driftfleet | ...And also these.

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...And also these.

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ROOMS BY CHARACTER

N - Q

Nami

Nux

One

Phèdre nó Delaunay
de Montrève

R - U

R. Daneel Olivaw

Rapunzel

Remy LeBeau

Riku

Robin Redbreast

Rogue

Santanico Pandemonium

Shawn Hunter

Stefan (Alesci) Salvatore

Steve "Orion" Rogers

Steven Quartz Universe

Souji Seta

Stiles Stilinski

Syeira

Tadashi Hamada

Tekhetsio

V - Z

Wrath

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That's right. [The fire crackles loudly, almost imitating a whistle.] An' get off my couch, Swamp Rat.

[Before the whole thing starts up again.]

[Ok, yes, off the couch, but also moving around the place where that quiet voice was coming from, not questioning that the room was empty apart from him. Circling around left him still at the coffee table, before he glanced down and stared into the fire until, lo and hold...] Cherie! [Then got over his shock and smirked.] I knew ya were hot before, but this...

Ha, ha.

[Rogue has her hands planted on her hips and is scowling up at him from her position as a tiny fire in the middle of the coffee table.]

You're hilarious.

Edited 2015-10-24 02:01 (UTC)

I know I am. [Circling around the table once more to take in her situation, Remy finally stopped and crouched down by the side with the dip in it.] Ya ok in there, or ya needin' some fuel, would hate to see ya go out.

[Rogue blinked, momentarily stunned out of her irritation by his unexpected consideration. He just kept doing things like that.]

No, I'm fine. You can have a seat if ya want -- on the armchair.

Does that have la petite mort option on it as well? What kinda room ya runnin' here, Rogue, I rather like it. [He did however do as told, moving over to the armchair and waited for something to happen.]

You're an idiot.

[Dry disgust in her tone, no desire to get into a discussion about that couch with him at all, thanks.

And nothing happens when he sits in the armchair. Voice lightly mocking:]

Don't tell me this is your first time?

Yes, 'm completely pure, can't ya tell? [Remy gave her a shake of his head and a 'really' look as he relaxed into the chair, glancing to the puzzle next to it, dragging one of the edge pieces over and putting it in place.]

[When Remy touches the puzzle piece, the room fades around them.

They are on a riverbank. The air is hot, humid in a way only the American South can be. The sun is very bright. Bare feet dangle in the river, splash.

Then the memory fades, leaving behind something brief, tart in the mind.]

Not anymore, ya ain't.

[There are a few more puzzle pieces, but far more are simply... missing.]

[Lost in the memory for the moment, in a place that felt surprisingly like his own home by the bayou. Not quite the same, smoother, brighter, cleaner in a way, lacking the darkness that hung over New Orleans and mixed in with the spice of music, cultures, and food. The side most didn't know about. It was however enough for Remy to feel closer to home than he had in awhile, missing her words at first.]

Hein? What was that chere?

[An exasperated breath releases a little puff of smoke; irritation remains part of Rogue's first defense.]

What do ya think? [Pause a long beat.] Ya really don't remember anythin' else like this? You're in my head, Remy. That was one of my memories.

[There was a long pause, before Remy let out a bark of a laugh.] Yeah, right, ok. [Pffft, in her head, suuuuurrree.

Although... she wasn't normally a fire... and most rooms didn't change when you touched stuff... and a couch like that didn't really exist. Oh... OH. Clearing his throat, Remy asked;] So... did ya absorb me? [Is this was what it was like to be one of the voices in her head? Was there the real him walking around outside of her skull? This was... this was strange, to say the least.]

[Some of the irritation lessens in her expression. Her tone takes on notes of reassurance.] No, Remy. I didn't absorb ya.

[A gesture around her space.] Think this little tour is courtesy of the Atroma.

... Really? So it's like a shift? [Huh, ok, he could understand that... no, no he couldn't, but he would roll with it as if he did understand it.] Just... 'nside ya head?

Guess I shouldn't had gone pokin' 'round then.

[Rogue shrugs.]

I can't say I'm happy 'bout it, but can't say that right now I mind it as much as I should. Yay?

