Gloss
Remy leaned back into the headboard, adjusting the paperback between his hands. Perhaps it was irony, or he wasn't really sure, but something compelled him to finish The Crucible if it was the last thing he did. True, the pages were sopping wet with angst and positively dripping with self-pity, but he forced himself to read on. After all, it was a classic tale of sin and a desperate hope for redemption, and the Lord knew Remy was all about begging forgiveness as of about three years ago.
Sensing someone at his door, he looked up from the novel. His heart twisted. "Hey chere," he said, closing the book.
"Hah Remy."
"What brings you my way, hmm?" He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
She shrugged. "Ah don't know, really. Guess Ah just came bah to see what you were doing." She entered the room and closed the distance between her and the bed. "And to ask why you been avoiding me lately, Cajun."
He smirked, tilting his head a fraction to the left. "Avoiding you? I haven't been avoiding anyone." She shot him a knowing look with impossibly green eyes. "Alright, alright. Maybe just a little." He displayed an inches length between his thumb and forefinger.
She plopped beside him. "Why?"
He smothered a cigarette he'd just noticed withering in an ashtray beside his bed. "You know why."
She rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands. "Shoahly not because you happen to catch Bobby's grubby fingers all ovah me."
He nodded, turning to face her. "Dat's right."
She sighed, cupping his face in her hands. "Remy, yoah ovahreacting. Believe me, if Ah'd know you were coming Ah nevah would have let him touch me! But Ah couldn't wait fohevah and I needed a man's touch, even if it wasn't yoah hands on me." She lifted his hand and placed it on her hip, just under her shirt. "But you can touch me now."
He hesitated, staring at his hand on her soft, white skin. "I don't know." He turned his head nobly but she brought it back to meet her fetching eyes.
"Please, Remy. If you don't kiss me raght now, Ah'll die." Without waiting for a response, she pressed her hungry mouth against his placid mouth. She nestled into his arms. "Ah need you. Raght now," she breathed between kisses as she unbuttoned his shirt.
Finally, he complied, slipping his tongue between her lips and reveling in her satisfied moans and frantic groping.
Remy bolted upright in his bed, sweat forming on his brow, his legs tangled in his sheets, and a copy of The Crucible draped over his stomach. He decided he must have dozed off again, reading. He whipped his head toward the door, vaguely remembering what woke him up.
"Remy!" Rogue knocked three times, hard. ""Ah am NOT going to tell you again, boy! Get up!"
The door swung open and she gasped. "Oh! There yah are!" He grinned and she smothered one of her own, but it was futile. The man was poisonous. "Xaviah's getting ready to leave and he wants all of us downstairs." Her eyes couldn't resist traveling the length of his body. Naturally, he let her. Down his toned chest and flat six-pack, to his muscular legs and back up to his... book? "What's that?" She asked.
Remy looked down at it, forgetting he held it. "It's called a book, chere."
"Don't get smart. Ah'll steal yah in yoah left eye." Remy knew she didn't bluff.
"De Crucible." Remy said, showing her the title.
Her eyebrows lifted, impressed. "Who would have thought a swamp rat like yoahself would be interested in great literature?"
He shrugged modestly. "Is dat a compliment?"
She smiled. It was a nice smile; he loved it. "Maybe."
"You know, you're mout' is real pretty when it's not snapping at people all de time."
Her gaze widened. "Ah do not snap, mistah! You'll do well to know that Ah am a kind, generous soul that wouldn't hur-"
"Oh my pater. Give me a break!"
Indignantly, she replied, "Well Ah'm not the one that took it upon himself to IGNORE me for the last couple of days! What is that all about?" By now their argument had progressed to the middle of his room, door still ajar.
Remy blinked. Déjà vu. "I was ignoring you because it looked like you were getting all de attention you needed." He threw his blankets up on his bed and sat down.
"Ah, dear man, am a southern belle." She smiled sweetly. "We can't GET enough attention." They paused, and just like that, the cold shoulders and hurtful glares that had been exchanged within the last few days were over, because neither really wanted to continue. "So really, where'd you learn to love literature?"
He tossed the book onto the floor, stalling until he decided on the perfect response. "It's... a long story, belle. Maybe I'll tell you someday." But it's unlikely. "Besides," he continued, "can't a man just read in peace!" He broke into dramatic cries. "Why can't you just leave me alone? BASTARD!" He hurled a pillow at her and buried him self in his sheets, fake sobs racking his body. "Whhhyyyy!"
"Remy." Both southerners' heads turned to see Scott in the doorway, shock and amusement etched into their features. "Downstairs. Now." He said and walked away, but not without casting one more confused glare at his teammates.
**
The team gathered around Xavier's limousine.
"As you all know, I won't be back for a good two weeks. Until then, Scott will keep me posted on your progress or problems." He smiled and exchanged good-byes with his students. They waved him off collectively.
When he was out of sight, most scattered to engage in their individual pastimes. Wanda slipped her arms around Scott's waist from behind. "You know what today is." She said, her playful lips brushing against his ear and chin resting on his shoulder.
He sighed, leaning back into her. "I know, I know. What time?"
She released him. "They told us to be at the airport around four." She glanced at her watch: two-thirty.
He shook his head ruefully. "Sorry gorgeous, but I'm monitoring the blue team Danger Room session in an hour. I don't think I'll be able to go with you."
She led him back into the mansion through the kitchen French doors and retrieved a bottled water from the fridge. "That's alright. It'll give my mom and me some time to talk about you behind your back." She smiled wickedly. He kissed the top of her head.
**
Remy ran, and ran, and ran until his heart felt like it'd burst inside his body. His tennis shoes pounded against the black pavement of the track, each thud, thud, thud echoing through his ears with perfect clarity. When he was a kid scraping for his every last meal on the merciless streets of Louisiana, he'd gotten accustomed to running. Obviously, he didn't need to run too often anymore. Old habits die hard.
So every so often, he just laced up the old Nikes and set out to conquer the track beside Xavier's mansion. He had about three, three-and-a-half miles behind him- he'd lost count- when he saw the limousine rolling into the drive. His first reaction was that Xavier had forgotten something, but he banished the thought just as quickly for several obvious reasons. 'A telepath forgettin' his toothbrush, Remy. Nice one,' he thought.
Not only that, but Xavier's oversized car that screamed 'Look at me; I've got money!' was black. This one was clearly white. And Remy vaguely recalled Scott telling him Wanda's parents were going to be popping in this weekend. That thought made Remy laugh and not a little sympathetic for his visored field leader. Poor bastard.
Deciding to call it a run, he turned and picked up his jog to a sprint for the mansion.
