Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am to a spiritual level beyond material possessions. Therefore, I must borrow everyone else's.
A/N: After finishing the last part I realized that I wanted to tell you some stuff that I couldn't casually fit into the next story. So here is part three of the longest epilogue ever.
Thanks Skysong for editing!
Epilogue to Nine to Five: The Toad, the Witch, and the Burning Wardrobe, Part III
A man in a trench coat egged a motorcycle up the dirt road to Bayville's infamous lookout point. The wooded road gave way to a large clearing overlooking Bayville. The non-descript town actually looked pretty as the sun was setting to the west. The extra heat and smoke in the air made the sunset more expansive and colorful than usual.
Being a school night and still fairly early, there were only two cars there. One was a Lexus that was rocking and the windows were all fogged up. Remy LeBeau shook his head, although he was in no place to judge. He had done similar things before. Probably won't even remember de girl's name tomorrow, he guessed about the boy in the car.
The other vehicle was a familiar one - black with a makeshift sunroof and Mardi Gras beads. Remy turned off the engine of Piotr's motorcycle and dismounted. He cautiously approached the front of the vehicle. It was parked in a prime spot overlooking the city. On the roof of the car lain St. John Allerdyce. He was staring out at the city with a half-drunk bottle of scotch in his hand. He was specifically watching the place where Vinyl Vintage had stood last week. Now it was only steel beams and cold ashes.
Remy cleared his throat so John would notice his presence. It worked, and John's head bobbed down and to his left to see his friend Remy.
"Remy!" he shouted excitedly. "Glad you could make it to the party. I burnt all the invitations earlier, so I didn't come anyone would think."
Remy was amazed at how drunk the Aussie was, and that he was not throwing up all over the place. One of life's mysteries presented itself: How in de world did he drive up here in one piece?
John twisted his body towards the Cajun and held out his hand with the bottle of scotch in it. "Wanna drink?"
Remy put up his hand. "Non, I d'ink I'll pass."
John fell back into his previous position. "Yeah, I am pissed (1)," the Aussie said, misunderstanding Remy. "You want something else?" John turned over to his other side and grabbed a brown grocery bag. He spoke into the sack. "I got gin, tequila, and whiskey." He then lifted out the bottle of Jose and stared at the drop left at the bottom. "Forget the tequila." He tossed the empty bottle to the ground, where it clanked against an empty pint of raspberry vodka.
Remy wondered how the nineteen year old got a hold of so many bottles of booze. "Where did you get all dat?"
"I flirted with a Republican!" John announced. Remy wasn't sure if that was an answer to his question, or if John was randomly spitting out whatever popped in his head. "I don't much think he liked me much," the wasted boy added.
Remy had no idea where to begin with the plastered mutant. His thoughtful silence was filled with John's ramblings: "Did you know that Guns 'N Roses were mutants?" Remy looked at him funny, then noticed that there was a Guns 'N Roses song on repeat coming from the car's stereo. "They musta been time travelers or those people that see the future, prehogs or something. They got together, then traveled to the future, saw my story and wrote a song about it."
Remy recognized the song as "You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory" off their Spaghetti Incident album, which he owned. "Guns 'N Roses weren't mutants."
"Whadoya mean? They even sing the song to me. They say, 'This one's for you Johnny,'" John argued and gestured with his arm holding the scotch for affect.
"Guns 'N Roses didn' even write de song. Johnny Thunders did." Remy explained about the Spaghetti Incident being a cover album.
John's fuzzy mind couldn't grasp the concept. "But how could Johnny Thunders know 'bout me if Guns 'N Roses are the time travelers?"
Remy gave up on explaining things. He was going to handle one problem first. He opened the door to the car and reached over to stop repeating the song. He put his hand on the seat to lean on as he reached. His hand became moist, and Remy made the most disgusting face ever, imagining why the driver's seat was wet. He lifted his hand to his face and smelled. It don' smell like piss. Remy asked John out of curiosity. "John, why is de seat wet?"
