Awakening
Gambit groaned as the light hit his eyes, startling him to wakefulness. It took a moment of lying still, silently cursing the sun, for him to remember that his room faced south with his bed facing away from the window…the sun should not be able to shine directly on his face to wake him up. He lay there for a moment longer, trying to throw his empathy out to see whom, if anyone was in the room with him. At first, all that happened was his head started to spin and he felt more than a little queasy, but he forced himself to do it, and eventually it started to work. His stomach settled and his mind steadied but maintained a dull throb, like war drums sending him to battle. The room was empty, and he could not sense anyone in the adjoining room either. He sat up and looked around slowly, taking in every detail his eyes could see.
The room was painted a soft cream color; the large window was open with gauze like curtains pulled back and blowing in a slight breeze. He could tell he was not on the ground floor because all that was visible through the window was sky. The bed in which he lay was a soft California king, the mattress over-stuffed, the pillows and comforter down, all a rich emerald color. A bedside table to his left held a lamp and a clock telling him it was just after eight p.m. Paintings hung on the walls and a door opened off the wall adjacent to and opposite the bed. A tall armoire stood beside the door adjacent to the bed with decent sized dresser on one side and a chair on the other.
Gambit rolled out of bed, realizing he hadn't even been under the blanket, and couldn't help but smile at the softness of the carpet beneath his feet. Remy though' 'e wa' pas' de poin' in 'is life where 'e wo'e up in strange 'otels. Mais dis is def'netly one of de betta ones 'e's been in. A glance out the window as he passed it showed a balcony overlooking the sea with the sun setting on the horizon. He wasn't even on the right side of the country! A quick pass through the other rooms showed that the door opposite the bed led to a large sitting room with a couch, two chairs, a table and a large television set, complete with a VCR, DVD, and internet access. Whether or not they were paid for and hooked up he had no clue, but they were there. Connected to the sitting room was a kitchen with a full-sized fridge, stove, microwave, sink and another table, this one with chairs. Tucked in the corner of the sitting room was a bar, and a quick look showed it was fully stocked and Gambit poured himself a drink. The door adjacent to the bed led to a large bathroom with a tub big enough to be a Jacuzzi and a separate shower. The stamp on the complementary shampoo told him where he was staying: the Hotel Del Coronado.
He tossed back the last of his drink and went back to the bedroom to explore the armoire and drawers. The armoire was full of black pants, and shirts, along with his trench coats, both the black and brown. Along the bottom were his shoes, his boots and a few pairs of tennis shoes, even, much to his amusement, a pair of sandals. The drawers were full of his cloths as well. One of the three drawers was devoted strictly to surf shorts, one to socks and underwear, and one to what he deemed "miscellaneous". On top of the dresser was a wallet, his wallet. He opened the wallet and scanned the contents— everything he'd had when he went to bed the night before: two credit cards, fifty dollars cash, a bank card, insurance cards (both medical and auto), social security card and drivers license. There was only one problem with the last two…they belonged to a Remy Etienne, but it was his picture on the license. He studied it for a minute. The information was correct for him, the picture was his—yet, instead of his last name, it had his middle name.
Gambit slipped the wallet into his pocket and his hand brushed a folded piece of paper. Curious, he pulled it out. Unfolding it slowly, he read the message written in strange letters:
Gambit,
I know that this will come as a shock to you, but you are not in any danger. In fact, you are probably as far from danger as you could ever be. You will not want to accept where you are, but in time you will come to terms with it. We will be watching and when the time comes, when you have done what is needed, we will send you home. For now, try to enjoy your forced vacation. The room, and everything in it, is paid for and will continue to be and regular deposits will be made into your bank account. The codes and such are all the same as you had, and you should not run out of funds.
I do apologize, but it is my job. Don't take it out on the me you know…she did argue in your favor, but in the end it was my decision and the only one I could make
Sincerely,
The Great Mother Askani
The Great Mother Askani
Gambit crumpled the paper in his fist, scowling. "Rachel, Remy shoul' 'ave known! On'y de Askani pluck people ou' o' dere beds in de dead o' nigh' wit'ou' any 'splanaion!" He threw the wadded paper against the far wall and glared at it where it lay for a few moments before slowly smiling. He could use the fun time. A glance at the clock and he saw it had taken just over fifteen minutes for him to make his inspection. Deciding to gamble, he grabbed a trench coat from the closet and headed out the door. Rachel had done a decent job making sure he was properly stocked, but she had forgotten a key item…a surfboard; he'd deal with the lack of transportation later.
