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I am accepting requests for characters people would like to see in a Gambit fic, in the meantime:
OH YEAH, I keep forgetting people aren't me and haven't read the comics: the Thieves Guild is what it sounds like--a Guild for Thieves, also extremely cracked out. There is also an Assassins Guild who the Thieves Guild is sometimes at odds with. Remy, sadly, was married to a member of that Guild, zomg!
*
Remy’s kept his ear to the ground for developments in the Mutant Rights movement for as far back as he can remember. A thief is either a polymath or a convict, and Remy prefers breathing free air. He has Morlock contacts, sure, because he has contacts everywhere--who knows when a body’s gonna need to lay low in Calcutta or Winnipeg? But he’s got his own problems--start with the deadly ex-wife and in-laws and navigate through parental expectations and the warrants out on his ass in seven states and half of Europe--and agitating for “rights” really doesn’t make it onto his radar.
He’s sort of curious about old man Xavier now, though. Curiosity and le chat, sure, but Remy’s been around the block a few times, mes amis, and he’s not too worried about a old timer who runs a school for wayward muties.
Summer’s already moved into New Orleans, squatted right on top of the people and dogs and horses and homo superiors, pressing Remy down into the pavement and dirt just like every year. He’s sitting on the balcony of the house on Dauphine and Esplanade drinking Benedictine watching the foot traffic pass by. Pretty girls in halter tops and cutoffs swing down the sidewalk bound for a frolic in the Quarter. Remy considers joining in, a little tourist never hurt a body, but he’s not really in the mood for people from Idaho or Iowa tonight.
“Tttsss,” he sucks on his teeth over a picture of Logan dressed like a lumberjack. “A good look for you,” he laughs a little at the photo--trees and wilderness, the kind of place that makes Remy’s skin flash hot and prickle at the very thought of. He’s keeping tabs on Logan for now--that whole sudden memory loss situation is something that needs further explanation, if only in service of the Guild, but also because Remy has an unfortunate need to know things.
From the envelope on his lap, he pulls out another set of high gloss photos. Remy hasn’t been to New York in a while, that town’s been done for him since he boosted the Royal Jewels of Denmark, but Upstate looks lovely. Or at least the grounds of Xavier’s school do. He’s never been one for formal education, but he’s nothing if not flexible.
Clouds are rolling in over the river, thunder rumbles down south a little ways. The air is charging up with ozone from lightening strikes not too far in the distance. Remy sips his drink and thinks about stepping out on his true love for a few days, just a quick hop up to Westchester to scope out the scene--his city always forgives his absences, her embrace never turning cold or spiteful because she knows his heart never roams, just his body from time to time.
“What’s this I hear that you let Sabertooth go…”
Henri’s cool deadpan seeps out of the open French doors behind him and Remy’s smile slides onto his face. He doesn’t turn towards his brother, instead keeps flipping through the heavy photo paper.
“Murder innit my style, as you well know.”
Down the street some Tulane students start pushing each other, too much beer turning into punches and blood.
Henri doesn’t make a single sound walking out onto the balcony and sitting in the empty chair by Remy’s elbow. He glances down at the photos that Remy doesn’t attempt to hide. “That was bound to happen.” He reaches for the pictures and Remy lets his brother flip through them with an expert’s precision. Henri shrugs one shoulder, reaches for Remy’s glass. “Cakewalk in a land of cakes.”
Remy laughs. “I’m not knocking the place over, cretin, I’m going to walk in the front door like everyone else.”
Henri lifts an eyebrow. “So the long con then?”
They both laugh boisterously, turning heads down on the street in a way that thieves really shouldn’t do.
*
“I was beginning to wonder when you would arrive.” Professor Xavier smiles in a way that is supposed to be disarming or reassuring, but coupled with the fact that he can read minds just creeps Remy the fuck out.
“You know who I am?” How much Xavier knows will determine how Remy treats him. Whether he’s a worthy adversary, a loose ally, or someone very dangerous is as yet undetermined. Xavier’s office is full of the casually extravagant bric-a-brac of the truly wealthy; it displays the kind of comfort that is rarely seen in the States except in the oldest sort of Southern families--people who don’t care if you know they’re rich or not, Vermeers tucked into nooks next to plastic flowers from the flea market, priceless first editions shelved next to The Cat In the Hat, threadbare Persian masterpieces strewn in high traffic areas. Remy loathes those sorts of people. He has made it his life’s work to take from them what they can’t or won’t appreciate.
