PART 2
No matter how many times Logan pulled into the driveway, he couldn't get over the fact that the mansion was now his home. He lived in the beautiful sprawling manor, where intricate gardens and peaceful water sculpture stationed at strategic points, warred beautifully with the stoic brickwork. Just a couple of years ago he'd been living in the back of his trailer, dirty shirts and jeans strung up to dry in the cold, beans heated by a hot plate for dinner. He wondered how the kid in the back seat would acclimate to the affluence, in contrast, of the school. He didn't bother looking back; he knew he wouldn't see any indication of the kids feelings on his face. He'd been close lipped and mopey for the past few hours, sunken down in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. He hadn't been rude, he just hadn't been happy.
Bobby, on the other hand, was a motor mouth in comparison. He'd been telling Malachi about classes, students, and danger room sessions. The fight talk had pricked the teen's ears, but he hadn't really responded other than to let Bobby know that he looked forward to it.
Logan pulled up to the front door, his Impala purring softly, and with a slight tinge of regret turned off the motor. He loved his car.
"Logan, you're back," Boom-Boom jumped up from the front steps, where she'd been reading a paperback novel, and laughed maniacally.
"What did you blow up this time?" the girl never spent time alone unless her friends were shunning her for some explosion.
"It was just a tiny explosion," she protested indignant.
"Of…?"
"A cell phone- but it wasn't my fault!" she hurried in her explanation, and as she was chatting with Logan, Malachi let himself out of the car. He studied the fast-talking girl, noting the small sparks that lit off the tips of her nails, her blond spikes, and grunge-wear look. Her nose was crooked, like it had been broken at some point and not set correctly; he found that he liked her better for it. Any girl who didn't immediately fix a broken nose, ie; kept fighting, had his vote.
"Tabitha?" a soft voice interrupted the girls dialogue.
"Yeah, Miss. Munroe?"
"Would you please go help Warren with dinner? He asked for you specifically," Storms eyes flashed, for just a second, white. It was a subtle hint not to do too much carnage. Warren had taken to the institute like a kindly older cousin, not only taking care of the younger students, but egging on the older ones in their various pranks. He was quiet, and polite, and just devious enough to get away with anything.
"Of course, we had a few things to chat about for the physics test tomorrow," Tabitha smirked.
"I'll believe that when pigs do the tango," Storm patted the girls shoulder as they passed each other in the doorway, keeping back a chuckle when the teenager smirked.
"Tango?" Bobby had to ask.
"Thanks to Artie they've already flown."
"Ah, remind me to have him replay that one."
"Yes, but here we are being rude," Storm noted the practiced absent expression on Malachi's face. He watched her carefully, cataloguing the dark skin, the silver/white hair cut stylishly short, and the delicate looking hand she held out as the guys climbed the stairs. "I am Ororo Munroe, welcome to Xavier's Institute for Gifted Students."
"You the boss?"
"I guess you could say that, for the time being," Ororo nodded as she shook his hand. His grip was warm, strong, calming. He found hers commanding and welcoming. He smiled a little bit.
"I'm Malachi, no last name, no nickname, just Malachi."
"All right, Malachi, welcome, if you'll follow me we'll get you set up, talk about classes you may want to take?"
"That sounds fine," he turned to Logan and nodded at Bobby. "I guess I'll see you guys around?"
"Of course," Bobby agreed, and then looked to Storm. "How's Rogue?"
"She's still manifesting at odd moments, she's in the basement cell, if you'd like to see her. When I left Piotr and Jimmy were watching over her."
"I'll just go check," he took off his jacket and hung it in the hall closet, Wolverine stalking behind, not bothering to remove his.
"Follow me, please," Ororo gestured to the left and lead Malachi to a wooden set of doors. Inside was a large office, several chairs stacked by the bookcases on his left along with two plush couches and a large desk. Everything in the room was settled at least five feet apart from everything else; it confused Malachi until he saw the portrait above the fireplace on his right.
