Even after a week inside the prison, Remy couldn't get over the food the prisoners were expected to eat. The first time he had filed into the mess hall, as compliant as ever, he had gotten in line just as all the other mutants had. Most of them had bowed heads so as not to make eye contact, and while Remy didn't take his act that far, he remembered to relax his shoulders into a more slumped position. Following the other prisoners in a neat line, Remy grabbed his plate when it was his turn at the counter, turning around to look around the room. He was searching for a table with perhaps a pretty lady or two, or if all else failed, his own table, so he took his time in looking around. He got a couple dirty looks from some of the prisoners he walked by, and he made a mental note to keep away from them to keep his profile low, but he didn't find anyone remotely inviting. He didn't even see anyone from the mansion. Sighing, he eventually took his own table, taking his first good look at the stuff they considered food.
"We s'posed t' eat dis?" he asked out loud, incredulous. The spoon he was given to eat the slop stuck vertically in the air, secure from any sudden jarring. The food itself appeared to have some grayish color to it, and if the dullness of it wasn't enough, he couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be in the first place.
His posture portraying his decreased spirits, his elbow resting on the edge of the table, he pulled the spoon from the slop. It created a faint sucking noise as it was removed. Remy wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Nasty."
Sighing loudly, Remy stared at the food without any intentions of eating it. His stomach had been begging for food earlier, but upon discovering what was served in the prison, his appetite had quickly evaporated. Thankfully, his attention was diverted as someone new approached his table.
"How long ya been here?" a feminine voice inquired, the scraping sound of her tray reaching his ears as she set it down.
"Not long," Remy replied, looking up to take in the stranger's appearance. She, too, had a collar around her neck, but she wasn't showing a lot of skin. In fact, she didn't appear to be very noteworthy at all. "Dat always how ya start a conversation…?"
"That's really all there is to ask in a place like this," she answered harshly. "Normally the question is 'what are you in for,' but I don't think that applies here." She made a face as she sat down in a chair, taking care to put space between her and Remy.
Remy couldn't help but smile at her pessimism. He was glad that he was strong enough to not give in to those persistent thoughts, even though they were always on his mind. "Da world has too many muties for da human's likings," he scowled, almost playfully. He leaned backwards in his chair, resting his forearm on the back of it. His tone of voice didn't match his body language completely, but it was all for conversation's sake.
She didn't respond at that, instead gathering a heaping pile of the slop on to her own spoon and shoveling it in her mouth. Remy watched, bordering on repulsion, but also curiosity. How could she bring herself to eat such crap? Nodding his head to the food on her plate as if to point to it, he asked, "How you eatin' dis stuff, hey?" Leaning forward again, he grabbed his spoon again and made to scoop some of the slop away. "It can't possibly taste good."
An unnerving laugh escaped her lips, and Remy glanced back at her face, alarmed. "I eat it because I need to keep up my strength. When your body needs it that much, it's pretty easy to ignore the taste." She took another bite with gusto, looking back up at him once it was swallowed. "I'd eat it if I were you. You'll want your strength. They like 'fresh fish.'"
"Fresh fish, eh?" Remy replied, raising an eyebrow. He had heard the term before in television shows, but he found it weird for it to be applied to his life. "And if I ain't fresh fish? Dey leave me alone?" He was positive that that was not the case, but he might as well ask it anyway. She appeared to be friendly enough, and he should take advantage of that and worm as much information out of her as he could.
She didn't answer immediately, but swallowed another impossibly large bite as if to ward off his question. Once it was gone, however, she no longer had an excuse. She smiled sadly and shook her head. "Believe me, you want to be fresh fish," she said firmly. "That's when they do the physical stuff. Once you're worn down, then the scalpels come out."
Remy blinked, horrified. He expected something completely different from that. Apparently a mutant prison was very unlike the ones televised, and he hadn't had much experience of prisons in his own life. "Fresh fish does sound like a good idea, at least over da worn out …" he commented needlessly, looking back toward his food to avoid looking at her. He tried picking up his spoon again, shoveling the glop onto it, but couldn't yet bring himself to eat it.
"So what was your power?" she asked out of the blue, taking his mind off of the food once again.
He looked back up at her, screwing up his expression so that she couldn't read it. "Was, chere? Da power's still der, jus' dis stupid collar don't let me use it, dat's all. Once it comes off, I make t'ings go boom." He grinned thoughtfully. "Da bigger da object, da bigger da boom." His eyes refocused on her. "An' what was your power?"
