Demon In My View

by Raven2687

A bloodied Gambit seeks aid from the XMen while a mutant predator is on the rampage. As Rogue and Gambit grow closer, the truth behind the mutant attacks is revealed and determines both their fates. Not a typical shipper story.

33. Passage

Happy Holidays! I doubt any of you are about to go online on Christmas day, but I figured me uploading is sort of like a "present"? I worked like crazy to get this chapter up b/c, my God, I swear it turned out longer than I planned. It was over sixteen pages on my word processor.

And I have to say thanks to all you reviewers--I really crabby these days, but whenever I read a review, I can't help but smile. So thanks for cheering me up so well!

Just so you guys know, I am not going to pretend I know French because I don't. Not a lick. So, yeah, just bear with it. Also if you guys want to see the Concorde Saint Lazare for yourself, go to Yahoo image search and type in "Concorde Saint Lazare"--the pictures are beautiful!

On a final note, I think it would serve well to look into Gambit's background concerning Genevieve Darcenaux and his rite of passage in the Thieves' Guild. It'll give just the right perspective, added with my vision of things. Check his bio out on and read about what happened in Paris.

Flowerperson: Gee, I really don't know what to name a puppy--I've never had a pet before. And besides, I didn't get this until today so go ahead and name it. Shoot, missed my chance, but oh well, that's life.EmeraldKatsEye: I'm slightly worried, was that a good "oh boy" or a bad "oh boy"? Yeah...probably overthought that one. Shame on me. Lady Godiva: Yeah, I agree that the whole Genny thing isn't that bad, compared to other things that could happen. But imagine, if you're responsible for having someone killed--well, words could do no justice to how much that'd suck. The severity of things escapes us when it happens to someone else--once it becomes our reality though... Anyway, I'm going to make it much worse, just for the Rogue/Gambit angst sake. Don't worry--I won't make it stupid and impractical, Rogue's reaction I mean. Flame31: Give me some credit--do I seem like the mush-fest type? LOL, enjoy the angst...though I think this chapter is longer than necessary. Whatever, I'm allowed some long-windedness. Freak87: Yeah...the story DID go in a complete circle...that's so weird, but the funny thing is, that's a literary technique for some novelists. It's called setting up a "frame" where you end where you begin. It gives readers a sense of...what's the ? Makes the story more believable when everything ties back together at the end. Hmm...TOTALLY unintentional. Some little thought in my head realized that, made Remy have the thought, then moved on. Thanks for bringing that to my attention--makes me feel more like an intellectual. Allie: Oh, please, get up off your knees! But your praise is ever welcome, thank you very much. I seriously never realized I used that extensive of a vocabulary, but it's so fun to sample different words--can you tell I love words? If I don't have writing as a career, I think I'll die of not fulfilling a destiny, or whatever. Lol. Yeah, the ending sucks for you all doesn't it? I'd apologize if I meant it. ;-) Ishandahalf: Hell yeah curse that stupid exams to hell--what are they trying to DO to us??? As for Remy in a movie, if he's not in X3 I will be so pissed...but whatever. But you had to see that sort of ending coming, right? C'mon now, you should know my ways, especially after thirty some chapters...ok, I'm enjoying teasing you too much. Haha, enjoy. And of COURSE I'll find a way to twist things! It's almost sick how much I enjoy this! Chica De Los Ojos Cafe: Don't believe I've seen you before, first time reviewer? Hi. This wait was long, I know, but it's a long long chapter, too. Enjoy. Enchantedlight: Okay, first of all, you have no idea how I almost burst into giggles when I saw your reply to my reply to your review. Haha, oh man, I love having you around with your consistency. Yeah, it's great, keep it up. Totally Obsessed47: Hmm, not sure what to say to you...what shall we discuss? Well, actually, you could just read! Oh, and review, too. I'm just stupidly under the obligation to reply to everybody. You're all important, y'know. SickmindedSucker: I don't think I'll ever stop being intrigued by how you so ably analyze my chapters. You notice trends and mood, diction, plot, tone and character symbolism and all that...wow. You get good grades in English classes, literary analysis papers? Hmm...just curious. SarQueen4: I don't know how to react but with the usually cliche and cheesey, "You think this is the most awesome x-men story you've ever read? Thank you!" But honestly, I never get sick of hearing that so thank you. Keep reading and I hope I don't disappoint. Orion Kohaishu: Swear all you want, hon. I want to, A LOT OF TIMES, but I've got this hellishly annoying voice of etiquette bugging the crap out of me...and I have to listen--sigh--. And I don't know how to thank you for such a praising review! You must really like it--a fact of which I am glad to know. I wish there was another way to say "thank you", it's so damn hackneyed by now. Never heard it being a "masterpiece" before, but I have to say, I like my fic, too. Hope I don't disappoint! Sweety8587: Hmm, I wonder, was this chapter what you thought it was? You must let me know. I always find it amusing when readers can predict what's gonna happen. I liked how you seemed to analyze all the bits of the chapter that seemed important. I try to do that (blame my AP English class, but heck, I rather enjoy it myself). I put some effort into inserting little details, using specific words to emphasize a point or suggest an issue. I'm glad that you took notice to some of them. If you look back at the previous chapters and do some critical analysis, I'm pretty sure you'll discover a lot about the characters, plot, and "life", just by reading deeper into the diction. GothikStrawberry: It's so hard to say! We want these two to work it out, but at the same time if they did, the story would suddenly get boring as hell because the whole point of Rogue/Gambit is how these two never seem able to get it together! So all us fans are at a loss--well, at least I am. Same thing with cliff hangers--I guess they're only good when there's a whole other chapter next to dissipate your anxiety. CatStar14: You don't know how Genny is?? I feel like I should do some clarifying...wish I'd done that at the end of the last chapter now that I think of it...well, look her up on the net under "Genevieve Darcenaux"--or you could just read this chapter. I do some explaining but it's different from the comic book version. Still, if you looked her up at like or something, it'll add more to your understanding. Kendokao: What's roleplaying? This girl at school (I can't figure her out because she seems like a goth, a punk, and a nerd all at once, but she doesn't look like anything but a pretty girl posing as a goth but whatever) who goes to roleplaying things for Lord of the Rings. Is that what you do, too? You were only behind a chapter! I'm lagging SO BADLY these days--it's detestable! Raven001: My updates have been taking longer, for that I apologize. In the beginning I had written like six or seven chapters ahead of what I'd actually uploaded, but now I've uploaded all the ones I've written and I'm left with an unfinished one.--sigh-- Everything's just catching up to me! And I am planning a sequel. Sanaria: Such enthusiasm by words! Thanks! Shockgoddess: Funny little note about your mispelling, made me chuckle inside. And you're right about Rogue and Remy keeping the "place on its toes". They're so angsty while everybody else is pretty simple and not-so-complicated. But that's why we love them so much, they reach in and tug at our insides. Possessor of the X-Gene: Hmm, so you think you know what's going to happen with Genny, huh? Well, let's see if your are that foresight-ful (yeah, I know, not a word). And I swear on my honor that the green misty lady never even crossed my mind when I was writing about Annabel. I've never read the comics, all the info I have being from fan sites on the web, so my knowledge is pretty scrappy--but it's done well so far right? And Heath Ledger doesn't look Remy-ish most of the time, but I swear! On the cover of that movie, he looks soooo Remy-like. I hope they do justice to whoever they choose to cast as our man. I never knew the difference between British and English--and I never knew there were "British Isles" either; I thought Britain was just that huge chunk of island way over there. Now I can say I learned something today. Oh, and by the way, you can ask me questions about Annabel's background right now if you'd like. Send an email or even do it over reviews--whatever. Aprilange413: if you're hooked then my job is done. I should just quit right now. Riiiiiight. Marakida: Without a doubt this story will go finished. There are only a few chapters left anyhow, but they're still just as important as the others. And tune it for the sequel I'm planning! And, I'm pretty sure we're going to be addicts forever--or at least until we find something more amusing to occupy ourselves with. I'm afraid mine will be college. Damn real life.

---

The air held a certain ambiance--a scent, a feeling, a tone, whatever one wished to call it. Silently, it spoke through the women walking by in fashionable clothing, the innumberable cafés emitting the aroma of coffee beans, the silky music of talented and penniless street side performers. An aura of paradise exuded from every nook and cranny, from every person and animal, from every plant and building. Across the extravagant boulevard of such pleasurable senses, at the hotel Concorde Saint Lazare, an antique auction was soon to be held; objects and collectibles of every shape, size, and form were to be sold to the highest bidder among the wealthiest and most affluent of Parisians.

"Wipe dat look off y'face, boy. Y'look like an obvious first-timer."

Remy shot his brother a scowl. "What look?"

Henri smirked and adjusted the fit of his suit jacket. "Dat awe o'seein' Paris. Ain't like all it looks, y'should know."

"Spoken like m'still some lil' pup, Henri," Remy huffed. He, too, was dressed in a sleek tuxedo, enhancing his debonair countenance and head-turning allure. But beneath that genteel attire he wore his form-fitting thieving uniform, lest the heist required unanticipated performance. To keep from standing out amongst the crowd, his mutated eyes were concealed behind dark brown contacts. Many women passing them by favored him with appreciative double glances. He winked at a few of them as he said, "Dis may be m'test, but I still been a t'ief all dese years."

"No lie," Henri agreed. His keen eyes turned to scan the gathering auction attendants, the men dressed in dark suits and the women in silken gowns. "Quite de occasion, non?"

"Dey get awf'lly hyped up 'bout a sale in dis country."

