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How about 'em beaches ..; this small-talk might turn somewhat painful
Topic Started: October 14, 2015, 3:57 pm (167 Views)
Marc
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Character: Cyclops
Date: March 26th
Time: Early Afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach


There was something to be said about pounding the dirt, footstep after unrelenting footstep. Expending that kind of energy, tiring himself out in such a way, was a daily comfort to Scott, something he could control in his life and had been controlling for a long time now. Even when there hadn’t been many things he could control, there had always been this. The ache and pull of muscles and hamstrings being exercised, the release of endorphins, the way peace washed over him, even as his body labored underneath him – it was a never-ending source of comfort. Everything fell away, every worry, every concern, every pang of guilt and remorse and self-blame. Even as, after too long a time of pushing himself, his whole body ached, nothing hurt anymore. As absurd as that was, nothing hurt.

Clad in nothing but running sneakers, light-grey workout pants and a dark long-sleeved shirt, Scott was weaving his way across the main island of Utopia, following unpaved foot-paths that had been cut into the land by trodding feet. It felt good, being able to take his work-outs and running outside, with the weather really picking up, the sun gaining strength and bringing warmth in return. He let his mind wander from this to that and the other thing, all of them inconsequential and painfree, even as he worked to control his breathing as much as he was able. He didn’t know how long he had been running, didn’t really care how long either. He would stop when he was good and ready, but for now, he still ran because he still needed to run.

With every step, as his foot hit and rolled, his muscular legs reached, pushing him for the next ground contact. His strides were long and measured, his muscles bunching under him as he pushed himself ever forward. Slowly, he was circling around the bunker in ever-widening concentric circles as he kept heading outward from where he had started out, until eventually, he reached the beach that surrounded the island. Pausing for a moment, right where the grassy turf turned into predominantly sandy dunes, he looked out over the ocean, letting the breeze run over his body though he knew he couldn’t stay here for long and still be able to keep running again afterwards if he allowed himself to cool down too far. He wasn’t going to, simply taking the moment to assess how much more energy he still had in him and if he would be ok to run on the shifting underground the beach offered. He come to a decision when he kicked off his sneakers, ditched the socks and left both sitting right where he had paused, intent on coming to pick them up at a later time. For now, he took his first steps on the sand, feeling its warmth against his toes where the sun had already warmed it up. A smile began spreading over his features and his loping gait gained traction, and with that, speed. He brought himself all the way up to where the surf met the beach, and then, began his strong strides anew, relishing the sensation of his feet sinking partially into the wet, firm surface with every step. Sweat was running in rivulets down his back, his hair was plastered to his head, sticking up wildly at his temples, his breathing was starting to stagger and yet, there was a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

So far was he in the zone that he nearly missed a figure on the beach, a person sitting there, .. were they soaking up the sun? Squinting his eyes behind his visor, Scott almost had to laugh – whoever that person was, up there on the beach (and he couldn’t quite tell what with the sun in his eyes and all), they looked like they could be cut directly from a Corona commercial, camped out near the water in a low beach-chair, bucket of beer by their side and a book held loosely between their fingers. Scott could see where one index finger was marking the page even as the reader leisurely flipped to the next. The sun gave their skin an almost olive tone and the coffee-brown hair seemed to almost have blonde highlights where the sun had begun leeching pigment from it already. Stretching his steps once more, Scott was just about to pass by what he could now see was another man when something caught his eye, something that he couldn’t put his finger on but that made him slow down and come to a standstill. The sun was still in his eyes, so as he was looking down at the figure lounging leisurely in the warm sand, soaking up the warm sun, he brought up his hand to shade his eyes. “Hey, you must be one of the new ..” The words got stuck in the back of his throat and refused to budge from there. Because for all that there was sweat running down his back, he felt chilled. There was something awfully familiar about the man on the beach. Something very awfully familiar. He swallowed, then forced himself to breathe out.

“Hoh boy.” he quipped, even as his mind raced, raced ever-so-wildly to come up with something intelligent to say. Though, the more time rushed past him, the more satisfied he would have been with with just something to say, screw the ‘intelligent’ part. “Hoh boy.”


Tag: Gambit
Edited by Marc, October 15, 2015, 6:04 am.
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Jesse
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Character: Gambit
Date: March 26th
Time: Early Afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach



If you had to be a prisoner somewhere, Remy would really recommend Utopia Island. Sure, he wasn’t supposed to leave, but he really didn’t have anywhere to go and the amenities were fantastic. He needed to find someone to have sex with, but beyond that, things were aces. Nice bed, good food, no mandatory strip searches. Apparently he needed to do some sort of work to earn his keep, but no one had talked to him about it, so why not treat this like a vacation?

