12996/When it takes a thief..

When it takes a thief..
Date of Scene:	10 April 2021
Location:	Teacher's Lounge, Second Floor, Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Gifts are exchanged, secrets shared.
Cast of Characters:	Gambit, Beast

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Gambit has posed:
When you are a master thief, even a retired one, sometimes people come to you to acquire "difficult to obtain" items. Even if they don't want those items /stolen/ persay, they might not know the guy who knows a guy. Remy usually does. And so the Cajun, a leather satchel at his side tracks down Hank. When he finds him in the teacher's lounge he is relieved to find the man alone. "I got dem foh yah." The Cajun says softly, "Wasn' easy, an' Ah 'ad ta call in a few small favors, but.." he pulls the orange and white box out of the satchel and sets it in front of the Doctor. "Pretty sure dat is de last box of Pumpkin Spice Twinkies lef' on de East coast.."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy's presence in the lounge has been assured for most of the day. He might even have taken root, because this is NOT his room and is NOT the medlab and frankly isn't a lab at all, except in his own imagination. In a loose white shirt and jeans cut off at mid thigh so as not to restrict those feet of his, his glasses are perched RIGHT on the end of his nose, to peer scrupulously over what looks like a whole lot of science homework. Some of it looks as if he's had a spider on hallucinogens dabble in red paint and scrawl all over the paper, for all the interconnected red lines pointing here there.

So, when he looks up at the sight of the Man with Many Connections (And some of them questionable) his eyes look ludicrously large with the magnification. Mouth opens, forms an 'o' and gradually decreases the diameter until they're very pursed. "I swear, I do not know how you do it, Remy, but you could find an invisible needle in a metaphysical haystack." Rolling to his feet, he reaches one enormous palm out for "....the precious."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau grins wickedly and slides the box over tto the man, grinning slightly as he sees the near childlike joy in his face. "De benefits of a miss spent yout' Ah'm afraid. While yah were goin' ta collage and learning all dat science, Remy was learning de important t'ings, non?" He walks over and begins fixing a fresh pot of coffee, because only the devil knows, and God can only guess when the pot sitting there was actually brewed. "dat said, gonna need dose tickets. Mah girl's birt'day de first of next mont'." He glances at the papers and shakes his head. "Dat somebodies 'ome work? Look like yah graded it next ta an axe murder."

Beast has posed:
"Aah, the mystery is solved. Clearly, I should have been more gregarious in my own miss-spent youth, then I might have had a steady source," Smiling at the box, Hank pats it like it's a clever pet and promptly goes to hide it on the VERY top and back of the cupboard. Unless you knew it was there, well... A glance is shot to the work and the notations on it. "Oh. Yes. Although the massacre is more on the part of scientific principle -- I was attempting to comprehend the student's working by reverse engineering it and well, the end result has left me to conclude they took wild stabs in the dark." vague wave at the paper "Hence the crime scene there." Looking up, he pokes the bridge of his glasses flat so that the world is under the correct magnification, before: "...remind me. What tickets were these? Recent memory is a little on the foggy side, owing to going all primordial for a while."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau gives his friend a dead eyed stare. "Hank, Ah love yah like a brot'er... but bare in mind when mah brot'er crossed mea Ah blew up 'is underware while he was still wearing dem. Yah said yah coul' get me two tickets ta de Royal rumble at de Garden..." he says eyes glowing suddenly..

Beast has posed:
"My word, now that's an image I am going to have to use brain bleach on," Hank tidies the homework a little, submitting the scrawled on red-pen massacre to the very bottom of the pile, probably to get it out of sight and mind. He settles himself down again afterwards, curling nimble feet under the opposite chairlegs. "Did I now, though? Hmm. Think think think..." he taps is chin and takes his phone from his pocket with one fingerclaw hooked to the edge of the casing and begins flipping through. "DId I say front row seats?" Blithely asked, all casual like.

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau looks a bit amused, though now that he is sure Hank /is/ playing he is willing to play along a bit. "Yah didn't..." He says casually, But if yah c'n make dat 'appen..." He glances at the cupboard where the Twinkie stash is hidden, "Good t'ings been known ta 'appen..."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy continues to scroll, not a glance shot up, but there's just the corner of his eye that suggests he's still got half of an attention on the Cajun's reaction. Just half mind, so he doesn't miss things. "By the by, I will want to know the outcome. Vicarious testosterone kicks and all that," -- click-flip, flipflip **You've got MAIL** dings Remy's inbox. Front row, left. Good view of the exits from the looks of the seating. "You know, sometimes it just helps to know a fellow, doesn't it?" Wink.

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau smirks a little bit, "Naturally Ah will Henri," he says with an amused smirk on his lips. "Can' imagine why Raiana wanna go. Ah mean what normal woman wanna watch a bunch of tall muscley men wit' oiled bodies in tiny trunks grapple all ovah each ot'er, hmm?" he says smirking.

