Very big thanks goes out to all of my reviewers; your comments and praise
always make the story more of a joy to write and I'm fortunate and grateful
to hear that I'm doing the characters justice. I know it took a while for
them to get there, but I am glad to hear that the wait was worth it! Also,
there is lots of artistic licence in this chapter. Although the street
names I refer to are real New Orleans streets in the French Quarter certain
elements of them are of my own creation, like the establishments I describe
and my description of the interior of Louis Armstrong Park is also without
basis in fact; entirely writer's imagination. M'iko, xx
Se pousser!= Move over!
Parfaire!= Perfect!
Chapter.14.
An hour later, The Palais Napoleon, Bourbon Street...
The steady creak of the fan was mesmerising as they gazed up, with heavy, sated lids, at its partly moth-eaten wicker lattice; always squeaking at that same point, regular as clockwork. It had started to rain on the parade outside but it didn't appear to have dampened anyone's spirits. The persistent drizzle battered down as the party continued to rage on beneath the old four storied tenement building, filling the dark, red fuzzed room with an alternative kind of noise.
Ororo focused on the way Remy's body seemed to stick to hers beneath the thin top sheet; their legs entangled, torsos touching, his sleekly muscled arm draped heavy around her shoulder as his hand rested inertly at the top of her right arm. Her cheek lay on his shoulder; her hard, heated pillow. An airy palm was laid light over the measured rise and fall of his chest, the drum of his heart stimulating the skin. Every time she moved, just a little against him, she felt it speed up, trip over itself in haste; it made her smile. Neither spoke, perhaps listening to the other breathing or afraid to break the peculiar spell that held over the room.
Eventually Remy shifted, moving over just a little to root in the half-open draw of the bedside cabinet. After jostling through old packets, he finally came upon one with some weight to it; a creased packet of red Marlborough's. He gave it a quick shake, something rattled around inside it. Flipping open the dinted cardboard lid with his thumb, he found two cigarettes and a bright green plastic lighter stashed with them. He tipped the box up by his mouth, like he was taking a drink out of the carton, catching just one cigarette between his lips and then pulling it back to somehow contrive to get the lighter out one handed. Throwing the pack absently onto the small cabinet, he settled back into his former position, letting Ororo rest her head again whilst he struck up his smoke.
Ororo followed the path of the thick jet as it 'whistled' silently through his lips, straight up into the air, splitting off into delicate spirals as it rose, free of the jet stream. In a strange parallel of its dispersal she could feel the rushing patterns of the rain outside calming, until they soon ceased to be. Remy turned his head to peer down at her and gave her a lop-sided smile that seeped at the edges with escaping smoke as the last of the rain petered out.
"It had nothing to do with me," she replied to his knowing look, surprised at the dusky frailty in her voice; as content as a cat's velvet purr.
"Sure it didn', chèrie," he winked at her before letting his head roll back into a more comfortable position, taking in a large lungful of his cigarette as he did so.
This was possibly the most surreal moment of his life. Him, in bed, with...Storm. It had felt so good, so right... To covert was one thing, to taste 'forbidden fruit' was another entirely...But the feel of her now, the sense of her tucked up against his body was as if she were made to be there. Just there...His arm that had previously been slack tightened around her, slipping down beneath her and around her waist causing her to be half laid upon him. She rolled to him easily, enjoying their skin unpeeling from each other and then sticking together again as she settled her head on his chest; peering up at him with a lazy, contented smile.
Blue eyes settled closely on the steep rise and fall, the hill, of Remy's Adam's apple; watching it as it moved in a lolloping motion; up down, back forth, like a vessel on gently rolling seas as he swallowed or inhaled. Fascinated by such a mundane movement, Ororo sidled up, placing her lips to the hard mound beneath roughly shaved skin; her petulant finger tips lightly playing with his left nipple as they skimmed over his chest. She felt it shudder beneath her in soft laughter; a bubbling rumble against her mouth as he chuckled, like warm malt. Kissing him softly again she chuckled too; bitter-sweet tang touched the tip of her tongue as she let in flick out to taste the skin.
Remy sighed; a deep satisfaction rolled out with the musty yellow dance of the smoke. He plucked his cigarette out of his mouth whilst his other hand roamed liberally up and down her body, searching without shame beneath the sheet, trailing leisurely yet firmly back up. Fingers explored the sheer edges of her shoulder blades, running over their razor-like precision intently. Creeping up they delighted in causing a shiver as they whispered past the nape of her slender neck and then wound slowly into the dishevelled toughs of her hair. She looked endearingly unkempt to his provocative gaze; the perfect bedroom look. "So, 'Roro," his low voice still told of his exhaustion, the subdued drawl more reticent to tumble out than usual, "what 'appens now?"
Ororo remained still; her limbs felt too heavy to move easily. Slowly she began to pull back from Remy's neck, lips unpicking. But she did not move away from him as he braced himself for, expecting her to do so. No, instead Storm moved atop of him; her legs straddled each side as she leant her upper-body, comfortably, on his lean, relatively hairless chest, only the odd wisps. She stooped down briefly to plant a kiss there, emerging back up to catch his eye before she spoke, "I do not know what will happen from here...," she started in her dusky timbre, the song of a siren to his ears, "...but let us not---spoil it---by thinking over such things now." But would she dash him on the rocks with those sweet notes?
Taking one last drag, Remy prematurely stubbed it out on the bedside cabinet, leaving yet another ugly little black pock mark on its surface where the practice had been done many a time before. Both hands moved to her back now, feeling their way up and down it, pushing the sheet so that it draped languorously over her shapely buttocks. "Um-hum---yaw righ' chère," he replied after a time; his words almost an amiable sigh, "mebbe we should jus' enjoy dis fo' what it is righ' now, non?" He dragged in another deep breath, under the welcome pressure of her nimble yet powerful body on his chest as his hands played at the curving small of her back, "an' let me tell yo'...I'm certainly enjoyin' dis," he added mischievously as his hands nipped down quickly, making much of their fondling of her firm rear before skipping down to her thighs, shifting her up so that she straddled, lengthy legs parted, directly over his groin.
With a playful sigh, Ororo rolled her eyes but did not for one minute reproach him for his gratuitousness. Rather, she relished the feel of him beneath her, although resisted the urge to stir him once more with a teasing rock of her hips. But it appeared there would be no need for such obvious displays of seduction. With a laugh that, for one such as Storm, was perilously, mortifyingly close to a horrific giggle, she broke from the constant hold of his hands and rolled off him to her right, her lower body being ensnared in the sheets as she moved. But her freedom was short lived as Remy swiftly regained ground, pitching above her with equal laughter. Leaning up over her on his poker straight arms, only the barrier of the sheets prevented him from restabilising his contact; skin on skin. A contact eagerly wanted if the rock hard pressure that lay against her through white cotton was anything to go by.
All went quiet between them and their faces dropped into a contemplative vision of seriousness as they gazed up and down at each other respectively. A moment passed betwixt the friends-come-lovers, like all those of tender affirmation in times gone by; the comfortable union of soul-mates. It flittered like a seldom-seen spark of recognition and was gone as swiftly. But neither could deny it had been there.
"It always baffled me, ya know," Remy started softly with a shake of the head and a deft smile, his clammy fringe flopping down.
"What did?" Ororo asked uncertainly with a playfully perplexed look.
"Ain't it obvious?" he inquired cheekily, "Why a femme as intelligent, confident an'...jus' so beautiful as you 'asn't had men queuin' at her door from Westchester t' Houston, Texas." He stayed just this side of smarmy...just.
Ororo reached up and linked her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers, "Perhaps it has escaped your attention Remy, but I have been rather busy with---other---matters over the years."
"Hey, dat ain't no excuse," he chided kindly as he leant down to kiss gently at her mouth, enjoying her full lips before travelling slowly down her jaw line and then her exquisite neck. He heard her sigh with pleasure, a longing moan passed, as his hot breaths tickled and grateful lips teased the flesh. In truth, he was gratified that no-one had spotted or taken their chance with her before this day, for he would not be here with her now. He came down to rest on his forearms as his mouth snaked lower, over the hardness of the collar bone, onto her breast plate before finding his way to her breasts
Storm tried, but failed miserably, to bite back the groan that issued with abandon as she caught her fingers up into his hair ruthlessly. She attempted to stop with her encouragement but it was a fruitless endeavour.
It was obvious that he wished to renew their union, and so she spoke to distract him. "It may not have been an excuse, but it will have to do," she finally retorted breathily, fighting for control again as she shifted beneath him. She twisted underneath him, smiling at his low grumble of disappointment as she buried her face in the pillow. Quick, hot bites littered up her exposed back, coursed through her, culminating in liquid nibbles on her left earlobe.
As Remy slipped from her back, coming to a rest on the left side of her, Ororo turned her head that way, studying him as he settled; the thick bar of red that fell across the pillow, lying softly like scarlet lace upon his face; illuminating his ruggedly attractive features for her leisure, her pleasure. They fell into a lulling silence as they stared across at each other over the white crumbled mounds of the pillow; a snow bound terrain. He concentrated on the sculpted lines, the smooth lines that melted seamlessly, the play of light and dark; her faultless skin turned a deeply rich vein of mocha in its present shade, facing away from the window. Curious fingers reached up as crimson and azure held each other in their sway, working along her cheek, along to that delectable nose and its vaguely curving tip and down to her tantalisingly barely parted mouth; enchantingly aware of every perfectly proportioned contour. Passively she let his sure hands wonder, she enjoyed the feeling of being explored in so intimate a manner, with no awkwardness what-so-ever. And she amazed him; captivation not a strong enough word at this time. His mind drifted back to those questioning thoughts that had plagued him in the forest; though he found were a bein no more. Fleeting forwards again, he tried to hold off their current reality for a little longer, enjoying the fragrance and vibrancy of a New Orleans night, with a woman he loved in his bed, for just a while, everything else was pushed back...He stroked down her face, dropping off to her shoulder, a finger moved, slinked down the sleek muscle tone of her arm. She quivered.
"Remy?" Her voice resumed its measured command, its dusky charm.
"Um-hum?" He responded distractedly, way too involved in edging his hands underneath her body, making an impertinent play for her breasts.
Ororo squirmed to stop him, making her arm a barrier, "Remy please, listen to me," she tried to stay serious, but it was difficult in the face of his persistence, "please, listen."
He groaned exaggeratedly as he proceeded to try and tip her body over onto her back, "Sorry chère," he growled as he succeeded in moving her onto her side, quickly taking hold of her waist and slipping his other hand beneath her and onto her back, "bu' Remy's got waaaay to many uddah t'ings beggin' fo 'is attention---," his words cut off as he descended on her chest once more; teasing and titillating as he placed a long strong leg between hers in renewed entanglement.
Ororo's eyes closed and she caught hold of his hair, ragging it back from the root; falling into the sensation, falling hopelessly into him again. "No, Remy...," she started to protest with a distinct lack of conviction.
"Wha'?" He laughed; it rumbled against her body, "Jus' relax girl...," he always took things so in his stride. It infuriated her at times, his casualness. With all her resolve, for his skill, his adroitness, bewitched her, her hands slipped to his shoulders and she contrived to push him from her. With some resistance he eventually relented. "Wha's wrong?" He peered up at her, slightly like an injured child being denied his way, but it was all in jest.
She smiled, chastising, at his play-acting. "I have to ask you, Remy," her unexpected solemnity made him pay full attention as he shifted up to rest on the pillow again. "And I want you to tell me the truth."
He shrugged, the crumpled pillow rustled, "O' course chère," he grinned, "Don' I always?"
Ororo raised a slender eyebrow, her lips quirked; she wouldn't answer that. "I need you to tell me, truthfully, what is going on?"
He gave a shake of his head, for a moment confused, "'Ro, you know as much as---."
"No, I do not mean that," she interrupted, wondering whether or not he had deliberately misconstrued her question. "I meant, with you."
Remy narrowed his eyes at her and made an uncertain noise, "I don' know what you mean."
Ororo sighed and rolled onto her back, flinging her arm up above her head as her other settled across the flat plane of her stomach. She watched the fan go round. "There is something going on with you," she alleged, still staring straight up, "All the way back from Brazil, I could see there was something you were not telling me."
"We were in a boat full o' people chère," he replied off-handily as he pushed himself into a semi-sitting position and reached across her to his cigarettes on the cabinet, leaving the prematurely stubbed out one where it lay, taking the packet from the draw instead, "we were supposed t' be layin' low, keepin' a cover," he said as he shifted back over, all the while he tapped out a cigarette and popped it into his mouth. He made to light it, automatically cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from a non-existent wind out of sheer habit. But he hesitated in his action for a moment; looking down at her, he mumbled from around his smoke, sounding a little more piqued by now, "Didn' exactly 'ave time or opportunity fo' no idle chit-chat 'bout our situation." Eventually he brought the end of his cigarette into the flame and puffed on it furiously to get it going. He tossed the lighter back down onto the cabinet on his side of the bed. Even that noise seemed to hold a pent up annoyance, demonstrating the sudden shift in mood.
