PI LOG: Fringe Benefits -- Remy and Deadpool
On a frantic dash from his own apartment to Kitty's house, Remy inadvertantly comes across the one and only Merc with a Mouth. Deadpool has some things to try and drop on the Cajun, and with a borrowed powerset Gambit is just ballsy enough to take the situation in hand.
East Main Street -- Beacon Harbor
So far, today started out okay and went crazily downhill in an extreme, reckless hurry. It isn't particularly late in the day--maybe just that hazy time of diming twilight, but the streets are sanguine, mostly empty and calm. That is, but for at least one particular figure who is making his way from Chinatown towards School House Road. He's not at all looking his usual casual and suave self, but a little scatter-brained and wild eyed, ubiquitous trenchcoat snapping around his ankles and hands stuffed into his pockets. Remy's attention is mostly on travelling forward at an almost stiff-legged and brisk pace--but every so often those too-bright eyes dart around the surrounding buildings.
Work's started early for the mercenary set, it seems, as loose change starts clattering on the street a good twenty yards ahead of the Cajun, falling from the pockets of a pasty, wiry man in an Armani suit being dangled upside down by his ankles by the one and only (thankfully) Deadpool. "C'MAAAAN, Billy! Billy, don't ya lose my number! Cuz you're not anywhere that I can't find YOOOOU..." And yeah, he's singing again. "You tried to rabbit, and you got turtled, Billy-Boom-Batz. I know you've got what you owe, since you're sporting that really nifty new Rolex... wow, nice craftsmanship, dude, seriously, you GOTTA tell me where you got that thing... well, if you can still talk once your spinal column shatters on the sidewalk there... I'm thinking right in front of that 'For Rent' sign, just so you don't get any funny idears about suing whatever sad sack owns the building you crunch in front of... this is between you and the boss, Billy Bob."
Billy's trying his best to keep his head, but there's a lot of whimpering going on. "Y-you won't k-kill me... you w-won't know w-where the money is!" Wade, meanwhile, starts the slow sway back and forth. "I'm gonna have to get a bit of arc on this one, and I'll bet you do a pretty snazzy loop-de-loop if I get the right English on it..." Then, the corner of his eye registers something. "Whoa... speaking of foppish European dandy-talk, if'n it isn't my pathetic excuse for a pseudo-arch-enemy..." He lifts Billy up. "I mean seriously, Billiam, it's neck-and-neck between him and Garrison Kane for the lamest archenemy of my life... no, wait, maybe Cable counts, too. He totally sucks... tell you what, Billiards, why don't you meet the guy up close and personal and gimme your o-pine on the whole deal."
Down comes Bill, right towards the Rem-dog. "YO! LEBEAU! THINK FAST!"
For all that it doesn't look like it, there's someone home in that thick Cajun skull, and Remy's eyes go up to the roofline somewhere between the showering change and the sound of his name. And then his eyes bulge just minutely, and before another heartbeat has passed--before Remy even has a moment to think--he's parting from the sidewalk in a fast and arcing trajectory. That most certainly wasn't a jump. Somebody's quick reflexes allow Remy to catch Billy mid-air, however, with little more than an 'oof' of lost air. Gambit lowers back to the ground quickly, to release the unfortunate target of Deadpool's ire, but he isn't looking at Billy. Instead, he's looking up at Deadpool, his jaw set, eyes flaring.
Deadpool had fully assumed that Acrobat Boy would easily manage to catch the chump, and was using it as an opportunity to draw a weapon, but as the gun fills his hand, he stops short from pointing it down... as he freezes, wide-eyed, at the sight of Remy LeBeau FLYING. He meets these flaring eyes from a few stories up, and for a moment, he's actually speechless. No. NO. Not FAIR. The nerves calm down after a minute, and his mouth starts working again. "What in the blue hell was THAT? You run into Mr. Fantastical or something and he gave you an invisible torch jetpack thing? Lah-de-frickin'-dah. You mind tossin' that chump back up my way? He's still got some 'splainin' to do..." WHY IS HE FLYING?!
Throw him *back*? Not on Deadpool's life. Remy's expression goes even less entertained, and again he lifts from the sidewalk, this time just going straight up. All the way up, to hover eye-to-eye with Deadpool at the level of the roof, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Ah really *don't* have time f'this," He declares, with an accent that's entirely wrong--if Wade is paying attention--moving forward to actually put his feet to the roof. Despite the declaration, he looks like he's about to take a few moments to 'deal' with this.