"Alright, team, that's enough for today. Wanda should be back any minute. Hit the showers."
The X-Men's blue team, fatigued and aching in all sorts of places, groaned a weak thank you and herded into the locker rooms. All except one. Scott watched her with apprehensiveness and a guilty twinge of excitement.
Jean lingered for a moment longer, patting her cheeks with the white sweat towel. "So this is the big day," she said.
He nodded, descending the stairs from the monitoring booth. "Yep, this is it."
"Nervous?"
"Not so much as that. Just dreading it I suppose."
She gave him a lighthearted push. "Suck it up. You'll be fine." And then she was in the locker rooms showering, leaving Scott to chastise himself for indulging in those few stolen moments between the two of them. This was getting out of hand. And Scott hated anything he couldn't control.
**
After everyone had met and shook hands, they all sat down for a nice Sunday meal Wanda had let simmer in the oven all day. They had all nibbled their appetizers, sipped their cocktails, and found a seat around the large mahogany table. And still they waited. On Remy.
"Should I go call him again?" Wanda asked, her big dark eyes swimming in what could have passed for worry, but Scott knew was annoyance.
"No, no," her father said, latching onto her wrist and sitting her back down. "He'll be here any moment." Edward patted his daughter's hand reassuringly and she settled back into her seat.
Finally, everyone turned at the sound of bare footsteps padding down the hall. Remy appeared clad in black pants and a gray button-down, half open, his hair damp and stringy to his shoulders.
"I am so sorry for de delay, ladies and gentlemen."
Rogue stifled a grin.
Scott stiffened, as did his wife and her parents. Remy noticed their disapproval. "I was running when I saw de car pull in and, well, let me tell you, I was a sight to see. So I just hopped into de shower. Didn't realize you'd all be gat'ered 'round de table like dis. My apologies, chere," he bowed graciously before Cynthia, Wanda's flushed mother.
"Oh, well, that's quite alright," Cynthia said, bringing her hand to her fluttering heart. She looked to her husband. "My, isn't he a charmer!"
The table chuckled and Remy took the remaining seat next to Logan. "And I smell terrific!" Remy added, reaching first for the mashed potatoes and thereby breaking any remaining ice.
Even Scott relaxed enough to enjoy the meal. Wanda remained furious.
As people finished their meals, she stood and asked who wanted what kind of pie and coffee.
"Oh, sit down, Wanda. I'd be glad to do it," Jean offered, standing.
"No, I wouldn't dream of it."
"Oh please. At least let me help." The two women disappeared into the kitchen and began fractioning pies and pouring cups of coffee.
Back in the dining room, Edward was beginning to get a little disgusted. It was blatantly obvious to the wealthy entrepreneur that that Warren fellow was a bit sweet on the black woman, sitting dangerously close to her and sneaking sideways glances at her whenever he thought no one was looking. 'It just ain't right,' he decided silently and shook his head. Sure, she didn't look all that bad, was probably a good fuck really, if you were into that kind of thing, but let's be honest. What red-blooded man WASN'T into a fantastic pair of tits? But that Warren kid could do so much better. Yes sir, a lot better indeed.
Edward's stares did not go unnoticed, and just as Jean and Wanda reappeared with arms full of pie and coffee, Ororo turned to him and spoke, her voice regal and prominent, but laced with a tang of irritation just the same. "Why stare, sir?"
Jean, just setting her last piece in front of Scott, took notice of the exchange. She and Scott exchanged one wary glance before listening in along with the rest of the table.
Edward coughed, a bit embarrassed. Damn it, no. No one embarrassed him. Especially not this bitch. "I was just thinking that you should stick to your own kind, woman." His voice bled.
Forks clattered and jaws clenched. Warren shot up from his seat and leaned across the table. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He nearly screamed. Remy and Logan ushered him back into his seat. Eyes darted frantically from Edward to Ororo until Cynthia's smothered giggle could be heard from beside the obese businessman.
"Oh, Edward, for God's sake," she laughed, smacking his chest playfully. Jean's face twisted in disgust at the woman's nonchalant response to her husband's barefaced hateful remarks.
Ororo, a blue calm sea, slid back from the table and made her way up the stairs, a lightening bolt striking outside accompanying her exit. Jean followed, stopped at the dining room doorway, and looked back, first at Wanda, then Scott, then spun on her heel and up the stairs after the weather goddess.
Scott sighed in his seat. It was going to be a long night. Wanda scoffed. "Gawd," she stage-whispered at her mother who was puffing on her slim cigarette "some people are so touchy."
**
"Ororo," Jean knocked tentatively on the woman's attic door. "It's Jean." Still nothing. "Look I know we don't know each other very well but you have to talk to SOMEONE."
"No I don't, Ororo sang from behind the door. Jean smiled.
"Yes you do," she called back. "Now open this door young lady!"
The door flew open to reveal a pacified Ororo, the only hint of tears swimming in her eyes but yet to fall. Jean entered and slammed the door behind her telekinetically.
The rain beat down on the windows above her head with violent ferocity. Jean approached Ororo on her bed and slowly took a seat beside her. The comforter was gold and white, the fireplace flames casting warm gilded shadows off of it and all around her room.
"I don't know what to say," Jean began, "but if you want to say anything, I'll listen."
Ororo bowed her head and swallowed. "I don't know what to say, either. It was... embarrassing, and hateful, and yet- I know that I will have to endure that man for a small portion of my life, but he will have to live with himself for the rest of his worthless existence. So I guess, in a way, I pity him." She chuckled dryly and sniffed. "But not really." It wasn't his remark entirely that Ororo was upset about, but the fact that she did indeed harbor some feelings toward Warren, no matter what they may be. And she couldn't help but wonder, what if they were to someday become an "item?" Was this just a sample of the way they'd be treated?
She wasn't crying, Jean knew, but that was probably because her tears fell from heaven, not her deep sapphire eyes.
"Don't pity that sorry, fat, sack of shit. He'll never amount to anything except a couple of bank accounts and a pathetic sex life." They shared a small laugh. "I'm serious! I bet half the time he can't even get the tiny thing up."
"Assuming he's got somethin' between his fat legs," Rogue said from the door. "Can I come in? I brought ice cream?" She held up the carton in her hands.
Ororo nodded. "Then definitely." She wasn't going to let an ignorant fraction of a man dampen her mood... or her craving for mint-chocolate-chip.
**
Scott scribbled the last few additions onto his sheet when someone knocked. "It's open."
Jean stepped in. He almost wished she hadn't. Being married to the family that started the ugly feud at dinner earlier that evening, he was caught between a rock and a hard place.
