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Cannonball swipes across the bartop gently, whistling while music plays in the background and the clink and clatter of lunch servers can be heard. LALALA totally fine afternoon.
*
JP waded over and brushed a hand over the juke box leaning on it. He squint looking at everything and walked away. The music player switched up on its own to some Johnny Cash. Someone was a cheating cheater what cheats. Two short whistles in up-notes came from the weathered Gearhead. His Levi's dropped onto a stool near Sam with a faint upnod. "Sammy." drawled the Cajun. His one eye had a nice shiner on it, and his knuckles were tore up from some rumble the night prior. "Yous just hang around t'cheer up th'place now?" His index finger tapped the countertop twice in that silent gesture of 'hit me, bartender'.
*
Cannonball steps over to the tap and pulls on one of the handles, filling up a cool brew to give to JP. "Looks like you've had some fun. You hit on someone's sister?" He grins with dimples. "I work here, until I can manage ta find a secret organization to hire me. Hard ta find though. Obvious reasons."
*
JP received the glass withhis bruised hand chortling, "Is because we's jes' too damn good lookin t'be subtle." The Cajun shook his head with a wry grin, "Yeah, that was pretty much it. And people think JP dunno how to have a good time? Pah. Word gets around I'll need a stick t'keep em all at bay. Not like your brother though. He's got his game worked out don' he? What about you? What's your gameplan this week?"
*
Cannonball arches a brow at JP. "What ya mean…mah brothers' got it all worked out? What's he got worked out? Ya mean the rich guy he's livin' with? I'm not too sure about that. The guy seeeeems ok but the whole situation…just worry about there comin' a time when they start makin' him do housework. Ah don't have a gameplan yet. Burned mah leg on someone's bright idea of a candle the other night. What is with the dangerous romantic shit?" Sam asks with a crinkle of his face.
*
JP drank his beer listening. "What like a Roman Candle? Man, yous gotta introduce me to these folk. They sound like a blast and can def' come party with me." Oh the wry grin and the wink back to the bartender entertianing what might have set Sammy on fire. "What isn't with it? You look at a car you a re-liable company cah' or you wan' drive somethin' that'll blow your hair back?" He seemed to have a smug opinion on that. "What? You didn' notice half the room wan' pull at those pretty lil chickie wings of his? C'mon. Seen the same shit with mah' sister."
*
"Oh…well, yeah, the wings do get attention and people like ta touch em. That's true. But…he don't have anyone specific, does he? And nah, I just mean…like…I do not need candles lit in a room for me to give it ta someone. If ya want danger, do it in a public place or on a roof…ah dun get nuthin out of some soft glow." Cuz, he just hasn't met the right person, you know. That's how it always is! Candles are fine if the dude is hot enough!
*
JP murmured, "Your boy Douggie know that? Not sayin nothin but he seem t'give em a bit of the side-eye." JP set the beer down and licked his lower look looking up at Sam with some disappointment. "What?! That's it? Thought yous' gonna tell me someone spilled somehin on ya or ya went about settin some summabitch's office on fire. Take out one of them chemical buildins. Carryin' on in the smeltery? WHOOO lemme tell ya yous gon' go that have good boots."
*
"/Doug/?! No…" Sam laughs. "No way. No no…no?" Sam knits his brows. "Mah brother aint carryin' on with Doug Ramsey, aint no how! Mah brother aint no fuckin' fairy, what ya-" Sam just bristles in like 2 seconds flat, "Mah brother ain't no fuckin' whore!" And then there's a leap and a little burst that sounds like a WHOOSH as he momentarily activates his powers just to leap across the counter at JP.
*
JP was smart enough to do two things: slide the beer off to the side, and slide back off the stool so he didnt take a chair to the nuts on the way down. JP though, was a scrapper that went cruizin for trouble like the scrappy cuss he was. "Awfully defensive, Sammy. Coming from a guy that apparently dunno a good time if it bit em in the ass." The shoulders were back and the Cajun stepped up rigt up chest to chest without layin hands, "Yous sure you wan' come at me Sammy? Yous wan' tell me I'm wrong?" God damn the sas and brass on this guy even punctuating the pointsnapping his teeth at the coal miner's nose. He figured he was liabel to have a shiner on the other eye soon enough but that was alright.
*
When his attempted tackle missed, he swung around, only to be confronted by JP chest-to-chest. Too close. No good! Sam gives him a shove with both hands and then swings with his right. His vocalization is just…rawr, rather than anything intelligible.
*
JP was hoved back. Problem for JP he wasn't used to larger spaces and Sam had a distinct advantage on reach. THat heavy hand came around and JP was ready, not that it helped matters much. Roughened hands grabbed ahold of Sam's shirt when the punch came acrosshis face. He went with it but it was like bein hit by a compressed mack truck all the same. The retaliation wasn't so graceful but the response was pulling Sam's shirt and repaying him with a crunch of a headbut. "An here'… I thought you's a lazy fucker. You been workin out on us, Sam? DOn't change… nothin." God that sting was enough to keep him awake today.