Deadpool snakes his head back a little bit when he tries to get nearly nose-to-nose with him... and then he says... THAT. One eye squints in confusion. "Uh, hey, smarmbag? I know your accent is mostly a showboating thing anyway, fooling poor unsuspecting dumb clucks into thinking you're somehow 'exotic,' but, ah... I think you're dropping the ball on it. I'm getting a 'Deliverance' vibe, and I'm not sure I like where THAT train of thought is heading." WHY IS HE FLYING?! "But far be it from me to keep you from your salon appointment - they must be having a discount on frou-frou at Fantastic Sam's, I guess. So how 'bout you get the hell outta my way while I go finish picking up a paycheck, okay?" Not waiting for an answer, he suddenly swipes at Remy's midsection with the gun, hoping to just fold him outta the way so he can leap past him and make his way down...
Which has just about as much effect as if Deadpool pistolwhipped a brick wall, aside from, again, the soft and brief sound of Remy saying 'oof'. "Musta left my banjo in de ot'er trenchcoat," The Cajun says--sounding once more very Cajun--and he tilts his head. "An' funny, here I t'ought you was jus' about to day de res' of de day on sick leave." It's little more than a backhand, what Gambit tries to cuff across Deadpool's face, but it's got more force behind it than Remy has ever been able to put to a punch before. Casual, superhuman force.
When the pistol cracks in half and leaves Wade holding the handle, thunking the rest of it to the rooftop at their feet, all of the deep fear hits home. He stares at the gun-parts, then looks back up to Remy, muttering to himself. "You know... sometimes I swear I can hear God laughing at me."
KRAAKK! Spinning like a drunken ballerina through the air, The Merc lands on his Mouth, not to mention the rest of his face, rolling to stop in a heap halfway across the buildingtop. As he picks himself up, the lower half of his mask is already torn off, and the blood is trickling out over his lip. "Yeephhh... you summamnabitsch..." Mouth still not working entirely properly. "NOT FAIR! Sinch WHEN do you have super-duper-man powers?!" Another gun is unceremoniously yanked out of its holster.
"'Bout ten minutes 'go." Remy says, absolutely unimpressed. "Don't think that'll do you a damn bit of good." His accent keeps slipping, leaning towards 'Southern' rather than 'Cajun', one of a thousand little cues. Both of Gambit's hands are gloved, but they hang free at his sides, fingers flickering as a western gunfighter's might. "You know, far as I can tell, you's de only one ain't moved *on*." He's not talking about the powers.
The eyes narrow in annoyance, now. TOTALLY not fair. Knowing EXACTLY what he's talking about. "Oh, you gettin' personal again, are you, Hillbilly Boy?" Wade snaps, clicking off the safety. "I've MOVED ON, all right, everything's all hunky-go-dory!" Stalking back towards the Cajun, the blood trickle stops, and he raises the gun. "Except those occasional little batshit crazy nuthouse relapses I get when I start thinkin' about the fact that Captain Smarm of the S.S. Ladykiller, who can dip his wick into any honeypot on the Eastern seaboard, AND happens to have inexplicably won the dumb country heart of the hottest chick ever to strap on an X and shake her ass for Chuckie, decided to permanently stain a poor heartbroken girl with his disgusting backwoods schlong while I was out busting my ass trying to SAVE-" *BANG* "HER" *BANG* "LIFE!" *BANG* "Maybe you can SEE how that might FROST my FUCKING SHORTS a bit, huh?!"
Maybe firing the gun is cathartic for Wade, because it certainly isn't very effective. For the first shot, Remy just stands there, almost placidly, with the confidence of a man who knows he's bulletproof. The second shot, and the third, however, have Gambit moving forward, closing the distance between them with that calm veneer of emotion cracking into something more like rage. "Y'know, de fact that you ain't very *forgivin'* migh' jus' be part of your *problem*, Wilson." He growls, doing his very level best to reach out and take the gun by the barrel, and crush. "Me an' Ria made a mistake, whatever she t'ought or I was tol' at de time. I know dat. She knows dat. An' de firs' time you showed up outta nowhere, mebbe you had reason." The other hand is coming around, now, trying for a chokehold on Wade's throat that has more steel in the grip than the building they stand on. "But I paid my dues, an' I'm willin' to bet Ria did, too. I am *not* gonna live my life t' inkin' ev'ry t'ird Sunday I gotta worry 'bout lookin' over my shoulder for some psychotic fuck wit' a big gun who ain't got a sense of movin' on. An' Ah promise you, even if I'd never 'xisted on neit'er side of th'portal, Rogue'd never looked *twice* in your d'rection. I *know*." There's that waivering accent again.