Ororo listened to all this patiently, sighing just softly, not irritably once he had finished; leaning back against the railed headboard, chuffing away happily enough. She rubbed the back of her hand across the sheen of her forehead as she prepared to confront him, "Well we are not on a boat full of people anymore," she began quietly and then shifted her head back, inclining it to the side, a painful tweak passed through her neck at the awkward angle as she looked up at him. He stared resolutely ahead, his mouth puckered into a small 'O' as a couple of doughnut shaped sallow-white rings floated almost elegantly out, followed by a thick line of smoke; shot out straight. "Remy, I lost count of the number of times I saw you staring at your hands," she continued as she pushed herself up to lean on her elbows, "What was that about?"
Remy glanced at her, but didn't want to hold contact; smacking his lips around the filter and drawing in long and slow; the crackle of the burning paper forming into an ever elongating column of ash, audible. But he remained as silent as the grave, the impassive blankness of his face telling Ororo she would glean nothing from him, so there would be no point in trying further. This time her sigh told plainly of her frustration as she flopped back down onto her back. As she did so there was a loud thud from above them; immediately on the ball, they both looked up with intention. They waited but there was nothing more. Still, it had made them both sufficiently aware of their surroundings after being so caught-up in each other for the past hour.
He took his cigarette from his mouth, wetting his lips as his narrowed eyes stuck fast to the yellowed ceiling. "T'ink it 'bout time we made a move chère," he told her cautiously, picking off a tiny curl of tobacco that had wheedled down past the mottled filter, from the tip of his tongue with his thumb and middle finger. His eyes were still up there as he extinguished his cigarette, this time into a bottle green glass ashtray, not in the irreverent manner of the last, and slipped, cat-like, out of the bed; Ororo waited for a moment, watching his naked form stride casually over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room before exiting the bed likewise, casting a wary glance at the ceiling. It was probably nothing but it was unspoken understanding between the two that it would be much more preferable to be safe rather than sorry.
Quickly pulling on the discarded denim shirt, simply wrapping it kimono- style for the time being, keeping it secured with her arms, she asked, somewhat aloofly, "Where do you intend on making a move to, by the way?" Curiosity still surrounded his intentions---honourable or not?
Remy yanked open the wardrobe doors and turned over his shoulder to answer her all at once but a second noise came, not so much a thud, more a click. But it was a definite out-of-sorts sound, even through the racket that still made its way up from the busy street, though the old radio had cut out long since, temperamental as it was. And so he didn't bother to answer her, quickly reaching in and taking out a pair of close fitting, what could only be described as leggings, the type of which he used to wear with his old uniform, designed to hug every inch of muscle; apt for lithe acrobatics, his expertly controlled foolhardiness. He pulled them on and then a matching sleeveless t-shirt.
"Here," he tossed over an identical t-shirt to Ororo as he took a pair of metal-plated boots from the bottom of the wardrobe and stepped into them, securing them about his knees.
"Thanks." Letting the now cumbersome shirt fall, the weather witch wasted no time in yanking on the item, having already gotten into her combats. Tugging it down at the hem, she stopped and smiled when she looked up to see what else Remy had retrieved from the wardrobe. It certainly brought back some memories. He was currently fitting himself into one of his old magenta breast plates, the body armour synonymous with his old clan. "Long time, no see," she quipped fondly.
"Oui," he replied shortly as he set about fastening the last security clip in place before smiling wryly to himself; his hands desisted in their task as if in contemplation. "It 'as been a while, non?" One hard push of the thumb and it snapped loudly into place, making his upper body nigh-on unassailable. One of these beauties had never failed him yet. "I 'aven't got anuddah dat would fit you," he sounded dull and far off as he popped his head back into the wardrobe, coming back out with a flack-jacket, along with one of his old dusters of a lighter, fawn brown, for without it he would have felt incomplete; his other, having met its dreary end at the bottom of that insipid pool along with his backpack.
Ororo plucked the jacket from the bed, its buckles set to jangling like keys. She eyed it over with a definite note of scepticism and immediately raised her eyebrow at Remy; a sign of indignation that she would have need of such a thing, perhaps. It seemed the virile prick of pride sometimes stoked in the most humble of people.
In 'reply' Remy simply knocked twice on his armour; hollow, solid raps on the abs-moulded front of the almost impenetrable sleek material. The message was loud and clear, it had saved his life more times than he cared to remember and as she wasn't wearing the specially atomised suite of her usual X-uniform, he wasn't prepared to let her risk it. Things, he was reluctant to admit, could get...ugly. Very ugly indeed.
Two more soft thuds from a lower level, in quick succession, suggesting the rhythm of step ascending, and it was enough to implore them to haste. Ororo swiftly strapped the bullet-proof on without further protest, securing it correctly. As Gambit slipped his duster on and made for the window, Storm crossed past him and took the grey satchel from the corner, slinging it carefully across her body; its weight more than she remembered. With a clumsy yet zipping clatter, Remy drew the Venetian blind up to the hilt via the gangly fraying string that hung on its left side. There was a balcony out side but it was more to enhance the physical façade of the old tenement building; less a practical notion, more a decoration. But it would have to do, for as the window was slid open, grinding upwards with some difficulty, several whispering voices from all directions gave up their pretence of stealth.
"Dis is it girl!" Remy drawled as he gave Ororo a salacious wink, climbed up onto the sill and deftly swung his legs out of the window, slipping like an eel through the half raised pane. Whatever this was, wherever this wild ride was taking them now, Storm was happy to be taken on its particular brand of winds. She followed him out onto the balcony. And then things really began to get kinetic.
*
It was an altogether rough, tinny sound as the projectile collided with the rusted edge of the balustrade, pinging off to who knows where. Remy hugged back against the wall and window; flinging an arm out across Ororo to keep her pinned to it too. White flakes of hoary paint scattered into the air. The carnival music would have drowned any such noise out to those on the ground, gone unnoticed.
"An' where d'yo' t'ink you two are sneakin' off to?"
They both looked up to see Pierre LeEnorme's ruddy, bullish face smiling coldly down at them; the small gun still cocked in his hand, trained on them. Or more specifically, Remy; aimed for a killer blow. The first shot had been merely a warning.
"Still as charmin' an' tactful as evah, I see?" The Cajun X-Man said with a highly individual satire that almost made it seem genuine. All the more effective at riling the recipient, he always found. As was the case here; the prior history between the two helped of course. LeEnorme didn't waste anytime in letting off another shot; moving the aim from Remy's heart only a split second before pulling the trigger. The pock mark shattered the cream plastered façade of the building just a centimetre or two to the left of Remy's head, but his face didn't betray that he'd felt the wind of it pass by so close he could taste the sulphur from the shot.
"Jeeze Pierre!" A female voice called from behind him somewhere; both Remy and Ororo craned their heads a little higher to try and see the owner but the ornate overhang protruded out an inch or so too much. It was only then that they became aware of several padded sounds behind them; they didn't need to look to tell them that several more of LeEnorme's troupe had filed into the room. They were close to surrounded. But not quite...They heard the feminine tone sailing down again, no less irate. "We're 'ere fo' what's in de bag an' dat's all---will you get a grip o' yo'self?!"
In all of this sudden commotion, Remy had managed to quickly assess their surroundings; swiftly but most thoroughly. Not that he didn't know every in and out of this safe-room and the buildings around it, to know these details, this minutiae, was the golden rule of any abode a thief took, but things have a tendency to change. Even the slightest realignment of a telegraph post or street-light or electrical cable would have thrown him off tilt should they have found they had need of them. Though all he needed now was a distraction. As it transpired, Lady Luck was smiling on him this day.
A phosphorous explosion from high above, trickling down like water in green, purple and gold turned the scene to multi-colour; the energy and deafening roar of the fireworks enough to put LeEnorme and his trailing goons off for that split second. A split second was all, Remy would boast, he needed. He caught Ororo to his side as with his free hand, she instantly wrapped her arms about him as he pulled a wire from the lining of the right pocket of his duster; still remembering where everything resided, all his tools intuitively set in. With a swift lurch he propelled them both forwards, sending them tumbling head-first over the low railing of the balcony. Almost immediately they heard fire-fight behind them, but not just one this time; several guns joined the fray. But Remy didn't have time to dwell on why his former Guild had suddenly become so gun-happy, having always resisted weapons with higher potential for lethal force in the past, he was too busy making sure he and Storm weren't about to plunge to a messy end below. He'd slipped the length of wire around the spiked top of the balcony, letting it slip lose until they came just beneath it and then he reaffirmed his grip on it, winding around his hand with a swift whip; essentially leaving them suspended forty feet above the packed street. But not for long...With a forceful kick out of both his legs in tight unison, he carried on their momentum, swinging them back close to the side of the building.
Ororo immediately grabbed out at the drainpipe to her left and the side of the window frame of the room directly below Remy's. But he had to swing out one last time as he deposited her there, chancing out into another hail of bullets as more fireworks erupted into brief but loud life above, again covering the racket of the guns going off. But he was soon underneath again, having kicked of the thick telegraph post to propel him forwards again, letting the wire drop as he came back beneath the balcony and clung to the window beside Ororo, his feet planted firmly on the bottom edge of the sill.
"I can not risk a wind to take us down," Ororo quickly informed him, all the while studying the side of the building herself for a plan of quick escape before elaborating, "For a start it would make us an open target and secondly, any bullets I could protect us from could stray to those people down below."
"I get ya Stormy," he replied distractedly, trying to work free his Bo staff.
Ororo turned her head to him; the wall scratching against her face she was so pressed to it, "Since when did the Thieves Guild condone firing guns with impunity in public places?"
Remy gave a wry grin as best he could around his staff that he was momentarily holding in his mouth whilst he rummaged in his pocket for something else. Finding it, he removed the staff, placing it back in its pocket, and replied, "Let's jus' say, me an' him," he flicked his eyes up to indicate the bullish ringleader, "---we nevah exactly been de bes' o' buddies."
"And why does that not surprise me?" Ororo said flatly. For a man whose ability for the 'charm to disarm' was legendary, he certainly amassed a fair amount of mortal enemies.
Remy made a face and smiled, "It a long story---mebbe I tell yo' some uddah time chère." All the while his other hand, furthest away from Ororo's view, was working at something that soon came to fruition. With a light crack and a snap the slim vile pinched between his fingers fizzed and hissed, but before its stinging cloud could begin to bellow, he tossed it with a looping throw so it cleared the underside of the balcony and swerved back in to land at the feet of his former comrades, now out of the room and stood above them.
As the eruption of coughing and spluttering in reaction to the noxious tear gas, followed by another round of random blind fire, the sparks flew this way and that as the two X-Men began their descent to street level the fast track way; by sliding down the solid iron drain pipe. Ororo went first, Remy coming a close second, erring on the side of caution for once. They came to a cushioned stop, one after the other, on the striped yawning canopy over the main door to the building; bouncing down it as if it were a trampoline, letting their momentum take them. In mere seconds they were over its edge, dropping expertly to their feet, down at ground level and merging into the cavalcade of chaos as a brass band near by burst into a rapturous rendition of 'When the Saints Go Marching In'. They didn't once look back as they pushed on into the crowd, hopefully to be easily lost.
*
"That son-ova-bitch!" Pierre LeEnorme screamed in utter fury; his eyes streaming and lungs almost completely choked by the tear gas. He hacked out another cough, spitting the greenish grey mucous onto the roof of the building where he still stood; the toxicity of Remy LeBeau's assault having reached past those on the balcony to them that were still at that vantage point. "Damn mutie bâtard!" he raged, before leaping down to join the others; the decorative railing creaked dramatically with the weight, not having been designed to take such strain.
After the wheezing and spluttering had subsided, Jeanette caught sight of the pair shimming swiftly down the drainpipe through blurred stinging eyes. Rubbing again at her orbs in an almost futile effort to rid them of the gas, she cried, "They're gettin' away!"
"T'ank-you very much fo' statin' de fuckin' obvious!" LeEnorme shouted angrily as he held his eyes wide in an attempt to air them, the water streaming down even more copiously. He dropped down to the lower level with the other; the white painted iron structure creaked and trembled. "Dey are not gettin' away, yo' hear!" it was more an order than a statement he began to climb over the balustrade, showing a surprising slightness for a man of his size, "we do whatevah it takes t' get dat bag---WHATEVAH IT TAKES!"
His voice bellowed to them all as they started their descent with the swiftness of thieves; all desperately trying to recover from the attack but still with their hearts and minds concentrated on the task at hand. Not a single one of them, with their expertly trained eye, had lost sight of their targets as they swung from the street lights and the old telegraph pole in acrobatic display, even as their targets had dropped down into the streets and tried to lose themselves in the constant flow of people. The Thieves Guild was soon down there and hot on their trail.
*
Remy led the way, pushing, dodging and slipstreaming his way gazelle-like through the crowd, all the while Ororo right at his back, keeping a careful propinquity; the weight of the satchel not telling on her yet but she feared it soon would. But in a corner of her mind she was more worried about the bashing it was taking as they cut a swathe in their mad, desperate retreat; the people where a throbbing throng, thick as vegetation. It became difficult at times to distinguish from the participants in the long parade and those that had come to watch. They all seemed to have condensed into one; a dazzling array of colourful costume and noise, order broken down. There were so many of them, too many of them...but if they continued moving at such a pace, Storm could ignore the tight press of bodies all about her.
She chanced a glance over her shoulder as they were about to round the corner off Bourbon and onto Bienville Street, through the swaying feathers of a particularly overbearing costume, an explosion of turquoise, shocking pink, Prussian blue and neon yellow, she caught the faintest glimpse of an irate Guild face, red rimmed eyes looking sore, not more than five or six people back from them. They had caught up fast. There was nothing they could do except keep on running and running and running...