"Hi there," he said, polite just the same and leaning back into his chair. "What can I do for you?"
A wicked smile played on Jean's lips but she dissolved it just as quickly, leaving him to come to his own conclusions. By the look on his face, he clearly had. Don't, she thought. Let's not stir a boiling cauldron.
"Have you talked to her?" Straight and to the point- she knew Scott liked that. She idly wondered what else Scott liked. Damn it, Jean!
He shook his head. "No, she's downstairs in the parlor with Cynthia. I plan on letting her know how I feel about it soon, though. Before the night is over."
She clutched her hips. "See that you do! Ororo was very hurt by Daddy's little remark," she spat.
"I know. I've looked outside lately." He said wryly.
Jean smiled despite herself. It was bound to pour all night. Let it. Who the hell really cared? "I think he should apologize. That was VERY disrespectful." Jean was fuming now, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. "Augh!" She slammed a fist into her other palm. "People like that make me want to punch them in the face until they bleed!"
Scott's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa," he said simply.
She stopped. "What?"
"Nothing, it's just... whoa. I've never heard you talk like that."
She blushed and tilted her head to the side challengingly. "You like it?"
He shifted in his seat. "Ahem, um, I didn't..." She laughed, cutting him off.
"Yeah." And then she left.
**
Ice cream was all well and good for the immediate after-effects, but Ororo needed something stiff. She didn't drink a whole lot, but some things got her in the mood. A racist, sniveling jack-off like Edward put her in the mood.
And yet whom should she find at the very mini-bar she selected to indulge in her late night bourbon?
Smelling of alcohol and grotesque bodily gas, he was sprawled onto the bar, his hulking form just barely balancing on the stool and his arms and head flopped onto the counter.
He squinted when she flicked on the light. "Huh? Oh, hey you. Come in for a drink, have ya'?"
Ororo went behind the bar.
"Oh, what? Not talking to me, eh?" He laughed but was tripped in a revolting belch. Ororo rolled her eyes, disgusted, and continued plopping ice cubes into her glass. Plunk, plunk. When she finished, she came from behind the bar and made her way out of the room. He caught her wrist and yanked her back.
"Aw c'mon, beauty queen. I didn't mean it; I say dumb things sometimes." His voice was slurred and he reeked of alcohol. He placed a pudgy, undeserving hand on her mocha elbow. "But I'm not so dumb all the time. Sometimes I say... and DO all the right things." His voice was low and guttural. Ororo nearly vomited.
"Remove your hand from me before you pull back a bloody nub, sir."
His face tightened and he drew his arm back as if to smack her across the cheek. "You worthless bitch. The only place that will ever be for you is either around my cock or as my slave, you understand? You're nothing bu-"
Ororo smacked her fist into his left eye, and then again into his mouth. He fell hard on his back, his face a mangled bloody mess, unconscious. She inhaled deeply, straightened her shirt, picked up her drink, and left, swallowing her bourbon and water. "Bastard."
**
Warren woke up the next morning to the unmistakable sounds of his brother's footsteps rushing down the hall. "Warren!" He called breathlessly, bursting through the elder Worthington's doors, grin stuck on his face. "Warren, guess what! You'll never guess."
Warren threw his comforter back. "What, Bobby?"
"Omi God. It is the FUNNIEST thing. Eddie-boy was found passed out drunk at the Rec. Room bar. Doesn't remember half of yesterday, stupid sunuvabitch." Bobby shook his head, rummaging through his brother's closet.
Warren sat up. "Really? He was?"
"Hell yeah, man. Great God, what I wouldn't have given to see that fat bastard lying on the ground. Yuck!" He laughed uproariously at whatever he thought was incredibly hysterical. Pausing, he snatched a green Polo hanging in Warren's closet. "Hey, can I borrow this?"
"What for?" Warren pulled on a pair of boxers.
"My date." Bobby said casually, shrugging his shoulders.
"YOU have a date?" He stumbled into his bathroom and ran the faucet.
"Yes, I have a date. Don't sound so shocked!"
Warren stuck his toothbrush in his mouth. "Okay."
"Okay you're not shocked or okay I can borrow this shirt?" He called into the bathroom.
"Boff." Warren said around his toothbrush.
"Great!" Bobby lingered in the doorway for an extra second until finally, "Well! Aren't you gonna ask who I'm going out with?"
Warren looked at him through the mirror. He shrugged. "Okay. Who?"
"See that's the thing. I haven't exactly ASKED her yet." Warren rolled his eyes. His brother was a trip. "Don't gimme that! She'll say yes! She's gotta. Well, I mean, I hope she does. I really hope sh-"
"Alright, alright." Warren dabbed his mouth with the face towel. "Who is it, lil bro?"
He sighed, leaning into the wall. "Rogue."
Warren nodded approvingly. "She's cute."
"Cute?! She's beautiful. She's a rising sun! She's a full moon! She's... really hot! And funny. And nice. And she understands, you know what I mean?"
"No I can't say I do." Warren remarked dryly.
"That's because YOU don't understand!"
**
Wanda positioned the hat on her head, talking into the mirror back at Scott. "We probably won't be back until evening, so I won't be making dinner. Mother wants to visit some of the stores so I thought I'd take her to do a little shopping."
Scott, standing awkwardly behind her with his hands stuffed in his jean pockets, nodded. "Alright."
She turned, a playful pout painting her full lips. "Oh, darling," she approached him and straightened his shirt, "I know you're angry with me, but don't worry. We'll all forget about it soon enough."
Scott's teeth clenched inside his mouth but he remained silent. Instead, he squeezed her hands and disappeared into their bathroom.
Wanda sighed and headed out the door, purse clutched between her hands and a lively spring in her step. Forget the world today! Today was shopping!
Scott slammed the faucet down after he heard the door close behind her. While drying his hands he heard it open and shut again, but no proceeding footsteps. Curious, he poked his head out the door.
Jean leaned against the back of his bedroom door. "Oh, darling," she said sardonically, "I know you're angry with me but..." Jean stopped. "And you don't even know the half of it! Do you know that pig tried to lay a move on her last night?"
Scott looked out his window. "I figured as much. When I found Eddie I had to clean him up- blood you know. He'll just have to tell his wife he must have gotten the black eye collapsing onto the ground."
"The nerve of him! And what does Wanda have to say about this?"
"She's shopping."
Jean's face scrunched contemptuously. "She would be shopping. I'm sorry but your wife- she's shallow. You know that, right?"
"No, I mean, no, we're not having this discussion." Scott felt a bit insulted. "That's my wife you're talking about." He said simply.
