Remy 'Gambit' LeBeau (got_gumbo) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-09-01 22:41:00 |
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Sometimes it sucked to be the boss. Gambit generally had a good hold on his men and what happened in his business. The men knew what to do, they knew what was expected, and they knew what would happen to them if they failed to meet any of the Cajun’s expectations. So, imagine the ginger’s surprise and anger when he’d strolled into the surgical section of his warehouse this evening to find that there was a child stretched out on a metal table, alongside three or four other corpses on other tables, their organs already harvested, limbs already removed, just left over torsos with their skin hanging off. Except that child wasn’t a corpse. It was alive. The Cajun had immediately flown into a rage, shouting and knocking things over to make his point, causing the men around him to cringe. Nothing living. Not ever. It was entirely unacceptable. No killing to harvest, either-- especially not a child! He didn’t care about the metal arm and leg, not if they were attached to a living boy! It was unacceptable, it was disgusting, and above all, it was against Gambit’s strict moral code. So what if his code was gray, it was still strict! If he hadn’t been incapable of carrying the boy, he’d have taken him down to the infirmary himself. As it was, with three broken ribs and it was, it was hard to do. Couple that with an arm broken in three places, in a cast, and in a sling, and that made it impossible. So he’d given orders for the boy to be immediately released, he’d stood and watched as the bonds had been taken off, then he’d demanded that the man in charge of this warehouse, a orange-skinned humanoid, collect the boy and take him to the infirmary immediately. Don’t answer any questions, just drop him off and make sure he was taken inside. Fuck. And once he was sure he was understood, the angry Cajun stalked out of his warehouse, lighting up a much needed cigarette and heading home. He’d go tomorrow to check on the boy, make sure he was recovering alright. He was just so angry that if he didn’t leave, he was likely to burn his own warehouse down. Not exactly good for business. It had been about half an hour since the mutant had returned home, his sling set aside as he settled down on the couch and stared ahead at the dark television screen, his mind back on the boy he’d seen sprawled out on the table, and what had made his men think that was okay. Heads were going to roll tomorrow. Gambit took another long drag from the cigarette perched between his lips. Merde. *** Harry left York and the Elric brothers behind without another word to any of them. The less they knew the better they’d be. Whatever happened afterward wouldn’t matter; York was there to take care of the boys. Besides, if it went south and whatever Harry was planning splashed back onto them, York and Texas were more than capable of handling themselves. Texas wouldn’t let anyone hurt her friend, which made the Elric brothers her problem by default, because they were York’s concern. Settled with that thought, the wizard had buried everything under the storm of his determination. He didn’t know where to find Gambit exactly (who knew where the rat lurked in the off hours of Knowhere’s activity?) but he could guess. The wizard would give a few hundred dewdrop pixies all the pizza in the world right now, if they were on Knowhere, to tell him where to find Gambit without hassle. But, of course, the bastards weren’t nearby so the wizard had to rely on the good old use of his brain. He checked Gambit’s apartment first, rather than strolling back into Gambit’s territory just yet. They hadn’t had the proper fear of the wizard sunk into them; walking in like he owned the place would cause a fight, and while Harry was perfectly ready to slaughter what came at him, that wasn’t his goal for tonight. That was why the wizard found himself in a familiar hallway, standing in front of a familiar door. In absence of simply kicking it in, Harry raised his hand and knocked politely instead. And they said the wizard couldn’t be diplomatic. *** It took a few seconds, but the door came open to reveal the red-head standing there-- he was freshly shaven, which made him look about twenty years old, but hey. The cigarette hanging out of his mouth certainly brought his age up a little. One arm (the left) was in a cast up to the elbow and the way he held himself clearly said there was some pain on that left side in his torso. He hadn’t bothered to put the sling back on to answer the door, so at least he wasn’t tied up with that thing. His uninjured hand lifted to push back through chin-length hair and ruffle it up, red eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he peered at Harry there. What was he doing here? Stepping back, the arm in a cast swept out to indicate Harry should come inside. “Y’ wanna drink?” He asked, cigarette bouncing slightly as he spoke. He’d stand there and wait until Harry came in, then he’d close up the door behind him and pull the smoke from his lips. It was easy to see the wheels turning in his head. He didn’t know the connection between that kid (or even who he was) and Harry Dresden. He didn’t even know what had happened to his warehouse yet. “M’ havin’ kinda uh shit night, ain’ gonna be real great en’ertainmen’, so y’ wanna jus’ tell me wha’cha wan’?” Because Harry was not here for a friendly social call. Gambit would really just rather get it over with so he could go back to picking apart his poor life choices up until now. He was clearly far too nice. *** Heh, stroke of luck or the wits of an experienced PI? Your choice. The door opened and Gambit was on the other side. Harry took his sweeping gesture as an invitation, which was stupid on Gambit’s part, because it let the wizard cross his threshold uninhibited. That meant that Harry didn’t leave behind a chunk of his magical power. Not that Gambit’s threshold was much to balk at; it clearly wasn’t a home inside the apartment. There wasn’t a strong wash of resistance as Harry crossed over and entered the small space, his dark eyes sweeping over Gambit while inwardly the Mantle went to work assessing the man. He noted all of Gambit’s weak points, his injuries, the subtle shift in his stance, the way he walked, where he was pained by how he held himself. All of it in the few seconds it took the Cajun to spit out his sentence. Meanwhile Harry had stalked closer--one neat thing about being so big was that Harry didn’t have to get particularly close to things if he didn’t want to, he had an extra long reach--and then he punched Gambit in the freaking face. Call him an asshole for hitting an injured