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Gambit; Remy Emilian LeBeau
Topic Started: August 29, 2015, 6:35 pm (147 Views)
Jesse
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Gambit
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Full Name: Remy Emilian LeBeau
Code Name: Gambit
Age: 26
Gender: Male, Bisexual
Physical Description: Remy is an athletic, fair skinned, Caucasian man in his early twenties with deep set steel-blue eyes shadowed by heavy dark eyebrows. He wears his coffee brown hair in a shaggy mass atop his head and rarely gets around to shaving, giving him a light beard across his jowls, chin, and neck. While his features are handsome, with an almost aristocratic symmetry, the scraggy facial hair gives his appearance an almost unwholesome cast.

Remy is not someone most people would consider physically imposing, standing a few inches shy of six feet tall, and weighing in the neighborhood of a hundred and sixty points. He’s fit, but lacks the fine definition of someone who obsessively works out and watches their diet. His two tattoos are a large stylized lower case ‘g’ on his left flank, typically concealed by his clothing, and a small black diamond right over his spine on the back of his neck, again, normally concealed by his shoulder length hair.

Speaking of clothing, Remy favors comfortable clothing. His style could probably be best described as ne’er do well chic. He wears layers of dark earth tones, battered jeans, broken in boots, and things he can either shoplift of find on a thrift store hanger. His prize possession is a black leather motorcycle jacket emblazoned on the back with a patch of the classic Hanged Man tarot. The jacket is hot as balls though, so he only wears it for special occasions. He’s also fond sporting several silver rings and wears a leather thong around his neck with a small Saint Kali Sarah medallion. The rings are traded out haphazardly, but he always tried to keep St. Sarah close.

Playby: Landon Liboiron



Personality Overview: Remy LeBeau is an archetypical charming rogue/bad boy. He is simultaneously outgoing and friendly on the surface, while remaining reserved and cynical underneath. He classifies people into broad groups like: Predators/Prey, Cons/Marks, Mutants/Humans, or Roma/Gadjo. Once he’s marked someone, it’s difficult for him to adjust that impression.

As a Roma and a mutant, Remy has a powerful anti-authoritarian streak. He not only distrusts authority figures, but has a lack of respect for their position and will often go out of his way to poke at them, even knowing it won’t turn out well for him. He’s also got little respect for personal property and carries a powerfully fatalistic streak. While he’s an admitted thief, he’s not a violent man and prefers to avoid confrontation. He also never steals from the needy, and will gladly share anything he has with someone who needs it. Remy longs for community and family. He’s been out in the cold for a long time and that’s no way for a man to live.

While he's not a religious Roma, a lot of their traditions still carry weight for Remy. He takes his hygiene very seriously, despite a rumpled countenance. In his mind, the lower body is dirty and the upper body is clean. Upper clothes and lower clothes should be washed separately and his hands need to be washed after he does anything involving the lower body, including tying shoes. He knows it's not rational, but it is traditional and it's the way he thinks. That said, there are times he revels in that impurity, especially when it comes to friskiness. The dirtier he gets the better.

Likes: Lovely Ladies, Athletic but not Muscle Bound Men, Fast Cars, Stealing from Rubes, Gambling, Drinking, Fornication, Good Food, Music, Dancing, Spice, Paranormal Teen Romances
Dislikes: Commitment, Authority Figures, Rules, Sitting Still, Being Quiet, Waiting
Fears: Incarceration, Paying for his Sins, That He’ll Never Be Clean
Goals: Find, build, or steal a family. And maybe a fine woman… who can cook.



Powers:
Hypnotic Charm: Remy is a silver tongued devil, capable of charming the pants off just about anyone. While he believes it’s just his winning smile and friendly nature, in truth, he’s a low grade telepath. He can unconsciously key in on the emotions of those around him and manipulate them in a subtle fashion. He cannot convince someone to do something they absolutely are opposed to doing, but if there’s even an ember of desire, he can fan it into a full flame. It’s a handy talent for a con man to have. It’s also a talent that doesn’t tend to work if someone’s aware of his gift.