Jean clamped her mouth shut. "Oh. I'm sorry," she said quietly, and left the way she came. It wasn't that he agreed with Wanda. Of course he didn't. But he couldn't let someone stand there and speak about her the way Jean just did. Scott's shoulders straightened, a bit proud with himself, but not without a pang of guilt.
**
"Ah swear to God, if we don't get a lead soon Ah'm just going to hold this place hostage and find out the old-fashioned way."
Logan grunted. "I've told you my suspicions, but you know the saying: love is smoke in the eyes, love makes your eyes smoky, the smoke gets in your eyes. Something like that; you know the one." He waved his cigar at her and she perked an eyebrow in return.
"Yoah wrong about that one, Logan. There is no way Remy is the one; Ah just know it."
"How can you say that Rogue?" He sat up in his chair. "He's the perfect candidate: young, attractive, has some cash but not too much, smart, and not Harvard smart, neither- Brooklyn smart."
"You just don't know him like Ah know him." Rogue defended, sinking into her own chair.
"You don't know anyone! I've decided our problem is each other."
Rogue shot him a look. "Each othah?"
"Yeah. We need to socialize a bit. The more we keep talking like this the more of a solid bubble we'll put around us. Let's just... you know, mingle."
"Mingle? Alraght, I can mingle." She straightened, nodding. "Yeah. Ah can mingle."
**
Warren tapped Ororo's open door. She looked up from her fingernail polish and smiled. "Hello, Warren."
"Hey 'Ro. I uh, just came by to see how you were doing. Good?"
She nodded. "Yes."
He nodded too, and then an immense silence. She continued to apply the nail polish in long even strokes. The apple red complimented her skin wonderfully. He shifted his weight awkwardly.
"So..." he began. "Is there anything I can, you know, do? Do you want to talk?"
She shook her head. "No I'm fine." Her voice was low and languid.
He nodded again, this time in finality. "Alright." He made way toward the door. "I guess I'll... see you around then?"
She smiled tightly. "Alright."
On the other side of her door, Warren sighed, defeated. That went terribly. He was a fool to come barging in like a knight in white satin. He should have known that the last thing she probably wanted was pity. But I wasn't pitying her. I was simply... concerned. He leaned against a wall and tipped his head back, clenching his eyelids shut. God that woman drives me crazy.
Inside, Ororo blew softly on her wet nails. She didn't like pity, but she knew Warren's intentions were good. She'd decided last night to keep her distance from the boy billionaire. If she didn't raise his hopes now, they wouldn't fall so hard when she left this place. Simple as that.
**
A voice spoke low on one end of the line.
"Hey Julius, it's me."
"Heartbreaker!" The other voice cried. "Hey guys, shut the fuck up, it's Heart!" Silence consumed both ends of the line. "What's up? How's that Xavier's place? Somethin' wrong?"
"I don't know. Things just don't feel right here. You know what I mean? You're sure I don't have a tail at this joint?"
Julius' sucked his teeth. "No, how many times I gotta tell ya', boss? We checked the feds, the IRS, the Secret Service, everyone! You understand? Everyone! Nobody, and I mean nobody, is in that mansion with you that shouldn't be."
The heartbreaker's eyes darted around the bedroom, expecting someone to charge in at any minute with handcuffs. "Word on the street is there's another division- a secret one. Call it the... the-"
"The Opal Meridian?"
"Yea."
"Yea we heard of that," his New York accent thick. "It's a myth, Heart. A myth. They tell these crazy stories to scare people like us. But I know you have nothing to worry about. Trust me, kid. Trust me. Hey, have I ever lead you wrong, eh? Have I?"
"No Julius, but let this not be the first time, or one of us will regret it, and it will not be me." An abrupt click and then the conversation is over.
**
Rogue stabbed the earring through her lobes and slipped the backs on. She smoothed her designer pants against her shapely thighs and adjusted the lace top. Her hair fell to her shoulders in large brunette curls, the white streak coiling in one large cable of snow against her brown strands. "Damn. Not bad if Ah do say so mahself," she smiled into the full-length mirror. She headed for her door but stopped, spinning on her heel and heading back. "On second thought." She snatched her undercover badge from her jewelry box and pinned it on the inside of her shirt over the valley between her breasts, careful only to take a thin layer of fabric so the pin did not show on the other side. "Just in case," she mumbled, and was soon descending the mansion stairway.
She was flabbergasted at first when Bobby asked her on a date. Her first date since Caleb died. Her first reaction: No, Bobby, I don't think so. But she quickly stopped herself. Logan said socialize, and refusing would only raise suspicion. She suspected that some of them already thought her and Logan lovers. After all, why would a beautiful, single woman refuse an innocent Friday night date with an attractive, wealthy blond? Two and two makes four and Rogue wasn't going to raise question. Besides, on account of Mr. Asshole and his stuck-up, country club wife going back to Florida where they came from, everyone in the mansion was entitled to at least a small celebration.
Downstairs, Bobby stood impatiently by the front doors. He straightened his, or Warren's rather, shirt, he ran a hand through his blonde locks, he cupped a palm in front of his face and checked his breath. "Ugh," Bobby's features scrunched. "Way funky."
He dug into his pockets for his breath spray and shot two squirts in his mouth, and then another, just in case.
His brother passed him in the foyer, a ham sandwich in one hand. He shook his head.
"Hey, I don' even want to hear a word out of you, loser. Where's YOUR date, hmm?"
Warren shrugged. "Can't argue with that. But I was thinking maybe I'll catch her in front of the T.V. or something and then it's 'oops, didn't know you were here. Want some company?'
Bobby smirked. "Good luck, but I doubt you'll find Ororo in front of the television on a Friday night, unlike some losers I know..." his voice trailed.
Warren rolled his eyes but disappeared on account of Rogue's appearance at the top of the stairs. "Have a good time, Bobo."
But Bobby wasn't listening. His breath caught in his throat. Man did she look amazing.
"Ready?" She asked?
He nodded dumbly. 'Uh, yeah! Oh, yeah. Ready."
He swung his car keys and they exited through the front doors.
Remy, unnoticed in the far kitchen doorway, watched them depart in Warren's Ferrari. He shuffled cards slowly between his hands, his fingertips blazing an amber orange.
NEXT TIME: Find out Remy's dirty lil secret, and who the Heartbreaker is. Are the two events related? You just wait and see.
Thanks a ton for the reviews so far; you guys rock! And I understand that not only who killed Caleb but why is very important, but I've decided to hold off on that until we discover who Heartbreaker is, that way it's a surprise... I hope.