"Oh, an ugly joke... way to take the high road, jackass," Wade mutters, as the gun is easily crushed, and Wade's throat is easily grabbed. He tries in vain to wedge his fingers in between Remy's hand and his windpipe. "But that's the POINT!" he spits, trying to wrench his head around to muster a speaking voice past the chokehold. "NOBODY looks twice in my direction, you pretty boy chumpkkk" Ow! Not FAIR. "You think you paid your DUES?" Hurkk. "You don't know the *kkk* meaning of the word, you greasy manslut!" Suddenly, a quick two-finger poke goes towards those flaring eyes, to try to get himself dropped...
"RIA looked TWICE." Remy snarls, his teeth gritted together. He almost misses the motion for the poke, and only at the last moment does he move his head to the side, letting the Mercenary's fingers scuff over the side of his face. "An' T'REE times, an' FOUR." Slowly, Gambit begins to lift from the roof, his words punctuated by random, rough shakes of Deadpool. "RIA saw whatever de hell it was she saw in you, an' I 'spect RIA was willin' to be ANY DAMN WOMAN YOU WANTED HER TO BE. But YOU, you can't move pas' dat one mistake, can you. You jus' can' let it go, an' you're gonna fuck it all up for y'self b'cause you can't *possibly* b'lieve dat it was *grievin'* for *your* useless ass dat drove her to make dat one damn mistake, an' you can't *possibly* b'lieve dat even *after* dat mistake she come back." They're probably a story above the building, now, in the air and drifting towards the road. "I know *plenny* 'bout self hatin', an' de funny t'ing about a good woman is she don't let herself be blinded by all de shit you see all over y'self. But you ain't gonna take a breat' an' *realize* dat, are you. You coul' be *happy* 'f you lef' me de fuck alone."
Deadpool grits his teeth right back, still wrenching his neck around in the grip so he can keep talking, hard as it is to do while dangling in the air. One arm clutches Remy's outstretched to alleviate the pressure on his throat. "Spare me the lecture, Professor Crotchrot. I don't BLAME Ria!" A little head rock. "Well, fine, I did at first, but I don't no more..." Hkkk. "She made a mistake, she owned up to it, she had a fucking alien living in her head, for shit's sake! We're Kool and the Gang now - *hfff*" Dammit, this HURTS. This ain't FAIR. The skin of his face felt like iron. Not FAIR! "But YOU, Mr. Man-of-the-Fucking-World... YOU don't get off so easy." A few futile fists to his chest. "YOU knew she was grievin'. YOU've had scads of chicks falling at your feet. YOU've been around more blocks than the goddamned ice cream man!" He tries to plant his foot on Remy's thigh to get a little push-off force, but it's not budging the grip in the least. "But STILL, you take full creep-ass advantage of the ONE chick that's dug on me after I've been fuglified that didn't have an X crammed so far up her ass it was poking her breakfast - hkkk" A few strained breaths. "While she was lost and possessed and damn near suicidal! Thought I could count on Sugah Pie and her hot moonshinin' temper to take it outta yer hide, but *fff* NO... she doesn't do SHIT to you... what, she didn't go for your 'let's wrap you up in cellophane first' plan and felt too guilty about the No-Touchie clause?!" *kkk gag*
"Oh, I *assure* you, was a damn good reason I hid in a warehouse for a week." Remy says, his voice cold. "An' I'm sho' I could go into *excruciatin'* detail 'bout my own problems an' how it was *Ria* who came to me an' *Ria* who tol' me you two was *broke up* an' how she *wasn't* possessed no more an' how it was *Rogue* dat was de one really done wrong in dis 'quation, but it ain't gonna get t'rough to you. I *tol'* you *I* made a mistake. I done *'pologized* for it. But dat don' matter, 'cause you gotta have someone to hate dat ain't yourself. I didn' 'take advantage' of her, but you ain't gonna hear dat. It ain't your *face* dat woulda drove Rogue off, Wade, it's dat funny l'il diff'rence b'tween you an' me. We bot' hare ourselves, but you, you take it out on ev'rybody else." Gambit narrows his eyes, the flare of them brilliantly, solidly red, and gives Wade another little shake. "You *really* sho' you wan' me to let go right now?"
