Mattie was standing before her new color television set, the fancy clicker that came with it hung limp in her hand. Jean-Luc was seated on her couch, leaning forward, elbows on knees. Jean-Luc was seeing his son Remy not as he knew him, but as the world saw him. It was not necessarily a sensation of embarrassment, not on Remy's behalf, anyway. But a feeling of failure; that despite his efforts, Jean-Luc had not equipped this young man with the tools he needed to navigate the world at large. The world was not seeing the unselfconscious flamboyance of someone who lived loudly. Who literally didn't care if he was caught with his pants down around his ankles. They were seeing a strange person, a clownish imbecile, who looked as if he'd rolled out of a Graceland gift shop in a pink Elvis tee-shirt and guitar-patterned button-down (he might have at that, but who was anyone to judge?). They weren't seeing a man who found humor in the decidedly unfunny, in the absurd. Instead, they were seeing someone irreverent, mocking and arrogant. Not someone who plumbed the depths of his own thoughts trying to make sense of a nonsensical world. Instead, someone uncaring and brooding, who couldn't be bothered to speak to others.
The reporter was attempting to interview him, as he had the other mutants: "What is your codename? Where are you from?"
"I am Mork from Ork," Remy replied. "Nanu Nanu."
Jean-Luc had steepled his fingers before him. He now pressed his index fingers into the space between his eyebrows, feeling a headache coming on.
"Storm called you 'Gambit,'" the reporter said.
"Gambit? What kinda stupid name is dat?" Remy asked. "You might've heard 'Bandit.'"
"So your codename is 'Bandit'?"
"No, what gave you dat idea?"
"Maybe you don't have a codename?"
"I can call you Betty, and Betty, when you call me, you can call me Al."
Jean-Luc rubbed his forehead.
"Let's move on to the next question," the reporter said, frustrated. "The other X-Men-."
"Oh, I'm not an X-Man."
"You-you're not?"
"Like a groupie, me. I just follow de band. Made out wit' the drummer a few times."
The cameraman sighed into the microphone. "Then...why are you in this fight? What are you fighting for?"
"You gotta fight."
"Yes, and?"
"For your right."
"Mutant rights?"
"To PAAAAARTAAY!"
"Okay, this interview is over."
"Don't step out of this house if that's the clothes you're gonna wey-yare!"
"Stop it! We can't afford the royalties! This is public radio!"
"I'll kick you out of my home if you don't cut. That. Hair!"
"You realize the entire world is watching?" Neal asked, exasperated.
"Really...? Hey, daddy! I'm on de tee-vee! Enh, Tatie! Love and kisses. Oh yeah, Go Saints!"
Mattie placed the clicker onto the couch cushion beside Jean-Luc and walked off into the kitchen. "Where are you goin'?" he asked.
"I need to gather my wits," Mattie said. She climbed a stool, took down a bottle from the cabinet over the refrigerator, and returned with two glasses. Filling her glass, she handed him the bottle and the second glass.
"You don't drink this, do you?" Jean-Luc asked, looking at the bottle's label.
"The kids cleaned me out when they came here after Mardi Gras," she said. "This is what's left."
Jean-Luc watched as Remy bid adieu to BellaDonna, who, as far as Jean-Luc could recall, had never once cried in all the time he'd known her. Her face had worn a look of fury and misery, and was very wet. Now he and Mattie watched their son get yanked into orbit along with his friends. The camera shuddered and Jean-Luc thought for sure the signal would be lost. By some miracle, after several painful minutes, the picture cleared somewhat and the televised disaster was once again on the screen. The footage was jumpy, it crackled, the audio muffled at times, but at others it was loud and shrill with the shrieking of demons. It was hard to tell if the pandemonium was enhanced by the jumbled footage, or if that was truly what the scene looked like. Even here in New Orleans, the sky had darkened ominously like a deep bruise. Several less-savory groups of NOLA residents, usually kept at bay in the shadows or hidden under cover of darkness, were emerging like rats to sniff the air for the scent of an easy meal. If the events on screen unfolded as The Adversary hoped, then New Orleans would be overrun by dawn, and be eaten alive in a week's time. Jean-Luc took a pull from the neck of the bottle, felt his eyes water and throat burn.
