Ultimate Gambit's Story

Gambit returns to his rightful position behind the bar from the back room carrying a large white poster board. On a sidewall plainly visible to everyone at the bar he affixes the crude poster onto the wall. Written on it in red letters reads "Gambit's Bar" and underneath it "Forever owned and serviced by Remy Lebeau and his family."

He looked over at the man addressing him. A smirk crossed his lips and a red glow flowed from behind his red lensed sunglasses. His fingerless black gloved hands tugged on his brown trenchcoat before he spoke with his thick cajun accent. "You can call me Remy LeBeau mon ami. Ain't many who still call me Gambit, most o' dem don't stay alive too long."

With those few words he turned again towards the storage room and slid through the back door once again. The word "Ciao" could be heard as he exited.

"

Gambit chuckled and quickly transposed to a sigh as he realized the same thing as happened to himself. "Ain't it de trut' mon ami... Ain't it de trut'... Some how now I got kids n' responsibilities or somet'in' and all de action ran off to planets I ain't even heard of b'fore. My chere... Ain't not'in' in de world I won't give up for her but I can't say it ain't de same. What're you drinkin' t'day?"

"

Gambit peered under the bar through the rows and neatly organized bottles stretching as wide and deep as the bar would allow. He grabbed an already opened bottle of Jack Daniel's, a favorite he had been known to share with Soldier Rain. Two whiskey glasses swiped from glass holders above quickly found themselves atop the bar. Without asking he poured a half glass into each and slid one across to Arcus. "Whatever weak garbage you were gonna drink t'day, now it's Jack."

Gambit raised an eyebrow for a moment as he considered Smith's offer. "Well I ain't too big a fan of balls, but I ain't too bad at poker. I'm willin' t' see how you deal."

Gambit nodded and grinned in agreement. "Yeah dat's what I've been doin' all dis time. Terra has been my home f'r a long time an' it still is de only place I can call home. But dere's already od'er Gambit's out dere on od'er planets... Jus' seems dat dere's way more planets out dere and dere's only one me. Ole Remy LeBeau ain't no quitter, but it ain't been easy jus' keepin' dis place as homey as it is t'day. Dem people ain't always so nice. Ain't just tanks anymore mon ami... "

Gambit lifted his right gloved hand toward his perfect jawline and massaged his chin as he pondered Smith's proposition. A flicker of red haze flowed from behind his rectangle red-lensed sunglasses for just a brief moment and with a grin he nodded again.

"Dat sounds like a plan mon ami! Capitalism be damned, my name ain't Remy LeBeau unless dere's a Gambit's on every planet wit' a coin to spare!"

With that he swiped the glass of Jack Daniels he had poured for Arcus and slid it down the bar to Smith. He took his own glass of whiskey and raised it towards Smith.

"I'll drink t' dat!"

Remy LeBeau decided to wake up on the RIGHT side of the bed today. A drunken stupor from the night before had subsided and replaced by a mild throbbing. He groaned as he raised his body from his bed in the back room of the bar - his usual place of stay when Tayrn was mad at him. He lifted the red rectangular lensed wire-framed sunglasses off the bridge of his nose and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he rested his sunglasses back over his eyes and red haze occasionally flickered out from behind the red lenses. He was dressed in the same clothes from the night before, dark boots and pants, a tanktop covered by a red light chest plate carved with the shapes of muscles he wished he had. Over his shoulders was his brown trenchcoat the waved with his movements down by his ankles. Another groan escaped his lips as he brushed his hand through his brown wavey hair. Soon he was stumbling out of the back room into the main bar area still half asleep and hungover. As was habit for him, he dragged his feet till he positioned himself behind the bar staring down at the black granite countertop.

"Ahh... How I've missed you, mi amour."

He proceeded to press his cheek against the bar counter with his hands sprawled across it in a childish attempt to hug the counter.

Soon the sounds of other voices started to echo in his head. They were mumbles at first as he was lost in his own world, but after a few seconds reality snapped back into his mind. He quickly realized he was not alone in the bar. He gained his consciousness just in time to hear "Beer, please" and as a fine-tuned well-rehearsed professional of the industry his hands went into motion. He heaved his body off the counter to view the one speaking.

"You got it mon ami."

And with that his right hand swept under the counter to pull a beer from the mini-fridge underneath. His right thumb pressed just under the ridge of the cap and a faint red glow emanated from his thumb. He hid the bottle beneath the counter as the cap glowed a dull red charged with just enough kinetic energy to pop off the top. A cool mist flowed from the bottle as it opened. Meanwhile his left hand reached above for a cool clean mug on a rack. He poured the beer into the mug leaving a small froth at the top. Both the mug and the bottle slid down the counter towards the man ordering the beer.

"Dat'll be 10 credits mah friend. Ain't not'in' like ole' Remy's beer I can tell ya dat much. I used t' know a guy named Rain dat smuggled only de best alcohol in de universe from planets I ain't even heard of. But lemme tell ya', dem martians... Dey drink dis stuff like dere ain't no t'morrah. If it ain't de best you ever had, den you ain't lookin' fer beer, you're lookin' for Whiskey an' I got plenty o' dat too."

His eyes glanced over towards the newcommer sitting on the stool near him. The Chainmail clinking against the counter stung him for a moment as his head still throbbed through the hangover. He repeated his actions as he did before, popping off the cap of a bottle and pouring a thick beer into a mug and sliding it down to the new face. They were all new faces, it has been a while since he had been at this bar and the regular faces all seemed to have changed.

