Log: Remy and Jake in Manhattan

[x-courier.livejournal.com]

Note: Finally got hold of the file, so, here it is, somewhat belated, what Jake and Remy did in Manhattan. Well. An hour of it, anyways.



"So, dis de normal signing bonus, chere? Full room service and de
works." Remy said through the open door of the bathroom, running the shower
to steaming hot as he started to strip off his reeking clothing.

Jake shrugged. He was sitting on the floor outside the bathroom, with
his back against the wall, amusing himself by playing bodyguard. One
who'd probably be fired within minutes, but still. "Wouldn't know. I
haven't exactly signed on to anything. I just don't intend to leave until
I'm back to my old self. Please tell me you're showering now."

"Soon enough." Remy said, tossing the clothes into a pile in the
corner. "What sort of group hires jolie femmes and pretty boys for dere
strike force?"

"Crazy people," Jake said, having wondered the same thing himself.
"Wait until you meet the rest. Most of them are wee ones." He held his
hand about a meter over the floor, despite knowing Remy probably wasn't
looking his way. "It's technically a school. Seriously."

"Really? Remy seen schools like dat in de city." Remy smirked, finally
stepping into the shower. "Get dat Asian girl for $500 an hour dere."

Jake shook his head. "Obviously you move in circles I... pretty much
avoid, come to think of it." So why was there something weirdly familiar
about those eyes?

"So," Remy said over the noise of the shower, scrubbing vigerously at
months of filth. "Jake. Dat short for Jacqueline or you just one of dem
liberated types?"

Jake sighed. He knew that was coming. Apparently it wasn't possible to
avoid it. Maybe he should just give up and change his name, or
something. Or start calling himself Courier. He'd definitely fit in at the
mansion, whatwith the Psylockes and Colossuses and whatnots. "It's short
for Jacob, actually."

"Jacob. Huh." Remy said, applying more shampoo into his long and
unruly auburn hair. "When did de surgery finish?"

"Don't you think I would have chosen another name, if I looked like
this voluntarily?"

"I'm confused. You aren't supposed to look like dat?" Remy said,
plunging his head into the water.

Good. About the only joy he got out of this acursed body, was the
ability to confuse unsuspecting folks. Jake got up on his feet, and leaned
against the bathroom doorway, watching Remy in the mirror. "Nah.
Accidentally got stuck like this. I'm shapeshifter. A male
shapeshifter," he added after a moment.

"An you got stuck in de body of, what, a female sex toy?" Remy
smirked, rinsing out his hair, gimancing slightly at the dirty water swirling
in the bottom of the shower. How long had it been since he had really
been clean? He couldn't even remember.

"Anybody ever tell you you've got your mind in the gutter?" Jake
tilted his head. "Which, hey, literally true until about an hour ago."

"I just call dem as I see dem." Remy stretched, letting the water
sluice off the last layers of grime. He rubbed his fingers through his
patchy beard, and decided that a razor was diffinantly in order.

Jake rolled his eyes, then glanced down at his chest worriedly. Maybe
wearing Emma-chosen clothing wasn't the best idea ever.

Remy snapped off the water and opened the shower day, shaking his hair
and spraying droplets around the bathroom. "So, being dat you are a
shapeshifting homme in a school with lots of young mutant troops, what do
you actually do dere?" He said as he grabbed a towel and began roughly
drying his hair and body.

Jake looked up, startled. "Me? Fuck all, really. Bored out of my mind,
to tell the truth." He wiped a drop of water off his chin, blinking.
"Why?"

"Just curious. If I'm walking into a situation without some idea of de
structure, Remy at least wants t' know de players." He said, tossing
the towel aside and standing in front of the mirror. He pushed his hair
back out of his face and picked up the razor from the sink. Jake could
notice the thin scars that ran up in neat lines, tracing the muscles of
his back and legs.

Jake frowned a little, surprised. "Unusual sort of gutter trash, aren't
you?" He looked Remy up and down quickly before focusing on his face in
the mirror. What was it with this kid?

"You might be surprised, chere." Gambit grinned as he attacked the
beard. Despite the fact that he was obviously a good ten pounds
underweight, Remy was still all hard muscle stretched over a long dancer's frame.
It was as if the time on the streets had boiled away any softness that
might have once existed. His left shoulder and right flank held less
precise scars; ugly puckers of pink flesh that only a large caliber
bullet can provide.

Jake took a step back, paling, as the beard was shaved off. Eyes going
rapidly from Remy's legs to his shoulder to his eyes in the mirror.
No...It can't be. He stumbled over the doorstop, falling on his
butt. He remained sitting there, staring wideeyed up at the red-haired
teenager. It can't be.

Remy turned, razor in hand with the last swipe of beard gone. His hair
fell around his face, red on black eyes looking both curiously and
amused at Jake sitting on the threshhold of the bathroom. "Somet'ing wrong,
chere?"

