Penned March 1973. Scribbled on the back of a placemat that was immediately filled with explosive kinetic energy and thrown aside after writing.
Dear placemat Diary,
Do people really start these things like that? Makes me feel like a teenager. Not even sure why I’m writing this, but I’m bored and these paper placemats ain’t good for much else.
It’s weird being stuck in ‘73. I guess it helps not being the only one who’s in this position, but to be honest I wish I was. Rogue can’t exactly walk up to her crazy ass mama Mystique and be like ‘hey, it’s me, your kid’ cause femme would freak the hell out. Me on the other hand? I ain’t got no problems like that. Jean-Luc’s living his life in Louisiana and I’m all the way up here in New York.
There are a few familiar faces around, at least. Jubilee’s still herself, Lorna is pissed with me half the time, and Pietro is, for better or for worse, Pietro. Probably for worse. ‘Ro seems to be handling things well, but that ain’t exactly a surprise; she’s composure personified. Glad to see time travel hasn’t affected us all that much ( though I think Kitty is getting mouthier, if such a thing is possible... ).
Some people are in the right time, like Hank and the Prof. Guess that makes sense, considering they were are were alive. I haven’t spoken to Hank yet, but Xavier’s pretty much off the rails. He’s not the same positive, sunshine-y guy I know ( he has hair, for christ’s sake ).
Did I mention young Dadneto is hot? It’s an issue.
I got two new kittens. I was gonna keep with the Disney theme, but one of ‘em looks so much like Oliver that I had to name him after the lil’ guy. Machiavelli was originally gonna be Marie, but she’s more cunning than ladylike ( even if Marie was a lil’ feisty ). Aristocats is out and Robin Hood comes out later this year, but then we don’t get nothing for god knows how long. The '70s are were are a dark, dark time, mon ami.
If we don’t find a way to get home soon, I might up sticks and head down to Orleans. Not gonna find Jean-Luc and fuck with time or nothing; I just miss home. I know we were probably sent here to stop the Sentinels, but they’ve got more than enough manpower without needing ol’ Gambit. The idea of being stuck here forever, never returning back to our own time is... daunting. I don’t like it one bit.
Anyway, this crayon is almost at the end of its life, so I should probably stop writing now and pay my damn bill.
- Remy, xoxo












