The Number One Headband.
The object that was rumored to give the wearer ultimate strength.
The object that every warrior sought to obtain to prove they were the strongest in the world.
That was a reason that it could catch a pretty penny.
Remy LeBeu, also known to mutant kind as Gambit, heard of such an artifact since he had arrived in Japan. Something like this could be worth thousands, possibly millions. A headband that gives the wearer improved strength is something everyone in New York would be clamoring to get if the price was right.
He had been traveling around the place for a few days, but after no luck, he decided to just waste one of his days of searching by relaxing at a bar.
The bartender, being a young woman, came to the sitting Caju to take his order as he played with a deck of cards. “Mon cheri’, Ah hope ‘ou can ‘elp me wit a col’ glass o’ Ol’ Fashi’n.”
Despite the thick accent, she knew what he wanted and nodded. “One Old Fashion, coming right up! Not from around here I’m guessing?”
Remy chuckled. “ Was it ma’ thick accent?”
“More or less. That and it’s not every day someone with a trench coat, bo staff and a pack of playing cards comes to my bar. It’s mostly tough guys, fisher men or the regular locals.” As she prepared the drink, he gave a mischievous grin.
“Ah’m lookin’ fo’ thuh’ Numbuh One Headband.” He said, still shuffling his cards.
This had gotten the customers inside to freeze, becoming silent from previous conversation with their acquaintances and a waitress dropping someones order from the utter mention of that object. A few of said tough guys that the bartender mentioned even looked at him with an intense glare in their eyes, ready to kill.
The bartender on the other hand didn’t even blink, finishing the drink and handing it to Remy in a chilled glass. “Well good luck with that. I hear the person who’s wearing it is a force to be reckoned with. If you even look at him wrong, kiss your sorry ass goodbye.” She jested at the end.
Remy chuckled, taking his glass of alcohol. “Mon Cheri’, Ah’ve dealt wit’ men tha’ coul’ ma’e you t’ink dat you meet a God. Ah can deal wit’ one man.”
After this, it seemed that things were going pretty normal again until the said tough guys the bartender mentioned and that were residing in said bar began walking up to Remy. He knew that they were gonna be trouble, so he tossed a few of his playing cards at the gang after finishing his drink. They thought he was just trying to distract them until the cards suddenly started to glow. In seconds, they detonated with the force of a bomb as it sent them scattered all over the place of business. A couple were sent out of the door way, while two others crashed into a pile of wooden barrels and the last one seen dangling off of a ceiling fan.
Remy chuckled, shuffling his cards. “Now now, you shoul’ know betta’ than to take a gamble agains’ ol’ Gambit.”
Saying this seemed to be the magic words, as a man with an afro and a two handed sword came in, staring him down with his own lazy glare. He looked to be a bit taller than ol’ Gambit, making him look up and notice the prize he’d been hunting for.
The Number One Headband.
The man then spoke. “Leave this place in peace.”
Gambit smirked, twirling his bo staff as he stood up from his seat and holding a few more playing cards in his other hand.
“Mah’ apologies, but ah’m afraid Ah, can’t do dat’. Ah’m lookin’ to make a pretty penny off tha’ headband, and Ah’m not gonna leave empty handed.” Gambit then stop twirling his bot staf, holding up his cards as they violently glowed a light violet. “Nah, unless you gonna give ol’ Gambit the headband, we’ gonna ‘ave to play Fifftey-Two Pick Up.”
It was silent for a whole ten seconds.
The man with the afro then unsheathed his sword, holding it with one hand like it was nothing as he prepared to strike.
Remy smirked. “ ‘Ave it yo’ way. Come on, Mon ami. Le’s dance.”
(Honestly, making a Cajun accent in text is harder than it is in real life.)