Disclaimer: I don't own x-men. I have a likeness of Gambit on my desk though. For the time he will have to suffice.
Being a thief required a certain consistency to it. While it was important to be versatile, the basics were the same. After all the need to blend with the shadows was just as important when swiping a homme's wallet as it was when doing a big job for the boss. Nursed on the lessons of consistency, Remy Lebeau was in many ways a creature of habit.
Today was no exception to the rules, the sunlight streamed in from a hall window as if assuring the Cajun that it was there to stay, even in late September and the warmth that accompanied the sun would make an appearance. Needless to say, after fifteen minutes of attempting to ignore the daylight, he got up, put on his black boxerbriefs and headed to the house's kitchen to get the two essentials: coffee and cigarettes. Remy's hair was askew and his red on black eyes held what John so eloquently called 'eye boogers' at the corners. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Gambit turned the corner to the kitchen where Piotr sat eating the only cereal in Magneto's base: Fruit Loops.
Living in tight quarters with Pyro, Colossus and the other Acolytes had taught Remy one thing: burly foreign men eating kid cereal was a common occurrence. Mumbling "Bonjour mon amie," Gambit stumbled to the coffee pot only to discover the damned Aussie had taken the last of the coffee. Gambit's slamming the coffee pot down while emitting a string of French profanity that hardly made Piotr look up from the paper.
"Make fresh." Piotr reasoned with the Cajun mutant. Remy scowled, half asleep and angered made for a dangerous combo early in the morning. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lighter he left inside the Tupperware (so the damned Aussie couldn't get his fingers on his smokes) and stepped outside to smoke, oblivious to the fact that the thermometer read thirty-eight degrees outside.
A string of French profanity mixed in with random English words permeated the morning air. Remy had spent a large portion of his life in the deep south where the thermometers never really reached below fifty and the sun peaking out meant warmth. The time he spent out of the swamps of Louisiana was always planned to escape the hellish heat of the south. Needless to say he began to question his working for Magneto if it meant him spending his time in the Yankee's winter hell.
Lighting his cigarette, and inhaling caused a shred of reason to return as he turned to the door, intent to get his trench coat. He got good money for what he was doing…and the Yankee femmes dug his accent. Surely he had not gotten more action down where every man had the smooth southern drawl. What did it matter how cold it was when he had femmes falling over themselves for a lil extra body heat? With his confidence strengthened in where he was, Remy stepped inside the kitchen. Quietly he went to get his trench coat and it wasn't until he entered the kitchen that the Russian noticed him again.
Piotr studied Gambit's appearance for a few moments and understood the perdicerment. "Not cold. This nothing. In Mother Russia, this heat wave. We go skinny dipping swimming in lakes or with teeny tiny Speedos." Piotr said evenly in his way of reassuring him that it wasn't that cold. Remy stared at Colossus at hearing that. The man didn't even look up from the paper.
Gambit blinked, wondering if sleep still clung to him like a floozy. Did Colossus just mention wearing tiny Speedos to him? The mental image was too disturbing for the Cajun. "Too much information, homme." Gambit mumbled, deciding that perhaps it was best if he simply went back to bed.
End