Marvel owns the X-men, no profit is to be made from this work.

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It was just another nameless truck stop standing like a mile marker along the endless asphalt that ran through the big, lonely stretches of a country that had too much geography and not enough history. Never did Remy think he'd make his way on up into Canada, but then again, never did he think he'd have to go looking for the man he was.

Weary from the road and needing more than just gas in his tank, a sign hanging over the door painted the diner as having a sense of humour, What doesn't kill a man only makes him stronger, bon appetit! Needing a laugh just about as much as he did a meal, the joint promised both.

Having a look at the clientele made up of truckers, townies, and loggers, Laughlin City had to have been just about as far as a man could run before he had to start asking himself what it was that kept him on the road, and what it was that saw him wake up in yet another flea bitten motel. Shaking off these kind of thoughts, a flash of yellow was a welcome distraction, a splash of colour that stood out against the flannel and blue collar work shirts that most of the men wore.

Nursing a milkshake all by herself, a girl looking to be no older than thirteen sat dressed in a yellow hoodie, Levis, and the kind of shit kicker boots that had Army Surplus written all over them. Ignored by her as he stole up one of the two empty stools that kept her company, Remy didn't have to wait long for a menu to be tossed down in front of him.

"Coffee or water, hun?" The gal manning the counter had the look of a woman nearing the end of her shift, tired, tuckered out, and having eyes only for the clock.

"Coffee, thank you."

Taking it black with two sugars, the brew was bitter and burnt, but it did the trick alright, warming him up after riding hellbent for leather for more days than he could remember. Late fall in Laughlin City might as well have been winter for Upstate New York, but for this N'Awlin's boy, Hell itself could have frozen over and it'd be something a might bit warmer.

The menu didn't have much in the way of choice, figuring the house burger and fries sat at the top of it for a reason, but looking a little further down, the beef and broccoli stir fry served up with fried rice sounded like something that would take a while to see whipped up. In joints like these, the short order cook was more used to slinging bacon, home fries, and eggs that came done in one of two ways only, sunny side up or scrambled.

Leaving his order with the lady minding the clock just about as much as she minded the counter, Remy spun about on his stool to get down to a little people watching. The funny thing was, he didn't seem to be the nights attraction, so that had him steal a peek down at the girl pointedly ignoring him just about as much as she had been doing so for everyone else.

"You be just passing through?" If he thought she'd been giving him the cold shoulder before, Remy could damn near see his breath now, and it had nothing to do with the late fall outside that promised a real taste of a Canadian winter.

The odd chuckle and quiet laughter said that better had tried, and now Remy really found himself interested with this little girl looking so lost against so many work weary and road tired men. Tossing down a crumpled bill and the kind of pocket change that had lint mixed in with it, the girl spun about on her stool to hop down with a stomp of her shit kickers. Strolling up and on out the doors without a look back, she left, leaving him finding himself on the wrong end of an empty stool.

"Order up!"

No sooner than could the waitress take a stroll down the counter, then did Remy find a plate of the worst beef and broccoli he'd ever seen in his life. There was a new chuckle to be heard amongst the quiet laughter, and for the second time that night Remy found himself the straight man setting up for the punch line, and a look at the plate said the joke was on him. But hungry he was, hungry like he never wanted to be reminded of again.

"Merci." Remy whispered, thankful for the meal.

Three bites in and he could stomach it, while five had him knowing he'd be able to clear his plate, but by twelve, well, just maybe he'd order up the same on his way back through. Settling his bill with a tip made of the kind of change that didn't see any pocket lint in it, Remy headed on back out to the cold, lonely road. The only company he had now was his Indian Motorcycle, two photos, and a list that was running pretty damn short.

Scratching off the diner, there was just one more stop in Laughlin City before a man had to figure on either heading on up to the Yukon or turning tail, and he wasn't a man who could turn tail. Not when the love of his life, his Rogue, was laid up in a bad way back in Westchester, and the only thing that could help her was a kiss from another man.

"Logan, I be running out of both patience and places to look. Olly, Olly, Oxen Free, homme, there be a lady we both care about who need to see you."

Tearing off on up the road with a full tank and a full belly, there was only one place left in Laughlin City to look for Logan, the place Rogue first remembered meeting the man. The only thing waiting for him past the town limits would be the kind of regret to keep him up late at night, the kind of regret that came with letting down the lady he loved. Because if he couldn't find Logan then Rogue was as good as dead, and if she died, then he might as well join her for all his live would be worth living without her.

But damn if he hadn't gone and jinx himself. The screech of brakes and the skid of tires burning rubber as they vainly dug and clutched at asphalt for purchase becoming the last things he heard before the dark night came to claim him. Beaten, broken, and lying limp in the fall leaves, Remy stared up into the night sky that sparkled and shone with the waning ribbons of the Northern Lights.

He was hurt bad, bad enough that even breathing was a real bitch of a chore, so it was a funny thought to think how much he wanted a smoke. Try as he might to will his hand to reach for his pack of smokes, it lay useless without so much as a twitch of his pickpocket's deft fingers. Trying again for his wallet, all he wanted was to see his Rogue one last time, to see her smiling face and hope she would forgive him for failing her.

"Chere, Remy...he be sorry, but I tried. It just wasn't in the cards, neh? Maybe Death, he be a gambling man just like they say? He and I, we play us a little blackjack? Merde..."

