Remy was sick of New York. He was sick of waiting for Sinister to come back, and sick of pretending he was dead. All those promises and what had it gotten him? He'd stole children away from their stupid mansion, been shot, shocked, and raped, and what did he have to show for it?
The Cajun was understandably in quite a foul mood by the time he left the Marauders compound, and when he spotted a familiar figure ahead of him it drew a scowl to his face. He quickened his pace, coming up beside Scott, the man's wallet in his hand and he made no move to hide it as he opened it up and started to leaf through. "Nice shades," he commented idly, "You 'tink if I put 'em on we'd look da same? You got red eyes unda dere?"