Oh dear… oh my! I really did not expect my little plot bunny to be so well received. And the requests for me to continue? ACK! I really hope y'all don't expect much in the way of a plot. Because, you see, Plot is actually my arch nemesis. It all goes back to when I was ten or eleven, attempting to write original stories, and… well, to make a long, boring story short, it ended in my giving up as the story went from being 'creepy' to being 'cheerful.' Darn you, Plot. Darn you to Hades!
I'm not really sure about this part… meeeeh. This is what happens when I write with little or no direction. Bah. Humbug.
If this does continue on to be some long story (possibly with that evil dreaded plot thing…) nothing major will happen for a few parts yet. Mostly because I have no clue where to go. So, for now, I'll try to write about how unsettling it would be for a man from the eighties to be plopped into the… er… would this be the zeros?
Well, I'll hush up now and let y'all read. Not sure this really follows in character, but according to my calculations, we only had about eight minutes of actual Gambit Time in the movie, and I haven't really read a comic in ages, even though I am trying to pick the habit back up. Please let me know how horribly I butcher him or any other character? (Although, I already know about the lack of accents. ;) I have a horrible case of 'Living in Tennessee with a Made-For-Radio Midwestern accent,' so I really know nothing about them, let alone how to write them…)
Thanks again to my reviewers! And hey, when did get the nifty little reply thingy? I should probably start using that…
(Oh, and once again, unbeta'd, and apologies for any grammatical, or otherwise, mistakes made that would make you want to gouge my eyes out with a toothpick. And I really am hushing up now… promise. For seriously.)
Chapter Two
-
The mansion, while giving off that homey vibe that made his skin crawl, was a thief's playground waiting to be tested. So many nooks and crannies for him to explore, to see how much stealth it would require traversing. He wondered if he could make it from the top floor of one side to the lower floor on the other without being caught.
A low buzzer sounded through the halls, causing his step to pause mid stride for a second before he continued on behind his rescuers. He didn't have time to wonder what it was for, because a moment later doors were opening and teenagers began to dart around them, each heading off to their different destinations.
Of course, even in a school for mutants, a man walking around in clothes that smelled like they belonged in someone's attic covered in slime was going to attract attention. He got everything from curious glances to blatant staring. One little girl, probably about eight, stared up at him from her space in the hallway, merely curious. Remy glanced down at her and winked, and she gave him a cute smile in return, even with the jagged teeth.
"Some place you got here," he commented as he continued to follow his two rescuers.
"Yeah. Pretty safe, too, for the most part." His cute rescuer turned and gave him a brief, curt smile before facing forward again.
Looked like she was still mad.
On the jet ride home, she had made the threat that he would wake up in the med lab with one hell of a headache, and she would have enough blackmail material on him to make her a very well off woman for the rest of her days if he so much as breathed wrong. He supposed he deserved it, it was his own fault for pressing all the wrong buttons on purpose after he'd run out of questions. But then, it wasn't his fault that she was just too fun to tease, too fascinating to watch when she got angry or annoyed.
One look at Logan's pleasantly surprised and disturbingly proud expression, Remy had no doubt that the little spitfire would make good on her threat.
Logan had spent the better part of the flight casting him unsettling looks. He wasn't sure if the older man wanted to ask him questions or cold cock him again. Probably both.
Fortunately, he'd found a deck of cards in one of the compartments to help occupy the rest of his time. Unfortunately, it had been missing the two of clubs, seven of spades, ace of diamonds, and, to his utter and complete horror, the queen of hearts. It had made for a rather interesting game of solitaire until he'd finally just given up and moved on to see if his hands still held the muscle memory for some of his more complex tricks. He was pleased to discover that, for the most part, he still had it.
He wasn't so sure about his other abilities, though. He knew they were still there – the destroyed pod was proof of that – but before he'd been taken, they had kind of developed slightly beyond his control. What should have been small little explosions had turned into a smoldering apartment. He hadn't even been aware that he had been charging the metal tube around him only a few hours ago until he'd collapsed on the floor surrounded by metal scrap and gelatinous liquid. All he'd been aware of once reaching consciousness was a pretty face floating just beyond his reach.
