Title: Higher Learning
Author: Katt Solano
Characters: Scott, Remy, Marie (in that order)
Category: humour, slight pathos (to borrow Min's term)
Archive: whoever else has the other Prodigals stories (LeBeau Library,
Down-Home Charm, Heart of a Hero... I think taht covers it) Anyone else,
Summary: There is a class in Xavier's School for Gifter Youngsters that is
without an instructor. It is a very special class... and a very special
instructor. Bring your own dishrag.
Disclaimer: X-Men don't belong to me no matter how hard I wish and how many
stars I manage to shoot down. They belong to Marvel. The universe that they
inhabit at this moment don't be long to me no matter how hard I wish and how
many stars I manage to shoot down. They belong to Bryan Singer.
Further Hoopla: Oodles of thanks to Joe for reading it over in the proper
accents and laughing in the proper places. Feedback, as you all know, is
craved; lots of feedback results in spontaneous applause and a spont on a
super-duper, nifty keen-o ultra-kewl and lovely pedestal.
"You want Remy to teach what?"
It was only because I knew to the last cent how much it cost to get an
authentic Persian carpet cleaned that I managed to keep from spewing a
mouthful of the tea all over the floor. The professor's tea was left over
from his Oxford days; strong and dark enough to cut through an oil spill.
In general, Charles Xavier has a very dry sense of humour. That could have
been the main reason I trusted him the first time he bailed me out of the
streets. But his jokes can be so wry I can't tell at times when he's joking.
"Teach sex education," repeated my mentor in his completely serious British
I think that Americans have this knee jerk reaction to British accents-- we
instantly assume that whatever the speaker is saying is true. Look at all
the scientific or historical documentary shows on TV. The narrators almost
always have British accents. The Professor could face a national audience in
one of his sharp suits and that seriously earnest face of his and tell them
that the sky was falling and I can guarantee some hundred million citizens
would start making underground shelters. Maybe that was why his accent got
thicker whenever he was trying to be persuasive.
"He is almost of an age with most of our older students," Charles continued.
"Not only will the children feel more at ease with him, they might take his
advice more seriously. It will not seem so much like preaching as it does
advice from a trusted friend."
I started to shake my head. "I'm sorry, Professor, but Remy... for God's
sake he's a walking advertisement for promiscuity!" I all but yelled out.
"Having him teach sex ed is like having Logan teach methods of preventing
A smile flickered on Charles' lips. My spirits rose. Maybe he was just
kidding after all. "All the same, it's a sound idea." Over my groan of
disbelief, he added, "Just run the idea by him. I have a feeling he won't be
opposed to it."
I came out of Charles' office feeling a bit like I'd just left an episode of
"Saved By the Bell" done � la "Twilight Zone." That hadn't happened since I
first met Hank McCoy. My feet moved automatically, leading me to the kitchen
where I'd left Jean. We were supposed to meet there for brunch before
Charles called me in for that little bomb. I'd decided as soon as I realised
where I was headed that I would test run the idea with her.
"He wants Remy to teach what?"
Pleased to have my incredulity seconded, a few seconds flipped by before I
grabbed a dishrag to clean up the juice that Jean had spewed all over the
kitchen counter. Her sandwich was mutilated due to the fact that when she
spewed said apple juice, her hand convulsively squeezed the BLT on rye. When
I finally did finish cleaning up the mess, I turned to find the love of my
life staring up at the ceiling.
"Uh, Jean, what are you doing?"
"I'm counting back the days to make sure it's not Winter Prank Week."
I let out a chuckle. "That was pretty much my reaction, too." I aimed, made
the shot and took two points for getting the soiled rag into the sink. "So,
what do you think? Really. Don't be shy."
Leaning forward to brace her elbows against the marble (no Formica for the
Xavier mansion), Jean rested her head on her hands and tapped her fingers
against her chin. "It's actually quite sound."
I threw my hands up in the air. "It must be some weird telepathically
induced form of insanity."
"No, really, Scott, look at it this way." She took one of my hands in hers
and started to stroke the fleshy part between the second and third fingers.
"Can you imagine anyone else teaching it?"
It took several tries for sound to come out of my mouth. "Well, _you're_ a
medical doctor. You've got to have some sort of... training in this type
Her smile got bigger. "Well, I do but the kids would never really feel
comfortable talking to me."