man (one Harry was aware York had once nursed back to health a couple days ago while in the other dimension). That was the difference though. York was good people. Harry wasn’t even basically decent. “That’s for Ed,” Harry spat, closing the distance so he could reach out and grab Gambit by the shirt, aware of the mutant’s abilities but unconcerned by them just yet. “You have shady shit happening down in your warehouse. I’m making it my personal problem.” *** When Gambit had turned to glance back at Harry, the asshole had punched him! What the fuck?! He dropped his cigarette and both gloved hands flew up (yeah, he’d managed to yank a glove at least partially over that cast) to his face. “Wha’ ‘d’ fuck?!” He snapped at the taller man, turning his head to the side and touching at his now-split lip. It’d knocked his glasses slightly askew and one red-on-black eye peered at Harry over and above the rim of the glasses. “‘De fuck is Ed?” But then Harry had mentioned his warehouse and the Cajun’s face darkened some. Gloved fingers pulled away from the split lip and he pinned Harry with a flat look. He didn’t seem to care his shirt had been grabbed, or that Harry had a hundred pounds and ten inches on him. He didn’t seem concerned. His pulse had picked up, though. But it was just adrenaline, there wasn’t any fear there. He’d had his ass beat regularly for the better half of his short life, he was never scared to get knocked around physically. “Y’ concern is noted, homme.” Came the simple response. Was that it? Were they done here? *** Harry stared at Gambit with dark eyes. No soulgaze now, since they'd done it already. He didn't know what anyone saw when they looked him in the eyes, but right now Harry hoped Gambit was remembering it. Nevermind that cool cat look, the unimpressed stance. He'd been knocked around before, that much was evident. The threat of physical violence didn't bother him. So Harry cracked a smile that was half snarl, let go of Gambit’s shirt and smartly righted the man’s sunglasses on his stupid face. “You should be concerned,” the wizard said. “When you go back out there later you're going to find a puddle of melted flesh and bone. And you're going to find pieces of some seafood rotting along with the rest of your corpses. I'd send someone down to fix your cooling system, my magic reacts badly to technology. Otherwise I don't think you're going to get that smell to go away any time soon.” “I'm telling you now out of courtesy for the fact I owe you rent for next month.. if I catch wind you have living people holed up inside your harvesting room, I'll burn you alive inside out. You won't even see it coming.” Harry stepped back, putting a foot of distance between them. “Touch one of my people again, Gambit, and you'll regret ever making such a shitty life decision.” The wizard's people were his. He protected those that belonged to him. *** Harry would have to give Gambit credit. When the giant of a man reached forward to right the Cajun’s glasses, the red-head didn’t flinch. He just stood there and let him. And when the wizard started speaking, it was clear from the expression on that clean-shaven (and now bleeding) face that Gambit wanted to speak up. He wanted to say something. He wanted to snap back some sort of retort. But he didn’t. His arms crossed over his chest as well as they could with that cast and he lifted his chin in a defiant manner, dark eyes locked onto the man standing in front of him. “We done?” He asked after a few seconds of silence. Why defend himself at all? Why tell Harry that he’d done him a favor by killing those men? Why say he’d never hurt a child? Why admit that he’d known about it because he’d walked in on it, and that he’d demanded they stop, and let the boy go, and get him to the fucking clinic? Why mention that he’d had plans to check in on the boy tomorrow? Why say he felt bad about it? There was no point. *** “Yeah,” Harry said quietly. Then he reached into his pocket and fished out a handkerchief, which he used to wipe Gambit’s bleeding face. Weird, right? The little guy didn't need to know that Harry would never use the kind of magic that involved blood, outside of tracking spells, but Harry had no problems letting him believe otherwise. *** Gambit let that handkerchief wipe away the blood from his lip, but while he did, those gloves were dropping to the ground and a bare hand snapped up to grasp onto the dangling part of the cloth. It charged up pink almost immediately and then the Cajun released it and took a step back. Harry had three seconds. The force would be like a firecracker going off in his hand if he didn’t drop it. *** Damnit. The wizard's eyes narrowed a fraction when the cloth turned colors. Harry let go about the same time Gambit did, he didn't step back though. His duster was layered with protective spells that, while they were designed to shield against that sort of thing and also couldn't last forever, would hold up against the kind of minute blast that Gambit didn't feel a need to immediately run and hide from. The man wasn't suicidal, so Harry didn't take the bait and flinch. Smart, though. Harry hated when he had to deal with people that had half a brain. His smile turned a little more ugly, but he nodded his head at Gambit. Was that approval? The guy had done his research at least. Most people didn't bother. “Feel better,” he told him. Then against his paranoia’s desires, Harry turned his back on the little guy and headed toward the door. He'd come to deliver a message. That was it. *** Once his back was turned, Gambit took a lazy step after him. “Leavin’ already? Wha’ ‘bout’ dat drink? ‘Den y’ coul’ suck m’ dick. Really lookin’ forward t’ comin’ in y’ pretty mout’, Dres’en.” It was a snappish retort from the smaller of the two men, who was going to need to pop a pain pill or two after this encounter. All of him hurt. Fuck. *** Harry snorted but didn't stop moving. “Nah. Sorry man, I've got a date with a hot blonde.” Texas, damnit. Not York. Fucking assholes. Harry flipped Gambit the bird as he stepped back into the hallway, unsure about what just occurred. On one hand Gambit didn't seem surprised by anything Harry had thrown his way…. And well there wasn't another hand. Gambit seemed perfectly fine with the whole situation. What the fuck had Harry just gotten himself into? Had he walked into some kind of trap? Harry's paranoia was getting back at him hardcore for turning his back on the other man. Damn. *** Tilting his body a bit to the side, the Cajun shouted after the tall wizard. “Y’ gonna suck his dick instea’? Col’, Harry. ‘Das jus’ col’.” Yeah. Hot blonde. York. Of course. A few more steps forward had him able to slam the door behind Harry. Fuck what had just happened? |