Xavier crosses his hands over the blotter on his desk. “Oh, yes. How could I not?” He gestures to the chairs in front of Remy. “Please sit, Mr. Lebeau. Or should I call you Gambit?”
“You can call me Humpty-Dumpty if it lights your fire, cher.” He flops down in the armchair with feigned lack of fine muscle control.
Xavier inclines his head slightly to the side. “The question is really do you know who I am?”
Remy hears the challenge there. He sees the play and the six moves after it. He represses a yawn. “As much as I need to.”
Xavier smiles an entirely different kind of smile than before. “Ok then, we understand each other very well, I suspect.”
I hope you’re not casing my office, I’m rather attached to all the objects in this room.
Remy sits up straight and runs a hand through his hair. The creepy echo of someone else’s thoughts in his mind frighten him in a way he’s unaccustomed to. “I would prefer, Sir, if you refrained from that in the future.”
Xavier holds out a palm. “You must forgive me, Mr. Lebeau, even I sometimes fall prey to my whimsical side. I apologize if I startled you. For someone who traffics in secrets, having your mind violated must be the height of indiscretion. I will keep my thoughts verbal or to myself from now on.”
Remy knows he’s being played here, but it’s not like he can do jack shit about it. “Merci, I will hold you to that.” He didn’t miss Xavier’s message about his past. There’s nothing he can do about that, and he’s not apologizing to this man for his loyalty to his family.
“Now, a tour!” Xavier stands and rounds his desk, his hand out to Remy but never quite touching him.
Remy follows half a step behind, watching Xavier and the lay of the land.
“As you know, many of our youth are ill treated in their home environments. Many are abused, distressingly frequently a mutant child will be turned out into the street or abandoned if their abilities manifest at a young age. Or if they are noticeably…at variance with established standards of human beauty.”
“I get the message.” Remy doesn’t like it, but he gets it. Xavier knows he’s adopted. Hell, he might even know about the Guild. That’s not on Remy’s shoulders, though, so he’s not going to dig into how and where Xavier got his intel. Not from Xavier himself, at any rate. Remy will deal with a potential Guild leak in New Orleans.
Where the hallway T’s into another, a gaggle of children flutter by--three girls and a boy, ten or eleven, Remy doesn’t spot any devil horns or green skin.
“We recruit in many ways. We have a network of sympathetic humans around the country to listen for news of our kind, but there are more sophisticated methods as well.”
“I’m sure there is,” Remy rolls his eyes. They pass a classroom full of rapt children watching a girl would can’t be older than sixteen or so herself pointing to the pages of a book she’s not holding up with her hands. Remy watches through the window on the door as the pages flip themselves.
“Jean is a very special pupil, Mr. Lebeau.”
Jean is a pretty little number with gorgeous red hair and a sweet little upturned nose. “I’m sure she is.”
“Indeed,” Xavier chuckles a little. Remy glances back at him and Xavier winks at him. “You’ll find beauty as prevalent on this campus as you will off of it, of course.”
Remy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t think that salvo warrants a verbal response. Xavier turns and continues on. “I understand that I owe you more than just a simple thank you for your role in recent events in Pennsylvania.”
“People being kept in cages isn’t high on my acceptability scale, so you don’t owe me anything.”
Xavier stops and cuts his eyes at him, clasps his hands behind his back. “Particularly since you spent your own time in one of those cages?”
Remy shrugs.
“Mr. Lebeau, I’d like to discuss another matter with you, one I believe you might find to our mutual benefit…” Xavier reaches out a hand and again just doesn’t touch him. Remy’s listening, and he’s also impressed with Xavier’s ability to read body language.
*
When he was a little boy, his papa made a game of stealing produce from Solari’s for Remy and Henri. Remy’s still in the habit of pocketing apples or plums or figs if someone leaves them laying unattended. He has a box of raisons in his pocket that he palmed off a desk at Xavier’s school. The edges of the waxed red box are slick under his fingers as he skips through the shadows on the St Ann/Chartres corner of Jackson Square. The humidity is at nearly a hundred percent, even this late at night. The city tastes like plums and chicory on the back of his tongue, the particular texture of the dampness that lives in his soul reassuring him as much as the allure of the back room card game a Emile’s beckons him.
