Gambit, so far, had not had a horrible day. He'd been attacked by a falling tree limb, dislocated his shoulder, had a man called the Doctor, who was definitely not a Doctor, force his arm back into socket, then he'd had to go into a collapsed building, blow something up, dig someone out of the rubble, then find his friend, dig him out, carry him to safety, and try not to get his head cut off by Edward Knivehands in the process. It hadn't been a horrible day, but it certainly hadn't been a good one.
And it was only going to get worse for the Cajun.
That was obvious, as he was traipsing past the Liquor store, looking for some place, any place, that he could lay down and pretend like he wasn't here, and hide from all those people who wanted his help. Couldn't these people help themselves? He wasn't a hero. He didn't do this sort of thing. They should leave this crap for the heroes, the ones out there running around eager to help people out. They could save people. He was done with the rescuing thing.
That was, until he heard the shouting. The red-head groaned audibly and rolled his head back on his shoulders, staring up at the sky as if this was all some higher power's fault. And it was. The Powers That Be. But he didn't know that. Not yet. He actually began to walk away from the cries for help.. but they were distinctly female, and that was what finally won him over, and the Cajun had to turn around and slowly make his way, as if walking to his Death, to the ramshackle building in such disarray. He got a whiff of the toxins as soon as he got too close, though, and began coughing. That would be what gave away his presence to the shouting female inside. He waved a hand in front of his face, and was tugging the top of his turtleneck over his head, making him very much resemble some sort of ninja, with his entire face covered save for his eyes. Those very distinct red eyes.
He ducked his head down and stepped through the glass, crunching in it as he made his way past the rows of downed liquor. But despite the pills and the liquid on the floor, he didn't slip. Gambit had impeccable balance and was able to navigate the floors quite well.. but his coughing hadn't stopped, and he was lifting his good hand to cover his face as he narrowed down his eyes, to try and keep the fumes out, and searched the darkened area for the shouting.
It didn't take him long to find her, and when he did, his hand lowered and his eyes widened some-- she was stuck to the wall.. with.. Oh my God. Why wasn't she dead yet?! "Merde." His soft mumbled curse was trapped by the dark of his turtleneck, and he let out a rush of breath. But he didn't have long in here, he felt lightheaded already and was quickly coming forward with practiced steps, never faltering on the slippery, dangerous floor.
"Calm down." He called out to her as he came closer, both hands lifting up so he could grab at the protruding metal. One foot came to plant against the wall while the other remained on the floor, and he pulled hard and suddenly, dislodging her suddenly. Then he was tossing it away and coughing again, covering his face with the crook of his arm. He felt sick.. Wait. Her arm was gone. Her arm was gone! "You arm." He was coughing again an nodding towards the missing limb. Did she know she was missing it? ... Did she know where it was? He jerked some as another piece of the building came swinging down, and the Cajun was quickly moving a hand to the side and snatching three of the wrapped sets of crutches, so that he could prop them on his good shoulder and use them as a brace, in case the roof fell. "C'n you walk, Chere?"