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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 22:05:15 GMT -5
Remy was all but fueled by a sudden urge to simply kill the madman Creed. Creed had his hands full, to say the least with Bets, but this wasn't her fight, not by a long shot. He pulled himself from the muddy earth, the action accompanied by a soft squishing sound as his boots pulled against the sucking earth. He didn't remember Creed knocking his Bo-staff from his hands, but there it lay, approximately seven feet to his left, between him and the slowly dying flames of the once great Thieves Guild. A quick step and he was there, staff in hand and charged card whipping through the air over the sliding form of his teammate.
"Another time, perhaps." Remy stood there for a long moment watching the trail end of a madman, a madman that had ruined his past... twice now. After the figure had disappeared, he offered a hand to Psylocke, "Come on, Chere... Mud dun look so good on you." Remy did not look back toward the burning building, but simply turned and walked out across the Cemetery to the black, wrought-Iron gates.
"Remy not all to sure why you're here, Lizabeth... but he t'ink you'd best tell." He turned and leaned his back to the gate, and it seemed as if that cigarette should have been there the entire time, even though it wasn't. A match came, and was lost in the rain, so there he stood, a soaked smoke resting between, anger filling his eyes, and heart full of questions that his soul would have answers for.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 22:06:38 GMT -5
Flipping the loose ribbons of inky purple from her eyes, Psylocke sized up Remy’s state of being. It didn’t take a psychic to see that he was shaken. It was a lot to take for one night. Part of her blamed herself for not picking up on what was going down earlier. Perhaps her inner workings as an undercover hitman for the Yakuza had been a little risky. She should have known when she got the dossier on Belladonna that the job could have potentially been double booked… if only her telepathic gift hadn’t been over stimulated in this town. There was something unique about this town, Bets knew it the moment she stepped off the plane.
It was as if she could reach out and touch the energy that fueled the nightclubs and the occult shops. The rich tapestry of culture, the melting pot of voodoo meets Christian meets paganism… it was strange enough, but add in the population of mutants and crime and it was a myriad of minds that was enough to befuddle even the best of psychics. Alright so maybe she was being too hard on herself. But still… the Guild was burning, and her friend was obviously humbled. “Oh so now you’re giving the fashion advice.” She smiled wrapping her arm about Gambit’s shoulder as they walked toward the gates of the cemetery. “If the Cajun is giving out advice I must really look befouled.” Her tenor was exhausted but light with dry humor. Remy had the best idea, at least for the moment. Try to get beyond this; dwelling wasn’t going to help anyone while they were still licking wounds. “Is it safe to ask to share a taxi?”
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 22:08:01 GMT -5
Remy looked at Betsy for a moment, and shook his head. "Not in dis part'a town chere. Chance of us findin a taxi down here is 'bout de same as Logan 'pologizin ta Scott. We walk, jus a bit, den get a taxi." He pushed through the gates, but kept his eyes on the splattering sidewalk. He didn't quite get this entire situation. Perhaps he went a little overboard... blowing up the Thieve's Guild, now seemed, a bit rash... even if they were all dead.
"Dere goes da last bit of History Remy had. It's funny, no, all the t'ing people try an hide all thier lives, and when one goes an makes it so that very will never have ta be worried about again... ya wonder if it was really as bad ya remember it... b'cause it hurts... and it shouldn't." Remy tried once more to light the dangling cig between his lips, and finally ended up just flicking it to the ground. Somethings you just can't push... and some people you just can't push... without getting pushed back. "Tell me what you doin here, chere... does it have anythin to do with all'a this?"
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 22:08:52 GMT -5
She listened to his woes, letting him unwind the fragments of a past life in a thieves’ guild. She was surprised at his behavior. From her experience with the boys on the X-Team the last one she ever expected to connect with (even give what had transpired) was Remington LeBeau. As a matter of common civility Psylocke hadn’t tapped into his mind to read his surface thoughts, she wasn’t playing councilor or psychologist tonight and in fact the only she offered was simple.
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing here if you let me buy an old soul a drink… deal?” Elisabeth walked toward the shroud of tree-lined sidewalk, finally taking a bit more notice to their surroundings. He was right. Dilapidated buildings, even for New Orleans standards… rusted balustrades on the wrought irons fences, even a mangy cat eating out of a trashcan nearby. “I could tell you that what I’m doing here is over. Officially; but to be frank I’m pissed off that S.H.I.E.L.D. even put me to the task. I think my cover was blown the moment Sabretooth saw me. But I want you to know I was trying to prevent this, I thought I had everything under control.”
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 22:09:52 GMT -5
Remy listened long and hard as Elisabeth spoke what little she did of her reasons for being in this place. He made no outward sign that he was at all surprised, but the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved meant it was something that he really shouldn't get involved in. The fact that the Guild had been the target for whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. was watching, however, made not getting involved impossible. "Remy know a good, close place ta get a drink." He tilted his head a bit to his left, and stopped in his tracks. A thumb went to the side of his nose, and then kept on walking.