Remy rammed his way unapologetically through the brass band as the parade headed northwards up Bienville, making their way to the wide expanse of North Rampart Street, where an even larger crowd awaited. Up there, on the much more capacious street, the parade would not be so compressed, allowing for quicker movement. But that fact had a downside of course, namely that it would make it far easier for their pursuers also.
Gambit could see that he was doing the right thing, had known it ever since he'd decided that the Carcoccia wasn't ending up in any Guild's hands--- even the New Orleans. That's the thought he held onto as they ran. He'd made his mind up about this days ago deep down, before they'd entered the temple even. It had simply taken him a while to admit to himself, as usual-- -the reluctant hero. What they'd seen in Naroapa Impokiro had simply confirmed that decision. The right decision. But as always, he was finding the right decision was placing him in more trouble than just complying. Sometimes this awkward business of integrity was a cumbersome burden. Where had the care-free, conscience-free days gone, he often asked himself, especially when he found himself being chased down the street by a group of gun-tooting lunatics with one purpose; bringing about the end of Gambit. It was a task he knew Pierre LeEnorme in particular had been looking forwards to for most of his life. And here he was, giving the mutant-hating bigot 'just cause' for doing just that. But there was no time to think about that, or to ponder why Jean-Luc had sent that man of all people to collect them, for he had spied an opening.
"Dis way!" he shouted as he grabbed blindly behind him, instantly feeling Storm's hand within his own, the perfect fit, and cut a quick swerve to his right, almost knocking an over-eager trombonist flying on the process. "Hey! Watch it!"
Remy led them into the open façade of a Spanish restaurant on the corner where Dauphine Street met Bienville; nipping through the simple aluminium tables that had been set on the pavement 'el fresco' style. So far, so good; until they got into the heart of the large restaurant and in their rush, clattered into several tables on their way through. Much to the consternation of the patrons as a round of surprised cries and angry shouts went up along the path they were taking, muttering empty 'sorries' as they went. At one stretch Remy was actually up onto the tables, hopping from one to the other like stepping stones in a river. It was not long before another rampage started up behind them; they did not need to turn to know who it was; the rabid dogs, nipping at their heels. At best estimate, from what they'd seen back at the Palais Napoleon, there where at least ten of them. Again the shouting and flying curses rang out from the customers; this time accompanied by much more purposefully destructive sounds; entire tables being up set, the crash of cutlery, dishes smashing and expensive wines falling to the red tiled ground of the traditional restaurant. Why bother going around when you can simply smash your way through?
"What de hell do you t'ink you're doing?!" shouted the maîtres d'hôtel as they rushed past his little podium, heading towards the double doors of the kitchen at the back of the establishment.
"Pardon!" Remy couldn't help but call back, a careless grin on his face just for good measure, infuriating the man even more than the wanton destruction was. He just about caught the Cajun expletive roared out at them from the thin, black moustached man in the penguin suite as they ploughed roughly through the two-way doors, into the furious blast of kitchen heat; the smell of Mediterranean spices and flaming meats stifling. But behind them, their own expletive bile courtesy of the maîtres d'hôtel figure was quickly followed by a volley of several more from the slight- framed man, presumably directed at their pursuers.
Never mind their troubles; now the X-Men had the verbal assaults of the shocked kitchen staff to contend with as they darted through, around the vast stainless steal islands and counters; those who where too shocked to shout simply gawped at the intruders, open mouthed.
"What de fuck?!" the head chef bellowed as he turned away from his work counter, stepping into Remy's path as Ororo went around the other side of the counter to avoid him altogether.
"Se pousser!" Remy shouted back at the chef, angrily this time as he heard the doors clatter open once more and the calls of LeEnorme and the others after them. When it was clear that the sizable chef, who still happened to have his razor sharp, ten inch carving knife clasped in his hand, wasn't about to move anywhere, Remy extended his leg out just half an inch in stretch of his stride. Instantly he took the burly man down with a sneaky trip; sending him crashing noisily as his hand caught his chopping board, sending it and its contents cascaded down all over him. Remy simply hopped over him, not looking back, or breaking his run until both he and Ororo converged on the fire doors at the back of the kitchen. Storm went through first, bursting out into the relatively fresh air of the alleyway whilst Gambit just took a moment to create an obstruction; taking hold of a huge metal frame shelving unit stacked with dirty pans, and pulling it over to block their foes who were almost upon them, having made up the gap well.
And then Remy was out too, both of them running down the extremely dark alley way, having to instinctively guess where the backstreet rubbish lay to hinder them; jumping and almost tripping over boxes and black plastic sacks that had spilt their load over the ground. The turbulence of the kitchen, the clang and the clash got further and further away as they ran until all they could hear was their own breaths in their ears, hearts racing as they surged on. But soon the riotous noise from the kitchen burst into loudness once more; Remy's impromptu barricade broken. And as the first gun shot zipped past them, they knew it was an imperative that they get back into the crowd as soon as possible for it had been the only thing that had stopped them from being fired on. Several more shots sounded around their ears, along with the hasty clicks of discharging and reloading, and all they could do was continue to run as the bullets hit the ground about their feet, some flying into the bin bags, exploding the rubbish inside up into the air like dirty fire works. One or two came far too close for comfort.
"Take a left!" Remy instructed as they neared 'daylight' as it were, coming out onto the edge of the alley, to turn onto Conti Street. There were certainly more people about, but they needed to get back to the parade, the front end of which they could see currently going along N. Rampart.
Storm had to fight the urge to use her powers; with as much control as she held over them and such precision that she had practised down to an art form, it was still too much of a risk with so many people about. Civilians came first; the golden rule, page one of how to be an X-Man. They were almost there anyway, racing past the intersection with Burgundy; the bulk of the parade was within touching distance once more. The pounding of their feet, with the pounding of the beat, thundered through the street.
"Give it up LeBeau!"
Remy would have laughed had he had the breath to. The music and jeering became louder and louder as they neared Rampart; obstreperousness erupting all around them as they finally rejoined the rowdy horde. A float, decked out in pink and red carnations, sporting papier-mâché idols at its head, moved at a tortoise pace past them as they pushed back into the partying mass. Ororo shimmed around it and once on the blind side from the Guild, she hopped up onto its side, her back pressed to it. Remy followed suite. For a moment neither could speak as their breath burned up their throats, like they were breathing pure acid. They took full advantage of the brief rest, knowing that it would be over soon, too soon. Ororo shifted the satchel; the strap having bitten into her shoulder, the adjustment buckle had left its imprint in her flesh.
"Yo' wan' me t' take dat?" Remy panted out, seeing her discomfort.
Ororo shook her head before leaning it back against the bloom of pink flower heads behind her. "No," she finally got the breath to reply, "besides, you can not."
"I tol' you---," he began to protest, unsuccessfully.
"Do not argue. There is not time to argue."
"Okay, but we need some transpor', an' we need it quick," Remy said as he jerked his head this way and that for something, anything that would get them out f this situation that bit sooner; at the same time keeping a look out for LeEnorme and his monkeys.
"Are we going where I think we are going?" Ororo asked.
"Yah," Remy replied shortly as he continued his search, a broad smile suddenly coming onto his face, his eyes lit up as they fell on something that pleased them very much indeed, "An' I t'ink I jus' found de way we gonna get dere too."
Ororo turned to follow the direction of his pleased gaze; a couple of groups up, between a troupe of high school Majorettes and the local Drag Queen Society, were the New Orleans Harley Davison Club.
"Parfaire!" Remy beamed as he jumped down off the float, quickly followed by Ororo.
"Pierre, dey're 'ere!" someone cried from behind them, "Dey're 'ere!"
They quickened their step in response, as much as they could; chancing just one or two quick glances behind. Perhaps a small display of power would suffice, Ororo thought as they finally reached the group of bikers. The most fleeting of vague, white mists clouded the blue of her eyes as a swift stiff breeze swooped down and collided with the two bikers at the rear, knocking both men and machinery over, separating them from one another. Remy and Ororo were soon there to pick up the spoils; the bikers being too dazed and confused to react in time as they watched the pair retrieve the Harley's from the ground, quickly hop on and get the bikes revved up, all in one slick motion it seemed. The surprise at events transpiring simply led to the rest of those around moving out of harms way in order to let the pair speed off without thinking.
"Get outta de way!" Remy rammed furiously on his horn as parade goers flew to the left and the right, reacting in a mixture of shock and drunken glee as they made way for the two bikes trying their best to speed recklessly through. They lent and weaved as if on a speed-way track, not realising that two hundred yards behind them, the Guild members on their tails had unwittingly saved them from the wrath of the rest of the biker club. Everything turned red and gold as the sky lit up with more glittering explosions.
*
It had become a complete free-for-all---Thieves and bikers throwing punches at anyone who stepped in front of them in the chaos. All the while Pierre seethed at the sight of LeBeau and the weather witch making their escape, rapidly being lost to them as they careered along the road and people willingly made way for them. It did much to add to his anger; an anger that finally came to a head in the form of a knock-out blow for the biker closest to him. Throwing the man from his vehicle via a hefty grip of his leather, LeEnorme caught the bike before it fell to the ground, the engine still very much in life and sped off. From the best he could tell, at least two of his number made it out of the fray to follow him.
*
As Remy and Ororo came up past Louis Armstrong Park the crowd had already thinned as if in anticipation of their passing, perhaps thinking that they were part of the show. They were almost neck and neck with each, having managed to up the speed to nearly sixty but as they came to St Phillips Street up the eastside of the park, it allowed them to cut lose, pushing the hogs up to ninety and beyond as they squeezed through a gap in the police barriers and rounded the corner and onto the cordoned off road. Tearing down the deserted street with frightening speed, the white spray of the former drizzle spitting up from the ground, Remy had to profess admiration for Storm's handling of the bike with such consummate ease as he looked over to his left, taking his eyes off the road for just a moment. She could keep up with him in everyway imaginable. In fact, that was not even the worry; would he be able to keep up with her? He half smiled to himself as he faced back front, the wind whipped past, more-or-less deafening him to the sound of the carnival as they left it far behind. Though, the smile did not last for long as he caught sight of something in his wing-mirror.
"Stormy!" he called in warning.
"I see him!" she shouted back quickly, soon correcting herself as she looked in her mirror again, "Them!" And indeed, there were two more, further behind the thickset, brutish man with the shaved head; the girl they had heard shouting on the roof-top and another of the men. The only mercy was that there appeared to be no more of them having made it through.
Remy's eyes narrowed in bitter annoyance as he saw LeEnorme once more reaching for his gun; his mind swiftly ran over the number of things he was going to do to that mutant-hating bastard when this was over, if he ever got the chance, of course. But there were other priorities to contend with at this juncture; like dodging bullets on an open stretch of road whilst keeping control on a motorbike pushing close to one hundred on the speedometer, on a very slick surface. He looked to his left; the flat greens of the park and the tree clusters rushed by, giving him an idea.
With nothing more than a short high pitched whistle to grab Ororo's attention over the roar of the engines and rush of the winds, Remy suddenly swerved off the road, jumped up onto the pavement to smash headlong through the thin bordering hedge row, just as the first bullet hit the asphalt. Storm followed him through as another narrowly missed her back tire.
The far side of the park was for the best part deserted, most
people being close to the
South end where the party still thrived. The grass churned up with swarthy mud as the bikes tore through; spitting up green flecks like a mower throwing back its dead waste after the carnage of blades. The handling became a little harder on such an unpredictable surface but the speed demon did not refrain in its grip of the pair---they continued flat out, hell for leather, no matter what the danger. The consequence of failure was too much to bear. The five bikes weaved across the perfectly manicured park, gliding with swift ease in and out the islands of slim trees and elegantly lined concrete walkways. Shots came with merciful infrequency; the art of firing a gun and driving a high powered motorcycle through a veritable obstacle course not as easy as one is led to believe. None-the-less, the shots that were fired off again came alarmingly close on several occasions.
Certainly to close for Remy's comfort as one, fired by the third man, deafened him as it raced past his right ear, leaving a perfect hole in the flapping raised collar of his trench-coat. Enough was enough. He could only take so much and he wasn't about to take any more; that Cajun fire that rippled ceaselessly through his red cells, seldom seen, flashed his eyes to a feverous intensity. His jaw was set, steely stern, as he took a small metal cap from his inside pocket whilst navigating a tricky dip in the terrain. It was stashed in case of emergencies since the last time he'd had need of this jacket he'd been packing his own firepower, but he praised himself for his fortunate contingency planning. With his wing mirror to guide him, his pursers disappearing and merging through the lines of tall bushes, he timed it just perfect before pushing the cap down and tossing it into their path.
But, as if in anticipation of such an action, his primary target, LeEnorme, jerked to the left just in time to avoid the minor explosion Remy's device caused. Instead the girl behind him took the brunt of it, though Remy did not bother to keep track after he realised it had missed his old foe. He didn't see the rider behind Jeanette clip the back end of her half eaten away bike, the collision sending his Harley off the ground, pitching it aimlessly into the air only to land with a painful thud, unconscious, very possibly half dead. The three left standing raced on.
