Post by finch on Jul 7, 2010 14:37:40 GMT -4
As midnight struck in New York City, Remy LeBeau found himself half drunk and slumped on a bar stool in what must have been the world’s dirtiest bar as he shakily watched the TV that was situated behind the filth ridden counter. On it, a pro-human activist ranted on about the dangers of mutants and how they were a threat to every man, woman and child that were without the X-gene. Silently swearing in Cajun, Remy sipped upon the Southern whiskey he had purchased with recently stolen money. Memories of his darkened past corrupted him as he sat alone at the bar, thinking about his many crimes, his father and Belladonna. Grimacing as the beverage burnt his throat as he consumed it; Remy heard heavy footsteps behind him.
A deep New York accent boomed a foot or two from behind Gambit as he looked down at his almost finished whiskey. “Hey hillbilly, aren’t you when of them mutants?” Choosing not to turn around, just wanting to be left alone with his thoughts and whiskey, Remy bluntly answered the man shadowing him. “Nah, jus’ another marche lookin’ foh’ a drink.” More footsteps seemed to congregate behind the man who had spoken. As Gambit’s head drooped down the man spoke again. “Yeah right. You know, we do like your kind around here boy. Don’t go making us bloody you up. Leave before me and the boys make you, mutie.” LeBeau was not in the custom of bar fighting with close-minded thugs but a dark anger seemed to grip the Cajun at that moment. With all the darkness that swirled around in his mind, Remy could no longer control himself or his emotions. The Cajun knew that he would be doing something he would regret as he drew a deep breath.
In one spontaneous moment, Remy used his feet to push the stool he was sitting on behind him with a great deal of force as he sprung into the air. Not seeing if it had indeed made contact, Gambit only saw the end result as he landed facing the men. Two were sprawled on the dusty floor with a third unaffected by the chair attack. As the two scramble to get up the standing man threw a punch at Gambit. Soaring pain soon fallowed as the punch landed against Remy’s cheek. The Cajun was unwilling to allow these bigots to get the better of him. Stumbling back as a result of the punch, in a smooth motion Gambit was able to remove a playing card from an inner pocket of his trench coat. Charging it with kinetic energy in under a second, the Southerner flung the card at the three men. Making contact with one of them, a small explosion consumed the bar. All three men fell to the floor unconsciously. Impressed he could pull off such an attack after a decent amount of whiskey, Remy didn’t notice the bartender reach for a shotgun. Pointing it timidly at the Cajun, his shrill voice rang out. “Get out of my bar now you freak or I’ll blow your damn head clean off.” Mutant or not, Gambit was not about to argue with a man holding a gun. Scowling as all eyes were on him, Remy turned on his heels and exited the bar without looking back.
Stumbling onto the street as he wandered from the bar and into an alleyway, Gambit felt the warm, metallic taste of blood filling his mouth and beginning to run down his chin from his lip. It would appear the thug had caused some damage before Remy had unleashed his anger. Consulting his old wristwatch, it seemed that the streets would be Gambit’s home tonight. With no more money and no chance of getting into a club at the moment, Gambit had no chance of hooking up with a young lady with an empty bed. Groaning to himself, the Southerner gently crouched on the floor in the alley. He was about to use he trench coat as a sheet when a sound in the darkness spooked the Cajun. Charging a playing card as he slowly got to his feet, Gambit spoke out in a slurring but forceful voice. “Anybody der’?”
A deep New York accent boomed a foot or two from behind Gambit as he looked down at his almost finished whiskey. “Hey hillbilly, aren’t you when of them mutants?” Choosing not to turn around, just wanting to be left alone with his thoughts and whiskey, Remy bluntly answered the man shadowing him. “Nah, jus’ another marche lookin’ foh’ a drink.” More footsteps seemed to congregate behind the man who had spoken. As Gambit’s head drooped down the man spoke again. “Yeah right. You know, we do like your kind around here boy. Don’t go making us bloody you up. Leave before me and the boys make you, mutie.” LeBeau was not in the custom of bar fighting with close-minded thugs but a dark anger seemed to grip the Cajun at that moment. With all the darkness that swirled around in his mind, Remy could no longer control himself or his emotions. The Cajun knew that he would be doing something he would regret as he drew a deep breath.
In one spontaneous moment, Remy used his feet to push the stool he was sitting on behind him with a great deal of force as he sprung into the air. Not seeing if it had indeed made contact, Gambit only saw the end result as he landed facing the men. Two were sprawled on the dusty floor with a third unaffected by the chair attack. As the two scramble to get up the standing man threw a punch at Gambit. Soaring pain soon fallowed as the punch landed against Remy’s cheek. The Cajun was unwilling to allow these bigots to get the better of him. Stumbling back as a result of the punch, in a smooth motion Gambit was able to remove a playing card from an inner pocket of his trench coat. Charging it with kinetic energy in under a second, the Southerner flung the card at the three men. Making contact with one of them, a small explosion consumed the bar. All three men fell to the floor unconsciously. Impressed he could pull off such an attack after a decent amount of whiskey, Remy didn’t notice the bartender reach for a shotgun. Pointing it timidly at the Cajun, his shrill voice rang out. “Get out of my bar now you freak or I’ll blow your damn head clean off.” Mutant or not, Gambit was not about to argue with a man holding a gun. Scowling as all eyes were on him, Remy turned on his heels and exited the bar without looking back.
Stumbling onto the street as he wandered from the bar and into an alleyway, Gambit felt the warm, metallic taste of blood filling his mouth and beginning to run down his chin from his lip. It would appear the thug had caused some damage before Remy had unleashed his anger. Consulting his old wristwatch, it seemed that the streets would be Gambit’s home tonight. With no more money and no chance of getting into a club at the moment, Gambit had no chance of hooking up with a young lady with an empty bed. Groaning to himself, the Southerner gently crouched on the floor in the alley. He was about to use he trench coat as a sheet when a sound in the darkness spooked the Cajun. Charging a playing card as he slowly got to his feet, Gambit spoke out in a slurring but forceful voice. “Anybody der’?”