Woah...reviews. Thanks guys. The general weirded out feeling remains; I'm
apparently breaking new territory with our favorite couple. Rogue seems to
be coming out weak to me at this point, but Remy can do that when alone
with a person. We'll see how things turn out, meaning you and me both.
I'm writing this on subconscious mode because that's what's working the
fastest. I'll be editing my chapters and wonder where the hell some of the
stuff came fro...OK LeBEAU! GET OUT FROM BEHIND THE COUCH AND APOLOGIZE
FOR PUTTING STUFF IN MY WRITING!
Sigh...I wish.
Oh, I've gotten my hands on a street map of New Orleans. I live nowhere near Louisiana, so don't trust me to be accurate about what's in-between the streets. I'm just filling in the little boxes with what I want to be there. If you live in New Orleans and a thief headquarters pops up on your street corner, don't go sniffing around basements.
Oh no...I forgot the DISCLAIMER. I don't own Remy/Rogue or ANY facet of X- Men Evolution; Marvel owns them.
I lay claim to Remy's unstable attitude in this fic, but I'll share as long as it is done well by future writers. Nearly every other character that shows up in this fic is mine. I obviously don't own N'Awlins, but the locations are my creations. The necklace/scar is pure imagination and I will hunt down the person foolish enough to copy my idea.
Jeez, could the intro get any longer...sorry. On with the story. It is still PG-13.
***
Thief of Spirits by Eternity's Voice
***
Chapter 3: It ain' All Mardi Gras
***
Remy checked his watch. It had been forty minutes. 'Good enough for Gambit." He went to the bathroom and opened the door. His fille sat on the counter, absently drawing on the steamed up mirror. His lips turned into a small pout. "Remy hope his Cherie still not dressed."
She used her gloved thumb to press spots onto her misty leopard. Growling in a way Remy thought better suited the cat, she replied, "Remy's Cherie not dat stupid. You ten minutes late; Rogue t'ink you barge here in afta half an hour." Her hateful mimicry of the Cajun's speech had the desired effect. His ready smile dropped and the hardened face of a callous man revealed itself. Rogue studied those features, imprinting them in her memory. It was LeBeau's true face, not the colorful façade that he tried to fool her with. The mask returned and he laughed. It didn't even sound forced; his masquerade was that perfect. It made it all the more important to remember the real Remy.
"Ah appreciate tha effort, Rogue, but Ah prefer ta hear your natural speech." His imitation was flawless, even the accent, and Rogue ground her teeth without thinking. He beamed at her, and then began to doodle on the mirror as well.
"Tell you what, Belle. Remy not be you and you don't be Remy. We be ourselves an' don't pretend otherwise."
She snorted and dipped her hand under the running faucet. "Then be yourself already, Swamp Rat. You and I both know you ain't the fun lovin' player you pretend ta be. Take off tha damned mask." The girl threw and water splashed the Creole's stylized jewel drawing out of existence. He looked at her critically. "Remy not de one that wears more face paint than a clown. What you tryin' to hide behind all dat?" His eyes flicked to her heavy eye shadow, which the Goth had applied from a tube she apparently had hidden on her person. Where, he had no idea. 'Perhaps her boots.'
The green accented her angry eyes. "I show what I am. You hide behind laughs and smiles."
"Remy don't hide himself, I hide what de world made me!" She started at his sudden switch to first person. His face was furious, but softer than the cruel angled face she knew. It looked sad and terrified beneath the rage. He covered it with his hands, pressed, and let go. Remy stood tall and faced her. The man was gone and the monster had returned.
He grabbed her wrist and smeared away her leopard with it. The eye shadow got thrown into the trash can and he attacked her eyes with a wet towel until the green was only a memory. He dragged Rogue out the door and to the set of drawers. He pulled one open and took out that infamous roll of duct tape. Pulling back the sleeves of her sweater, Remy roughly taped the ends of her gloves to her bare skin.
LeBeau held her close. He clutched her neck and chin in one hand, forcing her face towards his. Every time the girl averted her eyes, he squeezed and the pain made her look back. After a time, he snarled in a voice that was almost reptilian.
"You want de Swamp Rat to throw away his mask, den he will." He tore off the shades.
"This is de face of Gambit LeBeau, Prince of T'ieves. Look well, for it is the true face of N'Awlins. It ain't all Mardi Gras. There be crooked alleys and dark secrets. It put on some bright face for de beautiful, but it be dark an' twisted underneath. You beautiful, ma Petit. Gambit put on a bright face for you, but no more."
.
Once again Remy pulled Rogue behind him on his motorcycle. He screeched away from the motel and let his speed lock her to him. She picked the lesser of two evils and dug her head into his coat to save it from the whiplash of the wind.