A bald man sat in what was obviously a specially designed wheelchair. This had been his office; he was probably the Professor Xavier that Bobby had told him about on the drive up. Bobby hadn't mentioned his handicap.
"Malachi," she started as she walked around the desk. Malachi watched as she pulled some papers from a drawer, but waved him to sit at one of the couches, then joined him. "Once again, welcome to the Institute, now in order to settle you in classes I have to know how much formal schooling you've had, and give you a few placement tests. Those we can do tomorrow, as it really is too late to do them completely right now. But lets get some preliminary's out of the way?" she handed him a stack and kept one for herself. "Those are just legal papers I need you to look over, as I'm not sure exactly what your situation is. If you'll read those tonight we can talk those over tomorrow as well, is that agreeable?"
"Sure, I can tell you though that my folks kicked me out. If you try to get them to take me back, my da'll probably shoot you."
"Well then we'll just send them the emancipation papers through the mail, shall we?" Ororo smirked at him, pleased when he smirked back with the lifting of a fine blond eyebrow.
"So you want to put me in classes then?" Malachi got straight to the point, he didn't like school, he didn't want to go back to it, but if he had to in order to stay then he'd have to. If he didn't try his best not to get kicked out Howl would kill him.
After an exhausting back and forth Ororo figured that Malachi would most likely be suited for most sophomore level courses, he was intelligent and sly with his sarcasm. She had a feeling that most of his barbs would go over 80% of the students heads, and maybe a few of the teachers as well. Trying to figure out whom to room him with was easier than she might have figured as she placed his sense of humor into the equation. She got to her feet and stacked the papers she'd filled out neatly on the desk corner before leaving the room telling him to bring his duffle along.
Malachi hitched his bag over his shoulder and followed the lady out. And she really was a lady, he'd only seen that inherent grace in one other before, and it said she'd been royalty of some sort at one time. But that didn't bother him as much as one odd statement she'd made earlier.
"You said I could ask you questions if I was confused, right?"
Ororo nodded as she walked down the hall, "Yes, questions are always welcome."
"Earlier, what did you mean by basement cell?" Malachi asked as Ororo turned back to him, at the foot of the staircase.
"Normally we'll let the other student reveal their powers to you as they'd like, but I'll let you in on Rouge right now. You'd likely get confused hearing the rumors otherwise," she started up the stairs and waited for Malachi to join her, then continued talking as he followed. "Marie, or Rogue as she likes to be called, can absorb energy through her skin. If she comes in contact with another mutant she takes on their powers for a short time, even their personalities, speech patterns, so on. I assume you've heard about the cure?"
Malachi snorted, "Yeah, for whatever good that's going to do."
"How do you mean?" Storm was curious; she always liked getting feedback from the students, as they often came at problems through angles she'd never considered.
"Well, think about it, I know that being a mutant is a genetic condition right? You can't change DNA, it's not possible. So they've got to be suppressing the symptoms, not the actual cause, right?"
"I wish many more people thought of that before getting the injection," Storm agreed. "But imagine not being able to hug your friends because you'll drain the energy from them and kill them? Not being able to kiss your girlfriend for the same reason. Rogue manifested a few years ago, put her boyfriend into a coma."
"She got the cure."
"And it's worn off. She's been suppressing her powers for so long that they've gotten out of control. They're showing themselves randomly now. And she is going through each power she's ever assimilated. She had us cordon her off until she can gain control."
She was about to explain Leech's effects when a startled scream cut her off.
"Get back here you little geek!"
"No! Nonononononononononono!" a short kid with a long red ponytail trailing behind streaked around the corner, falling briefly to all fours before settling back up and sprinting down the hallway toward them. Following him, quickly and with greater control, was a statuesque blond in jeans and a t-shirt with wet red paint dripping onto the wooden hall floor. She turned the corner like a pro, moving her feet in sharp motions, an ice-skater. Storm reached down at the last second and grabbed the kid's sweatshirt, pulling him up into a hug. He wrapped himself around her, fully aware that no harm could come to him while Storm held him.
