DISCLAIMER:
I own nothing. If I owned anything, I'd never leave the house again. I'd just sit on my arse and wait for the royaties to start rolling in. Alas, I am poor and leave the house frequently to combat said poverty. There's no ownership here.
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~ Scarlet Letter ~
A Chance Encounter..?
The deep crimson trench coat billowed out around her booted ankles, her head turning this way and that to properly take in her surroundings. The music playing was only to keep the crowds pacified until the warm-up band came on, she knew. Manowar's Metal Warriors. Typical party-starter. The drunker ones were already singing along, and she made a note of their position; best to avoid people like that. Possible grabbiness. She found a spot where she reckoned it wouldn't be to hard to hold her own and stood there hugging herself, arms sheathed in fishnet opera gloves and torso covered in soft black cotton that was nigh see-through in the fluorescent lighting emanating from the stage area. Underneath her bra was vinyl, if one cared to look closely. She was banking on noone doing that. Hoping, even. Tonight was for her.
This was one concert she couldn't miss, her fear of crowds and recent experiences be damned. Wanda had been supposed to come with her but the Scarlet Witch was still coming to terms with the aftermath of Apocalypse's defeat and the reconnecting she had been doing with Pietro, her no-longer-quite-so-estranged brother. Rogue totally understood that, after all, she'd been doing her share of bonding with Kurt and she wanted nothing more than for Wanda to reach the level of familal love the two of them now had. Kurt was far from the annoying bratty fuzzball she'd sometimes seen him to be. He was caring and considerate and he valued her above all other things, claiming that nothing had ever made him happier than coming to know her as his sister. If Wanda and Pietro could start being civil and see that there was love there, she knew they'd have a shot at the same sort of happiness. After all, they even had psychotic parents in common. Smiling covertly, she swept her gaze over the gathering masses and was glad she had decided to come. After her attack on Apocalypse that saved the human race she had been withdrawn, drained, and somehow newly empowered as well. She was stronger physically than she had been, and she wondered if that was just the energetic build up from containing Apocalypse or some new side of her original mutation showing it's face. It really didn't matter anyway, not now. She actually felt safe for once, and it was good to be feeling 'empty-headed' for a change...
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Strangely coloured hair was not exactly a novelty at any metal concert, but auburn framed in two white stripes was a combination he hadn't seen anywhere else even with all the travelling he'd done, and wasn't likely to ever forget. He was just waiting for her to turn so he could see the colour of the eyes those bangs hid from his immediate view because he'd be willing to bet someone else's easily stolen fortune that they were the same as emeralds and as lovely as the ocean. He should know, growing up surrounded by water and swiping all manner of precious gems and the like for a living. Had to admit he'd never seen any gem hued quite like that. Roiling depths of green moss over hard-cut precious green stones tinted with just a little of the Mediterranean Sea. Eyes like that were hard to forget and the Gods only knew how he'd tried.
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The warm up band had been crap but there was no way she was leaving her spot so she mainly stood there swaying with the excited crowds pressing in around her, focusing on maintaining her control. That was another thing Apocalypse had done for her. Her psyche was scourged not only of all the other voices and memories she didn't know or care to, it was clear of self-doubt at last, and she had been spending every free moment with the professor trying to learn how to use that to her advantage. So far they had mainly worked through the personal issues connected with the betrayals of the past and the latent anger and aggression that had been her only shield for years now, but they were making some small headway into the matter of her powers. Not that she had any semblance of control, that wasn't yet an option, but she had come to terms with them and learnt to lock away the other psyches when they threatened to overwhelm her upon absorption. Turning slightly she saw something faintly familiar in the crowd but couldn't place it. It had been a glimpse of someone's hair and she wondered briefly why that should be familiar, musing that maybe she knew someone with the same hair colour or something, a deep coppery chestnut hue, and for unknown reasons it sent a little shiver down her spine. Not an unpleasant one, more a sort of flighty, apprehensive shiver, as though foretelling some pleasant thing to come yet warning of it's nature. Shaking it off, she decided to have a little break from Logan over the next few days. The paranoia must be catching – now she was starting to feel watched.
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He couldn't really say he hadn't thought of this. Somewhere in his mind there'd always been a little voice asking him how likely it was that he'd run into her or at least catch a guilty glimpse if he came back, and going to a metal concert when he knew her tastes was just tempting every fate there was. He dearly hoped Lady Luck was smiling on him because he had no idea what might happen if she was made aware of his presence, and he didn't feel much inclined to make it felt just yet. He carried fond, if rather bitter memories of their last meeting – or rather, their last parting – and he wasn't sure what her reaction to seeing him might be. If anything, he carried strong feelings of hope that it would be something that did not in any way involve screaming, insults or randomly flying objects directed towards his person in general, not that he thought it too likely that last scenario would come to pass. After all, they'd parted on fairly good terms, had they not? Surely he shouldn't be this worried, surely he could shrug it off like he did most other things and come back to the ever-relevant words 'C'est la vie'? But he found it difficult to escape the raging unease that threatened to overpower him just by watching her from afar, and he fought to keep the energy contained beneath his skin from breaking free of his carefully built up control. Damn but it was hard. He knew already that his night would be spent watching her rather than enjoying himself – he would not admit that the two were one and the same thing in the end.
