There was a noise at the door, and Gambit turned to see a familiar figure. Big, burly, and... blue.
"Ah, Beast," Professor Charles Xavier set down his glass as Dr. Hank McCoy entered the room, joining him and the soot-covered Gambit, "won't you join us for a drink? We were just toasting Gambit's success..."
"A most impressive display, to be certain," Beast agreed, helping himself to a drink, "though I do believe two shots of your little paintball gun were a tad excessive."
There were running footsteps from the corridor, and Gambit turned towards the door, a smirk already appearing on his soot-blackened face.
"This had better wash out of my uniform, Gumbo," growled a new voice, as Wolverine strode in, indicating the splodge of red on his yellow uniform, "or I'm gonna rip you to pieces."
"You'll be paying for that broken window, by the way," Cyclops was right behind Wolverine, looking less than impressed, "did you have to do so much damage?"
"Whatever works, mes amis," Gambit shrugged, nonchalantly, slinging back the last of his whiskey and setting the crystal glass down on the table, "a good lesson, non? Gambit use diversionary tactics; so will de enemies..."
"Cajun!" Rogue came flying down the corridor, with Storm close behind, "When ah get mah hands on ya... a paintball gun? Seriously?"
"Now, now, Rogue," the Professor interrupted, gently, "Gambit was merely doing what was asked of him. You have all had the opportunity to try out this particular training scenario, and although his methods are somewhat unorthodox, Gambit is the only one who has succeeded in reaching my room thus far. It would be a mistake to assume that we are all safe behind these walls. Attack could come at any time... and from any direction."
"He cheated," Wolverine remarked, dryly, "comin' down the chimney like fuckin' Santa Claus..."
"Hey, it ain't cheatin' if it works, mon amis," Gambit protested, feigning hurt as he placed a hand to his chest, dislodging a small cloud of soot, "you jus' upset 'cause you lost."
"Ah'll show ya upset," Rogue stepped forward, a gleam in her eye, "Storm, honey, I'd say Gambit here needs a bath, wouldn't you?"
"Agreed," Storm eyed the soot-stained Cajun with mock disdain, "he is filthy!"
"Aw, no, chère, wait..." Gambit held up his hands in protest, but Rogue was already launching towards him.
Storm flung open the large window as Rogue grabbed Gambit by the wrists, yanking him up with her as she soared out through the opening. The others scrambled to watch as Rogue flew down and from a height of several feet, dropped the protesting Cajun straight into the water fountain outside.
He hit the water with a splash, briefly going under before he managed to get his feet underneath him. Standing upright, up to his elbows in the chilly water, he swiped the water from his eyes, leaving a wet black stain across his face, shaking his head, as he heard the laughter of the others from the open window.
"T'anks, chère!"
"Yer welcome, swamp rat! Now go get yerself cleaned up, ya look like ya've been chewed up, spit out and stepped on!"
"Feels like it, too!" Gambit shouted back, as she sailed back in through the window.
He clambered out of the fountain, leaving behind a trail of slimy wet soot as he padded back towards the house, still buzzing from his success as he headed for his room. The Professor had been coming up with new and inventive ways to test his team's abilities, and Gambit had revelled in tonight's exercise, allowing him to really show off his unique skill set. He had already arranged in advance for a glazier to fix the broken window in the morning.
He made it to his room where he stripped out of his wet and soot-stained clothes, dropping them into a hamper, to be laundered in the morning. He took a long, hot shower, rinsing off all of the soot and dirt, making a mental note to retrieve his anchor rope from the roof in daylight. Knowing the others would have retreated to their beds, but feeling too wired to sleep, he dressed in a smart white shirt, tailored grey suit trousers, a black leather jacket and polished black shoes, sweeping his long hair into his usual ponytail. Grabbing his motorbike keys, he decided to head into town to see if he could find a decent drink and a late night poker game.
As he drove out through the main gates, he was too focussed on riding to notice a shadowy movement in the undergrowth. He was unaware of the eyes watching him, and the predatory instincts that were slowly being turned in his direction.