"Sally," she nodded regally. The woman skid to a stop in front of them and nodded, short hair brushing past the tip of her aristocratic nose, she pushed it behind her ear irritably. "Malachi, this is Sally Blevins, the biology teacher here."
"Pleased to meet you ma'am," he said, though she didn't look to be quite as old as Storm, she was in her mid-late twenty's and not afraid to go hunting for trouble makers it seemed.
"Icarus, an explanation please, if you don't mind?" Storm asked the boy, perched on her hip. His lips started moving, Malachi could see, but no sound emerged. Then, suddenly, from behind him he heard a voice.
"I can't get my mimicry under control, so I went to Skids to see if she could help me, but I accidentally startled her and she spilled her paint."
"Did you apologize or just run off?"
"I ran," Malachi could read his lips with that one, so the voice that came from above Storm's head was unnecessary.
"Which led to Sally thinking that you were playing a joke on her, did it not?"
The kid blushed, cast his eyes down to the floor and hung his head. "Sorry Skids," he muttered bashfully, the voice was a kiss on the blond's cheek.
"Come on Jay, we'll go work on that lip synching," Sally tutted and held out her hand and let the kid grasp it, swinging him to the floor and walking off, back down the hall way. As they left Malachi noticed the odd contours on the kids back, under the sweatshirt. He looked closer and saw the tips of feathers sticking out under the shirts hem.
"He's got wings," Malachi couldn't stop himself from saying it; he'd never seen that before.
"Yes, and he's not the only one of our students with wings, you'll find at dinner. Now," Storm turned to a door, three down from the stairwell, and knocked on it.
"Oui?" The voice was muffled by the door, but the invitation to enter was clearly heard "Entre." Storm opened the door and Malachi was greeted by the sight of a lanky teenager, lounging with his entire body relaxed completely into one of the double beds. One half of the room, which the older teen was occupying, was strewn with crumbled up pieces of white paper, a notebook laid next to the boy, a pen cap in his mouth, he stared up at the ceiling.
"Remy, would you mind a room mate?" Ororo stood aside from the open doorway so that Remy could see Malachi.
"You won' chatter po' Remy t'deat?" he asked, accent heavy with the flavor of Cajun spice.
"I find that talking uses valuable sleeping time," Malachi returned.
"Den enter of dine own free will," he rolled his red on black eyes back up to the ceiling and spat out the pen cap, sitting up and grabbing the notebook in a fit of inspiration.
He ignored the other two as they entered the room and Storm told Malachi that Remy would bring him down for dinner, or he'd hear the bell if he decided to wander around the school.
"Thank you," he set his duffel on the bed and followed her to the door, shutting it as she left. He turned back around just as Remy grunted in disgust and tore the sheet out of the book. He crumbled it up and tossed it up, catching it and squeezing it again.
"Poetry unit," he explained. "Am nineteen, an adult fo' all intents and purpose, but dey want Remy ta pass high school." The paper ball in his hand glowed for a second, then he tossed it away, watching as it exploded gently into thousands of paper bits. "Am Remy LeBeau," he introduced himself. From the side table in between the two beds he grabbed a deck of cards and started shuffling, holding up the Ace of Spades he smirked, "call me Gambit."
Not having much to unpack, Malachi decided to take a walk around the building. To his surprise Remy joined him. Remy was lanky, like Malachi, but a good 5 inches taller at least. He'd been amused when the Cajun shook out his boots before putting them on.
"You learn Petite, dis school full 'o trouble makers."
"I'm not short," Malachi had retorted. "I'm still growing."
"Desole." (sorry- French)
"De nada." Malachi shrugged. (don't worry- Spanish)
"You know French?"
