Embrace the Chaos

Summary:
April, 25, 2014: Rogue encounters the bogeyman who lives behind the bar, Gambit. A fight follows and they switch "places".

District X, No Named Bar (NOT the Bar With No Name)
A bar in the M-Town slums.


Characters

NPCs

  • Darkhold Dwarf
  • Flappy, Spencer and Jeffery.

Mood Music:
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8Xhc2_YiMg] Chaos Lives in Everything - Korn (ft Skrillex)


"Marv said there is some sorta sick freak out back vomiting on people and screaming in tongues. Dudes a real nutjob, got some dancing midget with 'em too. It's weirdest shit I ever seen." This is a lot coming from a bearded man who has flaps that look like elephant ears that hang down off of his brow and fold down over his face to settle heavily on his shoulders. A mutant, like most in the bar here. The man he is talking to is a mutant as well yet has no apparent visible mutation, just the ability to turn into a pile of jelly like substance. He's shown it off several times now.

"The Cajun? Yeah, he got weird a few weeks ago. Somethin' happened to him, messed with his brain or something. I think it's somethin' like voodoo or bad magic. That midget too, I don't like him, they were in here the other night and I watched Gary start actin' weird too."
The slim one named Jeffery stops talking to the flap faced mutant to glance over the bar at the 'tender, "Spencer, you really should send someone out back to get rid of him."

"Not doin', the Cajun's got some explosive stuff going on and he's mean right now. Last guy I sent back there went to the ER. Not doin' it. Just going to let him hang back there and hope he goes away soon."

Flappy chuckles, "It's bad for business Spence."

"You slobs are still here and that gal there. I'll be okay, the stupid ones will keep coming and keep drinking."

Jeffery lifts up his glass and says a loud and clear, "True that! Get us another round and one for the girl. Wait…" Leaning back in his stool he shouts across the bar to the solo figure, "Hey girly girl, you over 21 right?"

Down at the end of the bar Rogue sits precariously in a stool that is tilted back on its hind two legs, one leg tucked up at a angle to prop along the eave of the bar as she rocks lightly, daring herself to stay upright with each motion, but it doesn't stop her from sliding her thumb over the screen of the cell phone, popping away at some app in her own silence, though honestly it is just something to do while she listens to those in the bar speak about the man and his pet midget.

When they do speak to her those emerald eyes slide upward and peer between the fallen curtain of auburn and white strands, the gum she had been chewing shifted to audibly snap with the clench of her jaw. Leather moans its protest as that leg drops from its rest upon the bar, her belt jingling just as the two legs rock forward to slam into the ground, her weight simultaneously slipping from it in a small hop that seems almost playful if it wasn't for the 'nary a care grin on her lips. "Ah'm of age," Sliding past 'Flaps' and usurping his shot for her own to knock it back and prop the bare curve of her hip against the bar to gain a closer proximity, the netting of her overlain top casting a shadow over the bare skin from torso up, a smaller halter like top matching in dark green leather underlying with straps that match the rise and angled grip of the belted at her hips.

"Anything else you'd like to tell a girl before she goes and earns her second drink… On the house." The southern drawl matches that spark and fire she carries herself with and offers them in a smile.

"Whatcha mean goes and earns another drink? You don't mean togo out there do you?" Spencer the bartender inquires.

"Yeah, it isn't safe. It's not natural… " Jeffery adds.

"Only reason to go out there is to give him more booze then go'n leave him be. He doesn't bother nobody if you stay away."

The buzz cut head of the server is now crunched up in actual worry for another 'human' being. A rare thing these days… then again he may just not want to anger the unwanted guest outback.

"Yeah, we can't let you go out there." Flaps says - his hand coming out to rest atop Rogue's own gloved grasp. "Just stay and we'll buy you more drinks. Pretty girl like you will make all the rest of us look good just by being here." A large smile appears behind them folded over Dumbo-like ear flaps.

A light in the corner flickers then pops as it goes out the east side of the tavern suddenly dimming, shadow sliding along the walls with the absence of that single bulb, sheathing the booth there in absolute darkness. A chill sweeps through the bar despite it being a rather pleasant enough near seventy degrees inside. "He is in a rather foul mood, I wouldn't suggest going back there." White teeth are seen, teeth that stand no more than three feet off the ground. A flicker of a nearby light illuminates the owner of that perfectly lined up row of gleaming mouth utensils. The small in a suit, reds and blacks with a dapper style haircut and a wicked set of dark beady eyes. "Hello, my companion requires more alcohol, I came to fetch some for him… if you would be so kind." HIs voice is bizarre sounding, almost like it skips with a burble sound, gasoline over gravel. A rough yet smooth contrast that seems to blur in the middle. Most unnatural.

