Pyromane

Disclaimer: I don not own X-Men: Evo or any of its characters. I created Nigel, so I guess that makes him mine, but he's really not important.

AN: I know it's been a long wait for this post, but it's finally here. The fates were against this, sending computer problems, school, and tragedy my way. I've had this written for a while, it just sat around waiting to be typed.

On which note, everyone who likes this and is happy now that it's here, thank Snitter in Rivendell for bugging me incessantly to update. THANKS!

Chapter 9

Remy's Day contined

(a.k.a. What Things May Come From It)

While at the café, Nigel explained what he was doing here in the first place. His band had gotten a break in Sydney and made a good amount of money off the endeavor. Then the drummer broke his arm in a fight. He used the money and time to travel. New York was his third stop.

"…And seeing as how I came to New York City, Iza insisted I stop and check up on John. I think she's got a crush on him since he left."

I nod, more interested in the swirling of my coffee than the little flirt, Izabel, another one of John's old friends.

"Oi, Cajun, you listening?" I jerk my head upward.

"What?"

"What happened to your head?" He questions me for apparently the second time.

"Fist," I reply. "You?"

He pauses, gingerly touching the scar on the side of his face. It has to be at least five inches long, curving from his brow to his jaw.

"Bar fight. Rowdy gig. This one guy—completely shit-faced—just jumped up on stage and tackled Brody…"

He must have noticed the blank look on my face.

"Brody's the drummer," He explains quickly. "So the drunk guy just ran at Brody before any of us could even react. He ran into the drums first, and everything just went off the back of the platform. Then all hell broke loose…" At this point, he's practically on the verge of laughing. I can't help but think maybe all Australians are nuts. That, or it's contact with John that does it.

"At that point, everyone went nuts. Jack—the bassist—got a black eye, Brody broke his arm, and I got a bottle shoved through my face."

I really didn't know what to say, so I didn't reply.

"Yeah, broken glass doesn't seem so bad 'til someone's slid it through the side of yer head."

I nod.

"You'd be surprised about refrigerators,"

He looks at me strangely. It must be contact with John that does it to people.

Nigel opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, but he's cut off by a sudden loud beeping. He digs frantically around in the backpack he's been carrying and pulls out a beeper.

"Bloody…hell." He mumbles. "I gotta go, have John gimme a ring, I'm at the Motel 6."

He spoke fast and somehow managed to dump a handful of change on the table without me noticing.

He's gone in an instant. Now I'm just sitting alone at the table. Along the counter, the waitress seems to have noticed the empty spot across from me. She wanders over, smiling politely ay me. She swipes the heap of change off the edge of the table into an awaiting palm. She's already counting it as she moves on to the rest of her rounds. She's only to the next table when I stop her.

"Chere, now dat's it's just Remy, I t'ink I will take one o' those menus."

She nods, an impersonal still on her face as she took a few coins in her other hand and dumped the rest into her tip jar on the counter.

I manage to kill at least half an hour with lunch. I know I only just ate before I left, but two four-inch squares of sugary toaster things is hardly a snack to me. I'd've had a real breakfast at the restaurant, but due to my late start, they were already on lunch, so I've missed that opportunity for the day. At least my stomach's finally shut up.

Exiting the restaurant, I simply wander down the street. I don't really have any destinations in mind. There are still many stores and building, but they're getting fewer and farther between. There's a gap up to my right that's an empty playground. It's only about one, so most of the kids that age are in school still. I look past the playground to the arcade another couple hundred feet past it. I dig my hands into the pockets at my sides, feeling around for change. My fingers brush against metal, so I know I've found what my quarry. I leave my hands buried as I continue to walk.

I only get about 50 feet before I notice a dull warmth against my right hand. I jerk my arm back, startled. Believe me, as much as I try not to, I slip. Knowing it's too late now that I've broken contact to reabsorb the charge, I move quickly and toss the small rectangular object as far from me as I can. It soars past the playground equipment into the trees beyond. Of course, it's followed by the inevitable BOOM. I'm hoping it didn't leave too big a crater.

I'm not sure what it was that I charged, but my guess is that I'm now just short a full deck. That's al I can think of that was the right shape and size.

I move on more carefully. I don't want it to look like I'd caused the explosion, even though I did. Nobody seems to have connected me, though there are a few people gawking in the direction of the sound. I'm just having a lucky week, I suppose. Finally, I reach the arcade.