Jake shook his head in denial, eyes still wide, shock making way for
something that might be fear. "It's you. What the hell... It's
you. You're Remy LeBeau."

"Dat's not polite, to just be shouting out Remy's name like dat,
chere." Gambit said, setting down his razor. "You act like dat name means
somet'ing to you."

"But. It is you, isn't it?" Jake sounded more uncertain now, still
watching Remy's movements warily. "I think it's you..."

"You show dat Xavier's isn't for just de 'special'?" Remy said,
watching Jake recoil from him. Mind you, considering the borderline behaviour
he'd veiwed so far from the mutants, this didn't seem all that odd.
Shrugging, he picked up the black cord from the counter and began to tie
his hair back in a rough ponytail.

Jake scrambled up on his feet, keeping well away from Remy's immidiate
reach. When Remy didn't do anything other than tie his hair back with a
mildly puzzled air, Jake relaxed a little. Enough to realise he
couldn't possibly be the Remy LeBeau he was thinking of. He was far too young,
for one. And red on black eyes surely wasn't that uncommon, and the
scars had to be a coincidence... Yeah.

Remy saw Jake relax fractionally, apparantly finding some kind of
answer to what ever problem he/she was having. It amused him somewhat.
Obviously there was something going on behind the scene, and for a
shapeshifter, he/she did not do a good job of hiding his/her emotions. Remy
smirked and leaned back against the counter. "So chere. Are you going to
find Remy some pants, or are you just going to keep enjoying de view?"

"I think that's what Betsy's off doing." Jake grinned suddenly, still
unnerved, but he was getting really good at repress and deny by now.
"Though you're welcome to borrow any of mine. Might be a bit short,
though."

"Remy never wants to be a bit short. I think I'll wait." He grabbed a
towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist. "So, I heard talk
of food den?"

"Food is good," Jake said automatically. It was a bad habit he was
going to break any day now. "I mean, yeah, sure. Room service has a menu
lying around here somewhere." Jake tried looking for it as causually as
possible without ever turning his back on Remy. "What do you feel
like?"

"Anyt'ing. Meat, steak... somet'ing heavy." Remy said, sitting down on
the couch and letting his head settle back on the cushions. "Red wine.
Good red wine."

Jake finally found the menu and scanned through it. "That we can do."
He picked up the phone and ordered, adding a pasta dish for himself. He
wandered over to the chair across from the couch, leaning against it.
"You look less like a walking trash pile now," he informed Remy. He
wrinkled his nose. "You certainly smell better."

"Not a lot of chances to wash on de street, chere." Remy said, eyes
closed. "Or find a good cologne, you know?"

"Not really, no, having managed to stay off the streets, myself." Jake
hesitated. "By the way, why were you living on the streets?"

"De mansion was being steamcleaned." Remy said dryly. His muscles felt
loose, relaxed. It was a feeling that he could barely remember, having
spent so long away from it.

Jake snorted. "Right." Inbetween watching Remy, he kept throwing
hopeful looks towards the door. Surely the food had to appear soon? He didn't
like this situation at all, being alone with Remy. "Um."

"Somet'ing wrong, chere?" Remy's eyes flickered open and he regarded
Jake standing across from him.

"No, what could possibly be wrong?" Jake knew his smile looked
natural, but he wasn't sure his eyes reflected the same calm. "Especially now
that you've showered and everything. I'm just waiting for the food.
Which should be here any minute now. And Betsy! Yes, Betsy will be here
with clothing. Soon."

"Right. De femme wit' de purple hair. You just seem edgy to Remy. Like
you nervous 'bout somet'ing." Remy smiled. "Dere is a good way to get
over your nerves, chere..."

Jake's grip on the back of the chair tightened, but he kept his voice
light. "I'm sure I'm going to regret asking, but what are you talking
about?"

"What do you t'ink? Dere's a lock on de door." Remy said, stretching
his arms over his head.

"I think that would be an exceptionally bad idea. And also, food." Jake
knew he was babbling a little too much about food, but food was safe.
Especially steak and pasta. How much safer could you get? "So the door
should be unlocked."

"Dat's your choice, chere." Remy said, closing his eyes once more.
There was something going on, that was for sure. Was it something those
X-types were planning, or just Jake himself, Remy thought. Either way,
there was information he didn't know, and Remy hated that more than
anything.

Jake grimaced a little and was silent, staring at Remy, until the food
arrived. Remy opened his eyes when door clicked open, and Jake was
caught for a moment in the red/black of his eyes and whatever it was -- the
silence, the lazy stare or the smell of food -- Jake was suddenly
utterly convinced that despite the impossibility of it, this was Remy
LeBeau. The Remy LeBeau.