7th Card Dealt [Action/Voice]

[kineticcajun]

[Just as the afternoon is winding down today, Gambit is waking up. In the middle of the woods. With the damned journal right next to him. Only as far as he can tell, it's the middle of the night, which is weird, because he can't hear any crickets or anything. But it's pitch dark out, in any case.

Which is also weird, because he should be able to see just fine in the dark, but that's another matter entirely.

He spends a while feeling around in the dark, trying to figure out a sense of direction (moss grows on the north side of trees, right?) before he ultimately figures, screw it, the enclosure is only so big, walking far enough in one direction will eventually lead him somewhere. The sooner he can find his way back to his apartment, the better. Everything hurts, up to and including his pride, but being stuck with nothing but a bunch of lunatic scientists for a couple weeks did little for his comfort levels in this place.

A couple hours and several bumps into trees later, he admits defeat. Whatever direction he's walking in (south...?), he's not getting anywhere except into more tree trunks. He's lost. And the fact that he can't see a damned thing is creeping up into a growing sense of panic. But now isn't the time to freak out. He can ride through this. He's been through worse.

But just this once, he's going to have to eat his big LeBeau Sense of Pride. Out comes the journal.]

[Voice]

Alright, alright. Y'all didn't move the village in the las' couple weeks, did you? Don't seem like it's where I left it.

Comments

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

I missed you like I miss a hole in the head.

[Automatic retort is automatic.

Gawd. Blind. She relents a little.]

But I'd hate ta have you drive a Jedi to the dark side. Just keep your journal opened.

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

[At least he's a charming hole in the head, right?

Remy just gives a low chuckle, trying to focus more on pestering Rogue lightly than on the growing worry that this blind thing is permanent.]

Moi? Turnin' Jedi to the dark side? I t'ink you may be givin' me more credit than I'm due, chere.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

[Grumble grumble.]

I think you could drive a saint ta drink.

[She's coming, she's coming... and she's leaving the journal opened while she walks.]

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

You've held up pretty good under the pressure, then.

[Not laughing. Really. Just terribly amused.]

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

You say that like I've got anyplace lower ta go.

[Juuuuuuuuuuust kidding. Mostly.]

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

[There's always someplace lower to go, chere.]

I dunno... takes pretty saintlike patience to put up with a LeBeau.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

You keep that up, I'll start wonderin' if I should take the veil.

[...ah, if only she was Roman Catholic.]

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

Can't have that, now, can we?

[Aside from the fact that he'd be on an even faster train to Hell for hitting relentlessly on a nun...]

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

Might solve some problems...

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

Some, maybe. But it'd create a few more, I t'ink.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

Yeah. Like where would I find a - whatchamacallit - wimple.

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

[Okay it's really getting hard not to laugh at this point.]

If you asked real nice, the Malnosso might send one for you.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

[That's fine, laughter might be what she's going for. That's why she injects all this hopeful enthusiasm into her voice.]

Ya think?

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

[You win, Rogue. That's got him laughing.]

Well, if they figure out it's your lifelong dream, then maybe not. You know how they like to rain on parades.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

[Ah, there's a laugh. Good. Then he'll be all right.]

Well, it was more of a longshot, anyway.

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

[He'll be fine. Much as he isn't thinking that for now. But banter is familiar and something to take refuge in, so to speak.]

Hate to ruin that pious dream of yours, chere.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

[Light scoffing.]

I ain't Catholic.

[She is, however, walking along the river now.]

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

If it's any consolation, I ain't a very good Catholic. Not bein' one at all mighta been a better career choice for me.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

Less guilt?

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

[Exactly.]

Me? Guilty?

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

[Her brother, on the other hand, was a very good Catholic.]

I've heard tales.

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

[He knows he can't compare in that department.]

There's that reputation gettin' ahead of me again.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

Now who's gettin' a swell head? They might've been general tales about "Catholic Guilt."

[Private]

[kineticcajun]

Might've. But you didn't say they were.

[Private]

[touchofrogue]

That's 'cause it's more fun ta leave ya guessin'.