"You cry on Gambit and he make you regret it." She clenched her jaw and held on tighter. If only she could squeeze the air out of his lungs. The Cajun's breath was deep and smooth. Its rhythm moved her back and forth with it. Rogue shook her head lightly to keep sleep away.
.
Remy was breathing hard with fury. That fille made him so angry. No one had ever been able to make him lose his temper in years, but Rogue did it like clockwork.
'Damn you, Grandmama. You're in heaven, but damn you anyway. I can't...Gambit can't fall apart like dis. De fille unlocked his heart and he can't bottle it up again. Do you want your only grandson to get himself killed befo' his time! LeBeau can't do this, de fille-'
The fille had fallen asleep again.
.
Rogue woke when she slammed into the ground. She let out a cry of pain and glared at the Cajun who had thrown her down. He swore at her. She didn't understand a word, but she knew the swearing tone. Remy spoke rapid French curses. That, or his god-awful accent had become so strong, the English cussing was unrecognizable. He finally calmed down enough to speak understandable English.
"Fool! You want to die?" His eyes blazed with their dark fires and Rogue shrank back. "Nevah fall asleep on de road. It is insanity, suicide! Gambit's bike ain't yo' mama's car where you strapped in like a baby!" He grabbed her, and pulled her face to his. "Nevah, ma Petit."
Remy searched his fille's eyes and found more than he bargained for. He found his reflection, a demon glaring back at him in an endless pool of green. The Creole stumbled back, astonished at the sight. 'Is that what I've become? Is that what my wife sees? What in God's name have I done to myself?' Her eyes and the image in them haunted him. Remy hadn't married a girl; he'd married a mirror. It threw back the worst parts of him, cracking the glass in the process.
'What have I done to her...why does Gambit care? She just a fille.' He shook his head and threw away his father's cold voice. How long had he let Knave LeBeau speak through him?
He retreated to the trunk of a nearby tree. He hung his head. "What the Hell have I gotten myself into?" After a time, a body leaned against the same trunk and looked to the road.
"When I asked that, Gambit, yah had an answer. I don't have one." She laughed, and then continued.
"I hate this, Remy, LeBeau, Gambit, tha Prince of Thieves...whoevah tha Hell you are. My husband, I guess. I understand "that," even if I hate it. I don't understand, don't know who yah are, mah beau. Neither do you.
"Yah said yah won't let me go. I believe that even though I hate it. So now we're here, married an' fallin' ta pieces. We both have our ways to piece ourselves back togethah. I make up mah face like a porcelain doll from Hell and you wear so many masks you don' know where they stop and mah beau begins. I don't know why and I'm afraid ta know. Fate's thrown us quite a turn."
"Mighty strange cards. Remy's...I'm a mighty fine card player, but I don't know what do wit' dem."
Rogue looked at him. "I've got the King and Knave of Hearts. And tha ten. What do you have?"
He smiled a small and shy one-sided grin. He hadn't smiled like that since his grandmama died. "I've got de Queen of Hearts. An' de Ace up my sleeve."
"Is that tha Royal Flush?"
"Yes it is, Belle."
"Then we play the damned cards together." She looked hopeful. "Unless you're gonna let me go."
"I said I never let you go, ma Petite."
"That's what I thought."
***
I think I managed to resolve that crazy Remy issue rather well, even though I had to drop his 3rd person dialogue. It's going to make reappearances, but not while alone with Rogue, thank god. I love Gambit, but I can only write like that so long. What do you think, is it still confusing?
***
Review Responses
***
Okay, there are getting to be a lot of reviews for this fic, esp. for only two chapters, so I have to change my strategy for this part.
The general consensus from the reviewers is that this is the first fic of its kind, that I've created a new and harsher Remy (but people are getting into it), and that readers are on the edge of their seats waiting for more.
I know because of my statistics page that a little over 600 people have tuned in, but only about 300 have checked out the second chapter (I fell out of my chair when I saw those numbers). I'm not optimistic enough to think that all of them just haven't gotten around to it yet, but I don't know what people who didn't like it think. I may not listen, but I would like some helpful criticism for my writing in general.
Shiver:
You said that I included actual Cajun culture into this fic. I don't know if that's true. I don't know anything about it except a general idea of the accent, speech patterns, and that it isn't about players that turn sweet in the end. The rest is imagination and rumor. I was going for a sense of tradition behind Remy's actions and nature, but I didn't realize it was so obvious. And thank you for the compliment. A devoted reader is a writer's best praise.
mAd RoGuE:
Prophecy. Yeah, that was a little unclear. I'm playing this idea that Remy gets his mutant gene from his Grandmama, who saw the future (like Irene). She's vague because seers never can give too much information as they might destroy the future they want to create. That's confusing, but think about it for a while. You'll get a headache, but feel smarter in the morning. As to the prophecy itself, I'll have Remy ruminate on it in later chapters or something.
