For the first time in his life, Remy felt a need for the barfbag that the airline provided, and his queasiness had nothing to do with any turbulence that the plane might have been experiencing. Directly across the aisle from him, Bobby and Mercy were making what appeared to be a valiant attempt to join the Mile High Club. They had been kissing ever since the stewardess had told them they could unbuckle their seatbelts, and he was afraid one of them might need the emergency oxygen masks soon. He would have hoped the shade of blue that Bobby was turning had to do with his ice powers, but he was too angry with both of them to spare much compassion for either.
Mercy, confirmed sneak that she was, had not told him that Bobby was accompanying her to New Orleans until it had been too late for him to do anything about it. That was, he had only known about the addition to their party when he and Rogue had arrived at the airport and found Bobby waiting for them with suitcase in hand, grin on face and loudest shirt on chest. He had said that Mercy told him he could come to a picnic they were having, that she had asked Remy and he had given his permission. The resulting argument had almost caused them to miss their flight, by which time it was too late to dump de Drake.
"I shouldn' have let Mercy book de tickets," he told Rogue again, just in case she had not heard him the other fifty times. Sweet, sympathetic woman that she was, she would understand his point of view and support him. She would realise that Guild peace was still too tenuous to jeopardise by allowing a tactless loud-mouth like Bobby to attend the picnic. She would see the security risk he posed, if he learnt too much and spoke to the wrong people. She would agree that Robert Drake should be put on the first flight back to New York. Heck, she might even volunteer to fly him back to the mansion...
Eyes not leaving her magazine for a second, "For God's sake, Rem, you sound like a broken record. Now, shut up an' let me read."
Sinking sulkily back into his seat, Remy glanced over to see what she was reading. It was the copy of Ms.Information that she had picked up at the airport store, obviously much thumbed by other customers. The article to which she had it open had the ominous title of "Dominatricks: How to Get Your Man to Do Precisely What You Want!!!!" Ms.Information's attitude to exclamation marks was evidently the same as their attitude to handsome, young men, judging by the two pouting from the cover and the article. If one was good, two were better and a hundred were more like it. He was about to point out that he would not take relationship advice from people whose idea of punctuation - and hunks - was quantity over quality, but Rogue preempted him.
"Do you mind not reading over my shoulder? It's rude."
"Dat's one article ya don't need, cherie," he muttered darkly to himself, folding his arms across his chest and glaring balefully at the back of the head of the person in front of them. Rogue, fortunately, was too engrossed in learning how to make him jump through hoops to hear him. Otherwise, he might have ended up being forcefed Ms.Information and it still would have tasted better than most of the food the airline gave them.
Everyone was turning against him, he thought. Mercy had brought Bobby along with her, despite Remy making it perfectly clear that he was slightly less desirable than a Biblical plague. Remy would cheerfully have seen the Mississippi turn to blood and frogs rain down over New Orleans before having Bobby come to a picnic with them. Rogue was obviously at that sensitive time of month when he usually scheduled his trips back home and\or cowered in his room in abject fear. Even the stewardess had refused him another packet of peanuts when he had asked her. Apparently, he had his fair share. He gave the back of the head another venomous look. All in all, he would be glad when they touched down in New Orleans.