Perfectly Normal
folder
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
63
Views:
7,401
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
63
Views:
7,401
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.
19
PERFECTLY NORMAL CHAPTER NINETEEN
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *glomp* Just cause I can! InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: Back in the workforce today… sucks, huh? Morgan: *stalks not so subtly* Readers/Reviewers: Doctor Nightfall is the plotbunny rancher. *G* Thank y’all for reading and reviewing as you can! J
“Hey!” Lance swung around the corner, nearly running straight into Remy, stopping shurt by virtue of grabbing onto the Cajun’s arms and pushing away at the same time. “Dude, try not to lurk! That would’ve been ugly!” He hitched at his jacket, pulling it more tightly closed over his thin t-shirt, a remnant of his Brotherhood days that he was loathe to give up. They were both smoking, Remy his half-finished clove cigarette and Lance a barely started Marlboro. They stood in the archway of the porch which lined half the back of the house, stretching from the glass outcropping of the miniature greenhouse that served as the biology/botany lab, around the corner to the old service entrance. It was a relatively new addition, the porch, and already it was showing wear on the painted wooden boards. Emma had derided it as too Southern, too ante-bellum for the architecture of the house but the Professor had insisted upon it, saying all proper houses had a porch. Lance did not care one way or the other, just assimilated it into his internal map of the place and marked it as a smoking spot when there were no older folks around and as a potential make out spot if Amara were willing. “What’re you doing here?” he asked when the silence between them threatened to stretch too long. “I thought you were going to Louisiana or upstate or something.” He took a deep drag off his cigarette, turning his face slightly away to exhale. “Thought Jubilee said that anyway.”
Remy shrugged. “Plans change, ami.” He flicked the remains of his clove cigarette into the dirt beside the shrubs lining the porch, watching the thin ribbon of smoke rise from the dregs of the thing. “You lookin’ for Amara, I’m guessin’.” His eyes, unshielded by dark glasses for the time being, flickered between Lance and the bushes. “You’d be wise to be keepin’ an eye on her. I know the lay of things ‘tween y’all but you also got some sense. She ain’t as worldly as all that an’ she’s gonna end up makin’ a huge mistake real soon.” He had caught Lance’s full attention then, the younger mutant staring hard at him, lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance and curiosity.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “Are you saying she’s fucking around on me or something? I know Amara, she wouldn’t…”
“I ain’t saying nothing of the sort,” Remy sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. “We in some strange times, mon ami. Enemy ain’t just at the gate, he’s inside the lines. We got folks runnin’ around with cameras an’ recorders, tapin’ every move we make… An’ your petite amie[1], she sometimes don’t know when to quit talkin’…” He nodded in the direction of the gazebo where two forms, shadowed by the overcast skies and latticework of the structure could be seen sitting, ostensibly talking.
Lance stared at the gazebo for several long seconds, his cigarette dangling from his lip as he lost interest and awareness in it. “Fuck,” he said simply. “Shit piss goddamn motherfucking fuck.”[2] He dropped the cigarette unceremoniously on the porch and launched himself over the low railing, setting off across the lawn at a fast stride, keeping the urge to run in check as he neared the gazebo.
Remy sighed again, grinding out the cigarette with the heel of his boot and returning to his pacing that Lance had interrupted. He had enough time to inhale once, letting out his breath in a long, steady stream, before the screaming started. _Merde, _ he thought with the faintest tinge of amusement. _That’s gonna play well on film. _ He swung himself over the railing, following Lance’s path to the gazebo as he took his sunglasses from his pocket, seating them firmly in place, and stopped at the narrow doorway. Lance had Amara by the arm and was putting himself between her and the young man who had been talking to her. The interviewer—Brian? Remy thought, or was it Ryan? Or Steven?—looked alternately incensed and amused by the situation, as if Lance had just proven him exceedingly correct in a subject. “Salut, mes amis,” Remy drawled, leaning against the wooden frame. “Problems?”
“Lance, unhand me now or you will regret it,” Amara said through clenched teeth, tossing her hair back from her shoulders.