It was a bit warmer today than it had been, so Remy headed to the beach with a bucket of beers. He was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a white wife beater, and some flip flops, which he promptly kicked off once finding his spot. Oh, and a pair of dark sunglasses, because who sits out on the beach without a cool pair of shades? Yes, Mr. LeBeau was one classy motherfucker. A walking, talking Old Spice Commercial. Ok, he was actually looking to recreate a Corona commercial, but that doesn’t change his inherent classiness.

He could get used to this. The nice thing about being a Louisiana native is that life was a bit slower and more casual there than it was elsewhere in the states. Remy attributed it not to French influence or southern charm, but rather the punishing heat and humidity. When you live in a sauna, you don’t tend to rush about. Not like the extra sweat in your clothes is going to go anywhere. So take it easy, relax, have a beer and watch the ocean. What for the rue to brown before adding it to the gumbo. Do things right once even if it takes you a bit longer to do so. Good way to live. Even better way to live somewhere where the mosquitos weren’t the size of hummingbirds.

He was reading a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo he’d found inside. Remy loved that book. Something about the protagonist’s plight and how he went about getting revenge really spoke to a darkness inside the Creole Roma. There was an elegant, deliberate style to the sadistic way he found justice for how he’d been wronged that was worth rereading.

Footsteps in the sand drew his attention. Kurt looked up, seeing a tall male figure jogging across the sand. He wasn’t a huge fan of jogging. He preferred free running, jogging’s hot sister. Still, judging from the sunblind outline he was seeing, it was working for him. Rwarr. It was only as he got closer and started to greet him that Remy saw the distinctive eye covering and a very familiar set of lips below. Could it be? Based on the way he trailed off and stood dumbfounded, looked like it could be. Remy dropped the book onto the seat as he popped up to his feet, and held out his arms to the side, “Slim! Holy fuck, Slim! Good to see you, man. I was hoping you weren’t dead.”

He walked over and just grabbed up Scott in a big hug and planted a big ol’ smooch onto the side of his cheek before taking a step back and looking him up and down, “You look great.” Running a hand down the side of Scott’s arm and giving a squeeze, Remy added, “You’ve been working out. Damn son. You're not supposed to get hotter as you grow older. That's cheating. It is great to know there are some people who really know how to have a good time on this island. Now, I’m guessing you’re not working anymore, so what do they have you up to around here?”



Tags: Cyclops
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Marc
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Character: Cyclops
Date: March 26th
Time: Early Afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach


Now this was an encounter Scott had hoped he’d be able to avoid having, well, ever. Not this particular encounter, per se, but an encounter of this sort. Any encounter of that sort – the kind of sort that had him facing down his past. The kind of encounter that had the potential for getting very awkward very very fast. Would it though, get awkward? Scott was certainly leading it down that road, still fighting not swallowing his tongue and keeping his heart from jumping out of his chest as he was. Was there anything that spelled ‘awkward’ better than fumbling words and having one’s head explode from a thudding aneurism? He was trying to get his mind and mouth into working order, fighting the stupid, but so far, to no avail.

And the reason for that, the sole reason, was lounging on the beach like there was no care in the world, flip flops kicked off and bare feet buried in the warm sand, dark sunglasses obscuring his steel blue eyes, messy hair being its perfect messy self, and when he opened his mouth, words rolling off his tongue in this creole accent as smooth as silk and rough as well-aged brandy. Scott could feel his heart racing in his chest. Here was his past and his future colliding, right here on this beach. Far sooner than he would have cared for it to happen, it was time for him to confront making a decision regarding how he wanted to go about potential awkwardness, if such an encounter was to reoccur. And with his luck? It likely would, again and again.

Trying to swallow, he found that his mouth and throat were both bone-dry. Great. Just great. From the way his heart was beating out of his chest and he could barely unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, the casual observer might think that there were other kind of feelings involved outside of panic, but there weren’t. There never had been. The physicality had been good, great even – not like in the beginning. Scott, in the beginning, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, had been so young. So inexperienced. So lanky and awkward and all wrong angles and moves. But by the time he had first been picked up by Remy, he had already learned a lot, through bad experiences and some good – but Remy? Remy had been smooth and driven and energetic and enthusiastic and .. well .. giving, in addition to finding and taking his own pleasure in Scott. It had been good. No, more than good. It had been an experience that had taught Scott something very important – that this, that sex, could be fun. He had learned so much this first night, and any night after when Remy had randomly stopped by NYC and looked him up.

