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| weight; [jesse, gambit] | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 17 2010, 12:50 AM (592 Views) | |
| Primal | Dec 17 2010, 12:50 AM Post #1 |
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Unregistered
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Time of Day: Various Place in Timeline: December 4th (and various) JP Primal and Jesse There was thermal tape on everything. So much so that it was kind of like living in the middle of a neon city, the world lit up in blazing colour. Labels, packets, cans, the damn milk, the bread, all wrapped up in bright light, the- whatever the hell this was; the sugar. The coffee. Primal felt a bit like the special needs kid, the one who needed words capitalised and colour coordinated just to get by without risking death by intoxication or stupidity. Primal cut a bloodshot glance at the clock ticking above the refrigerator, knocking back a mouthful of milk. Doing something so trivial as drinking milk from his own fridge right now seemed like the most abnormal thing in the world. It was sometime past midnight, and it felt like four a.m. He stood empty in the middle of the kitchen, fingering the cold plastic and staring into the overstocked shelves that bled black across his field of vision, cool air rolling against warm in a sluggish blanket. He figured he should shower. Yeah. A shower would be good. He probably stunk, but he couldn’t tell. Reality throbbed around him in dull cohesion, slick and sticky like the spaces between his scales. He’d washed his hands, but shit, they needed scrubbing or something. Jesse's eyes popped open, those intense eyes staring at the ceiling as she tried to figure out what the hell had pulled her from a great dream. Her brow furrowed... in confusion as she tried to remember what it was she'd been dreaming about; there was a hamster... and Dick Van Dyke. Then she felt it again. Primal. Jesse sat up, running her slender fingers through her messy mop of blond hair as she looked around – Raen was nowhere to be seen. Throwing back the covers, Jesse slid off the mattress, her bare feet padding across the floor as she went to look for him in the darkness. She didn't bother turning on the lights... darkness hadn't been much of a problem for her in quite a while. Besides... she could see a light from the direction she guessed was the kitchen... probably the fridge. Cool air caressed her bare skin as she moved through the apartment, peering around the corner to see Primal standing there beside the open fridge with a milk jug in hand. It wasn't abnormal for him to be up at all hours of the night... both of them tended to be nocturnal, but he'd said he would join her shortly. That had been at least a couple of hours ago. Resting her head against the door stop, she simply watched him from behind, eyes roaming over the ripple of his arms... tense tendons in his neck... the way his scales glistened off the refrigerator's single light. Any other occasion of simply watching him like this would have her dragging him back to their bedroom... but not tonight. Not when she sensed it so strongly in him... she couldn't possibly feel attraction to the saurian at this moment. All she felt was revulsion at the sensations coming off of him. It hurt her. She couldn't imagine what it was doing to him. He didn’t even notice her at first. There was a strange delayed reaction to the way his senses reacted, pretty much everything dull: smell, sound, even taste, the milk lingering at the back of his tongue like it had soured on the way down. It niggled at him. He looked round suddenly as if startled, and then swore and slowly replaced the carton. “Shit. Hey.” He passed a hand over his face. In the momentary red gloam images flickered: grit teeth, his claws, something hot and nasty. He blinked it away. Raw echoes played like little splinters in his ears. “Did I wake you?” A forced smile flickered across Jesse's features, “A little yeah. Just not in the way I'd expected.” She stared at him for a few moments, that smile fading as she kept her head rested against the doorframe. She decided to skip the bullshit about how she thought he was going to join her a while back and was he not tired or had a long day from work... She just needed to get to the point. “What's wrong?” Primal exhaled a shrug and shut the fridge door and leaned against it, skin prickling at the shocking chill. His nerves met it as if a burn. “Ain’t nothing for you to worry about.” His head knocked back against the appliance. Nothing. His humanity was a crippled thing. “Think I ain’t coming back from this one.” Jess didn't launch herself at him, telling him he was full of bullshit; she simply fixed him with a deadpan gaze, lips compressed tight. If Primal couldn't tell how she felt about the first part of that answer, then he was devolving. She searched his face, noting the fresh scars from his most recent fight with Gambit. He hadn't told her what he'd been doing, but she was pretty fucking sure it had something to do with him. She'd smelled the Cajun on him more than once. “What's he got you doing?” There was no mistaking who he was. A humourless snort cut short through Primal’s nostrils. Astute cow. He was vaguely surprised she hadn’t figured it out by now. She could smell. She could read him better than anyone. He searched for a sardonic response and came back with nothing. Nothing nothing. “I know you got a problem with what I do, Jess. I hate the way you smell when I come back after pulling something for him. Following orders is following orders. It is what it is.” Yeah, it was what it was, and hell if he’d slept properly in well over a year. “We're in a war, Primal. I get that there's messy things that need to be done, and I respect that we have strong people willing to do them. But there's a difference between that and what you're doing, and you know it.” She stepped into the room, her naked body breaking out in goosebumps as she felt the temperature drop a little more the closer she got to the fridge. Jesse grabbed his hands and tugged at him to get him away from the fridge as she directed him toward the small kitchen table and the nearest chair. Forcing him into it, she began massaging his shoulders, kneading her fingers and thumbs into the knotted muscles as she continued. “You know... there's reasons behind all the other death. That's driven by a purpose I can understand and support. Good intentions and a solid purpose at least protect our souls when we have to do things like this.” She leaned forward and kissed the top of his head, “But baby... there's no point to this, is there?” Her curves were blurred with the pink aura of her body heat. Primal didn’t resist as she