Spencer clears his throat, "Yeah, sure, pal. I'll get him another bourbon."

"Wonderful, you're a credit to your people, Spencer Rawlins."

When 'Flaps'' hands touch down on her own, gloved though they are, she stiffens - the reminder of her coat being left on the back of the stool where she had sought secluded repose coming to the forefront; even the temperate climate in the bar not enough to keep the goose bumps off exposed flesh. Slowly, so as not to offend 'Flaps' she withdraws her hands from his own and flashes one of those smiles that had wilted away upon his touch-ing reminder.

Gathering up her coat, Rogue slides it on, over her shoulders, that hooded trench coat settles into place to keep less of her exposed to the possibility of touches and human contact. Though, as she shrouds herself the bar began to form its own darkness and that small figure appears to lay out its request for the one they all seemed too disturbed about to even bother with. Just feed the rabid beast out back and keep it sated enough to be ignored…

The thought makes Rogue's smile warp into a sneer at the small being.

"It appears Ah'll beautify the whole place." Rogue states with a misplaced confidence, one that is getting cemented there despite the creeping chill and darkness that came with the suited figure, making her determination set in even firmer. If Spence slides that Bourbon out there, Rogue snares it in gloved grip and heads for that back door in a flutter of that large coats' ends.

"Miss… you really shouldn't go back there." Jeffery insists as Flaps stands up and glowers down at the little menace who just appeared. "It's the Devil's work at play."

"Certainty one of them." The imp confirms but doesn't move from where he stands only watching Rogue take the bourbon up. As soon as her hand is upon it he waves one of his own out towards the door, "Ladies first."

"Just let her go, Jeff. She's a whack job too." Spencer says quietly to his friend.

The larger mutant doesn't seem so reserved however, "I'll go with you. Just incase you need me… "His voice is shaken, he's heard the horror stories of the man in the back over the past few days.

"No whack job, just a mutant who is tired of dealin' with fear." Rogue says over her shoulder towards those that remain behind, while her hand tenses on the handle of the back door, the other moaning out as the gloved grip grinds around the glass neck of the bottle of bourbon.

The hardening gaze softens somewhat towards 'Flaps' as he stands up to join her, her look enough to say he did not have to, but nothing came forth to stop him - doing so would only injure pride and help nothing else. This she knows.

A glance down to the overjoyed midget and she resets that hardened look and pushes the door open to step into whatever madness awaits them..

Rather normal at first, a back alley with a flickering red light to the left and a lean-to-shack, a dumpster, a truck ramp, and a kicked over burn barrel; it's guts spilled out across the cement obviously long burnt out as the contents are cold now. The stench of decay and rot are the first things to assail the senses followed by that eerie sensation of being watched.

"Doesn't seem so bad… except for the smell." Flaps coughs before his hand lifts up over his face, knuckles curling in to his nose as if the action would cut off all sense of smell.

"Right this way." The diminutive suit hops past and bows extending one arm towards the shack.

It's the pitch black contents of the shed that the small figure is directing her towards, something inside stirs, moves and the sound of cloth and possibly flesh scraping against metal can be heard. "Dun come any closer." A voice from inside rasps, throaty, hoarse, "Jus' set it down and walk away." Twin beacons of crimson pierce the darkness.

"That'd be most back-alley places." Rogue states as she even tries to alternate her breathing from nose to mouth… None better then the other so she just lifts one shoulder in the rise and fall of a non-chalant shrug that seizes in place when the small man speaks up, carrying them on.

Once Rogue is close enough to hear that voice and its demands she lowers down into a crouch, that warning of words ignored as she creeps forward a few more steps, the bottle of bourbon held in her clutch and dangling there from betwixt curled fingers and a limp wristed hold that curls over one bent knee.

"Ah think these good people are done taking demands from the 'dark and scary' in the back alley. Take your bourbon and move along." Her sharp green gaze slides towards the one who guided them there. "You and your friend." Now those twin beacons are being met head on by the keen emerald of Rogue's that are trying to discern /what/ or /who/ she is exactly looking at in that darkness that is just within reach.