Mattie let out a gasp of horror. He'd nearly missed the sight of a demonic man towering over the woman he knew as Betsy. Remy threw a blade and caught the man in the eye, driving him back. Mattie began to pray. Piotr crashed through the man, then a monster emerged as if a horrifying butterfly from a chrysalis. Logan was thrown aside as if he did not possess a metal skeleton, but was made of cotton. A blond haired boy twirled past, throwing blades. Then it seemed the demons were being pulled by an unseen force back into a glowing gate. Jean-Luc wondered if Mattie's prayers would be answered. They were not.
"Closing the portal," the cameraman was saying, because the mutants had fallen silent now. "Requires nine souls to sacrifice themselves willingly. The X-Men are volunteering, volunteering to save us all. Not just with their lives, their souls. Saving not just Dallas. Not the U.S. The planet. The universe."
Remy and Betsy walked past the camera. Remy was held up.
"Why are you doing this?" the reporter asked. "You're not even an X-Man."
Remy shrugged: "Monkey see, monkey do." How many times had Jean-Luc said those words to his son? He regretted saying them now.
The X-Men said goodbye.
"See you on de next life," Remy said, gazed sightlessly with blank black eyes. Waved into the distance.
Jean-Luc blinked furiously. Beside him, Mattie let out a wail. Her phone was ringing on the side table. Jean-Luc jumped when he felt his front pocket vibrate. Stupid newfangled cell phone. The screen said: Henri. Trying to reach him. Likely watching too.
The camera captured a bright light, the cries of the angry demon, the portal beginning to slam shut on his screams.
"You cannot destroy me! I will return! You will-!"
From her boot, Ororo drew a dagger. She threw it and the demon was silenced, was spiraling back into Hell before the doors finally slammed shut.
There was a vision of some sort of humanoid, feminine presence, glowing on the screen. The camera somehow could not record her properly. Mattie thought her an angel. The X-Men had disappeared, vanished in the pulse of light. Except a figure lay on the ground before the portal still. The only non-X-Man. Jean-Luc's heart leapt with hope. Somehow Remy was still there, he hadn't evaporated into the ether.
The man, Forge, approached his still form. "He's dead," Forge said, and Jean-Luc felt his heart collapse.
"Very nearly. His soul heretofore was magic-bound, to another," the vision said. "His body binds the soul still."
"Then, does that mean...the portal will reopen?" Forge asked. "They gave their lives for nothing?"
"Closed, firmly. Each soul a slamming door, closing off a portion of The Adversary's power. One door remains...within," the vision pointed a glowing finger at Remy. "Closed and holding The Adversary and his full power at bay."
"Please...don't ask me to kill him," Forge begged with exhaustion.
"No. It is not for you nor I to decide. It must be his choice. He may die yet, but better still...for him to live."
What? Live...with a demon? In his soul? Jean-Luc tore his gaze away from the screen briefly to look at Mattie. She looked horrified.
Forge lifted Jean-Luc and Mattie's son from the ground, held him in a fireman's carry. "We need to go back."
The vision nodded and another portal opened. Forge cast a glance back at the vision, then departed. The cameraman followed him.
They were now within a gallery tangled with machinery and plant life. A steady rain fell indoors. Outside, past the trees and glass windows, it was night. The rend in the sky was gone. Forge lowered Remy onto a worktable. Belle was suddenly at his side, hidden partially in Remy's coat. She made a sound of despair, lowered her head to his chest.
"Don't you leave me again!" she screamed.
"He needs...a doctor. A healer-," Forge began.
But Belle was rummaging in the pockets of the coat. Jean-Luc saw her fumble with something, her back to the camera. She leaned over Remy and his face was blocked from the camera's view.
"Wake up, just wake up," Belle breathed. An empty vial clinked onto the tabletop, rolled and fell off the table to shatter onto the floor.
Jean-Luc stood abruptly then, the forgotten liquor bottle falling, echoing the shattering sound from the television.
"Come back t'me," Belle whispered, and now the entire television audience could see their faces in profile, dark silhouettes against a blue-black sky, very close. Belle kissed Remy's mouth.
Glowing red eyes blinked open. The kiss was returned.
Mattie was screaming with joy, clinging to Jean-Luc, jumping up and down.
"Wake up, Sleepin' Ugly," Belle said.
"My knight in stupid armor," Remy said, his smile a white gleam in the darkness.