tugged him away from the refrigerator and guided him into a seat, sitting awkward around his tail. His eyelids drifted as she ground at the tense ropes of muscles slung hard across his shoulders. They shut once. A contorted negative of Gambit’s screaming face slammed across his retinas. He stared at the table surface and imagined the wooded shape of knots and eyes and other natural blemishes that were now only a faded childhood memory. “Don’t think I was born with a soul, chick.” He leant forward and propped a scaly elbow on the tabletop, working thumb and fingertip into the hard ridges above his temples. “I fucking hate that scabby Cajun cunt, but I gotta give it to him; he’s a stubborn little shit. Got to the point I wish I could just kill the poor bastard.” Jesse sighed and buried her mouth and nose in his hair while giving his shoulders an extra firm squeeze... she wasn't in an arguing mood. “If you didn't have a soul,” she muttered, “then it wouldn't be bothering you like I see it is.” A few moments passed in silence before Jesse continued, “So end it. Go in there, snap his neck, and be done with it. He would have told you anything useful by now... it's just to the point where he just wants to hear Gambit scream. That's all.” “The big guy’s convinced he’s holdin’ out on something. I ain’t so sure; the Cajun ain’t lying. Guess it’s an excuse.” He dug a nailclaw into the soft surface. It gave way too much like skin. “Can’t do it, Jess.” Primal set his palm flat down on the table and pushed to his feet, pulling away from the warm scarf of her hands. “He dies when Magneto says he dies.” Jesse took a couple steps back, eyes locked on him as she looked up at him from her tangled blond mess. “You're destroying yourself, Primal. You're gonna end up just as messed up as Pietro.” She looked away from him and crossed her arms over her bare chest; she shouldn't have brought that up. “I can feel it. That's bad enough. I don't want to see it. I can't stop you,” she looked up at him again, “But I'm warning you. Stop.” Pietro. Primal grew dour, his eyebrows knotting in the middle. Yeah right. That clusterfuck. Sometime between the raid and the exodus the little heir had gotten a few screws knocked loose. Primal wasn’t too sure what was going on there, but the kid stunk all kinds of wrong. “Still sane, ain’t I?” he said terse, though he wasn’t sure where inhumanity sat on the sliding scale of madness. The clock stuttered a low gong, announcing some hellish time in the morning. Maybe it was five. He didn’t want to check. “’Bout that time.” It wasn’t, but at the mention of the speedster he’d felt his hackles rise, and he didn’t want to get into a fight. Not right now. Jesse had said her piece. She wasn't going to say any more. Primal was a stubborn son of a bitch who would do what he'd set his mind to. Words from her wouldn't change that. She simply turned and headed for the doorway, pausing at it to watch him as he left. She wanted to see if he really would. At that moment, she didn't hate him for not listening to her or for what he was doing to a defenseless man... she felt sorry for Primal. He was so lost and he couldn't see the good that was right in front of him. She hated his blindness. Jesse blinked; she wouldn't cry. |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Dec 18 2010, 07:51 PM Post #2 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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Dieu ait pitié de mon âme et déposez-le au repos. His legs were on fire.; every muscle strand was burning with a need to relax. The balls of his feet ached from bearing most of their owner's weight, making the bone feel like it was shattered from hours of strenuous overuse. Occasionally Gambit lifted a foot of the ground, but the attempt of relieving one foot only made the pain worse in the other, suddenly required to double its efforts on keeping the Cajun standing. By now, only a few seconds relief was all he could stand, and of course, placing the foot back on the ground after a few moments of respite only made his taxed body flare in even more pain. Hours of being unable to sit had sapped the Cajun's energy until he was on nothing but dregs; his arms were cuffed behind his back, a strap suspended from the ceiling forcing them up as much as possible and requiring Remy to bend over just enough to provide as much relief as possible to his aching shoulders. The position gave him no chance to sleep... if he started to fall, the pressure applied to his shoulders would jar him awake as his arms were threatening to be pulled from their sockets. After hour upon hour of holding the same position with very little stimulation, Gambit's eyes were in a constant state of rolling to the back of his head as he fought increasingly heavy eyelids. It was hell on earth. He didn't have anything to tell them, yet they insisted on keeping him alive, asking him questions – some new... some repeated as if the answer would change. He had nothing left to tell them... nothing of actual worth to tell them. They knew who the X-Men were, they new who X-Factor was and SHIELD. Magneto had more contacts in the world than the prince of thieves had, and everyone involved with his 'interrogation' knew it. No... this was a prolonged act of revenge for what Gambit had done to them. Or tried to do. He didn't know if that single desperate act of heroism had actually saved Havok and his team. Primal said they were dead, and at this point, Gambit was readily willing to believe that fact; not like it mattered... he was going to join them before too long. This had to end eventually. They would get tired of doing this and rip his head off. Remy had been sure there would have been some way of escaping alive... now he didn't care if he'd be leaving this prison in a body bag or not. Belladonna? Pain wracked through his shoulders and coursed down his arms as he was suddenly wrenched awake, catching himself before his knees buckled and slowly straightening them as his legs, feet, and arms screamed at him. He heard a metallic pop and the scraping of steel against steel as the light flooded with room. He didn't look up, instead letting his head hang down as he stared at the floor fighting sleep. He hoped it would end today. He knew better. |
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| Primal | Dec 22 2010, 07:50 PM Post #3 |
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Unregistered