"Just enough to get me into trouble."
"I 'tink we get along, cher," Remy smirked, sliding his hands into the pockets of his duster.
"Good to know," Malachi turned around the corner of the building and found himself watching several students playing basketball. As one student multiplied and threw the ball to himself he was struck by a sudden wave of homesickness. He wondered what the little ones were doing, if his Elie missed him. He twisted the ring around his finger and smiled at the soft warmth. At least he always had Mackie with him.
"He always cheats," Gambit chuckled at the students who were protesting the use of powers.
"If you've got it, flaunt it," Malachi challenged.
"Run!" a female voice behind them shrieked as Malachi startled, turned around just in time for a female form to run right through him. He got a faint impression of a ponytail before his vision was crowded by muscle.
"Duck!" A male voice, followed by a very large male, vaulted over them and continued following the girl.
Malachi stood where he was for a few seconds, still trying to comprehend what the hell just happened. Remy was trying not to bust his gut to keep from laughing at his new friend.
"You can ask any question you like, non are stupid roun' here," he managed around a fit of chuckling.
"There are no stupid questions, but there are a lot of inquisitive idiots," just quoting Howl made him feel a lot better.
"Well, dose inquisitive idiots dare'r Kitty and Piotr," Remy sighed as he placed his hand over his heart with a thump, "ah, l'amor."
Malachi just smirked as he watched the guy follow the girl by jumping over anyone she phased through, and then had the pleasure of watching her run straight into a wall. Most of the people watching started clapping as Piotr helped the girl to her feet.
"I forgot to concentrate," she mumbled sheepishly with a faint blush on her cheeks. Piotr just grinned and swung her up into his thick arms as she giggled at him.
"Ok, dat was too sickeningly sweet, let us go 'tis way," Gambit sneered as he turned the corner and lead Malachi into the gardens.
Malachi was just starting to get used to the grounds when they heard a loud bell ring throughout. Gambit steered him around bushes and flowerbeds, past the headstones that he'd explained were pretty recent and promised to explain later, and ushered him with the other students into a back door. They passed a kitchen, complete with breakfast nook and a recent mess from cooking that hadn't been cleaned yet. The smells that lingered reminded Malachi that he hadn't had much of a lunch, just a hot dog on the sidewalk corner of the Met. He was a growing boy; he rubbed his stomach as it began to growl, and followed Gambit into the dining room. Immediately he recognized Storm, Boom-Boom, Icarus, and Skids. Then he scanned the room and noticed that the tall man next to Boom-Boom, like Icarus, had wings, but short blond hair instead of a red pony tail. The man sitting next to Storm was blue, and had raised scars all over his face and hands (paws?), careful lines that he was sure meant something to the man. Down on the other side of the table was a young girl covered in pale yellow fur, talking to a bulky blue furred man wearing glasses and talking in a low grumble that had an "uppercrust" accent. A small brown haired boy with glasses that almost seemed too big was sitting in between two other younger kids, both pretty normal looking until you realized they were identical.
"Oy, make room, you tink you funny?" Remy knocked the back of one of the chairs with a grin, startling one of the twins into jumping- back into the body of the other. He looked up with a smirk and nodded.
"Yup."
Remy just shook his head and indicated the other empty seat next to the recently vacated one. "Gone to sidown?"
"Sure, thanks," Malachi took the chair as Kitty and Piotr walked in, flushed and connected at the hips.
The chairs around the first table were all taken, and Malachi noticed that there were a lot of younger kids sitting at a second long table against the window, and a few more teenagers in a tight group against the other wall. Large covered metal plates beckoned his attention though, as hands were clutched around the table. Malachi knew that it meant a prayer, since that was how Howl did it, but he was surprised by how short it was. Ororo stood up said she was thankful for each day, each child in her care, thankful for the food and welcomed Malachi to the house, then dropped hands and muttered amen. It was echoed around the tables and then the metal tops were whisked off the plates. Each was piled high with delicious, nutritious food. Large platters of roast beef and potatoes, cooked carrots and broccoli, bowls of fruit salad and large pitchers of milk and water, covered the tables. Malachi helped himself to large portions, just like everyone else was doing, and laughed when Remy had to battle Boom-Boom for the gravy. She sent a tiny spark at him, which he retaliated with a charged, crumpled up napkin. Each explosion was extremely minor, but Storm spoke sharply to them with laughter in her eyes.