Then he'd been as he'd always imagined he'd been the day he was born; naked, wet, and flirting with the first pretty girl he saw.
Of course, he doubted he'd followed that first girl home when he barely knew her and trusted her less, but then he'd always had a weakness for sassy southern belles intent on putting him in his place. Especially when they looked good in tight black leather.
And from his vantage point, she looked really great in tight black leather.
"Hey, Bub, eyes front." The dangerous growl came from the right and a couple feet up from where his eyes had been.
After a few beats, Remy slowly dragged his eyes up to Logan's. He smirked as he spoke in a lazy drawl. "You want somethin'?"
"Yeah, we're here," the gruff Canadian jerked his thumb toward the headmistress' office door.
Ororo Munroe, codenamed Storm as he had been told on the jet, smiled warmly as they walked in. From the brief description he'd gotten from his companions, before he'd pissed them off, he'd expected someone… taller. Maybe someone with an air of regality about her.
"We got the intel you wanted," Logan said without preamble, tossing a small stick (a memory stick, Rogue had told him) onto the desk. "It was easier to get than we thought. A bit too easy, if you ask me."
"Well, let's deal with that later. Right now, let's concentrate on our new friend here." The woman's dark eyes, while still holding their welcoming warmth, also regarded him with caution. She motioned for the chair in front of the desk, indicating that he could take a seat, which he did. "How is it you came to be… with us?"
Remy thought carefully for a moment, not really trusting his rescuers. This was through no fault of theirs, at least as far as he could tell so far, he'd just learned early on to hold his hand close to his chest and give nothing away. "Would you believe I made a pass at a General's daughter?"
"I would," Logan grumbled as Rogue snorted softly.
Ororo gave him a small, bemused smile, before shaking her head slightly. "Okay, then… I'm sure we could contact any relatives to let them know-"
"No!" His sharp reply even took him by surprise, but there was no way he wanted to talk to them now. "I mean, give me some time, yeah? Time to readjust. They'd just complicate things."
"That is understandable," Ororo conceded.
"Hey Darlin', me and the kid are gonna go get the meeting set up. You okay here with him?"
"I'll be fine," she assured him with a smile. "I'll call one of the students to show our friend to his room."
Remy shifted in his seat at that. Room? Sounded as though they intended for him to stay long term.
"Alright. Come on, Kid. Let's go." Logan left without checking to see if Rogue followed.
The young girl paused for a second before leaving, looking at Remy in concern. She was like a mother hen, not wanting to leave her new charge alone. He nodded slightly, grinning to let her know he'd be just fine.
Shortly after they left, and while Ororo was on the phone to find him a chaperone, Remy was starting to feel out of place for the first time since he woke up. He wanted to blame it on the girl, a strange case of Stockholm's Syndrome where, instead of getting attached to his captor, it was his rescuer.
"Remy Etienne LeBeau, right? Six feet, weighing one-eightyish, brown eyes and hair?"
He blinked as she read his stats, or at least how they read on official documents. Unfortunately, the color 'red' wasn't on any official form for eye color. "That's right, Stormy."
"Here," she tossed something at him, a little forcefully as her eyes hardened at the unwelcome nickname.
He caught it, staring at his wallet in confusion. The last time he had seen it had been shortly before he'd been captured, where he'd left it with a young white-haired waif of a girl he'd caught trying to pickpocket a thief, asking her to watch his stuff for him (more to keep her safe and out of harm's way than anything else) while he investigated a noise. Something that, according to all the scary movies and the subsequent events, one really should not do. "How'd you get this?"
She just smirked at him for a moment. "I owe you seventy-eight dollars, by the way."
Remy shook his head as he flipped through the ancient piece of leather. For him, it had been almost new, having gotten it only a month or so before. Now, it was weathered and worn, falling apart from old age. His license, he was amused to find, had expired twelve years ago.