Jimmy’s on the corner opposite the Cathedral, trumpet in hand. Remy waves and flips a silver--actual silver--dollar his way, the bright arc of the coin rivets Remy’s attention for the swift seconds the face and tail flip over the street. Jimmy catches the dollar just as Remy reaches down to snatch up the urchin who was lurking behind a potted hibiscus. The urchin who is attempting to pick Remy’s pocket.
“Now, didn’t anyone ever tell you that you’d better know your business before you reach into the devil’s pocket, mon ami?” Remy lets his eyes flash red.
The kid is all bones, rags, and filth. Remy doesn’t let his feelings show on his face, but his heart breaks like it always does when he’s confronted with the bleak truths of the lack of love in this world. There’s hum along Remy’s skin where he’s holding the boy, the air around them seems to tremble.
“Are you fixin’ to whammie me?” Remy grins down at the kid. “Well gimme whatcha got, I’ve been waitin’ for you to make your move!”
The hum stops, the vibration immediately vanishes into the syrupy air around them. “What?” The boy’s terrified. Remy can’t let him go because the kid will be off like a shot, but he grasps him loosely at the elbows, leans down to be reassuring, turns on the power that has kept him in sex and booze since he was old enough to get a taste for either. “I’m not gonna hurt you or lock you up or nothing like that, ok? Watch.” He removes one hand from the boy and pulls out the box of raisons. He runs his fingers over the same edges he was fingering before the boy finally made his move. The box begins to glow pink. Remy casually tosses it at the bush the boy was hiding behind and raisons and bits of cardboard and flower petals explode. The boy’s mouth drops open. Jimmy pretends he didn’t see anything.
“Look, kid, I know a place you can go with as much food as you can eat and a warm bed where nobody’s going to harm you besides filling your head full of pro-mutant mumbo-jumbo. In the meantime, how about I buy you plate of beignets?”
Remy’s not much a team player if that team isn’t his family, but he’s not adverse to charity.
That's just a little thing while I'm toying with HOW I CAN GET JUBILEE INTO THIS STORY. I'm sorry, I can't help it, I love her, so shut it.
OH YEAH, I keep forgetting people aren't me and haven't read the comics: the Thieves Guild is what it sounds like--a Guild for Thieves, also extremely cracked out. There is also an Assassins Guild who the Thieves Guild is sometimes at odds with. Remy, sadly, was married to a member of that Guild, zomg!
*
Remy’s kept his ear to the ground for developments in the Mutant Rights movement for as far back as he can remember. A thief is either a polymath or a convict, and Remy prefers breathing free air. He has Morlock contacts, sure, because he has contacts everywhere--who knows when a body’s gonna need to lay low in Calcutta or Winnipeg? But he’s got his own problems--start with the deadly ex-wife and in-laws and navigate through parental expectations and the warrants out on his ass in seven states and half of Europe--and agitating for “rights” really doesn’t make it onto his radar.
He’s sort of curious about old man Xavier now, though. Curiosity and le chat, sure, but Remy’s been around the block a few times, mes amis, and he’s not too worried about a old timer who runs a school for wayward muties.
Summer’s already moved into New Orleans, squatted right on top of the people and dogs and horses and homo superiors, pressing Remy down into the pavement and dirt just like every year. He’s sitting on the balcony of the house on Dauphine and Esplanade drinking Benedictine watching the foot traffic pass by. Pretty girls in halter tops and cutoffs swing down the sidewalk bound for a frolic in the Quarter. Remy considers joining in, a little tourist never hurt a body, but he’s not really in the mood for people from Idaho or Iowa tonight.
“Tttsss,” he sucks on his teeth over a picture of Logan dressed like a lumberjack. “A good look for you,” he laughs a little at the photo--trees and wilderness, the kind of place that makes Remy’s skin flash hot and prickle at the very thought of. He’s keeping tabs on Logan for now--that whole sudden memory loss situation is something that needs further explanation, if only in service of the Guild, but also because Remy has an unfortunate need to know things.