Sigh...I wish.
Oh, I've gotten my hands on a street map of New Orleans. I live nowhere near Louisiana, so don't trust me to be accurate about what's in-between the streets. I'm just filling in the little boxes with what I want to be there. If you live in New Orleans and a thief headquarters pops up on your street corner, don't go sniffing around basements.
Oh no...I forgot the DISCLAIMER. I don't own Remy/Rogue or ANY facet of X- Men Evolution; Marvel owns them.
I lay claim to Remy's unstable attitude in this fic, but I'll share as long as it is done well by future writers. Nearly every other character that shows up in this fic is mine. I obviously don't own N'Awlins, but the locations are my creations. The necklace/scar is pure imagination and I will hunt down the person foolish enough to copy my idea.
Jeez, could the intro get any longer...sorry. On with the story. It is still PG-13.
***
Thief of Spirits by Eternity's Voice
***
Chapter 3: It ain' All Mardi Gras
***
Remy checked his watch. It had been forty minutes. 'Good enough for Gambit." He went to the bathroom and opened the door. His fille sat on the counter, absently drawing on the steamed up mirror. His lips turned into a small pout. "Remy hope his Cherie still not dressed."
She used her gloved thumb to press spots onto her misty leopard. Growling in a way Remy thought better suited the cat, she replied, "Remy's Cherie not dat stupid. You ten minutes late; Rogue t'ink you barge here in afta half an hour." Her hateful mimicry of the Cajun's speech had the desired effect. His ready smile dropped and the hardened face of a callous man revealed itself. Rogue studied those features, imprinting them in her memory. It was LeBeau's true face, not the colorful façade that he tried to fool her with. The mask returned and he laughed. It didn't even sound forced; his masquerade was that perfect. It made it all the more important to remember the real Remy.
"Ah appreciate tha effort, Rogue, but Ah prefer ta hear your natural speech." His imitation was flawless, even the accent, and Rogue ground her teeth without thinking. He beamed at her, and then began to doodle on the mirror as well.
"Tell you what, Belle. Remy not be you and you don't be Remy. We be ourselves an' don't pretend otherwise."
She snorted and dipped her hand under the running faucet. "Then be yourself already, Swamp Rat. You and I both know you ain't the fun lovin' player you pretend ta be. Take off tha damned mask." The girl threw and water splashed the Creole's stylized jewel drawing out of existence. He looked at her critically. "Remy not de one that wears more face paint than a clown. What you tryin' to hide behind all dat?" His eyes flicked to her heavy eye shadow, which the Goth had applied from a tube she apparently had hidden on her person. Where, he had no idea. 'Perhaps her boots.'
The green accented her angry eyes. "I show what I am. You hide behind laughs and smiles."
"Remy don't hide himself, I hide what de world made me!" She started at his sudden switch to first person. His face was furious, but softer than the cruel angled face she knew. It looked sad and terrified beneath the rage. He covered it with his hands, pressed, and let go. Remy stood tall and faced her. The man was gone and the monster had returned.
He grabbed her wrist and smeared away her leopard with it. The eye shadow got thrown into the trash can and he attacked her eyes with a wet towel until the green was only a memory. He dragged Rogue out the door and to the set of drawers. He pulled one open and took out that infamous roll of duct tape. Pulling back the sleeves of her sweater, Remy roughly taped the ends of her gloves to her bare skin.
LeBeau held her close. He clutched her neck and chin in one hand, forcing her face towards his. Every time the girl averted her eyes, he squeezed and the pain made her look back. After a time, he snarled in a voice that was almost reptilian.
"You want de Swamp Rat to throw away his mask, den he will." He tore off the shades.
"This is de face of Gambit LeBeau, Prince of T'ieves. Look well, for it is the true face of N'Awlins. It ain't all Mardi Gras. There be crooked alleys and dark secrets. It put on some bright face for de beautiful, but it be dark an' twisted underneath. You beautiful, ma Petit. Gambit put on a bright face for you, but no more."
.
Once again Remy pulled Rogue behind him on his motorcycle. He screeched away from the motel and let his speed lock her to him. She picked the lesser of two evils and dug her head into his coat to save it from the whiplash of the wind.
"You cry on Gambit and he make you regret it." She clenched her jaw and held on tighter. If only she could squeeze the air out of his lungs. The Cajun's breath was deep and smooth. Its rhythm moved her back and forth with it. Rogue shook her head lightly to keep sleep away.