Then he realized what he'd just done and shook his head. "No use doin that now..." He shook his head a bit... it felt like things were just hazy all around him. Then he stopped dead, "Chere, is it gettin foggy, or are you takin a peek inside Remy's head?"
He blinked a few times, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No... dis not... it's..." Remy's hand went to his side a moment, and pulled away again. "Jus a scratch... not even bleedin." His head swam for a moment, "Je pense qu'il m'a empoisonné." Remy took an unsteady step forward, and tried to shake off the increasingly bad feeling running through his head and body.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 22:11:08 GMT -5
As she walked the rain pelted off of her shoulders and though her hair, washing away the ruminants of filth (or at least a majority of it) from her figure. She was glad their travels hadn’t brought them in the direction of the main drag in town, seeing as the Yakuza bosses were probably still holed up in there playing Mahjong in the back of the Karaoke club. Personally she hated the place. It was filled with prepubescent girls in outfits that left little to the imagination and dirty old men or testosterone driven gangsters with something to prove.
She wanted a chance to dry off, wash her clothes and try to salvage her cover. Just because the assignment with Belladonna had fallen though didn’t mean her job for S.H.I.E.L.D. was over. Without meaning to her mind caught the edge of Remy’s and her humorous grin of a shared camaraderie faded to an agape look of concern.
“Gambit?” she prodded at first wondering what he was talking about. Her grip about his shoulder loosened as he stepped back a few, and immediately she regretted it. He was stumbling, his mind was like trying to capture smoke between fingers… “Gambit, what’s wrong?” Psylocke stepped forward taking hold of the lapel on Gambit’s jacket. She held tight, the fabric squelching water though her hand as her icy stare widened into full view. He was rambling in French. Clearly losing his grip on reality. Should she call for help? Her instincts pointed to yes.
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 22:12:06 GMT -5
Remy looked up... but all he could see was a dark shroud. "Chere... Remy t'ink somethin bad happenin..." He tried his best to right himself, and managed to get one arm looped over the tall brit's shoulders. He shook his head, forcing rain out of his chestnut hair. "Meilleur obtenez à la maison, fille." He was having a little trouble, that much was sure. All he could think of was his small flat nearby, and getting a good rest, even though he knew that was not the best idea at the moment.
"Remy needs somethin, Chere..." he paused a moment, "Dun tell no one... but Remy t'ink he need some help, ina bad way." Remy stared out into the rain... "Wish Ro were here... she'd be able ta brighten things a bit, no?" He still didn't manage a true smile, but he faked one rather well. Remy was still moving foreward, albeit a good deal slower, but foreward nonetheless. He was walking now, much as he did such a long time ago, in shadow. His vision and strength fading with every step, with every little exertion of energy.
His heart was beating a mile a minute, and beneath the rain that continued to saok him and his... 'friend' he was slowly becoming covered in sweat. He was used to being down, but this time it wasn't of his own accord... and he didn't like someone else putting him where could easily enough put himself.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 22:13:07 GMT -5
“What? A bit of rain brought you down Remy? – You’d think I’d be used to it after the stint in London, but for once I agree.” She assisted Remington to his “humble abode” looking over her shoulder to the street. She was reserved, taking in his state of being with the utmost concern. This was low even for Remy. “I think we’d better skip the drink, and find you a place to lie down. Do we have an accord?” With a grunt she managed to open the door and get Gambit inside. The interior was as lackluster as the streets outside... sparse furniture, a leak in the roof and bare floors, ‘Oh nothing like home sweet home?’ Part of her wanted to tell him that she’d been hired to kill Bella, that her job here went deeper than the guild, but this obviously wasn’t the time.
If her instincts were right, Remy was under the influence of a powerful drug, perhaps even a poison. After flopping him onto the sofa she reached into his jacket she produced his COM badge. <<X-Men this is Psylocke requesting immediate assistance, repeat Psylocke requesting immediate assistance.>>
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 22:13:52 GMT -5
Remy was all but unconscious when they arrived in his flat, he barely noticed the woman speaking to him or rummaging through his pockets. He tried, once, to push himself up to a seated position on the sofa, failing miserably. A slight cough erupted from his chest, and he winced slightly at the pain. "Merde... I feel like... I'm on... fire." Remy coughed once again, and then his eyes snapped shut. His breathing slowed even as his heartbeat sped up to an astounding rate of speed. His breathing was at least even, but his mind was all over the place.