The sun was up by the time Gambit returned to the mansion, parking the bike in the garage and swinging the keys on his finger as he sauntered in, heading straight for the kitchen. He hummed a tune to himself as he did, feeling quite pleased; he had found both the drink and the poker game he had been looking for, and had won himself a decent amount of money in the process. He entered the kitchen to get some coffee, where he found Rogue and Cyclops already up and fixing themselves some breakfast, both dressed in their civilian clothes, Scott's eyes hidden behind his ruby glasses.
"My, my," Rogue remarked, eyeing Gambit as he casually leaned against the doorway, still toying with his bike keys, "look what the cat dragged in..."
"Out all night again, Gambit?" Cyclops commented, dryly, "I hope you didn't get into any trouble..."
"Gambit don't get in no trouble he can't get out of, mon amis," the Cajun smirked, "say, is dat coffee...?"
"Yup," Rogue was already fetching him a mug from the cupboard, "an' strong enough ta walk inta the cup for ya..."
She poured him a mug full, not bothering to whiten or sweeten it, knowing how he liked it.
"Merci," he thanked her, taking a mouthful, "mmm... dat's de good stuff..."
Cyclops opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by an urgent ringing noise from the intercom system.
"Attention, X-Men – we appear to have a perimeter breach! There is an unidentified... presence... somewhere in the grounds! We are having some trouble pinpointing an exact location..."
"Please don't tell me you set off the proximity alarm again..." Scott sighed, glancing across at Gambit, who held up his mug and the palm of his empty hand in mock surrender.
"Not dis time, mon amis – Gambit came in through de gate!"
Cyclops reached over and pressed the intercom button; "Professor, it's Scott – Rogue, Gambit, and I will check it out."
At Cyclops' gesture, Gambit quickly downed the last of his coffee, and pulled his ever-present bo from inside his coat, flicking it open. As Cyclops bolted down the corridor, Gambit was hot on his heels, Rogue flying overhead, bursting out of the main doors of the mansion into the sunlit grounds.
"Over there!" Rogue hovered in the air above them, pointing towards the far wall, "there's somethin' movin'... it looks like smoke! I'll go take a look-see!"
"No, chère, wait!" Gambit cried out, but she was already gone.
"Come on!" Scott took off at a run.
Gambit did not need telling twice as the two of them sprinted to catch up with their airborne teammate. Rogue reached the wall first, floating down to the ground as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The 'presence' appeared to be a vaguely humanoid, roughly feminine in shape, but it was indistinct; constantly blurring and shifting, as if it was made of a thick, oily, yet misty substance, somewhere in between water and smoke, purple and black in colour, with glowing yellow eyes that seemingly lacked an iris or a pupil, yet somehow stared into her very soul. And, in that moment, all Rogue could feel was... nothingness. An empty, resounding abyss, as if all personality and feeling were swept away, leaving her bereft... she hesitantly took a step backwards, trying to get a grip on herself.
"What... what are you?" she asked, at last, head reeling in confusion.
The apparition made a low, sibilant hissing noise, smoky appendages writhing and coiling, twisting and curling in and around itself as it walked – or drifted, or oozed – towards her, forcing her to take another uncertain step backwards, as Cyclops and Gambit finally caught up to her.
"What the...?" Scott stared at the thing, and then recovered himself, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
The thing... woman... apparition... stopped, and straightened up, cocking her head to one side, as she regarded them with those odd yellow eyes.
So warm...
The voice was like wet silk being dragged over a rock; hissing and slipping yet catching at the same time, not spoken aloud, but projected right into their minds. Each of them gasped aloud, their hands going to their foreheads or temples as the voice sent spikes of pain through their heads, like needles made of ice.
So alive...
"You're... you're hurtin' us, sugar," Rogue said, shaking her head and taking another step back, "we jus'... we wanna help ya... we're mutants too, ya know..."
So sensitive... such sensations... so receptive...
"What are you doing?" Scott fell to his knees, cradling his head in his hands, "What do you want?"
Sshhh... so loud... so happy... so in love... ssssuch a shame... to lose it all...