"Not at the table," she scolded, but Malachi could tell she was amused.
"Ow bout a match? After desert?" Gambit asked, his head tilted toward Logan, who had just entered the room.
"Downstairs," he scowled, then shrugged. "Why not, could test the whelp at the same time." He helped himself to a clean plate and picked up the small kid with glasses, sitting down in his chair and then settling the kid on his knee before scooping beef and potatoes onto his plate. The kid responded with his hands held out at chin height and an explosion, like fireworks, over his cupped hands.
"Well, yeah, we could blow up the place Artie, that's why we have the danger room!" Boom-Boom laughed.
It turned out to be one of the younger kids birthday, so desert was a large chocolate cake with candles generously donated by Boom-Boom. Unlike regular candles, that blew out, Boom-Boom just kept her detonations small and brief to the delight of the young green haired girl. Apparently she enjoyed explosions, but couldn't create them herself.
Gambit laughed when the girl whispered something in his ear.
"I dunno petite, you'd haft ta ask Wolvie der," he nodded over to Logan, who scowled at the Cajun, but softened his expression for the girl.
"Is the fight going to be with or without powers?" she squeaked.
"Start off with none, just so I know how much I have to catch him up with you all, but if you want an exhibition match…"
"Sounds fine to me," Malachi shrugged. "Don't see why not."
Malachi found himself in a large white room, blinking at the emptiness and wrinkling his nose at the cold, sterile scent. Gambit twitched, settling his shoulders in his long overcoat, and pulled his hair back with a black bandana to keep it out of his eyes. Malachi looked up at the window set high in the wall and asked the group sitting there if they were comfortable.
"Extremely, just remember, no powers to start with," Storm smirked.
"I do need to use a little if you want me to have a weapon," he pointed out, pulling a metal stick from his back pocket.
"Go ahead, then settle your stance," Logan nodded.
Both boys nodded back, then faced each other, with slightly different grips on their weapons. Both had one hand holding the staff with their palms turned in, but Malachi let the end of his rest on the floor, his left hand covering the top end while Gambit had his right hand and left hand at pretty much equal distance, his right with his palm out toward his opponent. They both looked comfortable, still and ready for just about anything.
Without a notable warning Malachi yanked his left hand down, sweeping the bo toward Gambit in a wide angle, which was blocked before it hit the leg with a quick clack of metal on metal. Twisting around Gambit twirled his staff, hoping for a shoulder hit while Malachi recovered. But the shorter boy ducked under and shot out his foot, still going for Gambits legs. Gambit jumped over the kick, bringing his staff around his back to block the sweep that followed Malachi's quick yank to attack while Gambit was unable to duck.
The group in the observatory room watched with (mostly) amazement. Neither one of the boys was moving from a ten foot radius, basically just twisting around their own (or the others) bodies, trying to make hits while their staffs clanged like extra limbs, or just extensions of the ones they already had. Logan watched with glaring eyes, catching each movement, each expression the kids made. He was going to have fun training these two; he was intrigued by the fact that neither boy seemed to settle in one style. They had correct stances for many martial arts, but also seemed to have something of an acrobatics background. That wasn't so surprising, he supposed, for the thief. But the fact that Malachi was matching the Cajun almost blow for blow, was impressive.