"De same goes t' you too mon ami. Dis mead has de Gambit Guarantee! If it ain't de best you ever had, den you need t' be drinkin' Whiskey. Dat'll be 10 credits, coin or paper will do jus' fine."

He glanced over at his first customer and quickly pocketed the 20 note. He rubbed his head momentarily as the remnants of the clanging sound from the chainmail still echoed through his mind. His wincing was hidden behind the red lensed sunglasses he wore over his eyes, but the occasional red glow hazed from behind in unison with the throbbing in his head. He grabbed a bottle of water for himself and took a few sips before responding in a loud and proud voice.

"You might know me, but I ain't been around for a while now. My foes know me as Gambit, but if you are here t' drink you can call me Remy LeBeau at your humble service."

He took a small half bow as he introduced himself to his patrons.

"You may have seen me on my commercials, or flyers I have conveniently taped all across rubble...err... I mean town. Yup dis here baby--" He rubbed his hand across the black granite counter top.
"Dis is mine...And Tay's too... But we'll leave dat part out of de commercials."

He turned to his second customer, suspiciously eyeing the stone he had placed on the bar.

"Hmm.. I have seen many forms of currency from many planets in my short time in dis universe, but I ain't seen dis one yet. But have no fear, Gambit's is known t'roughout de universe for accepting legal tender from any planet!"

He picked up the gemstone in his fingers and eyed it closely.

"Hmm... So what planet is dis from?"

A muffled noise could be heard coming from the back room of the bar. Yet another hungover day as Gambit arose from his poorly constructed tattered bed in the back room. Tayrn evidently was still mad at him, but nothing a stiff drink and a sharp pain in his back from sleeping on a lumpy bed couldn't distract him from. A loud grown could be heard as he heaved his body off the bed and dragged his feet across the ground, moving inches at a time as he tried to gain his bearings. He wore the same clothes he did the night before, still snug in his long brown trench coat. His brown soft hair though was in surprisingly perfect shape despite the evidently hard night (or day, who keeps track of time when drinking anyway?).

Gambit lifted the wire framed red rectangular lensed sunglasses off the bridge of his nose and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. His vision blurred and slowly adjusted, then soon came the pounding headache. A red hazey glow seemed to appear and disappear from his eyes in unison with the pounding. Another groan escaped his lips.. "Argh my head feels like a it's bein' beat like a drum! Dis' jus' ain't gonna do."

Gambit heard a loud bang come from the bar - it rang so hard through the door into the backroom that it echoed over and over again in his hungover mind. He winced in pain, but this bang was quickly replaced with another garbled screaming voice that echoed again in his mind. All this noise was no good for his head. He stumbled his way towards the door towards the bar holding his head with one hand and rubbing it with the other. With some effort he managed to unlock the door and swing it open. He stumbled into the main bar area and to no one in particular shouted to the room:

"Whoever's slammin' doors an' shoutin', ya'll gotta stop. My head is gonna split right open if dat happens again, an' believe me you don' wanna have t' clean up Remy brains all over de floor!"

He peered through his red lensed sunglasses around the bar as his vision blurred and refocused. It didn't register at first - he had seen all kinds of strange clothing and people over the years in the bar, but soon he realized the red on the scrawny man standing in the middle of the bar was blood. His eyes widened as the next thing he noticed was a familiar looking man bleeding profusely from the chest.

"DAVE! No no no what happened to you!" Immediately he moved into action, he ran towards Dave and heaved him onto his shoulder. He quickly laid him on the bar counter despite his extreme irritation with blood spilling on his beautiful black granite countertop. After a quick examination it didn't take a genius to realize Dave had been shot through the back with an exit wound through his chest and judging by the amount of blood pouring, Dave's Heart had been severely damaged.

Gambit was maybe for the first time in a long time, at a loss for words. The situation for Dave was clearly very grim. "Oh no mon ami, Dave... Don' worry my friend it's gonna be okay!" He didn't know what else to say, the wound was clearly fatal. Precious time had already passed since the gunshot, and no ambulance in this war-torn city was going to arrive in time to save him.

"Dave... Dave! Can ya hear me? Who did dis t' ya? You ain't goin' no where yet, you still owe me 5 credits for bleedin' all over my counter! Nobody leaves wit'out payin'!"

He gave a few slaps to Dave's cheek trying to keep him awake. "DAVE! What happened here!?"

Gambit looked up and around at the various people who had crowded around him and Dave, then looked back at Dave. He could already see Dave fading away. He knew an ambulance was the right thing to do even if there was no chance, but at the same time he knew something that most others did not. He knew that Dave was a member of the resistance, a recruiter and an organizer. He didn't know how far up the chain of command or what kind of sensitive information he may have on his person, but he knew a hospital was just as dangerous as a gunshot wound for Dave. "It's... It's okay. I will take care of Dave... He'll be.." He paused for a moment as he choked up. "He'll be alright." He shook Dave once more, maybe hopelessly looking for a sign of life. All the meanwhile his thought process was going down the same path as the snowman's. He knew Dave was part of the resistance, and that immediately put him in danger. Gambit too had been part of resistance factions in the past, and too often there were casualties when trying to reclaim peace.

He glanced back to the snowman and shook his head, for the moment ignoring the peculiarity of having a snow man talking to him. "No, dat ain't right. He was dead b'fore he even got in t' de bar. What I do know is de killer ain't anyone in here. It's someone...Out dere." He pointed out the window of the bar towards Wing City.