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[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

This happens late, after Alison has taken care of Lorna (unfinished log) and is not basically going on empty from trying to keep as much as she can together....

In the dead of night...

Alison slipped inside the music room, not bothering to turn the light on and instead walking slowly towards the guitar near the far wall. It was late, she knew, but then again, it seemed she was falling back on her old sleeping habits, from when she'd first arrived at the mansion. Blaming that on the attack of course would be too easy (even if somewhat accurate) and admitting how badly she was rattled about the entire love potion incident and seeing her roommate in the shattered condition she'd been in earlier and... all of this wasn't somewhere she wanted to go right now, so she simply went with the flow, and for tonight, was taking refuge in her favorite place in the mansion. The music room, of course.

Remy gently set down the violin bow that he'd been inspecting, noiselessly turning as Blaire walked in. He faded into the deep shadows of the corner, unnoticed as she picked up her guitar and strummed a few times, tuning the instrument. She had just arranged herself on a stool and was about to try a song when the rasp of a match echoed loud in the room. She jumped, turning to see a small fire and Remy's sharp features highlighted by it.

Clenching her teeth, any thought even remotely resembling "oh, what a nice moment to relax" fleeing to the far corners of the world where it was much safer to be, Alison sighed and glared at him. This was her place, dammit. She didn't want to see other people right now. "Sneaking around?" she asked, a touch of asperity to her tone, the word 'again' left unvoiced, but fully implied.

"Remy just sitting, chere. Reason you don't turn on de lights in dis room when you come in?" He said, touching the flame to his cigarette and drawing deeply. "Already put de little one t' bed den?"

"I am a freaking light," she muttered, moreso to herself than anything else, not bothering to even show off and demonstrate. She hung on to the guitar, somehow hoping he'd just leave, even though she knew the mood was ruined irretrievably so. "Considering the time it is, yeah, you could say that. We try to keep some things normal around here."

"Dat's right. T'ink de dusting is getting done and de dishwasher work. Dat seems t' be de extent of it." He said, blowing out a smoke ring. His smile deepened into a smirk, insouciant and mocking. In the light of his cigarette, his eyes glowed an unnatural red, bright against the darkness of the shadows. He put his feet up on another chair, leaning back.

The urge to light up brightly and blind the smugness straight off his face prowled within her as she rolled her eyes and settled for putting the guitar away before she threw it at him, which just wasn't to be done, really. "Yeah, yeah, and next thing you know we'll have people dropping nukes on us. We should just schedule it for tea time or something, mm?" she smirked right back at him.

"Good t' know when t' steal a car and de family silver." He sneered, idly picking up a cello from the stand and placing it over his leg. "Wait, Remy got it! How 'bout we all get blankets dat we can pull over our heads de next time de assassins come t' kill us?" He said brightly, picking bass notes on the instrument like a guitar.

"Well, if that's your gig, sure, you go right on ahead and hide," Alison drawled, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, not sure why she was even bothering to stay, except that perhaps she had in fact, been spoiling for a fight since the weekend. Any sort of fight. "I suppose some people prefer that sort of stuff, mmm?"

"Dat right. Dose people are called 'sane', chere." Remy's smiled never wavered, as if they were trading compliments over a bottle of wine. "Dere are even people who like t' dress up in tight leather and t'ink day can change de world. We called dem leather queens."

There was, almost, a sense of relish in the undertones of her voice - it had been so long since she'd really just indulged in a plain old catfight. And if nothing else, Alison knew how to rise up to this sort of challenge. "Careful," she snickered. "Think that too close to Emma, and she'll have you all dressed up as a leather queen before you know it. It'd kinda ruin the skulking about image that. The thong's a bitch to wear to, I'm told."

"She would know. Dat what Remy always look for in a teacher. One with big tits falling out of her clothes. Suppose I could study under her?" Remy said, totally unashamed of his leer. "Figure if fucking de students is one of de qualifications for teaching, Remy got a good shot wit some of dem? Tell me something," He leaned forward conspiratorially. "You think de purple is natural, curtains match de rug?"

A narrow eyed glare was her only response for a long moment as Alison flat out refused to let any outward manifestation of the very unpleasant emotion surfacing in her thoughts manifest through her power. Instead she got up to her feet slowly, lips thinning as she gave him a look of distaste. "You tell me something. You think the dirt's natural, stuck in your mind as a result of all those years as a guttersnipe?"

"Remy earned it." He said, putting the cello down. "What, you upset cause someone actually said somet'ing, chere? We all supposed t' close our eyes and march de happy tune until we called t' sit on de Professor's lap?" Remy looked around the room, all hard wood and richly appointed. "Dis is a higher payment den Remy ever got when I was whoring."

"Ever occur to you it's not payment?" she snapped at him, fists firmly planted on her waist. "It ever occur to you that the whole 'oh no, we're all gonna die' line isn't exactly the best way to help anyone in all of this? Oh, by the way. I was wondering," she smiled, showing far too many teeth really to make it anything friendly, as she stalked up towards him. "The whole smart bombs, anyone out there can wipe us out speech. Where'd that come from, huh? I'm all curious now and stuff."

