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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 19:57:37 GMT -5
The rain hasn't stopped for days. A flash of lightning illuminates the night sky of the cityscape, and if one were to look close enough, they just might see something they didn't expect. Standing, no more like leaning against a lamp post is the man called Gambit. His hair is slicked down from the rain, and his brown trench coat has taken on an almost black shade. Cupped under his hand he holds a cigarette, keeping it dry from the torrential downpour that seems to have followed the man all the way to New Orleans, from The Big City of New York.
He lifts his hand, putting the smoke to his lips and taking a long draw, forcing the tip glow brightly. "Dis 'ere Cajun got a bad feelin bout dis." His red eyes scanned the small bar across the street, taking in the entirety of the little building. Roughly a week ago he'd received a letter, in handwriting he didn't recognize, that he was to wait right here, under this lamp post, on this night, and wait. Being a betting man, he did as he was requested, though he was starting to get second thoughts about this whole situation. Another quick drag of the smoke, and narrowed his eyes toward the bar, "Remy don' like dis, not at all."
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 20:00:16 GMT -5
She had been sitting in the shadows of the smoke filled bar for over an hour; Waiting patiently for a visual confirmation on her teammate Remington LeBeau. Through the wafts of bluish white smoke her eyes stood out like two fine points, Elisabeth Braddock spied around the room waiting and watching. It had been nearly 36 hours since her last communicate with the S.H.I.E.L.D. team and they had suggested she find some backup for the mission.
Highly classified, deep undercover and already Elisabeth was knee deep in the inner workings of the Yakusa. Dressed in a somewhat similar costume as her x-men uniform the ninja was wearing a pair of shiny form fit vinyl pants and a matching sleeveless shirt. The sole of her heavy combat style boot was propped up on the edge of the booth as she leaned herself deeper into the shadows. A simple glass of water sat next to her, bead of moisture formed on the outside of the glass denoted she had been sitting there for some time.
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 20:02:02 GMT -5
"Dat's enough waitin fer one Cajun," he said as he pushed off the lamp post. The rain didn't bother him, not in the least, but the wait was what made him nervous. He looked both ways and made his way across the washed down street to the small bar. He flicked the smoke into the rain gutter running along the road, and gripped the handle to the door, pulling it open and discreetly slipping inside.
He skirted around the lowlifes inside, "Now dis is da kinda place a boy can get'ta like." He sat down at the bar, and ordered himself a scotch on the rocks with a twist. He spun around on the stool and, without making it obvious, he took in every last occupant in the small, smoke-filled establishment. He even took note of the man and woman slipping into the ladies room with a smile.
"Can't be," he mumbled as he thought he spotted someone he knew. "Nah. Betsy too proper ta be caught in a smut-hole like dis." He smiled and turned back as his drink was set down on the bar. He was still curious as to why someone had dragged him out here, to this place, without so much as a hint.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 20:04:20 GMT -5
Tossing her boots from the table’s edge, the violet haired woman stood and took a seat next to the water logged Gambit. As the bartender approached, Betsy gave him a look, and pushed a twenty across the high polished counter, “Stoli with a lime.” After she sipped the vodka gimlet, Elisabeth turned her attention to Remy. Two leather gloved fingers pinched sunglasses off her face along with releasing a tiny lock of deep purple hair.
Pale, nearly colorless, her eyes were like the sea after a storm. With these emotionless calculating orbs that the telepath Betsy Braddock studied Remy LeBeau. “You’re late.” She said simply. Psylocke, tucked the strand lock of hair back behind her ear and leaned forward. “Were you followed?” she spoke low her eyes darting about to see if anyone was trying to listen in, or if indeed the Cajun had inadvertently picked up a tail.