They came past the trees and rockery ornamentation, out onto a flat, unhindered plane of lush grass. Remy was no more than a wheels length ahead of Ororo, with their adversary just ten foot or so now having made up the distance nicely. This all had the feeling of coming to a conclusion---one way or another---immanently. Up ahead there was a short cant, a man-made incline that they could see from which a low gurgle of springing water bubbled up. There was a pond of some sort set at the top of it. With the merest meeting of eyes, a glimpse of knowing confidence, of the trust of seasoned team-mates, they didn't need to be telepaths to realise the plan.
Storm's face fell into a veneer of other-worldly concentration, with eyes that swirled with white liquid, Cleopatra's bath, as her smiling mouth told of a forbidden pleasure; one that nobody else on this earth, or any other, could ever know. A strong wind swept across the ground coming in from behind them, whipping the smattering of carnival litter left on the ground up into an airy dance. The tremulous drum of thunder rocked through the skies, dramatic as anything man or gods could conjure, cloaked in a heavy blanket of angry greying black. The faintest of rains started, simply a prelude to the main event. The small embankment was almost upon them, she had to do it soon and the timing and placement could not afford to go awry.
Meanwhile behind them LeEnorme had but one bullet left to his disposal and he meant to use it well. He had gone far past the point of reason---hatred has none. He wanted to see LeBeau dead and be damned the consequence. The brewing storm did not appear to worry him in the least, his current fracture led him to forget the nature of the woman at Remy's side; a fatal oversight on his part. His finger eased itself onto the trigger, applying pressure, one eye closed to narrow his focus to perfection...
The front wheels of the bikes hit into the small bank, lifting them up, giving them that crucial levity as they hit the incline at maximum speed. As they ascended, leaping with a certain amount of grace into empty space above the pond, the skies overhead opened like an egg cracked. And the lightening struck down into the path of the third rider, blowing out the front tire. LeEnorme was tossed forwards as the bike flipped, the back wheel reared up and flame was already pouring from it like some cruel display; a spark hit the fuel tank and a volatile ball went up, turning everything fiery orange for a moment as it ripped through the machine and soared upwards. Its intensity was such that not even the responsively heavy pelt of the rain could dowse it.
Both Ororo and Remy felt the heat at their backs as they descended on the other side of the narrow pond. Not that Gambit had known its width when he'd taken the decision to jump it for it had not been a feature of the park the last time he was here---but he often lived in blind hope. A gambler to the core, one might say. They took a bad jolt as they landed, almost being thrown as if from mounts, it was so heavy. Storm's bike took the worst of it, the wheel had buckled under the compacting pressure and she struggled for control, the problem forcing her to stop before fate took the decision from her and she crashed. Her fists squeezed around the breaks as the bike began to wobble recklessly, soon making it clear that this wasn't going to be the prettiest of stationary action. And she was right; the waterlogged ground delivered the final blow as the bike swayed to the side once to often and skidded onto its side. Ororo parted from the bike before it had chance to trap her leg beneath it, rolling away protectively like she'd been taught long ago by Bishop or Logan, she couldn't remember which. But the action was made all the more difficult by having the added awkwardness of having to hug the satchel to her chest, lest its cargo be damaged.
She eventually came to a stop twenty feet away from where the Harley had, though her brain clearly hadn't received the message as the world still swam about her in interesting circles. The restlessness of the weather slowly dissipated as she relinquished her control on it. She thought for a moment that she heard Remy call her but couldn't quite be certain; the tumble had knocked her hearing temporarily out of sorts too.
The roar of Remy's motorcycle racing towards her soon sorted her ears though, popping the drums back with its mighty din. It came to an abrupt if somewhat grumbling halt just behind her. "Girl, you hurt?"
Storm pushed herself into a sitting position as she resolutely shook her head in answer to his inquiry of care, "No, I am fine."
The spinning finally stopped and as she made to stand up she felt Remy's strong hand close over her left arm to aid her. She stood and looked back at the raised pond, but it was impossible to see what had become of LeEnorme from their current position.
Remy looked to, though his face was stony, not professing an ounce of concern for what may have become of the man. He turned to Ororo, this time his eyes certainly melting into a picture of disquiet; anxiety for his love, "Yo' sure nuhddin bumped, nuhddin' broken?"
She simply nodded, "I'm fine," she said after a time. Sirens began to sound across the stifling city night; the explosion had, rather unsurprisingly, attracted some unwanted attention from the authorities, who were posted liberally around the city for the festivities.
"C'mon petite, get on," Remy shifted forwards on the black leather seat a little as he kicked hard on the peddle in order to get her going again; the bike bursting into angry, growling life. Ororo wordlessly swung around onto the back, clenching her knees to his hips whilst she wrapped her arms tightly about his solid waist. "Let's get de fuck outta 'ere. An' befo'e I fo'get," he started as an after thought, "remin' me not t' let yo' anywhere near mah Harley when we git back t' New York, hien?"
"Oh, shut up and drive!" she chided with a laugh and without further ado, as the hubbub of the encroaching fire-engines and police cars became louder, Remy sped off across the remainder of the park, this time taking a pedestrian footpath that opened a gap with in the perimeter hedge. It led them out onto Orleans Avenue where he took a left, going back on themselves, back in the direction of the carnival and disappearing from view just as the first police officers arrived on the scene.
* * *
The New Orleans Bayou...
Remy hadn't dared to let up on his pace the entire way. He wouldn't be content until they were safely inside Tantie Mattie's swamp-side house and were setting about someway to destroy what they brought back from the depths of human mythology. The bike sped along the final straight of dirt track, coming to a skidding stop right next to the front porch; dust scattered up into a light brown cloud. The pair practically jumped from the bike, letting it crash to the ground as they made haste to the porch door. Remy flung back the screen door; littered as it was with the brittle corpses of moths. But before he could wing it through the hanging veil of beads, Ororo hooked her hand on his shoulder.
He turned, about to bark something in frustration at her holding them up when he was flabbergasted to find her pulling him into a impromptu, hot kiss. For all its breathless brevity, it was satisfying enough. More than satisfying...
"Urr, not dat Remy's complain'," he began, not being able to help the slightly boyish grin on his face, "but what was dat fo'?"
"Because, I knew that you would come through for me in the end," she cupped the right side of his face with a slender hand, as she gazed upon him tenderly, "because I knew that in your heart, you will always do what is right by the world, and those around you."
"Now just you stop it chèrie," he jested with a satirically raised eyebrow, "yo' gonna get dis Cajun boy blushin' rouge?"
"It would be nice to see," she teased with a deadpan look in cool, sultry eyes. He gave her a look; one that she had often seen him flash out for the benefit of a female audience, but there was something more purposeful about it this time around, as though he meant it.
"C'mon," he drawled softly; the brief respite was over, and they went into house, hoping against hope that Mattie would know what to do to this thing to stop anyone from ever being able to use it now or ever again. They ran the short length of the hall and straight into the living room. There appeared to be no-one there at first glance, but as usual, all the candles were lit. She had to be in here somewhere.
"Mattie?" Remy called, immediately ill at ease; something wasn't right, his naturally suspicious mind began to work overtime. He held an arm out stiffly, indicating for Storm not to move any further into the room. The silence was eerie, the crackles and calls sparse tonight. It added to the pervading sense of apprehension. "Where de hell is she?" Remy muttered to himself as he scanned around the small space with narrowed careful eyes; a methodical gaze. "Mattie?" he tried again.
There was a shuffle from in the bedroom. They both looked to their right and from the darkness of the open door, a figure slowly began to shuffle out.
"Why didn' yo' answer when I called Tant'?" Remy asked as he saw her emerge from the soft gloom.
But the ebony woman remained silent; tugging that same saffron shawl about her shoulders as its thin material more-or-less wrapped her entire upper body. "You made it den mah petit garçon," she sounded unusually meek, her whole demeanour somewhat frail---even more so than when they'd left her over a week ago, "I hoped an' prayed fo'---."
"What is it Tantie?" Remy asked gravely, the whole time his hand was edging back the hip of his duster on the right hand side, working its way to his staff.
Her wide, dark eyes glistened with water, swelling around their jaundiced whites, "Remy...I---," she suddenly gasped in a breath, her face contorting with an unknown hysterical air. But she wasn't looking at her surrogate son anymore, she was looking past him, not even at Ororo, the horror was past her too, "REMY IT'S A TRAP!" she screamed wildly, "GET OUT NOW!"
But it was too late...
Remy turned on his heel only in time to see several men emerging from the small kitchen at their back; one of their number was swift enough to catch Ororo in the back of the head with a Billy-club, knocking her clean out instantly.
"STORMY!" he barely had time to call her name in anguish and utter fury at what had been done to her; seeing her lying there in an unceremonious heap made him want to rip the bastards throat out; and he would have were it not for several more coming in from the curtain covered veranda, grabbing Remy at either side before he had chance to do anything. He struggled of course, managing to release one arm and with a quickly snapped off punch, break the man's jaw, sending him spinning but entirely unable to groan his agony through sheer blinding pain. But another soon took his place as Remy's captor, whilst an unseen third assailant swift-kicked him in the back, right between the shoulder blades, knocking the air out of him long enough for the others to contain him, sufficiently this time.
Half sunk to his knees as he regained his breath, Remy felt a stab of ice streak through his heart as he heard familiar laughter coming from where Mattie still stood. That ice soon turned to the flame of anger as Thierry Mauvais stepped out from behind her, coming out from concealment with the smug air of a victor; his prize won. "So fuckin' predictable," he practically murmured, like he didn't think Remy would be as stupid or obvious to come to Mattie for help; his naïveté amused him, if nothing else.
For a moment the flaxen haired man took his gleeful attention away from Gambit and focused on Storm as she lay out-cold, slumped awkwardly on the floor, her arms out spread and her legs practically folded beneath her; not a whisper or shadow of movement to be seen.
"Get de bag," he ordered an anonymous 'worker ant' in a low, no-nonsense fashion to which the boy, of no more than fourteen, fifteen at best duly obliged, "an' take dat t'ing offa her." He meant the flack-jacket, and that too was soon in the process of being removed. After all practicalities had been seen to, he limbered up for the main event...
It was almost a saunter, a swagger, a down-right cocky strut as Mauvais made his way over to Remy, coming to a stop right before him. The way Remy continued to be being held meant he had to look up at him to make eye- contact and oh, how he did detest that. He compensated by making the vitriol of his red irises spit bile, with just a look. "Yo' tell yaw goons t' get dheir 'ands off her now, or I swear Thierry---."
"Yo' swear what garçon? Hien?" he appeared even more smug than usual, like he had something over the X-man, something much more than his outnumbering forces, "yo' gonna ligh' de place wit' a little pink magic? Is dat it?" His hand moved swiftly from behind his back, where they had been clasped in a parody of gentile mannerism, and caught hold of Remy's long fringe to yank his head back with his firm grip. He was completely at his mercy; on his knees, with his arms spread-eagled and in the vice like grip of two men, and Thierry delivering the final humiliation.
"Now, yo' see her," Thierry turned his head to look at Ororo, currently being carried from the room by two thieves, "we knew we 'ad t' get de sorcière temps outta de game as fas' as we could," he turned back to the man at his complete clemency, "bu' why yo;' t'ink we left you in?"
Remy gazed up at him for an age, his brow furrowed and eyes menacingly dark. "Mah sparklin' wit?" he retorted in typically sarcastic, arrogant fashion; even having the balls to quirk his lips in a playful sneer come grin. Though it was in belie of the fury he felt inside, he simply cloaked it---if they did anything to Storm...Well, more than they'd already dared to, for which they would pay dearly, he was sure; internally revelling in their downfall.
Thierry snorted with laughter, looking at someone past his shoulder to share in the equally sarcastic pretence of reverie. But the look soon faded as he tightened his hold on Remy's hair, almost pulling it from the scalp and with his other hand slapped him with the back of it; the metal plates on the back of his gloves adding to its force and effect. As he yanked Remy's head back around to face him, taking a certain amount of pleasure at the sight of red gushing generously from his nose, he was unperturbed by the fact that the arrogant traitor was actually laughing.
He came down close to Remy's face; eyeball to eyeball, "What's a mutie, when it ain't a mutie no more, hien?" his smirk returned as he saw Remy's resolve falter for just a split second, "twice de waste o' space I'd say. Especially in yaw case Gambit, after-all, it was yaw only asset t' de Guild an' anybody else dat was unlucky enough t' get saddled wit' yaw sorry hide," he let go of Remy's hair and took a couple of steps away, "I bet de X-Men don' even want yo' wastin' dheir time no more, homme. Poor ol' Remy--- out on 'is ear again."
"Yo' ain't got de firs' clue 'bout mah life yo' miserable piece o' shit!" Remy drawled in anger, wishing instantly he hadn't given Mauvais the satisfaction, but, once again, he couldn't stop himself from rising to it. He just knew how to push the right buttons in order to hit him where it hurt. Remy pursed his lips, the taste of blood seeping into his mouth, crimson shimmering on his lips as his face throbbed terrifically with the hit.
Thierry regarded him for a moment longer, but barely even bothered to look at him, as if he didn't matter that much when he said, "I know a born loser when I see one garçon, an even if Jean-Luc couldn' see it, I could. It's written all over yo'," he paused and looked upon him with a subtle contempt. "Take 'im."