From the envelope on his lap, he pulls out another set of high gloss photos. Remy hasn’t been to New York in a while, that town’s been done for him since he boosted the Royal Jewels of Denmark, but Upstate looks lovely. Or at least the grounds of Xavier’s school do. He’s never been one for formal education, but he’s nothing if not flexible.
Clouds are rolling in over the river, thunder rumbles down south a little ways. The air is charging up with ozone from lightening strikes not too far in the distance. Remy sips his drink and thinks about stepping out on his true love for a few days, just a quick hop up to Westchester to scope out the scene--his city always forgives his absences, her embrace never turning cold or spiteful because she knows his heart never roams, just his body from time to time.
“What’s this I hear that you let Sabertooth go…”
Henri’s cool deadpan seeps out of the open French doors behind him and Remy’s smile slides onto his face. He doesn’t turn towards his brother, instead keeps flipping through the heavy photo paper.
“Murder innit my style, as you well know.”
Down the street some Tulane students start pushing each other, too much beer turning into punches and blood.
Henri doesn’t make a single sound walking out onto the balcony and sitting in the empty chair by Remy’s elbow. He glances down at the photos that Remy doesn’t attempt to hide. “That was bound to happen.” He reaches for the pictures and Remy lets his brother flip through them with an expert’s precision. Henri shrugs one shoulder, reaches for Remy’s glass. “Cakewalk in a land of cakes.”
Remy laughs. “I’m not knocking the place over, cretin, I’m going to walk in the front door like everyone else.”
Henri lifts an eyebrow. “So the long con then?”
They both laugh boisterously, turning heads down on the street in a way that thieves really shouldn’t do.
*
“I was beginning to wonder when you would arrive.” Professor Xavier smiles in a way that is supposed to be disarming or reassuring, but coupled with the fact that he can read minds just creeps Remy the fuck out.
“You know who I am?” How much Xavier knows will determine how Remy treats him. Whether he’s a worthy adversary, a loose ally, or someone very dangerous is as yet undetermined. Xavier’s office is full of the casually extravagant bric-a-brac of the truly wealthy; it displays the kind of comfort that is rarely seen in the States except in the oldest sort of Southern families--people who don’t care if you know they’re rich or not, Vermeers tucked into nooks next to plastic flowers from the flea market, priceless first editions shelved next to The Cat In the Hat, threadbare Persian masterpieces strewn in high traffic areas. Remy loathes those sorts of people. He has made it his life’s work to take from them what they can’t or won’t appreciate.
Xavier crosses his hands over the blotter on his desk. “Oh, yes. How could I not?” He gestures to the chairs in front of Remy. “Please sit, Mr. Lebeau. Or should I call you Gambit?”
“You can call me Humpty-Dumpty if it lights your fire, cher.” He flops down in the armchair with feigned lack of fine muscle control.
Xavier inclines his head slightly to the side. “The question is really do you know who I am?”
Remy hears the challenge there. He sees the play and the six moves after it. He represses a yawn. “As much as I need to.”
Xavier smiles an entirely different kind of smile than before. “Ok then, we understand each other very well, I suspect.”
I hope you’re not casing my office, I’m rather attached to all the objects in this room.
Remy sits up straight and runs a hand through his hair. The creepy echo of someone else’s thoughts in his mind frighten him in a way he’s unaccustomed to. “I would prefer, Sir, if you refrained from that in the future.”
Xavier holds out a palm. “You must forgive me, Mr. Lebeau, even I sometimes fall prey to my whimsical side. I apologize if I startled you. For someone who traffics in secrets, having your mind violated must be the height of indiscretion. I will keep my thoughts verbal or to myself from now on.”
Remy knows he’s being played here, but it’s not like he can do jack shit about it. “Merci, I will hold you to that.” He didn’t miss Xavier’s message about his past. There’s nothing he can do about that, and he’s not apologizing to this man for his loyalty to his family.
“Now, a tour!” Xavier stands and rounds his desk, his hand out to Remy but never quite touching him.
Remy follows half a step behind, watching Xavier and the lay of the land.
“As you know, many of our youth are ill treated in their home environments. Many are abused, distressingly frequently a mutant child will be turned out into the street or abandoned if their abilities manifest at a young age. Or if they are noticeably…at variance with established standards of human beauty.”