[She knows very well that she'd likely be very upset, if whatever was happening hadn't also affected the way she was right now. But yet, she doesn't care. So. Yay?]

Got some food an' drink over there if you're hungry. Get the feelin' this might be a while.

Whoop de do, [It was heavily laced with sarcasm that it might had been to much even for Rogue.] Least ya offer decent hospitality.

[Leaving the chair to look at the bottles of drinks again, Remy's eyes instead trailed back to the hurricane lamp, trying to piece the bits together considering he now knew where he was.] Was that Storm? [He pointed to the lamp in question.]

[Rogue scowled at him.] Don't take it out on me, Swamp Rat. I ain't the one who trapped ya here.

[In fact, she could make this a whole lot less comfortable for him if she was so inclined. Not answering his questions would be the least of his worries, and she really did not feel like answering questions about what was in her mind.]

Ah, ain't meanin' to cherie, was just 'ssumin' we were past this kinda thing with bein' out of Luceti, it ain't a great thing to fall back 'nto. [She may ignore the question, but Remy moved to go look at the lamp again and moving over to that side of the room without realizing he was.]

[Well, that was true. She had to give him some credit for that.]

No, it ain't. [Pause a beat.] Where ya headed?

[That stopped him, bringing his attention to the fact he was moving around, and Remy tried to casually brush it off what he was doing.] Just lookin' 'round. [As if to make a point, he pushed open another of the doors to the shelving, raising a brow at the contents.] Got a lot of weapons 'round cherie.

[Reaching into the shelf, Remy pulled out the handgun he found inside, going through the normal checks to see if the safety was on and slipping the clip out of it to check that it was safe to handle.]

Now, when ya say 'a lot,' what are ya--

[But then he touches the handgun, and the room around them fades. Remy is pulled into a scene as the invisible third party. He will be able to see Rogue and... is that himself? interact, but he won't be able to stop what's happening. Additionally, he will be clued into Rogue's feelings and thoughts, her reasons... but this is not entirely an experience from her point of view. It is more like watching a DVD with commentary.

They are in a village, technologically a little more advanced than Luceti, but one that has been clearly ravaged by war. Rogue is leaving a hospital, a determined look on her weary face. The smell of death and antiseptic is heavy. She is focused, guns strapped to her sides, hair up in a messy ponytail as Gambit himself falls into step beside her. At first, she doesn't even appear to notice...

You lift up one hand and rub your chest, over your heart, over the patches in your uniform there. Your fault. If you hadn’t touched him in an instinctive move to keep from dying, then maybe Logan would have been able to fight the virus. Maybe his mutation would have given them what they needed to find the antibodies. Maybe… maybe… but now, he is a ravaging, snarling shadow of himself, and all you know is that you are not going to abandon him here. You are not going to leave Tony to die as he waits for a cure for Pepper, waits by her side and watches the woman he loves be stolen from him bit by insidious bit. There is a man out there, Korras Blake, and in his body he has the antibodies they need to make the cure that will save Logan, save Pepper, and in doing so save Tony, save you, because you are not leaving them. You are not leaving Logan to die here like this. You are going to find Korras Blake and bring him back or die trying.

Armed as best you can and cursing that your powers are off, you barely even notice as Remy LeBeau falls into step with you. Not even he looks untouched by the hardships of the past few days, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks tired. You spare a thought as to how you must look, but then dismiss it. This is war, not a beauty contest, and you have someplace to be.