With a quick, dismissive motion of his hand he order his unit to remove the man that offended him so and went back over to Mattie, who had stood in mute shock throughout the entire ordeal, "So now are yo' gonna come wit' us?" Remy heard him say faintly as he was pulled from the room and out into the still heat of the bayou night.
-TBC-
Se pousser!= Move over!
Parfaire!= Perfect!
Chapter.14.
An hour later, The Palais Napoleon, Bourbon Street...
The steady creak of the fan was mesmerising as they gazed up, with heavy, sated lids, at its partly moth-eaten wicker lattice; always squeaking at that same point, regular as clockwork. It had started to rain on the parade outside but it didn't appear to have dampened anyone's spirits. The persistent drizzle battered down as the party continued to rage on beneath the old four storied tenement building, filling the dark, red fuzzed room with an alternative kind of noise.
Ororo focused on the way Remy's body seemed to stick to hers beneath the thin top sheet; their legs entangled, torsos touching, his sleekly muscled arm draped heavy around her shoulder as his hand rested inertly at the top of her right arm. Her cheek lay on his shoulder; her hard, heated pillow. An airy palm was laid light over the measured rise and fall of his chest, the drum of his heart stimulating the skin. Every time she moved, just a little against him, she felt it speed up, trip over itself in haste; it made her smile. Neither spoke, perhaps listening to the other breathing or afraid to break the peculiar spell that held over the room.
Eventually Remy shifted, moving over just a little to root in the half-open draw of the bedside cabinet. After jostling through old packets, he finally came upon one with some weight to it; a creased packet of red Marlborough's. He gave it a quick shake, something rattled around inside it. Flipping open the dinted cardboard lid with his thumb, he found two cigarettes and a bright green plastic lighter stashed with them. He tipped the box up by his mouth, like he was taking a drink out of the carton, catching just one cigarette between his lips and then pulling it back to somehow contrive to get the lighter out one handed. Throwing the pack absently onto the small cabinet, he settled back into his former position, letting Ororo rest her head again whilst he struck up his smoke.
Ororo followed the path of the thick jet as it 'whistled' silently through his lips, straight up into the air, splitting off into delicate spirals as it rose, free of the jet stream. In a strange parallel of its dispersal she could feel the rushing patterns of the rain outside calming, until they soon ceased to be. Remy turned his head to peer down at her and gave her a lop-sided smile that seeped at the edges with escaping smoke as the last of the rain petered out.
"It had nothing to do with me," she replied to his knowing look, surprised at the dusky frailty in her voice; as content as a cat's velvet purr.
"Sure it didn', chèrie," he winked at her before letting his head roll back into a more comfortable position, taking in a large lungful of his cigarette as he did so.
This was possibly the most surreal moment of his life. Him, in bed, with...Storm. It had felt so good, so right... To covert was one thing, to taste 'forbidden fruit' was another entirely...But the feel of her now, the sense of her tucked up against his body was as if she were made to be there. Just there...His arm that had previously been slack tightened around her, slipping down beneath her and around her waist causing her to be half laid upon him. She rolled to him easily, enjoying their skin unpeeling from each other and then sticking together again as she settled her head on his chest; peering up at him with a lazy, contented smile.
Blue eyes settled closely on the steep rise and fall, the hill, of Remy's Adam's apple; watching it as it moved in a lolloping motion; up down, back forth, like a vessel on gently rolling seas as he swallowed or inhaled. Fascinated by such a mundane movement, Ororo sidled up, placing her lips to the hard mound beneath roughly shaved skin; her petulant finger tips lightly playing with his left nipple as they skimmed over his chest. She felt it shudder beneath her in soft laughter; a bubbling rumble against her mouth as he chuckled, like warm malt. Kissing him softly again she chuckled too; bitter-sweet tang touched the tip of her tongue as she let in flick out to taste the skin.
Remy sighed; a deep satisfaction rolled out with the musty yellow dance of the smoke. He plucked his cigarette out of his mouth whilst his other hand roamed liberally up and down her body, searching without shame beneath the sheet, trailing leisurely yet firmly back up. Fingers explored the sheer edges of her shoulder blades, running over their razor-like precision intently. Creeping up they delighted in causing a shiver as they whispered past the nape of her slender neck and then wound slowly into the dishevelled toughs of her hair. She looked endearingly unkempt to his provocative gaze; the perfect bedroom look. "So, 'Roro," his low voice still told of his exhaustion, the subdued drawl more reticent to tumble out than usual, "what 'appens now?"
Ororo remained still; her limbs felt too heavy to move easily. Slowly she began to pull back from Remy's neck, lips unpicking. But she did not move away from him as he braced himself for, expecting her to do so. No, instead Storm moved atop of him; her legs straddled each side as she leant her upper-body, comfortably, on his lean, relatively hairless chest, only the odd wisps. She stooped down briefly to plant a kiss there, emerging back up to catch his eye before she spoke, "I do not know what will happen from here...," she started in her dusky timbre, the song of a siren to his ears, "...but let us not---spoil it---by thinking over such things now." But would she dash him on the rocks with those sweet notes?
Taking one last drag, Remy prematurely stubbed it out on the bedside cabinet, leaving yet another ugly little black pock mark on its surface where the practice had been done many a time before. Both hands moved to her back now, feeling their way up and down it, pushing the sheet so that it draped languorously over her shapely buttocks. "Um-hum---yaw righ' chère," he replied after a time; his words almost an amiable sigh, "mebbe we should jus' enjoy dis fo' what it is righ' now, non?" He dragged in another deep breath, under the welcome pressure of her nimble yet powerful body on his chest as his hands played at the curving small of her back, "an' let me tell yo'...I'm certainly enjoyin' dis," he added mischievously as his hands nipped down quickly, making much of their fondling of her firm rear before skipping down to her thighs, shifting her up so that she straddled, lengthy legs parted, directly over his groin.
With a playful sigh, Ororo rolled her eyes but did not for one minute reproach him for his gratuitousness. Rather, she relished the feel of him beneath her, although resisted the urge to stir him once more with a teasing rock of her hips. But it appeared there would be no need for such obvious displays of seduction. With a laugh that, for one such as Storm, was perilously, mortifyingly close to a horrific giggle, she broke from the constant hold of his hands and rolled off him to her right, her lower body being ensnared in the sheets as she moved. But her freedom was short lived as Remy swiftly regained ground, pitching above her with equal laughter. Leaning up over her on his poker straight arms, only the barrier of the sheets prevented him from restabilising his contact; skin on skin. A contact eagerly wanted if the rock hard pressure that lay against her through white cotton was anything to go by.
All went quiet between them and their faces dropped into a contemplative vision of seriousness as they gazed up and down at each other respectively. A moment passed betwixt the friends-come-lovers, like all those of tender affirmation in times gone by; the comfortable union of soul-mates. It flittered like a seldom-seen spark of recognition and was gone as swiftly. But neither could deny it had been there.
"It always baffled me, ya know," Remy started softly with a shake of the head and a deft smile, his clammy fringe flopping down.
"What did?" Ororo asked uncertainly with a playfully perplexed look.
"Ain't it obvious?" he inquired cheekily, "Why a femme as intelligent, confident an'...jus' so beautiful as you 'asn't had men queuin' at her door from Westchester t' Houston, Texas." He stayed just this side of smarmy...just.
Ororo reached up and linked her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers, "Perhaps it has escaped your attention Remy, but I have been rather busy with---other---matters over the years."
"Hey, dat ain't no excuse," he chided kindly as he leant down to kiss gently at her mouth, enjoying her full lips before travelling slowly down her jaw line and then her exquisite neck. He heard her sigh with pleasure, a longing moan passed, as his hot breaths tickled and grateful lips teased the flesh. In truth, he was gratified that no-one had spotted or taken their chance with her before this day, for he would not be here with her now. He came down to rest on his forearms as his mouth snaked lower, over the hardness of the collar bone, onto her breast plate before finding his way to her breasts
Storm tried, but failed miserably, to bite back the groan that issued with abandon as she caught her fingers up into his hair ruthlessly. She attempted to stop with her encouragement but it was a fruitless endeavour.
It was obvious that he wished to renew their union, and so she spoke to distract him. "It may not have been an excuse, but it will have to do," she finally retorted breathily, fighting for control again as she shifted beneath him. She twisted underneath him, smiling at his low grumble of disappointment as she buried her face in the pillow. Quick, hot bites littered up her exposed back, coursed through her, culminating in liquid nibbles on her left earlobe.
As Remy slipped from her back, coming to a rest on the left side of her, Ororo turned her head that way, studying him as he settled; the thick bar of red that fell across the pillow, lying softly like scarlet lace upon his face; illuminating his ruggedly attractive features for her leisure, her pleasure. They fell into a lulling silence as they stared across at each other over the white crumbled mounds of the pillow; a snow bound terrain. He concentrated on the sculpted lines, the smooth lines that melted seamlessly, the play of light and dark; her faultless skin turned a deeply rich vein of mocha in its present shade, facing away from the window. Curious fingers reached up as crimson and azure held each other in their sway, working along her cheek, along to that delectable nose and its vaguely curving tip and down to her tantalisingly barely parted mouth; enchantingly aware of every perfectly proportioned contour. Passively she let his sure hands wonder, she enjoyed the feeling of being explored in so intimate a manner, with no awkwardness what-so-ever. And she amazed him; captivation not a strong enough word at this time. His mind drifted back to those questioning thoughts that had plagued him in the forest; though he found were a bein no more. Fleeting forwards again, he tried to hold off their current reality for a little longer, enjoying the fragrance and vibrancy of a New Orleans night, with a woman he loved in his bed, for just a while, everything else was pushed back...He stroked down her face, dropping off to her shoulder, a finger moved, slinked down the sleek muscle tone of her arm. She quivered.
"Remy?" Her voice resumed its measured command, its dusky charm.
"Um-hum?" He responded distractedly, way too involved in edging his hands underneath her body, making an impertinent play for her breasts.
Ororo squirmed to stop him, making her arm a barrier, "Remy please, listen to me," she tried to stay serious, but it was difficult in the face of his persistence, "please, listen."
He groaned exaggeratedly as he proceeded to try and tip her body over onto her back, "Sorry chère," he growled as he succeeded in moving her onto her side, quickly taking hold of her waist and slipping his other hand beneath her and onto her back, "bu' Remy's got waaaay to many uddah t'ings beggin' fo 'is attention---," his words cut off as he descended on her chest once more; teasing and titillating as he placed a long strong leg between hers in renewed entanglement.
Ororo's eyes closed and she caught hold of his hair, ragging it back from the root; falling into the sensation, falling hopelessly into him again. "No, Remy...," she started to protest with a distinct lack of conviction.
"Wha'?" He laughed; it rumbled against her body, "Jus' relax girl...," he always took things so in his stride. It infuriated her at times, his casualness. With all her resolve, for his skill, his adroitness, bewitched her, her hands slipped to his shoulders and she contrived to push him from her. With some resistance he eventually relented. "Wha's wrong?" He peered up at her, slightly like an injured child being denied his way, but it was all in jest.
She smiled, chastising, at his play-acting. "I have to ask you, Remy," her unexpected solemnity made him pay full attention as he shifted up to rest on the pillow again. "And I want you to tell me the truth."
He shrugged, the crumpled pillow rustled, "O' course chère," he grinned, "Don' I always?"
Ororo raised a slender eyebrow, her lips quirked; she wouldn't answer that. "I need you to tell me, truthfully, what is going on?"
He gave a shake of his head, for a moment confused, "'Ro, you know as much as---."
"No, I do not mean that," she interrupted, wondering whether or not he had deliberately misconstrued her question. "I meant, with you."
Remy narrowed his eyes at her and made an uncertain noise, "I don' know what you mean."
Ororo sighed and rolled onto her back, flinging her arm up above her head as her other settled across the flat plane of her stomach. She watched the fan go round. "There is something going on with you," she alleged, still staring straight up, "All the way back from Brazil, I could see there was something you were not telling me."
"We were in a boat full o' people chère," he replied off-handily as he pushed himself into a semi-sitting position and reached across her to his cigarettes on the cabinet, leaving the prematurely stubbed out one where it lay, taking the packet from the draw instead, "we were supposed t' be layin' low, keepin' a cover," he said as he shifted back over, all the while he tapped out a cigarette and popped it into his mouth. He made to light it, automatically cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from a non-existent wind out of sheer habit. But he hesitated in his action for a moment; looking down at her, he mumbled from around his smoke, sounding a little more piqued by now, "Didn' exactly 'ave time or opportunity fo' no idle chit-chat 'bout our situation." Eventually he brought the end of his cigarette into the flame and puffed on it furiously to get it going. He tossed the lighter back down onto the cabinet on his side of the bed. Even that noise seemed to hold a pent up annoyance, demonstrating the sudden shift in mood.
Ororo listened to all this patiently, sighing just softly, not irritably once he had finished; leaning back against the railed headboard, chuffing away happily enough. She rubbed the back of her hand across the sheen of her forehead as she prepared to confront him, "Well we are not on a boat full of people anymore," she began quietly and then shifted her head back, inclining it to the side, a painful tweak passed through her neck at the awkward angle as she looked up at him. He stared resolutely ahead, his mouth puckered into a small 'O' as a couple of doughnut shaped sallow-white rings floated almost elegantly out, followed by a thick line of smoke; shot out straight. "Remy, I lost count of the number of times I saw you staring at your hands," she continued as she pushed herself up to lean on her elbows, "What was that about?"
