Chapter 3: Your Fault
The restaurant was more lavish and plush than even Rogue could have imagined, the place sparkled and glimmered with several Christmas decorations, yet, decorations that were tasteful and not tacky like the ones she'd seen in several lower class restaurants. Several tables were placed around a large circular dance floor, and opposing the dance floor was a pianist, a cello player, and a drummer – the music was a rather lively rendition of a Frank Sinatra song she'd heard before, but couldn't name.
They were shown to their table, a large circular table, a tall pillar candle lit the table slightly against the dim room, the candle surrounded by a garland of holly leafs and berries. Rogue looked to the table nervously, noting the abundance of forks, knives and spoons in one setting, she'd never been taught how to dine in fine society and felt slightly embarrassed, wondering what knives and forks she would use for which part of which meal.
"Don't worry," Hank noticed Rogue's concern, he pulled her chair out for her and let her sit, pushed it in for her. "When its time to eat, I'll tell you which fork to use," he smirked a little.
"Wow, this place is so extravagant," Rogue looked up to the ceiling, the ceiling was so high, and several decorations hung from it. A mirrorball hung above the dance floor right in the centre, dappling its sparkling lights across the people dancing. "Is this one of those places where its like a hundred dollars for a bottle of wine?" She queried.
Hank gave a soft laugh, the Professor answered, "try three hundred dollars," he remarked, "that's the least expensive wine," he smirked.
Rogue pursed her lips together, she personally thought it was a waste of money to dine in such a place, but the Professor had expensive tastes, and besides, it was Christmas Eve.
They ordered drinks first, Professor Xavier, Hank and Logan sharing a bottle of rather expensive wine, Remy and Rogue stuck with ordering Apple juice. The menu came soon after. Everything on the menu costing more than Rogue thought even the Professor should have been able to afford. Rogue had Hank order her food for her, because she simply didn't know how to pronounce what she wanted. Hank, Charles and Remy all ordered the food in French as if they'd been speaking French all their lives, as if it was their first and only language.
Then came Logan's turn to order. In very bad mispronounced French mixed with English in a thick broad and rather put on Canadian accent, he ordered his own food, and then afterwards informed the waiter, "French Canadian," as he pointed at himself. Rogue laughed so hard she snorted apple juice down her nose.
As they waited, Rogue looked over at Remy wondering what was going on his mind, he looked bored, and agitated, he tapped his fingers absently on the edge of the table, which Hank had to tell him off for three times, Rogue had the sneaking suspicion he needed a cigarette – which is why right hand was so idle, there was usually a cigarette dangling from it.
The meal was wonderful, and tasted divine, and they all made pleasant conversation with each other – except Remy and Rogue did not speak to each other the whole time, simply ignored each other – which was fine by Rogue, except it did infuriate her that she felt he was doing it deliberately to make her angry – but she realised she was doing the same exact thing.
"Would you like to dance, Rogue?" Hank asked, he gestured to the dance floor.
"Hmmm, maybe later," Rogue made a face, she didn't like the thought of dancing near so many people with bare shoulders and arms, even though she was covered enough to avoid contact. "it's a bit crowded out there right now."
"Fair enough, but I'll hold you to later," Hank winked.
"There's a bar here?" Logan asked.
"In the next room…you can also smoke in there…"
"I'm headin' there…" Logan stood up, taking the napkin from his lap and tossing it on to the table, "time for beer, c'mon you two," he nudged Hank and Professor Xavier, "I'll buy you a beer."
Rogue smirked, the vision of Professor Xavier and Hank chilling out over a Budweiser amused her – she didn't picture them as beer drinkers.
"Normally, I'm not a beer drinker," Professor Xavier took the napkin off of his lap also, "but it's Christmas, I think there's a time when I can make exceptions."
"Will you kids be okay in here?" Hank asked of Remy and Rogue as he stood.
"Fine," Rogue shrugged, realising because they were under age they wouldn't be able to go into the bar area.
"We'll be back shortly," Professor Xavier smiled, and the three men left, leaving Rogue at the table, alone with Remy.
There was an awkward silence, neither of them said anything. Rogue sipped her apple juice delicately. Remy took a pack of cards out of his pocket and spread them out on the table, using one card to flick them over skilfully, he completely ignored her.
"You're such an asshole," Rogue stated.
Remy scooped the cards back up and shuffled them skilfully with speed that any card gambler would have envied. "Excuse me?" He played innocent.
"You tried to get me in trouble with the professor, that's what!" Rogue hissed.
"You're paranoid," Remy remarked, "I was only messing with you," he stated with a smirk, he shuffled the cards absently in his hand, looking at her with a smug expression.
"You've been in a bad fuckin' mood with me ever since we
came back. I said we'd be friends,
Remy, but you've been acting like a real dick to me…" Rogue pouted.
"Do you mind lowering the
tone of your language, Rogue? This is a
classy place," Remy stated calmly, he put the cards back in his pocket.
Rogue looked at him, "Look, Remy, I just want things to go back to where we can get along again…" she sighed.
Remy laughed incredulously, "get along?" he demanded, laughing his head off
"What's so funny?" Rogue raised an eyebrow.
"Marie, when have we EVER gotten along?" he asked, "We've always been fightin' since the moment we met," He reminded, "There's always somethin' we're fightin' about. We have never gotten along."
Rogue realised he was right, although there had been moments where things had settled down between them, they had always been fighting about one thing or the other, whether it be how annoying he was or how he'd hurt her. "Yeah, but who's fault is it that we're always fighting," Rogue asked, looking at him pointedly. "I'll tell you who's fault it is – its yours."
The laughter faded, and he looked at her, "You're blaming me?" His face twisted as if he were angry and hurt.
"You don't think it is?" Rogue asked, disbelief crossing her face, "You did sleep with Bella Donna after all," she sat back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, folding her arms. The music still played in the background although it almost seemed distant.
"You are never gonna let me forget that, are you?" He demanded.
"It hurt me!" Rogue hissed.
"Why am I the only one who ever gets blamed? Nothing is ever YOUR fault, is it?" Remy asked. "Well, look at it this way, Rogue," he got up, and took a packet of tobacco out of his back pocket, then sat back down and opened the packet, he began to roll himself a cigarette. "Yes, I mighta slept with her, hell, I mighta even been the one to instigate it," he said, "And yes, I might have lied to you, and betrayed you or whatever else you wanna blame me for…" he ran his tongue lightly along the edge of the cigarette paper, rolled it adroitly, then looked at her, "But our break up is YOUR fault," he stated, and with this, he stood up, and headed towards the bar area.