InsaneJournal

He'd had a bed in that barn. A real (nearly) bed. There were six couches in the barn, four chairs, and several rusted folding chairs. He'd made a bed out of three of those couches.. a nice, king-sized bed. And he wanted it back, damnit. So, for the last hour, Gambit had pushed two of those three couches along the outside perimeter of the town, down that road that no one ever used, because there were no buildings on it. But the last chunk of the road was broken up, so he'd been making detours into the town, going past the thrift store. The first two couches had been pushed all the way from the barn to the church, taken inside, and set up as he saw fit. Now he just had one more, and he was eighty percent done with this move. It was tough, tugging them along. But he'd found himself some rope and had tied it around them each, and hauled half of the way, pushed the other half, so he didn't strain anything. He was a well-built man, but pushing a couch half a mile? Hard work when there were no wheels!

He had all of the sheets piled on this couch, folded up neatly. He had half a mind to air them out, outside before putting them in the church.. but with all these bugs? He didn't want to sit outside. He'd air them out tomorrow-- but they were already smelling a little better, this long haul and all the moving had shaken loose all the dust and grime, and gotten rid of at least a bit of the musty smell. It wasn't the Ritz, but Remy could make do.

He always did.