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It was kind of pitiful, seeing a man near broken slouched staring at the floor, staring at nothing at all. First week, the Cajun had been defiant, head up, gaze unflinching like he'd had something to prove. Past that it had started to sink. It had been around that time that Primal's stomach had begun twisting in on itself, like it was now. They'd cleaned him up good. They always did. Primal didn’t like it, coming back in to find the guy all healed, the evidence of their hours-long sessions wiped away as if smears on a chalkboard, as if it was negligible, something that could be discarded. It confused the icy knot inside him, as though he felt guilty about feeling guilty. "Rise n shine, sweetheart." Primal knuckled a claw underneath Gambit's chin, making him look up into the saurian's critical glare. "Still in there?" He snapped his fingers in front of the Cajun's dozy features, little cracks echoing like gunshot. The swamprat stunk rotten. The cell was a box, full of nothing but air and the lingering smell of bleach and that old vomit stench, just strong enough to taste. There were two chairs and a steel table and no windows, a mechanical door with an access panel and a thin aperture for trays. A fat torpedo of light made everything look white. Primal didn't notice the difference. Jesse’s plea rang in his ears. Snap his neck. Be done with it. Just one quick wrench and a dull pop and this nasty arrangement would be through, LeBeau’s nerves tap-dancing out some final rendition. Primal realised his hand was hovering close to Gambit’s throat, fingers hooked like talons. He hoisted the bottle of water he'd been holding, sloshing it around in front of the Cajun's battered nose. It was ocean fresh, purified by some molecular hydrokinetic with an enviable salary. "You miss me?" He twisted off the cap and took a swig, glancing at the tiny black cameras tucked neatly in every corner. "Yeah. I'd miss me too." |
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| Primal | Dec 23 2010, 12:03 AM Post #4 |
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Unregistered
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JP Gambit and Primal Primal was either baiting him or simply trying to fuck with his head, and Gambit had pretty much decided that he no longer cared which. His energy could only carry him through what felt like hours of physical agony... trying to match wits with the saurian had gone out the window a long time ago. Shooting a witty barb at the Acolyte would simply get him a sneer, a reminder that his friends were dead, or another painful reminder of who was in charge. Any kind of resistance was pointless and would only lead to more unpleasantness. So he simply stood there on trembling legs, matted hair draped across his face, not even bothering to react to the unpleasant touch of Primal's claw as he was forced to look up at him with those glazed over eyes. He had no hope. He had no help. All he could do is wait for his inevitable death with as much dignity as he could muster, and even that was fading. He blinked slowly, and tried to swallow, only to realize that he couldn't... his throat was too parched. He wanted some water, but knew asking for it would get him nothing; nothing mattered anymore. The bit of water that had sloshed across his face was like a brief moment of heaven... before the unavoidable hell that was to come. What did he even want with Gambit anymore? Nothing. Not even a whine. The guy blinked, once, slow, like a doped-up toad, and that was it. Christ, either he’d totally broken the backstabbing cunt or the thief had taken one too many hits to the head. Both possibilities were viable, and neither was particularly comforting. Primal slapped Gambit once, sharp enough to shock him out of his stupor. “Wake up.” Dragging across one of the chairs, its legs shrieking on the cold epoxy, Primal set down the bottle where LeBeau could see it. Again he tugged Gambit’s chin up, claws scraping against stubble. “Y’know what’s fucked up? I don’t even want to do this anymore.” He pressed his thumb against Gambit’s jaw, turning the thief’s head to one side. …Just fucking snap it. “Jesus, you stupid son of a bitch, I feel sorry for you.” Spit and blood went flying as Remy suddenly cracked up laughing, choking from a lack of hydration that left his throat feeling like sandpaper. His head was still spinning, ringing... copper coated his tongue. Gambit swallowed, using his own blood to give his throat some kind of rudimentary relief. He found Primal's words just as fucked up as the Acolyte had... and funny as hell. “Then why you still doin it? Just get it over with,” he rasped between another set of wheezes and coughs. It wasn't going to hurt ol' Remy's feelings if the saurian just ended it. “Just slit my throat and walk away already.” There he was, still in the land of the living, sanity still somewhat intact. Primal smiled a grim smile and stalked around to the back of the chair, leaning on it nonchalant. The bottle of water stood rude and erect in the middle of the little seat. “Remy,” he said. It wasn’t endearing; that name was shit, it was an insult, a tribute to his filthy human pals—it was a dirty slave name, no better than ‘nigger’. “I’m gonna give you a choice. You play nice, you drink. You don’t… well, ain’t no skin off my nose.” He straightened. “I’m tired of this shit. I’m sick of my timetable revolving around the life n death of Remy fucking LeBeau. Slit your throat? I’d be so lucky.” Another cursory glance at the cameras. Primal crouched as if addressing a child. He metronomed a finger north-to-south. “Which body part you least fond of, LeBeau?” Crimson eyes flashed with a spark of life, already starting to fade as he fixed them on the saurian. He really disliked the scaled asshole... perhaps in another life, they might have actually gotten along, but Primal was unrelenting in his beliefs. His zeal was only topped by Magneto himself; blind faith in the man and his ideals coupled with that lust for blood made the Acolyte a very dangerous mutant. “Never found much use for my heart. Go on ahead and rip it out.” Primal kicked the chair forward so hard it skidded and toppled, the bottle wobbling across the floor, haemorrhaging water. Before it had lost a third of its volume he picked it up and capped it, stepped up to the Cajun, and slung an arm around the thief’s scrawny neck, the bottle hovering inches away from cracked, peeling lips. “Let me put this another way. You’re gonna lose something vital. Either you pick up your sorry ass and quit acting like you got something left to be funny about, or I’ll choose for you.” By this point the bottle had descended, bottoming out at crotch level. “Catch my drift?” Remy's looked away as the chair skittered across the ground, his eyes shut until he felt an arm rest across his neck, putting even more pressure on his aching legs, which now began to violently tremble as he tried to maintain his position. His gaze fell on the bottle of water, droplets sliding down its plastic sides, and then up to Primal's face as the saurian gave him an impossible choice. His eyes flared at the games his captor was playing with him... nothing he said would make his lot any easier. “Funny,” he managed the word in the form of a question as he visibly trembled with exhaustion, “Fine... how 'bout somethin a little less funny.” A momentary surge of ferocity passed over Gambit's face, “You ain't ever gonna want to see me again, Raen... 