"Oh, come on, Jean--" I started to argue but she held up her hand to end my
"Not only," she said, "am I at least fifteen years older than the oldest of
the kids but I'm also your fianc�e. I'm the housemother by default. Not that
I resent it," she hurried to correct, "but you must agree we have certain
roles that we have to play for the sake of the kids as well as ourselves."
"But, Jean..." I hoped I wasn't starting to sound whiny. "How about Ororo?"
Now she laughed at me outright. "Darling, I don't know if you've noticed but
for all that 'Ro dresses like a super model, she's as prudish as the
Professor when it comes to talking about sexuality. Next candidate?"
"Hank?" We both knew I was pulling at straws so she didn't even bother to
shake her head.
Still, I had to have one last go. "Moira?"
Letting out another chuckle, Jean dropped her gaze down to the counter top.
She lifted my hand close to her lips but didn't quite kiss it. "You're so
opposed to having Remy teach sex ed that you're proposing pulling Moira out
of Scotland where she's needed in her own school? I thought you _liked_
"I do!" I protested. "I just don't like the idea of him teaching sex ed! I
mean... shit, Remy teaching sex ed? When most of my students are halfway in
love with him? All that's going to happen is that they'll take his advice as
ways to get in a... doing a..." my mind vainly searched for a euphemism that
wouldn't scar me too permanently-- "hop into the horizontal polka with him.
And don't even get me started on Remy's attitude on sex. Did you know--"
"While we're at it," she said, "why won't _you_ teach it?"
That stopped me stupid. A slow flush went from my neck and up until it
burned my entire face. "I'm too busy," I managed to blurt out, "I've got two
senior classes and two junior ones, the school's administration to worry
about, not to mention heading the covert missions and--"
"Scott, you're getting hysterical!"
"So are you," I countered glumly. And she was. Although in her case, she was
going absolutely nuts with laughter. If it weren't for the fact that I was
holding her hands, she'd be rolling all over the floor.
When Jean finally settled down-- and, man, that took some time considering
she kept bursting into giggles every few seconds-- she started speaking in
to me in a tone similar to the one she had with her patients.
"Maybe we're getting ahead of ourselves anyway. Who says he'll accept the
position?" She snorted. "Horizontal polka?"
"Xavier wants me to teach what?"
It was a good thing Scott had a box of tissues handy 'cause I just went and
spewed water all over his office floor. I hoped that kind of carpet didn't
cost too much to get cleaned.
"He-- _we_ all thought that you were the best qualified to teach the
children sexual education," he said without crackin' a smile.
"You also all decided to get up in fetish clothes an' fight de whole world;
don' mean it's a good idea." I'd refused to sit down when I first came in
but now, my knees just went and demanded that I drop straight onto the chair
behind me. I swept back the bangs that fell in my eyes as I did so. "Now,
come on, is t'day de traditional prank day an' no one decided t'go an' tell
I thought I heard him mumble, "I wish," but in a louder voice, he said,
"This is for real, Remy. Everyone in the mansion has a duty. For the
students, it's to learn to control their mutant power; for us adults, it's
to help them train and provide a surrogate family for those--"
"Yeah, yeah, mon ami," I waved away the words, "I read de brochure when I
first signed up for a room. You gotta admit, I kinda expected to be de car
washer or pool cleaner or somethin' o' de sort. Sex ed--" my face twisted
into a grimace, "-- for a bunch of teeny-boppers seems to Remy like much too
much of a high price, neh?"
An interesting expression came over Scott face, an expression that I liked
to believe God made up for Scott for times like these when he was talking to
me. It was made all the more precious when he wore his glasses 'cause I
could get every itty-bitty detail. The outer ends of his eyebrows fell just
the smallest bit, his nostrils flared, his glasses went brighter, a vein in
his right temple beat out a Dixie tune and his lower jaw dropped the
smallest bit as he took in a deep-- dare I even hope?-- ragged breath.
Scott straightened in his chair and started on his spiel. "Look, Remy, I
wasn't for this either when the professor first proposed it but after
seriously thinking it over, I've begun to see his point."
"Y'mean you started t'fall into de delusion?"