Sins of the past were revisited in a barrage of scenes that he'd sooner forget about. If he had the energy, he would have been tossing like someone enduring a nightmare, but as it were, he didn't so he wasn't. "Hnnn..." Remington Etienne LeBeau was worried, somewhere in one of the few parts of him that was still aware, that just maybe someone had managed to one up him, and for good.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 22:14:49 GMT -5
Betsy left Gambit’s side for a few minutes so she could take in what he might have by way of a first-aid kit or something. Ninja silent footfalls led her though a labyrinth of peeling wallpaper, broken or molded furniture and debris until finally she found what passed as a bathroom. The cabinet under the sink would have been her first choice, but seeing the twin door were ripped from their hinges and the side bashed in she guessed that was futile.
The mirror, though silvered with age was in tact, and behind it she found a few oddments. A straight razor that could have dated as far back as nineteen twenties, a rusted pocket tin of Excedrin and a small box of matches. “Ok wow and I thought I knew hitting bottom.” She muttered to herself before turning to the closet.
Creaking the door open her search proved a little brighter. It seemed that this was where Gambit was keeping his stuff, and without fail the good boy scout that he was, there was an emergency kit in the satchel. Psylocke took hold of the box, tucking it under her arm and then following her path of mildew and ruins back to the injured teammate. “Remy, you still with me lad?” Psylocke slapped the side of his face enough to rouse him from the wild rambles.
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Wolverine
Threat
You got a problem, Bub?
Posts: 6
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Post by Wolverine on Jan 11, 2005 22:16:19 GMT -5
Smoke rose heavy in the wet air. He had to admit, everything around here smelt of wet dog, and it wasn’t pleasant. Problem with having heightened sense. Not that the smell of his nearly gone cigar wasn’t any worse. But it was a smell he was used to. Dark eyes scanned the streets. He’d always been more of the lone wolf type. Probably always would. But it was hard to have anything but a normal life. Especially when you were someone like him. A Mutant. A Freak. Mother Nature gone wrong. What ever people were now labeling those like himself. Nostrils faired, as gray smoke was blown through them.
Tongue lolled the chewed end of the wrapped paper, biting down on it once again with shaper canines. His life hadn’t been pretty. In most cases. People wanted him dead. Wanted him for more experiments. Experiments he was done with. He wasn’t some lab rat. But the only person that didn’t want him, was the only person he wanted. A low grumble could almost be heard in the depths of his throat thinking about it. But she’d made it clear when she chose that Boy Scout over him. There was that familiar snikt, sound before his fist came in contact with the ally wall. Old clay bricks, sending small bits falling to the soaked ground.
The muscles and veins in his forearm tensed as he retracted the claws. They weren’t his mutant ability. His mutant ability was taken advantage of for this. Adamantium grafted to his entire skeletal structure, three blades between the knuckles of each hand. His gift of self healing, was the only thing to keep him alive during the excruciating pain of the operation. Tanks, pain and scientist were all he remembered of it. And the dog tag that hung around his neck. But by now, he was used to the pain.
The Cajun said he’d had some ‘personal business’ down here. But he didn’t believe it for a second. Logan knew better. After all last time he came down here, his ex-wife, Belladonna gave him a good beating. Chewing the cigar a bit more he spit the last of it onto the ground. Steel toed cowboy boot moving to stomp it into the wet ground. Bulky shoulders rolled up the denim and lambs wool jacket, the collar of it coming to rest near his jaw line and the long scruffy sideburns. His dark hair that was usually up was now slicked with rain against his head.
Finally exhaling the last breath of the cigar he had he stepped forwards. A familiar scent was getting closer to his position, two actually. Moving silently he followed. Man. Monster. It was all the same and the name Wolverine fit him. Even with his shorter frame and stocky build, most of which was all muscle. He was getting closer, then the scent faded, or was rather temporarily blocked by a door. What was the point in waiting on good manners right? Pushing open the door he made his way in, following his nose as well as the movement in the next room to guide him…
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Post by Remington LeBeau on Jan 11, 2005 22:17:31 GMT -5
Remy was lost somewhere between a nightmare past and a worse future knowing this was all true. Incoherent mumblings and ramblings occasionally slipped from his lips in a near silent tone. A few hours it seemed had passed, when something sharp caught his attention, pain. Real pain. He was only half roused from his poisonous slumber. Eyes slotted open, but just to slits... 'Remy... you need to wake up now.' The voice in his head... not from some nightmare past, but something further back, something he actually had forgotten.
"Je suis désolé..." An apology. to who, or for what, he couldn't remember... but right now... it felt like the least he could do. Again his eyes closed into the darkness, until he racked by a massive fit of coughing. Violent coughs forced him from his dream world, but only halfway back to consciousness. A memory hit him, then. A dark memory. A.. Sinister memory. "Not... Creed." He glanced around the haze that his world had become. "Ess..." Remy tried to concentrate, but slumped forward, ready to topple off the couch. He could with a healing factor right about now, hell, he'd make due with a cigarette.