“You're a sight for sore eyes, Rogue. Heard the news yet?”
“Depends which news you're talking 'bout.”
His gaze focuses on the tears in your uniform, the three marks over your heart, and you can see him start to wonder as his brow furrows. “That they're bombin' the hell outta this place. What other news's floatin' around that I oughta know about?“
Oh, that’s right. The bomb, the countdown, the fact that if you were still here when it went off you were going up in smoke with the rest of them. “Korras Blake. We're all pretty damn sure he's the survivor of the last plague. We find him, get him in here, an' maybe there's a shot at a real cure, not just somethin' ta help you keep your mind.”
“An' how close are we to findin' this guy anyway? 'Cause seems like we runnin' outta time at this rate.”
“Not sure.” You shake your head. “Headin' out ta look for him now”.
“I'm goin' wit' you, then.” He gives you a serious look, the kind you’ve rarely seen from him. Just once before when it was his father’s life that was at stake. “Ain't the time to be runnin' around solo, chere.”
You sigh. You haven’t seen him at all during this draft, and you’re not sure how you feel about any Johnny Come Lately. “Don't ya have any bettah place ta be?”
“Other than somewhere they ain't droppin' bombs on later? In any case, I got a feelin' this is the jus' the place I'm s'posed to be right now.”
You’d ignore his reference to the bomb except -- no. It didn’t fit. So. “So why haven't you up an' got yet? Didn't take ya for the type to just get blown up.”
He fixes you with a stubborn look you know to be the match of your own. “Gettin' blown up ain't part of the plan. But there ain't much point in leavin' 'til I know I'm not jus' gonna spend a week keepin' an eye out for everyone else who stayed here.”
You stare at him for a long moment, frowning. He’s got a look to him that you’ve never quite seen before, not fully, but just now it looks like something you can depend on, and you appreciate that. You let him come with you.

He stays with you, and you’re glad for it. Gambit’s a good man to have in a corner, and you both agree to head toward the mountains. You’re tired as hell, desperate, with the guilt of Logan's continued pained existence weighing heavy on you. You’ve seen Tony already today as well, and he was dying right along with Pepper... not to mention the little girl you practically had to mug a doctor for just so she'd have a chance at life.

You need to find this bastard and bring him back. Your focus is a sharp, pinpointed beam buoyed by your determination. You fall in to cover his five and begin to make near-silent progress toward your goal… at least until you are cut off. Zombies to the left of you… and more zombies - shit, Elites, shit - to the right. They’re closing in fast and you don’t have the ammo for this and maybe you both can outrun them -- and you try -- but not for long. Do zombies climb trees? Is that something you want to find out right now? You run, making good time away from the zombies chasing you which would be great if you weren’t running straight into three dozen other zombies. There was no way out of this with just guns and running, you have to think, have to come up with something else, what else do you have think, think--

Out of the corner of your eye you spot something that might work, might just provide what you need for a desperate final stand. “9 o'clock. See that - ledge?” You don’t know how far it drops down, but it’s enough to give you the kernel of a plan. “C’mon!”

You both take off running toward it; he gets there first and you don’t hesitate, vaulting in after him. It’s a long drop, but you know how to fall. You’re blessedly out of the zombies line of sight now, and maybe you would get lucky and they would just… pass you by. Your hand fumbles at something on your belt just in case you’re not lucky. Maybe, maybe…
shit. No. They’re still coming.

You unravel the cord and look at Gambit. You know your eyes are wide and scared -- death by zombies was so not on your bucket list. “We’re gonna die here.” You meet his gaze.
And he meets yours. And he tucks a strand of escaped hair gently back behind your ear, and suddenly he is so close and doing that thing that drives you crazy, that ‘look how close I can get without actually touching you’ thing and even though it was still aggravating, just the fact that he was here, looking at her like that, and here made the thought of what was about to happen a little easier to bare. You wet your lips, needing to impart the plan quickly, “Look, Remy--”
“Rogue.”
And suddenly his lips are on yours and, well. Isn’t that something?
A very, very good something. You are not sure how long you kiss him, and part of you isn’t convinced this is about you at all, just about Remy LeBeau wanting to go out in style, seek some comfort at the end of the his life, some warmth to take him through to the other side (and wasn’t it some warmth, though), but that wasn’t the way he was holding you, holding you closely made you wish that maybe, you were a different kind of girl and he was a different kind of boy because this - this felt really, really right - and he was still holding you, even after a loud shriek from one of the zombies indicated that they were getting closer and you didn’t -- mmm -- you didn’t have time for this!
Not if you still had a shot, which was what you had been about to say before he’d interrupted and you force yourself to pull back and whisper, “Duck.”

You rip yourself out of his arms and stand. You throw back your trenchcoat in the same movement and tear off the bomb you’ve taped to your back. You trigger the deadman's switch on the fuse and whirl it over your head like a slingshot by the short chord.

The zombies see you - they start lumbering faster. You can smell them.