He ignored my comment. He does that a lot. "The kids consider you one of
them but with a lot more respect. For most of them, especially the runaways,
their experiences were your experiences not that long ago--"
"An' mebbe dis here Cajun prefer to keep it dat way, hein?" My hands was
starting to bunch up the sheets. I had to force myself to let go in case I
accidentally charged them up. "What you want me to tell dem dat hustlin'
y'ass will give you scabies, de clap an' a few scars if y'lucky? Or mebbe
you want dem t'learn de best way t' fleece a john wit'out getting' y'face
carved up 'cause dat'll be y'best feature? Mais sho', Scotty boy! Remy be
more dan glad t'--"
"I first got gonorrhoea when I was eight," Scott interrupted, "When I lived
with my last foster parents, I hid my pills from them because I was scared
they'd give me back when they found out I had an STD. The medical room
downstairs has an entire closet full of penicillin, poison lotions,
tetracycline, and ceftriazone, just to name a few, and in the ten years I've
lived here, there've been at least that many teen pregnancies."
His voice lowered. "Most of these kids aren't giggling innocents whispering
about 'doing it' during recess, Remy. We can't be the kind of school that we
want to be if all we take care of is their physical well-being. It's easy
enough to give them antibiotics to get rid of a rash. It's something else
altogether to make the mansion feel like a home. Whether you like it or not,
Remy," now he grinned, "you're their really cool older brother."
"Who's gonna talk to dem about sex," I added in deadpan.
"Who's going to talk to them about sex," he agreed a little too cheerfully.
"They'll listen to you."
"Fantastic," I muttered.
Scott was already in fearless leader mode. He stood up to go through his
filing cabinets, pulling out a half-dozen files as he went through. It
didn't take too long; the man organized paper clips and pencils according to
size. "In reality, all the hard work is in the lecture. We've got a basic
year lesson plan and a few research materials leftover from when we used to
do monthly talks."
He put the files into front of me. I never realized what nauseating colours
file folders come in. Why do people make them that sickly lookin' yellow and
green anyway? Sure couldn't be to get some sort of enthusiasm for the job.
You know, p'raps the main reason people hate filing is 'cause of the colours
they make the damn file folders.
"Here's a few things you can look over."
"Not a problem." I think p'raps he got my sarcasm and just ignored it again.
"That should just get you started. If you look at the lesson plans, you'll
see that we want full interaction-- things like question boxes, research
projects, and group activities would be best for you since we want a really
informal, round-table kind of atmosphere."
He rifled through a drawer in his desk and took out a flat rectangular box,
the type that held either a bracelet and earring set or a couple of those
overrated pens that those corporate types like giving their
employees-of-the-month. Somehow, I didn't think he went shopping for
diamonds in Tiffany's for my sake.
"The classes should be separated in age groups," he continued after placing
the pen box on top of the files, "and then into guys and girls for the
younger kids. You wouldn't have problems with teaching co-ed classes for our
seniors, would you?"
I looked at him, up from where I was sittin' to where he was standin' with
his hands in the pockets of his fine chinos, his dress shirt ironed into
perfect creases down to where they're supposed to be tucked in, his damned
hair combed in a prep school part and his shiny, white, all-American smile
all but sparklin' and I realized that I was talkin' to a truly sick
individual who got his kicks out of cruel and unusual torture.
"The swamp rat's teaching what?"
Root beer, when snorted up and spewed out of your nose, was really painful
and really disgusting. Jubilee apparently thought the same thing. Her face
was curled up into a purse-string look as she handed me a wad of facial
tissues from her pocket. I coughed, wiped up my chin and took another drink
just to settle my nerves.
"It doesn't sound like a prank that Bobby would make. Are you sure you heard
that right?" I asked her.
"Of course," said Jubilee, "I got it from Dani after she talked to Allerdyce
and Proudstar who heard it from Sam when he was listening in on Wanda in
English class saying that she made Pietro rat about what he heard when he
was running by the teachers' lounge last Thursday after third period where
Miz Munroe and Dr. McCoy were talking about what the Professor and Mr.
Summers could've had a meeting about the day before. So it's gotta be true."
The Mutant High grapevine. Faster than any Internet connection yet invented.
And just as foolproof.
It was just what I needed after getting technical D's in my last three trig
quizzes and a "suggestion" to rewrite my history paper. Visions of having to
sit through an entire hour with that skank talking about sex made me want to
vomit. He'd probably start recounting the notches on his bedpost in Dolby
digital imaging and surround sound.
"I guess he'd know a lot about it," I said, "Especially considering he's
probably gotten every single VD at least once."
"Rogue!" Jubilee made her utterly-totally-grossed-out face again. "That was,
like, totally what I didn't need to envision!"
"Imagine what I feel like!" I exclaimed. "I'm allergic to the jerk!"
"Mais sho' dat's a shame, p'tite."