'cause I'll make it outta here, trust me.” “The next time you see me... I'll be there to kill you.” The guilt left him, fading into irritation. It always reached this moment, the moment reluctance switched to indifference. Different reasons, but he always hit that sweet spot at some point during their routine. Primal dropped the bottle and drove his knuckles into Gambit’s solar plexus hard enough to make the thief retch, and held him up so he wouldn’t twist his shoulders out of their sockets. “Yeah. Alright.” His arm was round Remy’s neck in a chokehold now. “I’m gonna put that one down to momentary insanity and a real fucking lack of common sense.” His hand was a tight fist underneath Gambit’s chin, knuckles scaly and rough against skin. “But I guess I better stay on the safe side, huh?” With his free hand, he gave the Cajun’s cheek a patronising pat. “Remy-” it still sounded like bile. His thumb pressed against Gambit’s eyelid, something soft resisting. Noise came from the Cajun, a whine that grew in pitch. “This is really gonna hurt.” |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Dec 23 2010, 01:32 AM Post #5 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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“Alex, get the hell out of there!” “Gambit?” “Who is this,” Remy shouted into the payphone, his brow furrowing. “Who do you think?” “Magneto,” Remy said, pulling his head away from the earpiece to stare at it in disbelief. “Yes,” Magneto's voice spoke as if Remy's ear was still against the cold plastic of the phone. “And you're too late. They're all dead.” As if to prove that point, dark red blood began to pour out of the ear and mouth piece of the phone Gambit was holding. He tried to let it go, but couldn't... he could hear the screams of Lorna and Jet and Rictor on the other end of the line. Their blood felt warm and sticky as it ran over his hand, soaking his fingerless glove, getting between his fingers. He began spitting... his teeth falling out by the mouthfuls... Remy shuddered as his one good eye popped open only to stare in blackness... it took him several moments to realize where the hell he was. Why were his arms burning? Oh... As moments passed, Gambit became aware of the fact that his arms were bound together from the elbows all the way to the fingertips as he lay face-down on the cold hard floor. His neck ached from the position he'd fallen asleep in... had that been the thing that had pulled him out of a nightmare? A hushed whisper, “Gambit...” Dugan. The pair had been spending as much time as possible talking, trying to keep their tone as hushed as possible so as not to attract attention but loud enough for their voices to carry across the ventilation between their cells. It had been one of the things that had helped Remy cling onto the dregs of sanity he still possessed. “Ye–” His body was wracked with coughs... his throat still sore from all the screaming he'd done; the healers hadn't thought to do anything about that. “Yeah,” he finished. “How you holding up, son?” “Got the shit beat outta me and had my eye put out by somethin from Jurassic Park,” Remy groaned as he rolled over to lay on his side; his arms were on fire. “I'm fine as a frog's hair.” “Good man,” Dugan said after a moment's hesitation. Really... what could a man say to give another courage when he was facing a similar predicament. It was similar to the blind leading the blind. “You did the right thing, turning like you did. We all have to pay for our mistakes, but know that you saved lives out there.” Remy snorted, “Says you.” “I don't believe it, and you better not either. They're just trying to break us. Don't let them get to you. You did the right thing betraying them, and if Havok and his people knew what kind of man you were in the end, they would be very proud of you. If I can help it, I'm going to make sure they know. You just have faith in that.” Remy stared into the darkness, the burning in his arms fading as he lost himself in memories, “Yeah...” June 11th, 2008: The day before Gambit left X-Factor JP Gambit and Havok Remy pulled another three cards from the deck, his mouth tightening slightly when he found the king of clubs staring at him... he didn't have a space for it yet. The Cajun dropped the cards on the discard pile and picked up three more – now he was looking at the seven of spades... another useless card. Gambit didn't care much for solitaire, but it was something to do to pass the time so he didn't have to think so much... thinking could get a man killed. Boots propped on a corner of the bossman's desk, Remy had gotten Alex's message that they needed to meet around this time, so here he was awaiting the younger Summers brother. The kid was young and a bit on the impetuous side, but the Cajun had a great deal of respect for him, and admired how far he'd come. Gambit couldn't help but be a little curious what Alex had wanted a one-on-one meeting with him for... after all, the kid should probably still be getting rest, not overseeing the operation of X-Factor. He picked up another set of three cards; damn... a seven of clubs. Alex was tired, very tired, and his power monitor turned pacemaker weighed very heavily on his chest. But he couldn't put this off, or they would lose a very unique position. Right now, right now when things were in this recovery phase, when X-Factor and the X-Men were getting settled after the horrible darkness that had tried to take them all. Now, and only now, would this make sense. But did he have the right to ask it? Making his way slowly into his office, Alex took his seat behind his desk, gratefully. He was actually doing better than he had been, he had to be or he would not have been allowed out of the infirmary, but there was still a paleness about him, and a duskiness to his lips, under his eyes. "Thanks, Remy, for meeting me here," he said, "Sorry for all the cloak and dagger, but it'll make sense in a while." Remy's eyes glinted as he quirked a half-smile at Alex, “No worries, mon ami.” He dropped the cards in his hand and leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on Summers as if he were studying the younger man. “You look good. Look like you could take on your brother for another round. Not sure I'd put money on you, but