xp_logs | Remy Meets Harrieta Potter

Jet lag sucked, Amanda decided. Not that she had a lot of experience with changing time zones, having never left England before, but being awake at four in the morning wasn't exactly her idea of fun. And staying in the empty, far-too-quiet guest room she'd been plonked in wasn't exactly fun, so she decided to go for a walk.

To the kitchen, of course. It was the only place she knew and besides, she was going to make the most of this whole free food thing whilst it lasted.

Remy looked up from his rice just as the door opened, and he resisted a sudden and illogical urge to roll to his right into the shadows and disappear. The mansion was ostensibly safe, and he was
more then a little concerned about the messages his subconscious liked to send. With effort he turned back to his plate, shovelling another fork-full of beans and spiced rice into his mouth as
someone entered.

The faint greenish glow of the werelight Amanda was using to light her way picked out the vague shape of someone sitting at the counter. She stiffened, instincts telling her to determine whether the person was a threat or not - being a teenage girl on the streets tended to make you everyone's prey, unless you learned fast. "Wotcher," she said from the doorway, keeping her eyes on the figure shovelling food into his mouth.

"Bonjour." Remy said, watching the flickering lights around her. He squinted, and waved his hand in front of his eyes. "Chere, either one of us is on E, or dat ain't a natural glowstick."

"What? Oh, this. Just a little light summoning spell. Nothin' major." Amanda kept her voice casual, despite the fact there was something... off about the person. "You got a name?"

"Course. Don' everyone have a name, chere? So, you got de juju going den? Auntie Tante had words for dat sort of t'ing. Need de blood and body and essence to make de voodoo charm. Dat
what you do to de fridge for?"

Despite herself, Amanda grinned. Having people think the magic deal was at least interesting, if not cool, was a definite improvement on Romany's talks about balance and Dark Paths. "Smartarse, 'ey?" she said, edging a little further into the room but not quite ready to let her guard down yet.
This bloke reminded her of some of the pimps running the whoring game in Brighton. Besides, whatever that was odd about him was making her eyes swim.

"Yeah, came down for some supplies. Can't be too careful, so I thought I'd lay a protection spell on my room. Wouldn't want any unwelcome visitors now, would I?"

"Course not. Just make sure it don keep out de welcome ones. Dat could make a lonely night." Remy grinned, watching all the elements of rebellious youth feeling as cool as possible in this girl. She looked hard, not a suburban wannabe. That made things more interesting. "Remy got a pan full of ettoufle on de stove."

"Remy speaks like I write," she replied with a chuckle. "And as long as that etti-stuff is food, I'm in." With that she came fully into the kitchen, taking care to sit opposite Remy and where she could watch what he was doing. "Amanda," she said briefly, by way of introduction.

"I guessed dat. Seen you on de journal thing." Remy dished a healthy plateful of the rice and sauce on to a plate and passed it over. "You know, I forgot. Dere has to be somet'ing else wit dis meal..." Remy looked thoughtful before flipping open the cupboard below him and pulling out the open bottle of red wine.

"Finally, someone with some stones in this place. I was starting to think I was stuck in some really fucking bad American family movie..." Amanda paused in her shovelling of food into her mouth to
nod approvingly. "Thought I was stuck with the bottle of vodka I filched from the drinks trolley on the plane. It was a bugger to get through Customs, too. Hard to start a row and get meself detained to do it. 'Uncle' Pete was a bit pissed off about that."

"Uncle Pete? You got family here, chere?"

Amanda chuckled, washing down rice with a healthy gulp of red wine. "Not zackly. I just call him
that to get up his nose. Pete's sister is the one who got me onto this gig and Pete's the poor sod who
gets to be responsible for me while I'm here."

"Ah. Dat makes some sense. Fortunately, Remy don have anyone trying t' adopt him. Makes life
much easier. So, what sort of magic can you do, chere? I heard all about de houdouns down in
Naw'Lins, but you don' look like de Tante."

"Houdouns? Think of heard of them - read about them, at any rate. Voodoo and fucked-up shit with
chickens, right?" Amanda said through half a mouthful of rice. "Um, what I do is more European,
pagan, sorta. I only got into the magic as a way to control my mutant power, but."

"Magic isn't your mutant power? What else do you have hidden under dat jacket den?" Remy
smiled, his eyes oddly luminescent in the dim light.