We both jumped. Jubes squealed. I turned around, my face red as a rotten
tomato. The devil himself was about as close to our personal space as he
could get without getting slapped by a statutory rape suit, grinning down at
me pleased as punch.
"Hope it ain't too serious," he said.
I smiled back at him. "I'm afraid it's fatal. I might have to drop the class
altogether for the sake of my health."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry t'hear that, p'tite. Especially since the
penalty for missin' this class is a twenty-minute presentation on a topic of
"Wha-at?!" I almost felt like throwing down my books. "We never had to do
He shrugged, shifting the neckline on his ratty hippie shirt wider. "New
curriculum, new teacher, new rules, ma 'ti souri."
I sputtered for a few seconds. The whole idea behind the classes here, the
professor told me, was to help us get a GED for when we left. The classes
were pretty loosely structured and the teaching methods weren't exactly
traditional. The professor said what he wanted to do was the breed a love of
learning in us and to see that we were givin' it everything no matter what
"That ain't fair."
"Se vie la, cheri," he said with another one of his annoying shrugs. "Pa fou
arretay sur fay ke t'pa se chanjay." [That's life, darling. Don't dwell on
things that you can't change.]
"Mais on peut protester contre des injustices font par un tyrant
incompetent," I shot back. [But one can protest against injustices done by
an incompetent tyrant.]
"To pale franse komme en parfay p'tite american ignorant." [You speak French
like a perfect little American ignorant.]
"Vous ne parlez pas fran�ais du tout." [You don't speak French at all.]*
"Whoa!" Jubes got in between us, holding out her hands in a "time out"
signal. "Waaay too late for anything more complicated than English. Everyone
just chill it, 'kay?"
Once again, the swamp rat did something completely cheesy. He took Jubilee's
hand and bowed over it, saying "Your words, chere, are as good as an
angel's. If you say it, it must be done."
Everyone seemed to have the same basic incredulity as me when we all walked
into the classroom. Classroom was even pushing the definition of the word.
One of the smaller reading rooms had been rearranged, the couches all pushed
in a circle with a projector and a screen at opposite walls. The swamp rat
went straight for the place in front of the window.
"Everyone gone and become shy all of a sudden?" he asked, one smarmy eyebrow
going up. "Sit down an' we can get started on all of y'questions."
Bobby spoke up as soon as he flopped into his seat. "Is this for real, Remy,
or are you still trying to out do the prank I did last month?"
Solemnly, the swamp rat held a hand over his heart. "This class is a true as
it gets, mon ami. Once a week, you ten are gon' come here and we gon' talk
about t'ings you too shy t' talk about, t'ings you exaggerate about, an'
t'ings you look up on de Internet at three in de mornin'. Eh, speakin' o'
He turned around to root behind his seat. Jubilee nudged my arm and pointed
at his rear. There was a big rip where a back pocket used to be, showing a
patch of shiny black material. A couple of seats away from me, Kitty's eyes
almost crossed and even Tabitha, who was due to deliver her kid by spring,
was smiling in appreciation. Sometimes, I think I'm the only sane girl left
in this building.
He came up with a decoupage box and placed it on the coffee table, tapping
it smartly. "Mersi to y'all who put a question in de question box."
"This'll be great!" Allerdyce was saying, "we had something like this in my
old school and we got to ask all sorts of things." He stopped and I thought
he started to look a bit wary. "Y'know, people can get real, real sick."
"Damn," I said, "must've been downright kinky if you're getting' disturbed
"Never underestimate the things that girls can come up with," he granted.
"In any case," the swamp rat, obviously starting to get an idea of how
inadequate he was for the job, hurried to get the conversation back in
order, "first thing on this here lesson plan says we gotta open up the floor
for any questions you might have about de class." He looked up. "Any
I was surprised to see that Dani was the first to talk. She usually stayed
quiet and absorbed stuff before speaking up. "Is this just another run down
about condoms and AIDS?"
"It would've been if I was the type t'follow Summers' lesson plan exactly,"
replied Swampy. "but I t'ink we only need one or two classes 'bout wrappin'
de bacon, hein? Especially after we go through the diseases section. The
rest o' the stuff..." He shrugged-- dang, I hate that shrug! "I'll keep it a
The rest of the class was basically like that-- the usual icebreakers and
things. Everyone moaned and groaned when it was time for icebreakers after
the monthly break but for some bizarre reason, everyone was all getting into
this one. Not that we really needed it considering we all knew each other
for at least six months-- the exception being Tabbi who just came last
month. But no, everyone was getting' real happy about playin' Dr. Quack
Quack and promising to put in more questions for next class and soon, thank
God almighty, it was all over.
