Rue de Rivière by melancholic

Disclaimer: They never belonged to me, as much as I wish they would. sighs

[AN: Okay, so my little skunk-muse [Remy/Rogue manifestation of the strangest kind] decides to go on vacation, coming back with bucketfuls of sand dumped in the cracks of my brain, thus delaying the update of Limelight. However, that darned skunk did send waves crashing over me, enabling my non-existent mind to create this rather plot-less story. I mean, I know what I want to happen, but I'm not exactly sure on how to integrate my thoughts into this 'fic… so I guess I'll just go along and write whatever puny ideas emerge from that skunk, eh? My Spider-Sense is telling me that this is going to be sort of an AU story, with a little bit of the comics in it, but the entire thing is Evo-centered… wait. Am I making any sense? looks dazed I'll try not to be too disappointing, lol. Just sit back and enjoy the bumpy ride… ;) grins dementedly]

(telepathic conversation, unaccented thoughts or foreign words, [translations/author notes], /written stuff/ {words spoken in different languages that I might not beable to add, like Japanese, Arabian… you get the idea})

The wind blew leaves down with her as she walked, her coat flapping brashly behind her. It was a cold, damp night in October, one of those moments when you wished rain would fall from the dark heavens, receiving the drops of water as though they were blessings from the skies. Unfortunately for Rogue, not even the slightest indication of rainfall seemed evident in the narrow alley she was trudging along in, feet dragging lazily atop the cobbled ground as her skunk-striped hair fell back over her pale face, intently gazing at the hovering gray cloud above her. The reason why she was present in this area was just as mysterious and undecipherable as the current weather displayed, Storm's subconscious anger, Rogue supposed, a small grin coming to her often scowl-laden features.

There were those moments that reality was too much to take in, even for a girl whose mutant power thrived on absorbing the realities of others. And where did somebody who wanted to escape life go? The most 'alive' city in the world, of course: New York City at night, jagged skyline boasting of tall, structured buildings whose dotted lights silhouetted their towering forms. And Rogue wasn't the type of person who would spend her supposedly stress-free evening loitering in Central Park, looking like a fool just because she would be there on her own. Rogue tried not to feel lonely in any way – after all, if you lived in a mansion full of people who made you crave for your own personal space, then how could you ever feel forlorn? But tonight, she became aware of her desire to flee temporarily into the comfortable embrace of the night, away from Jamie's Disney movies, [gosh, she couldn't free 'You've Got a Friend in Me' out of her head] Kitty's endless yakking on the phone with that lumbering Russian oaf – wait, wasn't he one of the bad guys? Shaking her head, Rogue discharged any notions about her friends from her frequently occupied mind. She had enough mind-tweaking damage to undo, no thanks to Mesmero's recent assault on her.

And that brought her back to the subject on why she was standing still all of a sudden, the stars twinkling brightly overhead as she glimpsed the true clarity of the universe. Rogue wished that she had opted to enter a club, [despite the fact that she was still a year away from being legal] the thundering beats of the music thudding endlessly with all the psyches that quarreled in her mind, partygoers in their own worlds as they danced without a care, unmindful of whoever was watching them. She regretted the eerie silence of the now dead-end street, feeling uneasy at the unusual accompaniment of silence in her midst. And in Rogue's case, she was too used to the buzzing noises around her to ever appreciate serenity.

A cat screeched somewhere behind her, exhibiting its possible displeasure at the quiet environment, thus leaping to the ground in its normal fashion, landing on a bunch of trash can bins for extra effect. Rogue instinctively got in touch with her feral side, (no thanks to Wolverine) senses instantly hyper-alert for a reason she knew not. She could just smell the sudden occurrence of tension in the air, mixed with a hint of nervousness and a dash of anger.

The feline's gleaming yellow eyes stared back uncannily at her, but Rogue didn't flinch. The Logan in her would never do so, every animalistic sense trained for the hunt. This progressed on for the next few moments, neither being moving a single muscle. The cat hissed, baring its teeth and extending its claws – then swiftly turned on its paws and traveled deliberately down the street, up into the graffiti-embedded wall, and out of the gothic mutant's sight.

That was weird. She concluded her experience with just that thought, shrugging as she left the alley in the other direction. She had enough silence for tonight, Rogue decided, gloved hands in the pockets of her coat as she strode down, continuing her journey to nowhere. Contrary to what she had thought she needed – the Rogue was going someplace where the background would be something that she was accustomed to.

x

"DAMMIT! THAT SONOFATOOTINBITCH BEAT ME. AGAIN!!!" A pudgy fist slammed into the wooden table, causing the mugs and bottles of beer to tilt over and spill their contents, drenching the playing cards for the nth time that night. In a dark corner of the table, red eyes shone amusedly, the owner flicking some cards into his hands, resulting in a reddish glow emerging from them. The overweight man ceased his tantrums, eyes growing huge at the sight of the cards – then returned to their normal size upon viewing the fading light that the cards presented.

"A game o' Poker's a game o' Poker, mon ami [my friend]. Dis player dealt de winnin' hand, o' course." A lazily accented voice said, the flicking sound of the remaining cards escorting his words. "Jus' ya bad luck dat I won wit de Ace o' Spades… which, f'ya info'mation, represents death." Grinning at the obvious fear that he had brought on with his statement, Remy LeBeau sighed contentedly. 'Twas definitely good that Mags gave us Acolytes the night off. And going to this here club was one of the best decisions I made in the longest time, showing off my godliness in this here game of Poker. Wish that rat Pyro had seen Remy making his moves… in the absolutely right way.

It wasn't that Remy enjoyed utilizing his literally explosive powers in any way. He often just saw it fit to run the show, firing things up just to make an entrance. He lived for the crowd, had the desire of being the center of attention – so why not use his powers in aiding that status? After all, he was Gambit, one of Magneto's more powerful Acolytes, and of course, by far the most attractive. He made sure that anyone back in London saw him flash a grin after charging that bus and blowing it up to smithereens, making a show for whoever wasn't shaking in fear at that time. Possessing both an explosive power and personality was just one thing; using your gifts in the proper manner was a huge factor in charming your way through things.

Like now. Remy's demon-like eyes focused on the door, his ears picking up its creaking sound previously. A hooded femme had just entered Hell's Kitchen, and she was one of the women who challenged Remy, intrigue filling his mind as he saw her white hair peek from underneath the hood.

Oui… seems to me that de coquine really wants to play.

[AN: How was that for weird? Hmm… I've got ideas at the back of my head for this, but I don't exactly know whether I should continue it or not. I guess I'm just too absurd for my own good. =D You know the drill, read and review, if so desired. Thanks!]