Henri released a curt laugh. He never ceased to be amused by his adopted brother's wits. Leading the way, he strode across the street with Remy following. Henri carried himself with such professionally elegant composure, one would never peg him to be a veteran thief from Louisiana. He blended in perfectly with the wealthy and refined.

They walked through the front doors, passing well-groomed, uniformed bellhops eager to offer assistance and smile. From within, the hotel was more impressive than its chateau-like exterior. A granite-colored path lead past columns of polished white marble, through a rather small doorway at the top of pyramidal steps guarded by two bronze-coated stone statues. Remy followed his brother, noting which ornaments of decoration he would be stealing, if that had been his task. He entered the lobby and was immediately distracted by beautifully lit lanterns of crystal lattice, chandeliers of impressive glass. The high-ceiling only added to the august atmosphere of royal presence, the warm light reflecting off intricately carved amber arches. Concorde Saint Lazare spared no expense in its fine marble floors or artfully arranged furniture of maroon velvet. Its 19th century architecture only exempflied the exquisite taste of that era. Faint classical music played from invisible speakers; and Remy could nearly imagine the notes being plucked from the ivory keys of a grand piano.

A hotel manager, a suited Frenchman with two distinct whiskers of a mustache, stood before the streaming guests. He promptly pointed the arrivals in the direction of large double-doors leading into an expansive dining hall.

"I t'ought dis was an auction, not a dinner party," Remy said.

Henri smirked, "Why do y't'ink we all dressed up?"

Remy looked around at all the pretty clothing. "Any excuse t'get fancy, I s'pose."

A skinny lad at the door asked them to present their invitations.

Remy scoffed, "Fo'an auction?"

Henry briefly shot him a disapproving frown before revealing two folded cards of gold-embossed stationary. "Voilà."

The doorman took the invitations, glanced at them briefly, and handed them back. "Bienvenu a la Concorde Saint Lazare, Monsieurs Guischard. Amusez-vous bien cette façon." Welcome to the Concorde Saint Lazare, Misters Guischard. Enjoy yourself this evening.

"Merci beaucoup," Henri said and walked past.

Remy casually nodded at the doorman before strolling by. Almost immediately, his amusement at the whole affair quickly dissipated upon seeing the dining room. It was just as elegantly decorated as the rest of the hotel, radiating shades of amber and maroon, bold and light. Several round tables formed a semi-circle around a dance floor; upon a raised dais sat an appropriately modest ensemble of musicians stringing out notes from violas, cellos, violins, and basses.

"I take it we went t'rough a helluva lot o'trouble t'do dis?"

"S'more fun, non?" Henri chuckled. "'Sides, was easier dan y'might t'ink."

"Not a thing de Guild won' try," Remy said under his breath.

The other guests took no suspicious notice of them. Some conglomerated within their social clusters about the floor, while others seated themselves at whatever tables and discussed business, gossip, and politics. Caterers dressed in maroon and black weaved through the shimmering bodies with trays of drinks and finger food balanced upon their hands. Remy deftly plucked two champagne glasses from a passing tray. Handing one to Henri, he drew a sip from his own glass. "So what now."

"Not sure when de auction be startin'," Henri admitted. "We might have t'play de parts o'Guischard fo' a while. No worries, dey're made-up people."

"All de more fun," Remy said. "Where's dis Herzog?"

"He'll be de one biddin' on de jewel. We'll find out soon 'nough. Meantime, m'go'n' check dis place out. Y'stay right here."

"An' do what, Henri?" Remy frowned.

His brother shrugged, already walking off. "Look pretty." His shaved head caught the light as he wandered away. Soon he had blended in with the other black suits around.

Remy smirked and took another sip of champagne. He moved subtly about the area, studying the people around, listening to snippets of their conversation, reading lips when necessary. One group of socialites he passed caught his attention. They spoke in rapid French but he understood them clearly.

"... l'Etoile du Tricherie, yes, that's the one."

"How can such a relic be put to auction?"

"The private owner doesn't want it anymore, of course. He can either give it to the museums or make some money out of it this way."

"I hear that Monsieur Herzog is bent upon claiming it."

"For how much?"

"Millions, if necessary."

"Whyever so much trouble for a stone?"

"Oh, you know the ways of these collectors...."

Remy moved on. He ran through several scenarios in his mind, planned his strategy for how he might pilfer the jewel. There were outside interferences to consider, as well. Who knew what ill fortune might meet him this night.

"Désarmant, non?"

He turned around, intrigued by the feminine voice. The first thing he noticed about the young woman were her radiant brown eyes, warm and comforting with potently noticeable gold streaks. Her hair, wispy and layered with attractive bangs framing her face, mirrored the color tones of her eyes. She wore a scarlet dress that complimented her skin and hair; the steep neckline swooped in a seductive V farther down her chest than ethically appropriate, its silken material clinging to her supple curves. Her back, completely bare down to the ends of her spine, was obstructed by only the meek halter cords around her delicate neck. She lifted the rim of a wine glass to glossy scarlet lips and sipped it politely.

Remy was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't new for an attractive girl to spontaneously greet him, but he never enjoyed it less. "Qui," he said to her previous question. "Ce hôtel est assez impressionnant." This hotel is quite impressive.

The scarlet angel smiled, narrowing her eyes slightly in curious scrutiny. "Mmm...tu possédes un accent aigu." You possess an acute accent.

Feeling slightly amused, Remy graced the girl with a sly, half-smile, "Vraiment?" Really?

She nodded, her glossy lips curving. "You are an American."

Despite how Remy had not expected it, he was not shocked that she could discern his nationality. "Cajun, more like," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "De name's Guischard. Remy Guischard."

"Genevieve Darcenaux," she said. "Enchanté, Monsieur Guischard. Cajun, you say? If I recall correctly, your people reside within the southern regions."

Remy nodded, noticing how articulate she was though the English was slightly tainted by a French accent. She spoke the language in a way too proper for someone of her youth, obviously from years of stiffly professional instruction."I take it y've been dere."

"On several occasions. My father is a prominent businessman. He is here tonight with hopes of acquiring a few inessential things." She shrugged and asked, "What brings you to this occasion?"

"Mon frere an' his antique fetish. Y'know how dat goes."

Genevieve chuckled daintily. "I suppose I do."

Remy listened as the conversation continued. His words flowed without pause but in the back of his mind, he carefully studied her actions and words. He had a feeling, from that inscrutable instinct he possessed, that Madamoiselle Darcenaux attended the auction under false pretenses.

"...finest dinner parties here," she was saying.

"Speaking o'dat, to whom do we owe de gratitude?"

Genevieve nodded in the direction of a decrepitly slouched, ancient man. He appeared to be decades older than his body could sustain him; a bright cloud of white hair seemed to protect his head from overhead lights that might have otherwise harmed such susceptible skin. "Delano Montague, one of the wealthiest men in this part of the globe. He owns many European banks."

"I can imagine his heirs are eager for him to...expire."

Genevieve smirked.

Ever so gradually the lights began to dim. Conversation lulled as all eyes turned in the direction of the one brightly lit area. Led on both sides by two men, the venerable Delano Montague approached the dais. "Bonne sorrée!" he said, in a shockingly resonant voice. Good evening!

The guests applauded.

Montague then began, what Remy thought, a long-winded, boring speech. Remy tuned him out, taking to admire Genevieve out of the corner of his eye instead. Suddenly he heard the name "Herzog" and his attention snapped towards the dais in time to hear Montague pronounce a stern-looking man his guest of honor. Remy quickly memorized Herzog's appearance from the salt-and-pepper homogenization of his facial hair to the shiny tips of his Italian leather shoes. He began deducing the man's personality, style of conduct, temperament. Would he be difficult to steal from?

Almost immediately after, Remy noticed a man, just as built and intimidating but younger, standing at a respectable distance from Herzog. He appeared aloof but was obviously affiliated with the "guest of honor". By the looks of it, he was a personal body guard if not only a lackey for the dirty jobs. He wore all black, a loosely casual suit bare of tie, and his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, his dirty blond hair tied into a strict ponytail. Remy had never seen such a figure in his life; he could not ignore the warning flashing through his mind.

"Quite the imposing figure," Genevieve commented, presumably about Herzog.

Remy looked away from the strange blond man. "I've seen bigger an' uglier," he said.

Genevieve playfully nudged him in the arm. "And how precisely is that so?" she asked with a smirk.

Remy ran a finger along the collar of his jacket in a slick and oddly classy gesture. "I've been places an' done t'ings people only hear 'bout, cherie."

"Oh?" Genevieve raised a suggestive eyebrow, watching him from beyond the rim of her sparkling glass as she sipped. Her countenance was wholly intriguing, her body language and eyes saccharine. "And do you assume I haven't?"

"Ah, Madamoiselle," Remy said huskily, "a lady o' such high stature cannot be exposed t'such...impure enterprises."

Her reply came huskily, the gold streaks of her eyes twinkling with mischief, "Those with wealth are often the most corrupt."

The lights brightened after Montague finished speaking, and the music started up again. Slowly, the party guests began taking their seats.

"It was nice meeting you, Monsieur Guischard," Genevieve said. She offered her hand.

Remy took it and planted another kiss upon the velvety skin. "De pleasure was mine." As he watched her saunter away he noted which table she sat at. Then he went to find Henri.

"Didn't I tell y' t'stay right here?" his brother demanded once they regrouped.

"Couldn't help m'self, homme," Remy shrugged. He looked in the direction of Genevieve and caught her eye. She winked and tipped her wine glass at him.