Beast has posed:
"Quite so. I mean, what is there to imagine in that scenario?" Henry chuckles at that, eyeing the coffee pot. It might well be creasote by now, suitable for tarring fences and he goes about making a fresh pot, as he does have a vested interest in his friends and co-workers not weather-proofing their own innards.

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau blinks slightly and looks both amused, and annoyed, though definitely more amused. "Henri," He says in that slow calm tone one sometimes has to when the smartest man in the room does something exceptionally bone headed. "Ah literally jus' brewed dat pot. Like a minute and a 'alf ago... Ah 'adn't even gotten a cup out of it yet..

Beast has posed:
"You ... oh. Yes, so you did," As the last drop goes down the sink, one might question what indicators show a blush on someone that's entirely blue. Doctor McCoy stares at the still-piping, sniffs at it and clears his throat a few times. "I think I might have thought I magined you doing that and was planning on... Oh bother. I think I might have to do some mental excersizes later, Scott be damned. Sorry, my friend. What an aggregious waste of perfectly good Joe." He pauses "Ever get those days when you spend half of it wondering if it's all Deja-vu and the rest of it is Vu-jade?"

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau grins a little bit, amused at his friend's mild discomfort and not afraid to rib him /just/ a little about it. "Yah know Henri, in some countries pourin' out a perfectly good pot of fresh coffee probably a Capital offense." He says amused... but in the air of friendship disposes of the last filter, still hot to the touch, and begins preparing the next. "Personally, Ah always get de sense of Deja-Poo." He says with a smirk, "Yah know, de feeling yah've dealt wit' dis bullshit before?"

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy laughs at that, nodding. "Or the feeling like you've just trodden in it," waving a finger at the newly refreshed pot. "At least this deja-poo, as you say, smells rather better. You know, at one point in time, it would have been almost a capital crime. In centuries gone by, it was a rarity that was worth its weight in gold and spoiling a cup would have at least been a lashing offense. I shall have to settle for self-fladulation in pennance." Reaching for a couple of cups, he flourishes one to Remy with a slow push at the last, as if in humble contrition, head bowed.

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau takes the cup with exaggerated formality and a slight bow before going over to the cabinet and retrieving a small jar of honey. He carefully measures two perfect spoonful's into his cup and stirs it slowly. "Times are like dat," He agrees with a smile. "Ah remember once mah Pappa told me 'ow when 'e was in Italy durin' World War two, de poor folks couldn' afford butter, so dey flavored dare bread wit' Olive oil. Now yah go to a really expensive Italian restaurant, dey put a pot of Olive oil on yah table foh yah ta dip yah bread in. People today payin' lots of money ta eat like poo' folks from days gone by."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy nods sagely to this. "Gentrification is unfortunately, fashionable. The poor man eats oysters for protein, lobster and crab because no other fool will touch something with that many legs, and now look at the cordon bleu," cream, approximations of three sugars and a tea-spoon pinned against the handle with his thumb and Hank slurps a hot mouthful. "Aaah, delicious recompense, you are so ennervating!" He pauses a moment, then observes "...Although to the nature of a poor man's feast now being a rich man's choice... I rather do like spare ribs. And a good reuben and brisket."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau snorts ever so slightly, shaking his head. "Ah don' care 'ow much butter yah put on one of dose t'ings, yah not gonna get me ta eat, what is effectively an Ocean Cockroach." He says smirking, sipping his own coffee and sighing with pleasure before putting his honey stash away. "Yah know, Ah'm pretty sure dare is not a /single/ component of a Ruban Ah like. Corned beef? Yuck. sauerkraut? Eww. Rye Bread? No t'ank you. T'ousand Island Dressing? Gross." He says mildly amused. "Dough if yah like Ribs, gotta take yah ta dis place in Nawlins. Dey smoke 'em all day, so tender yah 'ear angels sing."

Beast has posed:
"And that's part of my point, I suppose," Hank murmurs with a grin "...sweet and tender because we learned how to turn tough as nails to fall-off-the-bone. Don't you eat Crawdads though?" Indeed, Remy might be a paradoxical Cajun if he doesn't. A sidelong look is shot, lips theatrically pressed tight. "We will agree to disagree on a good reuben though. It's all in the spicing."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau waves his hand slightly "Crawdads different. Dey tiny." He says dismissively, as if that made all the difference in the world... or made any sense of the double standard with lobsters. He smirks a bit, sipping his own coffee and smirking, "People are amazing dat way, non? Like Edison said, he not fail 99 times... He jus' learn 99 ways not ta make a lightbulb. People will keep trying till dey make somet'ing dat work."