"The snow, the snow," John sung as he waved his arms about. "The snow is against me. Mardi Gras couldn't stop it. It came, and it conquered. Veni. Video, Vichi. (2)"
Somehow from the ramblings, Remy satisfied himself with the explanation that the snow from the ski base came in from the sun roof and melted on the interior. This time Remy hopped in the driver's seat to switch the CD player off repeat. While doing so, he noticed a few CD cases on the passenger seat. They were very familiar.
"John!" he shouted from inside the vehicle. "Dis is my Guns 'N Roses CD! You were goin' to make off with my Guns 'N Roses! And my Rolling Stones!!"
The angry Cajun leapt out of the car and took a few quick steps to the front. The inebriated Aussie knew he was in trouble and rolled off the roof to the passenger side of the automobile, grabbing his bag of booze with his free hand. He managed to right himself onto his feet. He took two running steps straight, the next one crossed over his left leg. His right leg tried to compensate for the shift, but he only ended up running sideways until he fell down and rolled over.
Remy walked over to St. John and leaned over him. "I'd kick your ass if you weren' already doin' such a good job yourself." Feeling bad about the patheticness of a drunken John, Remy offered him his hand. John put down the bag of booze and reached for Remy's hand. It only took him two tries to get it.
After helping him up, Remy finally got a good look at what John was wearing. Instead of the faded jeans, Invader Zim tee, and jean jacket he had left the base in, he was wearing neat-looking khaki cargo pants, a turquoise striped polo, and, to top it off, he had an enormous belt buckle with an alligator on it.
"John-boy," Remy grunted, as he let John lean on him to get him back to the car. "What de hell are you wearin'?"
John smiled drunkenly at him. "The fire pixie got them for me! She insisted. And you can't say no to a fire pixie! That's bad for the fire karma. I even kissed her, but she wasn't very good at it."
Remy slapped his forehead to rid himself of all of the inanimate objects he imagined the drunken John macking on. "I'm sorry I asked."
John stopped smiling when they made it to the passenger side of the vehicle. "They're kinda ichy." He frowned. Remy leaned him up against the back door while he opened the front. "How did you find me? I burnt the invitations. . ."
Remy tried to help the boy into the passenger seat. "I figured it was you who set fire to the Starmucks -"
"How'd ya know?" John smiled with mock shyness. His foot slipped off the step, and he fell on top of Remy.
The Cajun pushed him off. "I d'ink it was da sixty foot Stay Puff Marshmallow Man o' fire walkin' down Mission Street dat gave you away." John giggled proudly. "I know how you like to watch your fires, and I figured dis was de best spot. And it was 'bout the only place you could possibly launch fireballs from and hit de base on Mount Ararose. Nothin' caught -"
"Yeah, those jiffy poppers only burn from the bottom burn. Burn, burn, burn," John interrupted.
Remy continued, "But de melted snow flooded de place, so dere was still a good amount of destruction. Mostly Magneto's stuff. De rest of us had our stuff on de movin' truck already. Waterlogged all his etch-a-sketch stuff. He was fumin'."
"And you blew up Sabertooth's bike."
"Was he on it?"
"No. Every cop in de city is lookin' fo' you." Remy changed the subject and stood up. "But don' worry. Petey an' I got you covered. We phoned in some 'tips' to keep dem busy. Petey does a very good impression of an old cranky immigrant woman, by de way. D'ought dere would be some trouble wit' de X-men, but Petey says d'ey been havin' d'eir own problems. So, what happened today?" The sober one again helped the drunk one off the ground.
"You know what. Wanda didn't know me anymore." John grew sad. "These last couple weeks went poof." John, who had lost his bottle of scotch by now, illustrated his story with drastic hand motions. "And you never, never get in a car with a stranger, Remy. Never." He shook his finger at the Cajun. "Not even if they have candy. Not even for Cadbury." (3)
"So what are you gonna do now?" he asked. "I mean, after you sleep dis off."
John shrugged. "Can't go back to Oz. They want to put me in jail. I don't like all the bars; they are cold, so cold." He faked a shiver.
