WHO: Emma Frost and Remy LeBeau WHAT: Emma find out what happened to her car, and...overreacts. WHEN: July 1st, mid-morning. WHERE: The garage of the X Mansion
Emma stood in front of her car, arms folded beneath her chest, eyebrows knitted together. There was something wrong. There was something very wrong. It had been a couple of days since she'd needed to leave the Mansion, which meant she hadn't set foot in the garage, let alone near her car. The '69 Camaro sat where it always did, in it's own section near the door into the kitchen. She was much less likely to be scratched by student drivers that way, and the male inhabitants of the house could admire her from their usual position around the open fridge.
But something was different. It took her a moment to notice the small dent in the middle of the hood, the area around it was strangely shinier than the rest of the silver and white paint. It was almost as if someone had tried to buff out a larger, more body shaped dent. Whoever had done this to her sweet baby would pay, and pay dearly. Even if it meant forcibly scouring the mind of every individual of West Chester, she would find out who had violated the sanctity of a dangerous woman's classic car.
Remy, evidencing a rare streak of bad luck, just so happened to be walking past the garage at that very moment. It had been a few days since his little adventure with Logan, and having just recently regained the ability to walk properly, he was taking advantage of his newfound mobility and strolling around the grounds. He noticed that the door was open and, tossing a bright green apple back and forth between his hands, he stuck his head inside.
"Mornin'," he called, grinning broadly at the woman standing with her hands on her hips. "You got a problem there, cherie? Anything Remy can help ya with?" By god, he was in a good mood! Not waiting for an answer, he strolled in to stand next to her and, following her gaze, he stared fondly at the Camaro. "Nice car, ain't she?"
Having let her anger get the better of her, Emma was startled by the voice approaching from the kitchen. She turned on a dime, eyebrows arched, her thin white cape draping over the Camaro's bumper. The man with the barbaric french accent was unfamiliar, clearly too old to be a student but...far too scruffy to be a trained X-man. Must be one of Xavier's new recruits.
In her state of...well, more emotion than usual, Emma neglected to do her usual brushing of mind and thoughts, instead nodding and turning back to her car. "Some...monster seems to have sat on the hood of my Camaro, and dented the hood. Then, to add insult to injury, they did a piss-poor job of covering it up. Remy, was it?"
"Mm, that's right," he agreed, peering at the dent in the hood and stifling a laugh. "This your car, then?" He made a big show of rubbing his chin and took a huge bite of apple. "That's a shame about the hood, cherie. Bet you could knock that out right quick, though."
He draped an arm across her thin shoulders and breathed deep for a moment. Lord, she smelled good. Nice and clean and fresh. "Tell you what, I'll take care of that for you, no problem. Just cause I like your eyes."
Emma scoffed, a more polite alternative to snorting, drumming her long nails against her hips and considering the man beside her. God, he was attractive, young and rougish, but that certainly didn't stop her from brushing his arm from her shoulders. She walked along the side of the car, sliding a finger around the dent and leaning forward a little.
"I would appreciate that, Remy, your awkward attempt at flirting notwithstanding. My name is Emma Frost, by the way. I'm a teacher here."
"I wasn't tryin' to flirt, Miss Frost," he said cheerfully, taking another bite of his apple. It was tart and juicy and probably the nicest thing he'd eaten all day, and as he chewed he regarded her with deep amusement. "If I was, you'd know it."
Not that he would mind flirting with her. His eyes raked down the length of her slim body and he grinned to himself. She looked scary, the kind of woman that would tie you to a bed and smack you in the face and then want you to hold her and stroke her hair afterwards. He entertained himself with these thoughts while Emma studied the dent that his ass had made in the hood of her precious car.
Leaning forward further, further than a woman in a white leather corset should, Emma scowled and pressed the palm of her hand against the shallow dent. Something smelled suspiciously like cigar smoke and sweat. "If you'd have done any more than place your arm around my shoulders without my permission, darling, you would be laying on your back in the middle of the kitchen, sucking your thumb and hugging a security blanket."
Despite the threat, she smiled a little. The man, apparently Cajun, was more than simply attractive. He was charming, and there was something about him that put her at ease. Almost as if he radiated a calming, somewhat alluring energy. "Tell me," she continued, leaning back once more folding her arms, "How exactly do you plan on rubbing this dent out?"
He shrugged and looked closely at it. When he'd been a kid in the Big Easy, he'd run with a pack of little street rats and the guy who minded them for the Guild had driven a shitty little Pinto that coughed every time you tried to turn a corner in it. They'd "borrowed" it on more than one occasion and, while most of them were good enough drivers that they didn't all die, they weren't quite good enough to avoid a few dents. Those, they'd taken care of with a hammer and some wax. Somehow, though, he didn't think Emma would let him take a blunt tool to her precious car.