Henri noticed the gesture, raised an eyebrow. "Carefrul wit' dese French femmes, Remy. Dey ain't all dey appear t'be."

"Already figured dat."

"Den let's sit. T'ink dey're servin' appetizers an' I'm hungry."

They found a table that did not seem occupied. No sooner had they seated themselves that the remaining places filled, attractive women in even more attractive gowns, men in suits sporting opposite colors of the light spectrum. Some knew each other on a personal basis while others were just as much strangers as Remy and Henri. In such close proximity with one another, conversation remained light and cordial, lacking scandalous discussion. The table was a perfect model of respectable etiquette, unwavering manners, and polite behavior. Remy immediately grew bored.

"Y'yawnin', boy."

"Qui, so what."

Henri chuckled and said nothing more, enjoying the abundance of caviar and crackers. He finished his glass of wine and poured himself another. Swirling the liquid with his pinky, he said, "De auction be startin' soon. Keep attention t'de bidders. Y'know who'll go after de jewel."

"If y't'ink 'bout it, Henri," Remy said, "we went t'rough a whole lot more trouble dan necessary. Could've jus' waited till dis whole t'ing was over t'do de job."

"An' say we get a higher bidder who wins de t'ing? Or he has it whisked 'way t'God knows where? We'd never know. 'Sides, s'always unpredictable, tests y'creativity and wits. Let's see how y'do, hein?"

Remy shrugged, not anticipating this job to be very difficult at all. Throughout his years in the Thieves' Guild, he had proven himself time and time again to be naturally apt towards their work. He saw this rite of passage as most superfluous, though he did understand its importance in Guild tradition; it would authenticate his membership, prove to them once and for all that he was as good as they thought. But this time it seemed too easy. He'd probably get the job done so quickly and painlessly the Guild elders would demand another trial.

"S'startin'," Henri declared.

The pounding of a gavel sounded at the podium. A middle-aged man adjusted the microphone and announced the beginning of the auction. He began spouting off rules of procedure before finally introducing the first item up for bid. Gradually the auction began, various antiques and collectibles going into the coveted possession of wealthy Parisians. Remy paid keen attention to all that transpired, but grew weary with tedium not before long. Several times he looked towards Genevieve and several times, she returned his gaze. She rolled her eyes towards the auction master and shrugged. Remy smirked.

The light buzz of conversation slowly quieted as the next item was brought to the podium. Ensconsed upon a satin cushion within a glass enclosure, the l'Etoile du Tricherie glittered with scintillating magnificence. The warm light of the dining hall only caused it to gleam ever more brilliantly. Crimson and deep, a blood-soaked ocean, the jewel sat upon its cushion like the ambrosia of celestial gods; it provoked exotic desires and sinful longings in those whose eyes graced its perfection.

Remy looked around the room and noticed how quiet it had become. Everyone was seemingly mesmerized by the jewel. Henri frowned, stroking the hairs on his chin in silent contemplation. Remy saw only two others who did not stare in wonderment at the jewel: the man called Herzog and Genevieve Darcenaux. He was convinced more than ever that she was up to something, especially by the manner in which she regarded Herzog. The man sat at her table and was oblivious to her scrutinizing glances in his direction.

The bidding began, one after another after another. The auction master spewed hasty French into the microphone, struggling to keep up with the fast-paced declarations of monetary offerings. Remy watched and listened in amusement as the price rapidly climbed. Seventy thousand--ninety thousand--one hundred fifty thousand--two--two fifty--four--five--six fifty... Larger and larger the offerings grew as tensions thickened and competition became heated. Men and women were soon standing, ignoring the signs with which they were suppose to flag their bids, and shouted their offers instead.

So much fo' manners and etiquette, Remy thought, and had to stifle a laugh.

The jewel seemed to bring out the aggressiveness in all. Suddenly, everyone was silenced as one booming voice announced a bid higher than the rest of them. It was so ridiculously large, so stupendously generous that none could top it. A moment of stunned silence followed.

"Vendu!" Sold! the auction master gratefully shouted. "Monsieur Herzog--l'Etoile du Tricherie!" He pounded the gavel to close the transaction and immediately called for the next item.

Remy watched one of the auction master's aides approach Herzog and hand him a claim slip. The massive, black-bearded man nodded and settled back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the evening. Genevieve's gold-streaked eyes watched every movement. She glanced up suddenly, noticed Remy's gaze on her. She frowned but quickly smiled and tilted her head in teasingly.

"Gotchy' chere," he said, the corners of his mouth curving. "What are y'up to?"

Henri raised his eyebrow, "Talkin' t'y'self now?"

"M'thinkin' m'not de only one after de piece."

"'Course y'aren't. See dat near-brawl jus' now?"

"Y'ain't lisn'n, Henri," Remy said in a low voice. "Dat girl, Darcenaux? She's been watching our man dis whole time."

Henri turned discreetly in the appropriate direction. "Looks like y'job jus' got more complicatin'. Can y'handle it?"

Remy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Master t'ief here, mon frere."

"Not worried 'bout y'skills, boy. If dis femme's catty 'nough t'take on de ape, she might have mo' tricks up her sleeve dan a few kicks an' punches."

"Hope so," Remy smirked. "M'gon' need some excitement after dis boring 'party'."

Henri sighed and returned to occupying himself with appetizers and wine.

The auction dragged on, going through six more items before Remy thought he would die of tedium. He kept close attention to Herzog and Genevieve during that time, planning and anticipating. Herzog conversed and smoked cigars with fellow aristocrats while Genevieve behaved like the polite daughter of a wealthy businessman she was. Remy decided he wanted as little interference with his test as possible; the girl would have to be dealt with.

The auction master announced a break and called for dinner to be served. As the caterers readied the dishes for each table, the string ensemble picked up its song. Several guests trickled onto the dance floor, dazzling women in the arms of their male companions. Remy received the necessary inspiration. He straightened his suit jacket and slowly stood from his seat.

"Where y'headin'?" Henri asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Remy drawled, "Prelim'nary prep'rations fo' de job." He winked and moved in the direction of Genevieve's table. Along the way, he noticed the heads of many femmes turning their brilliant smiles and wine-glossed eyes to admire him. He smiled in turn, but never lost focus on his target.

Strangely enough, it was a man that distracted him: Herzog's guard, the brutishly framed being with sunglasses and a blond ponytail. Though his eyes remained hidden behind black lenses, Remy sensed the attention of his gaze. Did that man somehow know what he planned to do? Would he warn Herzog? Remy shoved the troubling thoughts out of his mind. If the man knew and took action, he would deal with it--a Thief was always resourceful.

Genevieve sat serenely poised in her seat, hands gently clasped on the lap of her scarlet gown. She listened patiently to an elderly woman beside her spouting off about something nobody knew or cared about.

"Care t'dance, mon bella cherie?" Remy interrupted. He offered his hand, smiling in the fashion he knew gave most women pleasurable chills.

The elderly dame put a hand to her modest chest, her other tapping Genevieve in encouragement to accept his offer.

Genevieve's glossy lips parted in reply, but her thought went unexpressed.

"I was to request a dance with the lady," a rumbling voice behind her said. It was none other than Herzog, his bulky form casting a shadow as he approached Genevieve's seat. He sternly placed both hands on the back support, greeting Remy with an exacting smile, eyes scrutinizing and severe.

Remy was careful to keep his countenance amiable. "Wit' all due respect, Monsieur, de first t'claim gets de prize."

Herzog chuckled deeply, the sound like brewing thunder. He spoke with his thick French accent, "I do not believe Madamoiselle Darcenaux appreciates being considered a 'prize'." When Remy did not comment he said, "The lady shall choose."

Genevieve seemed annoyed with the situation. She glanced suspiciously at Remy for a brief second, then promptly placed her hand in Herzog's massive palm. "So sorry, Monsieur," she smiled sweetly, "but who can resist?" Gracefully she slid from her seat and followed Herzog to the dance floor.

Remy did not move from his spot. His eyes slightly narrowed as he observed Herzog latch onto Genevieve's voluptuously youthful frame. He was trying to digest the fact of being denied--something that had never happened before--and at the same time wondered what Genevieve was up to. What self-respecting female would willingly allow that gorilla to twirl her about?

The elderly aristocrat sympathetically shook her head at him. She consoled him piteously with light French words. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the old woman couldn't see the situation wasn't so much vexing as inconvienent.

When he wandered back to the table Henri greeted him with a cheerful, "Go well?"

Remy smiled dryly, "Jus' like I planned."

"Uh-huh."

Remy ignored his brother's amusement and turned to observe the unlikely couple.

Genevieve giggled whenever Herzog made a comment, appearing like the witless French maiden Remy knew she couldn't be. She was practically jerked around by Herzog's flamboyant lead and looked like a minuscule doll in his forceful hold. Remy saw her masked irritation, which amused his cynical side.

Very soon the sound of music slowly faded, servers beginning to distribute the night's main course. Dancers ceased their waltzes and clapped for the disassembling strings ensemble. Genevieve smiled graciously as Herzog bent to kiss her hand. He then leaned in close and whispered something in her ear. Her smile waned to a sly curve of lips, her hand fluttering down the length of his suit jacket as she murmured something in reply. Herzog headed back to their table while Genevieve moved for the ladies' room.

Remy pursed his lips in mild disgust. He wondered what Genevieve's father thought of the interaction. He had plenty of time to contemplate that disturbing thought, as Herzog engaged himself with the entrées and Genevieve remained absent throughout the course of the meal. Everyone seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves, even Henri, who chatted cordially with the people at their table. Remy kept a careful watch while pretending to partcipate in the trifling confab.