"Stop!" Rogue clapped her hands over her ears, "Get outta mah head!"
Sshhh... quiet... feel the darkness... feel the hollowness... feel the emptiness, the despair...
Rogue gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, practically curled up on the floor. The voice wrapped itself through her mind, until everything felt dark and lost and hopeless... she felt like she was falling, falling into a deep dark pit where every bad memory awaited her, crushing her under the weight of the realisation that nobody loved her, nobody ever would, nobody cared about her, they all laughed at her behind her back, she'd be better off dead, just dead and gone, away from the pain and misery and despair...
Feel the depths of desolation, the loneliness... feel the touch of Miasma...
"Dat's enough!" Gambit's voice seemed to slice through the blackness.
Rogue managed to force her eyes open; Scott was similarly down on the ground next to her, one hand pressed to his forehead as he, too, tried to look up. Gambit was, somehow, still standing, a defiant expression set on his face, bo-staff drawn and held in front of him, as he stood defensively between the smoky woman and his two friends.
"Miasma, is dat yo' name?" he twirled the bo in his hands, "You leave dem alone! We only tryin' ta help mutants here, we don' want no trouble... you want our help, den ask – or else, jus' leave!"
So defiant...
Rogue whimpered at the awful voice, clawing its way through her mind, freezing her thoughts; it felt as if it was sucking the life out of her.
Nobody can resist the touch of Miasma...
"Oh yeah?" Gambit snapped, "den maybe you wanna play with Gambit, huh?"
Rogue heard the swish of the bo slicing through the air; the creature let out an unearthly howl that had both Rogue and Cyclops crying out in pain and despair; they had never felt such grief and torment, the woman's feelings of pain and rage projecting onto them and through them as if those sensations were their own, like the loss of someone truly beloved, feeling as if a part of oneself had died as well, lost in inescapable anguish.
"Leave dem alone!"
Rogue was sobbing now, curled up on the floor, helpless in the flood of her emotions. Cyclops was faring no better. Gambit, however, stood defiant, drawing a card from his pocket and lighting it with a flare.
"You let dem go, Miasma," he ordered, calmly, "or Gambit make you let go."
How...? the woman, Miasma, flickered and seethed and roiled in front of him, her smoky tendrils clouding about her snarling face, Few can resist me... only the most powerful living telepaths have ever kept Miasma at bay... feel my despair and cower in my darkness...
"Yeah, well, Gambit always got an ace or two up his sleeve," he smirked, "like dis one!"
He charged the card and threw it, and Miasma let out an anguished scream, flickering backwards as it exploded. Rogue gasped as the connection to her mind severed, snapping her back to wakefulness; beside her, she heard Scott utter a colourful and uncharacteristic curse.
How dare you!
The voice was a scream of fury, causing both Rogue and Cyclops to clap their hands over the ears, as if they could block out the voice as it howled into their very souls.
You will feel the wrath of Miasma, screeched the voice, I will have you, I will claim you, you will succumb to the darkness and the despair and the desolation and the death of the soul...I will make you mine!
"Ah, save it, chère," Gambit said, dismissively, drawing another card, "Gambit don' know where you come from, but he gonna send you back dere..."
He flung the card and Miasma howled again, lashing out at him with her arm, flinging a tendril of smoke towards him. He leapt backwards, into a lithe back-flip, using the bo to launch himself higher, landing on his feet, easily evading the blow.
Feel the touch of Miasma! Succumb to the darkness! Surrender your soul to me!
"Leave us alone!"
Gambit drew three cards, charging them, and flinging them with all his might. Miasma let out a soul-shattering scream, turned, and fled; leaping at the wall and seeming to pour herself over it, disappearing. For a split second, Gambit thought about pursuing the strange creature, but his more immediate concern was his fallen teammates. From the mansion, three figures emerged, rapidly converging upon them, as he lowered his bo. He realised his hands were shaking, and he curled the hand not clutching the bo into a fist, trying to steady himself.
"Scott!" Jean Grey was sprinting across the lawn, a look of horror on her face, "Oh, Scott!"
