1964-08-19 - Socialists and Skiiers
Summary: Jean Paul comes to the mansion for more information.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
jean-paul remy-lebeau 

Jean-Paul had nothing in particular to do tonight so decided to investigate the school that Hope led him to. Landing in the rather large front yard, he looks around then walks up to the doors leading in. Well, it's a school and not a house. Pulling one open, he steps inside.

It just so happens that, Remy Le Beau is entering the foyer from down the hallway and striding along, heading towards the rear grounds. Seeing an unfamiliar face he gives an upwards nod. "Hey, ain't seen you 'ere before. How you doin, frere?" He stops abruptly, sliding the pack of cigarettes back into his breast pocket.

Jean-Paul studies the foyer, inspecting the chandelier, the rug, the furniture… He looks approving and half turns when he hears Remy. "Bonjour. I seek Monsier Xavier. You are one of the students here?" Though he looks dubious given Remy's apparent age.

Remy wipes his face slowly and absently, "I dun tink de professa aroun' today, but ah be happy t'check." He tilts his head and gives it a little shake. "Well, sorta. Ole Remy ain't ever gone t'no school b'fore so ahm gettin' mah GED here at Xavier's. Remy LeBeau, at yo' service." The Cajun reaches his hand out towards JP theatrically.

Jean-Paul's flick down at the hand before he reaches to clasp it. "Jean-Paul Beaubier. I encountered Monsieur Xavier here a few evenings ago and was curious about this school of his that he mentioned. If he is not available, I can come back another time."

"Hey man, stay awhile," Remy replies, eager to make the home seem inviting with his own brand of southern hospitality. This place has been good for him, and maybe it could be good for this Jean-Paul Beaubier. "You smoke? Was jus' headin' out back."

"Tobacco? On occasion." Jean-Paul answers, gesturing for Remy to lead the way. "And how long have you been here as a student? Of sorts. How many are there in total? The ones I encountered appeared to be a bit younger than you."

Remy leads the way, pulling a cigarette up to his lips and offering one to Jean-Paul as they walk along. "Been 'ere a few months. Ran into a bit of trouble in my personal life and was lookin' for a place to make some changes. Been a good place for me. Far as de kids, most of em is high school aged, tho we do got ow'selves a nice little college for a bit older ones."

Jean-Paul takes the cigarette with a small nod of thanks. "I see. So it is an academic education that is being offered. What are the admission requirements? I have no need of such but am curious. I had thought there was more to the place than that."

Remy isn't sure how much he's able to tell so immediately goes cagey. He has no clue what the Professor discussed with this man, "Well, dere all sorts of tings dat dis place does for people of our kind, lessay. Wut sorta tings did Xaviah tell y'about?"

"He did not." Jean-Paul answers. "Light?" Following Remy, he examines the halls they pass through. "I escorted someone to Westchester and then followed her when she tried to lose me. She seemed to know of this school and came looking for it. Monsieur Xavier was outside when I landed."

"He be de best person t'ask," Remy says. "Ole Remy dun know much 'bout de whole recruitment process and all dat." The Cajun opens the door and leads JP out before he hands over a zippo style lighter. "Tell me 'bout y'self, JP."

Jean-Paul lights the cigarette then hands the lighter back. "Of course. I am a former Olympic gold medalist and a current mutant, homosexual and socialist revolutionary who lecture on how to bring down the governments of the west through peaceful means. Mostly."

Remy's eyebrows raise as he lights his own smoke and slips the lighter into the pocket of the jeans. His surprised look continues on until he inhales the full drag. "Dat seem like a lot of tings t'keep track of. One of dose tings I gotta ask y'about, but we'll keep de best for last. Tell me all 'bout dat Olympic stuff."

"There is not a great deal to tell." Jean-Paul states. "I am one of the best skiers on the planet and proved it when I was fifteen. A few years later, I was in Europe when an avalanche began. I quite publicly used my powers to save the other skiers. The IOC, almost solely comprised of bigoted, white, middle aged men, decided I must have used them to win my medals and stripped them from me. End of story. And what of yourself? You are obviously not from this part of the United States. And you seem to have some familiarity with French."

