2014.04.29 - Vignette: Preface

"You shouldn't be here."

It's a simple enough statement out of context. However, the speaker is covered in blood, the subject of his statement is one of the world's most skilled telepaths, and the 'here'... well...

Aside from the mountain of gold coins, and the bodies covered up by it, there isn't much in the way of terrain features. Above, the night sky is starless. Below, the floor is made of rickety, squeaky boards. Around, walls surround the area, covered in doors and windows through which one can glimpse brief flashes of other places and times.

But it's from the hill that the man speaks. Crouching over his mountain of treasure, he looks back over his shoulder at the woman who has intruded upon the sanctity of his thoughts. Wrapped up in a torn and tattered brown coat, with gold in both hands, he looks particularly covetous, at least at first glance.

There is no anger in his voice, merely a look mingled with surprise and shame. "Go back. Don't look at me."

Greed. It wasn't her favorite sins, but one she knew quite well. The desire can spread for much more than money, but still it can capture so many.

Emma was making her way up the hill. In the mind she is as she pictures herself, the White Queen. She dressed regally, in a way in a long white cape with a trail that seems to continue endlessly behind her with a white leather corset and matching panties, with opera length gloves and tall boots.

However she quirked a brow at the display in front of her, "Well well. Mr. LeBeau. We have been a naughty one, haven't we? But the pursuit of wealth is never an easy one."

She knelt and grabbed a handful of the bloody coins, "You broke into my home, so why not let Auntie Emma come into yours?"

Before he can warn her, the woman has picked some of his treasure, and gotten some of the blood on her white glove. There's a lot in the environment though, as blood and money seem to be the recurring motifs.

"Aunt, huh? Well, you look about the kind of aunt I'd get..." Even after such an impressive demonstration of her raw power, Gambit still can't seem to avoid his inclination to poke the bear. Or perhaps he simply can't pass an opportunity to slip in a reference. Either way, he stands up and begins descending the hill of gold, sending coins trickling down in miniature avalanches with each step.

"My home's a little less fancy then yours, but I'm sure you won't mind standing there and being quiet while I try to figure out a way to kick you out. Or at least to figure out why you're here."

Emma dropped the coins one by one and raised her hand to lick at the blood. And with that the blood was gone. Emma did look about, and poked at one of the covered dead bodies with her foot, "Oh I can answer that. I initially intended to put you into a nice little coma. But then I got a taste of your mind. Thought you seemed interesting enough to go poking around in, dig my claws in a bit."

She placed a hand on her hip, and tilted her eyes to the side as she examined Gambit, "Find out what makes you tick."

A long, dramatic, audible groan rumbles in Gambit's throat. "Oookay, I know what's going on here. I guess it makes sense. I mean, I 'did' show up at your party in a tuxedo. It's only natural that you'd fall for me, really. But I guess you've been hurt a few times and you don't want it to happen again. But stalking my brain isn't the answer, it just makes you come off a little bit creepy."

Having descended from the pile, he walks off into a corner of the 'room.' On the wall beside him, there are pictures of a whole host of individual moments. A younger man getting his pocket picked by a young, white-haired African girl. A red-eyed child getting into a fight in what appears to be an orphanage. An upward view of an operating room, from the table. A man in his boxers, preparing to try on a brand new catsuit with a magenta vest. Windows and doors abound, of different sizes and shapes, arranged by prominence. But one door in particular reveals nothing. Not only is it closed, but it's locked with a glowing pink chain made (one could presume) of Gambit's own mental energy.

Either Gambit doesn't possess the ability to change out of his tattered, blood-soaked rags, or he doesn't feel the need to change the way he looks. Whatever the reason, he stays bedraggled-looking, gaunt, and filthy. But despite this, there is a smile on his lips. " 'sides... I'm almost positive you ain't a real blonde."

Emma's eyes do roll, as she catches a glimpse of something much more interesting. She admires each painting, and smirked at the pink attire. Unusual choice. She ran her fingers through her hair as she brushed it aside, "Don't flatter yourself darling. And my hair looks amazing, why I even bother to take care of it properly. Unlike yours."

As Emma approached the last picture, she turned into a shining brilliant diamond. "A man like you like to brag, right? Now what sort of things would you want hidden?"

At that she reached for the chain and attempts to break it open.

Perhaps surprisingly, the chain holds. Not only does it hold, but there is an immediate backlash from the door that would probably have killed anyone who hadn't conveniently shifted into diamond form before attempting to fuck with it.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I forget to say 'I wouldn't do that if I were you'? Because I wouldn't..." It's true, Gambit looks horrible, and his matted, slightly frizzed-out hair is probably the worst offender. When his wardrobe is tattered, that's really saying something. But he seems comfortable enough, despite his obvious distaste for having his privacy invaded.

"You're not going to be able to get in there. You ain't the first telepath to try it, either. I mean, I'd rather you didn't try to get in anywhere. Maybe we can just relax, take it easy. We could conjure up a pole, see where things go. The whole milf thing is starting to work for me."

Emma squinted her eyes at Gambit as she shifted back to her normal appearance, "Mm. Quite certain you are older than me. In fact you look like you've had some...experiences in your day."

She placed a finger on the side of her lips and considered, "Well then, let's just get down to the nitty and gritty of it then. Just what were you hoping to accomplish at the club? Clearly you thirst for money."

And Emma is just behind him, her voice seemed to echo in this 'room', "We have a lot of it. Just tell me who hired you and what you were after. We could use a man of your skills now and then, even if you have zero charms with women."

"Who said I broke into anywhere? Who said I'm interested in charming women? I'm just a simple country boy from... on second thought, I don't feel like telling you that either." Technically, New Orleans doesn't count as 'the country,' but we'll forgive Gambit a factual inaccuracy when his head is being invaded. "Point is, you're assuming a lot here. You think I'm a petty crook, a skirt-chaser, a mercenary. And you're not wrong, but I'm also somethin' else. I'm a... Oh hell."

In slightly less than the blink of an eye, Gambit spins around, stopping just a few inches away from the intruder. Sure, he couldn't move that fast in real life, but his brain, his rules. Staring down with his burning red eyes, and looking like something from a Todd McFarlane book, he's actually somewhat frightening."You aren't gonna leave until you've found something you can use, and I don't feel like trying to explain myself to a stripper. Maybe I oughta just get this over with and show you."

Suddenly, he shoves the woman with both hands sending her flying backward, and through an open door framed with ivy-covered white lattice-work.