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Remy LeBeau (ace_of_clubs) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,

"You woul'a wha'?" He narrowed down those oddly colored eyes, slitting them like a lion blocking out the sun while it stalked it's prey. But the Doctor wasn't prey, not by a long shot. He kept his hand fisted tightly there, but when he realized the Doctor was grabbing at his wrist, it dawned on him that he must have been in pain, and his eyes widened just some, face becoming slack for a second as he uncurled those long, thin (but strong) fingers, and withdrew his hand. A breath escaped him but he tightened his jaw and breathed in again, narrowing his eyes down once more. He felt guilty, for hurting the other, but didn't want it showing. Didn't want the Doctor to know. It could be, and would be, perceived as a weakness in all of the places Gambit had ever been, so why was this any different? Still, he rolled back his good shoulder and lowered his voice. He had realized that he was yelling, only when the Doctor had started yelling back.

"He ain' my frien'. He wan' me dea'. He hate me, un'erstan'?" He brought his tongue out in a quick swipe, to wet down his lips, allowing straight, white teeth to graze over his bottom one for only a brief second before he spoke again, just as quietly. "Ain' impor'an'. Wha' is impor'an' is 'dat you gotta be here, wit' us. Can' be t'inkin' 'bou' not'in' but doin' wha's gon' help. 'Dese people, 'dey angry. An' 'dey scare', an' 'dey t'reatenin' someone they ain' never met, don' even know 'xist's. 'Dey wan' kill 'em. Et c'est stupide. Et il est incorrect. An' you know it. You tear off, an' you mess 'dis place up, an' 'dey come here, 'dey gon' hur' someone else' Maybe 'dey hur' you, an' no one wan' 'dat. Maybe 'dey hur' one o' 'de petite, non?" As if Gambit himself weren't one of the youngest here, "Ain' gon' live wit' 'dat. But maybe you hur' 'dem. Maybe you win. Maybe you get your 'venge. Wha' 'dat make you? Make you not'in'. Make you wron'. Make you 'dem." It made him the Cajun.

"Ain' no one here wan' 'dat. No' me, no' you. No' your frien's. I ain' gon' let you mur'er no-one here. Ain' gon' let you hur' 'dem. Not 'de people in 'de box, not 'de people outta 'de box. Jus'ice one t'in'. 'Venge is ano'ter." It was only then that black and red eyes lowered away from the Doctor's lighter set, and slowly, Remy was lifting two hands, some fingers gloved, some naked, so that he could deftly, simply fix the Doctor's rumpled shirt, giving him somewhere else to focus his attention.