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She'd managed to keep the paranoia at bay during the main show and now there was a pleasant adrenaline buzz coursing through her. She felt light as air despite the heavily-booted feet and the oppressing hordes of people all trying to move though the exits in a less than orderly fashion. Laughing quietly to herself, she thought about what Scott might have to say about it if they were ever so disorganised at home – probably things the younger members shouldn't know what meant. Amused by the mental image she slipped out into the streets beyond the crowded space just outside the entrance to the venue and began to put as much distance as possible between herself and the place. Not for any particular sense of being crushed by the people around her, but more because the night air was crisp and clean and she wanted the tranquillity of the near-empty city outskirts to envelop her, to feel like a shadow and escape them all for once.
She set a brisk pace, happy and almost high from the experience she'd just come through, and the wind tore at her hair and coat, making her feel like she was flying instead of walking along the poorly lit streets of an industrial part of town. Up ahead there was someone leaning against a lamppost and she slowed up a little, approaching with caution that came of several abductions and a lot of Logan's daily influence. She saw a dark coat much like her own and shoulder-length hair blowing in the wind that made her think it was probably another concertgoer waiting for a mate, but drawing closer she thought she recognised the posture - the way he seemed to lounge even supported by something as uncomfortable as a vertical metal pole. Ten steps away, she saw the eyes, and it finally clicked. Deep red irises shone out from under an unruly rich brown mop of hair, longer than when she had last seen it, a half-smile curling itself around the full-lipped mouth. Not mocking, not morphing into a cheeky grin, a sincere expression of what appeared to be happiness. She stopped in her tracks, her face arranging itself into a disbelieving mask of recognition, and she reached out a hand as he straightened himself out, towering over her but too far away to touch.
"Gambit..?"
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He squared his shoulders and let his arms drop to his sides, feeling at once elated and unsure of himself.
"Oui, c'est moi... 'Ave y' forgotten ma real name, Chere?"
She seemed a little overwhelmed, and her voice was unsteady when she answered,
"No, Ah jus' didn' think you'd wan' me callin' y' by your real name..."
He smiled a little more at the sweetness of the South in her words. It still worsened when she was uncertain, it seemed, or at least he hoped so, he also remembered it used to thicken in anger too...
"Remy ain' workin', an' he'd like notin more den t' have his name spoken by de beaucoup belle femme dat ever lived," he said sincerely, trying to convey the depth of his feeling.
She smiled widely and came closer, now no more than an arm's reach from him. He mentally forbade his arm from moving anywhere near her. He could almost hear his subconscious curse him for it.
"You're the same ol' Cajun, huh?" she laughed, "Where ya been all this time? It got kinda lonely round here with no one to come kidnap a gal!"
He grinned then, his face lighting up and rekindling that little shiver she'd felt earlier. "Remy's been around, but he couldn' stay away forever," he said with the hint of a chuckle. "Had a little business t' take care of, an' now he's back t' stay."
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms under her – and back to the eyes, sparkling with mirth. "Yeah sure, fer now, y' are," she said lightly, a little sliver of accusation in her tone.
"He is, Rogue... C'est une promesse, ma chere," he assured her, and she flicked her hair out of her eyes and said,
"Whateva ya say – Remy... Got a place t' crash?"
Her experimental use of his given name jolted him for a moment, and he stored away the sound of it in the recesses of his mind for future reference.
"Not fer certain, but Remy'll figure it out sure 'nough," he said easily, a flare of joy in the back of his mind at the supposition that she'd asked because she cared about whether or not he was on the streets.
"Well ya don' have to – y'all could come back an' crash with me; that's if ya don' mind sleepin' on the floor," she winked at him and he grinned even wider.
"Of course not, ma chere, Remy appreciates de offer right enough," he said, trying to sound politely grateful for her generosity instead of eager as all hell to make good on it.
"An' y' gotta promise ta be on your best behaviour, y' gettin' that?" He nodded, bowing low over the gloved hand he'd taken from her and lightly kissing the back of it.
"Oui, ma chere, dis Cajun'll be de best houseguest y' ever saw," he promised, righting himself to see an amused grin spread over her face.
"Righ', well then let's get home, shall we?"
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