Beast has posed:
"Necessity being the mother of all invention, yes. Although you say it in a much more fundamental way, my friend. I probably let extraneity dominate." Hank chuckles, not commenting on the double standard, just stuffing it away someplace for the sake of curiosity. THere is another chuckle. "I think you can probably argue that crawdads are all about the spicing, also." He observes, pressing the fingers of one hand to his lips and kissing them out in a tribute to the creole knack with spice blends. "Given all the gastronomic possibilities that exist though, what would you say was your most fabulous find?"

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau smirks a little bit, "Well Shannon been tryin' ta steal mah jambalaya recipie foh weeks now, But personally Ah always been proud of Mah cornbread. Mrs. Pottswort' she keep 'ouse foh mah pappa, she teach me ta make it when Ah was about knee 'igh." He says with a bit of an easy smile, "Dare jus' somet'ing about it dat makes me feel at 'ome, no mattah where Ah am."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy considers this. Corn bread. Nostrils flare, as if he's wandering through the vistas of memory. "Versatile, too. Sweet or savoury, base for something complex or simple. I can see that," another slurp of coffee chases this thought down and lets it swirl around someplace in his core. "For me, it was my mother's apple pie. We had a tree in the back yard that produced both sweet and sours, depending on where you got them from. She'd leave them on the windowsill and used to always have a little miniature one for me to steal."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau smirks just a little bit, "Stealin' sweets was a big deal 'round Mrs. Pottswort'," He says with a smirk, "probably 'cause she know mah Pappa ain' gonna punish me foh it. So if /she/ catch me," His buttocks actually tighten at the memory, "Lets jus' say she 'ad dis wooden spoon she nevah used foh food." He says amused.

Beast has posed:
"There was probably a method to that madness," Beast offers in a deadpan tone, flicking the teaspoon from his cup and deftly rolling it acrobatically across his fingers. "She had to catch you first, no?" pondering this, he chews on his cheek. "I must admit, my childhood was incredibly bland in the misbehaving department. I think I was the poster child for goody two-shoes nerd. And then somewhere along the way, I ended up with muscles and became a total contradiction in stereotype."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau smirks a little bit, "Well isn' dat de fun part about stereotypes? Lettin' people get de wrong idea." He smirks a little bit. "Way back when, ole Remy used ta 'ave de face of an Angel. De marks nevah see me comin'." He smirks a little bit, "Course now Ah look like a fallen angel, an' dey still nevah see me comin', so dare is dat." He smiles a bit shaking his head. "Ah wasn' /dat/ bad of a kid, if yah take inta accound de 'ole raised by t'ieves aspect of it."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy looks up at the coiffe Remi sports, indulgent in its length and devil-may-care in the way it falls, to the face that remains handsome despite the very inhuman eyes. "I can see that. I imagine you were also in the choir? From what I understand of the creole great houses, there's a good amount of that sort of thing, though my understanding is strictly academic. I found it fascinating, how the mix of Catholicism and Hoodoo make up the ideological gumbo of Louisiana."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeauwho self describes as a "Recovering Catholic", involuntarily crosses himself at the word "Hoodoo," shaking his head slightly. "Ah don' know much about dat stuff. Dare a few in de Assassins dat play wit' dat stuff, but Remy like 'is immortal soul right where it is t'ank yah very much." He shakes his head slightly though a slight smirks comes to his lips. "Actually, non, among all mah many talents, an' Ah will 'umbily admit dat dey are legion, singing ain' one of dem. Can' carry a tune in a bucket. Ah even sound like a tortured seagull in de shower."

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy snorts at that, a giggle following that really does sound quite strange coming out of the big blue. "Ahhhhaa, gracious me, I can only imagine. I always tend to sound like I'm auditioning for a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, I'm sure." Another few giggles escape before he's quite able to get control over them. "So sorry, that was just... I needed that, I think."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau smirks a little bit, obviously amused himself. "Well jus' remember dat 'ole Doctor paitent confidentiality t'ing. Can' 'ave it gettin' spread around de school dat Remy anyt'ing less den perfect, non?" He says mildly amused.

Beast has posed:
"Oh, Mum's the word, Remy. As long as we agree that the coffee incident never happened, eh?" Finising his cup, he sets it in the dishwasher after a little rinse and sighs, looking back at the pile. "Well, this has been pleasant and I'm rather greatful you found my Golden Harvest..." he taps the side of his nose, then peers back at the pile once again. "But I'm afraid, other than the distraction of trying to find method in that madness... I do have to get back to grading them."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau nods slightly, finishing his coffee in one last long pull and rinsing out his mug, a black affair that has "I'm too sexy for this mug" written across it, and placing it on the shelf with the other coffee cups for the break room. "Alright Henri, Ah leave yah too it. Try not ta work /too/ 'ard, non?" He says smirking

Beast has posed:
Henry McCoy waves a hand to that, settling back in his chair, pen plucked in hand. "I'm under doctor's orders not to. So of course, I have to find -something- to do, eh?" He waves though. "Enjoy center ring."