“What? You gonna get all hot and bothered in front of the college boy?” Lance snapped. “Do it and see what happens!” He could feel the faint vibrations of the earth under them, making the gazebo quiver, and that scared him. His powers had been growing increasingly noticeable the past few months, his awareness of them sharpening to discomfiting proportions. Now, they seemed to want him to notice, want him to use them. No, he scolded himself. Not now… not in front of this jack ass and not with Amara here.
“Je pense,” Remy started, glancing at the interviewer, then cleared his throat. “I think maybe we all best get inside. Almost time for fifth period for you two,” he pointed out. “An I think I’d like to talk to College Boy here.” He smiled politely at Brian and shifted so he was not blocking the entryway.
“My name is Brian,” he shot back. “Brian, not College Boy.”
“Yeah, whatever. I wanna talk to you. Lance Amara, fight later. I ain’t gonna get bitched at cause I let y’all skip class.” He stepped towards Lance and that was all it took. The younger mutants slunk out of the gazebo, barely making it to the porch before their voices, raised in argument, filtered back to the two remaining behind. “Listen here, homme,” Remy started, glad he had remembered to slip on his glasses between the porch and the gazebo.
“No, YOU listen to me,” Brian cut him off. “You’re interrupting the creative process! These interviews are vital to the truth of the piece and…”
“I got some truth for ya,” Remy snapped, already disliking the young man. “You corner any one of my friends again, an’ I’m gonna make sure that you think real good an’ hard ‘fore interviewin’ anyone else, get me?” He stepped in close, part of him admiring that Brian did not back down right away but the rest of him just not caring. “You stick to your little notes an’ what Professor Xavier done said you can talk ‘bout an’ with who an’ you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me showin’ up to remind you of yer place, get me?” He did not wait for a response, instead turning sharply and striding from the gazebo, his coat fluttering in his wake.
“Got you,” Brian exhaled after a moment, turning off the digital voice recorder in his pocket. “Got you good.”
_________________________________________________________
[1] Petite amie or petit ami is an accepted term to refer to girlfriend/boyfriend in French.
[2] Jay and Silent Bob moment there… _________________________________________________________
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *glomp* Just cause I can! InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: Back in the workforce today… sucks, huh? Morgan: *stalks not so subtly* Readers/Reviewers: Doctor Nightfall is the plotbunny rancher. *G* Thank y’all for reading and reviewing as you can! J
“Hey!” Lance swung around the corner, nearly running straight into Remy, stopping shurt by virtue of grabbing onto the Cajun’s arms and pushing away at the same time. “Dude, try not to lurk! That would’ve been ugly!” He hitched at his jacket, pulling it more tightly closed over his thin t-shirt, a remnant of his Brotherhood days that he was loathe to give up. They were both smoking, Remy his half-finished clove cigarette and Lance a barely started Marlboro. They stood in the archway of the porch which lined half the back of the house, stretching from the glass outcropping of the miniature greenhouse that served as the biology/botany lab, around the corner to the old service entrance. It was a relatively new addition, the porch, and already it was showing wear on the painted wooden boards. Emma had derided it as too Southern, too ante-bellum for the architecture of the house but the Professor had insisted upon it, saying all proper houses had a porch. Lance did not care one way or the other, just assimilated it into his internal map of the place and marked it as a smoking spot when there were no older folks around and as a potential make out spot if Amara were willing. “What’re you doing here?” he asked when the silence between them threatened to stretch too long. “I thought you were going to Louisiana or upstate or something.” He took a deep drag off his cigarette, turning his face slightly away to exhale. “Thought Jubilee said that anyway.”