You shout in defiance, a wordless challenge, and toss the bomb right into the middle of the incoming horde.

Maybe it would work. Maybe it wouldn't. At least it would be a hell of a way to go out.

You drop back into the trench sideways, pulling up your gun at the same time. You hope that the ledge of the trench will block the explosion, but even if it does, and even if the bomb goes off exactly right where you threw it, there were still too many damn zombies for it to take out. You’d have to get up and go out there fighting--

boom

--okay, good, still alive. Hurting, because of the way you’ve thrown yourself down, but still alive. You glance over to Gambit, grinning and he is looking at you like you are the strangest person on earth when really, you have never felt more alive and right. The exhilaration of being alive fills you to the brim -- you have a fighting chance now. You were both alive, and you were getting out of here. “Let’s go, Cajun.” You lean toward him, the wildness of living taking you, and give him another kiss, brief and deep and firm, “--for luck!” You pull back and stand up, swinging your gun around to focus it on the enemy.

The problem with trying to kill the undead is that even wounded, they wouldn't stay down. The bomb had cleared a number of the zombies, and the field was a picture of carnage, blood and refuse and body parts and charred earth. The smell of it turns your stomach.

There were maybe two dozen zombies still standing, relatively uninjured, but the injured ones weren't just sitting there either. Driven by their hunger, they crawl towards the trench.

Gawd.

You and Gambit fight your way clear, running in whatever direction offers least resistance. You work well together, covering each other with an instinctiveness that should only come with much practice but seems as natural as breathing. The point wasn’t to kill all the zombies, it was to live and you refuse to let yourself think about the fact that once, these people were innocents. You cut your way through and out, with Gambit at your side, and you both run until you’re clear and the surrounding forest is quiet.

It’s not quiet long. He wants to know why you were carrying a bomb strapped to your body, and you don’t want to tell him -- don’t want to tell him that you came out prepared to die, don’t want to tell him that you left with the intention of bringing Korras Blake back and doing whatever it took to make him see that he had to accompany you -- because you had nothing left to lose. That bomb had been insurance in more ways than one, and now that you were without it you want to run to base, construct another, and head out again. They didn’t have enough ammo to continue to the mountains.

But he… he doesn’t seem to want you to contact the base. You call him on it, explain that you need the ammo to keep going. He… what is this look? Why is he looking at you like this?

"You're gonna be walkin' through zombies no matter where you're headin'.” He says. “Might as well keep on keepin' on."
Your eyes narrow. “What do ya mean, 'no matter where I'm headin'. We've got a goal in mind, remember?"
Gambit folds his arms, giving you his own unamused look. "Y'know, I ain't so sure we got the same goal in mind."
Your stomach twists. A familiar sick feeling wells up at the back of your throat. No, not again. He wouldn’t do this to you again. "You mean the goal you agreed ta help me with when I let you join me for this crazy bicycle ride? The goal that involves savin' the people who are infected, and everyone else stuck in this damn enclosure? That goal?"
And he meets your gaze, serious, unphased. "I agreed to watch your back. Watchin' it as you run off an' almos' get yourself killed kinda goes against the whole purpose."
"Was it me? Or were we both out there almost gettin' ourselves killed together? We were gonna do this together." I trusted you. Angry now, you approach, taking two steps closer to get in his face. “You tell me, right now, why you're trying to keep me from findin' out if I can just go back."
"'Cause I'm tryin' to get you somewhere safe."
And there it was. Goddamnit. Goddamnit. You reach out and yank him down by his jacket, your faces inches apart. "Don't do me any favors. You try an' take my choice away again, Swamp Rat, and I swear to God I will end you. Nobody, nobody has control of my life but me, you got it?"
You shove him back, hard.

The memory fades on the look of angry stubbornness on his face, the angry sickness of betrayal in your stomach.]

Edited (trying to make it easier to read) 2015-10-25 16:03 (UTC)

[A numbness settled over Remy as he drew out of the memory, gun still in hand but not moving from his position from when the replay of events started. Looking down at the gun in his hand, he placed it back on it's shelf and closed the door carefully behind it, leaning his head forward until his forehead touched the storage cabinet.

Then the questions came, and the wave of emotions to go with it.