Now, Remy was standing here, on this beach, on what Scott felt was his beach. And he was just sitting there like .. like no care in the world, but Scott had already thought that very thought, and god damn it, he was losing it.

It was then that Remy stepped up and stepped in, making a move that had Scott stiffening up for the tiniest of moments, because there was a hug taken and a kiss stolen. But it was only just for the tiniest moment because it wasn’t just a hug taken or a kiss stolen , but there was also this nickname, this old nickname, rolling so smoothly off of Remy’s tongue. It reminded Scott of nights filled not only with sex, but also with laughter and food and sleep, sweet normally-so-elusive sleep.

Slim. Scott laughed, laughed right into that enthusiastic smooch rather than freeze over it, because .. Slim, and aren’t dead and look great. “Nope, not dead,” he laughed and returned Remy’s squeeze, placing a hand onto the low of Remy’s back, then allowing him to step back. Snorting, he shook his head. “Now where do you get off on calling me son? Seriously? I think I got a couple of years on you, kid.” He took great care to specifically stress that last word, seeing as how Remy couldn’t see the twinkle in his eyes nor the wink he’d be giving him. Though at least his eyegear, in the shades he was wearing these days, was fear less bulky and ungainly-looking than it had been when Remy had known him in NYC. It had been Remy and Remy alone for whom Scott had made one exception, the courtesy of which he had never extended to anyone else – he had taken his eye-cover off, had made himself fully vulnerable and placed himself completely into the hands of essentially, a stranger. "Good to see you too, Remy. Good to see you too."

There was a slight blush creeping up onto his cheeks when Remy called him hot – or really, hotter than he had been and he gave a half-cough, half-chuckle in response. “The right thing to say here is probably ‘you look great too’ or some dipshit response like that, right? Somehow though, I’ve got this gut-feeling that you haven’t lacked for confidence regarding your looks for one day in your life.”

The moment Remy mentioned Scott’s working, Scott’s eyes flickered off to the side and he cast them down, an evasive move that would be lost on Remy. This was it. It was now time for the hammer to come down and for Scott to make his decision. How was this going to go down? How was he going to handle his old line of work being brought up in a conversation? Scott drew a deep breath, and then ..

“Nope, not working anymore. Truth be told, some bits and pieces of it? I even miss. It’s like .. an itch that hasn’t been scratched in too long a time, ya know?” As if Remy could somehow not know. “But as for your question – they put me into rehab, are letting me help with .. well, essentially, helping people. I’m still finding it .. kinda hard to believe but .. there it is. I’m also on the island’s governing council and uhm .. oh yeah, apparently, I also teach sex ed here to whatever lost soul comes wandering into my focal field and drops the fact that they are pretty much clueless.” He smiled weakly, then added a little cheek into it because god damn it, he shouldn’t let the fact that he knew things make him feel weak. Not ever, or rather, not ever again.

And so, he offered Remy a wide grin. “So, what’s the plan for your stay here? Is it permanent, or at least, somewhat permanent? Are you looking for employment here, is that why you are asking? Or are you going to be heading out again soon?”



Tags: Gambit
Edited by Marc, October 22, 2015, 6:10 pm.
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Jesse
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Character: Gambit
Date: March 26th
Time: Early Afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach



Something curious about this meeting was how asynchronous it was. For Scott, this meeting was fairly profound. He’d met Remy at a vulnerable time in his life. Remy had treated him with kindness, taught him valuable lessons, and showed him respect. And now, Remy was a ghost from a past Scott was trying to both put behind him and recover from.

For Remy, he’d just bumped into an old lover he’d not seen in a while. He liked Scott well enough, but what they’d had wasn’t anything all that special. He treated all of his sex workers the same way, like people. Some were good, some were bad, but just because they traded sex for cash didn’t make them any less human. Hell, he was the one buying it, so why should he put on airs of being any better than anyone else? So, there was no inner struggle or worries warring in the Cajun con artist’s heart. He was just genuinely pleased to see Slim again.

A belt of laughter met Scott’s comment on his confidence, which was pretty right on the mark. Still, he shrugged and replied, “Oh, I don’t know about all that. There was this one time back in 2010 that I dressed in drag after losing a bet. The miniskirt was so short my hairy nuts were dangling like on the back of some Dodge pickup.” He widened his legs and used his cupped hand to demonstrate. “Not my finest look. There are probably pictures posted on the internet somewhere.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his shorts, he listened with a smile as Scott caught him up. The smile only broadened and broadened as the story continued. “Alright, we’re going to come back to the idea of you teaching Sex Ed. First, I’m fucking proud of you, man. I always thought you weren’t a good fit for the street. Like you were meant for something more, and here you are, proving me right. And I fucking /love/ being right.” And he did.