Remy shrugged. “Plans change, ami.” He flicked the remains of his clove cigarette into the dirt beside the shrubs lining the porch, watching the thin ribbon of smoke rise from the dregs of the thing. “You lookin’ for Amara, I’m guessin’.” His eyes, unshielded by dark glasses for the time being, flickered between Lance and the bushes. “You’d be wise to be keepin’ an eye on her. I know the lay of things ‘tween y’all but you also got some sense. She ain’t as worldly as all that an’ she’s gonna end up makin’ a huge mistake real soon.” He had caught Lance’s full attention then, the younger mutant staring hard at him, lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance and curiosity.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “Are you saying she’s fucking around on me or something? I know Amara, she wouldn’t…”
“I ain’t saying nothing of the sort,” Remy sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. “We in some strange times, mon ami. Enemy ain’t just at the gate, he’s inside the lines. We got folks runnin’ around with cameras an’ recorders, tapin’ every move we make… An’ your petite amie[1], she sometimes don’t know when to quit talkin’…” He nodded in the direction of the gazebo where two forms, shadowed by the overcast skies and latticework of the structure could be seen sitting, ostensibly talking.
Lance stared at the gazebo for several long seconds, his cigarette dangling from his lip as he lost interest and awareness in it. “Fuck,” he said simply. “Shit piss goddamn motherfucking fuck.”[2] He dropped the cigarette unceremoniously on the porch and launched himself over the low railing, setting off across the lawn at a fast stride, keeping the urge to run in check as he neared the gazebo.
Remy sighed again, grinding out the cigarette with the heel of his boot and returning to his pacing that Lance had interrupted. He had enough time to inhale once, letting out his breath in a long, steady stream, before the screaming started. _Merde, _ he thought with the faintest tinge of amusement. _That’s gonna play well on film. _ He swung himself over the railing, following Lance’s path to the gazebo as he took his sunglasses from his pocket, seating them firmly in place, and stopped at the narrow doorway. Lance had Amara by the arm and was putting himself between her and the young man who had been talking to her. The interviewer—Brian? Remy thought, or was it Ryan? Or Steven?—looked alternately incensed and amused by the situation, as if Lance had just proven him exceedingly correct in a subject. “Salut, mes amis,” Remy drawled, leaning against the wooden frame. “Problems?”
“Lance, unhand me now or you will regret it,” Amara said through clenched teeth, tossing her hair back from her shoulders.
“What? You gonna get all hot and bothered in front of the college boy?” Lance snapped. “Do it and see what happens!” He could feel the faint vibrations of the earth under them, making the gazebo quiver, and that scared him. His powers had been growing increasingly noticeable the past few months, his awareness of them sharpening to discomfiting proportions. Now, they seemed to want him to notice, want him to use them. No, he scolded himself. Not now… not in front of this jack ass and not with Amara here.
“Je pense,” Remy started, glancing at the interviewer, then cleared his throat. “I think maybe we all best get inside. Almost time for fifth period for you two,” he pointed out. “An I think I’d like to talk to College Boy here.” He smiled politely at Brian and shifted so he was not blocking the entryway.
“My name is Brian,” he shot back. “Brian, not College Boy.”
“Yeah, whatever. I wanna talk to you. Lance Amara, fight later. I ain’t gonna get bitched at cause I let y’all skip class.” He stepped towards Lance and that was all it took. The younger mutants slunk out of the gazebo, barely making it to the porch before their voices, raised in argument, filtered back to the two remaining behind. “Listen here, homme,” Remy started, glad he had remembered to slip on his glasses between the porch and the gazebo.
“No, YOU listen to me,” Brian cut him off. “You’re interrupting the creative process! These interviews are vital to the truth of the piece and…”
“I got some truth for ya,” Remy snapped, already disliking the young man. “You corner any one of my friends again, an’ I’m gonna make sure that you think real good an’ hard ‘fore interviewin’ anyone else, get me?” He stepped in close, part of him admiring that Brian did not back down right away but the rest of him just not caring. “You stick to your little notes an’ what Professor Xavier done said you can talk ‘bout an’ with who an’ you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me showin’ up to remind you of yer place, get me?” He did not wait for a response, instead turning sharply and striding from the gazebo, his coat fluttering in his wake.
“Got you,” Brian exhaled after a moment, turning off the digital voice recorder in his pocket. “Got you good.”
_________________________________________________________
[1] Petite amie or petit ami is an accepted term to refer to girlfriend/boyfriend in French.
[2] Jay and Silent Bob moment there… _________________________________________________________