-Chapter Eight-

-New Attitudes-

New Orleans, Louisiana, 2001

Remy LeBeau shifted nervously in his chair. His eyes were fixed on the deep mahogany of his father's desk as the older man continued to converse in low tones on the telephone. He felt a gently nudge and dared to glance at his brother, who sat beside him. He received a glare that plainly said, 'Sit still, or else.'

Sighing slightly, Remy sunk further into the chair. Y' in deep shit dis time, Remy, mocked his nagging conscience. Telling the voice to shut up, he sat up straight as his father began to turn around to face his sons. Remy couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Jean-Luc LeBeau was an intimidating man. His presence seemed to command all attention be focused on him. He may be the head of the Thieves Guild, but ruling breaking was the last thing his expected from his sons. He steepled his hands in front of his face before fixing the two young men with a disappointed look. "Dat was de police. Seems dere was a break in at de museum las' night. T'ought I should know dat de security guard saw two young dat looked surprisingly like m' two sons."

Two sets of eyes flew to the floor. Embarrassment hung thick in the air. Henri decided to be the brave soul and go first. "Pere, de rare ruby diamond was dere. Y' been hintin' f'r months dat a heist like dat would put de Assassins in dere place."

"Yeah. We got de diamond an' we didn' get caught, so what's de big problem?" Added Remy.

Jean-Luc fixed his younger son with a deadly glare. "De problem? De problem is y' were seen! De two o' y' should know better den t' go on a heist dat I haven' approved!" He hissed the last words, showing how angry he truly was. His eyes still trained on Remy, he continued. "De police agreed not t' investigate 'cuz de guard said de younger boy had funny colored eyes. Said he looked like de diable. Police chief said he knew both m' boys were . . . normal."

Despite his father's look, Remy couldn't help but smirk. "Le Diable Blanc. Some o' de best t'ieves have aliases."

"Y' not a t'ief! Y' a sixteen-year-old child who t'inks everyt'ing is a big game!" Shouted Jean-Luc. He turned to his elder son. "Henri, y' banned fr'm goin' on heists f'r a month. Now go wash up f'r dinner. Remy an' I have a few t'ings t' discuss."

Henri knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he quickly left the room, not looking back once. So much f'r takin' de blame t'gether, thought Remy as he watched his brother's retreating form.

He turned back to his father. "Look, de heist was jus' as much Henri's idea as mine. It was prob'ly mo' him den me!"

His father kept his steely gaze. "Dis isn' jus' 'bout de heist. Y' been gettin' int' mo' trouble den evea. Smokin', drinkin', sleepin' 'round when y' engaged t' Belladonna-"

"One: I wasn' havin' sex wit' Katie when her dad found us. He was jus' stretchin' de truth. We were on'y kissin' . . . well, I may've had m' shirt off, but still, we were on'y kissin'! Two: Bella's datin' ot'er people, too. We weren' de ones dat agreed t' de engagement. It was y' an' Mr. Boudreaux."

"Dat's besides de point! Maybe y' didn' have de ideal childhood, but dat doesn' mean y' can skip right t' adulthood, Remy."

Remy didn't answer, but crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair.

"See!" Cried his father. "Y' act like y' so mature, but y' can't handle t'ings like an adult." His voice softened. "Remy, y' need t' start actin' like a kid yo' age. Since I adopted y' , y' always acted an' talked like someone ten years older den y' were. I made de mistake o' treatin' y' like y' were ten years older den y' were." He sighed. "I t'ink y' need t' get out o' Nawlins f'r awhile."

"WHAT?"

"Tante Mattie has a friend who's sick an' she was gonna go stay wit' her f'r awhile. Y' gonna go wit' her."

"But, pere-"

"No buts. Go pack; y' leavin' f'r Caldacott, Mississippi t'morrow."

Jean-Luc was met with an exploding chair as Remy stalked out of the room.

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Caldacott, Mississippi, 2001

"Ya're fuckin' kiddin' me, right?" The slim girl leaned back from the table, staring at the other occupant of the kitchen. When she was met with silence she snorted in disbelief. "Un-fuckin-believeable."

"Watch your language, Marie." Reprimanded Raven.