I've been known to spend long times in there before. Even people who know me well are surprised when they find out. Trust me, I'm no big game enthusiast, and I don't seek it out. If I'm in the area, I play. I'm just good at it.

I spend an hour or two playing one of many shooting games, my choice having the attraction of shooting zombies instead of criminals, spies, or Groundskeeper Willy. It got repetitive after awhile, so I gave it up and tried my hand at one of the virtual poker games. It was easier than real poker.

I play the fake poker until I run out of quarters. I move to leave, handing my winnings from the poker game to the first kid I pass, some pre-teen boy playing pinball. I'm guessing it must be around three for someone his age to be here without skipping. Checking my watch, my assumption was right. I continue on to the exit, stopping only a moment to watch another player win an impossible amount of tickets on what is brightly labeled the 'Storm-chaser' game. It's a skill game where the button has to be pressed when a certain bulb in a circle gets lit up. He only seems to be putting a coin in every few rounds. I recognize him, from the ridiculous flare of orange spikes, as one of Xavier's younger generation. Magneto's got files on everyone. Even behind my dark sunglasses, I can see the sparks flying off his hand to the machine. I guess I was right. I'm not on duty, so I've got no reason to bother him. He's too involved in his game to notice me.

I leave the arcade into a throng of people on the sidewalks. Now that school's been let out, there are children everywhere, from little kids with their mothers to those Electro-Boy's age. I can't stand being crammed between complete steganers, so I push my way past all tohse on the sidewalk to cross the street. I almost got hit by a car pulling out of a parking space blindly, but at least I wasn't squished anymore.

Across the street, I enter one of the largest buildings, the cinema. It's still too early to head back to base, but I've run out of things to occupy myself with. There's nothing I really want to see, but I go inside anyway.

The movie was long and boring, a waste of two and a half hours. It's late in the day now, so I rush for my bike on the far end of the street. I lost track of the movie, and during my daydreaming, I got a strange feeling. I can't really tell what it is, but something isn't right. Well, whatever it is, it's making me anxious, so I hurry back home.

It's almost 6 and I'm just now pulling into the garage. I kill the motor and move to pull of my helmet. I'm distracted, so I nearly ump out of my skin when there's a loud boming in from of me. I don't know what the hell it just was, but the sound came from the door to the main base. I think I even dropped my helmet on the floor.

A moment after the initial sound, a metallic footfall, Piotr has come bursting through the door. He looks worried. And why is he in uniform?

"Wha's wrong?" He's panting, been running.

"Remy," He almost never calls me by first name, usually opting for Gambit instead, or it's just understood he's talking to me. He's beginning to scare me. "You must get down to the training room immediately."

"What? We got training today?"

"Nyet," He shook his head fervently. "Hours ago."

I freeze.

Oh…shit.

To be continued…

I NEED YOUR HELP! I want people's opionons on how Magneto will react, and what he will do. I have ideas, but I'm hoping for something better. Thanks!

This chapter was dedicated to the memory of John Smith, a close friend of my sister who died on Saturday in a car accident. This was also for Greg Paige, who was also in an unrelated accident and is now in a coma. His prospect is not good.

Special Thanks To:

Faith- I agree, stereotypes are bad, bad things. And rulers, they can be deadly.

Dark-English-Rose- I'll bring the net!

X-Girl4- Enjoy!

Snitter in Rivendell- I know I've already said a ton for you already, but one more thing--thanks for the tip about the coat thing. I wrote that before Dark Horizons, but hey, I didn't know any better. Now all I need is a motorcycle to see firsthand, because I know own a treanchcoat of my own which pleases me deeply.

Faeryeyes- Anything's possible if you have enough pyrotechnics…

Dragon Master Lytore- I agree about the import music.

Akai Kah'ghe- I always ave to ckeck twice on the spelling of your name. I'm guessing it means something neat, am I right?

Jemina- Will do, er, have done if you're reading this… And thanks for the Ch.8 review too.

Icy Flame- I'm glad I can do accents. They're a confusing art. Just read Trainspotting. It's a whole book written with Scottish accent! And we'll see about the artwork, I originally had it for one reason, but I thought up another really good one for it last night. Who knows…

Dark Angel60- I'm sorry I took so long. Bad me!