"Xavier's School of Higher Education, how can we help you?" Storm answered the phone.
"Y' can tell dat no good, lyin', cheatin', son-of-a-bitch husband of mine dat if he don' get his fool self ont' dis phone in de next few seconds, he's gonna get himself a beatin' he'll never forget. Zip the lip, bitch," Belle added to someone on her side of the phone. "And another ding, Stormy, y' forget dis phone call or y' gonna end up at a lightenin' rod on de top of de Empire State's buildin'."
"Belladonna, always a pleasure to talk to you. Can you hold please?" Storm asked as she hit the hold button and glared at the thief who was trying to leave the room. "Don't even think about slipping away from this one, Remy. Even if you are my brother, I refuse to be killed because you didn't talk to her."
"F'gettin' of course, dat it's y'r turn t' save moi? Gambit's hurt, petite," Remy said, putting a hand to his heart. "Hi, Belle."
"I insist dat y' get y'r t'ievin' little ass down here t' deal wit' dis. Just do it an' don' ask questions. Kristin, put dat down!"
"Like ole times, non? Mebbe Remy can get down dere mebbe not. Nawlins gets crowded at Marti Gras."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Remy. Please don' try dat shit wit' m'. Quit stallin' an' call f' a flight," Belle ordered and hung up the phone.
"Reservations, Delta Airlines." Storm raised a brow at the way Remy pounded the key-pad angrily.
"Two seats tonight to New Orleans, price no object."
"Umů let's see," the sales rep started, "two at 7pm tonight?"
"Very good," Remy said and rattled off his credit card number. "Well why ain' y' packin', Stormy?" he asked with a raised brow and a grin as she shook her head in amusement.
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