God actually ain't that good.
"Hey, mud pie."
"I've got a tutorial!" I called back, not slowing my pace even though Jubes
froze in her tracks.
"So I'll write you a hall pass," he said. A hand came down on my shoulder. I
jumped around to face the swamp rat, glaring.
"Don' yuh know enough to keep yoah hands t' yoahself 'round me?" Dang! My
accent always goes through the roof when I'm mad.
He was still grinning when he put both hands up in peace fashion. "Maybe I
should start all o' my conversations with 'Sorry, Miz Rogue, ma'am' every
time I come up to you. Always ends that way anyway." Then, completely over
my head, he said to Jubilee, "Hey, chere, I talk to you later, hein? Same
time, same place?"
"You got it, sweet cheeks!" Jubes winked and fluttered her fingers at him as
she sashayed right on down the hall. Jeez! Why'd she have to wiggle her hips
that much? She looked like she was trying out for a hula competition.
"Come on," Swampy said, "I talk with you in my office."
I let my scepticism show. "You got an office? What's it got in it, signed
porn posters and subscriptions to Rednecks Quarterly?"
He stopped so abruptly, I smacked into his arm. When he turned around, his
face looked... well, it was the first time I ever seen him looking mad at
"Look, mud pie." He pointed one long, kinda grimy finger at my nose. "I
don't like you any more than you like me but I promised Summers I'd do my
best on dis here job an' I mean t'keep my promise to de boy, hein? Even if
it means puttin' up with spoiled uppity Mississippi debutants who throw
temper tantrums just 'cause they can't be homecoming queen no more."
OOOOOOOOOOH! That ignorant, self-conceited--
"Listen up, yuh good-fer-nothin', smelly jerk! You got no right to talk t'
me like that especially--" Oh, now I was getting' my blood boiling good! "--
especially since yuh ain't better than a paedophilic mooch, relyin' on your
not-so-great charms and doubtful good looks to breeze right on through
"Mais, I ain't de one usin' my powers t'get people pityin' me!"
"At least, Ah ain't usin' a man's good will tuh support mah bad habits!"
"You don' like my habits, mebbe you should talk a long walk off a short
pier. An' I know just de pier, hein?"
"Oh, puh-lease, can yuh just get any hokier with that damn stupid accent?"
"Who has a stupid accent? An' an even stupider hair-do?"
"'Least Ah wash mah hair more than once a month."
"Which is a damn sight more dan you wash yo' mouth."
"Ah wouldn't talk, tar breath."
"Vampiric skunk!" He bared his teeth.
"Romance novel cover model!" I glared right on back with all the power than
both mind-Logan and mind-Erik could give me.
He let out a sound that was-- mind-Logan put in-- a pretty damn good growl.
His hands went up, fingers clawed in like he wanted to tear something to
"Summa_bitch!_" he roared, jerking his hands from the vicinity of my neck to
the air above his head. Now, he looked like he wanted to tear his hair out.
I was suddenly aware that we had an audience. And a more rapt audience I
hadn't seen since the last episode of transvestite incestuous affairs on
Jerry Springer. Remy must've sensed it too, 'cause next minute, he yanked my
hand and pulled me up the staircase muttering something about Mr. Summers
owing him big and replacing "Chromedome's" head wax with essence of poison
I let him drag me just so we could argue in his office-- wherever _that_
was-- without an audience tape recording it and giving it to the professor.
But after we passed the fourth floor where most of the dorms were still
empty, I started to pull back.
"Where're you takin' me?"
"To de roof," he replied. "So I can freakin' well push you off."
"Like hell!" I started to struggle.
He smacked the top of my head. I was so shocked I froze.
"What was that for?" I demanded, using my free hand to rub the place where
he'd hit me.
"Chere, if you knew how many times I've wanted to hit you--- That there is
de only place I can spank you without getting' more hurt in de process."
By this time, we'd gotten to the fifth floor, the storage floor. There was a
small door that led out into the roof and we were heading that way. For the
first time, I thought maybe he was serious about throwing me out of the
roof. I started to hold my place again.
"I don't know where _you_ got your instruction manual but corporal
punishment ain't in any curriculum."
Remy turned fully around to face me. "Chere, please, that was last period.
I'm tired, you're tired an' everyone's probably just outside that there door
with their ears pressed against it, waitin' for us to put on World War IX.