"What happened?" Storm demanded, flying over, "What was that thing?"
"Smells like death and sulphur," growled Wolverine, claws drawn, hunched and ready for a fight, "think we should go after it?"
"Non, mon amis," Gambit shook his head, as he gently helped Rogue to her feet, wrapping her in a warm embrace, as Jean saw to Cyclops; "don' t'ink you can get near her... she get in yo' head, she mess you up inside..."
"It was awful," Rogue sobbed, into Gambit's shoulder, "like she sucked the soul right outta me... Remy, how'd you do that? How'd you stan' up to her like that?"
"All in good time, chère," Gambit dodged the question, "explanation later. T'ink we need to go see de Professor."
Keeping one arm wrapped around Rogue's shoulders, he led the way back inside, to the Professor's study. Storm went to the kitchen and fetched two mugs of hot, sweet coffee; Rogue and Cyclops were ushered into chairs and the drinks pressed into their hands as they took some time to regain their senses.
"What the hell was that thing?" Cyclops said, at last, numbly, "I've... I've never seen... or felt... anything like it... It was... so cold, and dark..."
"It felt like dying..." Rogue added, distantly, her eyes wide as she stared into her coffee, "no... more like... like fallin', forever an' ever, an' not carin' if ya lived..."
"She call herself Miasma," Gambit still had his bo drawn, as if holding the staff gave him some sort of comfort, "felt her tryin' to get in here..."
He tapped the side of his head with one finger, and Professor Xavier frowned.
"I could sense her," he commented, "such pain, and darkness... she is the very personification of despair, and seems to evoke that feeling in all she encounters. But... I do not think she is a mutant. To be honest, I do not know what she is. Fortunately, our psychic abilities were enough to block out her influence on myself and Jean, but we were unable to protect the others..."
"We all felt it," Beast spoke up, scratching his head, "a most unpleasant sensation, which only seems to increase with proximity to Miasma..."
"So how come Gumbo here wasn't affected?" growled Wolverine, "She sweet on the Cajun, or somethin'?"
"C'mon, Carcajou," Gambit tried to keep his tone light, even as his hands still shook slightly, "don' you know by now - everyone love Gambit!"
"Ya must've done somethin' real special, 'cause even I couldn't keep that witch outta my head," Wolverine persisted, "if ya got some secret trick ta beatin' that thing, then I suggest ya share it with the rest of us."
"No trick, mon amis," Gambit sighed, glancing down at the floor, "jus'... Gambit got lucky."
"Ya told me once about yer latent empathic abilities," Rogue spoke up, "an' ah felt them that one time ah accidentally took yer powers... could it be to do with that?"
"Empathy? Ya been readin' our minds an' not tellin' us, Cajun?" snapped Wolverine.
"No, no, of course not!" it was Xavier who answered this time, "Gambit can sometimes sense strong emotions, and can in turn influence how people feel if he chooses to. I have tried to encourage him to explore these gifts further, but he refuses to use them. However, because he exercises considerable mental discipline to avoid using those skills, it means that he can block psychic scans when he chooses to. His mental shields must have been enough to block Miasma's influence."
There was a long moment of silence.
"Did you just use the words 'Gambit', and 'exercises discipline' in the same sentence?" Scott asked, lightly, breaking the tension immediately.
Gambit quirked a relieved smile; "Don' get used to it, mon amis."
"So what about Miasma?" Storm asked, folding her arms, "Do we try to follow her? She could have a devastating impact on the general population..."
"The fact that we have never heard of her before suggests to me she is either new to the area, or else she excels at staying hidden," the Professor mused, "no, we will not follow her. We will wait, and recover, and consider our options. Hopefully, she will move on, and leave us in peace."
"If her parting words were anything to go by, that may not be her plan," Scott said, ruefully, rubbing the side of his head, "well, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it..."
Gambit nodded along with the others, but he could not help glancing out of the window, towards the far wall of the grounds. For one moment, he was convinced he saw a shadow move... no, no. Just a trick of the light. At least, he hoped so...