you could give him some hell at least.” Remy interlocked his fingers as he leaned back in his seat, cards forgotten, “What can ol' Remy do for you?” Holding up a hand, Alex said, "Please, save the charming lies for the ladies, Cajun, I look like death warmed over and I know it." He chuckled lightly, the sound holding a note of hesitancy to it, the younger man keeping things under control with that specific rigidity that came when an injured man tried to keep the pain from overwhelming him. "Well, let's get to brass tacks. I'm not Scott, never have been, never will be, and, for everything that's happened, he still casts a mighty shadow. But in your time with us, you've never once thrown his leadership in my face, never given me cause to doubt where your loyalties are, and after what I... what I became because of that mental manipulation, you're still here giving me your trust. I want you to understand how incredibly important that all is to me, and how much I appreciate it." He paused for a moment and then he said, "And, I want you to abandon us. I want you to defect to the Brotherhood." Despite the lack of surprise on Remy's face, he couldn't help but be at least a little stunned at the hammer that Alex had just dropped. He sat there complete silence, thinking about Summers' words; the young man was right... Shadow X had been a disease that had infested most everyone that had come in contact with it, and he himself had been one of the few exceptions to that rule. He'd helped to lead the resistance against it, but knew that it was only a matter of time and effort before they managed to snap everyone out of it. Scott, Havok, Jean, Kurt... they were all people he trusted to do the right thing at the end of the day... no matter what influenced them temporarily. It was one of the few things he could take to the bank. The shock of the news didn't shake that confidence. “Heard rumors among the thieves that Magneto's back. Dat what dis is about?” "Yeah," Alex said, "That's a big part of it." He tapped on the side of his head with a pair of black cloaked fingers, "That's another. You're immune, and I don't know that a lot of people know it. It helps that you have Mr. Mystery vibe going for you in spades. Look, you don't have to do this. I realize that I am asking you to take a lot on faith, but I know what Magneto can do to people, I know how he can influence them. When he found me, he filled my head with so much hot air that I couldn't help but explode. You... you're the only one I trust to be able to see past his propaganda... Having a man on the inside, it'll give us such an advantage, such a way to save lives, not just of humans, but of the mutants who might be corrupted because of him." Alex took a deep and stuttering breath, wincing a little as the adrenaline he had worked up talking about this grand and terribly dangerous idea of his made his bruised heart skip a beat or six. After the smallest amount of time he allowed himself to recover, the brash young leader of this team of misfits said, "I'm asking you to make yourself the enemy, to break the hearts of this team, and to deny everything that you stand for in order to uphold everything you stand for. If you can't do it, no harm no foul. We'll forget the idea as one of Scott's baby brother's hairbrained scheme." He turned tired blue eyes on Gambit's unique black and red ones, and marveled that they didn't make him marvel anymore, "But you know it's not hairbrained. You know it makes sense." Any hint of amusement in Remy's face had completely evaporated by now as he steepled his fingers and stared at Alex in heavy contemplation. He hadn't expected Summers to suggest this kind of move; he should have. Havok had been taken in by Magneto; the man knew what he was capable of and was certain that they needed to keep an eye on him. Lehnsherr was a dangerous son of a bitch... as crafty as he was powerful. It made sense that Summers would want someone on the inside to keep tabs on the Master of Magnetism's actions. Not only that, but there was always an opportunity to find out where he had disappeared to when he'd been presumed dead. When Magneto is out and about, it was a good idea to be cautious; when he dropped off the radar and there was no body... it was time to get scared. He didn't have any questions about what Alex was asking of him... it was pretty straight forward; work your way into his good graces and keep an eye out. “I'll need a week to figure out where they're holin up... might take longer. They've been covering their tracks pretty well since Jean's little stunt, but I can find 'em.” He considered what would happen after he found Magneto... what he'd say to the man to convince him that he was genuine. “Gonna need information on everybody to give to him. Nothin that'll put any of you in real danger, but enough to make it look like a legitimate gift. Can't undersell it.” “And I'm gonna need to do somethin to stab y'all in de back... let him know I'm for real. Gonna have to play dat one by ear though.” "Information, I can give you, not that you probably couldn't get it if you wanted it anyhow," Alex said, "And, yeah, I know what you're going to have to do. It's not going to be easy, not for you, not for us... and, I might be damned for suggesting it, but, the pros outweigh the cons." He put his face in his hands, for a moment, and then he said, softly, "This is something they won't expect. I'm... not sure I expected it myself." That roguish grin returned, “Desperate times, mon ami. He leaned forward and began sweeping his cards up with one hand, still keeping eye contact with Alex, “You get me the info I need on all y'all by tonight. Some for the X-Men too. I'll argue with you tomorrow... make it real nasty and public. Just so you know... I'll only mean half of what I say.” Pocketing the cards, he stood up and winked at Summers, “'Preciate the opportunity, Alex. Figure there's a bunch of loose women in de Brotherhood. Who knows what they do behind closed doors. That it?” Well, if that wasnt taking lemons and making lemonade, Alex didn't know what was. He managed the first real smile he had since coming in here to ask Remy to do this horrible thing, and said, "Well, just remember I won't mean a word of it." He extended his hand and said, "Thanks for putting this kind of faith in me, Gambit, it means a lot." Remy clapped his hand in Alex's, “See you on the other side, Havok.” Without another word, he turned and opened the door, disappearing and shutting it behind him. He slouched against the wall, his eyes traveling down both directions of the hallway as memories of the place flooded his mind. After allowing himself a few moments of contemplation, he nudged himself off the wall and started toward his room; Alex had just asked him to pull off the biggest con of his life. He had some preparations to make. “Yeah... he'd be proud.” |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Dec 29 2010, 12:06 AM Post #6 |
