Disclaimers: Subreality was first introduced and defined by Kielle, Tapestry, and Falstaff. The ownership of various characters mentioned here is listed at the end.

Summary: It's Monday night in Subreality Cafe. Beer, poker, and nostalgia reign.

Oh yeah, there is some mild cussing in here. Be warned.

There was time when Thursdays were the best times to come by. Meet the guys. Have a drink. Bitch a little. Remember the good old days. Eventually, inevitably some of Writers would barge in. That was cool though. There was all of nothing of them then. Not like the mobs of today. Besides everyone knew who was the boss. If Tapestry would get too uppity, we'd sic Dawn on her. If Sabre...oh that's right, she's calling herself Sabia now, ain't she? Well, no matter -- if she would start somethin' we'd get Julia to go all Assassin on her ass. And the slippers and Siku kept an eye on everyone else.

Yeah...those were good days. Not that they would get out of hand much. I mean, despite what you hear, them Writers are not a bad bunch. Easily excitable is all. These new ones are...weird. Coming in at all hours of day and night. Raising voices at the Bouncer?! Whoever heard of such?

It's all different now. No, that's not what I'm saying. There are plenty of good ones in the new crop. But...it's easy to get upset, ya know? All them new fictives, new Writers, the Muses...

Don't get me wrong, now. I got nothing against them Collegium folks, personally. Plenty of good people there. ('Specially that Frank fella. Knows his brew that one, he does.) O' course some of them ain't people in the first place, but that goes for plenty of folks around here, if ya know what I mean?

It's when they get too big for their britches, people get upset. I mean, look at 'em. Always with them other Muses or the Writers. That's not right. Not neighborly. Would be nice if they got off their high horse once in while Come down as fictives, not some demi-Writers. We'd buy 'em a drink. Ya know? Ah well...

It used to be we could get together here everyday, whenever we wanted. Not no more...I mean, I ken it. Writers' privilege and all, but ain't no-one likes to be discarded, ya know?

All the new folks... Times were, you'd come by the Cafe and knew every face. Now, I have to think twice before I come in. Make sure I'm at the right place and all. Not that I blame 'em. Even with all them new places popping up all over the place, the Cafe is still somethin' special...best steak this side of Styx. Ah well...

Times are changing, nothin' we can do about it, neh? Still, you can understand why folks get upset and all, can't ya? We were here first after all...

'Course that why the good Lord gave us Mondays.

Well...I gotta go. Am late for a little poker get-together and if I don't get there right quick, LeBeau is sure to mess with the deck. See ya, kid.

"Hey, Cog. What took ya so long?"

The former Hellspawn sighed and approached the bar, waving down the impatient calls from one of the poker tables, "Pipe down. I'll be there in a second. That Olsen kid for the Times wanted to talk to me, is all. Hiya, Major."

"Messer Cogliostro. What can I get you this evening?"

"Ehh... Got any ale?"

"Only the finest."

Cogliostro's worn face suddenly creased with a hopeful smile: "Somerset?" Wordlessly Major Mapleleaf deposited a mug of the said substance onto the tray and adding a small basket of pretzels before offering it to the man before him.

A Wisdom seating at table occupying the coveted, near the window, spot, frowned bemusedly. "Don't think I know the bloke. Where's he from?"

Bobby Drake stifled a yawn and attempted to snatch one of Logan's cigars. Rebuffed, he turned to look at the man who awoke Wisdom's curiosity. Blowing on his rapped knuckles, he paused muttering curses and promises of revenge, at smugly content Wolverine, for a second, "Oh! That's Cog. Cogliostro. He's from Image. 'Spawn,' I think."

"I mean which fic, you bliddy ponce."

"Pheh. Now you've done gone and hurt my feelings."

"I'll do more than that, ya..."

"Relax, Pete. Before you blow a hernia or something." Creed returned the glare of the former Black Air agent with a serene smile. "'Sides, Drake here has no idea. I don't think anybody does. He's been coming here for a while tho'." The big Canadian shrugged. "Could be a Mainstream, for all I know. He's good people though. Look where he's sitting."

Wisdom quirked one, highly eloquent eyebrow, "The fact that he's sitting at the Gambits' table speaks of two things only. His taste is not of the Strong. And his wallet will soon not be either."

Logan smirked, "Pete, your prejudice is showin'. Just because they cleaned you out last week, is no reason to get testy."

Making a very rude gesture, in a way of response, the most current leader of X-Force twiddled the unopened deck of cards with his other hand. "Speaking of which. Where is our very own LeBeau?"