He surged forward, grasped Belle to himself, and the two pressed their mouths together ardently, kissing fervently. It was a good thing it was now evening, because this would have never got past the FCC during the daytime. Outside, in New Orleans, Jean-Luc could hear people cheering. Several people were blasting car horns. Someone fired a gun skyward several times.
"Love conquers death," the reporter said, in a tone that spoke of his absolute disbelief becoming true faith.
Jean-Luc's son and daughter-in-law were making out on the worktable in the rain. It appeared second-base was being approached.
"He's alive, he's alive," Jean-Luc breathed.
"God has a plan. God has a plan for my boy!" Mattie declared and fell about praising God, Jesus, the Holy Mother and every saint she could name.
Jean-Luc thought it more likely that Remy lived only due to BellaDonna's quick thinking, for Remy having the Elixir of Life, and for him always wearing that stupid coat of his like a security blanket.
As for plans, God's or no gods, Jean-Luc was done-just done-with plans, portents, and prophecies. He only wanted his son home. Safe. Sane. And within his sight.
~oOo~
November, 1986
The boy had only been in the household for a few weeks, but it seemed as if he'd made himself quite at home. It was almost as if he'd always been there. Maybe it felt that way because Jean-Luc's thoughts were ever preoccupied with the little boy destiny had gifted him. Though he'd only interacted with the boy directly three times until recently.
The first instance, just over ten years ago, when the mysterious woman placed the silent baby in his arms. He wondered if the woman was the child's mother; she seemed reluctant to turn him over. Jean-Luc couldn't be certain. The woman wore a golden mask over her face, rendering her features and expression invisible. She said nothing of his origins, where he'd come from, only telling Jean-Luc that she trusted him to do what was best for the boy. Jean-Luc was told the child was prophesied; and it was true, the mention of a red-eyed devil, ('a white devil,' one tome specified, but meaning clarity of spirit maybe?...something was lost in translation there) did appear in their ancient texts. Those books didn't hold much water with Jean-Luc, but it would give him a cause to take the boy in, bring him into the fold. Jean-Luc left him in Matilde's care, where the baby became a part of the Antiquary's Collection...for the time being. Mattie stayed on under the pretense of keeping house, but she only had eyes for the baby and not for chores. Despite Jean-Luc's offering his own home, and mostly due to political back-stabbing, it was decided that the Collection was where Guild property was meant to be stored. The prophesied baby being wholly owned by the Guild now. The baby was named Remy (Jean-Luc thought that too twee, but knew it wasn't worth the argument), and he stayed in the Collection in relative safety for nearly two years. Safe, anyway, because the baby was silent and did very little other than smile when he saw his Tante Mattie approach. Their traiteur feared something the matter with him, he failed to meet "developmental milestones," so Mattie concentrated her powers on healing whatever was wrong. Something to do with his brain.
Jean-Luc thought she might have done too good a job, because then the baby didn't shut up after that, much to Little Remy's detriment.
The second time Jean-Luc encountered the boy, he was just two. Taken from the Collection, padlocked in a dog crate, and thrown into the bayou by a faction of insubordinates led by the Marceaux clan who thought to test the validity of the prophecy. To them, the child was just a thing, not even human. Mattie alerted Jean-Luc to Remy's sudden disappearance, the location where she believed he'd been taken. Jean-Luc arrived just moments after the crate disappeared below the surface. Jean-Luc thought he'd end Marceaux's life then, if the man hadn't had two small boys of his own...But then, it made it all the more appalling he would take the life of a baby only a few months older than his youngest.
Jean-Luc thought to follow Remy into the swamp, but then the boy bobbed to the surface, glowing red eyes reflected on the water. Jean-Luc did not think the boy could swim, he'd never been in any water deeper than a bathtub. But he came towards the shore, blowing bubbles from his lips like a tiny motorboat. Jean-Luc fished him from the drink and set him on his feet. The baby dripped muddy water from his Captain America pajamas, apparently believing this excursion, a brief freedom from the stifling confines of the Collection, to be a great adventure. He had no idea the amount of peril he was in. He attempted to jump back into the water.
"Are you satisfied?" Jean-Luc asked, gripping the baby by the back of his jammies, staring at the elder Marceaux coldly. Struggling not to convey the absolute rage he felt towards the man. Marceaux's older son, Theo, stood at his father's side, looking on with an expression of fear on his face. Jean-Luc wasn't sure if it was due to his own father's actions, or the apparent invincibility of the little Diable that was now tossing mud clods into the water with much splashing.
