Night: Its' darkness matched his mood. He sat alone, on the roof of the
mansion. The mist of his breath mingled with the smoke from his cigarette. A
light drizzle fell adding to his growing depression. He'd been this way for
awhile now, his "friends" had learned to increase their distance over the
past weeks. Was it weeks or months. He didn't know, or really care at the
moment.
Shit! he thought to himself. Dis ain't no good. Sitin' here feelin'
sorry fo' yaself. Gotta get over dat girl. She always boltin at de first
sign o'trouble. Should be use to it b'now Lebeau. But he wasn't. Deep
down inside he knew he never would get used to Rouge's "need to think things
out."
Dunno Lebeau. May be time to cut your losses. Rouge don' trust ya enough
t'stay wit' ya, mebbe ya don' belong here no mo'. He frowned. He'd been on
the roof long enough that he was soaked, he knew he should go in, but the
weight of his contemplation held him in place. Dat what ya want? Quit de
X-men? The thought was both frightening, and exhilarating. He'd have to
return to a life of crime, but that wouldn't be a problem.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft noise behind him and to his left.
Shit, dis rain be fuckin' wit me. Probably jes' Bishop. The thought
passed through his mind quickly as he dropped a card into his hand and began
to charge it. Probably just Bishop, but better to not take any chances. He
spun, no small feat on a wet, angled surface, and cocked his arm, ready to
throw. His red on black eyes landed on the source of the noise - a raccoon
had jumped from a nearby tree and was studying the Cajun with keen interest,
perhaps sensing the danger it was in. More than likely wondering what a
human was doing here in the rain. Jes' a 'coon he thought, and started to
lower his arm. He hesitated a moment, half wanting to blow it to pieces
anyway. Sometimes it hurt less when he could inflict pain on others. It
didn't work very often, and it had stopped completely some time ago, but
still . . .
As he was starting to raise his arm again to strike, a second figure jumped
from the tree, landing on the surprised animal. A soft 'snikt' was heard as
a single bone claw was extended and quickly retracted. Although he had seen
worse in his battles with the X-men, Gambit was shocked at both the speed and
savage force of the attack. He at least had a reason to be upset. Logan, he
knew, had his own reasons for everything he did. Lebeau tossed his card off
the roof before it reached critical mass.
"Ya use one of those things on a critter this small, ya lose all the meat
gumbo." Gambit supressed a laugh, he wasn't sure if it was genuine mirth at
the situation, or merely a cover for his disgust as Wolverine began to dig
in.
He watched, fascinated. The older man was a mess. He'd been living in the
forest surrounding the mansion for a while now, and it showed: His hair was
matted with dirt, and blood, and his clothes were little more than rags.
Still, Remy respected Wolverine. Most people who knew Wolverine respected
him, it could be very dangerous if you didn't. For Gambit, however, it went
a little deeper. Wolverine was a loner, like him. Although Wolverine was a
loner by choice. Dat ain't exactly true in my case, Lebeau thought
bitterly. He called over to the other man.
"You know Logan, de fridge be stocked wit food. D'aint no need to be eatin'
raw 'coon."
"Thanks for the tip" was the only reply.
After an awkward moment or two, Gambit decided he'd seen enough. "Uh, Logan,
I t'ink I be goin'. Gonna get me some warm food."
"'Coon is warm, gumbo. But I didn't come up here for a snack." Logan
responded, not bothering to look up between bites "I came to see you."
"Uh oh, I don' know if dis be good", Gambit thought to himself. His response
to Wolverine was "Was up mon ami?". No need to antagonize a man who had
retractable claws and enjoyed raw meat.
"I gotta go on a trip and I need backup."
"Where to? Who else be goin'?"
"Just us. Detroit."
Gambit thought for a moment "A deux? Detroit" (although this actually came
out 'Day-twah') "What be happenin' dere dat dey need only you 'n me?"
"Ain't that kind 'o trip gumbo." Wolverine replied, with what appeared to be
a smile, although considering the blood and fur, the result was less than
friendly. "You 'n me are goin' out fer a night on the town in the motor
city. Got a problem with that?"
"Yeah, I t'ink I do" was Gambit's first thought. That was followed quickly
"Non, dis ain't good". He was, however, curious. "Why me?"
"Well," answered the Canadian, "You'd be more fun than squint or wings. I'd
probably end up doing a little ice carving if I went with Drake. I figured
you or Hank could use a change of scenery, but I can't drag Beast's sorry
blue butt out o' his lab. . .So that leaves you."
What Wolverine didn't say was the whole idea came up during a long shrink
session with the Professor. It was all basically Chuck's idea, and on his
tab, so why not baby sit the melancholy Canjun for a night? Might do both of
'em some good.
Lebeau thought the offer over for a minute. The wind was starting to pick
up a bit, and it was beginning to rain a little harder as well. He rarely
socialized with any of the male X-men. Maybe it was time to quit feeling
sorry for himself. He hadn't been to Detroit in years, but he still knew
some places, and people. Might be able to find a lady for Wolvie as well. .
.Still, it begged the question 'why a night on the town in Detroit?' New
York, Boston, and even Philadelphia were all closer to home. . . This
question he put to Wolverine.
Wolverine looked at the Cajun closely. It looked like he'd been outside for
hours. The guy was a mess. "Might as well look as bad as ya feel," he
thought. "Works fer me."
"I'll tell ya on the way. I'm gonna go get cleaned up - got some of Rocky's
fur stuck in my teeth." He smiled again to illustrate his point. "Meet me
out front in half an hour. And don't be late. Got it bub?"
"Yeah, sure" was the Cajun's only response. What was he getting himself
into?