Deadpool pffts, sneering angrily. "You think I throw myself in front of heavily armed goons with itchy trigger fingers all the time because I love to PAMPER myself?!" he barks, before rasping the last syllable as his airflow is compromised... but he adjusts. "The fact she came to you, don't make a difference. If you had a brain in your head, you'da known what was what. You know how rebound shit works. And I know your little smarmy patter works, and I'm one little lady you can't win over with your words, no matter which accent you pick to spin 'em with." The flare in Remy's eyes widens Wade's for a moment... but scared as he is about what this punk might do to him with Uberpower, there's a reason they call it a 'fool mouth.' "Yeah... I take it out on everybody else... while you take it out on everybody else's girlfriends. Hell YES, Rogue got the shaft, and that's WHY you shoulda been on crutches for two MONTHS if there was any justice! Oh, wait, there ain't never been any sorta justice *hkk* or else Jessica Simpson wouldn't be famous. There's only this!" Suddenly, a wad of spit flies towards Remy's face... meant as a distraction so he could bring a knee up and try for a nut-shot to free himself... no matter how high up they are...
"I never *claimed* t'be a smart man, *or* a particularly *strong* one!" The literal reality aside, for the moment. Remy's teeth flash, briefly, in a sneer, the excess of his power creeping out at the edges of his eyes like smoke. "But you's working on bad info, salaud. I been in dis hell-hole of a city for over a year, an' I've slept wit' *two* women. *Once each*. If dat's what you call sleepin' 'round, I hate to see your version of chastity." But then there's that spittle, and the first real flinching Gambit has done in the whole fight, which leaves Wade wide-open for the junkshot.
Unfortunately for the Mercenary, Invulerability apparently also means Invulerable Nuts. Remy's bright, blazing eyes narrow again, and he twists his body so that Deadpool is as far from his torso as possible. "Don' ever put no part of your body dere ever 'gain." There's a flicker of something that flashes through Remy's eyes, before he simply lets go of Wade's throat entirely. "Never been real long on *mercy*, neit'er. Mus' be b'cause I'm a wort'less ass." For the moment, the Cajun just watches Deadpool fall--although there's perhaps a chance he'll catch up with the mercenary and save him from the impact.
Deadpool hears his kneecap crack upon impact, and his eyes shut tight, wincing at the pain. SO! NOT! FAIR! As he plummets, his newly broken leg waggles a little, and that's when he realizes "Hey... we're not above the roof anymore, are we?" Pavement's coming up quick. Part of him momentarily wants to just swan dive into a pancake and be done with it... but NO. "No. Not like THIS. Not by Uberschmendrick." He spins and chucks a grenade up as hard as he can back up to the Cajun before bracing himself for impact with the roof of a Chevy Suburban. "Ten points for the soccer mom!" This is going to hurt. A LOT.
The grenade will never hit Gambit, but mostly because Wade is never going to hit the Suburban. Maybe it's that conscience Remy keeps trying to ignore, or the voice in the back of his head, or just a respect for the fact that the SUV belongs to someone who probably doesn't deserve pieces of Wade in a crumpled roof. No more than a foot from the car, Wade will find himself caught by the ankle and rapidly being hauled upwards again by the Cajun. "Y'wan' roof? Fine. Roof." Gambit doesn't, however, bother to get appreciably close to the roof that he drops Deadpool on, or slow down at all from the speed he had to kick up to catch the mercenary in the first place. It's a completely random roof he picks, without landing, before angling off towards Kitty's house. He's wasted enough time as it is.
Deadpool yelps in pain as the leg that's grabbed and yanked upwards at significant speed is the same one he just broke on the bastard's nether regions. He barely has time to form a snotty comment with a pinch of sincere curiosity - "Are you really some alternate-universe shy and virginal Gambit?" - before he's tossed aside onto a rooftop like a hunk of garbage, cracking his leg even more and skidding across the rooftop before crunching his back against the ledge painfully audibly. Slumping face-down into a heap, he lets the pain wash over him now, feeling it in every cell of his body as his healing factor sets to work in putting right what's just gone horribly wrong. That creepy, moving-skin sensation he occasionally convinces himself he's gotten used to. "Not fair... not fair... jerks ALWAYS super-dupered up." This'll rule out any sudden visits for jaw-breaking purposes, it seems. "At least I can touch my girlfriend," he mutters, before picking his head up and squinting in confusion. Something dawns on him. The weird accent mix, the powers... his head cranes to look over the ledge to see if he can watch the Cajun recede in the distance, then tries to do the math in his head. "Rogi, tuff, strong, hicky... now Gambit tuff, strong, hicky... but Rogi has sucky-sucky power... carry the four... um..."