Just as the servers removed the first meal course from the tables, a vocal ruckus erupted at a table not far from Remy and Henri's. Stimulated by the prospect of action, Remy sharply looked up in the direction of the noise.

It was none other than Herzog that caused the commotion, yelling in French about his lost claim slip. "I could not have misplaced it, you imbecile!" he barked at the waiter. "You insult me by implying such carelessness! Where is the auction master? Find him!"

A couple uniformed men, led by the shaded, ponytailed man Remy had noticed earlier, retreated towards the claim area to search through the auctioned items. Guests around the spacious hall watched with interest as workers feigned normalcy. Second course dishes were already passed out by the time Herzog's men returned with a quaky auction master. Herzog was not pleased at being informed the l'Etoile du Tricherie was gone; someone had presented his claim slip and taken it on his behalf.

"How could that happen?" the gorilla blubbered in disbelief, much to Remy's amusement. "This is a secure auction--how could you men allow such violation?"

Suddenly the blond, ponytailed guard appeared. He whispered something in Herzog's ear. Herzog's eyes widened, then narrowed.

Delano Montague himself soon came upon the scene to try and placate his friend. Herzog would not be calmed.

While everyone's attention was fixed upon the spectacle, Remy slipped away. He located the restroom area and crept through the doors sporting the French letters for female. The powder area held a sweetly perfumed scent, lit by gold-shaded lamps with rose-cushioned stools before liquid-smooth mirrors. Within one of the painted red stalls, Remy noticed the familiar hem of a scarlet gown flutter against the floor. He leaned against the wall with a thump, raised his fist, and knocked.

Suddenly the toilet was flushed and the door swung open, Genevieve herself breezing out of the stall. She froze at seeing the intruder's reflection in the mirrors. First surprise flashed across the gold-speckled chocolate of her eyes, then suspicion. "You do realize this is the ladies' washroom?" she asked nonchalantly.

Remy crossed his arms, eyes angled towards the ceiling in thought. After a few seconds he looked at her and said, "Qui, dat was de point."

Genevieve narrowed her eyes, "Did you follow me?"

"Why, y'go somewhere interesting?"

"I have been here."

"All dis time, huh. Food poisonin'?"

"I have a weak stomach."

Remy stepped towards her until they were only a foot apart. "I know what y'did, cherie, an' have t'say, m'impressed."

She stared at him indifferently for a few seconds, then sighed as though weary of a moronic child. "You have seen too many American films, Monsieur Guischard. There are no conspiracies here." She moved to walk past him but halted as he grabbed her arm.

"Don' know how y'did it, but kudos nonetheless. Still, if y'ain't careful, dey'll figure it out and not even tu prere's gon' be able t'help y'."

Genevieve wrenched her arm free, narrowing her eyes disparagingly. "He never did before," she said, and without another word, walked out of the restroom.

Remy followed suit, impressed by her fearless attitude and amused to find she was not a novice thief. It seemed Fate had played another twist in his life; acquiring the l'Etoile du Tricherie was no longer to be a task of mere professionalism. Genevieve Darcenaux would not be misled by the tricks of a thief; Remy would need to find alternative methods of pilfering the jewel. A smile curved his lips at the thought--how did one get under Madamoiselle Darcenaux's skin?

By the time they returned to the main dining hall, the guests were gathering their possessions and leaving. Many spoke harsh comments about the inconvenience and disappointment of the evening, most irritated of missing the chance to bid on desired items. Much to everyone's vexation, the Delano Montague announced that the auction would reconvene in a few days; such heavy breach of security required prolonged investigation.

Remy smirked, leaning to whisper in Genevieve's ear, "Quite de stir y'caused."

"Always satisfying," she remarked. She turned to face him, speaking in a biting tone, "Our acquaintance ends tonight Monsieur Guischard. I never want to see you again."

"Y'always dis blunt?"

Genevieve arched her back, bringing her face only inches from his. Her glossy lips, a hair's breadth from his cheek, moved to pronounce her silken words, "It has been an interesting evening, but your act only works on the inexperienced and naive, Monsieur. I am neither."

Remy could smell her intoxicating perfume, breathe the quitessence of her femininity. "Didn't t'ink y'were." He watched her saunter away in search of her father, more intrigued than discouraged. There was no fun in having a woman without the chase; and Genevieve's body language nearly screamed for men to pursue her. She possessed an air of maturity and seduction beyond her years. He didn't have much time to fantasize, though, as someone roughly grabbed his arm from behind.

"Where'd y'run off t'?" Henri demanded.

"De john, if y'must know."

Henri scowled, "Dis ain't de time t'be messin' 'round. Somebody's run off wit' de' jewel before y'even got t'try!"

"Don' worry 'bout it, Henri," Remy assured him. "I have it under control."

The older man raised his eyebrows, "Y'already got it?"

"Dieu, pay attention next time, non? S'de girl--she has it."

Realization dawned upon Henri's face. "Slick," he commented with an appreciative nod. He stroked the twin curls of his acute mustache, deducing the schemes that might be brewing in his brother's mind. "You'll get it, qui?"

"You know it, frere."

"Need any tips?"

"Have I ever before?"

A deep chuckle erupted from Henri's throat as he slapped Remy on the back. "Got t'admire y'brass, boy. Don't dispappoint, eh? Y'get dis lil' t'ing an' nobody'll even t'ink o'questionin' y'place in de Guild."

Remy did not voice how little that mattered to him. Instead, he told Henri not to worry, to return to their hotel and rest for remainder of the evening. "By de time y'wake up, I'll have de piece dangling in front of y'face."

Henri huffed at the haughty proclaimation. "Whatever y'say, boy. Remember dis is serious, determines y'place among us. Don't disappoint." He gave Remy a slap on the back and donned his top hat. Soon he merged with the departing mass of guests and disappeared from view.

Remy scanned the dining hall. He spotted Herzog, accompanied by the blond brute and several other men, push past other guests in his stalk towards the exit. Genevieve was not to be seen anywhere. Moving quickly, Remy followed Herzog. None of Herzog's men noticed Remy at his unsuspicious distance, not even the uncanny brute. He was able to follow them out of the main lobby area to one of the many, lavishly decorated lounges.

Herzog paced the room, heatedly seething while his minions stood about him.

"What are you gonna do?" the blond one asked. He was American.

"Give me a moment!" Herzog growled. "I must think..."

Remy moved from the arched doorway, too exposing as it was. He had noticed the lounge was multi-leveled, an interior balcony tracing along all four walls from which he would have a perfect view and be in complete earshot. Much to his convenience, he located a stairway not far from the lounge. He noiselessly skimmed up the steps, reached the landing in less than four seconds, and hurried through a few doors before finding the inner balcony. He crouched, half-concealed by the vertical bars of the banister, and watched the exchange below.

"...before she gets away with it for sure," the feral blond was saying. His voice was deep and baritone, holding a semblance of beastly growls. Remy could only imagine what cold, unyielding eyes those dark glasses concealed. What was that man trying to hide, wearing sunglasses indoors? Remy tried not to let it bother him too much and focused on Herzog's words.

"Your eagerness is most uncouth," the gorilla said. "If you had seized Madamoiselle Darcenaux in the dining hall, you would have caused an uproar and focused much hostile attention towards me."

The blond man shrugged his broad shoulders, "What's more important to you, the rock or your rep?"

Herzog's chest expanded slightly as his anger mounted. "Both!" he bellowed. Forcing calm, he began massaging his knuckles. "The girl must have pilfered it when we danced--how tricky she is, indeed, being so inviting while beguiling me the whole while."

"French schmuck," the blond man muttered under his breath.

Herzog turned on him, "What did you say?"

"French sluts. I've tasted a few myself--not worth the price."

Herzog growled in irritation. "I don't care to know the dirty experiences of your mercenary lifestlye. I do not know why I even keep you around, seeing as how expensive your services are."

"You didn't complain when I offed that rival of yours."

"No, because it was a job well done. And I see now that Genevieve must be taught the same lesson. Are you sure it was her that stole the l'Etoile du Tricherie?"

"I checked out the claim area; no doubt about it. She wasn't at the table during dinner, either. It's so obvious, you'd have to be stupid not to see it."

Herzog nodded, "In that case...she must be taught a lesson. Lamar Darcenaux is a powerful man, and will not react kindly to the extermination of his daughter." He turned away from the mercenary to address the others; they had been watching patiently the entire time. He ordered them to seize Darcenaux's daughter. If she did not come to him willingly, they would force her until interrogation revealed the location of the jewel. As his men left to prepare, the mercenary asked, "And where exactly is Little Miss Jewel Thief?"

"Here, at the Concorde Saint Lazare," Herzog said. "If they fail, the task will be yours. Kill her if necessary, but get me the l'Etoile du Tricherie and you can name your price. I have a feeling my men might not be able to apprehend her."

"Make it easy and let me finish the bitch."

"I will not lose a valuable business partner because he finds that I had his child needlessly murdered. No, we will wait and see what happens..."

Remy carefully backed away from the railing. Once sure neither the mercenary nor Herzog would take notice, he fled the balcony area and maneuvered through the Concorde Saint Lazare's elegant corridors. Adrenaline pumped through his veins prolifically as his mind whirred with plans. His task had just gotten more complicating.

-----------

The lobby was not as bustling as it was two hours ago, though many guests continued to check into the hotel. Most of the clerks were veteran hotel workers while only a handful were youth lucky or skilled enough to be employed by such an eminent facility. Remy scanned the various workers until he spotted a plausible target. She only had one party of customers in line. Remy quickly, but subtly, approached.