"Everyt'ing gets paid for, chere. Everyt'ing. Dat's somet'ing even de biggest pop bimbo should know by now." Remy snapped his fingers. "You know, I think Remy once sleep under a pile of papers wit' your exclusive interview on de cover."

The predatory smile widened, oddly enough, and not an ounce of pity accompanied it. She still had the memory of Miles telling her about the cage he'd been kept in most of the time firmly imprinted in mind, and frankly, Remy was far older and more capable than a seven year old boy. "You're not answering my question. Funny thing, that. Considering how gung ho, if you'll pardon the pun, you were about everyone else telling you about their past."

"Funny how dat work, isn't it, chere?" Remy took a long drag and blew a blume of smoke at her. "People just feel like telling you anyt'ing you ask. More you ask, de more dey reveal. Just like dis place. Fact is dat none of Remy's past going t' stick in gun a your face, chere. Put a bullet in de little orphan you got. Guess dat not somet'ing you thought much about when you go recruiting den?"

The smoke wafting towards her was positively vile, and Alison waved at it with a disgusted expression. She knew he was egging her on about Miles on purpose, but it still didn't keep the anger at bay - not when it had been waiting for an outlet for so long anyway. "And we've only got your say so on that. Funny, just like we've been accepting it from everyone else, but I guess you should just be treated like a special case, right? And never mind that just being a mutant is enough for someone coming after you, but I guess that's all our fault now," she hissed.

"Non, chere. It not your fault. Just a fact." He smiled again. "A fact dat you don't seem t' let de people coming here know. You got it right. Remy is a 'guttersnipe'. Spent de better part of de last year stealing and begging. Faced freezing t' death in de winter and getting raped and beaten t' death by crooked cops in de summer. But I accepted dose risks. Purple haired bitch didn't seem t' be bothered t' tell me dat coming here means dat I in the sights of every government group with a hate on for mutants. She said over and over, it a safe place t' learn 'bout my powers. Nice shell game you got."

"You know, you got a bone to pick with Betsy, why don't you pick it with her, instead of terrorizing the students?" She shook her head, torn between anger - and pure annoyance. "Or is it just easier to get the ones who won't fight back, instead of actually going to confront the real problem you have, huh? Because if you hadn't noticed, no one here's tried to rape or kill you, just like they would, oooh, say, on the street, where you were before, right? No one who lives in this house has tried to harm you. So what gives you the right to attack what little peace of mind we are trying to achieve here, huh?"

"Chere, you mad because Remy mentioned the danger or cause de others might have realised it? You want peace of mind, you might as well get de Prof t' brainwash dem all. Because if you not telling dem de whole story; all de risks, den you manipulating dem just de same way." Remy said, jabbing his finger at her for emphasis. "Dis school lied t' people; used dem to get dem here. Least de fruit wit' de bucket on his head was honest wit' his pitch. You, you lying t' yourself t' make it easier."

"No, you brainless egocentric moron! I'm angry because you kept at it until the students were terrified of being nuked, and then bitched everyone else without even trying to be helpful about it!" she yelled out with a fair bit of volume added for good measure, just in case plain words might not penetrate the thick skulled logic that was Remy's. "And we're not using anyone here, unlike idiot buckethead who was about to kill John just to make him a martyr! You'd rather go hand with that sort of person? And no, before you say so, chrome dome wasn't telling John anything about selling up high and dry, NO!"

"And if Remy show up ten seconds later, dat British femme be your martyr." Remy said, and rocked Alison back. "Dey have de right t' know what dey face. You some pop star dat want t' be a hero, dat your business, but you got no right t' lie and get dem killed as well." He closed the distance between them, his red-black eyes level with hers. "You going t' get dem killed and you dem t' be happy bout it. Dat not somet'ing Remy let you get away wit' dat. You don' like it, chere, you get rid of me, now."

"I don't want to be a hero!" she yelled at him, the volume surprising from someone her size. "I don't want to fight and I don't want to risk my life like this, and I'd give anything to go back to being a pop star!" She paused, taking a deep breath. "I just can't go back there." Another breath followed the first. "And none of the students here are being asked to fight," she snarled, "and information is being given out now so kindly stop it with the freakin' melodramatics. Get over yourself!"

"Guess dat hit a nerve, chere." Remy grinned. "Fact is dat you a happy recruit in de black leather, and dat means you got no right t' say dat you not involved. You putting dem in danger by being here, and using de excuse dat dey might be in danger outside. Dat sound a little dodgy t' you? Might as well put dekm in de Army. Dey can protect dem legally."

A disbelieving snort greeted that particular argument. "Oh yeah, suuuure. I don't see you running off to get enlisted now, do I?" She rolled her eyes, because despite the way he angled his arguments, always nearly hitting close enough to really get under his skin - there was always that little bit at the end that just twisted things around to a place where she could find flaws in the reasoning. Not that she was about to tell him that, at this point.

"Remy didn't want t' join a war, and dat Betsy femme put him in de middle of one." He scowled, and honest anger flowed from him. "Bet you didn't tell de rest. You say what you want, but if dey die, it your fault, chere. You ready t' tell de parents dat? De families? Non, cause you some flighty bitch dat t'inks she too much de angel t' deal wit' dat." Remy's voice was ice, and his words venom.

