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*
Bars used to be a regular haunt for Jessica, and, consequently, a regular haunt for Trish to drag her out of them. Today, however, the bar had been a strategy to talk to a man about the last man in the long Vigor train. It's taken weeks to make slow progress, but every inch seems to get them an iota closer… a modicum nearer to the original source.
Instead of ordering a whiskey, Jessica places an order for a coffee before directing her attention to Trish, squarely resting her gaze on the other woman before flipping her two week chip in the air. It's a wonder she hasn't lost it at the rate she seems to fling it about. "I'd have given it up years ago if they told me I could get presents," the words drip with apparent sarcasm. Her lips curl upwards into a near sneer as she evaluates the room that seems to be having more fun than herself. "No one ever wants to be the sober one at the party. Sobriety is increasingly overrated." Yet she sticks to her coffee.
The bar itself is busy enough tonight. Enough tables to accommodate the ebbs and flows of activity, but not so many that there are many empty chairs.
The bartender relaxes behind the counter, wiping it down, pouring drinks, and offering a listening ear as people mill in and out of the space.
*
The door opens slowly a man walking in from the outside world tilted sideways and slouched over to that he can fit in. His rather awkward positioning the result of some very wide shoulders. He's dressed like some sort of G-Man out of those horror movies of the forties, with a massive hat hiding his face in a pitch black darkness and a pair of matching pitch black gloves to go with the trench-coat.
Hans, the massive man makes his way over towards the bar not wanting to make too much of a scene as he finds his place. Looking like a cross between a linebacker and a professional body builder, and clocking in at 9 feet tall he has a seat down at the bar quietly.
*
Coffees it is. Trish is gonna support her sister. It's what she does! It's just so strange to be a support in a place like this when there isn't drinking involved, what with the times she's been here dragging the other out because of it. She sips at her coffee and sighs softly. "Hey, it's the little things, right? I guess it helps to keep track of your progress, lets you know just how far you've come…even if it's just been a couple weeks." She smiles a little.
"So, this is where we'll find the next guy, hmm?" She asks idly, holding her coffee mug between both hands, keeping them warm. "Let's hope he shows. Don't want the trip here to be for nothing."
*
A bar is a good place for a young woman of questionable means to use money of questionable provenance to have alcohol of questionable quality. In short, Farrell's fits the bill in every dimension. Hope slouches in like the beast of Babylon, her oversized coat and dark clothes practically swallowing her up. The only reason for anyone to take note lies in her flaming red hair, a messy ponytail swinging down her back, and striking a note against the dim palette of a place like this. She doesn't have much choice except to belly up to the bar, searching for absolution in a glass. That's the story anyways.
Someone watching her might pick up on that she takes note of everything and everyone coming through the front doors. The back, the bathroom doors, and possibly trapdoors if the place had them. Looking for someone, and waiting, though she's surprisingly subtle about it. At least until the mudwater stout on tap gets to her, and then she has to find herself a place to sit. It won't be near the huge man, whom she gives a very wide berth.
*
Maximus has left.
*
A busy bar indeed, as earlier Dazzler served as a more exciting replacement to the record player that usually provides the music. She kept it rather simple, a few songs, a little bit of her headlines producing psychedelic light show, but for the most part she kept to guitar music. She had just recently completed her gig, and having taken care of her gear, she's now walking towards. Leaning on the counter, she takes a quick look around the room from behind her catseye shades.
*
Jessica's eyes darken. And then, nearly comically, her lips edge upwards, "Unless the coffee," the word is spoken with disdain, "is intended as the purpose." Her eyes roll and she straightens in her seat as the German enters the room. Her nostrils flare and her eyes turn back towards Trish. It's clear from her expression that he isn't the one they're waiting for. She's getting irritable; not drinking around the drunks present is enough to set her on edge.
A lithe figure, trim, polished, with bright blonde hair treads through the door, lingering a moment at its edge before spying Jessica and Trish at the table. Her steps are staccato'd as she slides into the booth. Her head cants to the side and she inspects the pair before twisting towards the bar to eye the redhead, and ask Hope (rather than her companions), "Honey, got a smoke?"
*
Hans, the giant German speaks up with a slight English accent. "Bottle of the cheap stuff." Before reaching into his pocket to pull out a small crumpled up collection of bills from the pocket of his hand made trench-coat. Counting them in his absolutely massive hands. When he notices the eyeroll he gives Jessica a friendly smile and a light wave. His bright white teeth shine even from the shadow of his very wide brimmed hat.