Remy leaned back into the headboard, adjusting the paperback between his hands. Perhaps it was irony, or he wasn't really sure, but something compelled him to finish The Crucible if it was the last thing he did. True, the pages were sopping wet with angst and positively dripping with self-pity, but he forced himself to read on. After all, it was a classic tale of sin and a desperate hope for redemption, and the Lord knew Remy was all about begging forgiveness as of about three years ago.
Sensing someone at his door, he looked up from the novel. His heart twisted. "Hey chere," he said, closing the book.
"Hah Remy."
"What brings you my way, hmm?" He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
She shrugged. "Ah don't know, really. Guess Ah just came bah to see what you were doing." She entered the room and closed the distance between her and the bed. "And to ask why you been avoiding me lately, Cajun."
He smirked, tilting his head a fraction to the left. "Avoiding you? I haven't been avoiding anyone." She shot him a knowing look with impossibly green eyes. "Alright, alright. Maybe just a little." He displayed an inches length between his thumb and forefinger.
She plopped beside him. "Why?"
He smothered a cigarette he'd just noticed withering in an ashtray beside his bed. "You know why."
She rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands. "Shoahly not because you happen to catch Bobby's grubby fingers all ovah me."
He nodded, turning to face her. "Dat's right."
She sighed, cupping his face in her hands. "Remy, yoah ovahreacting. Believe me, if Ah'd know you were coming Ah nevah would have let him touch me! But Ah couldn't wait fohevah and I needed a man's touch, even if it wasn't yoah hands on me." She lifted his hand and placed it on her hip, just under her shirt. "But you can touch me now."
He hesitated, staring at his hand on her soft, white skin. "I don't know." He turned his head nobly but she brought it back to meet her fetching eyes.
"Please, Remy. If you don't kiss me raght now, Ah'll die." Without waiting for a response, she pressed her hungry mouth against his placid mouth. She nestled into his arms. "Ah need you. Raght now," she breathed between kisses as she unbuttoned his shirt.
Finally, he complied, slipping his tongue between her lips and reveling in her satisfied moans and frantic groping.
Remy bolted upright in his bed, sweat forming on his brow, his legs tangled in his sheets, and a copy of The Crucible draped over his stomach. He decided he must have dozed off again, reading. He whipped his head toward the door, vaguely remembering what woke him up.
"Remy!" Rogue knocked three times, hard. ""Ah am NOT going to tell you again, boy! Get up!"
The door swung open and she gasped. "Oh! There yah are!" He grinned and she smothered one of her own, but it was futile. The man was poisonous. "Xaviah's getting ready to leave and he wants all of us downstairs." Her eyes couldn't resist traveling the length of his body. Naturally, he let her. Down his toned chest and flat six-pack, to his muscular legs and back up to his... book? "What's that?" She asked.
Remy looked down at it, forgetting he held it. "It's called a book, chere."
"Don't get smart. Ah'll steal yah in yoah left eye." Remy knew she didn't bluff.
"De Crucible." Remy said, showing her the title.
Her eyebrows lifted, impressed. "Who would have thought a swamp rat like yoahself would be interested in great literature?"
He shrugged modestly. "Is dat a compliment?"
She smiled. It was a nice smile; he loved it. "Maybe."
"You know, you're mout' is real pretty when it's not snapping at people all de time."
Her gaze widened. "Ah do not snap, mistah! You'll do well to know that Ah am a kind, generous soul that wouldn't hur-"
"Oh my pater. Give me a break!"
Indignantly, she replied, "Well Ah'm not the one that took it upon himself to IGNORE me for the last couple of days! What is that all about?" By now their argument had progressed to the middle of his room, door still ajar.
Remy blinked. Déjà vu. "I was ignoring you because it looked like you were getting all de attention you needed." He threw his blankets up on his bed and sat down.
"Ah, dear man, am a southern belle." She smiled sweetly. "We can't GET enough attention." They paused, and just like that, the cold shoulders and hurtful glares that had been exchanged within the last few days were over, because neither really wanted to continue. "So really, where'd you learn to love literature?"
He tossed the book onto the floor, stalling until he decided on the perfect response. "It's... a long story, belle. Maybe I'll tell you someday." But it's unlikely. "Besides," he continued, "can't a man just read in peace!" He broke into dramatic cries. "Why can't you just leave me alone? BASTARD!" He hurled a pillow at her and buried him self in his sheets, fake sobs racking his body. "Whhhyyyy!"
"Remy." Both southerners' heads turned to see Scott in the doorway, shock and amusement etched into their features. "Downstairs. Now." He said and walked away, but not without casting one more confused glare at his teammates.
**
The team gathered around Xavier's limousine.
"As you all know, I won't be back for a good two weeks. Until then, Scott will keep me posted on your progress or problems." He smiled and exchanged good-byes with his students. They waved him off collectively.
When he was out of sight, most scattered to engage in their individual pastimes. Wanda slipped her arms around Scott's waist from behind. "You know what today is." She said, her playful lips brushing against his ear and chin resting on his shoulder.
He sighed, leaning back into her. "I know, I know. What time?"
She released him. "They told us to be at the airport around four." She glanced at her watch: two-thirty.
He shook his head ruefully. "Sorry gorgeous, but I'm monitoring the blue team Danger Room session in an hour. I don't think I'll be able to go with you."
She led him back into the mansion through the kitchen French doors and retrieved a bottled water from the fridge. "That's alright. It'll give my mom and me some time to talk about you behind your back." She smiled wickedly. He kissed the top of her head.
**
Remy ran, and ran, and ran until his heart felt like it'd burst inside his body. His tennis shoes pounded against the black pavement of the track, each thud, thud, thud echoing through his ears with perfect clarity. When he was a kid scraping for his every last meal on the merciless streets of Louisiana, he'd gotten accustomed to running. Obviously, he didn't need to run too often anymore. Old habits die hard.
So every so often, he just laced up the old Nikes and set out to conquer the track beside Xavier's mansion. He had about three, three-and-a-half miles behind him- he'd lost count- when he saw the limousine rolling into the drive. His first reaction was that Xavier had forgotten something, but he banished the thought just as quickly for several obvious reasons. 'A telepath forgettin' his toothbrush, Remy. Nice one,' he thought.
Not only that, but Xavier's oversized car that screamed 'Look at me; I've got money!' was black. This one was clearly white. And Remy vaguely recalled Scott telling him Wanda's parents were going to be popping in this weekend. That thought made Remy laugh and not a little sympathetic for his visored field leader. Poor bastard.
Deciding to call it a run, he turned and picked up his jog to a sprint for the mansion.