You got papers t'finish, I got classes t'teach an' pretty soon, we ain't
gonna have any more time for any o' this so let's just get on up to de roof
where no one can here us killin' each other an' let dat serve for de rest of
de month, hein?"
So that's how we ended up in the roof just under a gable where the fliers
probably wouldn't catch sight of us.
"Welcome to my office."
I was on the verge of saying something smart but decided that the quicker he
could say his piece, the quicker I could get away from him. "Nice view."
"I like t'think so. Seat?" He patted a spot right next to him. Since it was
the closest to the door, I planted my rear down on it.
Instead of answering me right away, he took out cigarette and lit it, taking
a couple of light drags before turning to me again.
"Read up on your power. All instructors got to," he added as soon as my
mouth opened. "Should probably know on de record that you ain't gonna get an
excuse for missin' de classes an' de assignments just 'cause of them."
"I wasn't gonna try to," I lied.
He ignored me. He does that sometimes. "One day, you gonna get a hold of
your powers an' I guarantee you gonna need this class more dan anyone."
"And what is that supposed to mean, swamp rat?"
He looked away. "Just exactly what it sounds like, mudpie. You think I don't
see those boys sniffin' 'round you all de time? All you gotta do is bat them
big brown eyes of yours an' they all but trip on their own shoelaces to do
This time, I looked away, too. "You don't understand. The professor said he
can't ever cure me. I can't ever touch anyone because of this dang gift."
He snorted. "Oh, listen to yourself! I keep expectin' violins t'start up any
"Look you at me." He held out his hands. "Got my powers when I was thirteen.
For a whole year, I couldn't touch anythin' with my hands. Soon as I did, it
I took a closer look at those hands. They were real callused at the palms
but with fingers that looked almost as smooth as a baby's. His nails were
too short, bitten to the quick like mine.
"How'd you stop it?" I asked.
He shrugged. Have I mentioned how much I hate his shrugs? "I just... did.
Like pullin' a muscle in my brain. An' lemme tell you, there was a lotta
stuff blowin' up in N'Awleans before I could figure out which muscle I was
supposed to push. But that ain't the point, chere! Dieu! You tryin' t'change
"I'm gonna be lookin' out for you, y'got it, p'tite?" He stood up, dusting
his pants off. "Don't think I'm gonna be like the other teachers 'round
here, pullin' their punches too keep your ego intact."
"I might not be teachin' anythin' you can test right here an' now but I
guarantee they gonna be worth a lot more in de real than what Pansy-Ass
Summers teaches, hein?"
"Mr. Summers doesn't--"
"So next class you'd best be listenin'."
"Yessir, Mr. Lebeau, sir!" I saluted without bothering to take the snarl off
"Byen." He waved grandly. "You can go."
"Why. thank you, sir." I would have curtsied if I thought I wouldn't fall.
And to think, I had another twenty weeks of him like this. Sex Ed with Mr.
Remy Lebeau. I might just have to take up smoking.
1) I've forgotten which comic book it was that said Rogue spoke French, but
she does. I'm sure there are at least half a dozen fan-sites out there
that'll give you the exact issue. Besides, "Marie" is a French name. Maybe
it'll be her major.
2) Those who've had any great exposure to French may have realised that Remy
"spoke" a different type of French than Rogue. I'm taking into account the
fact that Remy grew up Cajun and would speak Cajun French whish has
different intonations & spellings than traditional Parisian French. I would
call it a dialect-- like the difference between Norman French, Parisien
French, and Quebecois French. I've put it in 'cause (a) it was fun to
research and (b) if I was going to accent Remy & Rogue's English, it
wouldn't be fair not to accent their French. Rogue's French, BTW, is
3) Is Scott really that anal? Perhaps. On the other hand, some people might
just call him organized.
Got anymore time to waste? Visit my world o' X-Men, Gargoyles and Highlander
fics & pics at http://xeno3kattz.tripod.com/index.htm
Rogue: What am I going to do with you, Remy LeBeau?
Remy: I have a list, but I left it in my other pants.
~Astonishing X-Men #1
Goliath: I never realized when you were human just how beautiful you were.
Elisa (with a smile): You mean you thought I was ugly?
Goliath: Uh... careful! Updraft!!
~Gargoyles: The Mirror
Methos: It's got such a nice ring to it. Yeah, no more fighting, no more
killing. Peace and harmony. Don't tell me you never fantasized about that?
Some young sucker's always gonna fall for it.
Duncan: Richie has.
Highlander the Series: The Messenger
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