"Thank you for choosing the Concorde Saint Lazare," the blond angel was saying, ivory teeth nearly gleaming behind falsely smiling lips. She handed the tourists their room keys. "The bellhop over there shall take your bags. Enjoy your stay in Paris, Mr. and Mrs. Donnahue."

"Merci," the man thanked her, though it came out as "mer-sigh".

Remy noticed her roll her eyes once the guests turned their backs. She turned to look at the large wall-clock behind her: nine-fifty-seven. The hour was not too late, though Remy could see her weariness, mostly from boredom. She had to have been checking people in and out all day, loathing them for having enough clout to stay at such a lavish hotel while she worked as a lowly clerk. What she probably wouldn't give to be one of those glamorous women in Gucci and Armani, to be holding the arm of a handsome aristocrat while others gazed at her enviously.

"Bonjour Madamoiselle."

She looked up, startled by the gorgeously debonair face before her. She remained composed, "Qui, Monsieur?" She saw that he couldn't have been any older than eighteen, probably five years her junior, but no less striking. She noticed him glance briefly at her nametag.

"'Diana' doesn' look like a French name, cherie," Remy smiled.

At first she did not seem to understand what he said, confused by the switch in language; she looked captivated by his strangely-tinted brown eyes. Realizing that she was staring, she quickly responded, "My mother was British."

"What a coincedence," the young man smiled. He leaned forward on the polished countertop, "I know someone from dere, one o' m'pals from de island o'Jersey." He smiled disarmingly.

Diana seemed confused and entranced. Remy sensed giddiness rising from her fluttery stomach, a stimulation she probably had not felt since last having a man. Remy knew the effects of his charm, pulling her into a calmly blissful lull while she lost recognition for all else. She suddenly blinked and cleared her throat, trying to fight away the unwarranted feeling. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, "did you want to check in? We have some...um...single-bed rooms available..." She watched as he brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes, awed by the absurd sexiness of the simple gesture. He was just a kid--but he seemed so manly, especially in that tailored suit and classically aristocratic top hat "...and they're of the highest luxury in, uh, Paris...perfect for a solitary tourist looking for the finest of accomodations--"

He chuckled, his smile causing Diana to draw in a sharp breath of excitement. "S'nice t'see y'know so much 'bout y'hotel, but I don' need t'hear de whole brochure, mon cherie. Y'can do me a big favor, though, an' give me an extra key. I left it in my room."

Diana sheepishly looped a strand of gold hair behind her ear. "Of course, sir. Name please?"

"Lamar Darcenaux."

Her fingers paused over the computer keys. She looked at him suspiciously, "The Lamar Darcenaux? I'm afraid you're a bit...premature for such an identity, sir."

Remy took off his top hat and spun it on his hand. He made sure to look impressed that she had practically accused him of fraud. "Mais, I can see s'hard t'fool you, Madamoiselle, if dat was m'intent. But non, Lamar Darcenaux senior est mon prere. M'de lowly child tryin' t'measure up t'his greatness." He turned up the charm, hoping to distract her from protocol.

"I was not aware that he had a son," Diana said, tapping away at her computer terminal.

"Y'know de ways of businessmen, like t'be discreet."

"I've seen your sister though. She is gorgeous."

"Sure, sure, a fine specimen," Remy said, "but I've seen prettier hotel clerks." He smiled as she blushed at the compliment. If truth be told, he rather enjoyed making women feel good and giddy. Their reactions to his charms were priceless.

"All right, Monsieur Darcenaux. I'll just need some form of photo identification."

"Dat's de problem, cherie, I left all dat in m'wallet, where m'keycard is, too."

Diana frowned, "I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot give you the key without proper identification."

Remy leaned forward a bit, focusing his gaze on her eyes, "Y'sure y'can't make an exception dis once for me, p'tite? I'd greatly 'preciate it."

A smile curved her lips and she sighed softly. She swallowed, said huskily, "Um...I suppose just this once..." After a few more taps on her computer, she handed him a keycard. "You can return that once you have relocated your original one," she informed him, eyes still dreamily glossy.

"Can do, an' merci boucoup mon bella cherie." He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, intent on heigtening her blissful experience from his charm. Then, he smiled and left the lobby without looking back.

-----------

Not surprisingly, the suite was penthouse and extravagantly large. Remy slipped inside unnoticed. He saw no security guards; neither Genevieve nor her father resided within. Frowning, Remy moved through the suite's many rooms, opening doors and searching. He entered the spacious bathroom and turned on the lights. Cheerfully floral decorations reflected the light and beamed at him obnoxiously. He was about to leave when something moved in the mirror. Without warning the hazy shower door slammed open, knocking him against the sink counter from behind. A harsh foot smashed his hand to the sink while an arm hooked around his throat, a hand twisting his free arm painfully parallel to his back. He stared at his attacker in the mirror, watched her gold-speckled brown eyes widen in surprise, then annoyance.

"Mon Dieu!" Genevieve spat. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"If y'loosen de choke-hold, I might be able t'tell y'."

She wrung his neck tighter, "How about you tell me anyway."

Remy smirked despite himself and stuck his foot between her legs, pulling her legs in from behind the knee. She buckled backwards with a surprised shriek. Her hold loosened and he twisted free, spinning around and latching onto her before she hit the floor. In one swift motion, he shoved her against the wall, pinning her arms and legs with his own. It was then he realized she wore only a silken oriental robe; he pressed so close he could feel the seams of her lingerie through the fine material.

"Lil' paranoid, p'tite?"

Genevieve struggled against him defiantly. As skilled as she was, his strength overwhelmed her own. She sighed breathlessly against his cheek, the gold of her eyes flashing wrathfully, "What do you want, Guischard?"

"Can't 'member right now. Have t'say, though, m'not complainin' 'bout our coordination here."

"You uncouth bastard," she glared. "If you came for the jewel, you are wasting your time. I am not going to tell you where it is."

"So y'admit, y'did steal it."

She rolled her eyes, "You already deduced that, imbecile. It doesn't matter what you say or do, the l'Etoile du Tricherie will not be yours because I will not--" She ceased talking as he released his hold. Obviously surprised, she stared at him suspiciously. She did not move away from his close proximity.

"I didn' come fo'de stone, cherie. Herzog's goons are comin' after y'. Somehow he knows what y'did an' he ain't gon' bend over an' let y'keep it."

"That's impossible. I never leave behind any clues."

"One o'his hired mercenaries sniffed y'out," Remy said. "I've got no reason t'lie, Genny. Dey're coming."

"And you went through all this trouble just to come and warn me?" she demanded incredulously.

'Course not, Remy thought, but said, "Tend t'protect de interests o'dose I like." He must have sounded convincing, as Genevieve's eyes softened and she frowned in confusion.

"I do not understand why you would," she said. "Everyone wants something for themselves."

Remy surprised himself by taking her hand and stroking the fine skin. "Yeah, I do, but we can talk 'bout dat over a real dinner some night." He smiled and brushed a strand of hair, loose from her sexily disheveled bun, from her eyes. Dieu, she was a fine specimen. And so young, as well, no way beyond his eighteen years. Had anyone yet tasted her blossoming womanhood? It did not seem likely, judging from her seemingly intense distrust for men. How inviting it was, the notion of being the one to have her first.

She mistook his intent gaze for sincerity and care. He wasn't even charming her yet, never realizing how effective an actor he could be. "Listen, Guischard--"

"Remy."

"Remy, I appreciate the concern but I am perfectly capable of handling this on my own. So if you do not mind--"

A sharp knock sounded from the front of the suite. Genevieve sharply turned towards the noise. She glanced doubtfully back at Remy, "How many?"

"Three while I was snoopin', but dey could've gotten more."

"Madamoiselle Darcenaux! Ouvre la porte!" Open the door!

Genevieve knotted the cords of her robe as she stalked out of the bathroom. Remy followed, "What are y'gon' do?"

"I cannot take a whole band of them," Genevieve scowled. "And I doubt they've come to interrogate peacefully. If anything, they will drag me to Herzog himself."

"An' where's tu prere?"

"Business as always. Besides, he does not know of my...hobby. I prefer to keep it so."

Remy looked around the room for possible exits. He preferred to avoid a full confrontation. "Dere another way out?"

The knocking became pounding.

Genevieve nodded, "Yes, my father's room--"

The door suddenly swung open. Much to his surprise, Remy noticed a keycard in one of the men's hands. Before he could think to react, Genevieve had grabbed a chair and smashed it against the foremost goon's head. He toppled backwards into his companions, rendering them all to disorientation.

"Come on!" Genevieve darted through the suite and Remy hurried to follow. They entered Lamar's room and barred the door shut just as many bodies collided into it. Herzog's men rammed the door until it creaked noisily in protest.

Genevieve wasted no time bursting out into the hall, and in nothing but lingerie and a wispy robe. Despite the rather alarming situation, she took the time to tighten and straighten her hair bun.

"No time f'dat," Remy said and yanked her forward by the arm.

"I am not--" She jerked free, "--following you without a plan."

They stood in the empty hall, staring at each other intently. "Y'don' trust me," Remy said.

Genevieve huffed.

"Y'know, Genny, I don' recall doin' anyt'ing t'deserve suspicion. If dere's anyone who looks shady, s'you."

"First off, do not call me 'Genny'. And secondly, I don't care what you think or how you may judge me..." Her words trailed away as Herzog's men wandered out into the hall. She grabbed Remy and shoved him forward as she took off at a run.

