AN: Seriously, I don't own the X-Men, I swear! Also, I write very minimal accents, if any.
ShadowFax999 deserves partial blame for this. It's amazing what insomnia will do to a person.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Piotr asked as he and Remy walked into Bayville's newest nightclub.
Remy grinned. "Hey, what could go wrong?"
Piotr just looked at him like he'd lost his mind as the door slammed shut behind them.
"IT'S PARTY TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME!!!"
Remy couldn't hear what his friend was saying as he buried his face in his hands, but he doubted it was in English and he seriously doubted it was fit for polite company.
Or impolite company, for that matter.
"Come on mates, whatcha standing around here in the doorway for?" St. John Allerdyce asked, slapping his arm roughly around Remy's shoulders to give him a hug. "Time to celebrate. It's my birthday!" He laughed and gave Remy a big wet smooch on the cheek.
Remy shrugged the arm off and wiped his cheek with the sleeve of his coat. "Watch it; the femmes might get the wrong idea. Remy don't play that way."
John just rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Come on; it's my 21st birthday, and you guys promised to get me drunk."
"Hey, we promised you a drink, not to get you drunk, mon ami." Remy started to protest, but John had already headed off towards the bar.
On the other side of him, Piotr sighed. "You grabbed all his lighters, da?"
"Yes. I even frisked him before we left. You were watching, remember?" Remy said.
"But this is Pyro." Piotr said. "I still think this is a bad idea."
"Come on, it won't be that bad." Remy said. "I'll even buy you a drink; they've got good vodka here."
Piotr relented, and was heading further into the nightclub when they heard a shout, clearly audible even over the pounding beat of the music.
"REMY!" the birthday boy shouted from somewhere in the vicinity of the bar.
Piotr looked over at his friend. "Remember, this was your idea." he said, and muttered something that if Remy remembered correctly from his friend's informative, although sometimes rude Russian lessons, translated to 'bastard'.
Remy just shrugged. "Who knows? I was adopted." Then he grabbed Piotr's arm, but didn't bother trying to pull him in any direction as he knew that would just be an effort in futility.
"Let's go see what our fou ami wants." he said, and Piotr consented to follow along behind him.
When they caught up with John he was staring at something on the other side of the bar, a look of wonder on his face.
"I. WANT. THAT." he said excitedly, and grabbed Remy's trench coat. "Oh please oh please oh please!"
"What?" Remy asked, looking over to where John indicated, and then he saw it. He'd seen one or two drinks like it before, but had never tried it, and had never seen one like that before.
It looked like someone had taken a banana split, poured it into a glass, and set it on fire.
"I didn't know people set their drinks on fire!" John exclaimed, the look of wonder still on his face. "And here I thought all you Yanks were a bunch of stiffs. These are my kind of people!"
Remy rolled his eyes. "John, they don't drink them that way, it's just for fun, 'cause it looks cool."
"No mate," John said with a grin. "It looks hot. And I want one."
"Oh no no no." Piotr said, trying to head his firebug friend off at the pass. "No fire for you."
"But Petey, it's just a drink!" John whined. "I don't want trouble, I just want to drink it. It's so pretty." he said, looking at the low blue flame flickering out of the top of the tall glass. He turned to Remy.
"Please Remy, can I have one? I just want one. Please oh please pretty please?" he begged, batting his eyelashes as if imitating one of the buxom, simpering heroines of his romance novels.
"You aren't going to shut up until you get one, are you?" Remy asked.
"Fine. Just one." Remy said, ignoring Piotr's glare. He went over to the bartender.
"Hey, what's that drink you served that guy over there? The one you lit up. My friend here wants to try it." he asked.
"It's called a Bananas Foster." the bartender said. "Like the dessert, except you can drink it."
"Bonzer." John grinned. "I'll take one; don't hold back with the fire either."
The bartender gave him a funny look but Remy just shook his head. "Don't ask." he said, and paid for the drink.
The bartender just nodded and started to make the drink, John watching him eagerly. Once the man had lit the rum in the glass, John grabbed the drink from him and cradled it to himself, grinning happily.
"Oh aren't you just the prettiest?" he crooned to his drink. "Who needs birthday cake when I've got you?" he said, and the flame rose up to form a rather decent rendition of a cake, complete with candles.
Remy's heart sunk. Oh merde...
"Happy Birthday to me! Time to blow out the candles!" John cried out, and blew across his drink.
Remy didn't know that disco balls could catch on fire.
He had to admit, it was kind of pretty.
Apparently the other patrons of the nightclub didn't agree with him though, since they started screaming when it went up in flames. They were headed out the door by the time it exploded a minute later. Remy ducked his head into his coat to avoid the flying shrapnel, while Piotr turned to metal and let the pieces bounce off of him. Pyro was sitting on a barstool, a stream of fire balloons floating in the air around him.
The bartender stared at them in shock, with a few cuts on his face and his hair dusted with glittery pieces of glass and metal.
"You guys are crazy!" he cried out, and ran from the room.
John just ignored him. "Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me." he sang before taking a gulp of his drink. "Happy Birthday dear Johnny, Happy Birthday to meeeee!" he finished, and downed the rest of his drink.
"Ah, that was awesome, mate." he said, wiping traces of ice cream from his lips. "Better than birthday cake."
Remy and Piotr just stared. The fire balloons were floating up; one of them caught a streamer on fire while the others continued up until they hit the ceiling. Remy found it interesting, in an odd sort of way. He hadn't thought that a balloon made of fire could act like that; it was almost as if it were floating on its own. He had to admit; John may be crazy, but he definitely had talent.
Remy looked over at John, who was looking down at the bottom of his now empty glass sadly.
"All gone." he said, glancing up at Remy.
"Just can't take you anywhere, can we?" Remy asked, shaking his head. Piotr started off in another stream of Russian.
"Hey, I already told you guys I don't play that way." Remy protested. "Besides, you just ain't my type, homme."
A short, panicked-looking man who must have been the owner ran into the room. He stopped short when he saw the remains of the disco ball and the fire now running down the streamer and crawling across the ceiling.
"You...you...you're burning down my BAR!" he yelled.
Remy shrugged. "'s'okay." he said, and pulling out a credit card from his wallet, tossed it to the older man. Brushing off some ash and a piece of glass from the shoulder of his coat, he turned to the others.
"Come on, let's get out of here before the cops show up." he said, then leaped over the bar and grabbed a bottle of vodka. The owner just stared, his mouth hanging open as Remy jumped back over the bar and handed the bottle to Piotr.
"Here. Will this keep you happy?" Remy asked.
Piotr just gave a brief nod and took the bottle, then grabbed John by the back of his shirt and walked out, carrying the birthday boy hanging in the air.
Remy gave the owner a salute and followed them out.
"Did you have fun, Johnny?" he asked once he had caught up with them.
"Yeah, but could you tell Petey to let me down?" John asked.
"Nope." Remy smirked. "I don't think he'd listen to me right now anyway, would you Petey?" he asked, knowing how Piotr hated that nickname.
"Nyet." was the massive Russian's only reply.
Several minutes later Remy was driving them back to the base. Piotr had already opened the vodka and occasionally would take a swallow. He offered the bottle to Remy but he declined.
"Non, don't wanna risk getting pulled over with an open bottle. Especially since birthday boy back there won't shut up." Remy said, trying to ignore the banging and shouting coming from the trunk.
Piotr nodded. "Are you sure it was a good idea, leaving your credit card back there like that? That's probably going to cost thousands to repair."
Remy shrugged. "It's okay, it's not like it was my card anyway."
"Whose was it?" Piotr asked.