“And I know it’s been a hard road, how could it not be? Still, seems to suit you, Slim. You seem happier and healthier than I’ve ever seen you without being in the throes of passion.” He gave his friend a nudge and a quick wink, before adding, “I’ll even give you a pass for the whole ‘ruling council’ business. If anyone should be at the top of the food chain, it’s someone who understands what it’s like to be on the bottom.” He restrained himself from making the obvious innuendo.

“Now that said, what sort of chickenshit operation is the council running that you don’t know I’m here? What the serious fuck, Slim? Like, the head of the council came to recruit me, I told her I was a Marauder who wanted to defect, we make a big show of them capturing me, they blindfold me, bring me here, strap me to a chair, interrogate me for hours before turning me loose and telling me not to leave the island, and you don’t know shit about it?” He ran a hand back through his hair and shook his head, “That’s fucking crazy. All this time, I figured the mysterious council was debating my fate, when really, nothing?”

Sometimes, the frustration is so real, all you can do is turn a circle, and that’s just what Remy did before plodding down in the sand and sighing. “I don’t know, Slim. I cast the dice to try to join up with you lot, but now I’m not quite sure if it was the right play.”



Tags: Cyclops
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Marc
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Character: Cyclops
Date: March 26th
Time: Early Afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach



Had Scott been privy to Remy’s thoughts, to the way the other man saw him, he’d have felt a familiar shame wash over him. He had felt it before, the shame for being who he was. Too many times had he been called damaged goods not to believe it, no matter how hard he worked on not allowing it a foot-hold in his very soul. Too many times, the notion of being tainted and damaged, of being broken and wrong somehow had been driven home. Again and again, he had been reminded of his lack in worth, until a part of himself had believed it. More than believed, had integrated it into his very sense of self. There was little conscious thought, little conscious knowledge even, that Scott had in regards to these internalized issues. It was not something he actively pondered, could not ponder, because to do so, he’d have to go so far beyond meta-analyzing himself that without external guidance, it would require far more self-reflection than he had available.

Now, Remy’s presence reminded him of the taint he carried and had actively exacerbated by choosing to stay alive, by choosing to do all that was necessary to allow such survival. It was the shame that came with doing what it took – and the shame born from knowing, beaten and starved into his bones, that he did not deserve taking such a stand for himself. Had he had an insight into Remy’s thoughts, and the way the other man perceived him, as insignificant blip on his radar (though not an unpleasant one), he would have been shamed once more, would have been reminded of his utter and complete insignificance.

That was not to say that Remy wasn’t right to perceive him as he did. He truly had been nothing more but a pleasant pastime, some amusement to be had, and the fact that Scott had actually received something in return for his services other than monetary recompense had been nothing but an enjoyable abnormality. An exception to one of the many rules he had been forced to learn, and learn quickly, while ‘on the job’ -- you never go into tricks expecting anything but the money to exchange hands for a service rendered. Still. Being nothing more than a fleeting, easily forgotten diversion, a tool to be used and discarded afterwards like nothing more than a tissue used to wipe bodily fluid? There were better things for a person’s self-esteem than knowing they were worth nothing more than that to others.

Scott would, of course, have understood Remy’s reasoning. After all, you didn’t live on the street for years and not at least smirk one time or another about the idealists that had just arrived in the vicinity of rock bottom and still had their head full of cotton-candied images a la ‘Pretty Woman’ where someone would come and believe in them and rescue them from their life of hardship out on the street. News flash – it didn’t happen. And so, one learned quickly not to take oneself too importantly. On the street, survival worked best if you settled with being worth not a whole lot, to anyone, most importantly not to yourself. You were selling out, plain and simple, selling your body to provide the necessities for survival. In all his experience, he had not found one street rat, male or female, who had gotten to this point in their life just to have a little fun. None of them, none, would have walked the street for tricks if they had seen any other feasible way of living their lives. And no, for some of them, shelters were no feasible option, for one reason or another. In the end, reasons didn’t matter. All that Scott knew was that they all hadn’t been there because they were so enamored with the idea of having sex with total strangers.

And strangers, most of them were. Anonymous faces that picked you out of a crowd, paid for some entertainment, then sent you back out on the street. Catch and release. How rare of the same fisher to come catch in the same areas again. How much rarer still for them to catch the same fish more than once. It was different in the ‘official’ brothels but out on the street? Once a trick was turned, it was beyond rare to see the guy again in your lifetime. As such, Remy had been an anomaly in more than one way. First of all, Scott knew his name. That in and of itself had never been a given between his customers and himself. And secondly, he had come back. More than once. Enough to make him really stick out, as if the humane way he was treating Scott as an actual human being than a mere tool hadn’t been enough to make him stick out.

