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There are many ways a young man with charm, looks, and a certain disregard of rules, can find means of earning money. Not including the ones illegal in Louisiana… Still, a fair amount. Now, it is not that our hero (if we can call him that) would not break the law if the opportunity presented itself, but breaking the law means effort. It means planning and precision, and most important of all, it takes time. Believe it or not, but if you want money easy and fast, the illegal route is not the one to take. You don’t need to have been a lifelong member of the Thieves’ Guild to know that. However, Remy was just that. He had grown up in the steamy streets, the noise of New Orleans, and if anyone in that town knew how to pull off a good con, it was he. He had, after all, been doing it for as long as he could remember. So how come he would not do it now? The answer to that was simple. Remy was lazy. The summer heat was drifting through the city, and he had no intention of wasting precious time and energy by using his head. Anyway, when you have been living your entire life on the wrong side of the law, trying the straight and narrow path can actually be considered more exciting. All these little reasons came together, and they formed an idea in Remy’s head. “Why…” he said to himself. “Why have I never tried making money as a model?” It all seemed to make sense. Minor effort and fairly well paid, as far as he could tell. He rose from the couch, where he had laid spread out, and walked over to the mirror. As he saw his face reflected, his narcissism decided it was a good idea as any.
Skipping the uninteresting part about how our hero found a model agency that would take him in (it may or may not have involved a giant rubber duck), he was eventually given a job. The client was a local clothing store. It was nothing particularly interesting, but it meant wages. When Remy showed up, far too early on a Tuesday morning, he was greeted by the most grotesquely enthusiastic woman he had ever had the misfortune to meet. “Ah, you must be Mr. LeBeau! Very appropriate name, by the way. I’m Monica Minelli, I run things around here. How nice to meet you, well, you see, here is the thing, you should just put on some clothes, Lisa over there has them ready, and then we’ll look over some stuff, and then we’ll take photos, does this all sound okey to you?” The pace at which she talked was dizzying. There appeared to be no pauses between her words, and no clearly defined sentences - not much unlike a speedster he would one day acquaint. Remy nodded, pretending to understand. Before he could say or do anything else, Lisa-over-there had grabbed hold of him and shoved him into a changing room with some pieces of clothing. After changing, Remy was standing in front of a mirror, trying to make some sense of his hair. I can do this, he thought to himself. Taking some pictures. No stress.
Except stress was exactly what it was. Remy’s confidence had always seemed an impenetrable fort, but now the outer walls were starting to waver. No matter what he did, how he posed, Monica was never satisfied. She insisted that “something” was missing, and she could never figure out what. After what was probably an hour, but felt like the better part of a day, she decided they might as well take a break. Remy was beginning to fear for his honestly earned money, and mindlessly pulled forth a deck. So this was it, he thought while shuffling the cards. This is what he got from his feeble attempt at being lawful. Lost in his own thoughts, it felt like a shock when Monica’s hysterically cheerful babbling jerked him back to the real world. “That’s! Perfect!” Remy must have looked as dumbfounded as he felt, because she suddenly started explaining in length. “The playing cards! You should pose with them, it’s so much more dynamic. It’s exactly the style we need, playful yet elegant. Get in front of the camera!” More than mildly perplexed, he chose a card from the deck - King of Spades - and did as he was told. The photographer got back to work with a renewed sense of meaning, while Remy’s world was spinning from confusion. The camera clicked, and he had no idea what he was doing. Why had he let himself be pulled into this maelstrom of whatever it was? This time around, the pictures were greeted with a terrifying optimism and hurried promises of wages to be paid. After this day, Remy LeBeau was certain of one thing: Modelling would not be an easier career choice than thief. Far from it.
To no one’s surprise, the shop went bankrupt a month later.
Many years later, Remy LeBeau had finally learnt that the best way to earn money was as a superhero teacher. Which was not the first thing one would expect, but there you have it. He had just taught a lesson on sex ed to a class of mutants where he was not sure if half of them even had genitals, when he heard laughter from the living room. Unaware of the humiliation that awaited him, he popped in, smiling in his normal, charming manner. “And what is going on here?” he asked nonchalantly. That nonchalance would disappear as he noticed two things. Firstly, Rogue was there, presumably visiting on a break from her new Avengers job, which was a pleasant surprise. Secondly, and a far less pleasant surprise, was the box on the floor. It was Remy’s box. More specifically, it was Remy’s box of stuff that should not, under any circumstances, be found by other people. Why he had it lying around in his room, accessible to anyone, is a mystery. When the people sitting on and around the sofa, including Rogue, Kurt, Hank and Kitty, caught eye of him, they all stopped laughing. “Uh, Remy… Hi.” Kitty looked awkwardly over at him, before they all once again broke into laughter. Eventually, after a very uncomfortable minute, Rogue handed him what they had been looking at. “Sorry sugah, but… What the hell is tha’?” Remy could do nothing, except look at her in shame over the photo he now held in his hand.