xp_logs | Artie and Remy (Reply)

Artie asks Remy for a job in X Force. The conversation doesn't go the way the boy expected it to go.

Artie knocked on the door and said, via his synthesiser, "Mr LeBeau? I was hoping to talk to you?"

Remy looked up from his paperwork at the odd sound. Normally one of the staff would have vetted anyone before they got to his door, but he couldn't place the voice right away. "Come in?"

Artie entered the room and stood by the door, resolutely not looking at the paperwork spread out on the desk. "I was hoping that I could speak to you after, well, everything you all did for me the other week. But you should know that I remember what I see so if you don't want me to read your paperwork later... Maybe you'd want us to move to the conference room?"

Remy looked up at him. "Dere's nothing here dat you've got de training to understand, even if you do read it. Sit. What do you want?"

He nodded. Good. "I was. Well. I wanted to..." It sounded stupid outside his head. "I wanted to speak to you about a job."

"You did? Isn't dat something? You want me to call in Ororo or Marie-Ange? Get you someone safe and reassuring to talk to?"

Artie put the synthesiser down and switched to projected text, his frustration with the speed at which he could enter text into the device showing. "No. I don't need to talk to them. I want to speak to you. About a job."

"Got a job. Not interested in other offers right now."

"I want to work for you."

"It's good to have dreams. I wanted to make shoes. Remy thought I could be an excellent cobbler."

"That's nice. You heard of night school? Never too late to get into something new. I want to work for you."

"I read you de first time. You are missing de most important bit of information. Being why I would want you to work for me? I've seen you gambling skills already."

"I made the mistake of breaking the house average on the table. If I'd been more conservative, they wouldn't have used trick dice on me," Artie replied, crossing his arms. "I remember everything I see. That's useful. You don't have a shape shifter around here and I'm not, but I can still wear other people's faces or change your staff's faces as long as I've got line of sight on them. I'm working with some friends I have in the art business at the moment, doing verification and detail checking. They offered me a bigger role in what they're doing, but I thought I'd come to you, first. And no-one knows the Morlock tunnels the way I do anymore. Not down to the inch."

"I've already got people wit' good memories, and you don't need to change your face to disappear in a trail if you need to." Remy leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Most importantly, Artie, if dis is a courtesy call because you feel some kind of debt for us stopping Arcade from cutting you throat and dumping you in de ocean, you better off wit' you friends in de art world. I can rely on Sarah in de Morlock tunnels." He didn't bother to mention that his own remarkable memory and past gave him an unfortunately excellent knowledge of the tunnels himself. It wasn't information Artie needed.

"It's not a courtesy call. I want what you can teach me and I won't learn that working for Neal. The only thing I'll learn from him is how to be a damn good forger." He didn't know if he should mention needing the job because, hello, Arcade still wanted his money back.

"Nothing wrong wit' being a damn good forger. It's a profession dat doesn't often have you shot in de back of de head in a filthy alley in Kiev because of a mistake. Dis isn't like taking a temp job. Artie."

"I know that." He scratched a hand through stubbly hair. "I still want to do it."

"Perhaps, but you have yet to tell me why."

Artie took a moment to muster his thoughts. "I'd end up doing pretty awful things eventually, working for Neal. I'm prepared to do that. But I'd rather do it to... To try to protect the mansion, than just to rip money out of people. Um. Money is nice too, but maybe I can get both." The text went smaller. "Also, I owe Arcade a whole bunch of money."

Remy shook his head. "Dere's no money here, Artie. Work for Neal and you might even got some work from us. Work for us, you'll do de same job for a lot less money. And we not here to protect de mansion. We go after threats before dey get to de point dat dey out of control. If we have to, we use otherwise innocent people to do it. Everything can be on de table."

His voice had grown cold; ominous. "Is dat why you want de job? A chance for a little torture and killing; get back what de world has done to you and de people you care 'bout?"