The dissidents left in silence, mollified for now. Jean-Luc looked at the little boy, who was pointing into the bayou and exclaiming over something. "Tatie's purse!" he squealed.
Jean-Luc turned to see a small female alligator peering out of the water at them, made curious by the commotion. Like Remy, her eyes reflected red in the dim light. Jean-Luc sat wearily in the wet turf next to the boy. He rubbed his palm over his face. He replied, his voice raw: "It does look like Mattie's handbag, don't it?"
"You no cwy," Remy said in his piping baby voice and patted Jean-Luc's knee. "Don' be sad!"
"Alright, cher," Jean-Luc said, feeling even more like a miserable failure for this boy's offer of comfort. The baby truly was Mattie's own son. Jean-Luc stood, and since he was reluctant to bring him back to the Collection, he asked the boy if he wanted to go for a walk. Remy agreed enthusiastically and Jean-Luc told him he'd have to be quiet if he expected to see any animals. He nodded happily. He took the baby by the hand to prevent him from leaping back into the bayou. The silence lasted maybe ten minutes until Remy spotted something Jean-Luc hadn't seen.
"Mule say: hee-hawn!"
"Dat's a deer, Remy," Jean-Luc informed him.
"Whad a deer say?" Remy asked.
"T'be honest, I don't know," Jean-Luc said.
Remy looked at him, incredulous that an adult had no satisfactory answer.
Three years later, Jean-Luc had expected the boy to demonstrate some semblance of fear, or at least a healthy dose of respect when at the age of five, he was brought before a tribunal of sorcerers for The Antiquary's trial. The defendant himself sat in a throne-like chair looking smug and self-satisfied as always. Likely, he was plotting how to best make Jean-Luc suffer, as he fully expected to be acquitted. The charges: irrevocable damage perpetrated against a priceless artifact sacred to their spiritual, mystical and ancient culture. Or something like that, Jean-Luc had made it up.
Their Guild traiteur, spiritual leader, and Remy's primary caregiver brought the boy into the room. Jean-Luc did not turn to face them, but instead stood stoically before the group of five sorcerers, four men and one woman. Jean-Luc counted on Strange to rule in his favor, perhaps the woman as well. No sooner had Mattie brought the boy into the chamber, did Jean-Luc hear a clunk and the tinkling sound of breaking glass.
"Oops," Remy said in a whisper.
Jean-Luc closed his eyes briefly and suppressed a sigh.
"What did I just tell you outside?" Mattie hissed.
"Look with my eyes…?"
"You're missin' the last part!"
"...Not with my hands?"
The Antiquary made a derisive sound. "Why did you bring that little demon here, Jean-Luc?"
"He will offer testimony," Jean-Luc said, refusing to look at the monster, The Antiquary.
"That creature has destroyed more relics, magical or otherwise, than those in the accusations you've leveled against me!" The Antiquary snapped.
Jean-Luc's eyes flicked from The Antiquary to Doctor Stephen Strange. His expression conveyed an impression of: do you see what I have to put up with?
"I do not know that the testimony of children is admissible," said one of the sorcerers.
"He won't have much to say," Jean-Luc assured him. Hopefully. "He serves as evidence only."
Jean-Luc turned slightly and gestured for Mattie to bring Remy forward. She leaned down to whisper into the boy's ear. "Now, what else did I tell you?"
"Speak only when spoken to!" Remy said loudly, his voice still the clear piping voice of a small child. It carried.
Mattie shuffled him forward. "And?"
"Have good listening ears!" Remy diligently replied. "Only, I've got real good listening ears. You want to hear this joke I listen to? 'What's the differ-nence between jelly and jam? You can't jelly your'-oowww! Tante, that was my good listening ear!"
"I am going to wash your mouth out with soap!"
Jean-Luc prayed for deliverance.
The Antiquary laughed haughtily. The four sorcerers unknown to Jean-Luc had stern and disapproving expressions on their faces. Strange might have smoothed his facial hair in an attempt to conceal a smile at Jean-Luc's obvious discomfort.
Remy now stood at Jean-Luc's side, looking up at him with curiosity. Jean-Luc did not return his gaze, but kept his eyes forward on the council members. Remy nervously shifted from one foot to another, his hands tucked into either of the overlong sleeves of his tunic. Jean-Luc was holding a thick ornate book. He placed it onto the long table set before the council with more reverence than he actually felt. Opened the ancient tome to a marked passage.