Remy glanced at her, but didn't want to hold contact; smacking his lips around the filter and drawing in long and slow; the crackle of the burning paper forming into an ever elongating column of ash, audible. But he remained as silent as the grave, the impassive blankness of his face telling Ororo she would glean nothing from him, so there would be no point in trying further. This time her sigh told plainly of her frustration as she flopped back down onto her back. As she did so there was a loud thud from above them; immediately on the ball, they both looked up with intention. They waited but there was nothing more. Still, it had made them both sufficiently aware of their surroundings after being so caught-up in each other for the past hour.
He took his cigarette from his mouth, wetting his lips as his narrowed eyes stuck fast to the yellowed ceiling. "T'ink it 'bout time we made a move chère," he told her cautiously, picking off a tiny curl of tobacco that had wheedled down past the mottled filter, from the tip of his tongue with his thumb and middle finger. His eyes were still up there as he extinguished his cigarette, this time into a bottle green glass ashtray, not in the irreverent manner of the last, and slipped, cat-like, out of the bed; Ororo waited for a moment, watching his naked form stride casually over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room before exiting the bed likewise, casting a wary glance at the ceiling. It was probably nothing but it was unspoken understanding between the two that it would be much more preferable to be safe rather than sorry.
Quickly pulling on the discarded denim shirt, simply wrapping it kimono- style for the time being, keeping it secured with her arms, she asked, somewhat aloofly, "Where do you intend on making a move to, by the way?" Curiosity still surrounded his intentions---honourable or not?
Remy yanked open the wardrobe doors and turned over his shoulder to answer her all at once but a second noise came, not so much a thud, more a click. But it was a definite out-of-sorts sound, even through the racket that still made its way up from the busy street, though the old radio had cut out long since, temperamental as it was. And so he didn't bother to answer her, quickly reaching in and taking out a pair of close fitting, what could only be described as leggings, the type of which he used to wear with his old uniform, designed to hug every inch of muscle; apt for lithe acrobatics, his expertly controlled foolhardiness. He pulled them on and then a matching sleeveless t-shirt.
"Here," he tossed over an identical t-shirt to Ororo as he took a pair of metal-plated boots from the bottom of the wardrobe and stepped into them, securing them about his knees.
"Thanks." Letting the now cumbersome shirt fall, the weather witch wasted no time in yanking on the item, having already gotten into her combats. Tugging it down at the hem, she stopped and smiled when she looked up to see what else Remy had retrieved from the wardrobe. It certainly brought back some memories. He was currently fitting himself into one of his old magenta breast plates, the body armour synonymous with his old clan. "Long time, no see," she quipped fondly.
"Oui," he replied shortly as he set about fastening the last security clip in place before smiling wryly to himself; his hands desisted in their task as if in contemplation. "It 'as been a while, non?" One hard push of the thumb and it snapped loudly into place, making his upper body nigh-on unassailable. One of these beauties had never failed him yet. "I 'aven't got anuddah dat would fit you," he sounded dull and far off as he popped his head back into the wardrobe, coming back out with a flack-jacket, along with one of his old dusters of a lighter, fawn brown, for without it he would have felt incomplete; his other, having met its dreary end at the bottom of that insipid pool along with his backpack.
Ororo plucked the jacket from the bed, its buckles set to jangling like keys. She eyed it over with a definite note of scepticism and immediately raised her eyebrow at Remy; a sign of indignation that she would have need of such a thing, perhaps. It seemed the virile prick of pride sometimes stoked in the most humble of people.
In 'reply' Remy simply knocked twice on his armour; hollow, solid raps on the abs-moulded front of the almost impenetrable sleek material. The message was loud and clear, it had saved his life more times than he cared to remember and as she wasn't wearing the specially atomised suite of her usual X-uniform, he wasn't prepared to let her risk it. Things, he was reluctant to admit, could get...ugly. Very ugly indeed.
Two more soft thuds from a lower level, in quick succession, suggesting the rhythm of step ascending, and it was enough to implore them to haste. Ororo swiftly strapped the bullet-proof on without further protest, securing it correctly. As Gambit slipped his duster on and made for the window, Storm crossed past him and took the grey satchel from the corner, slinging it carefully across her body; its weight more than she remembered. With a clumsy yet zipping clatter, Remy drew the Venetian blind up to the hilt via the gangly fraying string that hung on its left side. There was a balcony out side but it was more to enhance the physical façade of the old tenement building; less a practical notion, more a decoration. But it would have to do, for as the window was slid open, grinding upwards with some difficulty, several whispering voices from all directions gave up their pretence of stealth.
"Dis is it girl!" Remy drawled as he gave Ororo a salacious wink, climbed up onto the sill and deftly swung his legs out of the window, slipping like an eel through the half raised pane. Whatever this was, wherever this wild ride was taking them now, Storm was happy to be taken on its particular brand of winds. She followed him out onto the balcony. And then things really began to get kinetic.
*
It was an altogether rough, tinny sound as the projectile collided with the rusted edge of the balustrade, pinging off to who knows where. Remy hugged back against the wall and window; flinging an arm out across Ororo to keep her pinned to it too. White flakes of hoary paint scattered into the air. The carnival music would have drowned any such noise out to those on the ground, gone unnoticed.
"An' where d'yo' t'ink you two are sneakin' off to?"
They both looked up to see Pierre LeEnorme's ruddy, bullish face smiling coldly down at them; the small gun still cocked in his hand, trained on them. Or more specifically, Remy; aimed for a killer blow. The first shot had been merely a warning.
"Still as charmin' an' tactful as evah, I see?" The Cajun X-Man said with a highly individual satire that almost made it seem genuine. All the more effective at riling the recipient, he always found. As was the case here; the prior history between the two helped of course. LeEnorme didn't waste anytime in letting off another shot; moving the aim from Remy's heart only a split second before pulling the trigger. The pock mark shattered the cream plastered façade of the building just a centimetre or two to the left of Remy's head, but his face didn't betray that he'd felt the wind of it pass by so close he could taste the sulphur from the shot.
"Jeeze Pierre!" A female voice called from behind him somewhere; both Remy and Ororo craned their heads a little higher to try and see the owner but the ornate overhang protruded out an inch or so too much. It was only then that they became aware of several padded sounds behind them; they didn't need to look to tell them that several more of LeEnorme's troupe had filed into the room. They were close to surrounded. But not quite...They heard the feminine tone sailing down again, no less irate. "We're 'ere fo' what's in de bag an' dat's all---will you get a grip o' yo'self?!"
In all of this sudden commotion, Remy had managed to quickly assess their surroundings; swiftly but most thoroughly. Not that he didn't know every in and out of this safe-room and the buildings around it, to know these details, this minutiae, was the golden rule of any abode a thief took, but things have a tendency to change. Even the slightest realignment of a telegraph post or street-light or electrical cable would have thrown him off tilt should they have found they had need of them. Though all he needed now was a distraction. As it transpired, Lady Luck was smiling on him this day.
A phosphorous explosion from high above, trickling down like water in green, purple and gold turned the scene to multi-colour; the energy and deafening roar of the fireworks enough to put LeEnorme and his trailing goons off for that split second. A split second was all, Remy would boast, he needed. He caught Ororo to his side as with his free hand, she instantly wrapped her arms about him as he pulled a wire from the lining of the right pocket of his duster; still remembering where everything resided, all his tools intuitively set in. With a swift lurch he propelled them both forwards, sending them tumbling head-first over the low railing of the balcony. Almost immediately they heard fire-fight behind them, but not just one this time; several guns joined the fray. But Remy didn't have time to dwell on why his former Guild had suddenly become so gun-happy, having always resisted weapons with higher potential for lethal force in the past, he was too busy making sure he and Storm weren't about to plunge to a messy end below. He'd slipped the length of wire around the spiked top of the balcony, letting it slip lose until they came just beneath it and then he reaffirmed his grip on it, winding around his hand with a swift whip; essentially leaving them suspended forty feet above the packed street. But not for long...With a forceful kick out of both his legs in tight unison, he carried on their momentum, swinging them back close to the side of the building.
Ororo immediately grabbed out at the drainpipe to her left and the side of the window frame of the room directly below Remy's. But he had to swing out one last time as he deposited her there, chancing out into another hail of bullets as more fireworks erupted into brief but loud life above, again covering the racket of the guns going off. But he was soon underneath again, having kicked of the thick telegraph post to propel him forwards again, letting the wire drop as he came back beneath the balcony and clung to the window beside Ororo, his feet planted firmly on the bottom edge of the sill.
"I can not risk a wind to take us down," Ororo quickly informed him, all the while studying the side of the building herself for a plan of quick escape before elaborating, "For a start it would make us an open target and secondly, any bullets I could protect us from could stray to those people down below."
"I get ya Stormy," he replied distractedly, trying to work free his Bo staff.
Ororo turned her head to him; the wall scratching against her face she was so pressed to it, "Since when did the Thieves Guild condone firing guns with impunity in public places?"
Remy gave a wry grin as best he could around his staff that he was momentarily holding in his mouth whilst he rummaged in his pocket for something else. Finding it, he removed the staff, placing it back in its pocket, and replied, "Let's jus' say, me an' him," he flicked his eyes up to indicate the bullish ringleader, "---we nevah exactly been de bes' o' buddies."
"And why does that not surprise me?" Ororo said flatly. For a man whose ability for the 'charm to disarm' was legendary, he certainly amassed a fair amount of mortal enemies.
Remy made a face and smiled, "It a long story---mebbe I tell yo' some uddah time chère." All the while his other hand, furthest away from Ororo's view, was working at something that soon came to fruition. With a light crack and a snap the slim vile pinched between his fingers fizzed and hissed, but before its stinging cloud could begin to bellow, he tossed it with a looping throw so it cleared the underside of the balcony and swerved back in to land at the feet of his former comrades, now out of the room and stood above them.
As the eruption of coughing and spluttering in reaction to the noxious tear gas, followed by another round of random blind fire, the sparks flew this way and that as the two X-Men began their descent to street level the fast track way; by sliding down the solid iron drain pipe. Ororo went first, Remy coming a close second, erring on the side of caution for once. They came to a cushioned stop, one after the other, on the striped yawning canopy over the main door to the building; bouncing down it as if it were a trampoline, letting their momentum take them. In mere seconds they were over its edge, dropping expertly to their feet, down at ground level and merging into the cavalcade of chaos as a brass band near by burst into a rapturous rendition of 'When the Saints Go Marching In'. They didn't once look back as they pushed on into the crowd, hopefully to be easily lost.
*
"That son-ova-bitch!" Pierre LeEnorme screamed in utter fury; his eyes streaming and lungs almost completely choked by the tear gas. He hacked out another cough, spitting the greenish grey mucous onto the roof of the building where he still stood; the toxicity of Remy LeBeau's assault having reached past those on the balcony to them that were still at that vantage point. "Damn mutie bâtard!" he raged, before leaping down to join the others; the decorative railing creaked dramatically with the weight, not having been designed to take such strain.
After the wheezing and spluttering had subsided, Jeanette caught sight of the pair shimming swiftly down the drainpipe through blurred stinging eyes. Rubbing again at her orbs in an almost futile effort to rid them of the gas, she cried, "They're gettin' away!"
"T'ank-you very much fo' statin' de fuckin' obvious!" LeEnorme shouted angrily as he held his eyes wide in an attempt to air them, the water streaming down even more copiously. He dropped down to the lower level with the other; the white painted iron structure creaked and trembled. "Dey are not gettin' away, yo' hear!" it was more an order than a statement he began to climb over the balustrade, showing a surprising slightness for a man of his size, "we do whatevah it takes t' get dat bag---WHATEVAH IT TAKES!"
His voice bellowed to them all as they started their descent with the swiftness of thieves; all desperately trying to recover from the attack but still with their hearts and minds concentrated on the task at hand. Not a single one of them, with their expertly trained eye, had lost sight of their targets as they swung from the street lights and the old telegraph pole in acrobatic display, even as their targets had dropped down into the streets and tried to lose themselves in the constant flow of people. The Thieves Guild was soon down there and hot on their trail.
*
Remy led the way, pushing, dodging and slipstreaming his way gazelle-like through the crowd, all the while Ororo right at his back, keeping a careful propinquity; the weight of the satchel not telling on her yet but she feared it soon would. But in a corner of her mind she was more worried about the bashing it was taking as they cut a swathe in their mad, desperate retreat; the people where a throbbing throng, thick as vegetation. It became difficult at times to distinguish from the participants in the long parade and those that had come to watch. They all seemed to have condensed into one; a dazzling array of colourful costume and noise, order broken down. There were so many of them, too many of them...but if they continued moving at such a pace, Storm could ignore the tight press of bodies all about her.
She chanced a glance over her shoulder as they were about to round the corner off Bourbon and onto Bienville Street, through the swaying feathers of a particularly overbearing costume, an explosion of turquoise, shocking pink, Prussian blue and neon yellow, she caught the faintest glimpse of an irate Guild face, red rimmed eyes looking sore, not more than five or six people back from them. They had caught up fast. There was nothing they could do except keep on running and running and running...