"Oh yeah!" Remy explains, "I remembah hearin' on dat on de radio. You were a real hero to our kind, mon ami." He takes a drag of his cigarette and shrugs his shoulders. "T'be honest, dere not dat much to tell. Ah come from down in Nawlins. Most of de French I know more creole anyhow. But if you lookin' for a man to fry up some crawdads, well, ah live up on de second floor.

"Nawlins. I'm not familiar with that… country? Is it an island in the Caribbean?" Jean-Paul asks then takes a drag and blows a cloud of smoke into the sky. "I can't say I know what a crawdad is either."

"Leesiana. Down bah Texas. Arskansas. An' Mississip," Remy says, quirking an eyebrow at the confusion. Then it dawns on him that if this dude knows French, he probably gives zero cares about American geography.

Jean-Paul still has no idea about 'Leesiana'. "American states." So at least he had an idea where it is. Whatever it is. A city probably. "Bon." Crossing over to one of the patio tables, he pulls out a chair and sits down, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankle. "And you came here for an education."

"An t'get away," Remy replies. "Y'see you was talkin' bout bein' a revolutionary. Well, dat where you an' I is similar, I spose. I ran wit a group of folks who was dedicated to makin' dis world better for our kind. By any means necessary. Tings got a little hot and I needed t'come here an' re-evaluate."

"Violence shouldn't be ruled out entirely but it should be a last resort once all other avenues have been explored, including political." Jean-Paul states. "It rarely changes anything by itself but can be used alongside other means. But carefully as it also can those you want to persuade to your side against you."

"Prolly," Remy replies with a sour face and a shrug of his shoulders. "Dat bein' said, tho, sometimes you just mad as hell and are gunna act. Leave it t'otha people t'figure out what gonna happen. In dose days we jus' felt we needed change and we needed it now." As to now? Well, Remy's not sure what he believes.

"That's not revolution, that's just vengeance. It accomplishes nothing except to turn people against your cause. Wasteful and self defeating." Jean-Paul says, condemnation in his tone. "You made the correct choice in removing yourself from it."

"Mebbe. Mebbe not," Remy says with a shrug of his shoulders. What he's saying that in response to isn't too clear either. "So y'said you were a homosexual too. Which thing catches you more shit in dis world? Bein' gay or bein' a mutant?"

"Being a mutant is more obvious." At least in how Jean-Paul is not shy in demonstrating his powers in public. "Unless someone recognizes me, they rarely know anything else about me."

Remy nods as if the answer satisfies him. With his eyes, he's noticed all the time so long as he's not wearing his sunglasses. "You said you was a socialist. Like, you mean a pinko commie sort of socialist?"

Jean-Paul doesn't quite sigh but does flick a glance upwards. "Socialism is not communism." he explains patiently. "Most countries in Europe are socialist to some degree, some more so than others. Your 'New Deal' instituted by one of your presidents was a series of socialist programs."

"Oh, like helpin' poor people and shit," Remy says as he smashes out his cigarette in the try that sits outside. "Aw hell dat dun sound bad or nothin. Ya tink it'd be like hatin' freedom for de way people talkin where ahm from."

"That's because your government is run by corrupt, white, heterosexual, racists who care only about their own wealth and power." Jean-Paul answers. "Which is exactly why they need to be removed. Other countries aren't quite so bad but they too need a change in leadership to ones that care more about equality for everyone and less for their own comfort."

"You mad because de government like ladies?" Remy whistles and chuckles, "Man ah dun know if dat come into it."

"No, I'm mad because they hate everyone who doesn't." Jean-Paul counters. "Just like they hate everyone who isn't white. Or male. They might like rutting with women but they certainly don't respect them or consider them equals."

Remy shrugs and nods, "Yeah, dat prolly a good point."

"It is." Jean-Paul agrees and glances at his watch. "Well, given that Monsieur Xavier does not seem to be here, I'll take me leave and return another day." Placing the cigarette in an ashtray on the table, he stands, brushing a hand over his shirt to straighten it. "Do let him know I stopped by, if you would."

"Be happy to mon ami," Remy replies as he gives a wave to Jean-Paul. "Pleasure t'meet ya. You was one hell of a skier, man."

"I still am." Giving Remy a nod, Jean-Paul flies off at just under mach one.

Jean-Paul goes home.

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