"Our culture...has been in existence in some form for the last five millennia. We are the last vestiges of a mystical faith, destroyed by the Romans in the years around 50 BC. Most of our lore has been lost to us."
The sorcerers listened carefully. Certainly, none of this information would be news to them. Jean-Luc pointed to the boy. "Dis is…" (Remy) "...le Diable Blanc. As prophesied in our texts. He is...," (a small, mutant child), "...a possession of significant importance to our people. Our last hope t'bring de truth to light and recover what we have lost."
One of the sorcerer's reviewed the passages in the text, written mostly on papyrus and vellum, cobbled together from bits and pieces over the centuries. The sorcerer nodded in affirmation.
Doctor Strange asked: "And what did you say his name was?"
Jean-Luc hesitated.
"Remy," Mattie answered. "We call him Remy."
"Remy," Doctor Strange repeated. "How can we make you more comfortable? Would you like to sit down?"
A chair was magicked behind the boy. He turned and looked at it. His eyes went to his Tante Mattie's, looking for approval. She nodded at him.
"Only but I can't," Remy told the sorcerer.
"Please, be my guest," Strange said indulgently, gesturing to the chair.
"Non, non merci," Remy said, and shifted again.
Strange looked to Jean-Luc, a question on his face. Jean-Luc told the boy: "Do not be rude."
Remy grimaced and said, again in his all-too loud voice: "But I can't! I got the whuppin' of the century yesterday and I can't sit!" He looked then almost tearful.
"Jean-Luc…?" Strange began.
Mattie whispered: "Tell 'em who hit ya, baby."
Remy nodded at The Antiquary. The five sorcerers turned to look at the accused.
"What does this have to do with anything? The creature was completely out of line!" The Antiquary insisted. "He destroyed a priceless amphora! I caught him at it, completely red handed."
"I said I tried to save it!" Remy yelled back. "I didn't throw the ball! It was that Marcus! I caughted the 'fro-ha but the pedestal falled on me!"
"Amphora, idiot! Now, be silent!" hissed The Antiquary. "I should have your tongue out, you wretched little-!"
"That is enough," Strange interrupted.
The Antiquary forced himself into calm. "So the devil was given a spanking," he continued in a blasé tone.
"A spanking?" Mattie said in an affronted voice, in disbelief. "Is that what you call what you did?"
"You have no place to speak here, woman," The Antiquary snapped.
Matilde Baptiste drew herself up to her full five-foot frame and gave the man a glare that could've peeled paint from a wall. It was a testimony to the arrogant man's complete lack of humanity that he wasn't destroyed by her Gorgon's glare.
"Is this testimony admissible?" Jean-Luc asked, took the boy by the arm and spun him around. He lifted the back of the boy's tunic, revealing his lower back. Only a portion of the damage done to him.
Jean-Luc saw the expressions on the sorcerers' faces. The woman sorcerer turned to fare The Antiquary with her own glare.
"So, you'd show sympathy to a demon?" The Antiquary said, waving his hand airily.
"It is obvious that the boy is not a demon," Strange said coldly. "He is…"
Jean-Luc shook his head slightly, hoping to silence his friend.
"An instance of child abuse is no reason to call a Sorcerer's tribunal," said one of the sorcerers. "Can you not handle this...internally?"
"As The Antiquary and myself have stated," Jean-Luc began, hating the words even before he spoke them. "By our account he is not a child. He is a demon, a rare instance of a white demon, as described in the text. An invaluable possession."
The Antiquary laughed a scoffing laugh. "Ah, I see what you're about now, Jean-Luc. How very clever! Really? Do you despise me so much for taking the creature, who you clearly wanted for yourself? It was decided by our own Council that the devil be placed in the Collection. Marceaux was correct when he said putting this thing in the care of our patriarch would reflect poorly on Clan LeBeau!"
"Does he always speak of the boy like this?" Strange asked Matilde.
"Always, sir," Mattie replied, nodding her head at the sorcerer.
"So you see, he is a thing," Jean-Luc continued. "Guild property, and by extension a benefit to de magical community, a valuable key to uncovering mystical secrets long forgotten."
"Fine! Fine, have it your way!" The Antiquary said. "He's not a devil, not demonic. Though he behaves like something from Hell. He's a filthy—mutant—brat."