Then a passing pigeon craps in his eye, and he just sighs and thunks his forehead to the rooftop. "Yay, team."
Finis!
East Main Street -- Beacon Harbor
So far, today started out okay and went crazily downhill in an extreme, reckless hurry. It isn't particularly late in the day--maybe just that hazy time of diming twilight, but the streets are sanguine, mostly empty and calm. That is, but for at least one particular figure who is making his way from Chinatown towards School House Road. He's not at all looking his usual casual and suave self, but a little scatter-brained and wild eyed, ubiquitous trenchcoat snapping around his ankles and hands stuffed into his pockets. Remy's attention is mostly on travelling forward at an almost stiff-legged and brisk pace--but every so often those too-bright eyes dart around the surrounding buildings.
Work's started early for the mercenary set, it seems, as loose change starts clattering on the street a good twenty yards ahead of the Cajun, falling from the pockets of a pasty, wiry man in an Armani suit being dangled upside down by his ankles by the one and only (thankfully) Deadpool. "C'MAAAAN, Billy! Billy, don't ya lose my number! Cuz you're not anywhere that I can't find YOOOOU..." And yeah, he's singing again. "You tried to rabbit, and you got turtled, Billy-Boom-Batz. I know you've got what you owe, since you're sporting that really nifty new Rolex... wow, nice craftsmanship, dude, seriously, you GOTTA tell me where you got that thing... well, if you can still talk once your spinal column shatters on the sidewalk there... I'm thinking right in front of that 'For Rent' sign, just so you don't get any funny idears about suing whatever sad sack owns the building you crunch in front of... this is between you and the boss, Billy Bob."
Billy's trying his best to keep his head, but there's a lot of whimpering going on. "Y-you won't k-kill me... you w-won't know w-where the money is!" Wade, meanwhile, starts the slow sway back and forth. "I'm gonna have to get a bit of arc on this one, and I'll bet you do a pretty snazzy loop-de-loop if I get the right English on it..." Then, the corner of his eye registers something. "Whoa... speaking of foppish European dandy-talk, if'n it isn't my pathetic excuse for a pseudo-arch-enemy..." He lifts Billy up. "I mean seriously, Billiam, it's neck-and-neck between him and Garrison Kane for the lamest archenemy of my life... no, wait, maybe Cable counts, too. He totally sucks... tell you what, Billiards, why don't you meet the guy up close and personal and gimme your o-pine on the whole deal."
Down comes Bill, right towards the Rem-dog. "YO! LEBEAU! THINK FAST!"
For all that it doesn't look like it, there's someone home in that thick Cajun skull, and Remy's eyes go up to the roofline somewhere between the showering change and the sound of his name. And then his eyes bulge just minutely, and before another heartbeat has passed--before Remy even has a moment to think--he's parting from the sidewalk in a fast and arcing trajectory. That most certainly wasn't a jump. Somebody's quick reflexes allow Remy to catch Billy mid-air, however, with little more than an 'oof' of lost air. Gambit lowers back to the ground quickly, to release the unfortunate target of Deadpool's ire, but he isn't looking at Billy. Instead, he's looking up at Deadpool, his jaw set, eyes flaring.
Deadpool had fully assumed that Acrobat Boy would easily manage to catch the chump, and was using it as an opportunity to draw a weapon, but as the gun fills his hand, he stops short from pointing it down... as he freezes, wide-eyed, at the sight of Remy LeBeau FLYING. He meets these flaring eyes from a few stories up, and for a moment, he's actually speechless. No. NO. Not FAIR. The nerves calm down after a minute, and his mouth starts working again. "What in the blue hell was THAT? You run into Mr. Fantastical or something and he gave you an invisible torch jetpack thing? Lah-de-frickin'-dah. You mind tossin' that chump back up my way? He's still got some 'splainin' to do..." WHY IS HE FLYING?!
Throw him *back*? Not on Deadpool's life. Remy's expression goes even less entertained, and again he lifts from the sidewalk, this time just going straight up. All the way up, to hover eye-to-eye with Deadpool at the level of the roof, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Ah really *don't* have time f'this," He declares, with an accent that's entirely wrong--if Wade is paying attention--moving forward to actually put his feet to the roof. Despite the declaration, he looks like he's about to take a few moments to 'deal' with this.