Telepathic Static: Remy unconsciously generates a sort of telepathic static that makes it very difficult for a telepath to make contact with him. And he doesn’t know how to control that static, so can’t voluntarily lower it.

Tactile Energy Manipulation: Remy can, through skin to skin contact, convert an object’s potential energy into kinetic energy. The kinetic energy is stored as a charge within the object until it’s struck, at which time it releases the kinetic force in an explosive, concussive display, not unlike a grenade. The larger the object, the more potential energy it has, the longer it takes for Remy to convert it, and the bigger the resulting blast. Remy prefers to charge small objects, as they’re fast to charge, easy to throw, and the resulting blast is easier to control. Gambit is not immune to his own explosions, so is loath to charge large objects, for fear of hurting himself. Also, once an object has a charge, any sharp strike will cause it to explode, even if he’s still holding it. While he’s charging an object, his eyes turn black with glowing red irises.

Enhanced Physicality: Through conscious use of his energy manipulation, Remy can become quicker, stronger, and tougher than he looks. His speed and grace are Olympic Level, and has the strength and toughness of a professional MMA fighter. In times of duress, he’s been known to leap some 20’ feet horizontally, but rarely sticks the landing after such a feat. And yes, his eyes turn black and red when he uses this aspect of his powers as well.


Skills: Remy is a darn good petty thief and conman. He can pick pockets, pick locks, hotwire cars, hustle pool, cheat at cards, and play a mean game of three card Monte. He knows how to case places, identify security measures, and estimate police response times. He speaks fluent English, French, and Angloromani. As a member of the Marauders, Gambit was required to learn how to fight, so developed a sound, practical knowledge of Krav Maga, and can maintain and operate firearms.




Birthday: October 8th
Family: Remy has been disowned by the Salo clan of Louisiana. His mother is Lillai (Lillian for outsiders) Salo. His father is Raphael LeBeau. He’s unaware of anyone else on his paternal side. On the maternal side, there’s Timbo Salo (Grandfather and patriarch of the Salo Clan), Ostelinda Salo(Grandmother), Manfri and Jardani(Uncles), Florica and Charani(Aunts), and Asena, Dika, Django, Ferka, Kennick, and Tawni (Cousins).
Legal Status: US Citizen by Birth. Juvenile Legal Records Sealed. A few arrests since, but the charges have always been dropped.

History:

Some people are just born bad. Remy inherited a ton of sin from the jump, at least in the eyes of his family. Lillian Salo had fallen in love with Raphael LeBeau, a wandering grifter with a matching eye, and quickly found herself pregnant. Given that she wasn’t married, that was a serious concern to her family. Still, Raphael promised to marry her just as soon as he had the money to do it right. Instead, he stuck around just long enough to ensure the newborn would have his name, then vanished into the night. Now, there’s some debate over the fate of Raphael. Lillian told Remy his father had just abandoned them. Ferka, his older cousin, told him that Raphael was killed and fed to the gators for ‘trying’ to run away. Regardless of the truth, Lillian was an unmarried new mother, and ended up moving home with her family who never allowed her to forget her transgressions.

Remy was the physical representation of his mother’s sins. He didn’t look like the other Salos with fairer skin and blue eyes. While he inherited his mother’s brown hair, he favored his father enough that he could have passed for some child stolen by the Roma. Neither Remy nor Lillian had an easy time with the judgmental Salos. Timbo judged his daughter unclean, and that spiritual filth permeated Remy. The other children didn’t miss a trick, and delighted in taunting and bullying the young boy, calling him marime(impure), an insult the elders did little to curb.

As he grew older, Remy did little to curb that impression. His turbulent home life translated into an angry kid with a serious anti-authoritarian streak. He took the classic Roma distrust of outsiders and ran with it, living up to the gypsy stereotype with shoplifting, smoking, theft, lying, blowing off classes, rampant truancy, and getting into fights. He wasn’t big enough to be a bully, but he was belligerent enough to throw down with them. He rationalized it as sticking up for the little guy, but really, he was just looking for excuses to vent a little of the rage that boiled deep inside his soul.