"I'm a teleporter," she explained simply. A slight shrug to the shoulders suggested that it wasn't a big deal. "If I was smart when my powers manifested, I would've teleported out of this hellhole the first chance I got. Back then, their collars were a lot easier to pick, and I spent a lot of my time with cuffs a lot like Logan's to keep me from picking the lock on the collar. Now a days they have more advanced technology, making it harder for me to get out of here."
Remy nodded, the gears running in circles in his head. He picked up a spoonful of food again and actually forced it into his mouth before he could stop himself, but ended up choking it down. Only now was he starting to understand the whole picture; the reasons as to why all of the prisoners were so badly beaten down. It wasn't just one or two things that go under their skin, it was everything about this place.
The rest of the meal continued on in silence as Remy continued to force the food down his throat. The lady across from him didn't offer anything more to the conversation, not that Remy minded. Once he was done with the food, though sick to the stomach, he rose politely from his seat, bid her farewell, and left the area. He took a few random turns down the hallways, but eventually discovered that he was lost. So much for his wonderful navigation skills, acquired over his years as a thief. He thought he was going to be able to make it to his cell alone, but before he even had the chance, a commanding voice stopped him.
Turning around the face the guard, Remy put on his most innocent act. "Excusez-moi, monsieur," he said smoothly, "I seemed to have lost my way."
The guard grumbling rather darkly, and somehow knowing exactly where to go, he grabbed Remy roughly around the bicept and guided him to his cell, in which he was locked inside. After the mutant was safely inside, the guard appeared to have just disappeared. Sighing once again to himself, Remy strode over to his bed and plopped down on it, letting his feet hang over the edge. Not having much to do, he stared at his feet, allowing his brain to freely plot.
Before long, another disturbance jerked Remy to wakefulness. "I think you're going to do just nicely," a faintly British accent said just outside his cell. Removing his eyes from his feet, Remy looked her over. She was short—extremely short—and had raven black hair that fell down past her shoulders. She wasn't currently looking in at Remy, but was standing before his cell door and was gesturing to the very same guard that had guided Remy back. She wanted it open.
Watching with confused eyes, Remy saw as the guard opened the door for her, let her in, and then closed her in with the very possibly dangerous mutant inside. Remy wasn't sure of what to think about it. "Der somet'in' you want, chere?" he inquired, deciding to be polite about it. Even so, he unconsciously crossed his arms in front of him, rising to his feet. He was a good foot taller than her.
"Is there something that I want…" she repeated with a tantalizing voice. Her gaze washed over Remy's body, and she wasn't being discreet about it. As she studied him, he saw her tongue come out and touch the corner of her mouth. Whatever she really did want, he didn't learn right away.
"That doesn't sound like a real French accent to me," she commented. "That French-Canadian, or from that place … oh, what was it—" she broke off and hummed quietly to herself for a moment "—New Orleans. That's supposed to have a bastardization of French, doesn't it?"
Remy's confusion deepened at her conversational outburst, but he didn't let it show. In fact, he didn't let his guard down at all. There was something about her that made him uneasy. He didn't understand why the guard would allow a short, defenseless woman in with Remy when he had already proven that he was a dangerous mutant. But that wasn't all. She also composed herself like she had nothing to fear from the Cajun, and that she was used to being top dog. He didn't know the reasons as to why she could think of herself that way, and he probably wouldn't find out very soon, but he did know that he had to be wary about her.
There was also something else about her that made her very alluring, but in a dangerous way. Unfortunately, Remy already had a past riddled with those very types of women.
He didn't answer straight away after her little self-rant. Something about her questioning and quick conclusion led him to believe that she didn't even need to think about the origin of his accent, as she already knew. Either she was well traveled, or she had done her research. "New Orleans, oui," he answered curtly, but didn't say anything else. He didn't want to denounce his own culture by agreeing wholeheartedly with her question.
"So you're a New Orleans boy, are you? How … I almost want to say romantic, but I don't think that's the right wording. Oh well, never mind," she remarked. A low chuckle escaped from her, but Remy wouldn't allow himself to react. She cut it off in the end, like she wanted to laugh even more, but was afraid of her self-image. Interesting.
