Thief of Spirits by Eternity's Voice


WARNING! I seriously do not want to get kicked off this site, so remember that I SAID that this fic is PG-13. It may not be a problem, but I feel a little iffy here and I don't want to bump it to R.


That done, Thank You for Reading. If the dialogue gets tricky, read it aloud and marvel at your newfound Southern/Creole accent.


Our story begins right after our Gothic friend ports into the mausoleum (yes, that thing was a crypt...ick) in Recruiting Rogue...and she finds that she is not alone.



"Who are you? What are you doin' here?"

"Gambit be the one askin' de questions, Chere. You trespassin' here."

"You're a little far up the Mississippi yahself, Swamp Rat!"

He placed a hand on the crypt. "Remy just payin' his respects, dat's all. He don' t'ink you come to do de same. How you get in here, while we on de trespassin' subject?"

The girl looked around at the stone walls. "I...I don't know."

"Were you runnin', Petite? Remy keep you safe if'n you were."


He crossed the mausoleum and lay on the coffin matching his relative's like it were no more than a couch. Seeing her expression, the young man laughed.

"Remy have no love for his Grandmama's family. Neither did she, just got herself buried wit' dem. Dey insist an' de LeBeaus nevah, nevah look a gift horse in de maw. Grandmama wanted to rest up here anyway. She was a right an' true Suthern Belle, gorgeous as a girl, magnifique as a Woman, wore her age like it weren't there a'tall, brains like lightnin', attitude to de hilt!"

He laughed and looked her way, his shades doing a poor job of concealing his merriment, a contrast to how well they hid his eyes.

"None too different form yo'self, Chere. Dat's why Remy help you, family tradition. Ace Lebeau take Lilly down south out of a world of trouble, and Remy owe him his life fo' dat. Remy take you to N'Awlins, maybe he can blackmail yo' grandchildren one day wit' such a life debt."

A faint blush spread across her face. "Yer gettin' ahead of yourself, Cajun." He laughed.

"Remy's no fool wit' de wimmen, Petite. He know t'ings rarely 'mount to much. But you know Remy's creed? Live life, take ev'ry chance, play de LeBeau charm to a key, an' Gambit come out fine. An' if you don' mind Remy sayin', you look mighty fine, Belle."

She blushed at the praise, but then her thoughts flicked to Matt, who had said something similar on the balcony. Matt was dead on accident but it was her fault. She really didn't trust the smooth talking Swamp Rat. If the man meant her harm, she could just touch him and let her cursed skin finish him off.

"So yer offerin' a ride?" she asked warily.

All of a sudden, she was in his arms. "Yes de Cajun is, Chere. And a word of advice." He tilted her chin with his leather clad hand.

"When a LeBeau give a fille a compliment, she betta accept it if'n she knows what's good fo' her. If she don', den she's insecure. Dere's not'ing a LeBeau man hates more dan a fille who don' know she's gorgeous."

She looked away uncomfortably. "Thanks."

Remy laughed again -he was turning out to be a regular joker. He held onto her wrist and pulled her towards the exit. "Too late, ma Petite. Remy nevah gonna let go 'till you t'ink yo'self de mos' magnifique fille in de world."


He pulled her behind him on his motorcycle and took off too quick for her to get off. The Cajun chuckled. The goth behind behind him yelled, "What's so funny, Creole!"

"What Remy said by Grandmama's Grave."

"I get it. I'm beautiful. Slow down so I don' end up lookin' like road kill!"

"No, you don' get it, ma Petite. De catch is dat filles, dey never believe a Homme when he say she's gorgeous. Yo' sayin' you believe Remy, but he know you t'ink you ugly. Yo' stuck wit' Remy, Chere." The girl hung her head and clung harder to the Cajun. She thought back to the German devil that had attacked her and muttered, "Look on tha bright side. At least he's not a demon."

His laugh was low, but shook her entire frame. Though she couldn't see, Remy's shades were slung low on his face. Twin flames glowed from his eyes, lighting the road better for him than any headlights.

"You may not t'ink the same, come mornin', Cherie. Remy a demon in a lot a t'ings."

The motorcycle shot down the road and she held on for dear life.

"What the Hell did I get mahself into?"

He didn't laugh, which set her on edge. Very quietly he replied, "The ride of yo' life, ma Petite. Remy ride so fast, you nevah get a chance to run."


Hours later, Remy felt his unwilling passenger's arms slacken. He swore.

"Oh, now dat won' do a'tall! Remy's Petite be no road kill."

He noticed a familiar sign on the side of the road and smiled.


Remy came out of the motel lobby twirling a set of keys. He smiled at his girl, wrapped in his trench coat against his bike. Remy didn't own much, but knew that when something belonged to him, it was "his."

'De fille can't weigh much to be propped up by Remy's wheels.' He walked over quietly and took her in his arms.

"She don' weigh not'ing. The first t'ing Gambit do is fill her up on good Cajun food. Well..." his eyes flashed, "maybe dat come second."


The clicking of the door's locks woke the girl. She tumbled out of the Cajun's arms and scrambled away. LeBeau just chuckled and pulled open a compartment hidden by the motel's laminated list of rules.

She stared at the small cabinet and the number-key pad in it. "What tha Hell?"

"Dis ain' a normal motel, Chere. De windows don' open, de walls -dey soundproof, de tub is too big, de phone don' work, an' you can' get out 'less you de Homme dat paid."

"What sorta place is this?"

Remy looked at her sadly. "A place a LeBeau man hopes his daughter never works."

He punched in a code, and then shut the compartment door. "Don' matter dat you memorized dat, Petite. Dere's a different number to exit. Dat nowheres but Remy's head.

The girl pulled off her gloves. "All I needed to hear, Cajun." She lunged for the man.


