Author's Note**

            How did I break my ribs? Funny story actually…..I broke onto the set of Dead Like Me and Ellen Muth beat the shit out of me….so, just as a little advice, keep yourself out of restricted areas!

            The devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal.

            He tapped ash from the end of his cigarette and kept his strangely glowing eyes on her.

            He was in a bind, cause he was way behind, and he was willing to make a deal.  When he came across a young man sawing on a fiddle and playing it hot. And the devil jumped up on a hickory stump and said,

"An' you be de Rogue, oui? You got an off-duty name, cherie?"

            She narrowed her eyes slightly at his tone, feeling a mixture of suspicion and annoyance slither through her. The recent demise of the tin can man Magneto had spread through the mansion like a rancid fungus. And with his lord and master gone, there didn't seem to be any reason the red eyed thief would still be gathering information for him. But then again, he had that shifty, slicker fingered, alley-cat look to him that a sensible Southern gal just didn't trust.

            "No," she answered shortly, "it's just Rogue." As an afterthought, she scowled at him and added with a bit of a bite, "And don't call me cherie."

            Remy held up his hands in mock surrender, smiling in a way that gave her the sinking feeling that he was not very good at following requests. That meant she was probably going to have to put a boot or two in his face at some point. Which was almost a shame because when he wasn't leering at her, he did have quite a pretty face. Sharp and finely chiseled with thick auburn hair and those interesting eyes. But, a sensible Southern gal just never said no to violence.

            He stubbed the remaining length of his cigarette out on the table and poured himself another shot of bourbon.

            "You lookin' awfully young ta be out dis late drinkin', ch . . ." he paused deliberately, and then winked. "Rogue."

            Her eyes narrowed and she could feel her teeth begin to mash together. God arrogance was so annoying and people, Cajuns to be specific, were so . . . . so . . . . frustrating when you didn't have a .44 shotgun to shut them up with.

            God she missed her .44.

            "What are you diggin' fer? You got new employment already?"

            There was an imperceptible shift in his eyes but she caught the flash of surprise, followed by wariness before they went blank again. He doesn't know, Rogue thought, and struggled to keep from smiling. It was surprising how nice it felt to have something over him.

            "Touche, touché. Me' be Remy jus' not want ta be caught aidin' and abettin' underage drinkin'."

            Rogue snorted. "Ya don't strike meh as the type who concerns himself with 'legalities'." She paused and leaned forward on the table. "Ya even know what legalities are?"

            With his shot glass halfway to his lips, Remy cocked one thick eyebrow.

            "Now you jus' tryin' to hurt ol' Remy's feelin's. Dat not very nice, 'specially since he bring you dis nice piece offerin'," he pointed out, motioning towards the bottle sitting between them.

            Tossing back a drink of her own, Rogue matched his gaze squarely, never one to worry about manners.

            "Yeah, an offerin' that has the possibility of gettin' meh drunk so ya can take advantage of meh," she retorted sourly.

            Grinning slyly, Remy nimbly plucked one of her hands off the table and held it inches away from his lips. She tugged on it immediately, but he held it in a firm grasp, enjoying the way her clear green eyes seemed to smolder and her jaw clenched with obvious annoyance. He didn't mind being annoying. It was usually the best way to get results.

            "Remy knew dere be some benefits ta peace, cherie," he crooned, placing a kiss on her gloved knuckles.

            When the devil finished Johnny said "well you're pretty good old son. But sit down in that chair right there and let me show you how its done."

            In response, she stood up and shoved him off of his chair. Taken by surprise, he tumbled backwards and lay sprawled out on the floor, his thick coat tangled about him. The entire room quieted instantly as conversations cut off and attentions were diverted. She pushed her hair back away from her face and grabbed her long coat from off the back of her chair. Reaching down, Rogue snatched up her glass, drained it, and then tossed it back onto the table.

            "Don't call me cherie." She started passed him and then stopped and smirked. "Oh, and thanks for the drink."

            A light scattering of applause followed her as she pushed her way towards the exit. Remy propped himself up on his elbows and watched her retreating figure with astonishment splayed across his face. In all of his twenty years, he'd never had a belle respond to him quite like that. There'd been slaps to the face, weak punches, and the occasional clawing and scratching. (That wasn't always a bad thing, though.) Of course, all those kinds of hitting were just a woman's way of letting him know that she wanted to be pursued, without letting anyone else know.

            He wasn't getting that feeling from Rogue. No, it felt a lot like she wanted him to stay the hell away from her. Chuckling quietly, he shook his head and started to push himself to his feet. A hand extended towards him; when he glanced up he saw the young man who had borrowed a chair from cherie's table.

            "Doesn't look like she's feeling you at all, honey," the youth said.

            Clasping onto the young man's hand, Remy pulled himself up and brushed down the front of his coat. Then he took a deep breath and winced slightly. He pressed a hand to the spot when she had touched him. It was already tender. Probably be a nasty bruise. She hadn't even bothered to pull her punch. He gave a short laugh of disbelief and shook his head again.

            "Non, it don't look like it," Remy agreed, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

            The young man gave him a long look over and found himself faced with a bit of a dilemma. It was true that he had a boyfriend, a very cute and very nearby boyfriend. But they just didn't grow them in New York like they did in the South and not even a straight man would walk away from a Cajun with a face like this one's.

            "Say," he said, lightly brushing against Remy's arm, "why don't you join me for a drink or three dozen? I can promise you that I'm a whole lot less challenging than that woman."

            "Je suis désolé, mon ami." (I'm sorry, friend.) Remy's eyes were still fixed on the door that Rogue had left from. He turned his head slightly to grin at the young man who had just propositioned him. "But 'dere ain't nothin' Remy enjoy more den a challenge. But thanks for de offer."

            The young man watched as the Cajun adjusted his trench coat and headed in the same direction the girl had. Jesus that boy had one fine walk. And if he caught up with her, he was betting on the Cajun being able to change her opinion of him.

            "Anytime, sweetie," he said to himself with all his disappointment. "Anytime."

******

            Devil Went Down to Georgia, by Charlie Daniels Band

                        ******P.S. I was kidding about the whole Dead Like Me Thing.