"So what are ya supposed t' be, eh?" Remy asked bluntly. He couldn't let her carefree and obviously flirtatious nature get to him. That was the trap that Remy set for others, not the other way around.
This time she allowed a short period of silence after his question, but instead of letting him hang on her answer, she took a couple steps closer to him and further into his cell. "I guess you can call me your consolation prize," she told him. "After all, it can't be all that pleasant in being locked up in a small room with no one to give you company." Her eyes brushed over him suggestively, pushily.
Remy's defensive wall was beginning to crumble at her act, but he couldn't help himself. Women and thieving were always his weak spots. "Well, I sure ain't got no one but me here, chere. You don't seem to be too bad of a prize, chere." His brain was still trying to make him deny it, but her allure was making it harder and harder. A smirk spread across his face, his act forgotten. He still wasn't broken down; he was still the cocky man underneath.
"So what's your name, handsome?" she asked with another flutter of his eyelashes. A hand came up and brushed through her hair, her fingers curling around the tips of the strands before faintly coming down to trail over her chest. "I'm sure I can't be the first woman to call you that, can I?"
Remy's eyes watched her hands, but once the small show was over, they jerked back up to her face. He almost gave up his real name, but something held him back from doing that. Instead, he gave her his codename instead, as if that would put more distance between them. "You can call me Gambit, chere," he said with a wink. "An' maybe I been called dat b'fore, maybe not." The smirk remained on his face, but now it transferred to something a little more flirtatious.
"Gambit, is it?" the lady confirmed thoughtfully. "Is your name true to you? Are you really such a gamble that you would sacrifice someone else in your place?" Remy's mood darkened at the new light upon the subject, but he instantly covered it up. He didn't need this woman getting into his head any more than she already was. Remy's struggles were his own, and he didn't want to place the burden on anyone else's shoulders. He especially couldn't trust someone that had so much leverage with the guards.
"Depends on how I'm feelin'," Remy replied testily, watching her closely. He might have closed up a little to her at the mention of a back story to his code name, but he wasn't going to make it too obvious.
Fortunately for Remy, she jumped back to his other comment to her second question, and the tense moment quickly evaporated. "You clearly know that you're appealing to others," she remarked. She took a couple more steps to close the space between them. Their height difference was exaggerated even further, but that didn't help Remy denounce the danger behind her eyes. If anything, he felt a little threatened with her so close, yet so willing.
"And it wouldn't surprise me if you heard it from other men before as well," she continued. "I know there are a couple of guards that have taken a shine to you." Another light chuckle escaped from her. Her hand moved up to his upper arm, the fingers trailing down the skin as she glanced upwards at his face through her eyelashes. "Lucky for you, you got me instead."
The Cajun's risky mood came back at her move, and a small smirk reappeared on his lips. Everything she had just pointed out was completely true, but he was wondering how she would know about the guards. That meant not only was she able to get what she wanted from them, but she was definitely from around her. Even so, he continued to play her game.
"Show me how lucky," he demanded lightly, the smirk becoming more of a smile. He snaked his hand up between them to lift her chin, a very inviting move on his part. Perhaps he should have been more cautious of her, especially with all of the more rational thoughts running through the back of his mind, but this was too good of a chance to pass up. He was finally receiving some humane treatment from this prison. Then again, who was to expect such a thing?
As he guided her face upwards, he revealed a fond smile playing upon her lips. He didn't think much of it. "You want me to show you, do you?" The wording made it out as a question, but the tone and intonation of her voice suggested otherwise. "I do believe I can do that."
Remy was too caught up in the game to back out now. The hand that had been placed on his arm slid across his shoulder to the nape of his neck. The fingers intertwined themselves into his thick, long hair so as to pull him downwards. Even so, she had to push herself on her toes to make up for their height difference. As their lips met, Remy willingly kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her to pull her closer. She made a small noise of content through their kiss, but eventually pulled back, lips parted a little.
"Do you always happily kiss a girl when you don't know their name?" she asked, her voice purring. She pulled back slightly, breaking his grasp, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement.
"Maybe it be better I don't know your name, eh, chere?" he answered. While he normally tried his best to know everything about everyone, he was already gathering that this was one powerful woman. He didn't yet know how or why, but he figured that if he did know her name, that could put him in a dangerous position. Then again, it could also benefit him later on.