*
A bit of patting around ten pockets on the coat of holding eventually comes up with a slightly squished box of Marlboros, and Hope thumbs open the lid. She angles the offering to the polished blonde who is everything the redhead is not: stylish, poised, glamorous even. She's a falcon among pigeons and crows. That alone earns a surreptitious pass over by those too bright green eyes, and the performer finished her set deserves the same kind of careful survey. Dazzler is someone she keeps an eye on. "Light?" she asks in something of an alto croak, proof the cold weather out there does absolutely nothing good for anyone. The sip of the stout goes a bit further to ease random aches and pains, and she glances past the blonde to Jessica and Trish. Package deal, might not hurt to slant the cigarettes their way just in case. "You too?"
*
"Let's hope that the coffee isn't the purpose. It's not exactly the best coffee in town." Trish murmurs, still sipping the coffee again. She raises an eyebrow as Jessica seems to get hopeful. But then her nostrils flare. Yes, she's seen that look before. Not good. She sighs. "I'm guessing Mr. Tall Man isn't who we're waiting for? Shame. Someone who stands out so obviously would've made an ideal candidate for the person we're looking to meet." She rolls here eyes a little. There's a shake of her head at the offer of a cigarette.
*
Alison was looking around the bar for all but a few seconds, because her attention is immediately caught by the hulking German fellow. Thankfully, with the cover of her catseye shades, it's not as easy to tell she's staring, but she's certainly looking his way. Hearing someone asking for a cigarette does kindle a reflex reaching for the pocket of her yellow jacket, only to find her pack of cigarettes empty. Then again, after having performed, it feels a bit out of place to be mooching off others. She winds up just crumbling the pack in her hand and shoving it back in the pocket of her jacket.
*
The blonde's delight writes across her face with a too-obvious pull of her lips, an exposed dimple, and warmth exudes through her manners as she plucks a single cigarette from the package. "Thank you, honey," she croons sweetly. The offer of light is given a small nod, and she leans forward, with the cigarette pursed between her lips.
Jessica's eyebrows lift at offered package, and her narrow fingers reach out to draw the smoke from its package. Not nearly as musically as her newfound visitor, Jones's tone is flat, "Thanks." She also presses it between her lips before she realizes she hasn't lit her own cigarette in quite some time. This actually prompts a smirk as she leans forward to partake in the light.
With everything lit and everyone quickly becoming friends, the blonde settles into her seat and reaches into the bag crossed over her shoulder: "So." She draws out half a dozen vials (all marked with a different coloured dot) that she sets on the table. "I have the product," the clear fluid within them costs far more than any amount Jessica has on her person. "And I suspect you can pay as that one," she lifts a finger, "is Patsy. And here I thought you were run-of-the-mill users, but lo-and-behold, if it isn't Patsy needing my product."
She taps the table expectantly, "Grade A product, that. Will give the desired effect and then some."
Jessica's gaze trails towards Trish, but just as her mouth is about to open, a lanky kid who had been just one table over spins towards the table, and snaps up one of the vials. In seconds he has the product ingested.
A pair of large wings — feathered and prominent — cut through his shirt as he reaches out to grasp more. Yet while he had one, the blonde had, quite similarly had a vial with a red dot. Her hands lift and flames emit from her hands.
"Jesus!" Jessica dives towards her sister in an effort to get Trish under the table.
This was definitely not the goal.
*
Spinning on the spot of his chair the giant of a German looks on with a bottle now in his hand. He falls down from the slightly raised section of bar to the ground and a full stand. His feet hit the ground with a hard boom, as he comes to a full stand head just barely low enough not to hit the ceiling. His red eye glowing bright as daylight as he looks over towards the scene.
*
"Sure." Hope's tone isn't rude, just as impersonal as it gets in uncertain social waters. She never stops gauging the responses and reactions of others, but at least she doesn't stare. That much she has mastered. Her lighter is plucked out, a plastic thing worth next to nothing except for its capacity to bump a goldenrod flame an inch or two high after two or three false starts. Once the flame licks the cigarettes to light them, she douses it and tucks it into the package just to be careful. Two Marlboros down and Alison is offered the box, with at least three more filtered cigarettes left. The foil is crumpled around one of them, but a good shake of the wrist from Hope frees up that. It rustles right about the time flames score a path midair.
"Shit. Down!" The bar gives precious little cover, and Hope dives hard off the wall of it, throwing herself into a controlled lunge or a roll. It's enough to get Alison out of the way if the performer isn't doing it herself.
*
Yes. It's Patsy. Trish is usually noticed. She's just glad that they're in a place not normally filled with paparazzi. The last thing that she, or her career, needs is to be seen purchasing vigor. Yes, she's helping Jessica to find the source, but still, it's not easy being famous sometimes. "Yes, yes. I'm her. Iiiit's Patsy. Everybody loves Patsy. Patsy needs…needs…those…" She sighs as she starts to dig through her purse for the money.