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 20:08:20 GMT -5
He looked to Betsy with a slight raises of his eyebrows as he sipped at his own drink, "You de one huh?" He set his glass on the bar with a light thunk, then turned to smile at the Purple-haired vixen. "You know Remy bet'r den dat Chere." He gave a sly wink and produced a smoke from seemingly nowhere, and then a lighter from the same place. He lit the smoke and took a long draw from the caner-producing thing, "So what ya want ta meet dis 'ere Cajun for? Must be sumthin real import'nt if ya couldn't jus call." As he spoke, smoke rolled from his mouth forming a light ring about his head. He took another drink from the twisted scotch, and kept a wary eye on Betsy, waiting for her reply.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 20:17:37 GMT -5
Braddock wasn’t about to describe the mission to him in such a public setting, this was simply the place of meeting. After grabbing the long charcoal trench coat, Psylocke tilted her head toward the door. “Lets go for a walk I have a feeling this place has a few too many ears.” Stuffing her bare arms into the coat as she walked, Betsy didn’t bother to look back or hold the door for her fellow teammate. Leaning against the cool brick of the building the violet haired assassin waited for the Cajun. It seemed the shadows enveloped her, just tiny bits of her shiny costume revealed as she shifted her weight.
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 20:19:46 GMT -5
He nodded slowly, and draing his glass of the scotch. He stood up, and slid out the door before it had shut behind his teammate. It was still pouring outside, and he flipped up the collar on his brown trenchcoat. He nodded his head to the left slightly, "Dis way, Chere. T'aint noone gunna follow us. Not if dey know wha's good for em." He gave a sly wink, as he started off, taking his sweet time as he trudged down the sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure she was following. "So... wha's so importn't dat ya couldn't jus call me at da mansion?" He was interested now. It wasn't everyday that a teammate sent him a cryptic letter telling him to meet them in a sleezball bar in New Orleans, and little else. He lifted the half gone smoke to his lips and left it there as he inhaled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 21:07:09 GMT -5
Pushing off the building, Psylocke stepped back into the light. With the collar of her trench coat tucked up, Elisabeth began to walk down the cracked sidewalk with Remy. “I’ll begin the debriefing like this. What is spoken here, stays between the two of us. My mission is highly classified and when a backup partner was requested I thought long and hard about who to call in.” As they turned the corner and approached Decantur street, she started again.
“This is your town the choice was simple so don’t flatter yourself with far fetched notions of grandeur. I’ve been asked to circumvent the criminal element of the Yakuza here in New Orleans. Apparently they have a substantial interest in the power struggle here, and if the balance of power shifts too their favor, your beloved Thieves Guild will be little more then a pipe dream. S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t happy with either element, but for the bigger picture the Guild is less… bothersome.”
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 21:09:14 GMT -5
He nodded slowly, taking in all the information she was willing to part with right off. He flicked the butt of the ciggerette out into the street, and his eyes flicked back and forth a few moments. "So dis is a S.H.I.E.L.D. t'ing den? Da Yakuza never be'n high on dis Cajun's list, but jou sayin dey musclin in on da guild 'ere?" He stopped dead in his tracks, he felt like she was leaving something out, something important. "D'ere sumt'in ya ain't tellin me, Bets? Seems ta me, S.H.I.E.L.D. can handle a t'ing like dis... What ya need me for?"
His eyes glanced to the back of the British Bombshell. Now he really got a bad feeling about this, S.H.I.E.L.D. was asking him, a notorius thief, for help. Not that he could blame them, this was his turf, and it was his guild, and it was a deep cover mission, all the things he knew, all the things was best at. Something still struck him as wrong,. not quite "kosher" in this deal.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 21:10:42 GMT -5
The mismatched pair slowly approached the infamous French Quarter and the number of tourists and pedestrian traffic thinned significantly. “Though intensive profiling I’ve gleaned that you have an intimate knowledge of the Yakuza’s target in the Guild. Although if working to help your ex-wife Belladonna is beyond your resources, then consider this conversation over.”
The heavy rainfall was bothersome, but Braddock didn’t let on that it annoyed her. She glanced toward Remy the back to the sidewalk. Her boots squelched against the concrete as Psylocke turned back toward the Quarter and started walking again.