If there was anything dehumanizing happening between them now, here, it was all happening within Scott. It was a strong compulsion to tear into himself internally, to remind himself of just how damaged he was. Sinister had laid a strong foundation of this tactic back when Scott had been within his grasp. But Scott – Scott was fighting the compulsion. Was fighting the shame. Was fighting the voices that would remind him of how little he was worth. It was an uphill struggle that would take a long time as well as a lot of effort, and for every step forward he seemed to slide two back, but he was making progress. Slowly but surely, he was making progress, even though he was certain he would waffle on this issue many times in the weeks, months, years to come. Maybe this meeting with Remy and the way the other man might put Scott’s past into perspective could help that progress along – for now, Remy’s easy laughter and his lack in sharing any of Scott’s potential awkwardness were giving the progress strong nudges in the right direction.

And so, Scott found it within himself to laugh along when Remy mentioned short skirts and the back of a Dodge pick-up and .. “Dragging your nuts, eh? Well, you were aiming for the drag so .. sounds to me like you should’ve won any competition for most pun-y outfit.” He snorted when there was the mention of photos on the internet. “I’m going to take that as a promise and shall scour the internet for such a delightful vision.”

He couldn’t help but blush ever so slightly when Remy indicated being proud of him for having left the street behind himself. It felt .. well, truth be told, a lot of times it felt like he hadn’t left it behind, like it was still there, a millstone around his neck, holding him down. But then, someone came and reminded him of how far he had come and what he was doing differently these days, and there was that blush again. Hard road? “Sure has been.” Happier and healthier here? “I think .. I’ve found a place that I can truly belong to, ya know? A place that .. feels like it needs me as much as I need it.” It sounded like romanticized bullshit, like he had memorized a good little propaganda speech like a good little propaganda soldier should, but .. it truly felt to him that way.

He laughed, a full out, unbridled belly-laugh when Remy described him as someone who ‘understands what it’s like to be on the bottom’ because .. “Don’t I know it.” There was definitely a tongue-in-cheek element in that statement, innocent as it might sound to the casual listener. Hey, there was a thing he was not ashamed of and anyone trying to tell him it should be otherwise? Could bite him. Preferably .. but let’s not get into this now.

Remy’s words did get him pondering though. Had any of them here truly come from a top-of-the-food-chain position? Didn’t they all have a past that had led them at least close to the bottom dregs of what humanity had to offer? It was a bit part and parcel of being a mutant in these hard times, wasn’t it? That wasn’t to say that everyone’s life had been crappy all the time but neither of them had led an easy life and so, there was a bit of a problem with the whole council-ing business they were attempting to set up. He was just opening his mouth to make a bit of a quip in that regard when Remy beat him to it, and far less benevolently so than Scott would have phrased things.

Head cocked to one side, Scott listened to the complaint brought before him, like any good council member should. He could feel Remy’s frustration all but bleed off of him, and truth be told, he understood it. Understood it completely! Seemed like Jean had dropped the ball there, and on someone who could easily go to Sinister with details on Utopia and earn his place back amongst the Marauders by selling out the islanders? A chickenshit move indeed.

When it seemed that Remy was done, Scott ran a hand through his hair to buy himself a moment of time, leaving it to look ridiculously odd as it was sticking up in all angles, spiked from the sweat. “Alright, damn. First of all, yeah .. strap you to a chair blindfolded for interrogation? That ..” He paused, only to shake his head. “I didn’t think we were doing that sort of thing. In fact .. I don’t condone us doing that sort of thing. And I didn’t think Jean did either. Might be that you flustered her a bit there but .. that’s not an excuse, at least not a good one.”

“As for me not knowing – partially my own fault, probably. I had a rescue mission to run on my own and then needed to run a full maintenance protocol on the private jet we keep in the hangar bay – seems to be that I’m the only one who has actually spent time working with aircrafts before and while our techie knows all there is to know theoretically about planes, he doesn’t have the kind of passion I bring to even the mundane base jobs like scrubbing the jet’s outer hull squeaky clean. I might not have been available to read any update she might have posted for the other council members.”
“That said – we have got a bit of a problem in the council in that we aren’t really used to positions of power. Or to holding such positions, really. So far, the ‘authorities’ have been something to be avoided, something to stay away from, something to fly under the radar of. Now, we suddenly are that position in power, and we are honestly still working out our kinks.” He paused, then smirked. “Not the fun kinds of kinks. The ones coming from bumbling along, caught between ‘wait, I’ve seen a movie where this is what they did’ strict and ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m doing’ laissez faire. You seem to have gotten caught in the middle of those kinks, and I’m sorry.”