"Alright, team, that's enough for today. Wanda should be back any minute. Hit the showers."
The X-Men's blue team, fatigued and aching in all sorts of places, groaned a weak thank you and herded into the locker rooms. All except one. Scott watched her with apprehensiveness and a guilty twinge of excitement.
Jean lingered for a moment longer, patting her cheeks with the white sweat towel. "So this is the big day," she said.
He nodded, descending the stairs from the monitoring booth. "Yep, this is it."
"Nervous?"
"Not so much as that. Just dreading it I suppose."
She gave him a lighthearted push. "Suck it up. You'll be fine." And then she was in the locker rooms showering, leaving Scott to chastise himself for indulging in those few stolen moments between the two of them. This was getting out of hand. And Scott hated anything he couldn't control.
**
After everyone had met and shook hands, they all sat down for a nice Sunday meal Wanda had let simmer in the oven all day. They had all nibbled their appetizers, sipped their cocktails, and found a seat around the large mahogany table. And still they waited. On Remy.
"Should I go call him again?" Wanda asked, her big dark eyes swimming in what could have passed for worry, but Scott knew was annoyance.
"No, no," her father said, latching onto her wrist and sitting her back down. "He'll be here any moment." Edward patted his daughter's hand reassuringly and she settled back into her seat.
Finally, everyone turned at the sound of bare footsteps padding down the hall. Remy appeared clad in black pants and a gray button-down, half open, his hair damp and stringy to his shoulders.
"I am so sorry for de delay, ladies and gentlemen."
Rogue stifled a grin.
Scott stiffened, as did his wife and her parents. Remy noticed their disapproval. "I was running when I saw de car pull in and, well, let me tell you, I was a sight to see. So I just hopped into de shower. Didn't realize you'd all be gat'ered 'round de table like dis. My apologies, chere," he bowed graciously before Cynthia, Wanda's flushed mother.
"Oh, well, that's quite alright," Cynthia said, bringing her hand to her fluttering heart. She looked to her husband. "My, isn't he a charmer!"
The table chuckled and Remy took the remaining seat next to Logan. "And I smell terrific!" Remy added, reaching first for the mashed potatoes and thereby breaking any remaining ice.
Even Scott relaxed enough to enjoy the meal. Wanda remained furious.
As people finished their meals, she stood and asked who wanted what kind of pie and coffee.
"Oh, sit down, Wanda. I'd be glad to do it," Jean offered, standing.
"No, I wouldn't dream of it."
"Oh please. At least let me help." The two women disappeared into the kitchen and began fractioning pies and pouring cups of coffee.
Back in the dining room, Edward was beginning to get a little disgusted. It was blatantly obvious to the wealthy entrepreneur that that Warren fellow was a bit sweet on the black woman, sitting dangerously close to her and sneaking sideways glances at her whenever he thought no one was looking. 'It just ain't right,' he decided silently and shook his head. Sure, she didn't look all that bad, was probably a good fuck really, if you were into that kind of thing, but let's be honest. What red-blooded man WASN'T into a fantastic pair of tits? But that Warren kid could do so much better. Yes sir, a lot better indeed.
Edward's stares did not go unnoticed, and just as Jean and Wanda reappeared with arms full of pie and coffee, Ororo turned to him and spoke, her voice regal and prominent, but laced with a tang of irritation just the same. "Why stare, sir?"
Jean, just setting her last piece in front of Scott, took notice of the exchange. She and Scott exchanged one wary glance before listening in along with the rest of the table.
Edward coughed, a bit embarrassed. Damn it, no. No one embarrassed him. Especially not this bitch. "I was just thinking that you should stick to your own kind, woman." His voice bled.
Forks clattered and jaws clenched. Warren shot up from his seat and leaned across the table. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He nearly screamed. Remy and Logan ushered him back into his seat. Eyes darted frantically from Edward to Ororo until Cynthia's smothered giggle could be heard from beside the obese businessman.
"Oh, Edward, for God's sake," she laughed, smacking his chest playfully. Jean's face twisted in disgust at the woman's nonchalant response to her husband's barefaced hateful remarks.
Ororo, a blue calm sea, slid back from the table and made her way up the stairs, a lightening bolt striking outside accompanying her exit. Jean followed, stopped at the dining room doorway, and looked back, first at Wanda, then Scott, then spun on her heel and up the stairs after the weather goddess.
Scott sighed in his seat. It was going to be a long night. Wanda scoffed. "Gawd," she stage-whispered at her mother who was puffing on her slim cigarette "some people are so touchy."
**
"Ororo," Jean knocked tentatively on the woman's attic door. "It's Jean." Still nothing. "Look I know we don't know each other very well but you have to talk to SOMEONE."
"No I don't, Ororo sang from behind the door. Jean smiled.
"Yes you do," she called back. "Now open this door young lady!"
The door flew open to reveal a pacified Ororo, the only hint of tears swimming in her eyes but yet to fall. Jean entered and slammed the door behind her telekinetically.
The rain beat down on the windows above her head with violent ferocity. Jean approached Ororo on her bed and slowly took a seat beside her. The comforter was gold and white, the fireplace flames casting warm gilded shadows off of it and all around her room.
"I don't know what to say," Jean began, "but if you want to say anything, I'll listen."
Ororo bowed her head and swallowed. "I don't know what to say, either. It was... embarrassing, and hateful, and yet- I know that I will have to endure that man for a small portion of my life, but he will have to live with himself for the rest of his worthless existence. So I guess, in a way, I pity him." She chuckled dryly and sniffed. "But not really." It wasn't his remark entirely that Ororo was upset about, but the fact that she did indeed harbor some feelings toward Warren, no matter what they may be. And she couldn't help but wonder, what if they were to someday become an "item?" Was this just a sample of the way they'd be treated?
She wasn't crying, Jean knew, but that was probably because her tears fell from heaven, not her deep sapphire eyes.
"Don't pity that sorry, fat, sack of shit. He'll never amount to anything except a couple of bank accounts and a pathetic sex life." They shared a small laugh. "I'm serious! I bet half the time he can't even get the tiny thing up."
"Assuming he's got somethin' between his fat legs," Rogue said from the door. "Can I come in? I brought ice cream?" She held up the carton in her hands.
Ororo nodded. "Then definitely." She wasn't going to let an ignorant fraction of a man dampen her mood... or her craving for mint-chocolate-chip.
**
Scott scribbled the last few additions onto his sheet when someone knocked. "It's open."
Jean stepped in. He almost wished she hadn't. Being married to the family that started the ugly feud at dinner earlier that evening, he was caught between a rock and a hard place.