He was 11 the first time he went to jail after being busted trying to pawn stolen jewelry while on probation. In juvie, no one cared that he was a ‘Gypsy’. He was just poor white trash, like anyone else. Weirdly, jail was good to Remy. Sure, he was a cocky little shit who the jailers hated, but so was everyone else. In jail, he was just one of the guys, and found a lot of comradery with his fellow inmates. He taught them tricks he knew, learned tricks other people know, and after 5 months, emerged a much better criminal. Not good enough though. Over the next 6 years, he spent nearly 3 in detention and was happier in jail than he was in the wild, because as stifling as the work camp was, it was better than being at home where everyone treated he and his mother like filth to be scraped off the bottom of a shoe.

It was during his last stay in jail that Remy began to realize something was wrong with him. He’d always been quick witted and a good liar, but people began listening to him in ways that they really shouldn’t. The first time he realized his power was when one of his friends was complaining about a guard and Remy just jokingly told him, ‘I think you should just punch that asshole in the nose.’ His friend nodded, replied, ‘Fucking yes,’ then got up, walked across the room and decked the guard right in the nose. There was lots of screaming and violence after that. Remy hadn’t been serious and hadn’t even expected his buddy would do something that stupid, but it happened. He began testing thing, making little suggestions that people would do. He scored extra food at mess, got out of doing chores he hated, and even talked the warden into getting the boys a movie night. It was fantastic.

At least, it was until a rival inmate noticed Remy’s good fortune and cornered him in the shower one morning, angry at all the special treatment Remy was getting. He wanted to know whose dick Remy was sucking for all these favors. There was pushing, shit talking, and then the larger boy knocked Remy to the floor with a massive blow to the chin. Remy looked up, blood dripping from his mouth, eyes black and red, and flung the dropped soap into the other boy’s chest.

The explosion landed them both in the infirmary. The prison system blamed the blast on a gas leak and Remy got an early release. Back at home, he told his mother about his powers, needing to confide in someone. Lillian immediately told her parents, who convened a family meeting. Ostelinda declared Remy marime. The taunt had become truth. She said he wasn’t a Roma, he was a mulo’ given flesh, here to pollute the family, then she threw her skirt over Remy’s head as his mother cried in the background.

Cast out, Remy cursed his family, spat on the ground, and then gathered his things. He wasn’t about to let those bastards see him cry, even as part of his soul felt as though it was being torn asunder. Not only did he scream that he’d be better off without them, he pissed on his grandfather’s front steps, as grave an insult as he could manage at the time.

Remy made his way to New Orleans, met up with some friends from his time to jail, and set about proving people right about him. Being an outright villain was mighty liberating. The world was full of beautiful things just begging to be taken. Money, jewels, cars, men, women, drugs, even art… nothing was out of his reach and he was happy to take it all.

Such talent and lack of morals wasn’t going to go unnoticed forever. Not 8 months into his ‘Prince of Thieves’ period, Remy picked up, or rather was picked up by a striking woman. 6’3”, short, ragged purple hair, and muscle tone that put his to shame. He wanted to scale her, and she let him. Then afterwards, she pinned him down and used him until she was finished. It was a blast. Afterwards, as he was preparing to slip out, she grabbed him by the throat, slammed him into a wall, and explained they weren’t done yet.

The woman was Phillippa Sontag, a member of the Mauraders, elite dealers for the Sinister syndicate, and she wanted to know about the money and Malice Remy had stolen from one of her dealers about a week back. After some quick talking, Remy became a part of the organization. Less than a year later, he was running Malice distribution throughout Louisiana. Less than a year after that, he was made a Marauder himself, reporting to and working under Phillippa, often literally.

Remy hates Nathaniel Essex, and isn’t a fan of the Marauders in general. He plays at being the bad guy, they are the real deal. Sure, he’s a thief, a rogue, a scoundrel, but he’s not a murderer. He’s not a sadist. He’s not a monster. Essex and his fellow Marauders often were. Caliban was probably the best of them. That creepy little mutant bloodhound was a gentle sort. Sort of like your slow cousin, happy to laugh just because other people were laughing, not realizing they were laughing at him. Remy did his best to look out for Caliban, so when he heard Caliban was missing, he petitioned for a chance to find him.

