2014.03.25 - Careful, that's my shuffling arm

Later that afternoon, Remy received a text from Rogue, "Been a while! In town, want to grab a drink at the Hideaway?"

At the agreed time Rogue was already seated at one of the empty booths, with a pitcher of beer. When he arrived, she was playing with her Nintendo 3ds, and dressed in an off-shoulder green knit and long sleeve top, black shorts, with black and green vertical striped thigh highs with combat boots, and her very worn in leather gloves.

A single button was pressed on the phone's screen: 'k'

As a response goes, it's not much of one. But then, Gambit isn't much of a texter. Until very recently, he wasn't really much of a phone owner period, but that isn't really relevant right now.

As Gambit arrives, he gets what can only be called a mixed reaction. Most of the patrons seem to be worred that he's about to start panhandling. Some of the wait staff appear to be checking him out. The rest of the wait staff seems to be making sure he doesn't go anywhere near the cash register.

But he avoids the register entirely. Peering across the tops of his shades, he spots the girl he came to meet, and slides across the adjacent seat with only the faintest of 'whooshes' from his worn out coat. "You didn't order me a Remy Martin yet? So much for southern hospitality...?

Rogue smiled and rolled her eyes just so as she slid her game away into her bag, "Top shelf treatment? Hell Ah wasn't even sure you were gonna show!"

She reached for the pitcher and poured herself a glass of something local on draft, "Be good and maybe Ah'll get us some."

She glanced about the room, the man always did make some sort of impression to people, "Gonna guess yer popular around here."

"I never said I was a cheap date." This statement seems pretty silly coming from a man who hasn't shaved or bathed today, and has worn the same coat almost every day for nearly a decade. But he was apparently joking about the cognac, just a hint of sarcasm behind his deadpan delivery. Whatever his preferences, they don't seem to be stopping him from grabbing a glass and filling it after Rogue is done with the pitcher.

"Oh god. I hope I'm not popular here. I swear, I was coo' before I met you and your friends." His voice is, as ever, full of regional accents. However, exactly 'which' regional accents is hard for anyone but a careful observer to pin down. In the company of Rogue, he seems to be trying hard to stress the French influence.

There was a very slight quirk of her eyebrow. His general griminess never seemed to phase her too much, "Maybe. But you make yerself memorable, whether you like it or not."

Yeah but Rogue wasn't exactly like any of these Yankees, just by his dialect alone she could sort out where he was from. Especially since she had been to New Orleans many times herself. Though not recently, pity. There was a a quick pinge of homesickness but that quickly passed, "How ya been?"

"Man, I've been terrible. My leg hurts, I can't find my golf clubs, nobody ever pokes me on Spacebook...." He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh before taking a long dramatic swig from his beer. Nearly half of the glass is finished before he sets it back down. "Well, what do you know? That seems to have fixed it. Though I'm not sure if it was the beer or the company..."

Now that he's inside, wearing sunglasses around is a bit Corey Hart. He pulls them off slowly, folding them closed and setting them in the middle of the table. The red irises of his eyes contract and then expand, adjusting to the light.

"What you can't steal yerself another set? Why Ah'm shocked to hear that." Rogue smiles a bit, looking to the side to avoid eye contact and sips at her beer, "Ah find it seems to get the job done, especially with the right mix."

She heard her phone go off and checked the message. Not good work stuff stuff. Rogue sighed and placed it face down onto the table, and reached for a long sip of her drink "We'll since you didn't ask, Ah've been alright. Workin' with the X-Factor guys. Not really around these parts so much anymore. Still, decent beer at least."

"What? Really? You've been holding out on me all this time? My emotions are hurt." For a moment, Gambit looks as if he's been cruelly stabbed in the back. His lower lip even trembles.

"I really had no idea that you could sing..."

Rogue let out a laugh that was a little too loud and face palmed, "Yer such a kidder. Besides Ah'd never go on a show like that. No thanks. Besides..."

She rested both of her arms on the table's surface and leaned forward, "Ah'd need a lot more booze before Ah'd be brave enough to sing, let alone in front of-"

Phone with the buzzing again. She checked it, rolled her eyes, and tossed it into her bag to be ignored. They could live without her for a few hours.

