Who: John & Gambit.
What: Avoiding Bobby, a drunk John crashes in Gambit's room.
When: Late night through to the next morning
Rating: Nc-17
Status: Complete & Closed
Warnings: Uh, adult content in the form of sexuality. And it's long (8555 words).


John was drunk.

He had swallowed three quarters of the bar's alcohol after all, varying his tastes from the lighter easier to handle alcoholic beverages to the stronger more intense ones, the sort of alcohol that knocked you on your ass.

It was a miracle he was still upright.

Yay for having a high tolerance to alcohol, something he'd either inherited from his father or it was another quirk of having the power that he did, John didn't care. How he'd managed to slip back into the mansion without waking everybody was... an act of some unknown force, clearly somebody was watching out for him on this particular night.

He stumbled after a moment and slumped against the nearby wall, snorting quietly to himself. Whoops, he'd totally forgotten that there was a step there, his bad. The firestarter tipped his head back and pulled his lower lip into his mouth before he did his best to compose himself, knowing he needed to make it to his room without falling over, again.

John's hair was in slight disarray and his jacket was a little out of sorts given that one side had slipped lower than the other and there might have been blood on his collar, he may or may not have gotten into a fight.

The other guy looked a whole lot worse.

( Not So Quiet )


( The Best Hangover Cure )

Who: The X-Men, abductees, NPC!Guards, NPC!Labcoats, Sentinels
What: rescue mission
When: Friday night
Rating: Gonna make this a strong R
Status: Open
Warnings: Rating is for violence, you know that'll happen in spades. It's going up now but don't feel like you need to tag in right away, while the action will only take place in the space of hours this'll be open all week to make sure everyone can get in and get their shit done.

Any questions? Shoot 'em our way.

((this post is extra-long because I tacked Brenna's torture scene on)

~~~~~

There had been no missions since the school had been rebuilt. It was almost unspoken that the X-Men needed to focus solely on their own after a time when so many of them had been lost inexplicably, and Logan had been loathe to break the status quo. Not really his usual state of being but his actions no longer affected just him.

( Read more... )



( Oh, was he begging? )

The cigarette hung between his lips, lit by the tip of his finger. Smoke slowly curled up towards the ceiling, drifting lazily around his head as he looked out of the window of the rec room. It had been a long few days.

He had just got settled in when suddenly the few people he had spoken to went missing and the whole place was in chaos. Chaos was something that he could handle well enough, but he never really liked being immersed in it. A part of him had wanted to leave.

The cards moved between his hands quickly, the rustling sound being as reassuring to him as anything else, more reassuring, in fact, than anything else, even the rush of nicotine as he drew in a breath, feeling the rush coursing through him.

There was a pause in the movement as one hand lifted, snagging the filter between his fingers and blowing out the smoke. There were no kids in the room, he wasn't corrupting them or anything. Most of the kids he had seen were distressed to varying degrees because some of the staff and students had gone missing. Remy didn't know many of them, the few he had spoken to seemed okay and he hoped they got back alright.

If he could help, he supposed he should, but that all depended on whether or not the hairy, cigar-smoking headmaster would let him, or even wanted him to considering he was the new guy and a complete stranger, really. Though, he was an excellent locksmith (in a way) and also very good at getting out of places he didn't want to be in. Really, he would be an asset.

Not that there was any chance of anyone knowing that.

With the cigarette secured between his lips again, burning away happily to itself as he smoked it, he went back to shuffling the cards, each move getting more and more elabourate as his talented hands shifted and shuffled them.

[Thread OPEN to: Bobby & Gambit]

God only knew how many days had past since their "stunt" as the teachers liked to call it and still no punishment in sight. Not that John was worried, let them throw whatever they wanted at him, he wasn't going to apologise for a) having a mind of his own and b) standing up against a bunch of idiots. Not many people did that anymore.

He was currently stood outside of the school with Bobby after their last class of the day, cigarette clasped in one hand and lighter in the other. "Still can't believe Rogue ditched," John muttered around a mouthful of smoke, shaking his head. "Funny time to be sorting out her problems."

John flicked ash to one side and fell silent as he took another long exceedingly damaging drag of the cigarette, filter barely stopping any of the life threatening substances from getting into his lungs.

He was restless, more so than usual, feeling the school getting under his skin more than ever at the moment. It had something to do with being cooped up and another with feeling completely ill at ease, an outsider in what was supposed to be a place for likeminded people.

John exhaled smoke and watched as the tendrils first curled before slipping away into nothingness, swept away by the light breeze.

There was something relaxing about the shuffling of cards, the way that they felt sliding through his fingers and the soft fluttering sounds they made. He had been using them since he was much younger, a child on the streets finding ways to keep himself entertained on the cold nights, and later when he discovered his mutant ability, as a weapon.

Remy LeBeau always had at least three packs hidden on his person. Trench coats were good for that. He huddled further into his, making sure that it was done up as he turned another corner. The duffle bag sitting over his right shoulder was old and worn, its dark tan colour somewhat faded with age.

It wasn't like he couldn't afford to buy a new one, more that he didn't want to. This was the bag he had done a lot of travelling with. He was attached to it.

His fingertips tingled as he played with the cards, slipping them into his pockets as his feet stilled and he took a breath, trying to find his center - or whatever rubbish that was - to pull the power back into himself.

He knew the Institute was just around the corner and he blew out a breath, tucking errant strands of auburn hair behind his ear as he picked up his feet and began moving again, concentrating hard on keeping those tingles at bay, that power inside himself.

Once the building came into view with the impressive gate at the front with an intercom and a buzzer, he strolled closer, inspecting the keypad and then looking beyond into the grounds themselves. It looked like it was an easy enough place to get into, the wall wasn't too hard to scale, especially for someone like himself. He supposed it would be bad form to stroll up to the front door, though.

And since he was rather sure he needed help, he decided on the boring, normal way of getting in contact with people and he pushed the button on the intercom.

"This place kinda looks like de Hilton," he said to himself, peering through the gates again whilst he waited for an answer, one hand curling around one of the metal bars, his concentration slipping enough that his fingers started to glow.