"I... I don't know. Fine. No money. I'd like to go after the people who killed the Morlocks one day, sure. I'd also like to hunt my father down and break his knees. But I don't want to work for you so that I can get revenge or some kind of bullshit like that."

Remy abruptly stood up and swung his coat on. "Follow me." He snapped tightly, sweeping him along as he stalked through the office. Questioning faces appeared momentarily but were quickly sent back with his expression. Remy pushed open the fire escape and took the steps to the roof two at a time. By the time a panting Artie had caught up with him, the Cajun was standing on the edge of the building, toes out over the 12 story drop.

Artie just watched, curious about what Remy was going to do.

Remy put his hands in his pockets, back to Artie as he spoke. "De Morlocks were killed by an American Black Ops team dat had been sent to deal wit' a group of mutant anarchists. De CIA modified de intel dat de military had been getting in order to ensure dat de Morlocks seemed much more dangerous den dey were. Dey also sent an operative into de tunnels as an 'advisor'. De military had been particularly secret about dere Black Ops team because dey were mutants - part of a program dat de man who became de Gengineer in Genosha was in charge of. Chester Whelan, de Deputy Director of Operations at de Agency didn't like other branches to have secret mutant programs dat weren't his. De advisor's job was to force a confrontation."

A gust of wind stirred Remy's coat, and it seemed a strong wind would be all it would take to send him over. "Gambit killed several of de Ops team just as dey came on de Morlocks. De rest took it as an attack, and opened fire. Gambit used de confusion to kill as many of dose attempting to flee through de tunnels as possible. By de time de unit commander got his forces under control, dey had a massacre to cover up, and de military disbanded dem soon after." He fell silent. One shove, and he'd be gone.

Artie stared at Remy's back for a long time, shaking slightly before he took his synthesiser out of his pocket and typed "Get off the ledge."

He hesitated before he hit speak, biting his lip. His thumb snapped down and hit the button before he could rethink it. "I don't remember it. I was too young. I might feel better if I pushed you off there but they'll -" and he supplemented the text with images, half drawn sketches of X-Force that appeared and vanished in an instant, "kill me for that." He paused again before saying "Killing you wouldn't actually fix anything. It'd be real nice to know you were dead but other than making me feel better, I don't get anything out of it. They're dead. They don't need to know that someone's paid for that."

He lunged forward, though, with a right hook as soon as Remy's feet touched the ground.

Remy caught his hand easily, but to the younger man's surprise, pitched backwards. The grip he had on Artie's arm pulled them both over the edge. His desperate grip caught the edge, but not before Remy swung out and then crashed against the cement. He dangled there, feet over the Avenue of the Americas far below.

"Dis is what you want." The words carried to him. "Let go, Artie. Dey might suspect, but wit'out knowing for sure, you be safe. Let go and you get you revenge."

Artie clung to the ledge with his free hand and sent text sailing at Remy's face. "fuckyouno." Never large, Artie's grip on the other man's hand was slipping and the hand gripping the ledge was slowly losing its grip. "Did u do it bc u wanted to?"

"Dis is you choice." The man said, his expression almost thoughtful, unconcerned it seemed about the fatal drop below him. "You want you revenge, dis is all you have to do."

Keeping his grip was so damned hard. "Revenge doesn't get me anything. They're all either dead or don't want you dead," because there was no way that Sarah didn't know about this. "you asshole."

"It's not 'bout dem. It's 'bout you."

"No. Won't kill everyone who fucked me over. Revenge is a good reason to break your knees, not murder you." His hand slipped free of the ledge..

They fell for ten feet before Remy's hand shot out and caught the edge of a window casement. Despite the tiny ledge, his grip arrested his fall, and reversed the fall as Artie was yanked back into the wall, clutching at Remy's hand.

"So, you still want to work for me, Artie? De man dat you've been nurturing you revenge fantasies 'bout for years?"

Artie gasped for breath. They were still dangling far too high above the ground but at least they weren't falling. At least he wasn't falling. He'd grown up surrounded by the ghosts of the people this man had killed. Listened to one-sided conversations directed at them and he'd wanted someone to pay for that. And yet... "If I say no or yes or whichever answer you don't want to hear, are you going to let go of me, solve the problem?" he asked. It wasn't what he'd intended to ask but he had to know.