"Dey want to put you in jail here too, mon ami," Remy informed his friend and tried to help in into the car.
"But they don't know it was me that started the fire." He started to sing the chorus of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" loudly and off key. At "light it," he slipped out of the car and to the ground again.
"I d'ink de exclusive interview wit' WBTV gave you away," Remy reminded the drunkard.
John looked up with a glazed look. "Oh yeah. I forgot about that." He giggled. "That reporter was cute. I couldn't say no. It would be like Nick Nalyor turning down Katie Holmes. (4)"
"So I can't stay here, can't go home; Canada is too bloody cold. . . how 'bout Mexico?" John suggested. "I don't have any more dinero."
Remy tossed him a wad of cash. John picked it up and examined it like it was an alien artifact. When he raised his eyebrow in question, Remy gestured to the steamy Lexus where Ducan Matthews was getting action from his girl of the week. John slipped the wad in his pocket without any further questions.
"So how are you goin' to get to Mexico?" Remy asked and again offered his hand to help his friend up.
"With my feminine wiles," John said with assurance in his voice.
His companion raised an eyebrow. "Feminine wiles?"
"It worked for Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis," John defended. "And I'm ten times cuter in a dress than Jack Lemmon, and he bagged himself a millionaire!" (5)
"So you are goin' to just forget 'bout Wanda an' find yourself a millionaire?" Remy inquired as he was finally able to get John into the passenger seat.
John hung his head low. "No." He shuffled his foot against the floor. "How do you do it, Remy? How'd you forget about Rogue?"
"I didn' forget." Remy reached over John's lap to buckle him in. "I d'ink 'bout her all de time. Her eyes, her stubbornness, her determination, her rare smile, her ass. . . ." Remy was transported back to the days of Vinyl Vintage for a second. Back in the present day, he continued. "But she won' talk to me. Won' return my calls. I don' blame her." He shrugged, then asked John, "What did you see in Wanda, anyway?"
"She had the same sense of mischief as me. We complimented each other. If one of us couldn't think of a way to cause trouble somewhere, we would the other knew. She also had this passion in her eyes that would never go out. Until now." John put his hand on Remy's and bent down to look him in the eye. "The fire was out. I looked in her eyes and her fire was gone. Patwoey. Fineto." John let go of his hand to gesture some more.
Remy interrupted him before he said any more. "But you're goin' to Mexico. You're goin' to give up d'en?"
"I don't want to leave, in case she remembers." John thought for a second. "But if she doesn't, I don't want to start over. I don't know if it would work again. I don't know if I would want it to. I don't think she's the same person."
"I don' d'ink she could've changed dat much," Remy tried to reassure him.
"You didn't see her."
"Do you want to stay or do you want to go?"
John took that question as a cue to start singing The Clash.
Remy talked over John's song. "I know you're plastered, mon ami, but you need to decide what you're doin' so I can figure out where to take you."
"I want Wanda back," he said, looking at his hands. "The real Wanda."
Remy tried to give the boy hope. "Maybe we can convince Jason to put her memories back, at least the ones of you."
"That piker won't piss unless Maggsie says its okay."
"So what's your big plan, d'en?"
"I d'ink you've had enough for today." John made a pouty face, but it had no effect. Remy sighed and looked at the ground. "I d'ink I can keep Mags from killin' you if you want to come back wit' me. D'en we can work on Jason. Maybe, if Rogue starts talkin' to me again, we can even go to Xavior 'bout Wanda. Once she's better, d'en you two can run away to Aruba."
". . . Jamaica, ooo, I wanna take ya to Bermuda, Bahamas, come on pretty mama . . . " (6)
"Or I could take you to de train station. And you can get away from all d'is shit forever." Remy wished he could take the second option for himself.
"Living on the run, with Magneto's pet cat tracking me down everywhere I go? Sounds like a carefree life of smiles and sunshine."
"You could always hide out."
"Remy, you know how bad I am at hide and seek."
