5364/Sleight of Plans

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Sleight of Plans
Date of Scene: 27 February 2021
Location: Dive Bar outside Salem Center
Synopsis: Mastermind approaches Gambit in a seedy bar with an ominous take on the future, and an enigmatic promise of worthwhile jobs therein. Remy is characteristically oblique.
Cast of Characters: Remy LeBeau, Jason Wyngarde

Remy LeBeau has posed:
"Ah, bad luck, mon ami." It's entirely false sympathy, spoken in the back corner of a seedy bar up the highway from Salem Center. Trip aces beat two pair, Kings high. Remy clears the cash in the pot, busting out the burly fellow belonging to a semi outside who just went all in on what he had left from the table's unremarkable buy-in.

Maybe the trucker got swindled, maybe he didn't; it's an amount of money that doesn't motivate the typical bargoer to violence, in the master thief's experience. Even if this makes it a relatively humble score, despite being down to the last participant at a once full table.

As the grumbling man rises, Gambit gathers up the cards and deftly shuffles them together, tucking the deck away in a breast pocket of the worn black longcoat that belonged to a thrift store not so long ago. A fold of bills is slipped into another of the multitude of pockets, and the half-gloved mutant pushes up from the table to saunter gracefully towards the bar.

Blue denim and a grey shirt round out the mundane ensemble, accented by soft-soled leather boots and a pair of red-lensed metal shades which do an impressive job of concealing his unusual eyes without making the nighttime bar -too- dark in turn.

An empty snifter is set considerately on the woodwork, and a sly smile shared with the affable young bartender. "Hit me once more on dat." He encourages her, tapping the glass. The drink in question turns out to be Grand Marnier Cordon Rouge, neat. A warmer smile and wink offer unspoken thanks as the drink is poured and plucked up, and the Cajun resumes his saunter back towards his seat, which -completely coincidentally- happens to be near the back corner, and facing the rest of the bar.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason Wyngarde is here on a nominal mission besides being drunk. He walks in, heads to the bar and sits therein. He is wearing his usual illusionary form and orders a whiskey straight up, with real money even. As he does, he scans the bar, trying to find where the tip told him he would find his quary. He finally spots Remy and takes the whiskey with him and nods, "Evening...mind if I sit?" It seems to smell of business but if so its very very casual in the approach.

Remy LeBeau has posed:
"Dey say it's a free country." Remy observes with no small measure of non-committal nonchalance, the subtler undertones of waryness well concealed by the surface level amicability. He nods agreeably to the opposite chair, and lifts his drink to his lips, sipping thoughtfully as he considers Wyngarde over the rim. And more thoroughly once he's set the glass back down.

"You lookin' for a game, or jus' lookin for me?" It's hard to place that scent. Pointed business, another professed card-shark, or the casual appreciation of another late night drinker? With the stakes in the Cajun's life, one can't be too careful-- but Remy's doubly patient about jumping to any conclusions.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason Wyngarde nods and sits. Hooray for freedom, "A game sounds delightful but straight up Mr LeBeau, I am of course here for you. Name is Jason Wyngarde. Pleasure to meet you. Though the substance of the conversation would be best made...more private. Would you mind me...arranging for any conversation to be less noticibable to others?" He sips his drink.

Remy LeBeau has posed:
Remy cants his head left, taking another moment in silent perusal of his new guest, and listening rather carefully to the words spoken. The deck of cards-- or perhaps more appropriately -a- deck of cards-- finds its way back into his hands, dancing in a practiced shuffle between dextrous fingertips. He doesn't offer a particular game, however, nor does he begin to deal.

"'Course." The Cajun sounds anything but convinced the 'of course' is a good thing, of course. "Ain't too many know dat name, mon ami. Some would say dat gives you an advantage." Gambit, however, finds a remarkably sincere smile at this statement. "Less noticable is t'way I prefer." He subsequently consents, if with measures of canny curiousity.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason Wyngarde nods and just like that a bunch of people come in, and stand around the table, and begin to talk, men and women, some very attractive and are with in ear shot talking but not loud enough so that they can't talk. "They arent actually here, and are mine. So I've shown you mine. I dont need to see yours, your reputation precedes you." He sips his drink and nods, "By all means deal, any game you choose. I'm an old carny and enjoy a good game. Tell me, Mr LeBeau are you still freelancing?

Remy LeBeau has posed:
Gambit studies the illusory throng of newcomers with the same casual calm as before, a cooly collected demeanor that nonetheless carries its own quiet intensity. The explanation is accepted with an easy nod-- let's face it, this life is weird. "Place tend t'frown on fireworks." The Cajun easily agrees, giving the deck another shuffle before dealing Wyngarde the 8 of diamonds, and himself the 3 of hearts.