Was that one of the past him's from Luceti, one of the times before that he couldn't remember? And that kiss, what had that been about? Had he felt something for Rogue, beyond this weird mix of friendship they struggled to balance, or was it just a tool to get her to follow him? That feeling, that sense of realization she had when he had revealed his plan, that betrayal, it still sat heavy, weighing down his stomach and making him want to be sick.

But, wasn't that still him? Hadn't he done that, even if he didn't remember doing it, it was still him. Remy could argue all he wanted that he wouldn't do something like that to Rogue, but... he had, the previous copy of him had, so that meant he would too, wouldn't he? He didn't think he would, not after the memory of her anger when he told her what he had done to make Wanda fight. Not after seeing her mourn the loss of a child that never really existed. Not after seeing her heart broken by an egotistical god who only used her as a toy to his own desires.

'It's not the same ya, look how much ya changed since ya first arrived in Luceti. Merde, ya try something stupid like takin' her back home... or... or that, that, she would take ya hand off, or something more serious.' Yet it didn't change the fact he had done it, part of him had. He had used her, played on her emotions, her trust, a level of attraction that he knew he had over her but never used against her since coming to Luceti. Or at least he thought he hadn't. It was still him, and as much as he wanted to deny it, there was a part of him that was still capable of doing so.

This, this was why he had got his powers unlock, this was why he had risked the surgery and letting another see the notes Sinister made about him. So it was impossible for him to use another person again, so that he didn't need to manipulate another to his whim and make them jump through hoops. He was a weapon now so others didn't have to be. Not Wanda, or Jean, or... or Rogue. Gambit, a small sacrifice for a bigger move, a better position, a greater good. And if that was his body getting torn apart by its own mutation in comparison to using a friend to fight, as that what Rogue was, a friend, then it would be worth it. Hell, he was a dead man walking anyways, may as well go out with a bang and for a decent reason.

The past him had seen it, in a way, he was trying to save her at the sacrifice of... whatever they had, hadn't he? Or had he been so blind that he thought Rogue would be grateful for saving her rather than completing her own mission? Remy hoped it was the first one, not that it made the situation any less stupid, but if there was any good left in him at all, he hoped it had been the first one. If not...

A surge of a deep hidden emotion, one he pushed back and refused to ever let fully surface threatened to break that well practiced mask he always wore, threatening to burst at the edges and drag him down with it. That little echo in his mind that existed and said he would be nothing more than an unwanted street kid with devil eyes, the one that deserve the hate and abuse he got as he clawed and fought to survive. Self hate, for all his bravado and ego and confidence, it still hung there, hidden and waiting for a moment to spring up and attack. Like with Bella, like with Etienne, like with Sarah. That he deserved that he had gotten, being thrown away, that he should had stayed street trash.

He didn't want to be that man, he didn't want to be like his father who only saw the end goal. The bigger picture, god, how many times had he used that excuse to get things his way? Remy had accepted that long ago that was the way of life, you had to sacrifice to get what you wanted in the end, even if it meant breaking off parts of yourself. He had done it for the Guild, he still did, he gave everything up for it.

And he was miserable.

'I don't wanna be that kinda of man...']

[For a long moment, the fire only crackles in the silence.

She had almost forgotten about that. The house - her room - hadn't, and it still resonated with all the emotions that she'd felt that day; her desperate determination, the unexpected companionship found between them once again, and then the betrayal...

In fact, Rogue had done her best to put that out of her mind, after Gambit had gone home and after this version of Remy had arrived... she wouldn't say that the experience hadn't colored how she'd seen him, but this Remy had won his own place in her estimation.

And from the way he wasn't quite looking at her, from the way his shoulders slumped, Rogue had a feeling he hadn't really enjoyed that particular memory.]

...so... that had ta be weird for ya. Ya alright?

[Oh yes, he wasn't alone here, it would had been better if he was. Or maybe not, maybe being caught in his own thoughts was the worse possible thing to have happen right now.]

Donno. [No covering it up, not right now, it all too raw to try and hide it immediately.] Really donno.

[She places her hands on the top of the shade and leans up on the shade to peer at him.]

Okay... fair enough. [What to even say?] Talk ta me.

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