*
Cannonball isnt even sure what is happening! Is JP giving him a compliment in the middle of a beat-down? Sam's so confused. Oh. Headbutt, yeah! Sam's eyes scrunch closed, then blink a bunch of times. Then the match becomes one of scrabbling back and forth, shirts grabbed, weird too-close punches that don't have enough oomph, until finally Sam knocks into a barstool and he falls, trying to take JP with him, "I aint lazy! Ahm from coal-miner country, ya asshole!"
*
JP did? Sorta?! Brawlin was how fun people says heya right? The look of confusion was entirely worth it. SO so so worth it. Sam's punches were heavy and solid like coal countery where he was from and wrasslin' JP ? Well he was ever bit a slimy dirty fighter as the fklooded backwoods of bayou country that birthed him. It wasn't just the scruffle, but JP also focused half on trying to break Sam's stance with some solid knees thrown to the thigh. "That's what I jus' said, ya moose testicle"
*
"You've got the arms of a 10-year-old GURL, ya cheap bastard! Ya tryin' ta pull some Oriental stuff on me? Fight like an American!" Cuz…apparently using anything other than a fist is karate. Sam wrassles, yes, a good word for it, hands skimming off fabric, until the bouncer comes and looms over the BOTH of them. Big, meaty arms crossed. Stern look.
*
JP pulled a knee to the groin for that; incomplete connection, but effort made. "Stop bein pissed that even with a black I I's still come outta this prettier than you." His teeth were bared but it was a wild look of glee and not rage in those eyes. Hell he might consider this a banner week. Breathing hard and wincing sharply (yeah he couldn't hide that reaction from the punch to an already broken rib), "Hey…Steveo." Deeeeep breath in the pause with a pat to Sam's shoulder, "I think he wants t'join us. THis' too much fun f'two people 'parently."
*
"Ya ain't pretty! Yer a fuckin' disgrace ta yer jeans!" Sam's just making shit up now and he winces at the half-knee to the groin, curling up as the bouncer just eeeeyes them. He doesn't even have to say anything. "Get offa me, ya idiot, but ya better /polagize/ fer sayin' a damn thing about mah brother. That's off limits, with mah mamma." Sam gives JP a separating shove. Both men are on the ground of the mutant bar, and Sam has an apron on like he's the bartender possibly. A bouncer is looming over the two men.
*
In the background, Clint came back from the bathroom about twenty seconds earlier and was already taking bets and encouraging generally bad behavior from the rest of the bar patrons. When the bouncer gets up in their face, Clint leads the low key 'boooooo' 'let 'em go' rumblings as he strolls casually around the wide ring of space Sam and JP have been given.
*
JP pulled his jacket down and looked right confused when his jeans were brought into this. The bruised Cajun's head pulled back and side tilted. "I dunno. That there soun'n like agreement to me. "now in the pause was the time to lick the blood from that split lip. Eh that ain't too bad. "'Pologize? I ain't done said shit about no brothers. Clear da' coal dust outta them ears, Cowboy."
*
"I aint gonna do the words the honor of repeatin' em, but you know what you suggested and it aint true." Sam points at JP and scrabbles to his feet. Thoguh its over…there's every sense that if JP repeats it, its on, again! Sam glances to Clint the troublemaker and recognition pings, but its hard to recall just…where…he knows that guy from. He gives his mouth a swipe with his forearm. "Gone get me fuckin' fired…" He mutters. "Hey, I know you?" Clint gets the once over.
*
Things seem to diffuse and really there wasn't a whole lot of payout on this one. Not enough time to do any real damage and there wasn't a clear winner, either, so Clint ends up giving folded bills back to a couple folks on the sly, nodding at them and shrugging. Ah well, what can you do?
While he's weaving through, handing a dollar off to a mutant with a blue undercast to his skin, the archer stops dead in his tracks and looks at Sam. "Huh? Nah, man." But pauses and squints, then laughs. "Wait, no, you're the guy who called me an idiot for starting that bar fight with the biker gang." Dashing a glance in JP's direction. Stormy eyes flick up and down Gearhead, then flash back over to Sam. "So how's your glass house?"
*
JP looked to Sam and squint, "Jes because you're pickin up what I ain't layin down don' make it true. You callin me a liar?" Boots didn't advance but the finger came out pointing to Sam, "I might 'not' said something but it wasn' about no brother of yours, Sammy." His cheeks pulled in. Now JP thought Sam, his bud? Were a swell guy, but there was a nerve at being called a liar direct or indirect. All them fetheres were ruffled though CLint got a squint. Curiosity got hte better of him, "On 42nd? Couple weeks back? Heard about that one."
*
"It was months ago. And THIS GUY is not an entire biker gang. He's 130lbs wet! And damn right, I;m callin' you a liar. Mah brother don't play games and he aint a fairy. Ah'll fight the both o ya, I don't care!" Just dragging Clint into it willy nilly for basically being close enough!
*
So says Sam! And puts his dukes up.