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Days or weeks later... Remy swallowed hard, barely able to do so due to the lack of water... his face was covered in sweat and blood, his matted hair clung to it in clumps. The Cajun lay on the floor where he'd been thrown, his head shoved in the corner where it met the wall. He could smell the dirt and grime that was already starting to accumulate in a place that reeked of neglect. Rolling over, Gambit felt his bound hands crushed between his back and the floor, but couldn't really bring himself to care; he'd already been through so much pain as it was thanks to Magneto's lapdog. He really hoped there was a hell... if anyone deserved to go there, it was Raen. Unfortunately, Gambit was afraid he'd beat the Acolyte there... Still... if he could spend eternity watching that cretaceous motherfucker scream in pain and torment... well that might be the closest thing Remy Lebeau might ever see to heaven. After all... he didn't deserve complete damnation. He closed his eyes, thinking back on one of the most useful things he'd been able to accomplish with his time here... and one of the things that likely disgusted X-Factor the most. September 22nd: Directly after the events of the Wolfs Head Massacre Remy leaned against the door, barely able to support himself under his own weight as he thought back on the events that had just transpired. Wolf's Head... All those women and children dead... He closed his eyes only to see an image of a burning building. “Gambit!” He turned to see Saint holding up the head of a young boy he'd just tried to help escape the village... the boy obviously hadn't made it. “You missed one!” Saint tossed the head through the air and Remy tracked it with his eyes until it hit the gravel mere feet away from him where it rolled several times before coming to a halt. Gambit opened his eyes and looked around... he was alone in the hallway... no one was around to see him. Remy held up a hand, staring at it as it trembled violently; he wouldn't be able to sleep for days... not after what he had just witnessed... not when it reminded him of the massacre in the sewers of New Orleans. “They were refuse, Gambit. Genetic trash meant for the betterment of mankind through study and observation. Nothing more. They're not like you, my boy... able to adapt to survive any surrounding.” Sinister's words still haunted him... had driven him to the point of living by them – whether it was a code he followed or struggled against, he still wasn't sure. “Bullshit.” Those had been Primal's feelings when the Cajun had requested Alix for himself. Magneto hadn't believed his reasons for wanting Alix, but had granted it nonetheless; he had no idea why, and that scared the hell out of Remy. He buried his face in a hand as his mind raced. His desperate attempt to save Alix had put him on very thin ice... and he wasn't sure he could recover with Primal peering over his shoulder and sniffing at him like he was something from the trash. He needed to be very careful. Raising his head and propping it against the wall, Remy raked his fingers through his hair and let out a very long breath. This mission had been much more difficult than he'd thought. A week and a half later... A shaft of light fell across the floor of the shipping container, illuminating the unconscious body of Alix Smith briefly before the light was blocked by a lone silhouette. The man who blocked the sunlight stood there watching the dark inside of the container, crimson eyes glowing eerily against the dimness, the orange light of a lit cigarette barely showing his scruffy features. After what seemed like minutes, Remy Lebeau pulled the cigarette from lips – pressed thin in worry and concern – and dropped the smoldering butt to the ground, grinding it out with his booted toe. Without taking his eyes off the faded figure huddled up against the side of the container on a mass of blankets, Gambit reached up and pulled on a string. A single bulb flared to life, flooding the room with incandescent light and brought Alix into view. Boot thunks rang throughout the otherwise empty container as Remy slowly approached the unconscious young woman, stopping beside her and dropping to a crouch. He cocked his head to the side and watched the girl's very shallow breathing – the constant state of sleep and inactivity required very little in the way of oxygen... or food for that matter. His eyes glanced to the bag hanging on the wall beside her... half full. Gambit reached out with a gloved hand and slid several strands of hair out of her face, hooking them behind an ear as she watched the young woman sleep. “Kinda wish you was awake, chere.” He waited, as if waiting for her to respond, when it was clear she wasn't, the Cajun went on. “Hope you didn't know anybody in dat village, 'cause they're probably dead. Brotherhood killed 'em all.” He ran a hand over his eyes, pausing to press his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger to them... after a moment, he pulled them away and stared at the hand in front of him – it was trembling slightly. Remy looked back at the sleeping woman, “Tried to hide some of 'em... keep 'em safe, but dey were found. A whole family gone. Woman... kids...” Gambit suddenly stood up, running fingers through his longish auburn hair as he took a deep breath and slowly let it out; it sounded like a bellows in the empty crate. He looked back down at Alix, “This is de hardest thing I've ever had to do... seein all dem dead bodies... reminded me of what I let Sinister do to all them Morlocks in New Orleans.” “I tried to make up for dat the other night... don't think I did so well.” He fell silent, listening to his own thoughts as he leaned against the wall, pictures of dead Morlock children swimming across the backs of his eyelids... waiting to greet him every time he blinked. There were human faces impressed there too. It seemed that most of the Brotherhood wanted him dead. X-Factor hated him... both had good reason to. He glanced down at Alix, and now she'd hate him even more after what she'd heard him say before they'd knocked her out and brought her there. He needed to tell Havok... one person needed to know what really happened... why he'd done what he'd done. “Don't think I'm gonna make it outta dis one alive, mon ami,” he finally said out loud as he crouched beside Alix once more, stroking her glossy hair once, a small smile flickering across his lips, “Could be dead tomorrow for all I know.” He could run... but he