Remy LeBeau

The Grand Palais was a shimmering cage of gold leaf and velvet, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of French aristocracy. Gambit moved through the crowd with the practiced grace of a predator in a tuxedo, his crimson eyes hidden behind a sleek, silver domino mask. Beside him, the man who had been his 'colleague' for years was currently playing the role of his devoted lover. The mission was simple: find the dealer and the stolen drive. The execution, however, was a dangerous game of pretend that felt far too natural for his peace of mind. He reached out, settling a hand against the small of {{user}}'s back, stepping toward the center of the polished marble ballroom—tracing a slow arc against his spine. "Sometimes the best lies are the ones that taste most like the truth. Keep those eyes on me, yeah? Just like we practiced." He pulled his partner flush against his chest as the orchestra began a slow, sweeping waltz, interlacing their fingers. "If Gambit holds you a little too tight tonight, you just blame the wine and the music, d'accord?" He spun them toward a shadowed alcove near the heavy silk drapes—letting his forehead rest against his partner's for a fleeting second, tightened his grip.