Deadpool snakes his head back a little bit when he tries to get nearly nose-to-nose with him... and then he says... THAT. One eye squints in confusion. "Uh, hey, smarmbag? I know your accent is mostly a showboating thing anyway, fooling poor unsuspecting dumb clucks into thinking you're somehow 'exotic,' but, ah... I think you're dropping the ball on it. I'm getting a 'Deliverance' vibe, and I'm not sure I like where THAT train of thought is heading." WHY IS HE FLYING?! "But far be it from me to keep you from your salon appointment - they must be having a discount on frou-frou at Fantastic Sam's, I guess. So how 'bout you get the hell outta my way while I go finish picking up a paycheck, okay?" Not waiting for an answer, he suddenly swipes at Remy's midsection with the gun, hoping to just fold him outta the way so he can leap past him and make his way down...
Which has just about as much effect as if Deadpool pistolwhipped a brick wall, aside from, again, the soft and brief sound of Remy saying 'oof'. "Musta left my banjo in de ot'er trenchcoat," The Cajun says--sounding once more very Cajun--and he tilts his head. "An' funny, here I t'ought you was jus' about to day de res' of de day on sick leave." It's little more than a backhand, what Gambit tries to cuff across Deadpool's face, but it's got more force behind it than Remy has ever been able to put to a punch before. Casual, superhuman force.
When the pistol cracks in half and leaves Wade holding the handle, thunking the rest of it to the rooftop at their feet, all of the deep fear hits home. He stares at the gun-parts, then looks back up to Remy, muttering to himself. "You know... sometimes I swear I can hear God laughing at me."
KRAAKK! Spinning like a drunken ballerina through the air, The Merc lands on his Mouth, not to mention the rest of his face, rolling to stop in a heap halfway across the buildingtop. As he picks himself up, the lower half of his mask is already torn off, and the blood is trickling out over his lip. "Yeephhh... you summamnabitsch..." Mouth still not working entirely properly. "NOT FAIR! Sinch WHEN do you have super-duper-man powers?!" Another gun is unceremoniously yanked out of its holster.
"'Bout ten minutes 'go." Remy says, absolutely unimpressed. "Don't think that'll do you a damn bit of good." His accent keeps slipping, leaning towards 'Southern' rather than 'Cajun', one of a thousand little cues. Both of Gambit's hands are gloved, but they hang free at his sides, fingers flickering as a western gunfighter's might. "You know, far as I can tell, you's de only one ain't moved *on*." He's not talking about the powers.
The eyes narrow in annoyance, now. TOTALLY not fair. Knowing EXACTLY what he's talking about. "Oh, you gettin' personal again, are you, Hillbilly Boy?" Wade snaps, clicking off the safety. "I've MOVED ON, all right, everything's all hunky-go-dory!" Stalking back towards the Cajun, the blood trickle stops, and he raises the gun. "Except those occasional little batshit crazy nuthouse relapses I get when I start thinkin' about the fact that Captain Smarm of the S.S. Ladykiller, who can dip his wick into any honeypot on the Eastern seaboard, AND happens to have inexplicably won the dumb country heart of the hottest chick ever to strap on an X and shake her ass for Chuckie, decided to permanently stain a poor heartbroken girl with his disgusting backwoods schlong while I was out busting my ass trying to SAVE-" *BANG* "HER" *BANG* "LIFE!" *BANG* "Maybe you can SEE how that might FROST my FUCKING SHORTS a bit, huh?!"
Maybe firing the gun is cathartic for Wade, because it certainly isn't very effective. For the first shot, Remy just stands there, almost placidly, with the confidence of a man who knows he's bulletproof. The second shot, and the third, however, have Gambit moving forward, closing the distance between them with that calm veneer of emotion cracking into something more like rage. "Y'know, de fact that you ain't very *forgivin'* migh' jus' be part of your *problem*, Wilson." He growls, doing his very level best to reach out and take the gun by the barrel, and crush. "Me an' Ria made a mistake, whatever she t'ought or I was tol' at de time. I know dat. She knows dat. An' de firs' time you showed up outta nowhere, mebbe you had reason." The other hand is coming around, now, trying for a chokehold on Wade's throat that has more steel in the grip than the building they stand on. "But I paid my dues, an' I'm willin' to bet Ria did, too. I am *not* gonna live my life t' inkin' ev'ry t'ird Sunday I gotta worry 'bout lookin' over my shoulder for some psychotic fuck wit' a big gun who ain't got a sense of movin' on. An' Ah promise you, even if I'd never 'xisted on neit'er side of th'portal, Rogue'd never looked *twice* in your d'rection. I *know*." There's that waivering accent again.