had a job to do, and what made life worth living if you couldn't do the job? “In case you can hear me... tell 'em all dat I done my best. Tell 'em dat I miss 'em... and...” Remy had to stop talking. One more word and he'd do something he hadn't done in years. He started to bring a hand up to his eyes again, but paused mid way... that might be just as bad as talking. He stroked Alix's head gently in a way a father would a sleeping daughter's and stood up again. Gambit swallowed, coughed into his hand, and swallowed once more before affecting that half-grin everyone knew so well. “Don't worry chere. I ain't gonna let nothin happen to ya.” Present Remy opened his eyes, managing a smile that set his entire face on fire as it disturbed so many cuts and bruises. Alex wouldn't have continued the charade after Murderworld. All of X-Factor knew by now that Remy hadn't been completely devoid of honor... it was something that the Cajun could hold onto, and the only thing that provided any sort of light in the pitch black that surrounded him. They would know that he had tried to do the right thing over the course of the last two years of his life. With that thought, Remy slipped into a very painful sleep. |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Jan 22 2011, 07:21 PM Post #7 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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2008 - Shortly after X-Factor's return from Krakoa, and news got out that Alex and Lorna had died... Remy tossed the paper aside, and fell back on the bed. He had no idea how many times he had read over the article... he'd lost count. Staring at the horrifying words painted across it for the tenth or eleventh time didn't make them go away though; he knew that by now. Gambit lay there staring at the ceiling, his boot-clad feet getting crusted mud all over his sheets. One arm lay across the his pillow just over his head, while the other one fumbled for the half-empty bottle of jack that he kept for purposes just like this. Alex, you son of a bitch. His fingers finally found the bottle of amber liquid, and he slid it off the bedside table and lazily brought it to his lips, wanting to drown himself in alcohol until his mind no longer raced. The paper that had landed on the table slid to the floor, the article he'd been staring at laying face up:
He swallowed a mouthful of the burning liquor, aware that he couldn't get drunk fast enough; Alex and Lorna were dead. Alex was the only person who had known what Remy was doing. He was the only one who could convince the others that Gambit wasn't a murderous turncoat. Hell... it'd been Havok's idea to send him off in the first place; without the big man around, ol' Remy was just treading water. The bottle crashed against the wall opposite his bed, alcohol dripping down the surface and puddling on the floor. Remy closed his eyes, shutting out the world for a few moments... not thinking of how to continue... not thinking of what he needed to do next. He offered up a silent prayer to God for Alex and Lorna – after all, he had not just lost his lifeline out of this insanity but two good friends, and one of them had died thinking he had stabbed her in the back. “Rest well, y'all.” |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Mar 7 2011, 01:15 AM Post #8 |
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Flashback: After being captured by Famine during the battle in the Midwest “The prodigal returns, I see.” Bright light. At the end of a tunnel? Was he dead? “You're not dead, if that is what you are thinking.” That voice sounded so familiar... A silhouette blocked the light that threatened to burn away his retinas, “Oh good... your transformation is complete. Remember the operation I did on you all those years ago, Gambit? Well, I did the exact opposite. I've enhanced your abilities to a degree I didn't didn't even think was possible for a man of your potential. Given some time, I think it might be possible for you to reach omega potential.” Remy's eyes narrowed involuntarily as the silhouette suddenly left, allowing the light to shine down on him unhindered. Violent electricity suddenly coursed through him, making his back arch as his torso suddenly shot into the air before slamming down. His muscles contracted as Remy suddenly sat up, white hair falling in his face as he tried to make sense of where he was. “Very good. You should have full use of your body. Try it and see.” Holding up a hand, Remy flexed his coal black fingers back and forth several times before balling them up into a fist. Veins and tendons quivered under his inky forearm as the fist radiated fuchsia kinetic energy; Gambit stepped off the table he'd woke upon, bare feet making contact with the ground. “You will make an excellent disciple of Lord Apocalypse, Remy.” Remy's crimson eyes lacked any sign of black... but burned fully red as he searched the room for the voice, finding its owner moments later standing in a dark corner beside a large switch... likely the source of the electrical shock. “Lord Apocalypse...” “Yes,” Sinister said as he stepped into the light, “Your association with X-Factor is over. Your false affiliation with the Brotherhood no longer matters.” Remy put his fingertips to his temples, “How...” “Oh, your telepathic resistance is still in tact. In fact, it's stronger than ever. You told me everything though. It no longer matters. Your old life as a lecher and a thief is over. You have been reborn as a priest of Apocalypse, and you will be one of the forerunners of his religion... the faith of En Sabah Nur. Gone is your lust for worldly things. You live to serve as the wrath of Apocalypse's jealousy. Summers' ridiculous plans no longer exist for you. He is already a horseman of our Lord himself. Now... kneel.” Remy dropped to a knee, unsure why he had devoted so much of his life to pleasures that could never fulfill, or to hopeless schemes that were doomed to fail. He would need to bring the faith of Apocalypse to X-Factor and the Brotherhood alike. “My life for Apocalypse.” |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Mar 7 2011, 01:16 AM Post #9 |