Remy rammed his way unapologetically through the brass band as the parade headed northwards up Bienville, making their way to the wide expanse of North Rampart Street, where an even larger crowd awaited. Up there, on the much more capacious street, the parade would not be so compressed, allowing for quicker movement. But that fact had a downside of course, namely that it would make it far easier for their pursuers also.
Gambit could see that he was doing the right thing, had known it ever since he'd decided that the Carcoccia wasn't ending up in any Guild's hands--- even the New Orleans. That's the thought he held onto as they ran. He'd made his mind up about this days ago deep down, before they'd entered the temple even. It had simply taken him a while to admit to himself, as usual-- -the reluctant hero. What they'd seen in Naroapa Impokiro had simply confirmed that decision. The right decision. But as always, he was finding the right decision was placing him in more trouble than just complying. Sometimes this awkward business of integrity was a cumbersome burden. Where had the care-free, conscience-free days gone, he often asked himself, especially when he found himself being chased down the street by a group of gun-tooting lunatics with one purpose; bringing about the end of Gambit. It was a task he knew Pierre LeEnorme in particular had been looking forwards to for most of his life. And here he was, giving the mutant-hating bigot 'just cause' for doing just that. But there was no time to think about that, or to ponder why Jean-Luc had sent that man of all people to collect them, for he had spied an opening.
"Dis way!" he shouted as he grabbed blindly behind him, instantly feeling Storm's hand within his own, the perfect fit, and cut a quick swerve to his right, almost knocking an over-eager trombonist flying on the process. "Hey! Watch it!"
Remy led them into the open façade of a Spanish restaurant on the corner where Dauphine Street met Bienville; nipping through the simple aluminium tables that had been set on the pavement 'el fresco' style. So far, so good; until they got into the heart of the large restaurant and in their rush, clattered into several tables on their way through. Much to the consternation of the patrons as a round of surprised cries and angry shouts went up along the path they were taking, muttering empty 'sorries' as they went. At one stretch Remy was actually up onto the tables, hopping from one to the other like stepping stones in a river. It was not long before another rampage started up behind them; they did not need to turn to know who it was; the rabid dogs, nipping at their heels. At best estimate, from what they'd seen back at the Palais Napoleon, there where at least ten of them. Again the shouting and flying curses rang out from the customers; this time accompanied by much more purposefully destructive sounds; entire tables being up set, the crash of cutlery, dishes smashing and expensive wines falling to the red tiled ground of the traditional restaurant. Why bother going around when you can simply smash your way through?
"What de hell do you t'ink you're doing?!" shouted the maîtres d'hôtel as they rushed past his little podium, heading towards the double doors of the kitchen at the back of the establishment.
"Pardon!" Remy couldn't help but call back, a careless grin on his face just for good measure, infuriating the man even more than the wanton destruction was. He just about caught the Cajun expletive roared out at them from the thin, black moustached man in the penguin suite as they ploughed roughly through the two-way doors, into the furious blast of kitchen heat; the smell of Mediterranean spices and flaming meats stifling. But behind them, their own expletive bile courtesy of the maîtres d'hôtel figure was quickly followed by a volley of several more from the slight- framed man, presumably directed at their pursuers.
Never mind their troubles; now the X-Men had the verbal assaults of the shocked kitchen staff to contend with as they darted through, around the vast stainless steal islands and counters; those who where too shocked to shout simply gawped at the intruders, open mouthed.
"What de fuck?!" the head chef bellowed as he turned away from his work counter, stepping into Remy's path as Ororo went around the other side of the counter to avoid him altogether.
"Se pousser!" Remy shouted back at the chef, angrily this time as he heard the doors clatter open once more and the calls of LeEnorme and the others after them. When it was clear that the sizable chef, who still happened to have his razor sharp, ten inch carving knife clasped in his hand, wasn't about to move anywhere, Remy extended his leg out just half an inch in stretch of his stride. Instantly he took the burly man down with a sneaky trip; sending him crashing noisily as his hand caught his chopping board, sending it and its contents cascaded down all over him. Remy simply hopped over him, not looking back, or breaking his run until both he and Ororo converged on the fire doors at the back of the kitchen. Storm went through first, bursting out into the relatively fresh air of the alleyway whilst Gambit just took a moment to create an obstruction; taking hold of a huge metal frame shelving unit stacked with dirty pans, and pulling it over to block their foes who were almost upon them, having made up the gap well.
And then Remy was out too, both of them running down the extremely dark alley way, having to instinctively guess where the backstreet rubbish lay to hinder them; jumping and almost tripping over boxes and black plastic sacks that had spilt their load over the ground. The turbulence of the kitchen, the clang and the clash got further and further away as they ran until all they could hear was their own breaths in their ears, hearts racing as they surged on. But soon the riotous noise from the kitchen burst into loudness once more; Remy's impromptu barricade broken. And as the first gun shot zipped past them, they knew it was an imperative that they get back into the crowd as soon as possible for it had been the only thing that had stopped them from being fired on. Several more shots sounded around their ears, along with the hasty clicks of discharging and reloading, and all they could do was continue to run as the bullets hit the ground about their feet, some flying into the bin bags, exploding the rubbish inside up into the air like dirty fire works. One or two came far too close for comfort.
"Take a left!" Remy instructed as they neared 'daylight' as it were, coming out onto the edge of the alley, to turn onto Conti Street. There were certainly more people about, but they needed to get back to the parade, the front end of which they could see currently going along N. Rampart.
Storm had to fight the urge to use her powers; with as much control as she held over them and such precision that she had practised down to an art form, it was still too much of a risk with so many people about. Civilians came first; the golden rule, page one of how to be an X-Man. They were almost there anyway, racing past the intersection with Burgundy; the bulk of the parade was within touching distance once more. The pounding of their feet, with the pounding of the beat, thundered through the street.
"Give it up LeBeau!"
Remy would have laughed had he had the breath to. The music and jeering became louder and louder as they neared Rampart; obstreperousness erupting all around them as they finally rejoined the rowdy horde. A float, decked out in pink and red carnations, sporting papier-mâché idols at its head, moved at a tortoise pace past them as they pushed back into the partying mass. Ororo shimmed around it and once on the blind side from the Guild, she hopped up onto its side, her back pressed to it. Remy followed suite. For a moment neither could speak as their breath burned up their throats, like they were breathing pure acid. They took full advantage of the brief rest, knowing that it would be over soon, too soon. Ororo shifted the satchel; the strap having bitten into her shoulder, the adjustment buckle had left its imprint in her flesh.
"Yo' wan' me t' take dat?" Remy panted out, seeing her discomfort.
Ororo shook her head before leaning it back against the bloom of pink flower heads behind her. "No," she finally got the breath to reply, "besides, you can not."
"I tol' you---," he began to protest, unsuccessfully.
"Do not argue. There is not time to argue."
"Okay, but we need some transpor', an' we need it quick," Remy said as he jerked his head this way and that for something, anything that would get them out f this situation that bit sooner; at the same time keeping a look out for LeEnorme and his monkeys.
"Are we going where I think we are going?" Ororo asked.
"Yah," Remy replied shortly as he continued his search, a broad smile suddenly coming onto his face, his eyes lit up as they fell on something that pleased them very much indeed, "An' I t'ink I jus' found de way we gonna get dere too."
Ororo turned to follow the direction of his pleased gaze; a couple of groups up, between a troupe of high school Majorettes and the local Drag Queen Society, were the New Orleans Harley Davison Club.
"Parfaire!" Remy beamed as he jumped down off the float, quickly followed by Ororo.
"Pierre, dey're 'ere!" someone cried from behind them, "Dey're 'ere!"
They quickened their step in response, as much as they could; chancing just one or two quick glances behind. Perhaps a small display of power would suffice, Ororo thought as they finally reached the group of bikers. The most fleeting of vague, white mists clouded the blue of her eyes as a swift stiff breeze swooped down and collided with the two bikers at the rear, knocking both men and machinery over, separating them from one another. Remy and Ororo were soon there to pick up the spoils; the bikers being too dazed and confused to react in time as they watched the pair retrieve the Harley's from the ground, quickly hop on and get the bikes revved up, all in one slick motion it seemed. The surprise at events transpiring simply led to the rest of those around moving out of harms way in order to let the pair speed off without thinking.
"Get outta de way!" Remy rammed furiously on his horn as parade goers flew to the left and the right, reacting in a mixture of shock and drunken glee as they made way for the two bikes trying their best to speed recklessly through. They lent and weaved as if on a speed-way track, not realising that two hundred yards behind them, the Guild members on their tails had unwittingly saved them from the wrath of the rest of the biker club. Everything turned red and gold as the sky lit up with more glittering explosions.
*
It had become a complete free-for-all---Thieves and bikers throwing punches at anyone who stepped in front of them in the chaos. All the while Pierre seethed at the sight of LeBeau and the weather witch making their escape, rapidly being lost to them as they careered along the road and people willingly made way for them. It did much to add to his anger; an anger that finally came to a head in the form of a knock-out blow for the biker closest to him. Throwing the man from his vehicle via a hefty grip of his leather, LeEnorme caught the bike before it fell to the ground, the engine still very much in life and sped off. From the best he could tell, at least two of his number made it out of the fray to follow him.
*
As Remy and Ororo came up past Louis Armstrong Park the crowd had already thinned as if in anticipation of their passing, perhaps thinking that they were part of the show. They were almost neck and neck with each, having managed to up the speed to nearly sixty but as they came to St Phillips Street up the eastside of the park, it allowed them to cut lose, pushing the hogs up to ninety and beyond as they squeezed through a gap in the police barriers and rounded the corner and onto the cordoned off road. Tearing down the deserted street with frightening speed, the white spray of the former drizzle spitting up from the ground, Remy had to profess admiration for Storm's handling of the bike with such consummate ease as he looked over to his left, taking his eyes off the road for just a moment. She could keep up with him in everyway imaginable. In fact, that was not even the worry; would he be able to keep up with her? He half smiled to himself as he faced back front, the wind whipped past, more-or-less deafening him to the sound of the carnival as they left it far behind. Though, the smile did not last for long as he caught sight of something in his wing-mirror.
"Stormy!" he called in warning.
"I see him!" she shouted back quickly, soon correcting herself as she looked in her mirror again, "Them!" And indeed, there were two more, further behind the thickset, brutish man with the shaved head; the girl they had heard shouting on the roof-top and another of the men. The only mercy was that there appeared to be no more of them having made it through.
Remy's eyes narrowed in bitter annoyance as he saw LeEnorme once more reaching for his gun; his mind swiftly ran over the number of things he was going to do to that mutant-hating bastard when this was over, if he ever got the chance, of course. But there were other priorities to contend with at this juncture; like dodging bullets on an open stretch of road whilst keeping control on a motorbike pushing close to one hundred on the speedometer, on a very slick surface. He looked to his left; the flat greens of the park and the tree clusters rushed by, giving him an idea.
With nothing more than a short high pitched whistle to grab Ororo's attention over the roar of the engines and rush of the winds, Remy suddenly swerved off the road, jumped up onto the pavement to smash headlong through the thin bordering hedge row, just as the first bullet hit the asphalt. Storm followed him through as another narrowly missed her back tire.
The far side of the park was for the best part deserted, most
people being close to the
South end where the party still thrived. The grass churned up with swarthy mud as the bikes tore through; spitting up green flecks like a mower throwing back its dead waste after the carnage of blades. The handling became a little harder on such an unpredictable surface but the speed demon did not refrain in its grip of the pair---they continued flat out, hell for leather, no matter what the danger. The consequence of failure was too much to bear. The five bikes weaved across the perfectly manicured park, gliding with swift ease in and out the islands of slim trees and elegantly lined concrete walkways. Shots came with merciful infrequency; the art of firing a gun and driving a high powered motorcycle through a veritable obstacle course not as easy as one is led to believe. None-the-less, the shots that were fired off again came alarmingly close on several occasions.
Certainly to close for Remy's comfort as one, fired by the third man, deafened him as it raced past his right ear, leaving a perfect hole in the flapping raised collar of his trench-coat. Enough was enough. He could only take so much and he wasn't about to take any more; that Cajun fire that rippled ceaselessly through his red cells, seldom seen, flashed his eyes to a feverous intensity. His jaw was set, steely stern, as he took a small metal cap from his inside pocket whilst navigating a tricky dip in the terrain. It was stashed in case of emergencies since the last time he'd had need of this jacket he'd been packing his own firepower, but he praised himself for his fortunate contingency planning. With his wing mirror to guide him, his pursers disappearing and merging through the lines of tall bushes, he timed it just perfect before pushing the cap down and tossing it into their path.
But, as if in anticipation of such an action, his primary target, LeEnorme, jerked to the left just in time to avoid the minor explosion Remy's device caused. Instead the girl behind him took the brunt of it, though Remy did not bother to keep track after he realised it had missed his old foe. He didn't see the rider behind Jeanette clip the back end of her half eaten away bike, the collision sending his Harley off the ground, pitching it aimlessly into the air only to land with a painful thud, unconscious, very possibly half dead. The three left standing raced on.
They came past the trees and rockery ornamentation, out onto a flat, unhindered plane of lush grass. Remy was no more than a wheels length ahead of Ororo, with their adversary just ten foot or so now having made up the distance nicely. This all had the feeling of coming to a conclusion---one way or another---immanently. Up ahead there was a short cant, a man-made incline that they could see from which a low gurgle of springing water bubbled up. There was a pond of some sort set at the top of it. With the merest meeting of eyes, a glimpse of knowing confidence, of the trust of seasoned team-mates, they didn't need to be telepaths to realise the plan.