“I get the message.” Remy doesn’t like it, but he gets it. Xavier knows he’s adopted. Hell, he might even know about the Guild. That’s not on Remy’s shoulders, though, so he’s not going to dig into how and where Xavier got his intel. Not from Xavier himself, at any rate. Remy will deal with a potential Guild leak in New Orleans.
Where the hallway T’s into another, a gaggle of children flutter by--three girls and a boy, ten or eleven, Remy doesn’t spot any devil horns or green skin.
“We recruit in many ways. We have a network of sympathetic humans around the country to listen for news of our kind, but there are more sophisticated methods as well.”
“I’m sure there is,” Remy rolls his eyes. They pass a classroom full of rapt children watching a girl would can’t be older than sixteen or so herself pointing to the pages of a book she’s not holding up with her hands. Remy watches through the window on the door as the pages flip themselves.
“Jean is a very special pupil, Mr. Lebeau.”
Jean is a pretty little number with gorgeous red hair and a sweet little upturned nose. “I’m sure she is.”
“Indeed,” Xavier chuckles a little. Remy glances back at him and Xavier winks at him. “You’ll find beauty as prevalent on this campus as you will off of it, of course.”
Remy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t think that salvo warrants a verbal response. Xavier turns and continues on. “I understand that I owe you more than just a simple thank you for your role in recent events in Pennsylvania.”
“People being kept in cages isn’t high on my acceptability scale, so you don’t owe me anything.”
Xavier stops and cuts his eyes at him, clasps his hands behind his back. “Particularly since you spent your own time in one of those cages?”
Remy shrugs.
“Mr. Lebeau, I’d like to discuss another matter with you, one I believe you might find to our mutual benefit…” Xavier reaches out a hand and again just doesn’t touch him. Remy’s listening, and he’s also impressed with Xavier’s ability to read body language.
*
When he was a little boy, his papa made a game of stealing produce from Solari’s for Remy and Henri. Remy’s still in the habit of pocketing apples or plums or figs if someone leaves them laying unattended. He has a box of raisons in his pocket that he palmed off a desk at Xavier’s school. The edges of the waxed red box are slick under his fingers as he skips through the shadows on the St Ann/Chartres corner of Jackson Square. The humidity is at nearly a hundred percent, even this late at night. The city tastes like plums and chicory on the back of his tongue, the particular texture of the dampness that lives in his soul reassuring him as much as the allure of the back room card game a Emile’s beckons him.
Jimmy’s on the corner opposite the Cathedral, trumpet in hand. Remy waves and flips a silver--actual silver--dollar his way, the bright arc of the coin rivets Remy’s attention for the swift seconds the face and tail flip over the street. Jimmy catches the dollar just as Remy reaches down to snatch up the urchin who was lurking behind a potted hibiscus. The urchin who is attempting to pick Remy’s pocket.
“Now, didn’t anyone ever tell you that you’d better know your business before you reach into the devil’s pocket, mon ami?” Remy lets his eyes flash red.
The kid is all bones, rags, and filth. Remy doesn’t let his feelings show on his face, but his heart breaks like it always does when he’s confronted with the bleak truths of the lack of love in this world. There’s hum along Remy’s skin where he’s holding the boy, the air around them seems to tremble.
“Are you fixin’ to whammie me?” Remy grins down at the kid. “Well gimme whatcha got, I’ve been waitin’ for you to make your move!”
The hum stops, the vibration immediately vanishes into the syrupy air around them. “What?” The boy’s terrified. Remy can’t let him go because the kid will be off like a shot, but he grasps him loosely at the elbows, leans down to be reassuring, turns on the power that has kept him in sex and booze since he was old enough to get a taste for either. “I’m not gonna hurt you or lock you up or nothing like that, ok? Watch.” He removes one hand from the boy and pulls out the box of raisons. He runs his fingers over the same edges he was fingering before the boy finally made his move. The box begins to glow pink. Remy casually tosses it at the bush the boy was hiding behind and raisons and bits of cardboard and flower petals explode. The boy’s mouth drops open. Jimmy pretends he didn’t see anything.