"Mike should be here in a few seconds, and he'll be able to show you to the room you can use while you decide what you want to do."
He looked up at her, tilting his head slightly in question.
"If you want to stay here, that would be fine. We could use the help, as we're a bit understaffed at the moment…" she sighed softly, losing herself for a moment before shaking off the gloom that had momentarily settled over her. "However, you are by no means obligated to stay here."
"I appreciate it, Stormy," he said as there was a knock at the door before a teenage boy entered.
"Mike, show our guest to the visitors' rooms, would you?" She turned back to Remy. "There are bathrooms in each of the rooms, so feel free to take advantage of it. I'll also have someone bring you some… fresher clothing."
"Why Stormy, are you implying I stink?" he pouted, bringing a hand to his chest, feigning to be hurt by her insinuations.
"I'm not implying anything, I'm outright telling you. You reek."
He shifted in his seat at the thought of a shower. He had to admit, he wondered how his travel companions had been able to sit with him for so long in a rather small space. Apparently, the goo he'd been in did not dry smelling like sunshine and daisies. That and he had dry sticky goo where dry sticky goo had absolutely no business in being.
"Alright, Stormy, but only because you asked so nicely." He got up and followed the younger boy out of the office.
Before he reached the door, Storm called out. "And Remy?"
"Yes, Stormy?"
"Stop calling me that."
"Yes, Stormy."
-
The shower had been glorious. Apparently, the mansion had an amazing water heating system, because, as hard as he tried to outlast the hot water, he wound up admitting defeat as his hands became pruney and his skin turned a pale shade of red. He also saw, when he came out, that someone had come in and set a fresh change of clothes on his bed. He tossed everything that he had been wearing into the trash by the night stand, except for the coat. It was nice, had many pockets, and would clean up fairly well. Or at least, he hoped it would.
Now, about two hours after leaving Storm's office, he found himself sitting next to a young brunette at a desk with a computer. At first, he'd laughed when he was told that that was what the slim machine was called. He was used to large bulky machines, not these streamlined pieces of plastic and metal.
That was before the girl had turned it on.
To his dismay, it turned out that Rogue was still debriefing, and wouldn't be done for some time yet. So, Ororo had suggested that he become acquainted with some of today's modern technologies.
Which brought him to where he was now.
"…And then, you just click on the web browser icon and you'll be connected to the internet. We have a fast cable connection here, so fortunately you won't have to deal with the hassles of signing in, and-"
Remy blinked a couple of times as the young woman beside him kept rambling on. Finally, he held up a hand, cutting her off. "Pretend I've been in stasis since the mid eighties, and have no clue what you're talkin' about."
The young Miss Kitty Pryde, rumored resident computer whiz of the school, blushed and gave a sheepish smile when she realized her mistake.
"Sorry… Well, okay then, let's see," she pursed her lips and hummed as she thought, clearly trying to find the best way to go about this. "Okay, so the basics. This is your power button…"
Mon Dieu, gonna be here forever, Remy thought with a sigh as she went over the basics that even he knew from the bulky machinery of his own time.
As she explained the differences between bits and bytes, he picked up an interesting new addition to computers. A strange little device with buttons and a scroll wheel.
Several hours and one splitting headache later, Remy was ready to continue living 'in the stone ages,' as Kitty had put it, and give up on computers all together, when Rogue finally returned.
"There you are!" He was out of his seat and by her side so fast that it spun a few times. "That was one long meetin', Chére."
"They usually are," she admitted, looking amused at his eagerness. "Been enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely. Let's go."
She laughed. "Alright. Bye, Kitty." He wondered at her slightly distant tone with the young computer girl, but found no trace of malice in her expression.
"Bye, Rogue," Kitty said almost timidly. Then, much more cheerful, she waved at him. "Nice meeting you, Remy."
"Likewise," he said with a small nod.
He walked by her side down the main hallway, trying to shake off the headache. Kitty was a nice enough girl, but she had spoken circles around him, causing his head to spin.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rogue looking at him. "You clean up nice."