"Oh, an ugly joke... way to take the high road, jackass," Wade mutters, as the gun is easily crushed, and Wade's throat is easily grabbed. He tries in vain to wedge his fingers in between Remy's hand and his windpipe. "But that's the POINT!" he spits, trying to wrench his head around to muster a speaking voice past the chokehold. "NOBODY looks twice in my direction, you pretty boy chumpkkk" Ow! Not FAIR. "You think you paid your DUES?" Hurkk. "You don't know the *kkk* meaning of the word, you greasy manslut!" Suddenly, a quick two-finger poke goes towards those flaring eyes, to try to get himself dropped...
"RIA looked TWICE." Remy snarls, his teeth gritted together. He almost misses the motion for the poke, and only at the last moment does he move his head to the side, letting the Mercenary's fingers scuff over the side of his face. "An' T'REE times, an' FOUR." Slowly, Gambit begins to lift from the roof, his words punctuated by random, rough shakes of Deadpool. "RIA saw whatever de hell it was she saw in you, an' I 'spect RIA was willin' to be ANY DAMN WOMAN YOU WANTED HER TO BE. But YOU, you can't move pas' dat one mistake, can you. You jus' can' let it go, an' you're gonna fuck it all up for y'self b'cause you can't *possibly* b'lieve dat it was *grievin'* for *your* useless ass dat drove her to make dat one damn mistake, an' you can't *possibly* b'lieve dat even *after* dat mistake she come back." They're probably a story above the building, now, in the air and drifting towards the road. "I know *plenny* 'bout self hatin', an' de funny t'ing about a good woman is she don't let herself be blinded by all de shit you see all over y'self. But you ain't gonna take a breat' an' *realize* dat, are you. You coul' be *happy* 'f you lef' me de fuck alone."
Deadpool grits his teeth right back, still wrenching his neck around in the grip so he can keep talking, hard as it is to do while dangling in the air. One arm clutches Remy's outstretched to alleviate the pressure on his throat. "Spare me the lecture, Professor Crotchrot. I don't BLAME Ria!" A little head rock. "Well, fine, I did at first, but I don't no more..." Hkkk. "She made a mistake, she owned up to it, she had a fucking alien living in her head, for shit's sake! We're Kool and the Gang now - *hfff*" Dammit, this HURTS. This ain't FAIR. The skin of his face felt like iron. Not FAIR! "But YOU, Mr. Man-of-the-Fucking-World... YOU don't get off so easy." A few futile fists to his chest. "YOU knew she was grievin'. YOU've had scads of chicks falling at your feet. YOU've been around more blocks than the goddamned ice cream man!" He tries to plant his foot on Remy's thigh to get a little push-off force, but it's not budging the grip in the least. "But STILL, you take full creep-ass advantage of the ONE chick that's dug on me after I've been fuglified that didn't have an X crammed so far up her ass it was poking her breakfast - hkkk" A few strained breaths. "While she was lost and possessed and damn near suicidal! Thought I could count on Sugah Pie and her hot moonshinin' temper to take it outta yer hide, but *fff* NO... she doesn't do SHIT to you... what, she didn't go for your 'let's wrap you up in cellophane first' plan and felt too guilty about the No-Touchie clause?!" *kkk gag*
"Oh, I *assure* you, was a damn good reason I hid in a warehouse for a week." Remy says, his voice cold. "An' I'm sho' I could go into *excruciatin'* detail 'bout my own problems an' how it was *Ria* who came to me an' *Ria* who tol' me you two was *broke up* an' how she *wasn't* possessed no more an' how it was *Rogue* dat was de one really done wrong in dis 'quation, but it ain't gonna get t'rough to you. I *tol'* you *I* made a mistake. I done *'pologized* for it. But dat don' matter, 'cause you gotta have someone to hate dat ain't yourself. I didn' 'take advantage' of her, but you ain't gonna hear dat. It ain't your *face* dat woulda drove Rogue off, Wade, it's dat funny l'il diff'rence b'tween you an' me. We bot' hare ourselves, but you, you take it out on ev'rybody else." Gambit narrows his eyes, the flare of them brilliantly, solidly red, and gives Wade another little shake. "You *really* sho' you wan' me to let go right now?"