"How 'bout a little magic?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. "That usually works."
"Magic?" Emma pursed her lips, fingernails digging into her arms as she considered the multitude of ways in which this could go wrong. She took a step back, and the sight of Remy leaning over her car in very tight and equally as faded jeans was more than enough to convince her that there was absolutely no other way the hood could be repaired. True, her relationship with Scott looked to be back on track, but there was no harm in admiring the talents of the new recruits.
"Fine, but I'm taking measures to protect myself. And if I find one new scratch on my sweet girl..." She took another step back, assuming her diamond form and watching closely.
"Can you pop the hood for me, cherie?" he grinned. He'd felt her eyes on him; after years of the same, he couldn't not notice anymore. And although he sensed that not a damn thing was going to come of it, he didn't much care. He was having a fantastic day, looking forward to the next time he saw Logan and hell, if he played his cards right, Emma might let him drive her car.
Sighing a little, Emma drummed her diamond fingers against the hood and leaned through the open window of the Camaro, reaching down to the very bottom of the car to pop the hood. Feeling the Cajun's eyes on her, she slipped out of her diamond form long enough to whisper lowly and directly into Remy's mind.
Keep dreaming, grenouille. You're getting your hands on my car, and nothing else. You look like you haven't bathed in a week, and my china is too fine for you to smudge.
He winked at her and propped the hood up, humming under his breath as he did. "Don't worry, Miz Frost," he teased. "I already found me someone to occupy that side of my life." He shivered a little, thinking of Logan, and hid his residual pleasure by leaning in and checking the underside of the hood.
Carefully, he placed his hand where the dent was and gave the metal a tiny charge, not enough to blow anything up, just enough to give it a little push. "Now watch this, cherie. It's a good trick..." With a big, shit-eating grin on his face, he tapped the spot he'd charged and, with a brief flash of violet light, the dent popped right out.
The trick was impressive, that was for sure, and Emma clapped appropriately. She'd find some way to thank him...a bottle of bourbon perhaps. The man was obviously capable of manipulating kinetic energy, not unlike that boorish Wisdom man she'd met several years ago. Ever curious, Emma couldn't help but delve a little further into Remy's mind, deciding further information was needed. She picked through memories, still half inside the Camaro's window, looking for clues as to Remy's power levels...before...something else made itself apparent. A memory...a recent one, very recent and very enjoyable. With a smirk on her face she pushed deeper, deep enough to pull up a mental image of...
...a 69' Camaro, white with silver racing stripes, and a white leather interior. Remy, onthe hood with his legs spread and his nails dug into someone's back. Someone...with claws. Logan. Her smirk twisted into a bitter, furious scowl, and it was with great satisfaction that Emma hit the horn as hard as she could, Remy still wedged beneath the hood.
Remy yelped and jumped, bashing his head against the hood and stepping back with a wounded look on his handsome face. "The hell was that!?" He slammed the hood and glowered at Emma, rubbing the sore spot on his skull. She was pretty, sure, but not pretty enough that he'd let her get away with something like that.
Extracting herself from the window, Emma slammed the hood of the car and slipped back into her diamond form, her eyes almost glowing with rage. Her hands balled into fists and she walked around the car, facing Remy head on.
"YOU!" she shrieked, kicking the kitchen door shut, leaving the two of them alone. "You did this! To my car! You and that...that tin-lined animal, you fucked on my beautiful, perfect, classic car!"
"Hey now!" He held out both hands, taking a couple of steps back as he studied her enraged face. Now how in the holy hell had she known that? He was certain he hadn't given anything away, and he racked his brain to try and come up with an answer. There was nothing, no one that could have told on them...
And then he recalled his tour of the mansion, from when he'd first arrived. The kid, Bobby, who had showed him around had pointed Emma out. She's a mind reader. And suddenly, it was Remy's turn to be furious. "You read my mind? Bitch!" He began to curse fluent and filthy, in Cajun.
"Yes, I read your mind, you half-bred swamp hick!" she hissed, baring her teeth. "You will learn to shield it, but perhaps you should have waited to fuck a filthy animal on someone else's car after learning that particular ability!"
Darting a hand out to the side, she snatched up a chamois cloth and ran at Remy, deceptively fast in teetering heels, and smacked him upside the head. "Vous stupide, garçon stupide!" she shrieked, the french a remnant from a classic education. She began to swear, matching Remy word for word, hitting him again with the heavy cloth.
Most of her French sounded frilly and ridiculous to his ears, so he ignored it, opting instead to grab for the chamois cloth. She managed to keep it well enough out of his reach that he couldn't snatch it away from her, but that wasn't what he was after. Two fingers would do, and he pinched the corner of the cloth briefly, then darted back.
