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Post by Rogue on Sept 16, 2010 3:46:47 GMT -4
The wind tugged at her hair as Rogue sauntered down Sixth Avenue on her way back from the art museum where she’d spent a great majority of her day off. There was something cathartic about a nice hot cup of Joe and a Pollock painting. Staring into the splattered abyss made the stresses of counseling high school kids all melt away.
Fortunately the streets weren’t incredibly crowded around her last stop, and she managed to snake into it unscathed. The air was filled with several different aromas of incense, and candles of varying colors and shapes were stocked on small, rickety wooden shelves. Jars of herbs and dried exotic plants lined the wall behind the counter, some marked clearly: POISONOUS -- NOT FOR CONSUMPTION.
She tugged at the fingers of her gloves, pulling them from her hands and slipping them into her pockets. There was no need to hide here. The shop owners knew of her condition. They had a theory it was all mental; a block to keep distance between herself and anyone else she met. They said it had things to do with her past. Traumatizing experiences. As a defense mechanism, her powers were constantly working, draining power from whatever threatened to lay a hand on her.
When she’d stumbled into the store originally, there had been a tarot reader visiting at the time. Rogue had thought it would be fun to have her cards read, but as the hand played out, each successive one looked more and more grim. Little did she know, she’d find a friend in the woman, who apparently saw that Rogue's future was still malleable and was intent on helping her rectify the damage done to her “soul.” She was skeptical. But really, what did she have to lose?
Thus, she’d been coming back every week for a new remedy; something to help her remember the events missing from this chasm in her memory.
No one was manning the front desk, so while she waited Rogue shuffled through a woven basket of knick-knacks that the woman left in a chair by the door. Random stuff, a spool of thread, beads, buttons, dice, a small handful of cards…
Her hand paused over one of them for a moment longer. It’s back was to her, but there was an energy she could sense beneath her fingertips which begged her to pick it up. She did so, and turned it over in her hand.
The queen of hearts.
She chuckled and tossed the card back into the basket. Silly of her to think there was any meaning in something as banal as an old playing card.
(TAGS: Whoever feels like responding.)
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Post by Gambit on Sept 26, 2010 17:45:40 GMT -4
This place reminded him of home. It was strange to think that anywhere in New York City could remind him of good ol’ New Orleans, but this little shop managed. Of course it wasn’t the shop itself, nor New Orleans herself that it reminded him of; it was the smell of the place, and all the little trinkets that reminded him of his home, and of Tante Mattie in particular. She was into all this stuff, the spirits and the voodoo, and some of the incense in here smelled like her.
Smiling a bit to himself as he reminisced about the woman who had made his life as full as she had made it difficult, Remy picked up one package of incense after another, sniffing each one and trying to locate the one that was triggering his memories. This city triggered memories he’d rather not face, but this smell gave him comfort.
Placing another of the packages back on the shelf, he paused when he heard a chuckling behind him. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, the first thing that caught his eye was the card as it fluttered back into the basket: The Queen of Hearts. Then he noticed its thrower, her back turned to him: tall, slim, and with long dark hair flowing down her back. So far, so good looking.
“Dat sounded like a chuckle o’ skepticism,” he drawled, adjusting his dark glasses to make sure the covered his eyes.
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Post by Rogue on Oct 2, 2010 18:51:07 GMT -4
Rogue knew she wasn’t alone in the store; she’d heard him shuffling around, but she was still startled when the stranger spoke to her in such an informal fashion. Adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder, the leather worn from her constant fiddling, she turned over her shoulder to assess him.
“Oh, no. It’s nothin’,” she waved one gloved hand at the Queen sitting pretty in the basket. “It’s just such a cliché card, ya know? It feels silly findin' it here.”
Slight lie, slight truth. The Queen of Hearts was a horribly cliché card, but really she only felt silly that she had been so powerfully drawn to it. There was a memory tied to it which she couldn’t quite grasp. Maybe a dream. That’s what she tried to tell herself anyway, for cards rarely lit up the way they did in her minds eye, like they were on fire, but never burnt.
Her eyes caught on his shades, half-hidden by a tantalizing mop of tangled, deep brown hair. He wore them indoors, in the dark, dank little shop, but he was too coordinated to be blind. She could tell, even by the slightest movement -- he had exquisite muscle control, and fantastic spatial awareness. Her guard went up a bit.
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Post by Gambit on Oct 5, 2010 20:33:17 GMT -4
When she turned to face him, Remy first noticed the shock of white hair, far too pure to be unnatural, but then his gaze was drawn almost instantly to her eyes. They were brilliantly green, like two perfect emeralds, and for a moment he could only stare into them, as if they were drawing on his very soul. Shaking off the strange feeling, he instead focused on her voice, a very attractive and smooth southern lilt.
“Cliché?” he repeated. Holding on hand over his heart, he sounded almost offended. “Dat jus’ happens t’ be m’ favourite card. ‘spose t’ stand fo’ compassion, y’ know.”
Just one of her many meanings.
Strolling confidently forward, Remy stopped just a few feet short of the captivating woman before turning his attention to the basket. Gathering up the cards within, he righted them all until he held a semi-respectable stack in one hand.
“Maybe y’ wanna try fo’ anot’er, non?” he drawled, awkwardly and amateurishly shuffling the cards in his hand and managing to fumble them enough that a single one fluttered to the floor, face down. “Merde. Y’ mind pickin’ dat up fo’ me?”
