Narrative: Work Characters: Remy LeBeau NPCs: mysterious figure Location: Cafe in NYC Timeline: 2/3/14 Description: Remy contemplates his titles and waits for his employer to show up. Rating: PG Status: Complete
Remy LeBeau was many things. A thief, a teacher, a hero, a lover. At various times in his life, he had declined each of those titles at some point or another, spurned them or even ran from them, the responsibility behind it all becoming overwhelming. He knew he wasn't a good person. Good people didn't work for dark men like Mr. Sinister. Remy didn't fool himself into believing he was some kind of hero, either. Despite being an X-Man for a number of years and doing a lot of good while under their banner, the Cajun didn't do it because he was some selfless saint. He did it because he owed them. He owed Charles, he owed Logan, he owed Ororo. The thief had been raised to always repay his debts and to keep himself even in the world, square. That's all it was with the X-Men. The fact that he'd grown attached to a number of the members there only meant he had even more reason to stick around so that they, the real heroes, could make a difference in the world.
Remy's rocky love life notwithstanding, he still believed in it. He just could never commit. Partners were varied and in his line of work, sometimes they even paid well. His charming ways and use of tender endearments had opened many doors for him in the past, and still served him now. That he was also a teacher was something of a quandary to Gambit. Even with his dark past, Charles Xavier had seen enough potential in him, trusted him enough, that he let him teach some of the classes at the Xavier Institute. Granted, Remy wagered, it was more to keep him busy and out of trouble than to pass on any actual knowledge to the young and impressionable teenage minds of the mutants who came to learn to deal with their powers. But it was another title the Cajun didn't take upon himself with any sense of validity. And now Charles was dead.
The cafe was mostly empty. Remy was seated in the corner with his deck of cards, building a house out of them, and he'd been sitting in that same spot for hours. The employees had eventually let him be after asking several times if he'd like to order a new coffee. The one he'd had when he first arrived was cold and untouched beside him. Final two cards came together at the peak of the structure he'd skillfully been building and Remy leaned back on two legs of his chair to survey his handiwork, smirking a little with arms folded.
Dark eyes lifted to meet those of a man who stepped inside. The man was tall, broad shouldered, and as he spoke to the barista behind the counter, carried an English accent to his speech. Remy sighed to himself and lifted one gloved hand, flicking the edge of the base card with his finger that made the delicate house tumble all over the table, dropping cards in a chaotic mess.