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"Why are you here Cajun?" her voice came like velvet form the darkness.
Even his eyes hadn’t picked her up curled in settee by the window. He'd simply been roving through this haunting Mansion, and now he'd run across the one person he'd least wanted to see. "Dis virus gonna cause a whole lot a trouble, and dis boy want t'be on the winning side when the war comes," he replied softly, his red-on-black eyes eventually picking out the eerie jet back pools of her eyes.
"Hmmmm," she said thoughtfully, the sound tripping the hairs on the back of his neck.
For an instant, he could feel the tendrils of her thoughts on his shields like spider webs, thin and sticky, but after a moment they were gone. Despite the shiver down his back, he slowly grinned at her.
"Why don't I believe you?" she cooed threateningly.
Remy knew now that she didn’t have the power to break in, and he could feel that she was afraid to use her telepathy on him. That left her telekinesis, which was formidable, especially now that she was stronger than before. The corner of his mouth tweaked upward insolently. He could handle that. "Don' matter what y'believe, Jeannie."
He paused for effect - quickly learning to push her buttons, keep her off-kilter, which wasn't hard with the virus messing with her brain. With a soft cluck, he finished, "Y'ain't the boss."
With a start, Jean sat up with a murderous gleam in those frightening eyes, and for an instant, he thought that she might attack him. But she quickly stilled, making an obvious effort to compose herself. Her eyes glittered with hate in the darkness. "Stay away from Logan, LeBeau," she hissed. "He's mine."
Despite his best effort, his smile faded. He knew that was coming, and he wasn't sure which he liked least – the fact that he let her see past his mask, or the fact that her 'claim' on Logan made him feel like he wanted to rip out her heart with his bare hands. He knew what she was doing to him, and it made him furious. /Steady, LeBeau. It’s just the virus talking./ Remy grit his teeth – this was a rolling nightmare and he wanted to wake up.
"Logan don belong to y'. Dat's why Scotty's got y' ring."
Remy pulled out a tiny pack of gitanes, extracted one with practiced ease, and touched the tip until it flared to life. His eyes lazily blinking back up to meet her now much more visible gaze, he let his smile creep back as he blew sweet smoke in her direction. "Logan come t'me because he wants t', not because I make him."
With an arrogant flick of his hand, the glowing tip danced menacingly. Remy turned to move away. But, as if having a last thought, he stopped and looked back before whispering with deadly quiet, "Ain't gonna say no, chere. Find y'self another dog t'play wit'."
Remy chuckled softly and mirthlessly as he walked down the hall toward his room. He could feel her fury, red hot and fed by her insanity. But he could also feel the dazzling, prickly fear that he could use for her undoing if need be. He was here to help, but it was plain to him that there were already casualties along the way and Jean Gray would not stop him. But he'd have to try to avoid that option: Logan loved her before all of this, and that meant something.
Remy sighed. How did it suddenly matter who Logan loved?
Silent on cat's feet, Remy slipped into his room, shuddering as the lightning started again.