Her approval would have made him blush had he been several years younger. "You seem surprised. Figured I always looked like the creature from the black lagoon?"
"No, more like the swamp thing."
He snorted, and would have happily continued their banter had they not passed an open door way. Inside, he saw something that made his heart sing at its beauty.
"What… is that?" he reverently asked as he stepped toward the widest and flattest television screen he had ever seen.
"That would be a television," Rogue stated, clearly amused.
Remy rolled his eyes. "I know that. I mean, just look at it! The detail, the quality. The realism! Star Wars didn't even look this good!" His fingers hovered millimeters from the surface, tracing over the green skin of the lizard on the screen. "Is the most beautiful thing I've seen since I woke up…" He glanced at his companion when he heard her snort, trying to hold back a laugh, before he amended his statement. "Fine, it's the second. But it's really close, Chére."
"Wait, what was the first?"
Remy fully looked at her then, surprised at the genuine confusion he saw there. He'd expected her to be playing coy at first, but now, he realized that she was actually clueless. For a second he thought of telling her the truth, then sighed as he pulled out the full deck of cards he had swiped from the rec room. "This, of course. Can't go around without her, now, can I? Just ain't right."
Rogue looked at the queen of hearts he'd flipped out from the middle of the deck. "Ah, I remember. You were antsy because you couldn't play solitaire on the jet."
"Okay, don't make me ice you two away from the TV, the show's about to come back on," a voice said from the couch. "And, New Guy, why are you staring at the Geico gecko like it's the Holy Grail?"
For the first time, Remy noticed the young man lounging on the over stuffed couch. He was your typical All American boy; good looks, straight teeth, flying on the straight and narrow. He decided he didn't much care for him.
"Bobby," Rogue said with a sigh, apparently as surprised to see the boy as he was. "This is Remy. Logan and I found him while on the mission."
"Hey," Bobby said with passing interest before turning back to Rogue. "How'd it go?"
"Pretty well, Hank's still looking over the data." A loud explosion sounded behind them, coming from the television. "Well, look at that. We'll leave you to your show."
She grabbed his sleeve and maneuvered them out of the room. Remy could feel Bobby's icy glare as they left, and when they reached the door way he flashed the boy a sly grin, happy to know that his disdain for him was apparently not one sided.
"So, who was he?" he asked as they continued on.
"A friend," she said simply. "So, I take it you have a room, now. You decided on whether or not you'll stay?"
Remy thought for a second. Ordinarily, he would have declined out right, but something was telling him to give the place a try, even if his instincts were telling him to run.
"Dunno yet, Chére. Let's see how things go first, yeah?" He grinned then, noticing that she was still holding on to his sleeve. "Could be you want me to stay."
She sighed as they entered the kitchen, and the smell of food flooded through his nose in a wave of euphoria.
"Dunno yet, Swamp Rat. Let's see how things go first." Grabbing two apples from a bowl of fruit, she tossed him one as she began to prepare a lunch for two while he bit into the crisp fruit with relish. He tried to help, but she shooed him to the table.
As they ate, he noticed that she looked rather depressed. Could be because of that boy in the room with the beautiful television (another reason to dislike him), or another reason entirely. She was probably in need of a distraction, some time away from whatever it was that was eating at her mind.
Studying her for a moment, he thought about his lack of funds at the moment, and wondered if there wasn't a way to kill two birds with one stone, as the old idiom went.
"Ever been to Atlantic City?"
-
Er… hadda end somewhere, yeah? And this is great, because aside from knowing that it's in Jersey and has casinos, I know nothing about Atlantic City. Woe! Does this mean I actually have to research? Blech.
Okay, so the part about the General's daughter… I was at work the other night and tried to brainstorm a list of reason for why Remy would be captured. I started out trying to be all serious, but I work the midnight shift and I was kind of loopy from lack of sleep, so it degenerated to silly and obscure. For giggles, I may use a few of them in later chapters as his excuses. At least until I come up with a viable reason.
…Did I mention I don't do Plot? *shifty eyes*