Storm's face fell into a veneer of other-worldly concentration, with eyes that swirled with white liquid, Cleopatra's bath, as her smiling mouth told of a forbidden pleasure; one that nobody else on this earth, or any other, could ever know. A strong wind swept across the ground coming in from behind them, whipping the smattering of carnival litter left on the ground up into an airy dance. The tremulous drum of thunder rocked through the skies, dramatic as anything man or gods could conjure, cloaked in a heavy blanket of angry greying black. The faintest of rains started, simply a prelude to the main event. The small embankment was almost upon them, she had to do it soon and the timing and placement could not afford to go awry.
Meanwhile behind them LeEnorme had but one bullet left to his disposal and he meant to use it well. He had gone far past the point of reason---hatred has none. He wanted to see LeBeau dead and be damned the consequence. The brewing storm did not appear to worry him in the least, his current fracture led him to forget the nature of the woman at Remy's side; a fatal oversight on his part. His finger eased itself onto the trigger, applying pressure, one eye closed to narrow his focus to perfection...
The front wheels of the bikes hit into the small bank, lifting them up, giving them that crucial levity as they hit the incline at maximum speed. As they ascended, leaping with a certain amount of grace into empty space above the pond, the skies overhead opened like an egg cracked. And the lightening struck down into the path of the third rider, blowing out the front tire. LeEnorme was tossed forwards as the bike flipped, the back wheel reared up and flame was already pouring from it like some cruel display; a spark hit the fuel tank and a volatile ball went up, turning everything fiery orange for a moment as it ripped through the machine and soared upwards. Its intensity was such that not even the responsively heavy pelt of the rain could dowse it.
Both Ororo and Remy felt the heat at their backs as they descended on the other side of the narrow pond. Not that Gambit had known its width when he'd taken the decision to jump it for it had not been a feature of the park the last time he was here---but he often lived in blind hope. A gambler to the core, one might say. They took a bad jolt as they landed, almost being thrown as if from mounts, it was so heavy. Storm's bike took the worst of it, the wheel had buckled under the compacting pressure and she struggled for control, the problem forcing her to stop before fate took the decision from her and she crashed. Her fists squeezed around the breaks as the bike began to wobble recklessly, soon making it clear that this wasn't going to be the prettiest of stationary action. And she was right; the waterlogged ground delivered the final blow as the bike swayed to the side once to often and skidded onto its side. Ororo parted from the bike before it had chance to trap her leg beneath it, rolling away protectively like she'd been taught long ago by Bishop or Logan, she couldn't remember which. But the action was made all the more difficult by having the added awkwardness of having to hug the satchel to her chest, lest its cargo be damaged.
She eventually came to a stop twenty feet away from where the Harley had, though her brain clearly hadn't received the message as the world still swam about her in interesting circles. The restlessness of the weather slowly dissipated as she relinquished her control on it. She thought for a moment that she heard Remy call her but couldn't quite be certain; the tumble had knocked her hearing temporarily out of sorts too.
The roar of Remy's motorcycle racing towards her soon sorted her ears though, popping the drums back with its mighty din. It came to an abrupt if somewhat grumbling halt just behind her. "Girl, you hurt?"
Storm pushed herself into a sitting position as she resolutely shook her head in answer to his inquiry of care, "No, I am fine."
The spinning finally stopped and as she made to stand up she felt Remy's strong hand close over her left arm to aid her. She stood and looked back at the raised pond, but it was impossible to see what had become of LeEnorme from their current position.
Remy looked to, though his face was stony, not professing an ounce of concern for what may have become of the man. He turned to Ororo, this time his eyes certainly melting into a picture of disquiet; anxiety for his love, "Yo' sure nuhddin bumped, nuhddin' broken?"
She simply nodded, "I'm fine," she said after a time. Sirens began to sound across the stifling city night; the explosion had, rather unsurprisingly, attracted some unwanted attention from the authorities, who were posted liberally around the city for the festivities.
"C'mon petite, get on," Remy shifted forwards on the black leather seat a little as he kicked hard on the peddle in order to get her going again; the bike bursting into angry, growling life. Ororo wordlessly swung around onto the back, clenching her knees to his hips whilst she wrapped her arms tightly about his solid waist. "Let's get de fuck outta 'ere. An' befo'e I fo'get," he started as an after thought, "remin' me not t' let yo' anywhere near mah Harley when we git back t' New York, hien?"
"Oh, shut up and drive!" she chided with a laugh and without further ado, as the hubbub of the encroaching fire-engines and police cars became louder, Remy sped off across the remainder of the park, this time taking a pedestrian footpath that opened a gap with in the perimeter hedge. It led them out onto Orleans Avenue where he took a left, going back on themselves, back in the direction of the carnival and disappearing from view just as the first police officers arrived on the scene.
* * *
The New Orleans Bayou...
Remy hadn't dared to let up on his pace the entire way. He wouldn't be content until they were safely inside Tantie Mattie's swamp-side house and were setting about someway to destroy what they brought back from the depths of human mythology. The bike sped along the final straight of dirt track, coming to a skidding stop right next to the front porch; dust scattered up into a light brown cloud. The pair practically jumped from the bike, letting it crash to the ground as they made haste to the porch door. Remy flung back the screen door; littered as it was with the brittle corpses of moths. But before he could wing it through the hanging veil of beads, Ororo hooked her hand on his shoulder.
He turned, about to bark something in frustration at her holding them up when he was flabbergasted to find her pulling him into a impromptu, hot kiss. For all its breathless brevity, it was satisfying enough. More than satisfying...
"Urr, not dat Remy's complain'," he began, not being able to help the slightly boyish grin on his face, "but what was dat fo'?"
"Because, I knew that you would come through for me in the end," she cupped the right side of his face with a slender hand, as she gazed upon him tenderly, "because I knew that in your heart, you will always do what is right by the world, and those around you."
"Now just you stop it chèrie," he jested with a satirically raised eyebrow, "yo' gonna get dis Cajun boy blushin' rouge?"
"It would be nice to see," she teased with a deadpan look in cool, sultry eyes. He gave her a look; one that she had often seen him flash out for the benefit of a female audience, but there was something more purposeful about it this time around, as though he meant it.
"C'mon," he drawled softly; the brief respite was over, and they went into house, hoping against hope that Mattie would know what to do to this thing to stop anyone from ever being able to use it now or ever again. They ran the short length of the hall and straight into the living room. There appeared to be no-one there at first glance, but as usual, all the candles were lit. She had to be in here somewhere.
"Mattie?" Remy called, immediately ill at ease; something wasn't right, his naturally suspicious mind began to work overtime. He held an arm out stiffly, indicating for Storm not to move any further into the room. The silence was eerie, the crackles and calls sparse tonight. It added to the pervading sense of apprehension. "Where de hell is she?" Remy muttered to himself as he scanned around the small space with narrowed careful eyes; a methodical gaze. "Mattie?" he tried again.
There was a shuffle from in the bedroom. They both looked to their right and from the darkness of the open door, a figure slowly began to shuffle out.
"Why didn' yo' answer when I called Tant'?" Remy asked as he saw her emerge from the soft gloom.
But the ebony woman remained silent; tugging that same saffron shawl about her shoulders as its thin material more-or-less wrapped her entire upper body. "You made it den mah petit garçon," she sounded unusually meek, her whole demeanour somewhat frail---even more so than when they'd left her over a week ago, "I hoped an' prayed fo'---."
"What is it Tantie?" Remy asked gravely, the whole time his hand was edging back the hip of his duster on the right hand side, working its way to his staff.
Her wide, dark eyes glistened with water, swelling around their jaundiced whites, "Remy...I---," she suddenly gasped in a breath, her face contorting with an unknown hysterical air. But she wasn't looking at her surrogate son anymore, she was looking past him, not even at Ororo, the horror was past her too, "REMY IT'S A TRAP!" she screamed wildly, "GET OUT NOW!"
But it was too late...
Remy turned on his heel only in time to see several men emerging from the small kitchen at their back; one of their number was swift enough to catch Ororo in the back of the head with a Billy-club, knocking her clean out instantly.
"STORMY!" he barely had time to call her name in anguish and utter fury at what had been done to her; seeing her lying there in an unceremonious heap made him want to rip the bastards throat out; and he would have were it not for several more coming in from the curtain covered veranda, grabbing Remy at either side before he had chance to do anything. He struggled of course, managing to release one arm and with a quickly snapped off punch, break the man's jaw, sending him spinning but entirely unable to groan his agony through sheer blinding pain. But another soon took his place as Remy's captor, whilst an unseen third assailant swift-kicked him in the back, right between the shoulder blades, knocking the air out of him long enough for the others to contain him, sufficiently this time.
Half sunk to his knees as he regained his breath, Remy felt a stab of ice streak through his heart as he heard familiar laughter coming from where Mattie still stood. That ice soon turned to the flame of anger as Thierry Mauvais stepped out from behind her, coming out from concealment with the smug air of a victor; his prize won. "So fuckin' predictable," he practically murmured, like he didn't think Remy would be as stupid or obvious to come to Mattie for help; his naïveté amused him, if nothing else.
For a moment the flaxen haired man took his gleeful attention away from Gambit and focused on Storm as she lay out-cold, slumped awkwardly on the floor, her arms out spread and her legs practically folded beneath her; not a whisper or shadow of movement to be seen.
"Get de bag," he ordered an anonymous 'worker ant' in a low, no-nonsense fashion to which the boy, of no more than fourteen, fifteen at best duly obliged, "an' take dat t'ing offa her." He meant the flack-jacket, and that too was soon in the process of being removed. After all practicalities had been seen to, he limbered up for the main event...
It was almost a saunter, a swagger, a down-right cocky strut as Mauvais made his way over to Remy, coming to a stop right before him. The way Remy continued to be being held meant he had to look up at him to make eye- contact and oh, how he did detest that. He compensated by making the vitriol of his red irises spit bile, with just a look. "Yo' tell yaw goons t' get dheir 'ands off her now, or I swear Thierry---."
"Yo' swear what garçon? Hien?" he appeared even more smug than usual, like he had something over the X-man, something much more than his outnumbering forces, "yo' gonna ligh' de place wit' a little pink magic? Is dat it?" His hand moved swiftly from behind his back, where they had been clasped in a parody of gentile mannerism, and caught hold of Remy's long fringe to yank his head back with his firm grip. He was completely at his mercy; on his knees, with his arms spread-eagled and in the vice like grip of two men, and Thierry delivering the final humiliation.
"Now, yo' see her," Thierry turned his head to look at Ororo, currently being carried from the room by two thieves, "we knew we 'ad t' get de sorcière temps outta de game as fas' as we could," he turned back to the man at his complete clemency, "bu' why yo;' t'ink we left you in?"
Remy gazed up at him for an age, his brow furrowed and eyes menacingly dark. "Mah sparklin' wit?" he retorted in typically sarcastic, arrogant fashion; even having the balls to quirk his lips in a playful sneer come grin. Though it was in belie of the fury he felt inside, he simply cloaked it---if they did anything to Storm...Well, more than they'd already dared to, for which they would pay dearly, he was sure; internally revelling in their downfall.
Thierry snorted with laughter, looking at someone past his shoulder to share in the equally sarcastic pretence of reverie. But the look soon faded as he tightened his hold on Remy's hair, almost pulling it from the scalp and with his other hand slapped him with the back of it; the metal plates on the back of his gloves adding to its force and effect. As he yanked Remy's head back around to face him, taking a certain amount of pleasure at the sight of red gushing generously from his nose, he was unperturbed by the fact that the arrogant traitor was actually laughing.
He came down close to Remy's face; eyeball to eyeball, "What's a mutie, when it ain't a mutie no more, hien?" his smirk returned as he saw Remy's resolve falter for just a split second, "twice de waste o' space I'd say. Especially in yaw case Gambit, after-all, it was yaw only asset t' de Guild an' anybody else dat was unlucky enough t' get saddled wit' yaw sorry hide," he let go of Remy's hair and took a couple of steps away, "I bet de X-Men don' even want yo' wastin' dheir time no more, homme. Poor ol' Remy--- out on 'is ear again."
"Yo' ain't got de firs' clue 'bout mah life yo' miserable piece o' shit!" Remy drawled in anger, wishing instantly he hadn't given Mauvais the satisfaction, but, once again, he couldn't stop himself from rising to it. He just knew how to push the right buttons in order to hit him where it hurt. Remy pursed his lips, the taste of blood seeping into his mouth, crimson shimmering on his lips as his face throbbed terrifically with the hit.
Thierry regarded him for a moment longer, but barely even bothered to look at him, as if he didn't matter that much when he said, "I know a born loser when I see one garçon, an even if Jean-Luc couldn' see it, I could. It's written all over yo'," he paused and looked upon him with a subtle contempt. "Take 'im."
With a quick, dismissive motion of his hand he order his unit to remove the man that offended him so and went back over to Mattie, who had stood in mute shock throughout the entire ordeal, "So now are yo' gonna come wit' us?" Remy heard him say faintly as he was pulled from the room and out into the still heat of the bayou night.
-TBC-