.
Remy was breathing hard with fury. That fille made him so angry. No one had ever been able to make him lose his temper in years, but Rogue did it like clockwork.
'Damn you, Grandmama. You're in heaven, but damn you anyway. I can't...Gambit can't fall apart like dis. De fille unlocked his heart and he can't bottle it up again. Do you want your only grandson to get himself killed befo' his time! LeBeau can't do this, de fille-'
The fille had fallen asleep again.
.
Rogue woke when she slammed into the ground. She let out a cry of pain and glared at the Cajun who had thrown her down. He swore at her. She didn't understand a word, but she knew the swearing tone. Remy spoke rapid French curses. That, or his god-awful accent had become so strong, the English cussing was unrecognizable. He finally calmed down enough to speak understandable English.
"Fool! You want to die?" His eyes blazed with their dark fires and Rogue shrank back. "Nevah fall asleep on de road. It is insanity, suicide! Gambit's bike ain't yo' mama's car where you strapped in like a baby!" He grabbed her, and pulled her face to his. "Nevah, ma Petit."
Remy searched his fille's eyes and found more than he bargained for. He found his reflection, a demon glaring back at him in an endless pool of green. The Creole stumbled back, astonished at the sight. 'Is that what I've become? Is that what my wife sees? What in God's name have I done to myself?' Her eyes and the image in them haunted him. Remy hadn't married a girl; he'd married a mirror. It threw back the worst parts of him, cracking the glass in the process.
'What have I done to her...why does Gambit care? She just a fille.' He shook his head and threw away his father's cold voice. How long had he let Knave LeBeau speak through him?
He retreated to the trunk of a nearby tree. He hung his head. "What the Hell have I gotten myself into?" After a time, a body leaned against the same trunk and looked to the road.
"When I asked that, Gambit, yah had an answer. I don't have one." She laughed, and then continued.
"I hate this, Remy, LeBeau, Gambit, tha Prince of Thieves...whoevah tha Hell you are. My husband, I guess. I understand "that," even if I hate it. I don't understand, don't know who yah are, mah beau. Neither do you.
"Yah said yah won't let me go. I believe that even though I hate it. So now we're here, married an' fallin' ta pieces. We both have our ways to piece ourselves back togethah. I make up mah face like a porcelain doll from Hell and you wear so many masks you don' know where they stop and mah beau begins. I don't know why and I'm afraid ta know. Fate's thrown us quite a turn."
"Mighty strange cards. Remy's...I'm a mighty fine card player, but I don't know what do wit' dem."
Rogue looked at him. "I've got the King and Knave of Hearts. And tha ten. What do you have?"
He smiled a small and shy one-sided grin. He hadn't smiled like that since his grandmama died. "I've got de Queen of Hearts. An' de Ace up my sleeve."
"Is that tha Royal Flush?"
"Yes it is, Belle."
"Then we play the damned cards together." She looked hopeful. "Unless you're gonna let me go."
"I said I never let you go, ma Petite."
"That's what I thought."
***
I think I managed to resolve that crazy Remy issue rather well, even though I had to drop his 3rd person dialogue. It's going to make reappearances, but not while alone with Rogue, thank god. I love Gambit, but I can only write like that so long. What do you think, is it still confusing?
***
Review Responses
***
Okay, there are getting to be a lot of reviews for this fic, esp. for only two chapters, so I have to change my strategy for this part.
The general consensus from the reviewers is that this is the first fic of its kind, that I've created a new and harsher Remy (but people are getting into it), and that readers are on the edge of their seats waiting for more.
I know because of my statistics page that a little over 600 people have tuned in, but only about 300 have checked out the second chapter (I fell out of my chair when I saw those numbers). I'm not optimistic enough to think that all of them just haven't gotten around to it yet, but I don't know what people who didn't like it think. I may not listen, but I would like some helpful criticism for my writing in general.
Shiver:
You said that I included actual Cajun culture into this fic. I don't know if that's true. I don't know anything about it except a general idea of the accent, speech patterns, and that it isn't about players that turn sweet in the end. The rest is imagination and rumor. I was going for a sense of tradition behind Remy's actions and nature, but I didn't realize it was so obvious. And thank you for the compliment. A devoted reader is a writer's best praise.
mAd RoGuE:
Prophecy. Yeah, that was a little unclear. I'm playing this idea that Remy gets his mutant gene from his Grandmama, who saw the future (like Irene). She's vague because seers never can give too much information as they might destroy the future they want to create. That's confusing, but think about it for a while. You'll get a headache, but feel smarter in the morning. As to the prophecy itself, I'll have Remy ruminate on it in later chapters or something.
