—but part of the reason she liked the Goth stuff was that so much of it was this same exquisite old-fashioned beauty, the attention to details, the rich fabrics and vibrant colors—it wasn't all about the black. She'd loved the dress she'd worn for the musical Dracula in school, and had deeply regretted giving it up at the end of production. It was one of the few times she'd worn a dress—she dressed in tough-girl, anti-girly girl stuff all of the time because, quite simply, girly girl clothes tended to, one, be far too skin-baring for her to be comfortable, and two, they tended to be pastel-colored, which simply looked awful on her. This gown, however, was like the sun to a candle when compared to that dress from the show. It was gorgeous, beautiful. She loved it already.

She could never wear it.

"Dat's t' be worn to de ball, chere," Remy's voice drawled, interrupting her reverie. "And if I'm not mistaken, it's made of de same stuff as that scarf of yours upstairs… you'll have a hard time damaging it."

She gaped at him, astonished. He meant for her to actually wear this thing!

"Remy, there's no way I can wear this!" She exclaimed. "I mean, it's beautiful, but it's a dress made for a freakin' princess, not someone like me!"

He gave her a hangdog look. "Y' mean you're gonna make me get all dressed up alone? See, they sent me an outfit too." He shoved his own collection of clothes boxes at her. Their contents looked like some fabulous man's costume out of Phantom of the Opera or something, and she could just see how great he'd look in them already.

"Chere," he softly intoned, pleadingly. "What's the matter with the dress? Why won't you wear it?"

"Well… it's… it's just… not something I could see myself wearing and looking even halfway decent in it. I mean, you're asking a former Goth-chick to wear a… a ballgown, and it's beautiful, but I just don't think I can do it justice!"

"Well, I'm a T'ief going to put on de fancy dress-clothes," he pointed out. "I think that's a bit more of a stretch than a beau femme such as yourself putting on an equally beautiful dress. Besides," he added, "if you're not in proper dress, dey don't let you in."

She looked at him, aghast. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

She looked at him a moment, and he looked at her, and finally he said, "Would it perhaps help if I gave you de crowning touch to de outfit?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Maybe."

"Well." He pulled out the final pair of boxes; from they way he handled them, they were heavy. He lifted the lid and glanced inside one, and handed her the other box. She took it with an 'oof'—they were as heavy as they looked.

Slowly she lifted the lid, and literally lost her breath at what was before her. A superb Mardi-Gras ceramic mask looked up at her; it was covered in paint, jewels, feathers, beads, to make an utterly astounding work of wearable art. The effect was phantasmagoric, ethereal; she'd look like a queen of faerie if she wore it…

Gently, she lifted the mask from the box; it was lighter than she expected, probably so the wearer wouldn't get neck strain from wearing it. Unbidden, her eyes fell to the layer beneath the mask, and she felt dizzy with the amount of sheer wealth lying there. Jewelry—in platinum, silver, gold, precious stones—all of it gleamed up at her. There was jewelry for her hair, for her neck, wrists, ankles, fingers…

Good Lord, if I wore all of this I'd better stay away from standing water, I'd drown in a puddle! She thought, awed.

"Remy…" she said slowly. "Did your family make a mistake here?"

"No," he said offhandedly, examining his own mask with delight. "Dey basically just sent you everything you'd have to choose from if we were at the Guild Seat right now. Mercy did mention there aren't many women around, right? Dere's not too many to split stuff up amongst, you see."

"Am I supposed to wear…all of it?" Her tone was doubtful.

To her utter relief, he burst out laughing. "No, chere, you can pick and choose what you'd like to wear—some of it, all of it, none of it. Tante just wanted to make sure you weren't left out of de choices all de other girls have."

"Ah." She heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, Cajun, I won't promise yet that I'll wear all of this, but I will try it all on, see how it is. Is that all right for now?"

"Sure, chere." As she turned to carry some of the things upstairs, he stopped her. "Rogue?"

She turned. "Yes?"
"Did you have a good Christmas?" His smile was anxious.

Her face broke into a smile. "The best, Remy," she said. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas." They smiled at each other a moment more, then Remy too began to help clean up the room as Rogue walked upstairs, humming a carol.

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As Review Responses are now verboten on fanfic. net, well, if you want me to reply to you from now on you WILL have to login before reviewing, OR you will have to include your email address in your review. (I really don't want to ask people to put their email up in such a public forum. However, I really don't want to have to switch to "signed reviews only" either. But if I have to I will.) So from now on, starting next chapter, my Review Responses area will address only those concerns/questions that a lot of reviewers seem to have. If there are no common questions, well, then I guess I'll just leave a comment. Please don't let this dissuade you from reviewing, however! As I said before, if you are signed in when you review, I ­will reply, at least briefly. Thanks again! –Alara