"Nothing you're ever likely to see." The faintly glowing eyes stirred old, buried memories in
Amanda and she covered her discomfort with more wine. "I absorb mystic energy. Sort of like an
occult battery - I draw energy in from mystic and sacred sites and convert into power, either by
casting spells or having someone drain it off me." More memories, less buried this time but no less
disturbing, and Amanda stabbed at a chunk of vegetable angrily with her fork.

"So, you usually get filled up or drained out? Dat one hell of a power, chere." Remy said, drinking
deeply from the bottle. "Carefully. Does peppers are-" Amanda choked and sputtered. "-damn hot."

"Bastard," she muttered indistinctly between coughs. She wiped her streaming eyes with her sleeve
and glared at the Cajun. Or meant to, any way - the strange blurring of her vision suddenly cleared
and she saw Remy properly. "You're not who you think you are," she said, faintly.

"Chere?" Remy said curiously. Her eyes blurred for a moment, and Remy told himself it was just
the tearing. Still, it was unsettling. He covered his confusion by offering the bottle. "Cool de fire,
oui?"

She started, and then then the strange feeling of clarity was gone. "Huh? Oh, yeah, ta." She took the
bottle and took a long swig, hoping to drown the weirdness in alcohol. "So, what about you? How
long you been on the street?" she asked, shifting the focus away from her.

"What time is it?" Remy joked. "'Bout ten days or so. De strike team pulled me out of dis little flop
by de East River. Signed Remy up for de leather brigade. I'm on my, what's de word, trial period t'
see if I like it."

"Leather brigade? What, they running some porn studio out of here? I reckon you'd have to fatten up
some before they'll make anything off you any way - heroin chic was out, last I heard."

"Dunno. Some femmes like de slick look." Remy said, flattening the old t-shirt against his chest.
Despite his underweight nature, the lack of food hadn't stolen all his muscle definition, and the
shirt etched the lines of muscle down his body.

Amanda snorted. "Fancy yourself, dontcha? Any way, you didn't tell me what this leather thing is.
What the fuck have I landed in here? I thought it was just a school for yuppie mutants that could
afford to take the odd charity case."

"Could be. All I know is dat five of de teachers like t' recruit in leather corsets and pants. Like de
S&M show from 9th Street telling you t' join de army." Remy leaned forward conspiratorially.
"Still, de purple haired femme makes it a compelling sales pitch."

Raising an eyebrow (and causing the piercings in it to clink slightly as they moved), Amanda
looked sceptical. "So, what you're saying is, this place is some kind of mutant strike force?
Suburbanites getting off on running around in leather get-up and saving the world?" She laughed
outright at that. "Man, and Romany thought she was sending me somewhere nice and quiet and safe!"

"Guess your mama not read de fine print." Remy took a long swallow of wine. "Still, it's better den
de streets, and de wine cellar has a lock older den you on it."

"Now you're the one with the compelling sales pitch." Amanda tilted her head at him. "You know
what this wine needs? A fag. Got any?"

Remy shook out a cigarette from his pack, and reached over to light it with the tip of his finger, just
energizing the fringe of the smoke. "Remy got access to a few of e amenities of life."

"Remy is sounding like my kind of bloke," Amanda replied, taking a deep drag on the cigarette and
blowing smoke over his shoulder. 'As long as the creepy shit stays away,' she added silently.

"Dat mean Remy wins a prize?" Remy smiled wickedly. He was sizing Amanda up and was liking
what he saw. That little voice said 'an asset' which he didn't understand, but what he did
understand was that she would be willing to help him if he provided the right incentive.

"Maybe." Amanda smiled back, enjoying this but not prepared to let her guard completely down.
Every interaction in her life was a transaction of sorts, and Remy hadn't proved he had the full
price yet.

"I can knock down another pyramid of bottle if you like, chere? So my manly prowess." Remy
joked. "I've already cooked."

"That would be a start. Got this fucking jet lag, might as well do something with it." Amanda
grinned at him. "So, where did you say this wine cellar is?"

"Ah chere. Remy can't give up all of his secrets yet. Got t' keep some t'ings mysterious." Remy
said. He turned and dropped his plate into the sink.

"Typical bloke," Amanda snorted. "Make all these promises and pike at the last minute."

"I don' recall promising you anyt'ing, chere. We haven't even go t' de... negotiations yet." Remy's
eyes gleamed wickedly.