"Dat's a question you have to ask youself, homme."

"I don't know okay! I don't know! I don't fucking know. Just get me down." He looked down, choked and tried not to cry.

Remy shifted his grip and braced his feet. It was impossible for a normal person, but Remy's preternatural agility allowed him to maintain his grip and lift Artie up. As the young man was able to get his toes on the ledge, Remy bounded upwards and got a grip on the top of the ledge, pulling himself up. He twisted around and grabbed Artie's wrist, pulling back as he hauled the young man up to the roof.

The moment his feet were back on the roof Artie scrambled away to stand with his back pressed against the air conditioning tower. He'd wanted to kill the person responsible for the Morlocks' deaths and hadn't been able to. If he couldn't do that, when it fucking mattered, could he even do this job?

He looked up at Remy, eyes bleak. "I couldn't let go your hand and I thought I wanted you dead. If I can't do that, probably I can't do the things you'd ask me to do. You weren't in any danger you weren't in control of then. If I can't do that, can I even do what you'd be asking me to do? I want the job, but maybe you're right, I should go work for Neal."

"If you smart, you'll go work for Neal." Remy took a seat on the edge of the roof. The young man had been put into an impossible situation and had kept his head. It was something. "But dat applies to everyone here. It's a dangerous job, Artie, and de biggest lesson you going to learn is dat dere's no black and white. Gambit was responsible for killing de Morlocks, but how much of Remy is Gambit? Lots of what we do have dose kinds of questions. Remy don't need assassins; I need people who can make hard decisions and be willing to accept dat it could be you life if you make de wrong choice."

"When you came to the mansion years ago, when you were a student there --" Artie said and stopped. "That was a job, wasn't it? Were you looking to assassinate us or were you spying on us for someone?"

"It's complicated. At one point, de Agency decided I was a liability and psychically ripped out my memories before dumping me on de street. Danks to my physical conditioning and de loss of memory, I thought I was a teenager. Dey put in a command word day would supposedly reactive me when dey wanted it, but instead, Gambit lost out and didn't take control. I was a... last resort. If it helps, de person who put me in de school and ordered de Morlocks dead was killed by Sarah years ago."

It helped to know that the mansion hadn't been so gullible as to let him walk in being what he was now. "Sarah killed him? Good." A pause. "Thank you for your honesty." Artie paused again and looked out over the city, tracking the flight of a pigeon. "I guess I'm not smart," he said eventually. "Working for you will kill me eventually, won't it? And I don't trust you. But..."

"Likely. We've been lucky so far, but oui, dis is not a job dat tends to lead to a safe retirement. It also pays far less den you skills are worth, de hours are long, and if you do de job properly, no one will ever know you're responsible. It is dangerous, thankless, and if dere's a way to break you down, it will find it." Remy's voice didn't changed; hadn't changed even as they were dangling over the edge. "On de other hand, it is important. As for trusting me, coming here means dat you'll have to do dat ever day - every situation dat I send you into could be a simple trap if I wanted to get rid of you. So dat's how it works around here - you trust me and I trust you. Otherwise, we might as well throw ourselves off dat damn ledge, because distrust will get us both killed soon 'nough."

He shrugged, an oddly casual gesture for the topic. "Look, Artie, dis is not a life you take on lightly. And if you want a long, happy life, it's not one you take on at all. Because once you get in it, getting out is almost impossible. Go home. Get some rest. Don't worry 'bout Arcade. You owe him money, but he's not going to send de leg breakers anytime soon. Talk to Sarah and really make sure you understand what you might be getting youself into. If you still want de job den, we can talk."

Artie stared out into the distance for a long moment. "I'll talk to Sarah," he said eventually via the synthesiser. "You're right. I need to think about things. You know where my bolt hole in the tunnels is. I'm going home."