But things aren't always so smooth, are they? She's immediately pushed down by Jessica. It's not like she's prepared to deal with people with wings or flames coming from their hands, anyway. Even if she were, she's not about to go up against them dressed as her normal self!
*
Alison looks a bit surprised when Hope seems to notice her own cigarette failings and offers her one as well, but before she can reach for one and say proper thanks. Sci-Fi happens. Only in real life. Alison is caught standing still, staring at the events of fire and wings explode on scene, before being knocked out of the way by Hope. She grimaces, she groans, but doesn't complain beyond that. Rather she just stares in amazement, "this is not LSD is it? You're seeing this as well?" She asks Hope, as if needing second opinion on that. It sure looks and feels real enough.
*
The fight over the product seems to blaze brighter as the fellow reaches for a water jug of clear fluid on the bar. He throws it like a molotov cocktail at the woman on fire — aiming to put out the flames. As the fluid pours out, however, she only burns brighter; evidently clear fluid resting on a bar isn't always water. Who knew?
The man throws a nearby table at the woman.
"…it sure is nice to not be the cause of the fight…" although Jessica kind of started it by meeting the next dealer in the chain. Underneath the table, Jessica tugs on Trish's hand, but the exit is blocked by the now warring factions. "Dammit," she mutters. She puts up a hand towards Trish, silently signalling that her sister should stay as far back as possible, and her fist is drilled hard into the bench, forcing it backwards some. But it's not enough.
Jessica's head shakes, she leans backwards, and presses her feet against the bench. She barrels down on the bench, kicking it. HARD.
*
Footsteps echo out as Hans begins to pick up speed"Excuse me miss!" His expression sours as he runs across the bar almost smacking his head against the ceiling. That voice echos out with a booming call deep and harsh. "I'd like a word with you!" A leaping jump as the 9 foot tall man dives forward in a full tackle through the flames, head crashing through one of the light fixtures as he tries to stop them before anyone gets hurt. His hat is knocked clean off showing that completely bald head and the pitch black metal which is a part of his face.
*
Them's the breaks for being uneasy and on the lookout for something, anything. Hope must pick up those weird details. Not a thought is spared for the sticky floor and she remains crouched low, cigarettes stuffed in her pocket, expression crumpled in thought. "Don't think so," she keeps her voice soft, hunched down behind a scattering of occupied chairs. Said occupants are hightailing it for cover, behind the table or fleeing to the door. A glimmer of a scowl narrows her mouth. "Definitely seeing flames and feathers. What the hell!"
The ignition of alcohol makes her flinch lower and she throws a look for the nearest door. A gesture gives Alison the direction out. Then she grits her teeth, inching away with some cover to assist.
*
"Jess…Jess…Jessica!" Trish peeks up from under the table. She can't just sit by and do nothing…can she? No. No she can't. Why is she even questioning it? While her dear sister is distracted by kicking down a bench, she dives for the dealer. In retrospect, since her hands were on fire, it wasn't the wisest of decisions, but once she was in motion, she found it very hard to stop. The best she can hope for is to knock the woman to the ground and maybe not get burnt.
*
This is a very uneasy situation for Dazzler. She wants to do something, she wants to help, but there's only one person who could honestly expect it of her. That would be herself. A good reason too! With all the anti-mutant sentiment, she can't expect her fledgling music career to soar if people find out the truth she's been hiding ever so expertly. No. She has to stay put, and keep playing normal. Besides, these two going at it, and the Mr. German McHuge are likely to do a better job sorting it out. She's not even experienced enough to realize Jessica and Trish are up to something. Her mind is reeling, and when Hope points out the exist, she gratefully nods at her and starts shuffling her way out of the bar turned open brawl arena, "right…thank you! God I hope they don't pin all that on my performance…"
*
The man with the wings is knocked down hard — creamed against the floor with a clatter of glasses, bottles, and the table itself. The table crumbles hard, cracking loudly as it folds underneath the weight. Thanks to Schwarzsteng's power, the man falls down.
The unexpected and sudden Trish diving at the blonde-on-fire has the woman reaching out her hands as she falls to the floor. The flames are still alight, but she's not nearly as strong as the many with the wings, so it's easy enough to knock her down, particularly with the element of surprise.
But this doesn't mean she doesn't aim to counter-attack. The high that accompanies the mysterious fluid has her reacting rather than thinking as she tries to emit more flames towards Patsy.
The table rises as the woman underneath it lifts it above her head just to thrust it aside. "Don't touch her," she hisses as she throws one of her heavy combat boots at the fire assailant.