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Flashback: July 6th 2010 JP “What are you doing here?” Gambit spun to see Jesse standing in the doorway of the kitchen, one hand on each side of the door frame as she stared at him. His brow furrowed as he gave the girl a once over, glanced around the kitchen, and then back at her. “Gettin some food,” he suggested with that roguish grin. Jesse shook her head, her blond tresses spilling down around her face in a mess, “No. I mean here. In Murderworld. With these guys.” She sauntered into the kitchen and made her way to a cabinet, peering into it for something to eat as she waited for the Cajun to respond. Instead, Remy checked out the shape of her ass in what was obviously her workout pants. When he didn't answer in a suitable amount of time, Jesse spun around with the speed and grace of a cat, catching him looking at her lower half. “Eyes back in your head or I'll tell my boyfriend.” Remy gave her a sickly sweet smile, “You actin like there's somethin there to look at.” Ignoring his jibe, Jesse crossed her arms over her chest, “I'd actually really enjoy hanging out with you if you didn't smell so off all the time. Don't know what to make of you, but I have to admit... it's kind of nice not to know what you're feeling all the time. Still... I'd like an answer. What are you doing here?” With a shrug and a grin, Gambit propped himself against the counter he stood in front of, “Just fightin de good fight against the evil humans. Same as you.” “I can't tell how you're feeling, but I can smell bullshit, Gambit.” She shook an accusing finger at him, “I know Magneto appreciates what you've done for the Brotherhood and you might have earned some trust with him, but I can't help shake the feeling that if the cards were down, you'd stab us in the back and bale. I'm sure you've heard this from tons of people, but I thought it was about time I put in my two cents... I've stayed quiet long enough. I don't care much for Magneto's methods, but I care about a lot of people who really believe in the guy. You hurt them, and I'll come after you myself... in ways you can't imagine.” “I dunno,” Gambit replied, “I can imagine quite a bit.” “My grandpa said that the Von Struckers wanted to wish me a happy Fourth.” That stole Gambit's thunder. “I thought so. Just keep that in mind, okay? And remember... there's a special circle in hell for traitors.” With that, she left the room, Remy unable to help himself from appreciating the way she left despite having his cage rattled. “Don't worry, chere... I'm already there.” |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Mar 7 2011, 01:18 AM Post #10 |
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Flashback: Shortly after the events in the void. Before Gambit's return to Murderworld. “Remy?” Gambit looked up from the rock he held in his hand and out into the swamp before him. His lip quirked up into a half smile, “Can't believe you really came alone, chere.” The feminine voice behind him snorted contemptuously, “I ain't afraid of you, Remy Lebeau.” Finally turning around, Remy leaned lazily against the side of the tree, fixing his crimson gaze on the small, delicate-looking beauty that stood in front of him. Her fists were planted on a narrow waste, small chest rising and falling with every strong breath... cupid bow mouth compressed into a thin line as those huge doe eyes stood fixed on him with a menacing light in them. He'd remembered a time when they'd been filled with longing and adoration. He tossed the rock in the air and caught it mid-fall, flashing a smug grin at her, “Den why you wired, hm?” That caught the young woman by surprise; the only sign was her rapid blink. It was enough. “I ain't–” “Belladonna...” Belladonna looked up at him, meeting his intense eyes for several moments before reaching into the confines of her tight shirt and pulling out a microphone and wire from between her cleavage. That half smile reappeared on the Cajun's face as he cocked his head to the side, giving Bella an admonishing look and a 'tsk', “Aw c'mon now chere... don't play me for a fool.” Jaw set, Belladonna reached in her pocket and pulled a recorder out, tossing it at her ex-husband, “Heard you was workin for de Brotherhood. Henry was just takin precautions is all. Wouldn't take no for an answer.” Remy caught the thing in his empty hand, it immediately began to radiate energy and fall apart as it quickly began burning up. He let it slip from his fingers, the entire thing turning to ash as it hit the ground. “What do you want,” Belladonna asked through narrowed eyes. “Just wanted to see you is all,” Remy shot back, a serious look on his face for the first time. Belladonna regarded him with suspicion, “Why?” Remy took a couple steps forward, closing the distance between him and his ex, “'Cause I seen glimpses of who we coulda been a few hours ago. I seen you dead. Saw me takin over both guilds...” Belladonna stiffened at that claim, but Remy continued before she could say anything. “I had a family. Wasn't a pretty one, but it wasn't lonely either.” He stopped less than a foot away from Bella; at any moment the leader of the Assassins' Guild could slip a knife between his ribs and be done with him. He didn't care. “Ain't got one here. Brotherhood ain't exactly a cozy place to be.” He raised a hand and slipped his fingers through her short blond hair, “Just thought dat maybe for one day you could forget how much you hate me an' we could just drink to old times.” Simpler times. He held up a bottle of Turkey Creek... Bella's favorite. She'd never been very refined. Two hours later “Why'd you do it?” “Hm,” Remy questioned, opening his eyes just wide enough to see a pair of large doe eyes peering at him from under a tangle of short blond hair. “Why'd you come down to see me?” Gambit opened his eyes fully and stared at the beauty laying on top of his chest; he fidgeted where he lay on his back, sliding an arm under his head to prop it up in order to get a better look at her. His other hand reached up to pick a piece of grass out of her messy hair before he proceeded to smooth it down. “Told ya, chere... I wanted to see you.” “I coulda killed you, no?” “So what's keepin you,” Remy said matter of factly. Bella's brow furrowed as she looked at him in genuine puzzlement. “What do you mean, Remy? You tryin to get me to?” Gambit shrugged, “Maybe.” Belladonna stared hard at the Cajun for the longest moment before taking another sip of a bottle of Turkey Creek that was two thirds gone. “What's wrong, Remy?” Crimson eyes flashed, and in that moment in time, all of the deaths Remy was responsible for... the hurt and pain he had caused countless faces... the looks of pain in the people who had protected his back... they all showed in that momentary light. Then those eyes flickered toward his ex's knife belt, “You gonna do it, chere?” Their eyes locked for the longest time before Bella finally closed her eyes and laid her head back down on Remy's bare chest, a hand reaching up to stroke the side of his face as delicate fingers lazily ran through his dark brown hair. “Not today, my pretty man. I'll kill you in my own time... not when it suits you.” Remy merely chuckled and closed his eyes, enjoying the closeness. |
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2:11 PM Jul 11