"Hi there," he said, polite just the same and leaning back into his chair. "What can I do for you?"
A wicked smile played on Jean's lips but she dissolved it just as quickly, leaving him to come to his own conclusions. By the look on his face, he clearly had. Don't, she thought. Let's not stir a boiling cauldron.
"Have you talked to her?" Straight and to the point- she knew Scott liked that. She idly wondered what else Scott liked. Damn it, Jean!
He shook his head. "No, she's downstairs in the parlor with Cynthia. I plan on letting her know how I feel about it soon, though. Before the night is over."
She clutched her hips. "See that you do! Ororo was very hurt by Daddy's little remark," she spat.
"I know. I've looked outside lately." He said wryly.
Jean smiled despite herself. It was bound to pour all night. Let it. Who the hell really cared? "I think he should apologize. That was VERY disrespectful." Jean was fuming now, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. "Augh!" She slammed a fist into her other palm. "People like that make me want to punch them in the face until they bleed!"
Scott's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa," he said simply.
She stopped. "What?"
"Nothing, it's just... whoa. I've never heard you talk like that."
She blushed and tilted her head to the side challengingly. "You like it?"
He shifted in his seat. "Ahem, um, I didn't..." She laughed, cutting him off.
"Yeah." And then she left.
**
Ice cream was all well and good for the immediate after-effects, but Ororo needed something stiff. She didn't drink a whole lot, but some things got her in the mood. A racist, sniveling jack-off like Edward put her in the mood.
And yet whom should she find at the very mini-bar she selected to indulge in her late night bourbon?
Smelling of alcohol and grotesque bodily gas, he was sprawled onto the bar, his hulking form just barely balancing on the stool and his arms and head flopped onto the counter.
He squinted when she flicked on the light. "Huh? Oh, hey you. Come in for a drink, have ya'?"
Ororo went behind the bar.
"Oh, what? Not talking to me, eh?" He laughed but was tripped in a revolting belch. Ororo rolled her eyes, disgusted, and continued plopping ice cubes into her glass. Plunk, plunk. When she finished, she came from behind the bar and made her way out of the room. He caught her wrist and yanked her back.
"Aw c'mon, beauty queen. I didn't mean it; I say dumb things sometimes." His voice was slurred and he reeked of alcohol. He placed a pudgy, undeserving hand on her mocha elbow. "But I'm not so dumb all the time. Sometimes I say... and DO all the right things." His voice was low and guttural. Ororo nearly vomited.
"Remove your hand from me before you pull back a bloody nub, sir."
His face tightened and he drew his arm back as if to smack her across the cheek. "You worthless bitch. The only place that will ever be for you is either around my cock or as my slave, you understand? You're nothing bu-"
Ororo smacked her fist into his left eye, and then again into his mouth. He fell hard on his back, his face a mangled bloody mess, unconscious. She inhaled deeply, straightened her shirt, picked up her drink, and left, swallowing her bourbon and water. "Bastard."
**
Warren woke up the next morning to the unmistakable sounds of his brother's footsteps rushing down the hall. "Warren!" He called breathlessly, bursting through the elder Worthington's doors, grin stuck on his face. "Warren, guess what! You'll never guess."
Warren threw his comforter back. "What, Bobby?"
"Omi God. It is the FUNNIEST thing. Eddie-boy was found passed out drunk at the Rec. Room bar. Doesn't remember half of yesterday, stupid sunuvabitch." Bobby shook his head, rummaging through his brother's closet.
Warren sat up. "Really? He was?"
"Hell yeah, man. Great God, what I wouldn't have given to see that fat bastard lying on the ground. Yuck!" He laughed uproariously at whatever he thought was incredibly hysterical. Pausing, he snatched a green Polo hanging in Warren's closet. "Hey, can I borrow this?"
"What for?" Warren pulled on a pair of boxers.
"My date." Bobby said casually, shrugging his shoulders.
"YOU have a date?" He stumbled into his bathroom and ran the faucet.
"Yes, I have a date. Don't sound so shocked!"
Warren stuck his toothbrush in his mouth. "Okay."
"Okay you're not shocked or okay I can borrow this shirt?" He called into the bathroom.
"Boff." Warren said around his toothbrush.
"Great!" Bobby lingered in the doorway for an extra second until finally, "Well! Aren't you gonna ask who I'm going out with?"
Warren looked at him through the mirror. He shrugged. "Okay. Who?"
"See that's the thing. I haven't exactly ASKED her yet." Warren rolled his eyes. His brother was a trip. "Don't gimme that! She'll say yes! She's gotta. Well, I mean, I hope she does. I really hope sh-"
"Alright, alright." Warren dabbed his mouth with the face towel. "Who is it, lil bro?"
He sighed, leaning into the wall. "Rogue."
Warren nodded approvingly. "She's cute."
"Cute?! She's beautiful. She's a rising sun! She's a full moon! She's... really hot! And funny. And nice. And she understands, you know what I mean?"
"No I can't say I do." Warren remarked dryly.
"That's because YOU don't understand!"
**
Wanda positioned the hat on her head, talking into the mirror back at Scott. "We probably won't be back until evening, so I won't be making dinner. Mother wants to visit some of the stores so I thought I'd take her to do a little shopping."
Scott, standing awkwardly behind her with his hands stuffed in his jean pockets, nodded. "Alright."
She turned, a playful pout painting her full lips. "Oh, darling," she approached him and straightened his shirt, "I know you're angry with me, but don't worry. We'll all forget about it soon enough."
Scott's teeth clenched inside his mouth but he remained silent. Instead, he squeezed her hands and disappeared into their bathroom.
Wanda sighed and headed out the door, purse clutched between her hands and a lively spring in her step. Forget the world today! Today was shopping!
Scott slammed the faucet down after he heard the door close behind her. While drying his hands he heard it open and shut again, but no proceeding footsteps. Curious, he poked his head out the door.
Jean leaned against the back of his bedroom door. "Oh, darling," she said sardonically, "I know you're angry with me but..." Jean stopped. "And you don't even know the half of it! Do you know that pig tried to lay a move on her last night?"
Scott looked out his window. "I figured as much. When I found Eddie I had to clean him up- blood you know. He'll just have to tell his wife he must have gotten the black eye collapsing onto the ground."
"The nerve of him! And what does Wanda have to say about this?"
"She's shopping."
Jean's face scrunched contemptuously. "She would be shopping. I'm sorry but your wife- she's shallow. You know that, right?"
"No, I mean, no, we're not having this discussion." Scott felt a bit insulted. "That's my wife you're talking about." He said simply.