"It's Rogue." The girl spat at her mother. "Marie was th' lil' girl who lived with her mother an' aunt. Th' girl that was happy an' had friends. I'm not that girl. I'm a sixteen-year-old mutant freak, so f'r th' hundredth time, call me Rogue."

"Mar- . . . I mean, Rogue, being a mutant isn't that bad. You can do so many marvelous things that other people can't!"

"Yes, I'm sure so many people are yearnin' f'r th' ability ta stuck th' life outta someone." Sarcasm dripped from every word and Raven found it hard to believe this was the young girl she had left behind. She almost didn't recognize the girl in front of her as her daughter.

Her normally waist-length hair had been cut and now it barely grazed her shoulders. Her brilliantly green eyes were more noticeable than ever thanks to liberal amounts of dark eye makeup. Converse sneakers were plainly visible from her propping her feet onto the table. The bottoms of jeans were helplessly frayed, as was the area around both of her knees. Her long-sleeved shirt was too long in the arms, so she had cut holes for her thumbs to stick out. That shirt was covered by a black T-shirt that proclaimed 'Bowling for Soup.' Rogue began to pick at her chipped black nail polish as her mother continued to stare at her. Finally, she couldn't stand it any longer. "Yeah, I changed a lil' since ya been gone. Is that a crime?"

"I just . . . You used to be so . . . What happened to Marie?"

Another snort of disbelief. "She livin' obliviously in Baton Rouge where her mother nevea left her ta run crazy missions f'r some psycho mutant an' she nevea lost her best friend due ta his abusive parents." She cast a mocking smile in her mother's direction. "Are we done yet?"

"You never answered if you wanted to be part of Magneto's Brotherhood."

"No way in hell."

"Then we're done."

"Well, mother," Drawled Rogue, "It's been a fun visit, but I gotta git back ta my nonexistent social life. How 'bout ya make it a habit ta only come back every four years? It gives us more ta talk about." Without a glace back, the teen went up to her room and began to blare her music. Raven sighed and laid her head in her hands. That went well.

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Rogue turned her stereo up full blast before throwing herself onto the bed. She could feel her whole body trembling. Now that she was alone, she let her body indulge in the reaction it had wanted to have when her mother had shown up on the door earlier.

It's been four fucking years and she thinks you're gonna be glad to see her? "Being a mutant isn't that bad. You can do so many marvelous things that other people can't!" Bullshit! At least she can touch people!

You know that's not really the reason you're mad. You thought your mom had come back to see you, but she just wanted to ask ya to join her boyfriend's 'mutants are better' campaign. You're just means to an end to her.

Shut up, both o' ya! Rogue reached to her beside table where she kept aspirin handy. Since her powers started developing, she had been having 'episodes', as Irene called them. Voices of people she had touched started arguing in her head when she was feeling extremely emotional. The gloves that Irene had given her for her birthday were becoming a staple part of her wardrobe. It's hard enough bein' a teenager without havin' hundreds of voices tellin' ya what ta do.

Rogue laid back on the bed and attempted to clear her mind. Unintentionally, her thought began to slide to her childhood. Let's think about that cute little boy! Cried one of the voices.

No! Let's think about the fantasy of meeting up with him when he's older and sexy. The one where they end up having hot, passionate-

That's hardly appropriate. Let's brood over what a bitch Lillian was being today.

I hate thinking about Lillian. It's sooo depressing.

I second that, back to that fantasy . . .

Guys, how come we never think about what I wanna think about!

Because it's always so dull. Hey, how about we help her scheme how to go to one of the popular parties without touching anybody.

Who's mind are you in? She doesn't want anything to do with the popular people. Back. To. The. Fantasy!

Rogue buried her head into the pillow and screamed, praying for the aspirin to kick in soon.

Just to clarify, Rogue hasn't fully absorbed anybody or put anybody into a coma . . . yet. Since her powers are fairly new, they aren't that strong yet. Right now she just has four or five voices of people that she was touching at moments when her powers acted up. As for the arguing voices, I may have them be important, maybe not. Depends on if you guys thinks they are annoying. Please tell in your review! (P.S. Can you guess which voice is me?)

I LOVE Bowling for Soup so don't be surprised to see them mention later. I mostly listen to country music, so this was the only group I like that seemed Rogue-worthy. Sorry if ya don't like 'em or don't think she would like 'em.