“Really, all I can offer for Utopia is this – we are all trying. Trying our best to make this work. Trying to build a society that can be a safe haven for mutants that fear for their lives as well as a model society to show the outside world one day that mutants need not be these scary monsters that are out to snatch children or world domination or whatever else people like to believe when they are told that we need to be subjugated for everyone’s good. I do understand your frustration, and the reason for you questioning whether or not you threw your dice right. I, for one, believe in what we are doing here. I believe that it is the right thing to create, the right step to take, for all mutants out there. And for all non-mutants who do not wish to hate or fear us.”

He shrugged, a boyish smile playing on his lips as he ducked his head. “Listen, this isn’t me giving you the proper propaganda recruitment speech or any such shit. Just telling it like I see it.” He plopped down in the sand next to Remy. “Take it or leave it, whatever you want to do about it, but what you can do for now is offer me a beer, preferably a cold one. Got any left?”


Tags: Gambit
Edited by Marc, November 2, 2015, 7:35 am.
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Jesse
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Character: Gambit
Date: March 26th
Time: Early afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach



“Hey, if you find those pictures, let me know. I’ll add them to my ‘dumb shit I’ve done’ scrapbook and surround it with puffy little stickers of unicorns and flowers.” Knowing Remy, that book might be real, and he might do just that. It was the sort of ridiculous, don’t give two fucks, gender ambiguous thing he was known for. Once, when he was soliciting Scott’s services, he booked them both for a full spa day, complete with pedicures and facial scrubs, the whole nine yards. It was glorious and he’d commented loudly how unfair it was that only ladies tended to do spa days.

Then came some touchy feely bullshit about having finally found a place he could really belong. Remy was skeptical. Not of Scott’s feelings. The guy’d found a home, and that was great. He was skeptical that this place deserved Scott. It was only a matter of time before whoever was funding this place broke Scott’s heart, and that sucked. Guy’d already been through enough, and seeing him all starry eyed and waxing poetic made the cynical criminal cringe internally. Not that he’d rain on Scott’s parade. Not now. He smiled and nodded. “That is great to hear. Really great. I’ve a hard time imagining a place that deserves your respect like this.”

Remy’s arrangement with Utopia was one of convenience. His loyalty, if he had any to speak of, was to individuals, not places and certainly not organizations. But that’s the advantage of being a fantastic liar who’s nigh immune to telepathy. You can say any old bullshit and seem really sincere.

That 'sincere' goodwill didn’t last long, given Remy’s brief rant about his own treatment and the lack of council communication. Scott did a song and dance to try to justify it, but really just demonstrated how disorganized this whole thing was. Attempts at humor notwithstanding, what Remy got from all of that is ‘We don’t know what the fuck we’re doing, but we’re trying.’

Remy sighed and ran his hands back through his hair, then nodded, “Well fuck. I’ve never gotten along with any organized groups, so why not throw in with a bunch of disorganized chuckleheads ‘trying’?” The die was cast. It’s not like he could un-defect. Essex wouldn’t trust him, especially not with Gambit’s mind being telepath proof. Much easier to trust people when you could dig all of their secrets out of their head like riffling through a card catalogue. Did they still have those? He hadn’t been in a library since he got thrown out of one for making out with Shanetta Jackson in 9th grade. Girl was a screamer.

“Here’s the trick though, Scott. You folks are going to need to get your shit together. You’ve got a noble purpose, I’ll give you that. But the ignoble cunts out there are organized. They have plans, plans that run directly afoul of what you’re doing on this island. History is littered with the corpses of people with good intentions.” He scratched at his chest, “And this isn’t just about me and my frustration. This is me to you as a friend. You’ve sign on, bought in, and are even a part of the council. This place isn’t going to work with a bunch of individuals just running around willy nilly. You’ve at least got to get them on the same page. Hell, even if they can’t stay in the lines, coloring the same picture would help.”

He watched as Slim plopped down on the sand and asked for a beer. “Shit, for you? Of course.” He reclaimed his seat and pulled a longneck out of the bucket, icy water raining down off the wet bottle. He slicked the excess water off his with hand, twisted off the cap with a practiced motion and handed over the bottle before readying his own beer. “To old acquaintances, reunited as if by fate or some bullshit.” He tapped the neck of his bottle against Scott’s before taking a healthy pull.

After a moment, say just long enough for Scott to be mid drink, Remy inquired innocently, “So, you still sucking dick for fun?”