"Judgemental little prick, aren't you? You're saying they'd be better off on the streets, living the life you lived, is that it? That what you think would be best for them? Never mind that a lot of them were being actively hunted down before they ever even got here, huh. Let's conveniently forget all about that," bitterness flowed freely, the crack of a sniper rifle shot echoing in her memories. "Never mind that most already knew about the first attack, or that we weren't hiding this from anyone. You idiot, do you think I'd keep Miles here if I didn't think this were the safest possible place for him? Not absolutely safe! Just better than being put in a cage and treated like a goddamn animal!" she yelled, anguish resonating in her final words.

"Dat an excuse, chere?" Remy's words rained like fire. "Maybe dey might be back off in dere homes, wit' dere families. Not thrust into de fucking CNN special of dis school. Dere more den fifteen hundred anti-mutant groups on Google, and de most moderate of de group t'ink we should be sterilized. You t'ink you making dem safe by painting de target on der chests?" Remy snorted, flicking his cigarette off to one side. "You didn't give dem de choice, and dat make you de same as de animals dat stuff de child in de cage."

There was no forethought to her next action, no intent. Simply pure reflex, not prompted by her own experiences with the hate groups, which were plentiful and had culminated in the sniper attacks that had sent her into hiding. Not even about his accusations about how they were purposefully endangering the students. Even as the crack of her fist solidly connecting with his cheek resonated in the room, Alison wasn't thinking, or even breathing. Only hurting. For Miles. Underscored by a bubbling center of rage at the mere implication that she might be similar to the people who had tortured him, for so long.

Remy's head snapped back, whipped aside by the force. He knew the blow was coming, even before it even resembled an attack. Something in him decided to take the punch, accept it. He didn't touch his cheek, watching the flush rise in her cheeks. With great acre, he spat his blood back in her face, a wet red consequence of her actions.

"You don't know everything," she said, voice trembling, unaware of the tears that had started streaming down her cheeks in the past moment, or the near broken look in her eyes. Uncaring of what he'd just done, really. "You can throw whatever you want at me. You can spit in my face," she half laughed. "I don't care. But leave Miles alone. Don't go there." She shivered, backing up a step, closing her eyes, one hand wiping at her face - not caring, because it was only fair at this point, if he chose to hit back really. And she was suddenly to exhausted to care about much of anything else, at that. "Don't know everything either," she murmured, voice barely audible.

"Non, you right, chere. Remy don know everyt'ing." He said, wiping his mouth. "But Remy don want t' die. Maybe dis t'ing wit de robots and de soldiers is old news t' you, but not t' me." He sat down, looking at his hands. "Remy killed two men during de invasion. Two men. Never killed before I came here. Before dey said it's safe." He slumped. "You every kill a man, chere?" He snorted. "What Remy t'ink? Femme like you probably eat a whole army before breakfast."

She swayed on her feet, anger having drained away completely but still waiting a moment longer before finally opening her eyes. Sitting seemed like a fine idea, and she slid to the ground without ceremony, a long sigh accompanying the gesture. "No. Would have. The one holding Miles. Didn't think, just..." Alison waved her hand, light glinting at her fingertips, and shivered at the memory, mind's eye seeing lasers shear neatly through a spot occupied only seconds before by a man's head. "Got lucky. He stumbled clear."

"Dat somet'ing you made a decision t' do, taking de kid in wit' you. Me, it either him or dat girl." Remy said, anger easy in his eyes. "Dey told me it safe, and Remy turned into a killer in a week. You say dat not fair dat Remy point out what can happen. Maybe you right. Maybe it not fair dat Remy going t' make all de horrible t'ings he can t'ink of obvious. But Remy don want t' kill, or be killed no more. If dis place say dat not possible, maybe I leave. But don you dare try and make Remy feel guilty for dat."

Alison blinked and stared at him for a while, head tilting to the side. "You're already feeling guilty," she said blankly, the first thing that came to mind. "You're worried we'll ask you to join the team, aren't you," she stated on the tail end of that, eyes widening slightly in a pale face still marred with a glimmers of blood.

"Remy not part of your war, chere." he almost snarled, the first real emotion other than amusement she'd seen from him. "Tired of people trying t' make him part too. Dis place not safe, Remy leave. De kids should do de same. Not right dey be risked, Not right t' 'pect dem t' kill without de choice."

Still oddly blank, Alison nodded. "Ok." A simple reply, but not clear enough, she soon realize. "You don't want to be part of the team. I'll tell the Professor. No one will ask you." Short sentences were safe right now, and she curled, wrapping her arms around her legs, unconsciously making herself as inoffensive as possible. "No one's... making anyone join any of the teams," she added, lowly. Not sure what else to say that might actually be heard at that particular moment.

"Dat matter?" Remy said bleakly. "Dey come through de windows no matter what you are." He got up, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Dey going t' focus on you if you part of dis place. Remy now got his sign on his head. Maybe I get lucky. Maybe I see what twenty is like. But Remy don t'ink so, and dat what I not forgive you all for, chere." He said, and stalked out of the room.