"What friend, chere?" The voice asks. What friend indeed, the imp is gone, no trace of him ever having been there. "I only see de two of you." The face thrusts forth from the shadows, cobalt skin and hellish red eyes with white hair framing what could be a handsome face if it wasn't for the smear of what may be blood across the visage, cracked and caked where it's been there too long. "Two, large, slabs of meat. Though you, ma bichette… you look most delicious." The man's form lurches forward from inside the shed to slam down on top of where Rogue would have been had her new companion not jumped in the way, now pinned down beneath a writhing mass of trench coat and white hair. "Skin peels so easily from de flesh… the rip, the sound, the texture… my tongue just.. such delight."

Flaps screams loudly as clawed fingers dig in ot the side of his face and neck, peeling his eyelids back as one such tipped nail pierces an eyeball causing the orb to pop and begin to ooze out it's contents. "Look at him wriggle like a cochon, a filthy disgusting pig. Such a monster… "

So fast, but she had been warned, and what occurs next only has her picking herself off the mire coated slab of 'crete to look back from between strands of white to see the hunched over form of a man beginning to make a mess of her newest… friend. Someone who dared to be beside her even during a stupid moment of bravery. This is her fault…

"My faul—- NO!" Rogue pushes up then and in a few quick steps closes the gap between herself and the red-eyed man that is beginning its work on 'Flaps'. Her hand that holds the bourbon swings up just as she lunges, lowering her form and throwing a shoulder into the white haired demon while that bourbon is attempting to be served to him by a forceful slam across his jaw in the uppercut sweep. A foolish thing, to throw herself in considering what is unfolding, but only one person put them both here… Herself.

The liquor explodes in a shower of glass across that sharp toothed mouth, it's only a portion of the impact that sends the figure careening in to the wall where it hits with bone shattering force only to slump on the ground a good four feet from where it had initially slammed.

Flaps crying rolls back and forth clutching his mess of a face in splayed out fingers, unaware he's losing massive amounts of blood from his neck and shoulder. The door to the pub opens up and reveals Jeffrey and Spencer, "Oh my god, Flaps!" Spencer with shotgun in hand takes aim at the fallen form and inquires, "Is he dead?"

Silence for several heartbeats then a laughter begins to roll forth from the pile of trench and bones. "Hardly dead but you are a delight." The taunting rasp is directed at Rogue. Almost instantly the figure is upon his feet thrown upwards as if gravity doesn't exist, arms out wide with the jacket, claws splayed and teeth jagged blades in a wicked looking mouth, "C'mere and let us kiss, only good manners, ma belle." That tongue darts out, flicking wide and up across his own cheek to curl at the air as if tasting at it.
That shotgun Rawlins his holding goes off the blast pounding in to the demonic man's chest with zero obvious effect. Flesh opens and peels back to display where pellets had sunken in but no pain is acknowledged, Jeffrey is already dragging Flaps up the stairs in to the bar, "Come on lets get out of here, you can't kill Satan!"

Rogue hasn't underestimated the demonic being even as she regains and moves to Flaps' side, her hand tentatively reaching out for him before stopping that moment of fear to try and help, white gloves stained in red as she applies pressure to one of his wounds that is loosing blood quicker then others, her other hand trying to stop him from writhing in his keening bout of pain. Her eyes are darting from Flaps to the slumped form as the others come, stripping him from her grip and queuing the rising of 'Satan'.

Muscles along her jawline flux as the shotgun blast brings no desired effect and she is stepping back, withdrawing with her bar mates, that gloved hand extending as she keeps her back to them and front towards the 'Devil' himself. Once the lip of a large commercial dumpster is felt she glances back at the door and the trio with the echo of Flaps' cries meeting the very real ones still cadencing….

Her stance shifts, poises and her upper body moves, dragging that dumpster in a swift sweep across the front of her, throwing it at the back door of the bar, barring it from them exiting or 'Satan' going in.

"Come and get that kiss, suga'." Rogue says with a reappearing grin, one attempting to hide the fast working of thought as to how to handle this… Sometimes you bite off more then you can chew, Rogue.