They darted down the elegant corridor, Herzog's men close in heated pursuit. They shoved past startled Concorde Saint Lazare guests, knocking aside bellhops and room service carts. Herzog's men gradually covered the space between them. Remy felt adrenaline rush through his veins; running was not his style. He reached into his suit pocket and snatched a few cards. Igniting them with his magic touch, he tossed them over his shoulder.

Minor explosions erupted in the hall, followed by the stunned howls of Herzog's goons and the terrified shriekes of guests. Almost immediately afterwards, the sprinklers on the penthouse floor turned on.

Genevieve glanced back in surprise as water droplets bombarded her. "What happened?"

"Nevermind!"

They turned the corner just as a room service cart was being pushed into the hall. Genevieve collided with the hotel worker, both of them sprawling into a mess on the floor. The man did not appear too displeased though very stunned. "M-Madamoiselle Darcenaux--tu..." he stuttered.

Remy pulled Genevieve to her feet and shoved her into the suite the server had just exited. No sooner had he taken a step over the threshold did large hands grab him from behind. He felt himself jerked backwards and slammed into a wall. Quickly regaining balance, he ducked and barely missed a well-aimed punch.

Herzog's lackey pounded the wall, then howled in pain. Now in a rage, he lunged at Remy, the raining water etching grotesque lines down his soot-covered face.

Remy adroitly dodged the blows. He wanted this over with to avoid getting completely drenched from the sprinklers; if anything, fighting Herzog's minion was being a nuisance. Using the man's momentum against him, Remy dodged a sloppy right hook, and grabbing the fist, jerked the man forward to launch a skull-rattling punch to his temple. He fell to the floor as reinforcements arrived. Acting with a near-impossible speed, Remy snatched several plates from the room service cart and charged them. Herzog's lackeys did not know what blew up in their faces.

Genevieve grabbed the collar of Remy's suit and jerked him into the suite, slamming the door shut. "How can you do that?" she demanded, eyes flashing.

"You're a smart girl. Figure it out."

She continued to gape at him.

Remy suddenly noticed the startled old couple, the guests of the suite into which they intruded. He recognized them from downstairs, the Americans that checked in with the blond clerk he had charmed. "Beg y'pardon, mes amis," he said, "s' only momentary."

Outside, Herzog's men pounded on the door, shouting in their native language that Remy and Genevieve were murderous villains at large.

"What--what are they saying?" Mr. Donnahue asked, clinging tightly onto his wide-eyed wife.

"Not'ing y'really wan' hear," Remy said, waving it off with nonchalance. He looked around for something to barricade the door with. "Jus' sit tight an' we'll be gone 'for y'know it."

Genevieve squeezed the sides of her head and released a growl of frustration. "This was not supposed to happen!" she exclaimed, and stalked towards the balcony. Throwing open the sliding door, she stepped out and leaned so far over the balustrade that Remy thought she was suicidal.

"Miss!" Mrs. Donnahue had the decency to shout. "Be careful!"

Remy noticed how Genevieve's robe fluttered along her thighs from the night breeze. He was almost embarassed for noticing such a thing at such a time. "Got an idea, p'tite?" he asked, joining her on the balcony.

"There's no way down," she said with strange resignation. "I cannot believe this. There is no way to escape. I always have a way to escape."

"First rule of a thief," Remy stated. Without a second thought, he began loosening his dress shirt. He reached the utility belt of his Thieves uniform beneath and opened one of the flaps.

Genevieve remained unfazed as he revealed a grappling hook. She glanced at the instrument then climbed precariously onto the balustrade. Mrs. Donnahue shrieked from within the suite.

"What if they're fugitives or something?" Mr. Donnahue said to his wife. "What if those guys outside are the French police?"

"Howard, they don't look dangerous..."

"I'm opening the door."

Remy launched the spike into the hotel's exterior wall. It stuck without yielding an inch. He hooked the grapple onto his utility belt and climbed onto the balustrade. Genevieve immediately latched onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs about his waist.

"Do not disappoint me, Remy," she breathed against his throat.

"Never do, cherie."

Herzog's men burst into the suite.

Remy leapt from balustrade. Genevieve gripped him tighter as they quickly descended the height of the hotel. Balcony after balcony passed them by, until suddenly the grapple jerked violently. Remy grunted from the horrible yank upwards, struggled to re-position himself. Genevieve gasped and nearly lost her grip. "What's wrong?" she rasped.

"Dis t'ing's not as long as de Lazare is high, p'tite," Remy said, nearly amused. "We'll jus' have t'improvise..." He kicked up and planted his feet on the hotel's wall. Working up the momentum, he pushed off until they swung around, headed directly for a window.

Genevieve did not scream as they crashed through the glass. Remy unhooked the grapple just in time, and they both sprawled back into the hotel. Genevieve crawled to her feet, located the light switch. Fate had been kind to them: they had landed in a storage closet. "Now, let's hope they do catch us this far in the chase."

Remy opened the door, "Ladies first."

-----------

The streets of Paris were anything but desolate, especially in the social hour of the night. Youthful Parisians strolled the sidewalks hand in hand, while eager tourists amassed before internationally famous landmarks. The Eiffel Tower plaza was no exception; with its star-like bulbs and colored lights scintillating against the darkness, there was no other appropriate status save being one of the seven wonders of the modern world.

Genevieve strolled nonchalantly through the plaza, Remy's suit jacket wrapped around her slender shoulders. She tightened her hair bun once again and tucked away loose strands. No one took notice of her thin robe or bare feet.

"Where we headed?" Remy asked. He constantly assessed their surroundings, making sure no one from the hotel was tailing them.

"My flat, just on the outskirts of the plaza."

"Must've paid a high price fo'dat locale."

"Money has never been an issue. I do not stay there year-round anyway, only while I am in Paris."

"Den why bother wit' a hotel room?"

"Work. All my papers are still in the suite. There were many seminars and conventions this weekend, besides the auction."

Remy nodded, then asked, "Y'family doesn' live here?"

Genevieve's eyes clouded over. She looked around at all the seemingly carefree people, posing for pictures, making happy memories that would last them a lifetime. "No," she finally said. "I do not really have a home anywhere, only exquisite apartments in many countries. Even the States--San Diego, Houston, Atlanta. My mother lives in her personal villa in Venice. She and my father do not speak."

"Why do y'have t'travel so much?"

"I work for the infamous Lamar Darcenaux. Traveling is in the job description."

"But y'still so young."

"I have a knack for business."

"An' for sneaking rare jewels from under a whole auction hall o' noses."

"Let us say this life is not as satisfying as most would think. A girl needs her excitement, though I have to admit I've had enough tonight to last a while."

Remy continued walking in silence. He noted how peaceful the night was, despite the earlier brawl not too far away. The Concorde Saint Lazare was only a few blocks from the Eiffel Tower. He scanned the area once again, sensing that somebody was watching them. For a split second, he thought he saw dark sunglasses, a blond ponytail in the crowd--

"You are a mutant, aren't you."

Remy turned to look at her. She kept her gaze forward. "Not hard t'tell by now."

"I have never met a mutant before. My father detests your kind."

"My kind's de same as yours, cherie. De sooner you an' de rest o'de world realizes dat, de better off we'll all be."

"I never said I hated mutants. I just hear about you people in the news nearly every morning, reminds me of how the world is changing. Changing too quickly." Genevieve hugged herself. After a few footsteps heavy with silence, she said, "Are you a thief, too? Or just a professional brook?"

"I could be many t'ings, Genny."

"Don't try to be mysterious now. I saw that suit under your tux." She stopped walking, turning to face him, "Did you plan on stealing the l'Etoile du Tricherie as well? Tell me honestly."

Remy looked at her, received the urge to kiss those pouty lips. "No," he said, "wasn' 'bout t'pull a heist dat risky. I was dere for de priceless antiques. An' de other, less famous jewelry, too. Have t'say, y'were more distracting dan I would've liked."

Genevieved frowned. She seemed to be searching his face for the real answers, but didn't seem to find them as she shook her head and continued walking. "I do not understand you, whether it is because you are American or just a blasted fool."

"Dis de gratitude I get for saving y'neck?"

"And why did you?" Genevieve snapped. She walked faster in her provoked state, shoving past ignorant tourists. "You do want the l'Etoile du Tricherie. I am the only one who knows its location and that is why you are following me right now, waiting for the opportunity to pump for the information. Isn't that accurate?"

"Maybe dis's jus' one t'ief bein' helpful to another."

Genevieve snorted.

"An' maybe I jus' like y'dat much. Maybe m'trying t'make sure I get t'see you another day." Remy paused and studied her expression, wondering if his words worked, however false they may be.

Darcenaux's daughter seemed to soften. She slowed her pace, hugged herself again, sighed. "I started young, you know. I guess most people do. I was eleven. Petty shoplifting at first, but that was when I began learning how to do it well and not be caught." Her walk lagged to a stand; she tilted her head up to gaze at the Eiffel Tower. "I bought equipment and body suits, started practicing breaking into my father's vault. He still does not know." She laughed dryly, "And now it is the only thing I look forward to...why do we even do this..." She shook her head, eyes glancing at him for a brief second. "And there you stand, probably thinking 'Poor little rich girl. What could she know about misery?'"

Remy decided it was appropriate to take her hand. He weaved his fingers through hers and gave them a comforting squeeze. "Y'wrong 'bout dat, cherie. 'Sides, de way I see it, y'got t'be who y'are, without pretending. But m'guess is you steal for de rush an' peril, not 'cause y'really want to. S'not enough sometimes."