Tags: Cyclops
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Marc
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Character: Cyclops
Date: March 26th
Time: Early Afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach


Scott snorted when Remy wasn’t even remotely embarrassed by the thought of a photo existing that showed him dressed in glitter and drag. Of course he wouldn’t be – he had never once given the impression to even have the capacity of being embarrassed by anything. Well, really, why should he be? Scott had seen him, in all his naked glory, and it was probably safe to say that Remy would still strike an amazing figure in a burlap sack. A dress shouldn’t pose too much of a challenge. “You are definitely one of a kind.” he smirked, shaking his head to himself. Things had never been boring with Remy, never predictable, and Scott had never known what to expect when he’d been picked up by the other man. Just that it wouldn’t be dull. He still remembered fondly not only the sex they’d had, but the day they had spent at a day spa. At first, Scott had been very tense, always afraid that one false move might knock his protective eye-gear off but as the day had progressed, he had relaxed, mostly prompted by Remy’s easy-going presence. Of course the massages and pampering had also helped with that.

He could see the skepticism in Remy at his little weird speech about having found his place here on Utopia. He appreciated that the other man wasn’t commenting in the negative though, biting his tongue. Scott offered a sheepish smile, feeling a bit like an overexcited puppy. “I .. well .. it’s at least the attempt that deserves respect. It’s far from perfect, I know that myself, but .. it’s what we got.” He chuckled when Remy suggested that they might just be a fit for him, or at least a fit he might be willing to give a shot, considering that they were not an organized institution but the most disorganized fuckers he had ever come across trying to run a government of sorts. “I’m glad our disorganized shit gives us a certain down-to-earth curb appeal.” He’d have given a wink had anyone been able to see the gesture. “Chuckleheads sounds about right and is probably a more flattering description than we deserve.” he admitted. “Honestly though, I feel like I should apologize on official council behalf for the way this whole business went down.”

Inclining his head, he conceded that Remy had more than a point when he admonished them to get their shit together – because there were those out there, those ready to harm them, ready to harm mutants in general, that had their stuff lined up and ready to go. That had a plan and a contingency plan and a contingency plan to the contingency plan. Guys like Sinister. Organizations like the FoH. Magneto and his merry band of mutant terrorists. Scott sighed. “You are right. I know that you are right. We all do. It’s not like we haven’t encountered the FoH before, or like we are ignorant to what Sinister can do. We are up against .. well .. giants. And we are all so new to this business, so fresh that we still squeak. Trying is the best we can do. Look at me – you know where I came from! Me, on a governmental council? How did that even happen? And yet, here I am.” He shrugged, spreading his hands, feeling like he had to somehow explain himself. “Here I am, trying.”

The sand felt warm against the back of his tight workout running pants and warmed his fingers as his hands dug into it. A cool breeze washed over him, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed from the ocean. He welcomed it, feeling it through the light fabric of his long-sleeved skin-tight shirt. He didn’t mind showing off his physique, his body, though he preferred to keep his scars covered up. They gave away too much, painted too clear a picture of his past, a past that had come even before the time spent on the streets of New York City. Remy had, of course, seen them all, including the tattoo. A tattoo he too carried.

Accepting the cold beer, he clanked the bottle against Remy’s, then commented the toast with a simple “Cheers.” He took a long draw, relishing the ice-cool liquid against his tongue, eyes closing behind his shades and relaxing into the warm sunshine. This felt .. calm, peaceful .. until Remy made him swallow the beer down the wrong pipe, causing him to sputter and splutter at the unexpected question.

“Should have ..” he coughed. “.. expected ..” Clearing his throat, he tried to regain control over his coughing fit. “.. something like that.” He laughed, then shook his head. “You waited to spring this on me, admit it.” He smirked. “Can’t say that I’ve had the chance to lately.” Fun, it had been. Some of the time, at least. Certainly with the likes of Remy. He cleared his throat again, against the scratchy feeling that remained. “So no. No dick sucking-action going on. Too bad too – one of the few things I am actually really good at.” His grin was self-deprecating. “I did try to strike a bargain here, in early days – tried to use what I knew for payment, if you catch my drift. It didn’t go over so well. I think .. I pretty much mortified the poor guy I propositioned. In fact, I know I did.” The memory still drew a slight blush of embarrassment to his features.


Tags: Gambit
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Jesse
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Character: Gambit
Date: March 26th
Time: Early afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach



Slim was fun to watch, aesthetically. He’d filled out nicely with good food, exercise, and sleep. That said, it was challenging playing with him because you never really understand how important a person’s eyes are until you can never see them. You have to rely exclusively off body language and vocal tones. As a street kid, Slim had learned to stay muted, to not give much away, but here on the island, he was more expressive, more relaxed. Even with Remy railing on him for this island being what it was, he took it, apologized and just kept on keeping on. Life was what it was. You roll with the punches, or you get knocked the fuck out. The pair of them were rollers. Maybe not the best word for it.