Normally shoe-throwing wouldn't be particularly threatening, except Jones has a very strong arm. The flame thrower is knocked out (albeit temporarily) when the boot hits her head. Jessica frowns.
*
The echoing thud rings out as Hans hits the ground hard atop the winged individual. A moments pause as he just looks down towards him using his weight alone to keep them pinned. "You need to learn some manners, before you get hurt." Spoken with almost a snarl. "Lucky I didn't just shoot you." Glaring right down with that bright red eye. He waits a moment before slamming down his own head at the person he's got pinned in an attempt to knock them out cold, even if the wind's already been knocked out.
*
A boot goes flying, tables go tilting, and the situation continues to look wretched. Brushing her bangs out of her face, Hope swivels to look past the chairs blocking a direct view of Trish-on-fiery blonde action, still cautious. Her eyes glaze over briefly and she holds out her hand in front of her, pushing back against the chairs to nudge them aside. Tendrils of telekinetic force snake around the fallen bottles and discarded plates, and the air hardens atop the fallen fire-thrower at key points around her leg, arm, and hips. That much Hope can see and guide, her brows dented in a frown. Surely it has to help.
*
"Thanks, Jess!" Trish did not think that through. Sniffing the air, she can still smell a bit of something burning. "Is there still something on fire?" She asks, still on top of the blonde woman, making sure she doesn't get up when she regains consciousness. She looks down at her jacket, which has apparently caught fire. She falls back in panic, patting down the splotches of fire. When they're finally out, with only smoke raising from them. She looks around, heavy breaths taken. "Well, that wasn't fun…"
*
Dazzler is no hero, at least not yet, for the time being she's a rock star. There's only one place where rock stars linger in super powered bar brawls to save the day, the movies! This being real life, Dazzler does the more sensible thing, and having used the exit pointed to her by Hope, she gets far away to safety, not even bothering calling the cops. With any luck, her name isn't going to get tacked on this, because she can already imagine the headlines: Dazzler sparks a bar brawl in a show fueled by devil worship powers…
*
The winged man groans until a head slams against his, rendering him altogether unconscious.
And Hope's efforts do help. The telekinetic energy catches objects and averts further disaster when things fly. The table that Jessica had thrust aside like nothing comes to a soft landing rather than the loud, and likely dangerous, fall.
Jessica rubs the back of her neck and she sniffs loudly. "Alright. So." Her lips twist to the side and her gaze turns about the room, "This meeting was a bust. The other contact… I'll get in touch." She looks at the table and slides the rest of the vials into her grasp before treading for the door. "We need to call them and then apply pressure." The vials are stuffed into her pocket. No one else is going to get that demon drug if she can help it.
*
Trench coat smouldering from the flames he'd dove through to get the winged man Hans comes back to a stand. The coat burns slowly away without much reaction from him as he looks over towards the two women who'd been involved with this at the start.
"You two ladies alright?" Hans asks with a friendly smile of pure white teeth as the jacket burns away completely to reveal a pitch black metal body with spots of rust on its surface. Joints and gears whirl around as he moves like some sort of clockwork soldier. His muscles little more then worked wrought iron bent into position with care. "Might want to get running before Johnny Law shows up wanting to know what went down with your little drug deal."
*
Not a jot of fear burns in Hope's eyes. She makes an unamused noise as she pulls the sole of her boot away from the ground and it practically unpeels with a hundred sticky lines of coagulated goo, the sticky remnants of dissolved pop and beer, ketchup, and sauces sluiced off the food knocked over. Alison is nowhere to be found, on the lam in Hell's Kitchen, and everything else beyond the dislocated chairs and tables seems to be calming. She pops up, a spring daisy, shaking her head.
Thumbing her collar up, the redhead looks forlornly for her drink. Lost somewhere, but hey, she didn't pay for something she didn't finish either. Telekinetic pressure stays down on the firecracker on drugs until she gets to the door, easing her way out. No sooner will that happen than the force dissolves, give or take about a minute or two.
*
Blinking up at the tall man, Trish nods a little. "I um…right. Yeah. I'm fine. Thank you." Pause. "Thanks for the help. What a crazy day, right? Who'd think they'd walk into a bar and get into a fight with people because of…" she clears her throat. "Anyway." She pushes herself up and smiles around the room. "Well…" She digs into her wallet and places a few hundred dollars on the counter in front of the bartender. "For the damages, and uh…and the next round or two. On me!" Hopefully this means people will 'forget' that she was here.
Following Jessica, she nods. "I just hope the next meeting doesn't end up like this one." She mutters to Jess.
*