That he did. If Magneto wanted to, John would be found and punished. Remy wasn't sure what Magneto would do. Would he just say "good riddance" and wipe his hands clean of John, or would he try and track de boy down to keep him from causin' any more trouble? Keep him under close eye. Dis isn't my decision. "What do you want to do John?"
"Find Guns 'N Roses."
"What are you goin' to do wit' guns and roses?" Remy forgot that he never did like the answers to his questions.
"Time travel. Never let Maggie trick me in the first place. Tricksy, tricksy fellow. I want to steal his ring and burn it to ash in front of his face." John took out the car lighter and made a fireball. John continued to stare at the fire in silence.
Eventually Remy spoke. "Dat would be a great plan if he were Gollum."
"John, I'm runnin' outta time here," Remy told the boy. "Where do you want to go: de train station or back wit' me?"
John swung his head to look at Remy. "Can I burn Jason's pants?"
"Does dat mean you want to come back wit' me and try and get Wanda her memories back?"
The lovesick boy nodded. "What do you think Maggie will do to me if I come back?"
"Don't worry 'bout dat," Remy reassured him. "I got it covered. Just don' go do somethin' stupid and screw up all my charmin'." Remy turned around and looked for the grocery bag John had dropped earlier.
"Remy," John asked with a serious tone when the boy came back with the paper bag of booze, "We're good friends right?" Remy nodded. "If we're such good mates, then why didn't you back me up before? Back at the base before Magneto made scrambled eggs out of Wanda's head. What do you have to lose? I know about Petey's family thing, but not about you."
Remy looked at his friend. "I'll tell you later," he said truthfully. Remy took the liquor out of the bag and put it on the floor of the car. Then he grabbed an empty plastic bag to place the paper one in.
"Why not tell me now?"
"Because you are piss ass drunk," he explained and handed him the make-shift barf bag. "If I tell you now, you won' remember an' wit' all dat's happened, you deserve to know." Funny, when I met Rogue, I d'ought she would be de one I would confess all dis to first. I started to, but I couldn't tell her all of it. Not yet. Now I'm confessin' to a depressed pyromaniac. "Let's get you back to de base an' into bed."
"Remy!" John exclaimed. "I, I didn't know you felt that way about me." He giggled hysterically.
"Ha ha," Remy said. "An' Rogue says dat my mind lives in de gutter." He slammed the passenger door.
The Cajun walked around the front of the vehicle to the driver's side. He opened the back door to put the seat down so he could hopefully fit Piotr's motorcycle back there. The back seat was still littered with security tags from Blockmuster videos, wrappers, and pop bottles. But there were a few new items as well.
"John," he addressed the boy strapped into the passenger seat. John's head bobbed up, and he craned his neck to look back at Remy. "What is all de paint for?" Remy pointed to the several open and almost empty cans of black paint on the floor of the back seat.
John looked down at the cans as if he had never seen them before. He tilted his head back up and looked Remy in the eye. "Redecorating?" he guessed.
Remy could tell by the drunken look in his eye that John would probably never remember what he did with the paint, so he let it go. After securing the motorcycle in the back seat, halfway sticking out of the sun roof, Remy hopped in the wet front seat, started it up, and put the vehicle in gear.
The radio was off so John started singing Billy Joel again. Remy reacted by throwing the broken head of the Boris Bobble head at him hitting his inebriated friend in the temple (7). John grew eerily silent, then promptly threw up into the grocery bag. The driver sighed and rolled down the window.
(1) Pissed is slang for drunk, wasted,
(2) Caesar's original quote, in the latin, "Veni, vidi, vici." : "I came, I saw, I conquered."
(3) In Australia there are pretty much two chocolate companies: Cadbury and Nestle. This disappointed me greatly when I was craving Hershey's.
(4) Main character of Thank you for Smoking, played by Aaron Eckhart and Katie Holmes played reporter Heather Holloway.
(5) Some Like it Hot. Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis dress in drag to get into an all girl band so they can escape the mob.
(6) Beach Boys song "Kokomo."
(7) Boris as in Boris and Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle.
Stay tuned for the sequel: November Rain!