Remy absolutely did not have the decency to feel guilty about the choking. It was hilarious and his laughter made that very clear. “To be fair, I was hoping for a spit-take, but that’s not really your style.” Remy reached over to rub between Scott’s shoulders in a motion that had no medical relevance whatsoever, but seemed appropriate regardless. Coming at people from unexpected angles was something of a LeBeau specialty. Part of it was just his fascination with tweaking people to see how they would react. Part of it was just the strange way his mind worked. Mostly though, he just a mischievous fucker who found joy in fucking with people, especially people he liked.

“Yeah, I knew I was going to do that the second I recognized you, Slim. Just wasn’t sure if it was going to be a pickup line or a prank until you asked for the beer.” He slipped off the beach chair, sliding into the sand beside Scott and slipping his arms around the man’s torso. “It was a dickish thing to do. I’ll own that. So, let me make it up to you.” He pulled the man closer and leaned in, nose brushing the top of Scott’s ear and breath warm as he whispered, “Let’s go back to my place. We’ll shower off some sand, maybe have a couple of drinks, then get properly reacquainted. You’ve got a whole host of new muscles I want to explore.” After a beat, his hand slid between Scott’s legs, “And an old friend who’s been sadly neglected.”



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Marc
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Character: Cyclops
Date: March 26th
Time: Early Afternoon
Place: Main Island, Beach


Remy ragging on him for the way Utopia was run didn’t really phase Scott. The fact that they were going up against giants, organized and following their plans purposefully, on the other hand did. He doubted that he’d ever be able to forgive himself if they blew this, simply by not getting their asses in gear.

Speaking .. or thinking, really, of asses .. Scott smirked as his eyes wandered. Even before, back out in the streets, despite the unequal distribution of power in their prior transactions, Remy had never been hard on the eye. Even in his situation back then, Scott had been able to appreciate Remy's wiry strength, his defined muscles. It had made spending nights with the other man more than just easy – it had made it enjoyable. Pleasurable even. Rare, but not unheard of, even in his line of work.

Even as Remy’s laughter rang out, answering Scott’s assertion that he had done this on purpose, Scott snorted into his beer bottle, ducking his head with a knowing smirk. Understated, yet eloquent enough to express his agreement – spitting definitely wasn’t his style, and didn’t Remy know it. Getting his cough under control, aided by Remy patting his back, he shook his head in mock-exasperation, still smirking, then barking out a laugh when Remy called what he had done a ‘dickish’ thing to do. If not for the sluggishness caused by the heat – and, let’s admit it, by Remy’s arm snaking around his body --, he was certain that there was a pun waiting to be made in there somewhere.

Before he could work it out in his mind though, he found himself in close proximity to Remy, drawn against the other man in strong arms – and all sensible thoughts fled. All of a sudden, Scott was all sensation and responsiveness, a shiver racing down his spine as Remy’s breath tickled along the shell of his ear. One of his biggest selling points for those who had come back more than once had been the fact that he had been able to really get into things, if someone was willing to put even just a hint of an effort into reaching out to him. It was that receptiveness and sensitivity that he was displaying right now, in reaction to Remy’s advances.

An easy smile, languorous and teasing, spread across his features as Remy’s suggestion registered, definitely not a no as far as replies went. He couldn't help but arch into the touch that trailed between his legs -- not that he wanted to help it because, hot DAMN, Remy was turning up the heat something fierce! And Scott... Scott couldn't say that he minded. At all.

“Hmmm .. “ he vocalized, at the back of his throat, feeling completely at ease with the proposition made by the other man. He had not lost the idle grin from his features yet, too lazy and boneless under Remy’s touch to want to change anything. Not even wanting to move. Though .. cocking his head, squinting his eyes at Remy behind his shades, he had to agree “Showering sounds nice.” His grin got an uptick, teasing as he rolled fully into Remy’s touch. “Don’t know if you noticed, but whoever built these bunkers didn’t skimp on space.” It was pretty clear that he was indeed suggesting what he seemed to be suggesting. Still grinning in what would normally be a teasing wink, he added “Good thing too, as this sand really gets into places that could use another hand for reaching.”

In one fluid motion, he rose to stand, holding out a hand towards Remy to help him up. “Come on, cowboy. Let’s cash in on those suggestions – sure sounded good to me! All of them.” And they had -- now to go and make them come true.


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Edited by Marc, November 16, 2015, 5:18 pm.
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