Author's Note: I forgot to mention something in the prelude. They are all normal in this fic. No mutants here. They are human…so therefore, I'm making Remy's eyes black. Kay? Kay.
She used her body to sell her soul
Jacob Hart. She knew his name, his occupation as an independent businessman struggling for money, and that he had lagged so far in his payments that desperate measure must be undertaken. Bayville, so close to New York, was full of so many unfortunate souls. It just happened to be his time.
Her employers had given him warnings, of course. Extra time to pay his debts, warnings from the leaders of the underground organization that lent him the money, threats from metal men. But still, he had not paid back his debts and that led to her next paycheck.
Working for Eric Leinsherr wasn't the most favorable of income, though, and she was moving up faster in the ranks. She was now one of the top guns-for-hire, going by the only name she had ever called herself: Rogue. Fame among thieves was both useful and dangerous, but it didn't put money in her pocket or food in her stomach, so she had to undertake jobs like this. Jobs like Hart. Weak-minded people that wouldn't be missed once they were gone.
All these thoughts were floating aimlessly through Rogue's mind as she walked toward an apartment favored by college students. She blended with the slow flowing crowd, dressed in a spaghetti strap top covered by a mesh material that hid her arms from clear view, loose cargos and combat boots. An inconspicuous style, and only a few odd looks were given to her, possibly because of her hair. The two streaks of white alone were strange to sport.
The day was warm, summer approaching, but Rogue ignored the sun filtering through her clothes as she trudged on. Her ears blocked the sound of laughter, thoughts being the only noise she recognized. Her mind was completely focused on the pistol hidden beneath her cargos, easy to reach. She traveled in her mind's eye over and over the path she had memorized to Hart's apartment. Complex 13 B. The number seemed ironix. Today wasn't going to be his lucky day.
Her footsteps fell soundlessly on the stairs as she padded toward his apartment, Rogue's hair bouncing in front of her eyes in an annoying manner. The hall was deserted, doors to apartments lining every side.
As she reached 13 B her hand hesitated on the doorknob. Getting into the actual building was easy: just slip into the door when someone exited. But how to get into the actual room? Did the door system use tumblers, dead bolts? Judging by the lock it was a simple hair pin job. She removed a paperclip from her person and straightened it, hearing the satisfying click and watching the door swing open.
Rogue could hear the rushing of water through the pipes. Hart was obviously in the shower. Rogue took a seat on the couch and removed her pistol from its hiding place, placing one bullet into it. It would only take one.
Now came the waiting.
Time was of no importance to her. It could have been an hour, a day, or a decade before the sound of water stopped. More immeasurable moments passed before Hart emerged from his small apartment bathroom, waist wrapped loosely in a towel. His footsteps stopped as he saw Rogue sitting comfortably on his couch. She spoke calmly, apathetically.
"Do you have your payments?"
His eyes were fixed on the gun. "Not yet. Another week, please!"
"Sorry. Time's up."
Due to a loud stereo next door, no one heard the gun shot. Due to no one caring, no one saw an auburn haired girl exiting the building.
Poker faces. Every single one of them, except for the guy across from me. You could tell he wasn't happy at all with his hand.
I allowed myself my usual smirk. There was no way they were beating this, and I wouldn't have to go crawling to Leinsherr for extra time anymore. Lady luck had finally smiled on the Cajun. My mouth opened and a soft Louisiana dialect emerged.
"Dis be de las' hand, gen'lmen. Wat be de wager?"
The man who had looked troubled by the cards dealt him folded, forfeiting ten grand. There was no way I could back down now. A sly looking lawyer sipping gingerly on vodka slid a good amount of chips toward the cent, the tiny weasel of a kitchen boy that had joined us contributing with two small chips. A pathetic addition to the already surpassing amount, but it would do.
"You had better not be cheating, LeBeau…" Growled the lawyer irritably, eyeing me with suspicion through the cloud of smoke that came from his cigarette. I clutched a hand to my chest in mock horror.
"Meh, chea' ya, mon amie? No suh. I be as hones' as dey come." A lie was plastered behind my black eyes as I read the hidden marks on the shark cards. A straight flush and a full house was held in the digits of my opponents. Good cards on a common day, but this was the day that Lady Luck had smiled.
I waited for them to lay down their hands. The kitchen boy seemed to know that defeat was near the moment he eyed the flush, cheeks reddening and muttering something about needing to be in the kitchen. My lawyer friend laid a hand on his shoulder and forced him back down.
