Gwendolynne
Just a RPer~
here4therps
((Setting up a few random bits to play around with... 
))----------------------------------
Why's it always rainin'? Legit, it seems t'rain any time Gambit needs t'go somewhere. Fortunately, Gambit always comes prepared...
The scruffy Cajun turned his jacket collar up, sheltering him a bit more from the light shower of cold rain that currently annoyed the beautiful Big Easy. Luckily, it was late and although the Quarter would be it's normal tourist trap (even at 2 a.m.), the Warehouse district remained quiet and sleepy. It was perfect for a leisurely stroll - 'cept the rain, of course. Plus, even if it was quiet and sleepy, the Cajun made for an impressive figure at 2 o'clock in the morning. At just over 6' tall, the broad shouldered, leather-studded shadow seemed to project the distinct energy of 'stay away.' Despite recent events, he'd reclaimed his signature look - a long leather trench coat - only black this time. He'd added a black leather fedora, too. Underneath, he wore vestments of black body armor - a gift, one might say, from his previous teammates. Over the gear, he wore a plain pair of black cargo jeans and a pale gray button down. His silver tie was untied, hanging down either side of his collar. He carried two large reusable grocery bags, filled to the brim with various goods.
He turned and headed into an ally, making his way to a large metal door. With a grunt, he dragged it open just enough to slip inside. The loud clank of metal on metal couldn't be helped, and it served to alert the occupants inside of his arrival.
"Everybody can relax! Gambit has returned," he joked.
"Always a flair for the dramatic, that one." The familiar voice belonged to Nox, he noted.
He glanced out toward the center of the warehouse - four adults gathered around a metal barrel fire. They each had their own chair and blanket. Just past them, he saw they'd strung up some tarps and blankets to create rooms for some privacy.
"Seems like y'all done made ya'selves at home," Gambit commented as he walked down a few steps toward the group. "Got ya some goods. Ain't everyt'ing ya asked for, but most of it. Seems like da grocers forgot to stock up on some t'ings." He held out the bags to them once he got close enough.
Nox, the apparent leader of this little tribe of mutants, stood up and collected the bags, thanking him quietly. "We appreciate it, Mr. Gambit. Really... I wish you'd let us pay you," she said.
Gambit smiled. "Non, no worries mon petits; Gambit ain't worried 'bout ya repayin' him. Y'all got da kiddo t'worry about and ya still waiting on dem parts for your camper."
She smiled at him and nodded. "Thank you again." She glanced back at the other three and handed the bag off to the only other woman in the group. "Stay a while and warm up. It's already getting cold for here," she commented.
"Merci," Gambit replied, warming his hands at the fire. "You're not wrong... dis rain puts a chill in ya bones, fo'sure."
He watched as the group began to sort through the items in the bags he'd brought. Best he could tell, they were all roughly 20-24 years old, and they'd been together for a while. They'd been on the road for longer, it seemed. Nox was a young lady with some kind of light power - she could illuminate or darken things at a whim. The others he wasn't too sure about their powers - he hadn't seen them in action and they hadn't been that forthcoming. Nox was their protector, though; he knew that much. He recognized her kind. Hardened by years on the streets, self-taught powers control, and an attitude to match the strongest thug she might ever cross paths with, Nox was good folk. She lead with a code - no thieving, no crime, no drugs, no alcohol. They bartered, traded, or worked for things they needed. She called it "Life off grid." Gambit called it Swamp Rattin'... and he'd been there, done that. He didn't care to return to it. But, he'd chanced upon this group of misfits when he landed in New Orleans a week back and felt the need to offer some help as best he could. They were stuck here until they got their camper running again. They were hiding in the Warehouse District because well, as Nox said, their kind weren't always treated well.
See, Gambit wasn't exactly welcomed in the Big Easy either. He was there because he wasn't going back to New York. Not yet. He still wasn't too sure how he was going to deal with the X-Men... Besides, he had a job to finish before he could really go anywhere else. These folks are simply a side quest.
Gambit rubbed his hands together and then tucked them into his pockets. "Can't stay t'night, mon ami. Gambit got an early day t'morrow... gotta get his beauty rest." He tipped his hat at Nox and gave her a molasses grin.