Taking comfort in one little fact, at least was about to die having tried, just like he had said he would. Funny that, how some bullshit bravado meant to cheer up his lady had come around to bite him in the ass. Surrendering to his heavy, leaden lidded eyes that refused to open once more, the light tread of feet through the fall leaves was a hope he didn't think he had the heart for anymore.

But try as he might, he couldn't even find the breath to beg for his life. Yet for his Rogue, the lady who had turned him from his crooked ways, he mutely pled for hers.

Save me...merde, save me so I can find him to save her...

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There was big game out in these here woods, Logan had taught her that much already. He'd taught her a lot in the time since they'd first met, just like how her being hungry didn't mean she had to go and kill for a meal. Deer, Moose, and Elk had plenty enough blood to fill her belly and still see them on their way, albeit on shaky legs.

Looking for dinner after her snack, Jubilee sucked at the straw to seek out the last dregs of her chocolate milkshake. Undeath wouldn't have been worth living if she couldn't get her sugar kick on, and god damned if everything didn't taste better dead. Then came the skidding of tires, the stink of burnt rubber, and the unmistakable scent of wasted blood getting drunk deep and slow by the greedy dirt.

Carrion wasn't something her and her kind could stomach, dead blood was bad juju, but fresh road kill could be an act of mercy if the poor beast was suffering. Rushing through the woods with a speed that rivalled the wind, off in the distance she heard her pack calling to each other, the wolves that had welcomed her in as one of their own, just as they had done for Logan before her.

Leaping out of the brush to land on the asphalt hard, diesel exhaust lingered, but beneath that was a scent of cigarettes she knew from somewhere. "Fucking hit and run..."

This far out in the middle of nowhere, it was only a crime if ya got caught, or so Logan muttered every time a logging truck nearly sent them off the road. But that didn't make it right. Following after the scent of cigarettes, leather, and the tinkling of a cooling muffler, Jubilee found her road kill and lost her appetite all at once. It was the dude from the diner, the guy who had gone and sat next to her, looking a lot paler than she remembered.

"Dude...?" she asked quietly, dreading his reply somewhere deep in her hungry gut.

He was alive, if just barely, but he wasn't going to be for much longer. It wasn't the blood loss that told her this, nor just how fucking pale he was, no, it was how drawn out every beat of his heart got. Beating hearts were just background noise in a crowd, kinda like the mess of too many voices drowning out each other, but here alone with him? His heart was a deafening crash of thunder that startled her with its every laboured hammer fall.

Skirting the growing stain that pooled around him, she sucked a breath heady with blood that smelt of summer barbeques, street meat, and called to her with the song of the ice cream truck rolling down the street. Biting at her bottom lip until the pain of her petite fangs let her step back from the edge, she searched and rummaged through the dying dude's pockets for his wallet.

"Remy, huh? Cool name...but damn if you aren't a fucking long way from home. Small world, me too."

A dude from Louisiana had just about as much reason for being in the ass end of Alberta as a girl from sunny Southern Cali, so he probably had his reasons, just like her. Pocketing cash out of habit, she didn't even bother counting it. Flipping through a couple of business cards, she snagged them too, mostly because they had numbers written on the back that might be someone who cared enough about the guy to want to know the awful truth of his imminent demise.

Finding a couple of photos tucked away in one little corner of the wallet, the first of a pretty smoking hot chick who had signed the back with a little scribbled heart and her name, Rogue, it was the second one that had her jerk back away from the dying dude.

It was Logan, her Logan! Except he looked happy, well...mostly grumpy, but even she could catch the hint of a smile as he sat with a girl that looked a lot like smoking hottie Rogue, 'cept she looked like way younger, maybe just sixteen or so.

"Dude...?" Out of habit she held her breath until she heard his heart beat weakly once more.

His was a struggle with dry lips that didn't want to part and the search for breath enough for his dying words. Watching from her crouched perch upon a fallen log that let her stay away and above from the blood damp earth, Jubilee waited out whatever it was he wanted to say.

"Remy dude?"

"Save me...merde, save me so I can find him to save her..."

If her ears hadn't been so sharp as they were, she swore she wouldn't have even heard him. But the fact was she had, and now she had her own questions crying to be answers against the weak waning rise and fall of his chest as he died. It was over for him, all his secrets taken to the grave aside from the affects he left behind for her to puzzle over.

Holding the two photos in hand, it was the one that showed a girl become a woman that drew her sad eyes. Tears of blood threatened to be loosed as she looked at this Rogue, and the man who had gone to the ends of the earth to find a man who he thought could save her, but from what? Only Remy knew...

"Fuck it. The dead can't go bitching about what happens to them after the fact, cuz you already had your chance. So, if you don't like this second one I'm giving ya, then I'll gank you myself...right after you tell me how you know Logan!"

Reaching for a pocket knife out of pure reflex, the kind that had once kept her safe out on the streets when she'd been just another runaway, she flicked open the blade to catch the light of the stars above. Cutting her wrist deep and long, the blood that was her curse dribbled and fell over the pale lips of her Louisiana boy. All she had to go one was lore and superstition, that and the vague and hazy memories of the moment she'd been made a pawn in games way bigger than her.

Tonight she was gonna make a new one of her kind, a Vampire, because if there was one thing she fucking knew, it was that ghosts where real. And god dammit if the world didn't need another emo fucking ghost getting his poltergeist on...

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