At least his shuffling appeared to be amateurish, but when she looked at the card he had ‘accidentally’ dropped, she would, once again, find the Queen of Hearts.
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Post by Rogue on Oct 7, 2010 3:53:06 GMT -4
“Compassion?” When she did her own Tarot readings at home with playing cards, the Queen of Hearts was always in the dealt hand, and Rogue knew the meaning well.
“The Queen of Hearts represents a woman so overwhelmed by other’s needs and emotions, that she can’t even tell what her own best interests are, because she’s filled with all these other feelings inside her head…”
Not that she relates at all.
She tucked the white shock of hair behind her ear and lowered herself to pick up the card in a very lady-like fashion, bending at the knees. When she flipped the card around in her hand, she found it was -- once again -- the Queen.
Rogue smirked knowingly, “Irony.”
The man certainly had a captivating dramatic flare, which Rogue found appealingly quirky. There was something about his aura that resonated a familiar warmth against her exposed skin in their close proximity. Of course, there was a dangerous feeling that emanated from him as well. It was the same sneaky suspicion that made her question such things as the accidental card drop… and the short distance between them. Righting herself, Rogue brushed her jeans straight again with one hand, secretly checking that her wallet was still in her back pocket, and held the card out to him with the other.
“Ya know, it ain’t nice to get the drop on a lady.”
At the double entendre, her smile widened and she winked.
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Post by Gambit on Oct 12, 2010 20:13:38 GMT -4
Listening as she spouted off her own meaning for the card, Remy cocked his head to one side as he watched her. The way she spoke of it he couldn’t help but think that it really was her card, all joking and slight of hand aside. He kept that thought to himself for now. “Like I said, one o’ many meanin’s.”
Grinning to himself as she fell for his ruse, he put on his best innocent look as she turned the card, a feat made much easier by the dark glasses. Could she see his eyes, she would probably see a glint of mischief dancing in their red and black depths.
“Well look at dat,” he said, letting out a whistle between his teeth. “Look like she be stickin’ wit’ y’. Y’ know what dey say, after all: y’ don’ choose de cards, de cards choose you.”
Taking the card back, he let his fingers brush her own very briefly. The wallet check did not go unnoticed; a thief watched for those sort of things. Obviously a more down home kind of gal, no monster sized purse big enough to fit a head in to lug around.
“An’ jus’ what you insinuatin’?” he asked regarding her little joke, putting on an obviously feigned insulted facade.
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Post by Rogue on Nov 23, 2010 22:29:59 GMT -4
When his fingers brushed her hand, Rogue automatically pulled away. Cursing herself for taking off her gloves when the store had other clientele, she deftly pulled them back out and slid the thin fabric over her hands. She could feel the electricity of her powers bubbling up under skin, the unused energy making her skin itch painfully. "Careful," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him.
She raised her eyes to his face again, checking to see if he'd noticed anything unusual in her touch, but the man seemed unbothered and had even moved on in conversation. Keeping up with him so her discomfort wouldn't be too obvious, Rogue smirked, "You're welcome to interpret what ya will, Mr..."
She paused, one eyebrow quirked, "Funny. Ah don't think Ah caught your name..."
(OOC: Sorry it's short. Stupid itouch canceled the post and deleted everything. Got tired of typing... Fail.)
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Post by Gambit on Dec 3, 2010 18:38:55 GMT -4
Now that was curious. The temperature hadn’t dropped in here, it certainly wasn’t cold, but suddenly the woman was hastily pulling her gloves back on and muttering to herself. Raising an eyebrow at her curious actions, Remy chose not to comment, instead letting her lead the conversation on. Maybe she was some sort of germaphobe and didn’t appreciate him touching her. This was New York, after all. With this many people in one place he was bound to meet some weird ones.
So long as they continued to be such beautiful weirdos then he didn’t mind one bit.
“Not so funny, considerin’ I didn’t give it,” Remy countered, grinning playfully at her. Before she could react, he ducked into a sweeping bow and caught her now gloved hand in his. “LeBeau,” he finished her earlier sentence. “Remy LeBeau.”
Bringing her hand up to his lips, he kissed the back of it swiftly. He always had been one for pushing limits and testing boundaries. “Et toi?”
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Post by Rogue on Dec 26, 2010 19:35:07 GMT -4
Rogue rolled her eyes at his retort, thinking to herself, Oh, he’s one of those guys. The funny thing was, if the situation was reversed, she would be ‘one of those girls’ and said the exact same thing. Of course, she wouldn’t have introduced herself with the flair of James Bond… All the same, she let him take her hand and kiss the back of it with no complaint. His grandeur gestures made her darkly painted lips crack a smile.
“Rogue,” she didn’t have much of an identity beyond that. “Just Rogue. Nahce t‘ meetcha, Mr. LeBeau.”
She winked playfully back, fully aware she could take care of herself if LeBeau did decide to push her boundaries too far. Right now, nothing he’d done bothered her in the slightest. He had a very comfortable presence. Sadly, she didn’t really have a choice in the matter; her body would fend him off either way.
“Are you interested in…” she gestured around the room to all of the occult items around the room. This was the first time she’d bumped into guy who was more than semi-attractive in this shop.
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