"This is shit."
"Come on, man, that's no way to take it," Scott said, putting up two fingers to the bartender. The woman behind the counter promptly brought over two more glasses of bourbon on the rocks, and he nodded his head in thanks. "I'm sure whoever you regret sleeping with so badly isn't going to be that much of a life ruiner for you."
"If only you knew," Remy grumbled, picking up the glass and waving it absently. He had spent the last three godforsaken days mulling over the whole detention incident. He couldn't forgive himself; this was just one line he crossed that he couldn't rationalize at all. God, he was the lecherous old man fucking students for grades. This was never supposed to happen. There was a time when he was young and happy and flashing dirty money and hot watches and all that. Why he ever got bit by some moral bug and decided to go straight to teach, he would never know. It's not like he couldn't have gotten himself out of jail easily if he had ever actually been thrown in. Hell, it may have given him some extra street cred. But no, of course, even when he decided to go on the straight and narrow, he had to fuck it up. He hadn't stolen anything [expensive] or blown up anything [important] in the last four years he'd spent up in the godforsaken north, but then some beautiful, big-eyed trick of a boy had to go ruining his clean slate.
At least Scott didn't seem bothered, letting him vent and sipping strong liquor alongside him. Granted, between the math teacher's advances towards Jean in Psychology and his overly intensive coaching of the cheer squad, maybe it made a bit of sense. But beyond a bit of an obsessive vibe, Scott was good people-a little boring at times, but very stuck on leading and making his colleagues and students succeed. Not the worst person to drink with when brooding over things.
Damn, this was an unusual teacher's lounge.
He knew he'd never really understand why the hell Erik and Charles decided to have this bizarre strip-club vibe to the teacher's lounge. No, that was wrong...there was no vibe involved. There was legitimately a girl spinning around on a pole in the back of the room, he was sitting at a mahogany bar, he was having drinks bought for him for god's sake. Ah, his maman and papa would be so ashamed of him right now for taking such a job.
Well, you know, if they hadn't ditched him in the hospital and all.
He couldn't help but wonder if his time at this bizarre institution had done something to him. But no, he had to think his time skulking around Bourbon Street as a youth was likely worse than most anything he was partaking in now; hell, the dancer was seen here as a tasteful presentation of the erotic arts, and more importantly, he wasn't the one spinning around onstage. That was an interesting summer. Still, proper teacher and that though he might have been, many of his past vices cleared and wiped away, that Friday was still hanging hideously in his mind.
"Scott," he said slowly, and the man looked over. Well, he assumed he did; it was always hard to tell what with the Ed Hardy shades. "Have you ever found yourself having...indecent desires for a student?"
"I swear my relationship with my girls is strictly professional," Scott said, throwing his glass back hard enough his bangs almost flew off his head. Remy blinked.
"What?"
"I take my position as cheer coach incredibly seriously, and I wouldn't dare have any sort of contact with one of my girls," he said, looking across the room. "Oh, hey there, Jean!"
The red-headed guidance counselor looked over with a smile and a wave. In all fairness, she was more than just a counselor—she did have a medical doctorate and taught the occasional Intro to Psychiatry class, if there was demand—but in general the poor psychic was used to being the being on whom all her coworkers and students bared their problems.
"Hey, Jean, I was just telling Remy here there was no way I'd be sleeping with the head cheerleader. Tell him I'm right."
Jean smiled and backed away back to her table with the short, hirsute History professor.
"Oh, that girl. I swear, one of these days..."
"I t'ink she be seeing the Wolverine," Remy said, motioning over to their table as the woman laughed at what was presumably a joke from the half-smiling Canadian.
"No, no way. Not Logan. Me and Jean went to school together. We've always had a thing."
"Well, it seems her interests may be waning, little rabbit. You ought to really be trying to run back to her more."
"Weren't we talking about your weekend escapade anyway?" Scott said, motioning as if to lower his glasses in scorn. Lucky for the sake of the building, he had the sense not to.
"...Really, I don't think there's much left to talk 'bout," he said, putting his now-empty glass back down and grabbing up his overcoat. "It ain't gone happen again." It was true, there was no way he'd let himself give into that again. Whatever madness had overcome him in that classroom, it was banished to the back corners of his mind.
No way in hell would he sleep with Pietro Maximoff again.