"Need a light?"
FIRST LINE PROMPTS
Gambit swept his hands down his coat … then his pockets … then every hidden seam he’d ever used to stash something dangerous or useful. Nothing. Not even the ghost of a lighter. He exhaled sharply, annoyance tugging at the corner of his smirk. “Merde…” he muttered beneath his breath.
Sure, he could’ve lit the cigarette with the faintest spark of kinetic charge —( child’s play, really )— but there was something ritualistic about a lighter’s ( click & burn. ) A slight flare of real flame felt… grounding. The man who made explosions for fun still preferred a touch of old-world theater.
He was on the verge of giving in, ready to accept defeat at the hands of his own damn pockets, when a soft shift in the air tilted his attention upward. An unexpected angel, haloed in streetlight, lingered just a few paces off… close enough to see his struggle, far enough to make the moment feel almost staged. Gambit’s grin curled slowly & deliberately, much different than what was previously plastered on his expression. “Well… jus’ when I t’ought m’day couldn’t sink no lower, looks like de fates finally slipped a good card in m’deck, non?”