As he passed the desk in the lobby, he asked the evening manager if he knew of a surf shop that would be open and was promptly given a list of them and their locations. He strolled down the street in no hurry, taking in the sights and checking out the girls. Inspecting his options was normal. He looked at every girl he walked past out of habit really, but this time it felt more like he was actually looking for someone, but he didn't know whom. The feeling didn't fade, but faded into the background as he entered a promising looking shop and began to browse. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, a plain white surfboard and the proper paints to paint on it and not have the design be worn off in the water. He paid with the bankcard and nearly whistled when he saw the amount of money the receipt said he still had in his account. Def'netly de kin' o' pocke' da' Remy woul' love t' pick back 'ome back in de ol' days, he thought laughing as he left the store to return to his hotel. The next several hours were spent painting a large black spade, often considered as much his trademark as his cards, on the bottom and another on the top.
He propped the finished board in the corner and called the front desk to see if they'd send up a fan. Once the fan arrived, he aimed it at the painted surfboard to help it dry and insure it would be dry and ready to ride in the morning. Despite having only been awake for a couple of hours, Gambit was suddenly exhausted and literally fell into bed. He was asleep before he had a chance to pull the blankets up over himself.
The next morning he woke more from hunger than anything else. He put a pillow over his face and tried to ignore his stomach, but it didn't work. Finally, groaning with frustration, he threw the pillow on the floor and sat up, wondering whether to call room service or explore the fridge. Smirking, he grabbed the phone. Why work more than he had to, and ordered bacon, eggs, hash browns, and strong black coffee. Checking the paint on the surfboard, he was glad to see his idea with the fan had worked and the paint was dry. He'd hit the beach after breakfast and a shower. His food arrived and he smiled at the girl that delivered it, flirting automatically, his mind more on the food than anything else. He tipped her and closed the door, lounging on the couch as he ate and completely ignoring the table that was just a few paces away.
His meal complete, he left the dishes on the table and went to take his shower. Drying his hair, Gambit chuckled, the waves out there weren't much, but they'd have to do. His surf shorts were black and he didn't bother to grab a towel as he left the room, surfboard tucked safely under his arm. Just a glance at the beach directly outside the hotel told him that wasn't where he wanted to be, too many stuffy tourists just sitting on blankets on the sand. He knew the type, they wouldn't appreciate his surfing ruining their "family fun" and "perfect view". Turning right, he walked up the beach until he was immersed in the crowed of "normal beach goers" and wouldn't have to worry about people scowling at him for nothing more than having a good time.
Noting the number of children splashing in the waves, he backtracked a little so that he wouldn't have to worry about hitting one of them as he surfed. The day was perfect, small pearly white clouds dotted a beautifully blue sky, the waves were large enough to ride, though not big enough to curl and form tunnels, and the temperature was perfect. He smiled again as he bent to fasten the safety cord around his ankle and picked the board back up before running into the water. He went under the majority of the waves, waiting nearly fifteen minutes for the "perfect" one, one that he could ride without feeling ridiculous and would give him a thrill as he rode. As the wave shrunk the closer it got to shore, he sat, turning the board so he could head back out. A voice intruded on his thoughts, one he could have sworn he'd heard before but couldn't quite place, and the name they were calling was completely alien to him. He worked his way back out, letting half his attention stay on the feminine voice, the other half on getting to the proper place to catch the next wave.
"Damn-it Damia!" the girl yelled, changing to a different name. "Don't tell me you fell asleep on that damn thing!" Looking forward and to his left, he saw a girl out past where the waves were swelling, lying face down on a body board. She drifted down the coast toward Mexico and didn't move. She probably was asleep. It was a miracle she'd stayed on the board as long as she had! Remy'll jus' 'ave t' fix da', he thought evilly and slid off the board to swim out to her, dragging the board behind him.
He paused beside her just long enough to note that she didn't have the safety cord attached to her wrist or ankle before reaching out and flipping her board over. He smiled but stopped just short of laughing out right, floating with one arm on his surfboard and the other on her body board, as she came up gasping for air, ready to fight. Treading water, she pushed her hair out of her face and wiped it clean of salt water before glaring at him. Meeting her icy stare, even as it softened was like a kick to the gut. The image The Great Mother Askani had implanted in his subconscious and sealed there floated before his eyes and over lapped the girl in front of him perfectly. It was her. Her eyes burned identical to his and he could feel the anger resonating off her. Her long red hair floated on the water and her face seemed to have been carved painstakingly by one of the legendary sculptors then painted with the same perfection, her skin pale, her lips red and the slightest color in her cheeks from rage. She was who he'd been looking for the day before without realizing it, all because of the Askani leader. He watched her look fade from one of anger to one of wonder and her eyes go from red on black to electric blue as the stared at each other, his trademark smile still in place out of habit. Finally, he managed to force himself to speak.
"Remy tink yo' frien' i' callin' yo'." He jerked his head toward the girl who stood on the beach, now laughing hysterically. The girl nodded and he gave her back her body board, following her to the beach.
"Jazz you little bitch!" The girl, Damia he assumed, yelled. "You just stood there and watched him didn't you?"
The name slammed into place where Gambit had heard the voice before. He took a good look at the girl and his jaw dropped. "Jazz!" he gasped in disbelief.
Please reveiw. Any comments welcome.