"More booze, you say?" Gambit's eyes narrow evilly, while his smile broadens disarmingly. "How much booze, do you think? You don't gotta be precise, I'll take a rough estimate." He polishes off the rest of his glass, but even with it tilted all the way back he still manages to find way to send glances across the table. When he isn't sending glances at the wait staff, that is.

As he sets his glass down, he leans back against the booth and lifts one arm up, setting it against the backrest almost as if he were placing an arm around some invisible guest sitting beside him. "I bet I even know what your go to karaoke song is: The Broken Road by Rascal Flatts."

"Way more then this, I'll tell ya that much." One of the waitresses made her way over, of course ignoring Rogue but Rogue leaned over to get into her line of sight, "Yeah Ah'll take another pitcher of this, 2 Remy Martins, and some pretzels. Ah'm a real good tipper if Ah can get these quick."

She quirked a brow and tossed off her gloves to place them aside, "Please. Ah'd rather go for Journey or Queen. Yer probably more of like a Big Voodoo Daddies kinda guy right?"

"Wow. That's kind of racist. I thought they taught you better than that in that fancy school of yours, Chere." Big Bad Voodoo Daddy is from California, but hey, who's keeping track? "You'd have way better luck getting me to sing something by CCR, honestly. But even that would require favors that I doubt you're prepared to owe me." His voice takes a sinister intonation, but he quickly looks away toward the bar where the drinks are being prepared.

Creedence Clearwater Revival is also from California, but hey, who's keeping track?

Rogue reached over and gave him a soft punch on his sleeved shoulder, "Shoulda taught me not to hang out with guys like you but here Ah am!"

A bit nervously she placed a chunk of hair behind her ear and looked to the side speaking quietly, "You'd be surprised at what Ah'd do."

And conveniently, drinks have arrived. Rogue immediately finishes off her beer and goes to refill it, "Ah'll admit, Ah've missed ya. Hope you haven't gotten into /too/ much trouble since the last time I seen ya. Probably have. Probably way more then Ah can imagine. But that's just you an all."

"Careful, that's my shuffling arm." As occupations go, it's probably not the most masculine. But try doing card tricks with a broken arm sometime. Gambit kind of lets her comments fall unanswered, possibly to keep his own nervousness from being obvious. He does a pretty good job of hiding it though. He does a pretty good job of hiding any emotion that isn't greed or lust, actually.

"You'd be disappointed in me if you knew how boring things have been since the last time we hung out. Livin' the life of a Bible salesman, almost. If I don't get up to some mischief soon, you're going to have to find another scoundrel to flirt with." He places a great deal of emphasis on the word 'scoundrel.' The casual observer would perhaps think a more fitting appelation would be 'hobo.'

Rogue's eyes light up, "You know that's a real coincidence."

She took a drink of the good booze that's been produced and takes a sip of that, "In one of the investigations recently, Ah posed as a bible salesman, with the literal son of Satan. Ah kid you not, pulled it off to. My questionable upbringing gives me real valuable skills now and then. Things have been real interestin' since Ah left the X-men."

She smiled and looked him over, "Ah aint ever got that problem, plenty of scoundrels about and even more mischief to be had. But Ah'd quite like to cause some with you, ya know whenever ya aint too busy shufflin' cards."

"No kidding? You know, maybe I could use your help with something I've got going on." Unlike Rogue, Gambit takes a minute to inhale the aroma of his cognac before he downs all of it. As he sets the glass down with one hand, he produces something from within his brown coat with the other hand. A small white business card, with an address on it. Producing a pen, he writes down a date and time.

"I'm going to put the disclaimer out in front: If you decide to take me up on the offer, you'll have to wear a dress that your momma wouldn't approve of, there's probably going to be a few gunshots, and there might even be a high speed car chase."

He stands up, sliding the card face down across the table. "But if you show up, I might end up owing 'you' some favors."

He offers a brief smile, and then turns just fast enough to make the coat billow slightly. Before anyone pays any attention, he's gone.

And he didn't even offer to help pay for the drinks...