6th Card Dealt [Accidental Voice/Action -- Forward-dated to tomorrow morning]

[kineticcajun]

[It's around 9 AM and Gambit's journal is hitting the floor, sprawled open, and recording. There's a yell, a string of Cajun French curses, and a chain of nearly a half dozen minor explosions. And then a scuffling noise.]

--ey! You bes' be droppin' th-- merde!

[Heavy thump of a body hitting the floor. Rustling noise. More extremely colorful cursing in Cajun French.]

Drop it! That's--

[More scuffling. And suddenly, the journal is flying through the air. The view window might catch just the slightest glimpse of hideous, orange shag carpeting (in a violet-tinted world thanks to a kinetic charge) just before the feed cuts out with a boom.]


[Later on in the day, Gambit is out on a mission, and he's looking extremely irritated while doing it. Tossed over one shoulder are the remains of his trusty old leather duster, which has had an entire arm torn off and is missing a significant amount of fabric on the left side. What isn't ripped or torn is burned. Held in something of a death grip by what he can only assume counts as the scruff of the creature's neck is a violently orange fuzzball. It's not struggling. It's not even moving. He's just. Carting it around.

In the rain.

And looking furious.

First order of business is trying to find one Adele LeBlanc, because he recognizes this horrible orangeness from her evil sofa. After that, he's hoping to ditch the damn thing somewhere - it doesn't seem to be holding a charge like the sofa did and that is vaguely terrifying - and then it's time to find a new coat.

He liked that coat, man. The fuzzball is going to pay.]

Comments

[kineticcajun]

It went bye-bye.

[Aha! Ha! The charge held! The cigarette is lit! Great success! Don't mind him, slightly distracted with his success to continue with that explanation.]

[touchofrogue]

What?

[But she liked that coat.]

[kineticcajun]

[So did he. He misses it already. Also, he's shifting just slightly so that he stays downwind of her. No sense in blowing the smoke out her way.]

Well, 'bout half of it went bye-bye. You remember that sofa I blew up, right? Part of it lived, 'parently.

[touchofrogue]

...but you blew it up.

[You blew it up.]

[kineticcajun]

Oui. But there's a piece of the t'ing sittin' in my apartment that musta broke off at some point.

[His eyes are narrowing as the thought dawns: What if it's been in one of his lesser-used pockets this whole time? He did have the coat when he was trying to drag that damn sofa to the roof.]

...I don't get it either, chere, but there ain't no mistakin' that shade'a orange.

[touchofrogue]

...okaaay. And what does that hafta do with your coat?

[kineticcajun]

It ate it.

[touchofrogue]

[...]

I'm fairly sure it takes more'n a month for life ta evolve from fabric, Gambit.

[kineticcajun]

That sofa started out as a pillow. It ate its way up to the sofa.

[He really, really hates that orange fuzzball right about now.]

This one's 'bout the size of a chihuahua, but I t'ink it's mainly my coat in there.

[touchofrogue]

[This is the face of a girl who's wondering if you've been standing out in the rain too long.]

[kineticcajun]

[Heavy sigh. Story of his day so far. And honestly, he can't blame her in the slightest. The level of ridiculous is a major part of why he's standing out here with the cigarette.]

M'not makin' this up, chere. Wish I was.

[touchofrogue]

[She whistles.]

Sounds like you've had a tryin' morning. So what are ya gonna do with it?

[kineticcajun]

[He shrugs.] Dunno. Tried blowin' it up, set it on fire, nothin' takes. Jus' sits there an' rolls over after a minute.

[Another drag on the cigarette. Someday, he's going to find a way to get rid of this thing. He just hasn't figured it out yet. His sarcasm levels steadily rise as he adds:]

The bon chirurgien LeBlanc seems to t'ink I got me a new pet.

[touchofrogue]

You're gonna keep it?

[She's surprised. She'd thought he would have had a dozen ways to get rid of something he didn't want around.

...the fact that he's so grumpy about this is kind of adorable funny, though.]

[kineticcajun]

[He did think of a dozen ways to get rid of it. None of them have worked. It's incredibly discouraging.]

Would prefer not to, but there ain't too many people interested in a fuzzball that could eat all their stuff.

[touchofrogue]

You could try drownin' it.

[She glanced up.] There's enough rain.

[kineticcajun]

Tried that. No dice. Bashin' it don't work either.

[touchofrogue]

[The corners of her lips quirk up.]

Sounds like you're givin' up.

[kineticcajun]

[He eyes her with a spark of amusement.]

Oh, I see how it is. You're wantin' to try your hand at gettin' rid of this t'ing.

[Teasing. Entirely. But if she takes the bait and finds a way to kill it, he'll forever owe her.]

[touchofrogue]

[She looks at him, then down at her own mighty fine trench coat.]

Not sure it's worth the risk.

[kineticcajun]

[He laughs lightly.]

You got a point. Bad enough one coat was lost today.

[touchofrogue]

[She props her spare hand on one hip, jutting it out slightly.]

So what are ya doin' out here? Mopin'?

[kineticcajun]

Ain't mopin', chere.

[That was totally not a note of petulance in his tone. You imagined that.

Another drag on the cigarette. He eyes her for a moment, then grins despite himself.]

Jus' gettin' some fresh air 'fore I try blowin' up half the apartment to try an' take that t'ing out wit' it.

[touchofrogue]

[She starts sauntering forward.]

"Getting some fresh air?" With one of those things?

[kineticcajun]

[Eyebrow quirk at that saunter.]

There's fresh air out here even wit' this t'ing.