"You like the mysterious angle, then." She grabbed his hand with two of hers, wrapping her thing fingers around his stronger ones. "If that's what you wish, then so be it, I won't say a further word on the matter." She began leading him, walking backwards in order to do so. She eventually came up to his prison bed, on which she sat upon, patting the area next to herself. Remy took the place with a smirk, reaching around to grab her shoulder in order to kiss her again.
She complied. Turning her body into his own, she kissed him back, tugging lightly on his bottom lip with her teeth. "You're an eager one, aren't you?" she murmured seductively. "What do you want from me right now Gambit?" She pulled back enough to leave a small gap between their bodies.
Remy traced her face with his fingers, partially closing his eyes. "I t'ink you know what I want, chere," he said softly, huskily. His breathing had become a little uneven, though mostly out of anticipation, but his hands were still steady. His hands were always steady, because sometimes that meant life or death.
"I think that I just might," she replied, pulling closer to give him another kiss. Except this one had changed. It was rougher, more intense. But Remy had asked for it, and he returned it with as much fervor. His sense of touch felt as if it was on hyperdrive as she brought one arm around his neck, the other one to his cheek. He allowed himself to be guided on top of her as she fell backwards onto the bed.
He shouldn't have allowed himself to be sucked up into her trap, and normally his will would be stronger than this. But sometimes life intended a different path than what the beggar wished, so Remy would deal with consequences later.
The woman later pulled slowly away from Remy, giving him one last, lingering kiss. Remy murmured softly into it, satisfied for the moment. Once she had pulled away completely, pulling up the bed sheet to cover herself, he propped himself on his elbows to look her over again.
"I'm beginning to wonder who was whose consolation prize," she breathed with a small smile.
Remy smiled back, pulling himself into a better sitting position. "I'm still t'inkin' I quite lucky," he whispered. She had been good, even in the short time. In fact, putting everything he knew about her together, she was a little too good. A manipulator as skillful as her could explain the way the guards—or at least that one—were treating her.
"I think you're right; you're the lucky one," the lady chuckled. A quick look passed through her eyes, but she covered it up by giving him another kiss, though much more sugary than before. "The guard will be back here soon, and I'll have no choice but to leave," she told him suddenly, reaching for her discarded clothes. While she gathered them together, she didn't immediately get to dressing herself. "I would stay here if I could." An almost misplaced tone of sadness touched her voice, but her expression was right.
Remy frowned, though he didn't know why that would bother him so much. Did he really long for human contact that much, even if he was only in the prison for such a short time? If it took him long to get himself and his fellow teammates out, he could find himself in quite a bad position.
"Would you want to see me again if I manage to come back?" The question caught Remy off guard, and was even more so unbalanced when she reached over and gave his hand a light squeeze.
Pushing that aside, he rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand. "Of course," he whispered, his eyes narrowing pleasurably. "I'd love t' see you again." The last sentence might have been an exaggeration, but he might as well plant his own seeds to later sow.
"Well, that would make it easier to come back, now wouldn't it?" She chuckled again, but eventually pulled away so that she could dress herself. She kept her back turned to him as she did so, keeping the air that she had some modesty.
He busied himself with pulling on his pants as she got ready to leave, but didn't bother with putting his plain tshirt on again. He tossed that aside to the head of the bed to put on later. As soon as he completed the move, she turned back to him to sit beside him, leaning against his side. "It is deceivingly comfortable right here," she commented, but offered no more explanation. Instead, she stroked her hand over his whiskered cheek. Her eyes glanced downwards over his bare chest, a contented smile displaying across her lips.
Footsteps, however, killed the moment. A guard rapped a wooden nightstick against the bars of the door, barking out, "Time's up!" Remy pulled away from her suddenly, almost as if she burned him, having almost forgotten the exact location and time.
"And that would be my cue to leave you," she commented softly. She rose to her feet, but didn't make to immediately leave the cell. "I'll try to come back as soon as I can." With that, she strode over to the door, waiting for it to be opened. As soon as it was pulled aside, she stepped through and out of view. Remy thought that he heard the guard talking to her, but the exact words were lost on him.
Gambit leaned backwards to rest his bare back on the cold, hard wall of the cell. He could still taste her, feel her soft curves against him, but he would soon have to leave the fantasy behind. This was a prison, after all, and he highly doubted he would be able to ever indulge himself ever again. Now he had to get his head out of the clouds and work on a plan. That first lady in the lunch room had given him an idea.