"Take your loss like a man." He turned his eyes on me. "I could say the same for you, LeBeau. Are you going to lay down your cards, or are you going to keep us waiting all day?"
I smirked and shrugged. "If'n you insis', mon amie…" With a sweep of my hand, the cards were laid down, and victory was mine. My hands had held a royal flush, beating the other two. "Game's over, gen'lemen."
Frowning in suspicion, Damien Vaughn, the lawyer, picked up my hand and examined it thoroughly, but finding no sign of foul play, replaced them at my hand. "A third win in a row, and this time the stakes had increased surpassingly…you must have luck on your hands." He stood and shook my hand, starting to turn away, while I gathered the money I had won and the other two departed.
Yes, luck was on my hands.
I turned and examined the nearly empty bar. Besides the usuals that seemed to never leave, it was deserted. The bartender wiped down the counter, rows of shining shot glasses behind him, the radio playing a rock tune in the background, distorted because it was turned down too low to hear properly. What to do to celebrate victory? I could buy myself a drink, but a gleam in Vaughn's eye had told me that it would be better if I didn't get completely drunk. Revenge was not unheard of in these parts.
Eventually my irrational side won the battle. I sat down on a barstool, waiting for the bartender to take notice of me. A nod was given to me as he turned his bored and uncaring eye to my presence, wordlessly asking what I would have. It didn't matter that I wasn't of age…I was a couple of years behind that mark, actually, but no one in this neighborhood cared how old you were, as long as you had the money.
"Give meh a double sho' of tequila, suh." He turned to begin mixing the drink, and I just waited, knowing that if I wanted to survive another day this would be the only drink I allowed myself. The first priority of a thief and con was to stay alive at all costs…and cheating at poker wasn't helping my predicament. As smart as Vaughn was, I felt sure he would have noticed the shark cards…lucky for me, they were well made.
My head turned at the small sound of a welcoming bells, a smirk appearing on my face as I watched a young woman enter, obviously a few years younger than me…two or three at the most. She had a cold air about her, but the body proportions were perfect: big breasts, wide hips, narrow waist, long legs. I was a single man…I could look if I wanted to.
Well, I could have if she hadn't glared at me like that.
As she noticed my smirk and stare, the girl who had entered turned her falcon like gray eyes on me and stared me down, eventually sitting down. The bartender seemed to know her order without her saying, as he immediately drew out a whiskey bottle and a shot glass. She waved off the shot glass and reached for the bottle instead.
Unfortunately for her, I had taken her glare as a challenge.
Staying where I was, a couple of barstools away, I laid some money down on the counter…enough to pay for her drink and mine. The bartender and the girl eyed the amount before them, before the bartender pocketed it, but the girl pulled out her wallet and slid some bills toward me.
"Do meh a favor, an' don't do meh any favors."
"It wasn' a favor, mon petite. It was a complimen'." A laugh was held in my statement, but she silenced it with another glare.
"Flattery won' getcha anywhere."
"My curren' status begs t' differ."
"Ah mean' with meh."
"Funny, dat's what I meant too." Giving a roguish smile, I watched her turn away with a smile. The bartender held a smirk too. He seemed to be enjoying himself…it didn't take long for him to join the conversation as well.
"You must've had one hell of a day, Rogue. Normally you don't take this from any guy."
"Normally Ah don' get a paycheck this fas'. Ah'm in a good mood." She answered in a false lighthearted tone, taking a swig of the whiskey bottle and then getting up. "An' that leads meh to leave. Gotta collect said paycheck." I had left the money where it was lying, but she made no move to go back and pick it up.
And neither did I.
The bell sounded as she exited. I had long since finished with my shot. Getting up to leave, the bartender eyed the money that had been left.
"You gonna get that?"
"Wasn' plannin' on it."
He shrugged and made to get the money, but a sudden idea occurred to me. Before the bartender could pocket the bills, I put my hand on them.
"On secon' thought, it'll give meh an' excuse to go see cher again."
The bartender gave me a look that told me plainly I was playing with fire.
Which was exactly what I was going for.
Now for the answers to the reviews.
StarStar16: You win! It's Remy.
cable cajun: Remy it is! As you just found out. And I'm glad you liked the fic so much, even though it was just the prelude and normally I hate the stuff I do in first person, so that's why I made this fic partially first person and partially third. I hope you enjoyed the second chapter as well!
Demon Flame: All you people are good at guessing that it's Remy! It is indeed Remy.
Dark Spades: No, no, not a one shot. I would have told you if it was, and it wouldn't make much sense if it was. But it's not. It's a chapter story. Yeah, chapter stories!