“Look, kid, I know a place you can go with as much food as you can eat and a warm bed where nobody’s going to harm you besides filling your head full of pro-mutant mumbo-jumbo. In the meantime, how about I buy you plate of beignets?”
Remy’s not much a team player if that team isn’t his family, but he’s not adverse to charity.
That's just a little thing while I'm toying with HOW I CAN GET JUBILEE INTO THIS STORY. I'm sorry, I can't help it, I love her, so shut it.
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Remy has held a special place in my heart for ages, and this promises all sorts of wonderfulness.
write, write like the wind! *g*
also, cause I forgot. characters I'm especially fond of seeing: Bobby, Jean Grey, Warren (depending), Hank, and if you wanna drag others in, Jean Paul (Northstar), Narya (Snowbird) and Walter (Sasquatch)from Alpha Flight would completely rock my world
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both the Jean Paul & Northstar personas are amazing fun - he'd be a wonderful match for Remy, methinks
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And I very much approve of working Jubilee in any way you can. She's one of my favorites.
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Man, as soon as I saw the phrase Assassin's Guild, I immediately thought "OMG HAVELOCK VETINARI" and shrieked with delight. And then I realized ok, you probably meant "X-MEN characters," and not, you know, "any randomly awesome character that pops into your head" characters.
Jubilee is pretty goddamn kickass, though. I APPROVE.
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HAHAHA You are welcome to suggest non-X characters. I mean, I wrote the Winchesters in Gotham after all.
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WHERE IS THIS WINCHESTERS IN GOTHAM STORY OF WHICH YOU SPEAK? MUST REEEEED.
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http://ethrosdemon.livejournal.com/317398.html
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Dude, I totally tried to go to bed and read this in the morning, but I was so goddamn intrigued that I couldn't sleep. AND IT WAS AWESOME, AS I KNEW IT WOULD BE. CURSE YOU AND YOUR EVIL WAAAAAYS.
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But, I loooved this. I think this is the first X-Men fic I've ever read. I should maybe read more. I support all further endeavors of yours, Jubilee or no Jubilee.
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POO! *weeps*
Well, damn. I don't want to get all up in the Morlock plot arc. I guess I could invent mutants, or have Storm as a kid (like the cracked out actual comic plot) but !!! Oh, crap on toast, wikipedia confirms your remarks. I hate the people making these films!
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YES THIS. Oh, HI REMY YOU TASTE GOOD.
...I will buy you two ponies. And a puppy dog.
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What does Remy taste like? I think cigarettes and cinnamon candy probably. (He smokes, ok, I refuse that retcon.)
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Oh, you're in a safe zone, trust me, I've been known to be quite indulgent in my Remy love. (Observe above.)
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Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiishaaaaaaaaa.
Oh, you mean X-men characters? Yeah, I got nothin'.
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This very nicely fleshes out the Remy we were given - and I love it. PERFECT.
Please be writing more!
[I don't know about the Jubilee bit though. Sorry. :(]
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Yeah, I don't know who I want to pick. All of my favorites are in the other timeline, like Kitty. Maybe I should make it a GI Joe xover and have Cobra Commander in it or something (am kidding).
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I think jubilee won't work.
But.
In the greatest.
Pairing.
of moviedom.
DAZZLER.
In 1979 she was a kept coke whore for a hollywood producer, who kept having random flings with Wolverine.
She and Gambit deserve each other.
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I'm for it.
Plus she once beat Galactus.
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And the skates? total irony city.
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In which our heroine goes to LA to be in a movie.
Movies in with a producer, and is pretty obviously a kept woman. The coke is not um, real explict, but certainly is very much in character.
From Wikipedia:
After moving to Los Angeles in a vain attempt to help her half-sister Lois London, Alison attempts careers in fitness training, dancing, modeling, and acting. Influenced both by her lover, Roman Nekoboh, and her desire to abate the growing anti-mutant sentiment, Alison publicly declares her mutant identity. The revelation backfires, destroying her reputation and career and inflaming anti-mutant sentiment, which sends Alison into a depressive state. Forced again into hiding, she spends some time as a keyboard player in rock singer and fellow mutant Lila Cheney's band.
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Musician is easy. I wish the film had been contemporary, because what I could do with a punk rock emo chick and Remy!
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And I concur on the Jubilee love...she's my favorite.
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