Remy caught her easily. He took her to the floor, trapped her legs and torso with his legs, and snatched her wrists in one hand behind her back. She was so small, her head barely came to his chest. "Now why you do a stupid t'ing like dat, ma Petite? Remy said he nevah let go an' Remy no liar. Shh, don' fight. Gambit not gonna force ya, not like dat.

"Dat where Remy draws de line. He don' got much honor, but it's ten time a normal t'ief's where it counts."

He picked her up and prodded her toward the bathroom. "Look, go to de bathroom, wash off de make-up, and take off some clothes. Remy won' come in for a good ten minutes."

Defeated, the Goth walked towards the door.

"And Chere?" She glanced back. Remy pulled off the shades and she gasped. As his eyes made her shake, he said very slowly, "Don' attack Gambit again, ma Petite. You don' want Remy to forget his honor, no?

"No," she whispered back.

"Good girl. Now run along. Times' a wastin' and Gambit isn't very patient."


With the door locked behind her, she sank to the tile floor and sobbed. Her whole life had gone to pieces in one night and was getting steadily worse. After a minute, she looked at her ruined make-up and scrubbed it off. She managed to go to the bathroom without crying. At school it was where she cried. There were disguising sounds, tissue paper available and closed doors. It wasn't school anymore.

Glancing at the mirror one more time, the Goth pulled off the gauzy green top that had made her famous at school. Beating the dress code hardly seemed important anymore. Getting out of the room did.

What she had to do all sounded so easy in her head. 'Let him touch you, punch tha code, use his memories ta ride his bike, and you're gone.' Actually doing it terrified her.

She looked at the door. All her senses screamed to just stay in the bathroom, but she knew Remy would open the door. He had made it clear that the door could be unlocked from the outside and she knew she didn't weigh enough to prop it shut with her body.

The girl didn't dare get the Cajun angry on the off chance whatever had killed Matt was taking a nap.


She walked out of the bathroom and stopped dead. Gambit was watching TV at the foot of the bed; he was watching Matt. Her classmate was taped being rolled towards an ambulance in full respiratory gear.

A reporter woman spoke off screen. "...Matt collapsed at a friend's party around seven-thirty tonight." She walked to the bed, a little behind Remy. "Please turn it off LeBeau. I hate hearin' 'bout tragedies."

The self-proclaimed thief reached for the remote.

So does Remy, ma Petite. Prefers romances to tell de truth."

He aimed the channel changer at the TV.

"...Eyewitnesses claim that the boy fell unconscious just after a classmate kissed him but all are doubtful that this young man fainted."

One of her school's jocks came on. "When I get mah that damned Goth...she killed him!"

'Damned is right.' Desperately, she reached for the Cajun's neck.


Remy's hand shot out and grabbed the fille's. She gasped with pain, but that was the least of her worries. He threw her to the floor. Reaching under the bed's covers, he dragged out the sheet. Before she could react, Remy tightly cocooned her in it, leaving only the head free to move.

"Remy no fool, Chere. He can put two," he pointed at her and then the TV, "and two together." He picked the fille up and held her to him on the bed. He whispered harshly, "Don' struggle if'n you don' want to see how much damage Remy can do wit' not touchin'."

She only fought harder. The man sighed and turned her around to face the same way as him, keeping her body locked to his. He grabbed a pillow with his free hand.

"See dat pillow? Dat's you." The cushion began to glow and he tossed it into the air. There was an explosion and feathers scattered everywhere. His Petite held stock still, but Gambit continued anyway.

"LeBeau don' t'ink your insides quite so lovely as de casin', Chere." The sheet began to glow with the same wicked energy.

"Yo' Homme survived, Chere. He's just in a tiny coma, expected to wake up by mornin'. You can touch Remy, fight to yo' heart's content. Gambit'll wake up tomorrow mornin' an' find you in his arms or he'll wake up in de evening an' you'll be nothin' but red paint on de walls. Yo' choice, ma Petite. Goodnight..."

A thought occurred to him.

"Well, Gambit be forgettin' his manners. He nevah even asked for his girl's name." He laughed and his captive shivered.

She did not want the Bastard to go around spouting the same name her friends and Aunt Irene used.

"Remy be waitin', Chere."

"Just call me Rogue, Swamp Rat."

He kissed her shoulder. "Dat'll do Rgoue. Dat'll do just fine."

Remy turned the newly christened Rogue back around and she sobbed into his chest. He briefly considered forbidding her to cry, but thought against it.

'Let de fille cry. Her whole life, even her name is gone. At least ma Petite is safe an' has a Homme to cry on. Are you restin' in peace, Grandmama, now dat your final prophecy be fulfilled?'

His mind went back to the matriarch's last words. 'Remy, when tha belle runs to my grave ta hide, take her away, drag her if yah have to. She's like us, like myself. Nevah let her go. She belongs ta you. But don't you ferget you belong ta her, Remy LeBeau!'

Gambit blinked. 'I had forgotten, Grandmama.'

"Have her, hold her, be her Guardian Devil. You're all tha Belle has, Remy. Yer task is to make tha thief that steals spirit believe it!"

He sighed and murmured in the sleeping girl's ear. "Welcome to the family, Rogue, t'ief of spirits...and my Heart."


Aaw...Okay, a violent meeting, but it ended sweet. Things should calm down rating wise. Hey, it's N'Awlins, what could


Review Responses (no one's reviewed this fic yet -obviously- but I'm being proactive)



You'll probably be reading this within a half-hour of it being posted, so thanks for the support in advance (and the goddess treatment). To answer your question, "Kaylessa" is a reviewer -like yourself- who asked if Anita was an OC or not. The answer is..."duh!" Apparently I developed her too well to be obvious about it. (yay!) If you want to know who someone is in the future, click on the reviews button next to my fic's link.