"Jus' keep it friendly, non?" There's telegraphed double meaning to that, and besides-- neither ante'd up, and Remy didn't seem inclined to offer Jason the cut. Wyngarde's next card is the ten of spades, while Gambit adds a second to the table in front of him, face down. "Always got an ear t'da ground for the right job." True to form, it's at once agreeable and non-committal. Prompting rather than disclosing much. "What you t'inkin?" And of course, the most important question. "Hit or stand?"

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason Wyngarde nods, "And I promise no illusions" he briefly makes the card look like an ace, "but cheating at cards is something I only do in the line of work or for a mark, and I dont take you as a mark Mr LeBeau. Well, I understand you are a fellow mutant. Curious what your attitude is towards the recent sitrep in Washington might be?" He considers a moment "Hit me."

Remy LeBeau has posed:
"Dey don' brief Monsieur LeBeau on what they t'inking." Remy observes firstly. "Seem to me it's the same shit, different decades, oui?" Who would expect Gambit to have any lingering distaste for authority? Besides anyone with a brain in their head, at least. Wyngarde's next card is the three of clubs, and it prompts a jaunty little whistle from the Cajun. "Lucky night for you, mon ami." Jason's showing twenty-one forces Remy to hit, and subsequently bust out, with the ten of hearts, flipping the matching nine in front of him to show twenty-two. "You lookin' at the wrong man if you want to change human nature." Remy kindly forewarns.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason Wyngarde nods and relaxes, considering. "Yeah, it is true the stupidity is hardly new though this recent bid is...a bit vicosuly nasty." He nods at the cards and nods, relaxing. These are purely social stakes anyway. He lets him do that forward, "And I dont want to change human nautre. I'm not trying to inspire anyone, but sometimes the right asshole needs....dealing with. I do belong to a particular organization you might have heard of

Remy LeBeau has posed:
"Viscous an' nasty ain't new either." Gambit half-concurs, sweeping up the cards and resuming that expert shuffle. He still doesn't pass the deck. "An' it seem to me there's always a whole line of assholes waitin' t'be dealt with." In fact, there's several entire guilds dedicated to just that pursuit! The deck of cards makes a dull thump as Remy sets it on the hardwood, and swirls his liquer before sipping anew.

It also gives him just another moment to consider those words. "Ones doin' de hiring?" The Cajun guesses. "Sounding less an' less like freelance kind of work." Which doesn't seem to disquiet him, nor slake curiosity. "You want I should start guessing dere name?" He punctuates in quip and wry, wolfish smile.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason Wyngarde says, "I can and do hire." He shrugs and nods, "But that isnt why I'm here. Some call me Mastermind. And the name of the group is the Brotherhood. As you can see I'm hardly a fanatic, I just understand where my bread is buttered and what would happen if someone like the brotherhood didnt exist. Someone of your skills, much less your powers would be....very valuable to the cause. Understand I'm no leader, but I thought a conversation might be...interesting."

Remy LeBeau has posed:
Remy's hardly privy to the secret briefings at Xavier's, if a dash closer than to Washington's, but he'd have to be living under a rock not to have some knowledge of the Brotherhood; of Magneto. "Reckon dat's a fight ya can win?" The Cajun muses, half rhetorically.

"Seem to me, a man who makes everyone around him see an' hear what he likes does pretty much what he wants." Hire, fire, seize higher office, amplify the crowd at a seedy bar. Though again, it's more rhetorical than anything. "Dis one do have a certain love for an underdog with bite. An' mon dieu-- /always/ interesting." The half-smile returns wryly, before being superceded by a savoring sip of liquer.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason Wyngarde says, "I thought that. Then Sentinels happened. My power is insane, even in a world full of powered people, basically only Omega level mutants like Magneto, aliens like Superman, or Telepaths, and potent ones at that scare me, but Robots?" He shrugs, "The thing is, 'win' is relative right? I mean, let me counter, do you REALLY think 'hope' is going to 'inspire' people to do the right thing? Carrot and stick are what makes the world go round and show me a minotiry without a stick and what happens. And let me put this another way...as I said, I'm not like a leader or anything but I know a guy who knows how to WORK when I see one, and too many of those in the organization are...well, idiots. All hammer, no scalple." He slides a card across the table, "If you ever decide to talk about it more." He shrugs and smiles."

Remy LeBeau has posed:
"Nothing like state sanctioned murderbots to mix up dat worldview, oui?" Remy sips from his snifter once more before setting it back to the table, smile diminished somewhat on his lips, the topic reasonably dampening the Cajun's mirth and whimsy. "End of de day, it's survival." Gambit agrees, reaching out a half-gloved hand to slide the card the rest of the way to him, and slip it away in his coat.

"You selling ol' Gambit short, mon ami." Remy notes, lifting his glass in mock toast. "Even scalpels leave a scar." Trusting his point is made, the rakish mutant throws back the last of his drink, thudding it back to the hardwood. "Sure we'll be talkin' again." Interested, perhaps intrigued, but non-committal once more. Such is the way.