Of course, each couldn't block everything, Malachi was breathing harder than he thought he'd be, playing like this without the constant distraction his mutation lorded over an opponent, and he was a little disconcerted that he'd come to rely so much on it. Like when that ice-kid had frozen his bo, he'd found that more than a little frightening. He could feel the bruises beginning to form on the surface of his skin, on the back of his left shoulder as Gambit whacked him hard, on his thigh where he'd mule kicked behind him at one point.
Gambit was clearly having fun. He flipped over the shorter boy and trailed his hand on the back of Malachi's neck, making it clear he could have knocked the other out if he'd gotten bored with the fight. He chuckled at the younger ones growl, but put up his guard as well. He remembered his trainer's chuckles, and his own reaction to them. It was clear that Malachi hadn't had just one master, because he still got frustrated when he couldn't clear a maneuver he'd obviously seen somewhere before. Gambit had had extensive training, and he'd never been allowed to go from one thing to another until the first had been mastered. So while Gambit had been disciplined, but kept his flexible mind (a thief that couldn't be flexible was a thief in jail), Malachi had picked up his training himself, but was unable to flow from some pretty impressive movements to the relatively simple follow-through. He probably hadn't had much opportunity to practice.
"You do good, Petite," Gambit commented as he felt a swipe come to close to his side. He managed to twirl a good ways away, and brought up his staff to clang with Malachi's.
"If you start calling me that all the time, I will find a way to end you," Malachi promised with a grin.
"Logan!" Gambit called up to the booth, "Me fren here an I would lak to up de stakes?"
"Go ahead and use powers at my mark," Logan hit the button for the protective coating on the window pane and watched as it settled in place. "Now!"
Malachi grinned as he lengthened his staff in high speed, the end rudely poking Gambit in the side. Gambit pulled away and ducked under the staff, his own shortening into itself with mechanical clinks as he put it away under his jacket. He pulled a playing card from up his sleeve and grinned maniacally as Malachi pulled his wood staff from his back pocket and enlarged it until he had two full sized rokushakubō, which looked slightly odd seeing as how the almost six foot staffs where at least seven inches taller than their wielder.
"How d'you plan on us'in dose?" Gambit asked, knowing that Malachi couldn't swing them at full power without knocking them into each other constantly. He should have known better to ask that, and was greeted with the answer almost immediately as he flung a charged card at his new friends head.
It imploded on impact with the wooden staff, which splintered at the end, but mended itself almost immediately. Malachi was alternating the lengths and thickness of his staffs as he twirled them in a defensive shielding. Each time a playing card managed to shorten the staffs even a little it was always the thinnest end part that detonated. He was trying to find the pattern that would let him sneak an attack when Malachi shifted his hip, weight balanced down his leg and pulled the ground back with his foot. Gambit would have fallen into a small pit if his own instincts hadn't insisted he jump forward, toward the suddenly still staffs. He had an alarming view of Malachi's one white eye, and gasped for breath, feeling that same pull again. Before he had time to think Malachi's wooden staff was under his chin, and he was plainly asking for surrender.
Both boys were covered in sweat, but while Gambit felt he could probably go a little longer, it was clear the younger was exhausted. So in Malachi's best interest, and honestly still a little short of breath, he held up his hands to end the duel. When Malachi backed up Gambit rubbed the heel of his hand across his heart and took a deep breath in.
"You ok?" Malachi asked, a little apprehensive. Manipulating air like that was a trick he'd only figured out recently, and he was more than a bit worried about how it affected others.
"Yeah, you gone to?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine after some hefty pain killers and a good dirt nap." Malachi sat on the white floor a little hard as the door opened to emit the large blue man with glasses and Logan.
"All right kid, this is Dr. McCoy, he patches us up after fun time. Go on with him, and then it's to bed. Don't want you burning out on your first day." He grunted.
"Cool, um, did you get enough to place me somewhere?" Malachi asked, suddenly nervous. He knew he held his own, but he also knew the older boy was taking it easy on him.