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 21:11:58 GMT -5
He stepped up and fell back into pace with Betsy, "Ya saying day Bella's in some kinda trouble wit da Yakuza?" He'd thought he'd left that woman in his past, just so many other things in his life. "You got a deal, Chere. But don t'ink I'm doin dis for her. I'm doin dis 'ere mission fer myse'f, and cuz ya asked all nicely like." He lifted out a deck of playing cards from his trenchcoat pocket, "Le'see what Ladt Fate has ta say, no?"
He shuffled the cards as he walked alongside Betsy, using only one hand. After several runthroughs, he flipped up the tops card. "De ace of spades. Looks ta me like dis gonna get heavy. Real heavy." He charged the card lightly, and tossed it backward over his soulder. It flipped and fluttered, and when it hit the ground a loud pop was heard much like a firecracker on the fouth of July. "So... what bout you, Chere? What you gon' do while da sewer rat does his t'ing?" He glanced sidelong at Betsy, and gave a slight wink. "You gon' be da backup? Or do I get ta go solo?"
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 21:14:14 GMT -5
Water splashed lightly as she disappeared into the shade of the overhanging trees and magnanimous plantation style houses. “I don’t need any backup. My thought was, you infiltrate the Guild and try to protect from within, and I’ll resume my undercover position inside the Yakuza. So far I have their trust as a hired gun, though I had to do a little persuading…” She tapped the side of her head with a gloved forefinger winking to the southern gent. “If things get too heavy I won’t hesitate a hasty escape.” Betsy tilted her head toward the cross alley, ducking in. “Remember Gambit. This information stays between us. I took a risk bringing in a showboat like you, don’t disappoint me.”
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Post by Sabretooth on Jan 11, 2005 21:26:39 GMT -5
he wandered through New Orleans. After being hired by Bella Donna, Victor Creed had decided that it might be a good idea to patrol the streets. The Assassins' guild was good people according to him... Creed grabbed one soldier's dog-tags from their docked ship at sea previously, and twirled the necklace around his index finger over and over again... wrapping it, then un-wrapping it... he wasn't drunk, but he had a few bourbons.
He could sense things the swamp rats of the guild couldn't... they were frail... undependable. Bella Donna had to pay to get Creed in to protect her from anyone that wanted to dismantle her empire... and the man known as Sabretooth stalked the streets. Wearing mostly black to make him blend in...
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 21:32:05 GMT -5
He surpressed a chuckle, "I was t'inkin you'd be my backup, but dat's fine wit me." He had all the information he needed, and nodded to Betsy as she she ducked into the alley. "Keep in touch, Chere. Dis Cajun got buisness ta 'tend to." Without another word he turned in a flurry of brown trenchcaot, and headed back down the street. "If dis Cajun gonna do dis, might as well get dis "Family R'union" over and wit."
He started off toward, well, toward a place he'd rather not be heading to. Towards his past, and all things he'd left behind. "I got a feelin... dis ain't gonna go so well wit Bella." He shruggd and once again produced a smoke from nowhere, lit it quickly, and turned to take a shortcut. He lept quickly over a fence, and took a route he hadn't taken in many years, cutting through an abandoned graveyard. Strange place for a graveyard, he'd always thought that, but it never stopped him before. He inhaled deeply from the smoke between his lips and rested his hands on the back of his head. Exhaling through his nostrils, he glanced from his left to his right., "Some t'ing never change."
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 21:32:58 GMT -5
“Contact me once your inside,” she ordered “I need to get back before questions come up.” After parting ways with Remy, Elisabeth Braddock turned tail and began walking back toward Bourbon street. She cut down several lesser traveled roads on route to the rendezvous point. Her nearly colorless blue eyes cast this way and that as she made sure she wasn’t noticed.
This town’s occupants had a way of slithering up at the most inopportune times. Her eyes cast to a passing shadowy figure, but she paid him no heed. Her agenda was to report back, dwindling within the minds of the drunkards and slime of Louisiana was not her idea of a good time.
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