"I distinctly remember wine being mentioned. An' cellars with old locks on the doors. And..."
Amanda punctuated her words by tilting the wine bottle and finishing the last mouthful. "We're out
of plonk. So, we have a problem. Unless your mutant power is to pull booze out of your arse.
Which would be entertainin' but sorta gross as well."

"Ah, wouldn't want to tip off de Professor too early. Remy does have a few more bottles up in de
room. If you're not worried about being alone wit' me, chere."

She gave him an assessing look. "As long as you're not worried about bein' alone with me," she
replied, and then grinned mischievously. "I'll make the boys around here kind of skittish, if that
Shinobi's reaction is anything to go by."

"Shinobi? Dat homme is still trying to see if his balls have dropped yet." Remy swung off his chair
and headed for the door. "By de looks of him, dey haven't."

Pausing only to grab another apple from the fruitbowl on the counter, Amanda followed, again
leaving her dishes behind her on the bench. "He's something of an innocent, that's for sure," she
commented. "Makes for more fun with the teasing. It's always much more amusin' if they blush - I'd
forgotten boys could do that."

"Dat's the difference between boys and men, chere." Remy leered as they took to the stairs. "Well,
other den de 'big' difference, of course."

She punched him, hard, in the arm. "You really do fancy yourself, don't you, mate?" she
said, still grinning despite herself. Egotistical or not, Remy was a lot more amusement value than
anyone else she'd seen in the mansion yet, and certainly more fun than staying in her room trying to
sleep. "So, speaking of boys an' men, you've been here all of a couple a days longer than me -
anythin' I should know about besides the leather fetish? Anyone I should steer clear of?"

"Good question, chere. Remy still trying to figure dat one out himself." Remy cleared the second
floor landing and kept on his way to his third floor room. "Lots of people here not what dey seem
to be, I t'ink. Got a pop star teaching music, an homme who looks like an assassin teachin' self-
defense. All sorts of lies in dis place."

'Include yourself in that one.' The thought took Amanda by surprise, but she filed it carefully for
future reference. She'd already observed the fluid grace with which Remy moved... and the way he
took note of their surroundings, checking every shadow for danger almost subconsciously. It was
more than the caution of someone who had spent time living rough - it reminded her of Pete, who,
even whilst on holidays with his sister, still had what Amanda thought of as his 'secret service
edge'. Something to keep an eye on; it could be dangerous to her, or she could use it, but either way
she wasn't going to let her guard down entirely around this man, interesting as he was.

"I'm starting to get that," she said aloud. "An' Pete let slip some stuff on the drive here. But that's
America for you - fucking weirdos, the lot of you."

"Now chere. I'm Cajun, which is more like European wit' hot sauce." Remy got to his door and
pushed it open. "Here we are. Come in t' de Big Bad Wolf's room den?"

"Does that make me a little pig?" She moved past him into the room, deliberately brushing him
with her shoulder as she did. "Not exactly what the ladies want to hear, mate."

"Maybe Little Red Riding Hood den? Got somet'ing red under all dat?" Remy joked, and flipped open his mini-fridge. He pulled out a bottle of white wine, and easily uncorked it while Amanda
hunted up a pair of glasses. Remy put everything on a little side table he's positioned under an open window and lit a cigarette. "Perfect."

"Not bad," Amanda agreed, pouring wine into the glasses she'd found. They were water tumblers rather than wine glasses, but she reasoned it just meant more fit in. She passed one to Remy, took a
deep sip from hers, and leant on the windowsill looking out over the snow-covered landscape. There was only a half-moon, but the snow reflected what little light there was. "Pretty."

"Better looking at it from inside dis time." Remy said. He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring out over the landscape. "Someone tell me a month ago I be hiding out wit rich weirdos, Remy would
have laughed."

"I know _exactly_ what you mean." Amanda shook her head in disbelief. "Best I could manage last month was a bed in a squat with twenty other bastards, an' that was pretty ritzy. I keep expectin' to wake up an' find I've finally cracked an' I've been delusional." She shivered, more from the thought than from the chill air coming in through the window. "Got another of those?" she asked, indicating
the cigarette.

Remy passed over the pack wordlessly. "Dat de problem wit' kids like dat Shinobi. No idea what being out dere really means."