Remy looked at Tante Mattie and whispered none too softly: "What's a mutint?"
"Shh, baby, I'll tell you later."
"Is it better or worse than being a devil?"
"Have a candy, baby doll," Mattie pulled a toffee from her handbag, clapped it over his mouth.
"Jean-Luc. You say he's...irrevocably damaged?" Doctor Strange asked.
"These 'whuppings', as Remy's called it, are only escalating as he…" (gets more sass-mouthed) "...gets older." Jean-Luc looked to Mattie, who produced a file of gruesome photographic evidence from her handbag. Jean-Luc placed the file onto the table beside the book. No one seemed enthusiastic about opening it. "That, and whatever else dis man's done to de boy's mind with his constant belittling. Didn't speak a word 'til he was two-."
"He came like that!" The Antiquary insisted. "He's an imbecile!"
"Remy, what was de last book you read?" Jean-Luc asked.
"Uhm..," Remy slurred around the candy in his mouth. "The Odysshey. Shome of it don't make any sench to me...but I liked the part where he'sh schtuck on de island with Calypso. Penelope was shooo boring."
"How old are you, Remy?" the woman sorcerer asked.
He held up one hand, five fingers extended: "This many."
The sorcerers all stared at his hand, fingers mostly blackened with bruises, palm cut in two.
"I have come to a decision," Doctor Strange said, and stood.
It was a Pyrrhic victory for Jean-Luc. Overall, a benefit to the Guild and the clans to be rid of The Antiquary. But a tragedy for the boy, who didn't deserve to be treated so horribly. Not to mention the weight of guilt set upon Jean-Luc for not having been able to pull the boy out of that place sooner.
After the verdict was given, the sentence meted out, Doctor Strange approached Remy. "I'm very sorry to see that you were hurt," he told the boy. "You know, my own hands were...injured quite badly. But sometimes very good things can come out of the very bad. We are made better for it."
Remy did appear to listen to the sorcerer, but what came out of his mouth was: "Hey, do you know Cap'n America? Can you have him sign my card?" Remy produced a trading card bearing Captain America's face from his pocket.
"Ah. Well. I could perhaps get you Iron Man's signature?"
Remy blew air out through his lips to make a rude sound, conveying what he thought of that particular idea.
Doctor Strange laughed at that.
"C'mon, Remy. Let your old Tante Mattie get you healed up," Mattie told him, and guided him towards the exit. "Why don't you say goodbye to these nice folks now?"
"So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye!" Remy waved one of his damaged hands. Mattie led him through the doorway, closed the door behind them. He sang in a high voice as clear as a bell: "Gooooobyyye!"
"What will become of the boy now?" Strange asked Jean-Luc. "Will you take him in?"
Jean-Luc crossed his arms over his chest, cast his gaze downward, shook his head. "Non. He's better off not in de middle of Guild politics. Gettin' hazed and bullied by de other kids..the adults. Should be allowed ta have some freedom after bein' cooped up so long. There's a certain amount of...indoctrination...dat goes into growin' up like I did. Rather he got an idea of other ways of thinkin'."
"It seems to me you managed well enough, Jean-Luc," Strange said.
"Well enough ain't good enough," Jean-Luc replied. "Merci bien. Be seein' you sooner rather than later, I'm sure."
"Only two curses so far," Strange said amicably. "This year."
Remy was placed in the care of a man calling himself Fagan, who had no use for either the Thieves' or Assassins' Guilds as he was a bastard of both. He took lackadaisical care of a small cadre of wayward kids who had the run of several streets in the city. The worst that could be said of the man was that he read entirely too much British literature to the kids, who, when they were occasionally caught by authorities, spoke only in couplets with fake British accents.
Reports of Remy's antics came sporadically from both Fagan or Mattie. Fagan at first assured Jean-Luc that the boy just needed time to settle in. Then, that the boy was quite clever, but not when it came to responding to authority. Also, he refused to be taught anything but had to learn things the hardest way possible. That he was happy to share differing opinions regardless of other people's feelings, and his mouth wasn't winning him any friends. The boy took any slight or unfairness he witnessed real personal.