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Post by Psylocke on Jan 11, 2005 22:18:45 GMT -5
Senses both physical and mental perked up as soon as Logan made his way across the yard. Just as her telepathic gift was reaching out to try and pinpoint the mind and identify the intruder her feet were lifting her to stand. Her hands clenched into twin fists at the sides of her PVC/Vinyl coated figure. Wet loose hair was stained dark purple and the contrast of bruised hues made her bare arms and face seem as pale as a vampire. The glow began immediately, washing across her fingers as twin Sai formed amid the ‘Jackie Kennedy pink’.
Elisabeth made a defensive stance and her mind linked with the figure before her, knowing that if it was an enemy or either Remy’s or her own, this might be enough of a tactic to scare him off. <<Identify yourself.>> the inner voice commanded. Bets watched as the figure puffed cigar smoke and stepped into the light. Her mind and body recognized the face immediately. The glow in her hands faltered, moments before her muscles were about to spring into action, moments before she was about to defend Remy to the death if need be. The determination on her face was instantly replaced with relief.
“Logan. I’m sorry.” Her brow wrinkled a little, “Under different circumstances I’d ask what you’re doing here, but for them moment my attentions are far more distracted.”
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Wolverine
Threat
You got a problem, Bub?
Posts: 6
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Post by Wolverine on Jan 11, 2005 22:20:21 GMT -5
The heels of his boots shuffled along the floor, the soaked blue jeans covering them, while red flannel shirt was tucked in and a large gold and silver belt buckle kept the belt around his waist. He stopped every once in a while to get a better smell. Change his position. Ready himself. He didn’t have to worry. Even with the smell of Louisiana’s rain soaking them through he knew who it was. But one question rose to his mind. What was Betsy doing here?
But there was another smell. One that was fainter. Washing off with the rain water. Blood. He wasn’t sure if it was the Cajuns or not, but he was sure of what it was. It always had a distinctive smell to it. He’d know. After all the countless time his own blood was shed. Logan would know that salty smell anywhere. But the old New Orleans house reeked of mold, and dust. In a place like this there had to be dust bunnies as large as his head, hiding under dust covered furniture. As he got closer he could hear hushed voices over the patter of rain against the windows.
Gumbo was mumbling on about something. Half of the time one couldn’t even understand him fully awake. But he caught a key name. Creed. Inside he could feel his blood begin to boil. Creed, or Sabertooth, was someone high on his list of hate. Hell, he could have used an anger management class just for him. Now where Logan thought himself a monster, Creed was much worse. But he couldn’t deny that they were both beasts. And the bloodlust between the two was unmatched.
Logan had a feeling he might find out what happened out here, but have to fight the urge to go after Sabertooth. Put an end to one monster, only to create another. It seemed a vicious circle. One that he sometimes found himself caught in. But, damn if he didn’t try changing. Tried living a semi-normal life with the other X-Men in the mansion. It didn’t last long. There was always something that pulled him back. Yet Charles refused to give up hope on him. Logan half believed he had something good in him, a long time ago. But he had to think about now.
Moving forwards once again, Logan shifted his weight with the creak of a board underneath him. With a shake of his head, water dripped from chiseled, battle and weather worn face. He knew it wasn’t his place but he was going to want answers.
“Damnit Gumbo, can’t stay outa trouble down here fer one minute can ya bub?” His throaty voice came as a grumble, but from the looks of Remy, he wasn’t doing so hot. Eyes turned up towards Betsy. “Didn’t mean ta shock ya Bets. I followed the Cajun down here.” His large hands were held up palm facing her, without claws extended. “Shit, he looks like hell…Think we outa move him. I’m about all the help ya got. Rest of the teams on the other side of the country, some political mumbo-jumbo.” He stepped further into the room looking down to the out cold Cajun….
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Post by Psylocke on Apr 3, 2005 15:11:46 GMT -5
“Moving him at this point seems a bit reckless Logan, but considering the source, I’m not surprised.” Betsy regretted the comment the instant it passed from her lips. She didn’t mean to lash out at Wolverine, but he’d surprised her so much that she couldn’t help but get a bit lippy. ‘I’m sorry. That was out of line.” She sighed quickly, looking from Gambit to Wolverine, “But you’ve managed to bring out a spot of temper. I suppose that’s to be expected when you’ve snuck up on a telepath.”<br> Psylocke winced as she rolled her shoulders. Her muscles were already tightening from the scrap with Creed. She suspected that Wolverine could smell him on her, and that was partly the reason she was wary of his initial suggestions. She wanted to gauge if it was in the best of intentions, or a means to finish a personal vendetta. “I’m not beyond transporting him, but what exactly do you propose? The Blackbird isn’t here, and the local hospital might take offense to our kind…”
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