"Kids these days," she said with a wry twist of her lips. "Don't appreciate what they have. Doesn't stop _me_ from appreciatin' what they have, but," she added, grinning and taking a cigarette from the pack. "Incindae!" she commanded and a small flame obediently leapt from the tip.

"Sure is quite de place to pick up a dollar or two... wonder if any of dem know how t' play cards?" Remy mused.

"Well, I reckon there'd be a few that _think_ they know how to play cards. An' Shinobi mentioned something about strip poker - I think you'd be more than likely to find a mark or two."

"Strip poker? Remy prefers t' play for money. De stripping is somet'ing dat I prefer not t' trust to de cards." Remy winked at her. "Get better odds dat way."

She wrinkled her nose at him, the stud in it catching the light briefly. "It's the monsters in the basement, mostly. No money as far as I know so they go for the nakedness. An' with this lot it's
probably the only way they can get any thrills." She finished the wine in her glass and reached for the bottle. "Kid's games - not really my thing."

"And what is your t'ing, chere? Mountain climbing, para-sailing." Remy said. "Making dose little ships in de bottles?"

"Learning enough magic an' then finding the bastard who brought me up and turning him into a wet, bloody mess," was the candid reply. "I figure we'll be even then. You want more of this?" she
added, proffering the bottle.

Remy nodded and took a long drink. "Problems wit' your pare?"

"He's _not_ my father," she said with sudden venom. "Just the purchaser. I wasn't much more than a magical battery to him. But he'll get his one day, him and the bitch that sold me to him." She
stopped, realising what she was saying, and looked at Remy suspiciously. "Christ, you doin' some mental mojo on me? I _never_ talk about this shite."

"Chere, if I had some 'mental mojo' t' work on you, how likely you t'ink Remy be using it t' hear your life story, oui?" Remy grinned. "Maybe you just need to talk to someone dat isn't one of de shiny happy people?"

She grimaced, not really convinced. "Whatever you reckon," she replied shortly, but couldn't help thinking he had a point. The rules on the street were to keep your stories to yourself, and even amongst those she'd considered friends she hadn't felt she could talk about the magic parts - it was all too weird. And if her mates on the streets couldn't deal with it, then the numerous foster families and social workers certainly couldn't have. There was Romany, true, but she wasn't exactly a trusted friend, no matter that she was responsible for Amanda being here. "Any way, I didn't come up here to bore you shitless with my life story. Wanna bore me with yours?"

“Dat's a good idea. What do you t'ink Remy's life story is?" He flicked his cigarette out the window and lit up another one. "Take your best guess, chere."

"You don't remember much about your life before you hit New York, is what I'm guessing," Amanda said with a sudden flash of insight. She watched for his reaction.

"Been talking wit' de Professor, chere?" Remy said. "No, don' remember much since before being on de streets. Maybe I've always been dere."

"You don't like direct questions and you've been giving me the run around every time I ask." Amanda flicked ash from her cigarette - now almost gone - out the window. "If you didn't want to
talk you'd tell me to stop being a nosy bitch, but instead you get evasive. An' I got a feeling. Can't explain it - call it witch's instinct." She looked over at him again. "But despite all that you're a lot more interestin' than anyone else I'm likely to meet in this place. An' you know what the deal is. Which makes you ok in my book." She finished the last drag on the cigarette, stubbing it out on the
window sill.

"Devil is always more interesting den de saints. Let's just say dat Remy's past is a bit of a mystery, and not just to other people." LeBeau said cryptically. "'nother bottle?"

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were tryin' to get me pissed," she said with a smile. "An' if you knew me better you'd know it wouldn't work. But I wouldn't say no to the attempt."

"And if you knew Remy better, you'd know I was trying to get myself pissed, chere. Still, if you're up to letting me know you better, dere is a comfortable bed in de room." Remy's leer was wide and
mocking.

"_That_ costs more than a few cigarettes and some wine, even if you _did_ cook," Amanda told him with a mocking grin of her own. "I'd say you'd done enough for a snog and maybe a bit of
groping, but." She was about to say more but was interrupted by a huge, jaw-cracking yawn.

Stretching like a cat, she gave Remy a slightly-regretful look. "The snogging'll have to wait to later, I think. 'M about to crash. Thanks for the plonk and the smokes." With that she leaned over and kissed him, long and slow. "Consider that a down payment on what I owe you," she said with a suggestive smile and then before Remy could say anything, she was gone.