@honey-minded-hivemind more wrong team stuff. Im thinking that remy could develop his charm while at the institute.
Remy sits on his bed looking out the window and rubbing his arms. That conversation had been… long and odd. Xaiver had explained his powers and the powers of the other mutants residing in the house.
Then they had discussed Remy's training. Xaiver seemed eager to figure out just how tied to emotions Remy's powers are, using his powers to bring about thoughts to influence Remy's mood with Remy's permission. It had been a weird intrusive feeling. Like a wet lock of hair stuck under a shirt. Uncomfortable and icky. Xaiver had seemed surprised at the comment, noting that most people did not notice his intrusion. Remy is not sure what to think of that other than to be a little disturbed.
He lays down fully on his bed and stares at the ceiling. His fingers twitch against the blankets. His eyes close and he hums gently
--+
On the idea of developing charm i think it would wog remy out and make him almost blow up part of the school and he runs off to find creed instead of going to xavier because of trust issues.
For the wrong team au, how did the xmen find Remy?
So there was an... Accident that made remy show up on cerebros system.
Remy has been using his powers for a while, but he slips up when he and henri are fighting julien Boudreaux of the assassins guild. An exploasion gets away from remy and he hurts henri, giving him a burn scar across his face. Julien got a burn on his arm
Remy feels horrid at causeing his brother such pain and damage and is willing to do anything to make sure it dont happen again. Even if it means he has to go up north and cover parts of himself.
Henri is in pain and now blind in one eye, but holds no anger towards remy
not a full thought but like, in evo, what if remy was recruited to the xmen but felt really out of place and kept getting in trouble for stealing and generally being a independent kid who's not used to public school and so many rules that dont fully line up with guild rules.
he ends up going off on his own a lot and runs into creed whos in a weird mood. they play cards at the same bar or something and start hanging out a lot more as each week goes by.
Idea for wrong team au. The x men dont realize remy is a trained thief. Not fully. So when they sat tune to train and he says hell go get his armor they go ??????
“Tolansky is not someone you should associate with.”
Scott's words shock Remy.
“Why?”
“He often runs with bad crowds and will try to steal from you.”
Scott says with a scowl.
“What's wrong with his crowd? It seems to me he doesn't have a crowd. No one else sat with us at lunch.”
Remy feels called on to defend the other teen who had let him stick around.
“He got kicked out for ratting on them to the principal since they were smoking in a specific bathroom.”
“So he has self-preservation. I can understand that.”
Remy feels the eyes of other people in the hallway starting to cling to them, and whispers begin to rise. Remy clears his throat.
“Look, we can talk about it later Scott.”
“No. We are talking about this now. You do not need to be starting off on the wrong foot.”
“What does that even mean Scott?”
“You do not need to hang out with a thief and a liar.”
Remy scowls. He is a thief. Didnt they know? They came to his home and collected him from the guild. They had to know.
Remy steps back.
“Remy think you need to cool down ‘fore you make statements you can't take back.”
“And you need to listen to me. I've been here longer than you. I know how this works. You cannot be friends with Todd Tolansky.”
“Pardon. Mais no! I can make my own choices."
“Not these ones.”
“I didn' t see you leapin’ up to offer me a seat during lunch.”
Remy bites back. There's a lot of eyes now. Clearly interested eyes that are ready to rip him to bits. Their mouths are moving a hoard of whispers. He is starting to feel itchy and wrong.
“Then ask.”
“When I'm new and nervous? You want me to prostate and yell, I'm nervous and scared? F*ck off.”
Remy spins and marches away to his next class, forcing down his sparks and rage.
He feels awful for the rest of the day, with eyes smearing against his skin. He hates it. A good thief hides.
Being the center of attention like this is not worth it.
@honey-minded-hivemind silly idea but instead of apocalypse remy gets taken in by blade who had no dog in the mutant issue. Hes busy with blood suckers and thinks remy is a vamp for all of three minutes when he sees him at first.
But then remy registers as fledgling to his vamp brain.
Remy balls up his fists as he sits on the edge of his bed. His mind is whirling like a over burdened gear, hot from overuse. He feels like the metal of the gear teeth that allow everything to keep right on spinning is going to melt away and his brain will be left unable to think or focus. He swallows deeply, spit clinging to the lump in his throat that keeps appearing.
He keeps on getting in trouble and its so frustrating. He clenches his hands tighter, sparks springing from closed white knuckled fingers up his arm. He is trying. trying so so hard to fit in at this institute. He wants the help Xaiver had offered so calmly. But they are so so different from his Guild back home. In the Guild, rules were laid out clearly and emforced just as clearly. When he got in trouble he always deserved it. And knew it. Or if he didn't, his papa would break everything down, chopping up the explination so fine that Remy's unwieldy mind could grasp it and hold it close to learn from later.
but here, some of the rules of home are in direct contradiction of the rules of Xavier. He swallows again, spit sticking and flicks away the sparks. He grew up stealing, first on the street and then in the Guild. It let him survive and let him be useful. And now the trait that he valued and held aloft with pride is being beaten down with words and punishments. Just two weeks back he got a grounding for teaching Kurt how to pick a lock quick and quiet as a mouse in the night. And Logan had grounded him for a week. The punishment had ended at the time Logan said it would, which had been a bubble of fear in Remy's chest, but the fact that there had been punishment at all makes Remy feel like a fish in the wrong water.
Back home in the safety of family, the world was salt water, at times turning brackish at the edges, but always breathable and understood. Now it feels like he is a fish taken from that salt and dropped into a fresh water later and told to swim with no aid. He is choking and gasping but he is frustratingly surrounded by water.