The creatures head snaps to the side at an odd birdlike almost breakneck position as it watches the barring of the door with the dumpster, it looks as though it's perplexed or marveling at her - probably both. The come-hither taunt has the desired effect… it's on her, arms coiling around her body to tangle in to hair and thigh, claws as sharp as jagged razors push in to her flesh aided by supernatural strength and a mouth full of serrated teeth crushes against her own, a violent embrace that has their bodies crushed so closely together breathing is near impossible which considering the stench permeating the area and this corpse-eater that is probably for the best. That awful otherworldly tongue crams itself down Rogue's throat rolling twisting and writhing in wild abandon. Rough sharp canines scrape her mouth and bite it causing blood to pool forth, something the woman probably hasn't felt for some time, her Kree - Human hybrid resilience being far beyond the normal standards, even for a mutant. It's the taste of her blood that accompanies what happens next, nothing far back, nothing beyond the existence of this creature but memories wash over Rogue, memories that become her own, accepting a job from a man in New Orleans, a flight, grave robbing, X-Men chasing him, a clever ruse and sleight of hand, what transpires next as demonic visions that the Amityville Horror would praise and hope to aspire, the man, the demon, Remy LeBeau, surface thoughts of what he used to be, a charmer, a thief, a rogue like herself yet, now a cannibalistic beast reveling in pain and suffering of others, an odd chivalric side of the man bolstering his will power, keeping the visions, the urges in check just so that he can only feast on those no one will miss or that are judged as wrongful, evil, vile people like he envisions himself. Feelings of incredible guilt, fear, self-loathing, a desire for salvation and a near insatiable hunger for all things carnal, material and sinful. The Darkhold, a book, the page, the imp, they're all connected to what he has become now, to what Rogue is now. Remy LeBeau, the man known as Gambit throws himself backwards with a cry of dismay as what was inside of him 'leaps' departing him to hop in to Rogue, to seed itself in, to coil in to her very essence and core, twisting in like snakes seeking an inner warmth to coil about, to make host.

The man's face is no longer blackened, the hair goes from stained white to dark brown, the eyes no longer bulge they pull back in to his skull and begin to haze over as he topples the wounds he's suffered in their fight now affecting him, the shotgun, the glass across his face, her taste in his mouth. She feels all of these momentarily before their connection is fully lost and the man is a crumpled heap at her feet and she adds another swarm of voices to her psyche, not just any voices, the voice of Chthon, the voices of the Damned, the voices of the Darkhold.

"I'm sorry…" A whispered apology escapes the man on the ground or perhaps Rogue only imagines it before the darkness consumes her, blood, death, corruption engulfs. The Darkhold claims another.

Rogue did not expect this, not this fast, normally she is just as fast, just as strong, if not a step above, and when she grips the tattered fabric of trench coat and twists it in her gloved grip the overwhelming sensations hammer down on her all at once when his skin makes contact with her own in a way she never truly intended.

Neck craned back by the tangled grip in her hair and the ravaging rake of teeth on her lips with the feeling of that slick serpent sliding past her lips she cries out against it. Her grip in the coat becomes one of desperation, ripping as one hand becomes two and she is trying desperately to throw him off of her, rip him off of her even if it…

But he isn't /Satan/ he's a man, one that did not ask for this… One that… Lived a not-so-honest life, but -is- /alive/.

.. So no, not even if it ripped him in twixt.

Against those carnivorous lips she screams and her eyes roll back into her head, taking in those feelings, visions, sensations and voices, writhing in a body no longer her own once again as she does what her powers are meant to, with or without her consent - Absorb.

Once he releases her and falls back his words seem to be held on deaf ears, her body wracked in shudders that near the look of convulsions as she curls in on herself, a fetal position perched on that bloodied and fouled path. Lips part and she wretches, vomiting a blackness that could be her blood or a meager attempt to expel what she took as a broken voice of feminine quality and broken glass responds to him.

"It's mine…" The fault, the burden, the Darkhold? Whichever it was it slowly has those emerald eyes bleeding to a broken black at the iris' edge while the small capillaries in the whites bleed red..

click

clack

click

clack

-pause-

Two glossy penny loafers stop in front of her face. Small ones. Very stylish and expensive small ones. A voice almost like a croak cuts through the sounds of Rogue's discomfort. "Time to go dance in the Darkness, Ana Marie. You're a much better soul than Mr. LeBeau." Little digits curl around her fingers and pull her up with surprising strength, walking her towards the end of the alleyway where the Abyss seems to connect at the black horizon line one like something out of Alice in Wonderland just grows, defying the laws of reality.

"Come, there is Chaos to be embraced." The grin on the imp's face is too wide, too big now, too stretched and too content.

"The Darkhold has demands of it's servants, our Lord awaits."


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