Jean-Luc knew of another smart, loud-mouthed, friendless little kid who had unfairnesses committed against her all the time. Who was treated as a doll, whose feelings were disregarded or ignored outright on account of her being a girl. It was arranged that Remy be assigned to the streets BellaDonna traversed on her way to and from the private school she attended. It would only be a matter of time before Remy witnessed some unfairness visited upon the little tow-headed daughter of Marius Boudreaux, otherwise known as the Assassins' Guild patriarch. It happened the very first week. Mattie later reported that the two kids were very happy to argue incessantly with one another, that when they scuffled the injuries were not so severe, and overall, they both seemed much better off. Remy and Belle spent a lot of time at Mattie's house, neutral ground for both Guilds, acting like the children they were. Except for Belle's knife-throwing skills and Remy's advanced knowledge of filthy jokes.
Remy was spending more time messing around with Belle and not bringing home any earnings. Fagan grumbled a little bit about the lack of income until Jean-Luc pressed some money from the LeBeau coffers into his hand. Fagan then said he was only being contrary and attempted to return the money. Then Jean-Luc and the none-too-nice-but-all-too-kind Fagan got into an argument of their own. (Jean-Luc: Why don't you read these kids some decent French authors? Fagan: Jean-Luc, these kids ain't about to listen to some baby book about a little prince brat when there's Chaucer to be read! Jean-Luc: They're children! Read them children's books! Chaucer is a pervert!). It ended with Fagan saying that the boy asked too many questions, about mutants, about where other mutant kids were, that Remy'd heard about a group of mutant kids who fought another mutant named Magneto at Cape Citadel in Florida. And wouldn't a good place to look for mutants be in New York City, where all the other super-powered people hung out?
Remy had been in the Collection for five years, with Fagan for another five. Jean-Luc felt his hand was forced. It was time to bring Remy into his home. He could not risk the boy leaving New Orleans, risk him drawing attention to himself. And really, what kind of parent let their teenage kid go off and fight some megalomaniac couyon who wore a bucket on his head and his underwear on the outside? Over nuclear weapons, no less! Jean-Luc knew with certainty, that if Remy showed up on any kind of public scene, something bad would happen to him. Someone bad would come for him.
Jean-Luc contrived to make himself available to the boy, visiting the streets he was known to work, sometimes pickpocketing, but more often charming people out of food or money. Jean-Luc thought Remy would eventually get curious enough to approach him. Instead, the boy tried to rob him. That was a surprise, but Jean-Luc managed to grab a fistful of the kid's hair before he made his escape.
"Just what do you think you're doin'?" Jean-Luc asked with exasperation, pulling the boy towards him. Remy's sunglasses had fallen askew, revealing one dark red eye. His expression was momentarily one of surprise, but quickly turned into a cheeky grin. Jean-Luc briefly thought: I have got to do something about this kid's teeth. Magic is not going to cure that jack-o-lantern smile.
"Oh! Bonjour, your most royal highness! Mighty King of Thieves," Remy said, Jean-Luc's hand still tangled in his hair. "I just saw you dropped your wallet!" Remy produced Jean-Luc's wallet from somewhere on his person. "And your watch. And also dis pack of gum. And some pocket lint? Were you wanting dis back? I would happily take a cash reward for its safe return!"
Jean-Luc stared at him. "I don't know what I'm going to do wit' dis boy," he said aloud to himself.
"Can I just keep de gum?" Remy asked.
Jean-Luc decreed that in return for sparing his life, Remy would serve the King of Thieves, live in his home (okay!), eat his food (even better!), and be properly schooled (no, thanks!). He'd also have a kind-hearted big brother, a beautiful (less kind, but still dear) sister-in-law, and yes, he could have a pet. A cat. One cat.
There were now three cats.
Jean-Luc had a headache. It was nearing the end of the year and sums were not coming up so rosy in the plus column. He pushed his reading glasses onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes tiredly. It was nearly 9am, but it looked like he'd be working the rest of the day. When his blurred vision cleared, it was to see Remy's chin perched on the corner of Jean-Luc's desk, just his head visible. His expression was one of blank sternness, as if he were a marble bust. When Jean-Luc stared at him, Remy slowly crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
"Remy, don't you have somewhere else t'be?" Jean-Luc asked.
Remy stood: "Lemme check out de basement."
"We don't have a base-," Jean-Luc began.
Remy disappeared behind the desk, looking as if he were descending a staircase. He re-emerged at the far end of the desk, miming an ascent from below at Jean-Luc's right hand side.