Jean clamped her mouth shut. "Oh. I'm sorry," she said quietly, and left the way she came. It wasn't that he agreed with Wanda. Of course he didn't. But he couldn't let someone stand there and speak about her the way Jean just did. Scott's shoulders straightened, a bit proud with himself, but not without a pang of guilt.
**
"Ah swear to God, if we don't get a lead soon Ah'm just going to hold this place hostage and find out the old-fashioned way."
Logan grunted. "I've told you my suspicions, but you know the saying: love is smoke in the eyes, love makes your eyes smoky, the smoke gets in your eyes. Something like that; you know the one." He waved his cigar at her and she perked an eyebrow in return.
"Yoah wrong about that one, Logan. There is no way Remy is the one; Ah just know it."
"How can you say that Rogue?" He sat up in his chair. "He's the perfect candidate: young, attractive, has some cash but not too much, smart, and not Harvard smart, neither- Brooklyn smart."
"You just don't know him like Ah know him." Rogue defended, sinking into her own chair.
"You don't know anyone! I've decided our problem is each other."
Rogue shot him a look. "Each othah?"
"Yeah. We need to socialize a bit. The more we keep talking like this the more of a solid bubble we'll put around us. Let's just... you know, mingle."
"Mingle? Alraght, I can mingle." She straightened, nodding. "Yeah. Ah can mingle."
**
Warren tapped Ororo's open door. She looked up from her fingernail polish and smiled. "Hello, Warren."
"Hey 'Ro. I uh, just came by to see how you were doing. Good?"
She nodded. "Yes."
He nodded too, and then an immense silence. She continued to apply the nail polish in long even strokes. The apple red complimented her skin wonderfully. He shifted his weight awkwardly.
"So..." he began. "Is there anything I can, you know, do? Do you want to talk?"
She shook her head. "No I'm fine." Her voice was low and languid.
He nodded again, this time in finality. "Alright." He made way toward the door. "I guess I'll... see you around then?"
She smiled tightly. "Alright."
On the other side of her door, Warren sighed, defeated. That went terribly. He was a fool to come barging in like a knight in white satin. He should have known that the last thing she probably wanted was pity. But I wasn't pitying her. I was simply... concerned. He leaned against a wall and tipped his head back, clenching his eyelids shut. God that woman drives me crazy.
Inside, Ororo blew softly on her wet nails. She didn't like pity, but she knew Warren's intentions were good. She'd decided last night to keep her distance from the boy billionaire. If she didn't raise his hopes now, they wouldn't fall so hard when she left this place. Simple as that.
**
A voice spoke low on one end of the line.
"Hey Julius, it's me."
"Heartbreaker!" The other voice cried. "Hey guys, shut the fuck up, it's Heart!" Silence consumed both ends of the line. "What's up? How's that Xavier's place? Somethin' wrong?"
"I don't know. Things just don't feel right here. You know what I mean? You're sure I don't have a tail at this joint?"
Julius' sucked his teeth. "No, how many times I gotta tell ya', boss? We checked the feds, the IRS, the Secret Service, everyone! You understand? Everyone! Nobody, and I mean nobody, is in that mansion with you that shouldn't be."
The heartbreaker's eyes darted around the bedroom, expecting someone to charge in at any minute with handcuffs. "Word on the street is there's another division- a secret one. Call it the... the-"
"The Opal Meridian?"
"Yea."
"Yea we heard of that," his New York accent thick. "It's a myth, Heart. A myth. They tell these crazy stories to scare people like us. But I know you have nothing to worry about. Trust me, kid. Trust me. Hey, have I ever lead you wrong, eh? Have I?"
"No Julius, but let this not be the first time, or one of us will regret it, and it will not be me." An abrupt click and then the conversation is over.
**
Rogue stabbed the earring through her lobes and slipped the backs on. She smoothed her designer pants against her shapely thighs and adjusted the lace top. Her hair fell to her shoulders in large brunette curls, the white streak coiling in one large cable of snow against her brown strands. "Damn. Not bad if Ah do say so mahself," she smiled into the full-length mirror. She headed for her door but stopped, spinning on her heel and heading back. "On second thought." She snatched her undercover badge from her jewelry box and pinned it on the inside of her shirt over the valley between her breasts, careful only to take a thin layer of fabric so the pin did not show on the other side. "Just in case," she mumbled, and was soon descending the mansion stairway.
She was flabbergasted at first when Bobby asked her on a date. Her first date since Caleb died. Her first reaction: No, Bobby, I don't think so. But she quickly stopped herself. Logan said socialize, and refusing would only raise suspicion. She suspected that some of them already thought her and Logan lovers. After all, why would a beautiful, single woman refuse an innocent Friday night date with an attractive, wealthy blond? Two and two makes four and Rogue wasn't going to raise question. Besides, on account of Mr. Asshole and his stuck-up, country club wife going back to Florida where they came from, everyone in the mansion was entitled to at least a small celebration.
Downstairs, Bobby stood impatiently by the front doors. He straightened his, or Warren's rather, shirt, he ran a hand through his blonde locks, he cupped a palm in front of his face and checked his breath. "Ugh," Bobby's features scrunched. "Way funky."
He dug into his pockets for his breath spray and shot two squirts in his mouth, and then another, just in case.
His brother passed him in the foyer, a ham sandwich in one hand. He shook his head.
"Hey, I don' even want to hear a word out of you, loser. Where's YOUR date, hmm?"
Warren shrugged. "Can't argue with that. But I was thinking maybe I'll catch her in front of the T.V. or something and then it's 'oops, didn't know you were here. Want some company?'
Bobby smirked. "Good luck, but I doubt you'll find Ororo in front of the television on a Friday night, unlike some losers I know..." his voice trailed.
Warren rolled his eyes but disappeared on account of Rogue's appearance at the top of the stairs. "Have a good time, Bobo."
But Bobby wasn't listening. His breath caught in his throat. Man did she look amazing.
"Ready?" She asked?
He nodded dumbly. 'Uh, yeah! Oh, yeah. Ready."
He swung his car keys and they exited through the front doors.
Remy, unnoticed in the far kitchen doorway, watched them depart in Warren's Ferrari. He shuffled cards slowly between his hands, his fingertips blazing an amber orange.
NEXT TIME: Find out Remy's dirty lil secret, and who the Heartbreaker is. Are the two events related? You just wait and see.
Thanks a ton for the reviews so far; you guys rock! And I understand that not only who killed Caleb but why is very important, but I've decided to hold off on that until we discover who Heartbreaker is, that way it's a surprise... I hope.