Remy hisses at himself and snatches up the thrice damnable glasses. Thicker than sin in Las Vegas and clouding his vision worse than the cloudiest of nights, he hates them. He wears them out of obligation to the other mutants and as a agreement to live at the institute, but he wishes he could put his sparks to them and fling them into a ravine to explode and sing out with angry, relief filled shrapnel tones. He slips them on and heads out silently.
He needs to get away. To drink or to party. Anything to feel like he is back in the waters of home. He would settle for something brackish, half dipped in the familiar if it meant he could get some peace and stop the churring whirring gears in his head. He slips into his layers, with each a protection against cold and his own misery. It feels like wearing armor, armor that is cracking and fraying at the edges from being used each and every day to combat against constant onslaughts that never seem to end. Loud angry demands of the world that he needs to change and bend. Melt and be molded, He shivers and goes out to his motorcycle, a loyal stead that snorts to life under his hands and carries him swiftly away from the unfamiliar shadows of the institute that do not bend and shield him like the shadows back home did.
Remy rides and rides and rides. He finds a place far from the institute. The bar is old, with cracks and bad patch ups screaming its age and warning wandering strangers not to enter unless they knew how to approach a den of debauchery. Remy smiles as he dismounts the loyal steed, readily replacing his helmet with the thick glasses. The shadows twist and bend, calling him and welcoming him. Not quite home but still happy he had come and willing to shade his movements should he need them. He huddles a bit into himself as he steps in, treading too light to bring creaks with his movements. His fingers curl tight in his pockets as he drinks in the sight, chest slowlyly becoming saited as his eyes rove. There, older lights illuminate the small bar with golden soft glow fuzzing out features and offering respite from bright days. there, an old man cleans a glass and watches him with eyes that know much and mouth that speaks little. There, old tables littering the rest of the room, offering places to drink alone or with close confidants. There, booths to dampen secret conversations and even more secret deals. There, a table of gamblers that has drifting smoke coiling about, whispering that there might be a dragon curled just under the table that is being played upon.
Remy slips over to the bars counter, finding his body relaxing. oh. He had not realized how long he had been on panicked high alert. when had his heart last calmed and he let his ears stop pricking for any sound of enemies slipping up to snatch him? A week? No. Longer. so so much longer. It must have been longer than a month. must have been since he first stepped into the institute and tasted the fresh waters of a lake that was not welcoming to a salt water fish like himself.
He orders a soda and gets one passed to him. There are no questions. There rarely are in places like this to those who come in and seem to fit. he settles at the bar, and his eyes drift to the tables. Schhilff schilff schliff go the cards as they slide out from the dealer. old hands grasp up the thick paper, tapping them against the table, rustling them against each other in hands to organize, and huffing out small breathes of air in irritation or bluff at what is seen there. Remy watches as only a fellow gambler can as the game dances along with the pot filling and emptying and filling as cards and luck dance about in a waltz he loves dearly.
Is cards banned? he finds himself wondering as his fingers ich to touch and play, as his eyes crinkle and crease with want and desire to test his mettle against these experienced older men. He wants oh so badly to play. But what if it is banned and not allowed? Remy does not need another grounding where his cards are taken and his movement is shackled. He is a thief in love with running and bolting and racing along shadows and dancing in the moonlight. Not being allowed to stalk and wander at his leisure felt like being a race horse bridled and hitched to a thick heavy wagon meant for a draft horse of much greater strength and build. Remy twitches and itches, desire warring with fear.
Maybe. Maybe.
Maybe just watching would be okay. sitting just beside the pleasant noises of cards being played and idle chatter of long time friends who had long gotten to know each other craigs and knots. Who speak the same way old trees speak to each other with easy familiarity.
Remy stands slips over like a lanky cat twice shy of a striking hand. the glasses mush and blur out some shapes forms in the shadowed light and his knee and elbow earn more aching bruises to top and pit the already existing bruises that remind him of the forced partial blindness that soaks his every move now.
The men look at him, wary of the stranger. remy ducks his head respectfully, knowing that elders often suspect youngers of mischief and trouble.
"May I watch monsieurs? I dont hafta play, mais I'd like to watch."
It is a tone that is inches away from begging, the men look to each other, silent knowledge of each other allowing them to communicate and whisper without the stirring of tongues.
"Sure kid. Sit."
A man with peppered hair tugs over a chair and Remy slips into it, shoulders relaxing and eyes narrowing on the game. The men begin playing. Remy rests a chin in the palm of his hand and leans forward with all the eagerness of a flower about to bloom. He watches avidly as they play, watching the cards move from deck to table to hand to table again. He watches as luck dances with skill. Dear goddess Fortuna and dear goddess Minerva waltze hand in hand, peaceful and sure of their steps at the gambling table.
his fingers curl and uncurl deep in his warmed pockets, still itching to play. still desiring to feel the slick surfaces the cards himself and to join the dance of the goddesses. But Remy does not. he does not need to get in trouble. He can get into enough of that without thinking or expecting it.
This lasts for a long while, the voices of the men mixing in the air, talking of businesses and wives and kids long grown. Of old times and wars and aches not yet forgotten to the grave. Remy listens, reminded of his papa and his papas council.
@honey-minded-hivemind im thinking maybe a point and click esque fake game for that idea we were talking about.
I think it should probably be a scene that starts off in remys room and then logan and xaiver come in to talk to him about breaking into a part of school. Or something.
Wouldn't reallly show off the yandere side... So im down to hear other ideas