It exploded in Emma's hand with slightly more force than he'd used on the car. It was enough to singe her hand, maybe frighten her, but nothing more. "Shut your mouth, woman! You're fuckin' lucky I didn't steal the fuckin' thing!"
Oh, that was absolutely the last starw. Had Emma not been in her diamond form and her nails had been ruined, several cars would have been totaled in the ensuing chaos. Luckily, as she transitioned back to flesh, all that she had suffered was a mild soot burn. Her cheeks were tinged pink from anger and her hands clenched tightly.
"You've gone much to far, young man..." she growled, reverting into teacher mode, although her tactics would have had her banned from any school in the country. "You may think it's hilarious to sully my car, but you've crossed a line. I hope you like fish..." Easily and well-practiced, she slipped into Remy's mind and severely altered his perception, screwing with his senses enough to make him feel as though he were being smothered on every side with fish, dozens of them, clinging to his skin and slapping him in the face. It was cruel, no doubt, but having a white car now seemed somewhat like false advertising.
One second Remy was indulging in his fury, the next he was covered in fish. They reeked horribly, wet and scaly agaist his skin, some of them still flopping; it was easily the vilest sensation he'd ever felt in his entire life and he panicked.
His arms flailed out, looking for something solid, anything solid. He didn't dare open his mouth, didn't dare try to ask for help. One of the fucking things might slip in his mouth and if that happened he knew he would vomit, and he was not about to give this bitch the satisfaction. The tips of his fingers connected with something hard and cold and, in his panic, he charged it, pouring energy into whatever it was and setting it off as he rolled onto his side and clutched his hands over his head.
With a vibrant flash of violet, the entire front half of Emma's car exploded, flipping it up and over, where what was left of it landed neatly on Scott's motorcycle.
Emma stared...just...stared. She had clearly misjudged either Remy's impressive power, or his hatred of fish. Either way, the fact that he had been well and truly fucked on her car was now thoroughly of no consequence at all. There was the slightly more pressing issue of not only her own vehicle, but the twisted remains of Scott's bike. This was not going to end well at all.
"I..." she swallowed, clearing her throat and flattening her hair, adjusting her corset and straightening her cape. "I may have...overreacted..."
Remy sat up slowly and looked around cautiously. The fish seemed to have disappeared, and although he knew Emma was responsible, he did not start yelling again. He had seen the car first thing, and an expression of exquisite misery crossed his face.
"Oh... mon dieu... that beautiful car.."
"She..." Emma paused, shaking herself. She would not cry in front of anyone, not even Scott. This could be fixed. It had to be. She'd bought that car with the money she'd blackmailed from her father...and Scott's bike was nice too, but her car...
"It's fine," she swallowed, her hands shaking just a little. She crossed her arms to hide it, but her icy eyes were still as wide as quarters. "I know a metalsmith who owes me a few favours. Well, more than a few favours. Actually...a weekend's worth. He'll have her back to new with a blink of his eye."
Walking over to Remy, she couched beside him and slapped his hands away, checking the bump on the top of his head. "Did you know she was my car? And, more importantly...did Logan?"
"Logan did, I think," he said, sulking a little and pushing her hands away. His earlier high spirits had melted away and now all he wanted to do was get fucked up and get fucked. He stood slowly and shook his head.
"Listen, cherie, this is my fault," he said, studying the smoldering wreck of Emma's beautiful car. "Lemme get you a new one, eh? Least I can do."
Emma smiled gently, shaking her head and slapping his hands away once more, picking up another chamois and wiping a smear of grease away from the lump. "Don't be silly," she chided, glancing back at the wreckage and almost, almost laughing. "I lost my temper. You would think that in a place like this, I would know better than that. It won't cost me anything to have her put back together...no one ever has to know. We'll tell them it was a...a welding accident."
That, strangely enough, somehow managed to set her off and she fell backwards, her rear thudding against the cement floor as she started to laugh, still holding the leathery cloth against Remy's head. The tension of the past few weeks had either finally gotten to her, or the sight of her beloved car in ruins had made the ice princess crack.
Remy stared at her for a second, then shook his head again, tenderly, and chuckled softly. What a weird place this mansion was turning out to be. Just when he thought he'd met the most insane person in the whole place, along came a whole new brand of crazy.
"Lady, you need a drink," he said, digging out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and blew out a cloud of blue smoke, then turned to stare at Emma, bemused.
With tears in her eyes, Emma finally managed to compose herself and nodded, standing and brushing the remains of a classic car from her form-fitting clothes. She gestured to the cigarette, and offered Remy a hand up. "Give me one of those, and I'll give you the finest glass of bourbon you've ever had." She winked, hauling him to his feet and lighting the offered cigarette from the glowing end of Remy's. She gestured for him to follow, walking through the kitchen past rows of horrified students, all having heard the explosion, and made a mental note to track down someone to clean it away. Especially before Scott found out.