Remy was able to track the Friends of Humanity to their holding facility, and was working on a way to infiltrate when everything went crazy. A mutant strike team assaulted the building. There were blasts of fire, flashes of crimson, and all the gunfire ever. There were so many wounded left in their wake, but not many fatalities. In the chaos, Remy was able to snag a straggler, knock him out, steal his uniform, and infiltrate the facility. He found Caliban… poor, stupid Caliban. Hopefully it’d been instant, because it looked like a helluva way to go. Had the mutants done that? The security footage answered some questions and posed others. Those mutants weren’t Marauders. They were something else, and it looked like they were trying not to kill.

Remy blamed Caliban’s death on the strange mutants in his reports, mainly to buy more time to try to find them. They could be his way out from under Essex’s thumb if he could only make contact.




Sample Post:

'Sir, do you know how fast you were driving?'

With a roguish smile, Remy looked up into the mirrored sunglasses before him. "Can't rightly say, officer. This ol' clunker is held together by spit and duct tape and didn't have enough to fix the speed-o-meter." He affectionately patted the 1982 Dodge Charger's dash. The car was a hideous beast. It had the ugliest Charger body Dodge ever manufactured, and no two body plates were the same color. "Given that I've lured you out of your air conditioner on this fine day, I suspect I must have been goin' downhill with a tailwind."

The officer couldn't help himself but smile. "97 in a 65. That was a helluva tailwind."

"God damned climate change, Officer. Been hearin' bout it on the radio. I know I'm sorely missing the AC in here. Probably just driving a mite faster than I should to try to get some air circulating in here. I might be welded to these leather seats, lemme tell you." He wiped his glistening forehead with a handkerchief just for that purpose. As the officer was about to ask for his license and registration, Remy interceded. "Officer, I've a confession to make. I've got a trunk fulla contraband."

That broke the officer's good mood. He grew tense, hand nearing his gun, "Beg pardon?"

"Look, you caught me fair and square. I'm taking a batch of my grandmother's sippin' whiskey to my cousin in the big city. I shouldna been speedin'. I know better. It's just hot and I need somethin' to drink that doesn't warm, you know?" He placed a hand over his heart, "Tell you what, officer. Maybe we can work out a deal. I'll give you a full jug of Missy's apple pie moonshine if we can call this good. I promise you ain't never tasted nothing as good as it."

The officer blinked, a part of him baffled at this turn of events. "You're a moonshiner?"

"Nahh. My Meemaw is a moonshiner, I guess. She don't sell none. It's just for family and friends, and I'm hopin' we can be friends." Oh yeah, his grin was big and toothy.

"Let me see in your trunk."

"Sure thing. You've already got me. I ain't tryin' to hide nothin'." He got out of the car, leaving a wet imprint of his back and ass on the leather seat, then walked around and popped the trunk. Inside were two milk crates, each with 4 gallon bottles of moonshine.

The officer looked around for a moment, grabbed a jug for himself, opened it and took a sniff. He blinked, "This does smell like apple pie."

Remy just shrugged and nodded, brushing his wet hair back out of his face, "Damn sure does, officer. Old lady's a wizard at this stuff. If she didn't have the arthritis, she'd probably still be selling this stuff across four parishes. Nowadays, she barely makes twenty jugs a year. That there is a collector's item you've got in your hand."

The officer's eyes narrowed a bit as he flashed a canny smile. "You were driving mighty quick son."

"You look mighty thirsty, officer." Remy hefted a second jug. "I'd give you a full crate, but I've got a big family."

The officer nodded and took the second jug, "You watch yourself, you hear? This is a warning, but if I see this thing rattlin' down my highway that fast again, this'll be a very different conversation."

"I can surely imagine, officer. Thank you kindly." Remy closed the trunk, glad the officer hadn't asked for a full case. He might have noticed all the vials of Malice underneath the milk crates. He got back into the Charger and continued on toward New Orleans, whistling cheerfully to himself.
Edited by Jesse, September 12, 2015, 11:57 am.
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