Nicotine and Nightmares
Aah. That was better. Remy sat on the roof, breathing the sweet smoke from his cigarette. There was a slight noise behind him, as if someone had landed softly on the tiles. There were only four people Remy knew at the mansion who could do that, and only one he could think of who would be out at night.
"Bonjour, Chére. What y' doin' up so late?" He asked in his smooth Louisianan accent. He heard soft footsteps approaching him. She sat down next to him, on the ledge.
"How d'yah know it's meh?" She replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. He shifted position, putting his arm around her.
"Well, it coulda been y', Stormy, Jeanny or Wings. Bucket-head is too heavy t' land so quietly, an' none of de ot'ers would be up at-" He checked his watch "-one in de mornin'. So, I'll repeat m' question. What y' doin' up so late?"
"Every nahgt, Ah watch mah parents die in an aeroplane, Ah'm in the holocaust, Ah have adamantium injected intah mah bones, mah father and brother abandon meh at a mental home, mah powahs are activated by watchin' mah best friend be hit by a car, mah half-brother tries tah kill meh, mah mother drops meh off a bridge intah a river, an' . Ah don' really lahke sleepin'."
Remy stared at her in new admiration.
"Y' go t'rough all dat, every night?" She nodded. He pulled her around so she was lying with her head in his lap.
"Get some sleep, Chére. Remy will wake y' if y' start havin' nightmares." Rogue struggled for a bit, but he held her still. Finally, she succumbed.
"But, how will yah know if Ah have a nightmare?" She yawned, curling into him.
"Remy's got his empathy, remember, Chére? Now, go t' sleep, d'accord?" Rogue nodded, and Remy lightly kissed the top of her head.
"Bon nuit, an' rêves plaisants."
rêves plaisants is pleasant dreams in French. Anyone got any ideas for O?