"I think we're going to have Gambit training you a bit more in staff," Logan said as he helped Malachi to his feet. Gambit nodded to agree, "And we'll set up some danger room sessions to help find your limit with taking things apart. All in all, you did ok kid."
"Yes, I was rather taken with that last technique," McCoy smiled gently, well aware that his large frame was somewhat intimidating.
"I just push stuff. So one day I was thinking, air is stuff…" Malachi shrugged as the other's laughed, and blushed a bit. It had been a sudden epiphany, and he'd nearly suffocated when he concentrated and pushed the air from his own lungs, thinking maybe he could create like a miniaturized hurricane from his mouth. That was when he realized that maybe he didn't have large enough lungs for a hurricane.
"Air is stuff?" Remy asked, later as they were dressing for bed.
"It is," Malachi replied, a bit defensively.
"Agreed," the elder chuckled as he plopped down on his bed and looked over at Malachi, who was pulling a large tee over his skinny shoulders.
Never one to make an insensitive comment; at least not on purpose (at least to a friend), Remy didn't mention the large diagonal scar that traveled from the younger teens left shoulder blade to his right hip.
"It's an old scar," Malachi sighed, feeling the questioning gaze.
"D'you wanna talk?" Remy asked, tucking his hands behind his head, his eyes steady on Malachi's scar.
"My Step-father didn't like me. He made it quite clear, when he married my mother; that he wasn't going to coddle me, he wasn't going to hold back on discipline… My mother took his side." He shrugged, quietly upset but pretending not to be. "She wasn't even that great of a mother before Tom, but afterwards it was like she didn't care about me at all." He got into bed and reached over to click off the light on the nightstand between the two beds. "Tom and I had a fight, he sliced me up and kicked me out, and she took his side again."
"Harsh," Remy replied, knowing that nothing he said could change the circumstances, nothing he said could make Malachi feel better about his situation.
"I was eleven; then Howl found me. She was a better mother."
"Seems like we both haf better Ma'mere dan originally planned for," Remy admitted in turn. "I was 'bandoned, for my eyes, Devils eyes. Jean-Luc took me in, an 'is mere spoilt me rotten." The only color that Malachi could see was the bright red orbs set in Remy's pitch black eyes.
"I like your eyes. They're unique." Malachi offered as he turned to face Remy, settling his blanket over his shoulder. The dead white eye seemed to swallow the moon light coming from the window.
"Tanks lil' one." He smiled a bit, thinking that just maybe, this one knew what he was talking about.
"Welcome, Remy, goodnight."
"G'night Petite," the smirk clearly audible.
"Bite me," as was the answering grin.
Remy discovered, much to Malachi's chagrin, that it was quite easy to make the younger blush. Being the oldest of Howls pack, the oldest male by five years, he'd never had the opportunity to really talk about girls. Remy was apparently an expert.
"How do you know so much?" Malachi whined as he fought down his hot cheeks. Remy had just been giving him some advice since he caught Malachi watching Kitty and Piotr snuggling on the couch with an intense interest.
"Am married," Remy shrugged at the incredulous stare. "As far as I know, anyhow. Never goda divorce decree, I tink."
"You're MARRIED?" the shout echoed through the suddenly silent library. Then the quieter, indignant, "How can you not know if you got a divorce? Doesn't that kind of thing require your participation?"
"It coulda been annulled, Petite, I kind o' had ta skip town af'ter de wedding." Remy relaxed back into his seat, well aware that every ear in the library was straining to hear. This was something he'd never mentioned before.
"So you never… Um…" Christ, but the kids blush was a sight to see. His already speckled red skin almost glowed in embarrassment.
"It's not dat I'd never, it just dat I'd never wit my wife…" And to tell the truth, he was somewhat bitterly disappointed about that. He'd loved Bella, as much as he was able to, he supposed.
"Why'd you…" Malachi trailed off, aware that he might be stepping into some unwelcoming territory.