Genevieve closed her eyes and breathed. "It was before."

"Y'know what else?" Remy said, pulling her closer. "I think y'wan' get caught. I think y'waiting fo'someone t'catch y'in de act, jus' so dey'll see how unhappy y'are, jus' for de hope dat someone might care 'nough t'help." For a brief second, he debated the ethics of playing on her emotions. But like Jean-Luc had taught him many times in the past, "De ends justifies de means."

She said nothing for a while, staring silently at the towering Eiffel. She started walking again, tugging him along. A smile had graced her pretty features, her eyes glowing in the warm light. "Are all Cajuns as charming as you, Monsieur Guischard?"

"Dey try."

Genevieve chuckled, hooking her arm through his. Together they walked through the plaza, almost like a romantic couple, however fashioned by unconcerned deceit and falsehood.

-------------

Remy was on fire. He tried to focus on the inanimate objects within Genevieve's flat--the stone sculptures, the oriental wall fans, the red-shaded lamps... He would soon go mad. He had never had to wait so long or try so hard before, and this girl had enticed him beyond linguistic expression. If truth be told, he cared little about her mental or emotional state, seeing only the supple curves of her toned body. He stood frozen then, outwardly calm and patient, as she coyly unbuttoned his dress shirt. All the while her lips explored his jaw and throat, teeth nipping at his ear. In a single, swift motion, she tore off the shirt, revealing the body-fitted Thieves' uniform beneath. Her palms traveled along his chest, up over his shoulders, until her fingers grasped the zipper. She pulled it down halfway then released her hold. She tugged him towards the bedroom.

Two feet from the door Remy briefly lost control. God, he wanted her. His mouth found hers in frenzied passion, allowing his overworking hormones to propel his actions. He crushed her body against his, tugging at the flimsy robe but never loosening it.

Genevieve caught his fever. Her fingers tore at his uniform until she had pulled it aside, revealing his built torso underneath. She gasped as he attacked her throat, pulling her up against him with firm command. In only a few seconds, she had unbuckled his pants and pulled his uniform loose.

They stumbled into the bedroom, clawing at his each other almost madly.

Remy drank her in. Her mouth tasted sweet, her body felt heated and ready for his taking. Smoothing away her robe, he revealed sexy black lingerie, lacy and minimally covering in all the right places. His mouth traversed from her mouth to her chest, his lips feeling along the fine skin. She tugged him closer, wrapped her legs around his waist in ardent need. Her breath came rugged, coarse with arousal. She pushed him onto the bed, crawled into his lap. As he unbuckled her bra, she said, "I want to show you something."

Ever so seductively, she reached up and unlooped the bands in her hair. The bun fell apart, rich locks of brown tumbling down her back. She revealed the l'Etoile du Tricherie itself, dangling from a chain, glimmering a bloody crimson in the faded light of the bedroom. All that time, it had been hidden within her hair, tied within her messy bun.

Remy glanced at it for only an instant, wondering why she was showing it to him. Did she already trust him enough for that? He could have clapped himself on the back for winning a girl over so quickly, and a thief probably just as conniving and sly as himself, too. He was getting better at the game.

Genevieve looked at him expectantly. Remy smiled, snatched the jewel from her hand. She gasped but did not move to retrieve it, gold-striated eyes prodding deep into his. He let the l'Etoille du Tricherie fall from his grasp. It thudded softly against the carpeted floor.

Genevieve smiled, kissing him with renewed vigor. They fell back on the bed, tangled within each other, lost in desire. Genevieve gave all of herself, and Remy did not hesitate to take; he left nothing behind.

----------

The night reached its full maturity, lit by the ghostly rays of an eye-like moon. Its silver beams coated the room in dull grey; the slumbering girl on the bed, barely concealed by her silken sheets, shone palely from the moon's attention.

Remy pulled on his suit jacket, making sure he had not forgotten anything. The l'Etoile du Tricherie lay in his palm, glowing red despite the pale pallor of the room. Its darkly jovial gleam seemed to congratulate him on a job well done. Not only had he accomplished his task, he had managed to exact some self-satisfaction as well. He glanced briefly at Genevieve; she was fast asleep.

Slipping the jewel into a compartment on his utility belt, he left the flat and headed for his hotel.

Remy walked with a skip to his step; he had never felt more proud of himself. Beguiling the femmes usually took longer without the use his powers, but he had not only done that, he had gained the girl's complete trust and snuck the l'Etoile du Tricherie from right under her sleeping nose. The whole task had been enjoyable, much more satisfying than pilfering it from the gorilla Herzog. Now all that remained to be done was fly out of France that night and present the Guild Elders with the rock. The sooner the whole ordeal was over, the sooner Remy could return to life as he knew and liked.

Though it was well into the night, Henri would not be asleep. Remy approached their room, keycard in hand, but found that he would not need it. The door was slightly ajar. He frowned, knowing Henri was not one to be so careless. His muscles grew tense; a card flicked into his palm and became charged. Without a moment's hesitation, he threw open the door, ready for any onslaught.

None came.

Remy observed with keen senses. Obvious signs of struggle screamed from every upturned chair and broken table in the room. How could an intruder apprehend Henri? The man was a veteran Thief, a more-than-able fighter. The attacker had to have been formidable, or strong, or tricky--perhaps all three.

Remy clenched his jaw and uncharged his card. He did not need to search the other rooms; he knew Henri was not there. Neither was the intruder. The only thing that could speak was a scrawled note lying in the middle of the floor. Remy did not bother to pick it up as he read the words: Eiffel Tower, midnight. Bring the rock or both will die.

---------

Genevieve woozily half-opened her eyes. Her hair brushed against her face by the night's cool breeze. Memories of the night's lovemaking returned to her, causing a warmth to expel through her limbs. She smiled faintly and murmured, "Remy?"

"Not quite, p'tite."

She suddenly realized she was dangling by her arms. Her eyes widened, saw a drop of hundreds of feet below her hanging legs. She gasped and looked around in bewilderment. Her hands were tied together by several knots of rope, the ends of which she could not see as they angled over a steel beam. She was covered only by her robe, crudely tied about her waist.

"Not 'xactly de way I would've wanted t'enjoy de Eiffel."

Genevieve's eyes flashed at the man hanging beside her. She noted his acute mustache and shaved head, regarding him as though he were mad. "Who are you?" she hissed. "Who did this? Was it Herzog?"

"Non, wasn' de boss man himself. One o'his henchman, m'guessin'."

"You--your accent...it sounds like--"

"Aye, Remy's m'brother. Taken t'him, hein? Can't blame y'. De femmes never can resist dat buck."

Genevieve squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip. "How could I get kidnapped like this? Was Remy not there when..." Realization dawned upon her, "The l'Etoile du Tricherie! He--"

"Is going to bring it right to me," a voice above them said.

Genevieve and Henri craned their necks back to look up. A stern-faced brute, eyes hidden behind dark lenses, sneered down at them. He held the ends of the rope from which they hung, seemingly exerting no effort in keeping his grip. "You think that boy's gonna deliver, big bro?"

Henri scowled but said nothing.

"You bastard!" Genevieve spat. "When my father is informed of this, you and Herzog will be fallayed beyond--"

The brute released a guttural laugh, so tenorous it drowned out her words. "Who's gonna tell on me, little girl? And how do you know I work for anybody? Maybe I just want the rock for myself."

Genevieve bristled, her eyes losing their warmth and flashing venomously. "I saw you at the auction! You were at Herzog's side the whole time. If you think you can--"

Without warning, the man jerked her upward and tied a gag around her mouth. Her threats and shouts became muffled noises.

Unknown to the three above, a pair of smouldering red eyes glowed in the darkness below. They were demonic and otherwordly, bright from provoked anger. Fixed upon the scene above and across, they watched in silent contemplation. The mind behind those fiery orbs worked feverishly to remedy the situation.

The hulky blond brute seemed to sense the new presence. His head slowly turned its full one-hundred-eighty degrees, tilting up and down in observation. A stoic curve shaped his mouth. "Come out, Monsieur 'Guischard'," he called. "The sooner you show your ass, the sooner we get this over with."

Remy stepped out of the shadows, a small sack in his right hand. He stood upon the tower ramparts, one story below and twenty feet across from where Genevieve and Henri hung. This gave him only a small advantage.

"You bring the stone?"

Remy reached into the tiny sack and pulled out, dangling from its chain, the l'Etoile du Tricherie. The light from the Eiffel lamps reflected off its liquidly-smooth surface; its bloody hues seemed to forsee the horror to come, command and await the tribulation with eagerness.

The blond brute jiggled the rope that kept Henri and Genevieve from falling to certain death. He was inhumanly detached from the direness of the situation, indifferent about the lives he might ruin. "A'ight, here's the deal, pretty boy: Put the shiny rock back into the bag and set it down. There you go; good. Now you're gonna have a choice. See these two blood bags I got here?" He loosened his hold on the rope for a few seconds. Henri and Genevieve yelled as they fell three feet before being jerked to a stop. The brute roared in a bellowing laugh.

Remy wondered how someone could be amused by such sickness.

"It's up to you," the brute said. His glasses gleamed satanically from the Tower lights. "Do you leave your brother or young lover to die? There's only time to catch one."

Dis ain't happenin'. Remy glared at Herzog's mercenary, hating him for making an otherwise smooth operation difficult. He tried to ignore Genevieve's pleading eyes; they begged, prayed, no doubt asking for him to choose her. Don't you care about me? he could almost hear her asking. After all those things you said, after all we did... Remy wished he had the heart to tell her the truth.