"There he is." Bobby's words barely had the time to die away as the doors of the Cafe opened again to let in Gambit. Covering the distance to the table in a few powerful strides, the Cajun X-Man threw the ever-present coat onto the chair and then followed it, plonking into the seat with an audible sigh of relief. "Mon Dieu, the traffic is murder. So, mes amis... We ready to play?"

"Unless you'd like to go away and be even more late..." The Cable's growl provoked the usual reactions from his companions. Bobby grinned, Creed sighed, Logan finished his drink, Wisdom shook his head resignedly, and Gambit just shrugged and reached for the cards, "Hmm... Nice. Where'd ya get it?"

"Freshly created for your playing pleasure, Monsieur LeBeau."

Gambit made a slight moue of distaste at Bobby. "Ya know the rules, mon garcon. Monday poker is sacred and free of Writers."

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Cajun. It's not Writer-made."

"Eh?"

"God was by yesterday. We didn't have time to get the game on, though. Something about Lucifer, twinkies, and Armageddon."

"Ah. Well...I can live with HIS cards. He's a good guy."

"Ayep. Lousy at poker, as something fierce, though."

"Like I said. He's a good guy."

Wisdom clinked the empty mug impatiently and waved for the waitress. "All right. Are you gonna deal the cards or what?"

"Relax, Pete. Sheesh. It's Monday."

"Shut up, Drake."

Ignoring the bickering at the far end of the table and a glowering Cable in the corner, Gambit deftly flicked a pair of cards into the direction of Creed and Logan. "So what's the latest you hear?"

Snatching the card out of midair lazily, Victor shrugged. "Not much."

"Really? Merde. The place is so empty I thought everyone was working..."

The Subreality Cafe was indeed rather sparsely populated that fine Monday evening. Instead of the usual crowd only a couple of tables were taken. At one a group of Gambits and Cogliostro were playing Subreality brand of poker. The redeemed Spawn was cursing in three languages, two of them dead, but holding his own.

The other, only slightly less chaotic, gathering chose, as its nest, a table in the middle of the room. It was a "Girls Game Night" tonight, you see. Smart people gave the table a wide berth. The less smart did the same, after they heard some of the epithets Jenny Sparks was using to describe her luck...Of course the smiles on Kai's and Emma's faces did nothing to encourage friendliness either. More like the feeling one gets when circled by sharks.

"Never mess with the Marvel girls, Sparks. Just because you are getting the press now, doesn't mean all that much."

"Shut up and deal. <mutter, mutter> Bloody... <mutter, mutter> Soddin'..."

Logan grinned ferally, hearing Fahrenheit groan and Flint facepalm as yet another hand went to the "Marvel girls." "Heh, there is gonna be blood on the walls tonight. I can just feel it."

"Kindly retract you fangs. You are scaring Mary."

Mary Sue looked at Bobby flatly and without a trace of humor, "Your order?"

"Umm...two sixpacks of Corona, please?"

"Comin' right up."

"Gumbo. Yo, LeBeau?"

"What?"

"Stop ogling Sparks. You won't get that lucky...or worse, you might. Besides. you dealt wrong."

"Mon ami, Gambit he not ogle. He admire. And I did not."

"You forgot to deal the Staff in, Cajun."

"Merde. So I did. My bad."

As Remy corrected for his oversight, the others waited patiently. The tradition of setting a spare seat on the off chance that a member of Cafe Staff would be on a break and decide to join a game was one of the few rules nobody had any desire to break. Some said it went all the way back to The First Poker Game.

"There everything is on order now. Can we play already?"

"Drake, pipe down. You are gettin' on me last nerve."

"I will, if you drop the silly-ass London accent."

"Would both of you shut up and play!"

"Yes, Nathan. Whatever you say, Nathan. Watch your blood pressure, Nathan."

Several minutes of silence, punctuated by the sounds of cans being opened and cards being shuffled.

"I raise. Damn, it's dead in here tonight. Where are all the Gambits, fer God's sake...I can't believe I actually miss the annoying bastards."

"Why are you looking at moi, Logan? It's not like we have a hive mind, you know."

Wisdom grinned from behind his beer. "I see you and raise you two. Hell, LeBeau, from what I hear, you are way past hive-mind. I mean after that thing at CBFFAs... Whew."

"That was an ugly accident! Best forgotten. I call." Smugly collecting the first pot, Remy shrugged, "Besides, our heyday is in the past. Look at this crowd."