Deadpool pffts, sneering angrily. "You think I throw myself in front of heavily armed goons with itchy trigger fingers all the time because I love to PAMPER myself?!" he barks, before rasping the last syllable as his airflow is compromised... but he adjusts. "The fact she came to you, don't make a difference. If you had a brain in your head, you'da known what was what. You know how rebound shit works. And I know your little smarmy patter works, and I'm one little lady you can't win over with your words, no matter which accent you pick to spin 'em with." The flare in Remy's eyes widens Wade's for a moment... but scared as he is about what this punk might do to him with Uberpower, there's a reason they call it a 'fool mouth.' "Yeah... I take it out on everybody else... while you take it out on everybody else's girlfriends. Hell YES, Rogue got the shaft, and that's WHY you shoulda been on crutches for two MONTHS if there was any justice! Oh, wait, there ain't never been any sorta justice *hkk* or else Jessica Simpson wouldn't be famous. There's only this!" Suddenly, a wad of spit flies towards Remy's face... meant as a distraction so he could bring a knee up and try for a nut-shot to free himself... no matter how high up they are...
"I never *claimed* t'be a smart man, *or* a particularly *strong* one!" The literal reality aside, for the moment. Remy's teeth flash, briefly, in a sneer, the excess of his power creeping out at the edges of his eyes like smoke. "But you's working on bad info, salaud. I been in dis hell-hole of a city for over a year, an' I've slept wit' *two* women. *Once each*. If dat's what you call sleepin' 'round, I hate to see your version of chastity." But then there's that spittle, and the first real flinching Gambit has done in the whole fight, which leaves Wade wide-open for the junkshot.
Unfortunately for the Mercenary, Invulerability apparently also means Invulerable Nuts. Remy's bright, blazing eyes narrow again, and he twists his body so that Deadpool is as far from his torso as possible. "Don' ever put no part of your body dere ever 'gain." There's a flicker of something that flashes through Remy's eyes, before he simply lets go of Wade's throat entirely. "Never been real long on *mercy*, neit'er. Mus' be b'cause I'm a wort'less ass." For the moment, the Cajun just watches Deadpool fall--although there's perhaps a chance he'll catch up with the mercenary and save him from the impact.
Deadpool hears his kneecap crack upon impact, and his eyes shut tight, wincing at the pain. SO! NOT! FAIR! As he plummets, his newly broken leg waggles a little, and that's when he realizes "Hey... we're not above the roof anymore, are we?" Pavement's coming up quick. Part of him momentarily wants to just swan dive into a pancake and be done with it... but NO. "No. Not like THIS. Not by Uberschmendrick." He spins and chucks a grenade up as hard as he can back up to the Cajun before bracing himself for impact with the roof of a Chevy Suburban. "Ten points for the soccer mom!" This is going to hurt. A LOT.
The grenade will never hit Gambit, but mostly because Wade is never going to hit the Suburban. Maybe it's that conscience Remy keeps trying to ignore, or the voice in the back of his head, or just a respect for the fact that the SUV belongs to someone who probably doesn't deserve pieces of Wade in a crumpled roof. No more than a foot from the car, Wade will find himself caught by the ankle and rapidly being hauled upwards again by the Cajun. "Y'wan' roof? Fine. Roof." Gambit doesn't, however, bother to get appreciably close to the roof that he drops Deadpool on, or slow down at all from the speed he had to kick up to catch the mercenary in the first place. It's a completely random roof he picks, without landing, before angling off towards Kitty's house. He's wasted enough time as it is.
Deadpool yelps in pain as the leg that's grabbed and yanked upwards at significant speed is the same one he just broke on the bastard's nether regions. He barely has time to form a snotty comment with a pinch of sincere curiosity - "Are you really some alternate-universe shy and virginal Gambit?" - before he's tossed aside onto a rooftop like a hunk of garbage, cracking his leg even more and skidding across the rooftop before crunching his back against the ledge painfully audibly. Slumping face-down into a heap, he lets the pain wash over him now, feeling it in every cell of his body as his healing factor sets to work in putting right what's just gone horribly wrong. That creepy, moving-skin sensation he occasionally convinces himself he's gotten used to. "Not fair... not fair... jerks ALWAYS super-dupered up." This'll rule out any sudden visits for jaw-breaking purposes, it seems. "At least I can touch my girlfriend," he mutters, before picking his head up and squinting in confusion. Something dawns on him. The weird accent mix, the powers... his head cranes to look over the ledge to see if he can watch the Cajun recede in the distance, then tries to do the math in his head. "Rogi, tuff, strong, hicky... now Gambit tuff, strong, hicky... but Rogi has sucky-sucky power... carry the four... um..."
Then a passing pigeon craps in his eye, and he just sighs and thunks his forehead to the rooftop. "Yay, team."
Finis!