"Before the show starts, though, I think it'd be interesting for you to hear something, Miss Darcenaux." The brute gave the rope a jiggle, grabbing Genevieve's attention. "Monsieur Guischard ain't all he says he is. Tell her your real name, boy."

Remy's jaw tightened. "LeBeau," he spat. "M'name's Remy LeBeau."

Genevieve stared at him in confusion, the golden brown of her eyes flashing.

"And why'd you really come to France?" the assailant continued to prod. "Tell this gullible babe why you flew all the way from America, went through all the trouble of getting a cover, of going to a high-society auction. And don't say to steal a few things. You only wanted one thing, one very expensive thing. Ain't that right?"

Remy did not answer. He stared at Genevieve, who stared right back. Her gaze was accusing though uwilling to believe the words. Stony tears welled in her piercing eyes.

The brute laughed again, though it was heartless and without mirth. "It's your show lover boy, so choose!" He released the rope.

Henri howled in surprise; Genevieve shrieked through her gag.

Remy did not waste a second. He launched a bigger, longer, and stronger grapple into the steel beams of the rampart. The other end was already fastened about his torso, tight and unyielding. Without missing a beat, he threw himself off the side of the Tower and straightened into a perfect nosedive. The air roared past his ears, whipping aside his hair, nearly blinding.

Henri and Genevieve continued to fall, limbs flailing, mouths screaming.

Remy quickly closed the distance between them. From the beginning he knew who he would choose. He could not take his eyes off Genny.

Her hair whipped against her face as she twisted about. She seemed to be fighting gravity itself, trying by some heinously impossible hope that she could make herself stop falling. Her robe slapped maliciously at her skin in its haphazard ripple from the rushing air.

Remy suddenly realized his guilt: he was condemning her to death, and all she had done was trust him.

He reached Henri and latched onto him with all limbs. For a passing moment, he caught sight of Genevieve's golden eyes--pleading, sad, betrayed--before she fell past them. The grappling line, this time more flexible, slowed their fall. One second later they were hoisted back up as the cord retracted.

Remy did not try to watch Genevieve's fall. He listened for her muffled screams, grimaced when they abruptly ceased.

"S'gon' be all right, Rem," Henri assured him. "Y'did what y't'ought was right."

They swung themselves back onto the Tower platforms. Remy unfastened the grapple and peered back up from where they had fallen. Despite how unfathomable it was, the blond brute stood where Remy had left the sack. It wasn't humanly possible to have reached that location in so short of time--he couldn't have just jumped there...

"It's been fun, boy!" he shouted down to them. "I would've gone for the other one myself, but to each his own." He waved the sack before them, then disappeared into the shadows, his beastly laughter echoing along the tower.

Remy grabbed the sides of his head, closing his eyes and forcing calm. He had practically killed the girl. The blood was on his hands.

"Remy..."

"Not now, Henri."

"Yes now. Y'got t'come t'terms wit' dis, 'fore it eats y'up. Wasn' y'fault no matter how y'make of it. It couldn't be helped, one o'us dyin'. Y'happened t'choose y'brother--what dishonor is dere in dat?"

'Remy shook his head, wishing he could tell Henri just how wretched he truly was. Henri did not know how he had tricked Genny, used her, got her caught in the twisted, sadistic game of a faceless villain. He did not want to think about it. "We're gon' back," he gritted and turned to leave.

Henri hesitated a moment, glancing down at the Eiffel Tower plaza. Sadly shaking his head, he followed.

----------

The Guild was not happy with what Henri had to tell them. It did not concern them that an innocent life had been lost, only that one of their own had failed to plan accordingly, failed to follow proper Thieves' Guild procedure. As a result, the job had been sloppy and ended with needless drama. The test had not been passed.

Remy sat at the table before the Guild Elders. His father, Jean-Luc, was among them. Remy had been listening to them lecture and discuss him for hours. He cracked his knuckles and ground his teeth, angry that they did not care about the girl named Genevieve Darcenaux, angry that he had been sloppy and reckless, that he had used her and, in the end, she knew it--knew it and was distraught. He wanted to feel something for her, some sort of fondness or affection, something to do justice to her memory. But he couldn't. Only the bitterness of detached guilt echoed in his mind. She had been nothing to him as a person, only a heated frolic in a typical bed, on a random night.

"De boy must be tried again," one of the Guild Elders judged. "Dis failure is of de utmost folly. He is not ready fo' de title he seeks..." The words blended together as other voices joined to agree and contest.

Without warning, Remy shot from his seat and pounded his fists on the table. The Elders were shocked into silence. "Have somet'ing t'show y'," he muttered. His fist opened, dropping a blood red stone onto the tabletop.

The Elders drew in breaths of shock. Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes. Henri shot Remy a confused look, "How did y'--it was in de bag. De man took it--"

"I switched de jewel wit' a rock from m'sleeve," Remy said, meeting no eyes. "Couldn' bear t' fail m'test, non?" Without another word he turned and left the hall. They called to him but he ignored their commands. To hell with these old men who were so quick to judge, so easy to overlook the true crime.

He realized at that moment that he could not be a Thief his whole life. Despite how they had taken him in, offered him a family, raised him--he would not succumb to their traditions and dogma. Life would be lived his way, by his rules. There had to be more out there than stealing and trickery, heists and machinations. But anywhere he went, he would not forget the blasphemy of his deed, the wretchedness of his defiled character. He would always look for redemption, but he would probably never find it...

--------

She slowly opened her eyes, shakily drawing a breath. Unable to contain so many emotions, tears fell from her cheeks, hesitant yet ample. Her hand found her temple and massaged at the ache.

"Rogue."

She suddenly remembered where she was. She looked at him, and he gave a start of surprise.

"Y'eyes," he said hoarsely, "dey look like mine." He looked a little woozy. The absorption had lasted only seconds for him; for Rogue, the experience felt like hours.

She shook her head, wiped away her tears. This was the memory, this was what she had dreaded. And it was just as bad as she feared. How could she trust him after knowing this? He played that poor girl; he played her so well that despite how smart and tough she was, she had been beguiled. She had paid with her life for trusting him. How was her situation different than Rogue's? Remy came, spoke his flirtatiously charming words. He was understanding and patient, kind and enjoyable. He behaved with her exactly the way he had with Genevieve. There was no difference; only this time, Rogue knew about his true nature. She was fortunate enough to receive a warning.

"No, no, no," she argued with her thoughts. Were they even hers? She could not tell anymore. Part of Remy was still within her, would always be within her, whispering self-deprecating words about himself, feeding her details about how loathsome he was. Did he despise himself that much?

She felt his guilt, his sorrow for past deeds, his will to change. She wanted to hold him and make everything go away. They could erase each other's pains.

But no--he was probably deceiving her like he did Genny. All this time he had to have a motive for being so kind, so giving, so sacrificial and selfless. Why did he leave her, only to come back so many times? Why was he so kind and complimenting? Why did he almost die for her? What was he trying to get? It was a master scheme, one only Le Diable Blanc could come up with, could be so heartless to enact.

Rogue gasped in consternation. "Oh, God...Ah can't--no..." she whimpered to herself.

"Chere?" Remy placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't," she hissed, crawling away from him.

Remy felt as though he had been slapped. He saw the look she gave him; it mirrored every thought of repulsion and condemnation he felt for himself. Anger flared inside once he realized his greatest fear was reality. Then it quickly passed. She was not to blame. He deserved her disgust. He could not expect her to trust him after what he did. The situations were very similar. Rogue was smart; she would draw the parallels and she would be wary.

"M'sorry," he said for its own sake.

Rogue clamped a hand over her mouth. "She--she cared about you. Ya gave her somethin' nobody else did and...and she trusted. She trusted..." Her hair fell over her eyes as she bowed her head. "How could you, Remy?"

He stood from the Danger Room floor, calmly pulled on the robe. He ignored the stabs of pain in his chest. "Because dere was a job t'be done," he said truthfully. "An' far as I knew den, de ends justified de means."

Rogue stared at him, certainly doubtful on how to take that statement. An indescrible emotion on her face--abhorrence? Shock? Fear? Pity? Her eyes were slowly returning to their comforting green, but she was no longer looking at him. "Ah don't know what to think," she murmured. "Ah'm not sure this solved anything."

"Y'do what y't'ink is right, chere," Remy said. "Dat's all anyone can ever expect." He turned towards the door, wishing she could call for him to stop, hoping that she might forgive. She remained silent, a meek figure in the center of the Danger Room. He reached the doors as they swished open before him, paused. Maybe in a few seconds she would...

Nothing.

Remy clenched his jaw, tried not to feel so dispirited. He walked out of the Danger Room and the doors closed behind him.

---

Whew! For a while there I completely forgot the real plot of this fic, all absorbed in Remy's doings in Paris. Hope you guys didn't lose focus! This didn't really end on a good note, but if things get down, they can do nothing but get back up, right? Or maybe that's the other way around. We'll see.

And yeah, yeah the "uncanny blond brute" was Sabertooth and about the ponytail and shades, well, Remy would not do well working with the man as an Acolyte if he knew he was the one responsible for his guilt, right? And Remy still doesn't know that it was Sabertooth because the incident in Paris was years ago--Remy's changed, more stuff to think about, so he doesn't completely remember the killer, and Sabertooth's changed as well, become rougher, tougher, and meaner. But Sabertooth recognizes who Remy is, that's why he's not so crazy about him--but since he is really just a bloodthirsty, amoral animal, he can toss aside his past with Remy and work as an Acolyte.