[disclaimer: no, I dont own any of the following characters except the protagonist who emerged from my own imagination. all references from here on out to Marvel Comic's characters are obviously used without permission (like any of us has permission anyways). ]

Side Notes:

 + I am tired of writing everything Remy says in "De Nawlens Ac'ent". So, from here on out, you just have to imagine it. Face it; it's a hard thing to do. Easy to speak, hard to write, y'know?

 + I used some French as well. The translation is at the end of the paragraph.  

Did You See The Blood Run Down?

Part Four: Gambling With Death

Impossible, right? For an animal to be as intelligent to stare into the depths of your soul, making the guilt you feel to bubble to the surface? This, Remy did not know. For in front of him sat an animal of great strength and beauty, jaws like steel, eyes like ice, intelligence emanating from its very self. Chugging back his tepid, suddenly vile-tasting beer.  Through the past ten minutes, it had not moved once, the wolf sat as if frozen in its place. Alas, no, it moved, its finely carved head looking at the barkeep to their right. The salmon colored nose moved in rapid jerks, sniffing for others. Leaping down, it turned tail, back out the door. Sighing with relief from the sentinel, he signaled his gloved hand towards the barkeep: another beer.

In an alleyway, one short trot from the bar's front door, the white vision turned. Behind a dumpster, it disappeared, shielding the transformation from the pedestrians. From four legs, it stood on two, very human legs. The front paws elongated themselves into hands shielded by gloves, the torso grew longer, forming the curves of a woman in a black top. From the chest emerged two perfectly shaped breasts, followed by the graceful curve of the neck. The muzzle shortened into a delicately upturned nose, the eyes rounded themselves out, ears shortening into a kidney bean shape, and the fur of the head going from short and white, to long and auburn, down the back. In all of 10 seconds, the white wolf had become the Angel of Death, the Thief of life, and the woman named Iris.

Iris sauntered back into the bar, going right for the table she was previously at.  Remy, barely into the fresh tankard, paused in mid-swallow. Ah! He thought, she found me!

"Aye, Remy, here you are. On your way to being drunk again, I see. Well, lad," she stopped. Again, why did she bother warning these people of their ultimate fate? a virtuoso of the fortunes, and the martial arts (which, she had to credit a fellow mutant, Domino, for the skill), why was she mixing with these eventual death-bodies, and she liked to call them. They lived and walked among the living, their grave being only a few hours, or days, away, depending on if she felt like taking a life in their presence. 

"Mon dieu, I do not believe in those hocus-pocus arts of yours. I am the cat man of New Orleans, the burglar from the bayous, nothing evades my senses. For you to think," no, not to think. Didn't she say that these visions were controlled by something, not her?

"Remy, please. This will only end in tragedy. Like I said earlier, I am not here to kill you, or steal from you. You and I share a few things in common. Mutants, yes. Street urchins, yes. You had camaraderie in a group of thieves and murderers, I have nothing, yet. Please, let us leave tonight. Find the North Star and follow it to the inevitable destiny we share." North, yes, north. North to safety, haven, a home free of judgment, peril is left in the dust, immunity is granted to all who pass the gates. 

"Non, I refuse to leave my city. I do not believe you. I have been exiled, aye, but that does not mean I cannot seek refuge in the shadows of the night, and the tourists of the day. I gamble, cher, and death is a gamble."

"Non, jeu avec la mort. Vous ne jouez pas avec la mort, je jeu avec vous. My dearest Gambit, you will die at the stroke of midnight, the hotel will be your hell, but the way you chose to die by the men on the roof, is yours. Not mine. Enjoy your last meal. " With that, the dark lady rose from the scarred wooden table, turned heel to the disaster still sitting, and entered the street. Time to find a way to get to the end of her journey.

[* Death is not a gamble. You do not play with death, I play with you]

***

The shadowed figure crept over the wall, under the bushes, up the fire escape, into the room. Neat and orderly, it was as if no one lived there. It grabbed a bag, and left the way it came, just as the door knob was turning. In walked a man of good height, shaggy hair, and a lit cigarette. The pristine room clashed with the grunge of his appearance. Unfortunately, he did not smell what the intruder before him did : a presence of gunpowder and evil.  Not bothering to turn on a light, he plopped down on a bed, turning towards the window in time to see a bulky figure race light-footed up the fire escape next to the window. Intrigued, he followed blindly.

            Grabbed from the rear, he was forced down on the graveled roof. The sharp clicks of guns, and the metallic sounds of swords against scabbards rung in his ears. Moving his eyes up, Remy looked into the eyes of an ex comrade, Jondeu. .

            "Jondeu, mon frere, why?" A heavy boot shoved his mouth back down.

            "We said exiled, Lebeau, banishment.  You have been caught, after the ostracism, the only way to redeem yourself, is death.  We could kill you, god knows we've the resources available here, or throw you into the fiery pits of hell, in the room you lay in the night before." He gave off a cachinnated sound, full of cruelty. At the sound of the church bells striking half past eleven, the gears began to tick in Remy's alcohol laden brain. Iris said he'd be dead at midnight; the hotel would be on fire, and his choice of instrument of death would be his. Well, he'd been presented with a few options: burn, capitation, or pumped full of lead.  None appealed to him, of course.

            "Well, Lebeau, which shall it be, eh? How shall we kill the King of New Orleans?" Jondeu struck the motionless captive with the blunt end of the gun. Blood ran down Remy's forehead, into his eyes. A heavy boot crashed into his ribs, another into the small of his back. He felt the prick of a dagger in his arm, and watched it retreat into a pocket. More blows came from all angles now, as he was immobile, unable to protect himself.  Quicker, and harder they came, a cacophony of grunts and yells.

            On the verge of blackout, Remy took what he thought would be his last breath, when a flash of red passed over him, illuminating the rooftop. Another beam of the same color went over his head. He could hear the thuds of the abusers falling down. Leaping to his feet, he noticed how dense smoke was now, and the quickly rising heat from below.  Left and right flew flashes of red, and occasionally a blue beam. It wasn't until he'd reached the side of the wall that he noticed two things were wrong. Where were the fire trucks to put out the blaze, and why was the ground growing colder, as if covered by a sheath of ice?

            Unknown to him, Death herself, the thief of all life, had watched from a rooftop not far away, and decided to spare a life that night.