Gambit's thumb pointing casually behind him lent truth to his terse statement. While the friends had played their first round of the night, the Cafe had filled up somewhat -- a diverse crowd with many a fictive in sight. "Look at that, would ya? Times were, on a night like this, not a corner would be without a Cajun and a Southern Belle. Now...eh."

"Good riddance, I say."

Wisdom collected his hand and sighed, "Enough already, Summers. We all know that LeBeau is shagging yer Mum. Get over it already."

Cable shuddered slightly. "I don't think it's possible. I think a hefty investment in therapy is definitely in my future."

"None too soon."

"What was that, Drake?"

"Nothin'."

Sighing faintly, Gambit shuffled his hand, "Yeah. Times, them's a-changing. Hardly ever see GenX kiddies here nowadays... Or the originals...those guys were always good for a laugh or a game."

Creed snorted derisively and emptied his mug. For some bizarre reason, he refused to drink his Corona out of the can. "Ahh, quitcher bitchin', Cajun. You still get your share. Now me and mine, on other hand... "

<Pop>

"Well, there he goes. Poor bastard. Hope he gets a good one this time and not one of those 'he killed my girl/teammate/relative and now we are gonna hunt him down and tickle him to death' stories."

Bobby sniffed scornfully. "I don't know why any of you are complaining, actually."

"Wot?! What is your bitch? You get written almost as much as...as...a lot. You get written a lot."

"Well, just for variety sake I'd like to see a fic in which Bobby Drake actually dates a girl. Doesn't make an idiot out of himself. And doesn't commit suicide. You know...just for comparison. You have no idea how weird it is to walk through the College these days. Every second me is sporting a wallet picture of LeBeau. Creepy, that is."

"Jeez, Drake. You got it easy. All of you do. I still remember the time where there was just one of each of us. And we had to play every set." Logan shuddered and gulped down a large portion of Creed's beer. "It was a nightmare I tell ya. Erotica to angst to combat to erotica/combat... Whew. Say what you want, I'm all for changes. The more of us there are, the better it is."

"Ho, they put 'Desert Rose' on...I'll go ask Jenny to dance. Pray for me."

"Don't get dead, Cajun."

"There goes a very brave man," Wisdom said admiringly as he pocketed Remy's winnings.

"Or a very dumb one."

"Nate, would ya get off it already? You're pissing the whole day away."

"Well, what would you do in my place?!"

"..."

"So, let me wallow a little. I deserve it."

"Well...look on the bright side. You are being written. A Lot."

"A lot?! I don't know what the hell you've been smokin', Shorty, but I think I want some."

"Oh give it up, Summers. You know, you've got it good."

"What the hell are you talking about, Wisdom?"

"Whadda ya think? You always had it cozy. Started with quality and now got a flippin' cult. You and Dom."

"Yeah, whatever. You've got the whole archive to yourself so flonq off."

"Yeah well...what can I say. English charm."

"Heh."

"Shuddup, Drake. Besides, ever since they got my Mainstream with those X-Force kids, I been getting zip. Ever actually read what they are writing me into? Nostalgia pieces." Wisdom finished his beer and fearlessly moved on to finishing the can itself by mercilessly squashing it with his foot. Mockingly imitating some Writer, he whined in a nasally annoying voice, "Oh, Pryde left me. Oh, whatever shall I do. Oh, I better go get her back. Oh, what if she won't take me back. Soddin' plonkers are turning me into a bloody Summers with all the angsting."

"Heh."

"Shuddup, Drake. And you two, I already told ya. Stop yer whining. Take it from me. There are good times and there are bad times. Somethin' always turns up. Just keep yer ear to the ground."

"Yeah, well...Sorry but you ain't cutting it as Moses, Logan. Hey...is that T-Blood? I'll be back in a second."

"Well. We lost him."

"It's time to finish this up anyway. It's almost five. The Writers will start showing up any second. See ya around."

"See ya, guys."

"Cheers... Aww shit. Remy, you soddin' plonker. That's my favorite suit!"

Gambit's easy laugh carried from the dance floor: "Don't mess with Cajun and his poker money, mon ami. A lesson, neh?"

Cable belongs to Marvel, but this particular version comes from Dandelion, specifically from her fic "I Saw Mommy Kissing...That Flonqing Bastard Remy LeBeau."
Kai belongs to KJ.
God belon...erm, was written by Poi Lass and KJ into their as-yet-unfinished series "The Adventures Of God."
The other characters mentioned here belong to either Marvel, DC/WildStorm, or Image.