can you grow out of being a bad influence already?
people asked him silly questions everywhere he went. didn’t matter who they were — an x-man, an avenger, an evil scientist, some world-ender too stupid t’ quit, maybe even his own mama the day he was born. prolly asked him somethin’ like why his eyes looked like that, and he like: hell if he knew — she the one who birthed him. ask the genes. ask the sky why it can’t stop bein’ blue. ask an elephant why it can’t jump. the foolishness never stopped rollin' on in through his world. monica would've been better off askin’ why he was the one that won the race out his daddy’s dick. sometimes, he asked that too.
❝ grow out of it? non, monica. ❞
the louisiana maverick let the words melt off his tongue, smooth as warm cane syrup. he lifted his steaming cup of louisiana prairie coffee, let that lafayette roast slide down his throat with all its familiar bitterness. as always, it hit him like home.
her asking him to grow out of somethin' as natural water was jus' crazy talk. but the fact she was her being hot and bothered enough t' ask? now that entertained him plenty. so he indulged her.
❝ you know full well what folks say ’bout the company you keep, podnah — ❞ he said, his voice dipped into a lazy purr, wicked in the small ways, and let out a rich chuckle. ❝ an’ since you still lettin’ me hang ’round, i reckon dat make you jus' as guilty as gambit, you. ❞
he let her chew on that for a second.
the cheshire-esque grin that curled onto his face next was a slow-bloomin' thing. it was soft enough t' disarm the most guarded folks and striking enough t' set off fair warnings. with gambit, there was always a gamble: sometimes he was just a man smilin’ at the good the world still offered. other times? well. he was the fox circlin' a henhouse, seein' what doors weren't latched, what trenches could be dug in a soft patch o' soil.
folks didn't call him a bad influence for nothin'.
and he'd break into pieces of the man he was if he ever stopped leanin' into that reputation. now that did earn him some rather unkind opinions. but that was fine. gambit wasn't built t' break easy.
❝ besides... why you fussin' on a good lundi mornin', anyway, hmm? ❞ a teasing croon, warm as chicory on his tongue.
❝ you gon' get used t' mah influence sooner or later. folks who know me know it ages like a good rum — it gets smoother, stronger... an' just dangerous enough t’ keep life ahead o’ everyone ’round me real interestin’. never know what card comin’ next. ❞
his eyes cut toward her then, ember-warm, satanically-bright, mischief glintin' like a spark from off of his charges. ❝ but nothin’ a star-fire like you can’t handle. cher, you built for weather hotter’n me. you know dis already… don’t you, you? ❞
@0hcaptn + night watcher.