"Naw, 'tis okay. Her broder challenged me ta duel. T'was an accident, but de Guild, it t'reatened retribution. Xavier offered me a chance to gain control over ma powers. Causing random explosions was not ideal for a t'eaf of my renowned reputation. Non. T'was decided."
"Guild?" Malachi narrowed in on that, not wanting to know what kind of "accident" might have caused his friend to flee.
"Assassins," Remy threw out, with a negligent shrug, as if it were no big deal.
"The ASSASSINS Guild is after you?" Once again heads were turned, as more and more people tried to blatantly eavesdrop.
"Not right now!" Remy glared at those closest to them, then grabbed Malachi's arm in a bruising grip to drag him from the library.
"Sorry!" Malachi stuttered out as his roommate hauled him away. Absently he noted that Remy was crying, his shoulders shaking, he could hear the repressed sobs. He immediately felt horrible. He really was terrible at this concern/care thing. The silver ring on his finger was warm and trembling. He wondered why Mackie was laughing. He wondered right up until Remy threw him into an empty classroom and the Cajun started bawling in laughter.
Remy hadn't been holding back tears; he'd been suppressing his own hilarity. Apparently he enjoyed being infamous around campus. Nobody else had gotten that much information from him since he'd shown up on the doorstep with a rucksack and a charming smile six months before.
"You're an ass." Malachi managed before succumbing to his own chuckles.
As they calmed down Malachi managed to get more of the story from his roommate. Remy had been "Prince" of the Thief's Guild, married off to the "Princess" of the Assassins. Right after the ceremony her brother had challenged Remy to a duel, during which Gambit had become upset and exploded a wall accidentally. The brother had been buried under the rubble and the Thief's Guild had sent Remy away to the school for his own safety. Apparently they'd been trying to convince him to go for quite some time, but he'd never believed his own gift could so completely betray him. After the incident he realized that it wasn't a gift. It was a talent, and it needed to be trained, honed, for him to use it properly.
Of course now that the half heard conversation had been witnessed by some of the most irrepressible gossips in the school it was going to be impossible to separate fact from their own imaginations.
Remy was tricky like that.
Authors Notes
We're still kinda stuck on the opening aren't we? But we've got characters, both major and minor (and I spent a hell of a lot of time on line looking up pasts and characters and who would fit with what, where. This is faithfully following the three Xmen movies, as Xavier, Jean, and Scott are all dead (or in the case of Xavier, in a different mans body in a coma still.) which is wonderful for me because I have no clue how to write them. Rogue is pretty much taxing my, I-have-no-clue-how-to-handle-this-character allotment for the year. And Remy's accent is HARD. I've taken to looking up how other writers and even comic writers do a Cajun accent… by the way, lackadaisycats is a comic that everyone should read. Just add a www to the start of that and a .com to the end. So basically anything that is a th followed by an I starts with T', anything that is a th followed by anyother vowel is a "d" sound. Short, clipped consonants, and if you can somehow sound as if all your words are hooked together by an ultrasexy smirk, you've got Cajun down solid. I tried, but I'm not sure how well I managed.
Logans car at the start of this chapter is the Metallicar… I just love that thing, and if Logan's got to drive a regular car, at least this one won't threaten his masculinity. I tried picturing him driving a Prius and it just wasn't working for me. (don't ask, loooong story)
Still not sure what the main conflict is, but it will probably rear it's ugly head in the next chapter or two. I'm not planning a lot of chapters for this story. ("But what you plan and what takes place ain't ever exactly been similar." Thank you Jayne)
I did use a line from "The Producers", seeing as how Malachi grew up in New York I'm assuming he was sneaky enough to get into Broadway plays whenever he felt like it. So I think that not only is he a cynical bastard, he likes to quip from various sources. Which is kinda funny when you think about it, because I don't think he's watched a lot of tv in the past five-ish years. So a lot of jokes are going to go over his head… you'll see what I mean eventually.