"Turns out, we don't have a basement," Remy said.
Jean-Luc put his elbow to the desk, his chin in his palm and fingers over his mouth. When he trusted himself enough to speak, Jean-Luc told the boy: "Don't think I don't know what you're up to."
Remy prostrated himself on the ground by Jean-Luc's feet. "I live only to serve, my liege."
"Get on up, off de floor now," Jean-Luc said and Remy hopped to his feet. Jean-Luc beckoned Remy closer and he half-looked afraid he was about to be delivered a smack to the head. Jean-Luc pulled the boy to his side.
"Think you're pretty funny, enh?" Jean-Luc said.
"Is dere an answer I can give that doesn't end wit' me gettin' slapped?"
"I'm not about t'slap you," Jean-Luc told him. "I'd sooner slap myself for bringing you here." He smiled and squeezed the boy's shoulder to show that he was speaking in jest.
"Your job," he continued. "Isn't to cajole, entertain, distract or otherwise take care of adults. Your job is to do your studies, fulfill your duties to your clan and our Guild, and keep practicin' your skills."
"O-oh!" Remy said with mock surprise. "Is dat all? Boy, what will I do wit' all my free time?"
"How about until bedtime, you go outside and play," Jean-Luc said, and not in a way that made it sound like he was making a request.
"What? What's dat all about?" Remy asked and laughed. "Like, robbers and cops?"
"Well, what do other ten-year-olds do in those books you're always reading?"
"Climb inta peaches and make friends wit' giant bugs? Go through closets and meet talkin' lions? Drive a car through a magical world of puns come to life?"
There was a jumbled box of books in the corner of Jean-Luc's office, damaged castoffs from the library. Jean-Luc stood from his office chair and rummaged through the contents. "How about dis one?" he offered Remy a book about a magical treehouse. "Aside from de magic part, I think the rest is fairly achievable with de junk in Mattie's shed, de oak in her backyard, and your little girlfriend's help."
"She. Is. Not. My. Girlfriend!"
"Friend who is a girl," Jean-Luc corrected. "Now, make yourself scarce. And you mind your Tante."
It was well past noon (curfew was 11am at the latest) and Remy hadn't returned. Jean-Luc hadn't finished divvying up what was left to the clans post-tithing. So when the phone rang, he was maybe a little grumpy that someone should be calling the house at this ungodly hour. All was forgiven when he realized it was Mattie. So... there'd been an accident. Jean-Luc gave up the sums (more like minuses) and walked to his friend's home, bracing himself for the worst. Mattie assured him it looked a lot worse than it was. She could heal the bruises, but Remy was having a fit about her trying to reset broken bone. His nose was definitely facing a western direction, plus two black eyes, blood all over the boy's face and shirt. Jean-Luc glared at Belle, but she claimed it was Remy who dropped the hammer on himself.
Remy defended her, taking the ice pack off his face to argue back.
At the sight of Remy's face, Jean-Luc put his own face in his hands.
"Whoo, boy. You sure are ugly," Belle said. "Never marry you now!"
"Who'd say I'd ask you anyhow, stupid!" Remy said back.
"Remy…," Jean-Luc began.
"You awful mad?" Remy asked.
"No. I'm not mad. I'm jus' wonderin' if I'll ever be able to let you out of my sight without you doin' irreparable damage to yourself," Jean-Luc said, and pushed the ice pack back onto Remy's face.
"Enh, poppa, your future's lookin' mighty grim," Remy said, his voice muffled. "Bet you regret takin' me in now."
Jean-Luc had plenty of things to regret, but Remy wasn't one of them.
End of Part I
Next time: A brief encounter with Destiny.
Remy's random references:
Chapter 6
Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a new system… Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail
"And now, here's something we hope you'll really like!" - Rocky & Bullwinkle
"Is it a bird? Is it a plane?" It's Superman!
"She blinded me...with science!" She Blinded Me With Science by Thomas Dolby
These little angels - "three little angels" is a camp song
Chapter 7
"I can call you Betty, and Betty, when you call me, you can call me Al - Call Me Al, Paul Simon
Mork from Ork - Mork & Mindy sitcom
Fight For Your Right - Beastie Boys
Ch 8
Goodbye Song - Sound of Music
Can you guess the three books Remy references?
Thank you GUEST for your gracious review. I'm so pleased you enjoyed it.