"Understandable. Those nine-to-five jobs suck, huh? Promise, this life off grid is where it's at, man." The voice belonged to the one who called himself Bronx. He was from Seattle, if Gambit remembered correctly.
"Eh, dem nine-to-fivers pay da bills," Gambit joked back. "Gonna head out. Y'all need anyt'ing stop by Morrigan's and leave a note for me."
"Will do, Gambit. Thank you again," Nox said quietly.
"G'night," he said as he turned and walked toward the door.
He managed to open it and close it without too much ruckus. As soon as he stepped out into the rain, he regretted his decision to walk down here... he should have taken his motorcycle. Sighing, he ducked his head a bit and made his way out of the ally, then back toward the Quarter. It wasn't a long walk - a few blocks at most. He could see the lights of the Quarter in the distance, and the street lights here - although not as ornate, were well-kept. The city had come a long way since Katrina, he thought. It'd been years since Gambit had set foot in the city and honestly, although he always called it home, it didn't quite feel like home anymore. Even if he was here to steal something.
A pair of somethings, actually. Sixteenth-century artwork. Fancy, highfalutin stuff. Some rich guy in Houston wanted some expensive artwork on display in New Orleans. The pay was good. The job was routine, easy even. The city on the other hand... not so much. He really couldn't make a lot of ruckus here - and his only ally in the entire city was a witch who ran Morrigan's - a metaphysical shop in the Quarter. Funny how t'ings work out, huh?
As Gambit entered the Quarter, he was well aware of the two men walking about a block behind him. He suspected they were tourists, judging by their drinks and the raunchy stories they regaled about a few of the ladies in the Warehouse district. Crude, ungentlemanly stories, he thought.
Keeping a mental check on their whereabouts, Gambit strolled past Cafe Du Monde and across Jackson Square to Pirate's Alley, where he headed north toward Bourbon Street. No one would suspect him to stay in the heart of the City Beneath the Sea - so of course, he'd secured himself a quaint little boutique hotel suite for the duration of his visit. As he turned to head down Bourbon Street, he noted his shadows were no longer behind him. They'd headed into the 24 hour Wal-Greens. Gambit paused under an awning and leaned against the brightly colored stucco wall of one of the multitude of shops.
He fished his pack of smokes out of his pocket, tapping one out before plucking it free with his lips. He tucked the pack back in his pocket with one hand while he snapped his zippo with the other. With a flash of flame and a sharp inhale, his cigarette roared to life. Gambit tucked his lighter back into his pocket as well, and then... he waited. Almost three a.m. in the Quarter. He should be heading up to his hotel - it was about a block down the way - but something had the thief on edge tonight and if he'd learned one thing in all his years, it was to trust his gut. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for - if it was anything at all, even. But, he felt the need to wait. To smoke his cigarette in peace and just... watch the throngs of drunken tourists as they clamored down Bourbon Street, probably heading back to their own hotels for the night.
Ya, if ya trusted ya gut mo'often, ya wouldn't be on da receivin' end of da X-Men's fury, eh? Gambit chuckled to himself. Gettin' kicked out of de X-Men ain't nothin' new. Bein' dumped in Antarctica and left t'fend for yaself, dat's new. Finding ya way back through grit and determination and some amazingly shady deals, only to be able to tell da X-Men to stuff it in Paris... dat's worth it.
Gambit momentarily lost himself in thought. He hadn't really thought about the X-Men in almost a year now, but they'd been on his mind a lot lately. Probably because of those street rats in the warehouse. They were right up the X-Men's alley. He almost wanted to give them the address to the school and send them to New York, but he recognized there was a bitterness still lingering within him when it came to the X-Men. He'd deal with that later - right now, he had a job to do an he needed to focus. He snuffed out the thoughts of the X-Men as he snuffed out his half-smoked cigarette.
"Gambit needs his sleep," he muttered to himself. He pushed off the wall, picked up his cigarette butt to drop it into the trash can at the next lamp post, and headed down the street toward his hotel. He had an appointment at the art museum tomorrow. Gotta finish up some homework.
