De last t'ing I remember of all de times I'll ever live is de t'ing
I try most t' forget. Dere are times a homme knows he's got t' go, t' fold,
pick up de chips, an' leave de table. Mais life keeps him playing.
Trut' is, life's de biggest gambit o' dem all.
-
I try most t' forget. Dere are times a homme knows he's got t' go, t' fold,
pick up de chips, an' leave de table. Mais life keeps him playing.
Trut' is, life's de biggest gambit o' dem all.
-
"Is it worth the gambit, Father?"
Wide glowing red eyes on white met narrowed glowing red eyes on black. Wind whipped fiercely around the two lean figures standing on the opposing sides of a broken bridge. Auburn hair blew into the face of a young woman and white into that of an old man.
Father and daughter. Père et fille. Witness on witness.
The pink glow of charge flowed across their skins, their clothes—her in the blue tank top and jeans of another life and he in the almost rags of his obscurity. The crimson irises of her eyes were livid with charge she could not release. So unlike him. So terribly like him. She waited, arms slightly lifted, fingers hooked restraining pain.
"Is it worth it?" she cried over the noise of the gale.
Mem'ry shatters for me dere. Bits an' pieces tormentin' me.
"Do what you can, Rose. Do what you have to," Logan says.
"Is it worth it, Remy?" she asks, white and chestnut hair falling across her emerald eyes, damp with tears, real glittering, shattering tears. "Why us? Why does it have to be us?"
Gambit staring at this girl beside him, so like him. "I'm sorry your père neve' taught y' it's okay t' cry."
"I did what I could," she whispered, dying in his arms. "Tell Grandfather Logan," she paused to breathe, "I did what I could."
She shattered, the charge leaping from her fingertips, her eyes, her shoulders, her hips, her knees, her feet. Pink lightning flickered, intensified, writhed in electric tendrils to bind her to the New Sun. She 'pathed him, increasing the fire, the charge, the burn. All of creation seemed to scream with her as she 'pathed more and more.
And time shattered, loosed and wild, rebelling all constraints put upon it.
All I c'n tell her, it wasn' s'posed t' be you.
Wide glowing red eyes on white met narrowed glowing red eyes on black. Wind whipped fiercely around the two lean figures standing on the opposing sides of a broken bridge. Auburn hair blew into the face of a young woman and white into that of an old man.
Father and daughter. Père et fille. Witness on witness.
The pink glow of charge flowed across their skins, their clothes—her in the blue tank top and jeans of another life and he in the almost rags of his obscurity. The crimson irises of her eyes were livid with charge she could not release. So unlike him. So terribly like him. She waited, arms slightly lifted, fingers hooked restraining pain.
"Is it worth it?" she cried over the noise of the gale.
Mem'ry shatters for me dere. Bits an' pieces tormentin' me.
"Do what you can, Rose. Do what you have to," Logan says.
"Is it worth it, Remy?" she asks, white and chestnut hair falling across her emerald eyes, damp with tears, real glittering, shattering tears. "Why us? Why does it have to be us?"
Gambit staring at this girl beside him, so like him. "I'm sorry your père neve' taught y' it's okay t' cry."
"I did what I could," she whispered, dying in his arms. "Tell Grandfather Logan," she paused to breathe, "I did what I could."
She shattered, the charge leaping from her fingertips, her eyes, her shoulders, her hips, her knees, her feet. Pink lightning flickered, intensified, writhed in electric tendrils to bind her to the New Sun. She 'pathed him, increasing the fire, the charge, the burn. All of creation seemed to scream with her as she 'pathed more and more.
And time shattered, loosed and wild, rebelling all constraints put upon it.
All I c'n tell her, it wasn' s'posed t' be you.
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