If you didn't read "Resolution," suffice it to say that it was my April Fool's story for 1997 (wow, was that a whole year ago?!?), and there was a LOT of begging for a sequel. Well, appropriately, here it is just in time for April Fool's Day 1998. There's some sexual innuendo in it but nothing explicit. You can handle it. ;) And for the millionth time, I don't hate Gambit ... though ever since #350 I DO officially hate Rogue. However, this story has nothing to do with my feelings about her, as its plotline and punchline were brewed far earlier than the abomination which was "the Trial of Gambit."

Feedback is enjoyed; do not archive without my permission, just because I like to know where my babies wind up. Marvel's characters are Marvel's; no harm is meant and no money is being made. This story is set last year, after Onslaught but before the aforementioned trial.

And yes, it's very silly. ;)

by Kielle

"I'm not sure I see the point of this ... prank. In fact, I'm quite positive that I don't like it."

"What's not t'like, mon frere? I don't bite." Remy grinned charmingly around his drooping cigarette, which was unlit to avoid triggering Hank's own April Fools' "gift." Master thief or no, the Cajun wasn't one hundred percent certain that he'd found and disarmed every single outlet of the new hair-trigger Super-Drench-O-Matic-4000 Smoke-Alerted Fire-Extinguishing System which had been installed in every single ceiling (and more than a few walls) over the last week's worth of sneaky late nights. Everyone had to admit: the prank was a beaut. Not only had Remy been soaked three times already, he was feeling distinctly sore over being beaten at the April Fools game.

<Nair's too good f'r the man,> he thought darkly in Beast's direction -- wherever he was. With both Logan and Remy out for his blood, the scientist had prudently retreated into the the tunnels under the mansion. If Logan hadn't burst out whooping so hard at Remy's drowned-rat appearance that he'd fallen over into a stack of shipping crates down in the hanger bay, he would have sniffed Beast then and there ... yet now, an hour later, he STILL hadn't collared the culprit. Hank wasn't THAT good at hiding. Remy suspected conspiracy.

For now, however, he had conspiracies of his own to hatch.

He turned up the charm and wheedled, "C'mon, it not like I gonna kiss you or anyt'ing. Jus' walk t'rough de front room wit' me."

"Holding your hand?" Joseph replied dryly. "Look closely, Remy. This is me NOT leaping at the opportunity."

"Aw, c'mon, have a sense a'humor homme! Scott'll have a heart attack. It'll be wort' it." In truth, Scott wasn't the one Remy planned to shock out of his skin. Rather, his intention was to put the crowning touch on the jape he'd pulled on Rogue earlier that morning, when he'd cornered her in the kitchen and confessed his "undying love" for her other paramour: the currently unwilling-to-play-along-no-matter-what-clever-cover-story-Remy-fed-him Joseph. In the wake of the "revelation," a VERY flustered Rogue had vanished in the direction of the dorms and refused to come down. However, as lunch rolled around, Remy's impromptu intelligence network (in the form of a HIGHLY amused Jean Grey-Summers, who'd figured it all out instantly) reported in: Rogue was back downstairs from her massive sulk and watching a taped MST3K in the main front room.

Unfortunately, Remy's plan to construct a second story onto his scheme was rapidly collapsing like a house of cards. Joseph was amnesiac, true, but he wasn't stupid -- and he wasn't the prank-pulling type. Especially not in the company of a certain untrustworthy Cajun. For all he knew, the prank would twist around to bite HIS ass, and he wasn't about to risk it. Against Remy's empassioned pleas "for the sake of the holiday," Joseph calmly gathered up the rumpled morning paper and his bowl of chips & salsa and retreated in the direction of the sunny back yard.

Heaving a heavy, mournful sigh, Remy took his time fixing himself some peanut-butter toast (even red-blooded bona-fide Cajuns can't eat cayenne pepper for EVERY meal, after all) and then melodramatically dragged himself in the direction of the main front room himself. <Ah well. May as well call it off. Mebbe I can get her riled again all by m'self.> His eyes brightened and his step quickened at the thought. <Eh, who needs Amnesia-Boy anyhow? I did just fine dis mornin' on my own. NO ONE beats Jean-Luc's pride 'n' joy when it comes t'pullin' legs!>

Even lost in plots as he was, Remy knew something more than just "watching TV" was up as he stepped through the living room entry. The TV was turned up fairly loud, just the way Rogue liked it, but it wasn't loud enough to mask the giggles and panting moans ...

Remy stopped dead. He took one careful step forward, then another, just enough to be able to see over the sofa. The unmistakably passionate sounds which were blithely overriding Tom & Crow's onscreen quips were coming from the pile of blankets in front of the television.

And one of the voices was distinctly Rogue's.

Remy was positive that he hadn't made a sound -- yet he must have, because right then the heap of blankets froze guiltily. After a moment's hesitation, two extremely tousled heads popped out: one a curly striped auburn, one a mussed skein of white. Green eyes and blue regarded their stunned witness with a mixture of guilt and amusement. It was obvious that neither ... participant was wearing more than what was strictly necessary to keep Rogue's power in check, meaning sheer spandex and soft gloves.

"Ummm ... Remy ... it's not what it looks like ... honestly, sugah. Ah was just curious, an' ... "

The Cajun was already backing out of the room, flushing red to his hairline. "Non, non, I c'n see, dat's okay, I'll ... I'll be upstairs. G'night," he said despite the fact that it was before noon as he vanished upstairs at about Mach 9.

"Hmph." Still lying more-or-less flat on her stomach under the rumpled blanket, Rogue plunked her cheek onto her fist and pouted prettily. "Ah don't see what HE was so upset about. Ah'm a grown woman, Ah kin make mah own choices ... " The pout slid effortlessly into a wicked grin. "An' 'sides, anyone who pranks on April Fool's Day should be a gen'leman 'bout bein' pranked right back. Ain't that right?"

Her "partner" smiled back, leaning comfortably on one elbow. "What goes around comes around, they say. Now, I've held to my part in your vengeance; you WILL hold up your side of this bargain and assume my kitchen duty for the next three days, correct?"

Rogue managed to look adorably affronted at the intimation that she might try to wriggle out of the wretched chore of cleaning up after a dozen-plus sloppy mutants. "Hey, you kin trust me!"

"I'm not so certain about that ... "

"Ohhhh c'mon, Ororo! If ya cain't trust yoah friends, who cain ya trust ... ?"

;)

END OF STORY

Down-Home Charm / Fan-Fiction / Fan Artwork / History Books / Photo Album / Songbank / Miscellania / Links / Updates

Legalese: Rogue, the X-Men, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are Trademarks of Marvel Characters, Inc. and are used without permission. This is an unofficial fansite, and is not sponsored, licensed or approved by Marvel Comics.
• Privacy Policy and Submission Guidelines