*
Clint eyes JP a little bit when it looks like the guy may just launch right back into it, but the bouncer sees it too and lingers right there. Clint hovers, sliding one hand into the back pocket of his jeans, letting the other hang free and gesture while he speaks. "Nah, it was down on 33rd a couple months ago," agreeing with Sam, but he snaps his fingers and points at JP. "But that one was me, too. Those Eastchester Juniors are wimps." He pauses. "Unless you know someone in them, in which case it was a misunderstanding."
Getting dragged into this business, there's a glance back and forth between the two, quirking a half smile. "Hey, now. I can handle myself, and I'm 230, Doc." Clint upnods back at Sam.
*
JP rolled his eyes and turned around like he was waving Sam off but turned coming in low for the sucker punch. "I ain't no liar!" The light was up in his eyes but the juke box flipped over to the rockabilly classic of "Rumble in Brighton". THe words were barely comprehensible as a combination of slurred Creole and rage. It was then the bouncer stepped in again and was muttering epithets under his breath. "I nev'r said no thing about no brother of yours, Sammy! Other people meybbe, but I said nuttin about nuttin about no one's brother!" Which was, well really technically true. "You take back what you said!"
*
|ROLL| Cannonball +rolls 1d20 for: 17
*
Sam manages to tighten up for that sucker punch and he grabs JP's shirt in a fist that hums. Its a warm…energy…in the air. "You were /flirting/ with it, an ya mighta had some of it comin' from all that French the other night." Then he relaxes his hand and pats the man's chest, trying to smooth out the shirt some. He glances to Clint. And the bouncer.
*
Sucker punch it is! Clint sways back for it, then dives forward to try to grab JP up by his arms and pull them behind his back, snug. Kicking a leg between his knees, Barton makes it exceptionally easy for Sam to grab the guy's shirt, but he leans on the bouncer to step in and keep Sam off the guy he's now holding back. "Whoa, Hoss! Shit gets real once you start bringing family into it." Clint hisses lower, "I love a good fight, but at least wait until the bouncer leaves. C'mon, guys."
*
JP took a deep breath and struggled like a ferl cat in a wet knapsack when Barton got ahold of him. THat was a nerve though he respected the other being as much to Sam. He growled back to Sam though much of the fight was out of him as it was clear this was over. "Shiiiiit I flirt with anythin' that moves that ain' new." His molars set but as Sam stepped it down and patted his chest the flailing bayou boy let out the breath he was holding and let his shoulders go slack so Clint would let him go. "Didn't… mean t'make you think I's talkin shit about no baby brother of yours." It was one of those informal-save-face apologies. "C'mon. I'll grab nex' round."
*
"Fine." Sam cools down and has to waaaaalk all the way around the bar to get back behind it. He mutters some on his way around, then comes back around level with the guys. "What ya buyin us, then?" He shoves a dimpled grin onto his face, but there's still a little 'shucks' in his eyes. "Ahm Sam…this idiot is JP…"
*
Gearhead's welcome to struggle all he wants, and Clint doesn't have a lick of superpowered DNA in him, but he's strong never the less, holding JP tight against his torso during that flailing and jerking. Not until he feels the tension go out in JP's shoulders does Clint push him forward a bit upon release. Clapping JP on the back a couple times as he walks by to the bar. There was a promise of a drink. He's there and isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Right up until Sam walks behind the bar, then Clint squints and points at Cannonball. "You…work here? And you were fighting?" He blinks a couple times, looking around at his surroundings with confusion. When he rounds back around to the bar, Clint nods and folds his arms on the bar. "Okay! I like this place." Drumming on the bartop with his hands and thumbs toward himself. "Clint."
*
JP was a scrappy punk, but he was an honest, scrappy punk. With… someone else's wallet he was pulling out of his back pocket. Either way a five hit the table courtesy of… someone and first round it was! He said unto Clint, "Sammy's very talented like that. And so very easy to push your buttons, mon ami." Now that he was sitting down he was rubbing at his jaw mumbling incomprehensivly, "Tha's a goodun."
*
Cannonball grabs a rag and dusts off where he had launched himself over the bar earlier. His pants button might have scratched it a bit. "Bar full a mutants…there's gonna be fights." He chuckles. "Most the people in here been defensive since they were 12 years old." He doesn't include or exclude himself in that. He LOOKS normal. Though others surely would not that are currently in the bar. He pours Clint and himself a beer…since JP already has one that didn't spill from earlier, then lifts it in a toast.
*
"Tell me about it," Clint angles a smile at Sam. "You ever been in here when it was Jack's? I was in here one night and a fight broke out with this dorky looking guy who tried to take on like five guys. He beat their asses—really surprising stuff." He chuckles under his breath. "Hilarious. Until some fuckin' kid zapped someone with his eyes or some shit, and then there was fireballs all over the place. Fuckin' downer. Had to grab him like I just did yer pal here and marched him out the front door. Thank you, Sammy." Taking his beer with a tip toward the tender.
"J.P.," Clint pipes up. "Don't suppose that stands for 'Jean-Pierre' with that accent of yours?"
*
JP slid his beer back over and saluted Sammy back. "To those of us fightin our way out of hte womb and since." Apparently JP, though well passible a human average, made no qualms about disclosing his genetic predipositions. Not that he could tell you what a predisposition was. His eyes narrowed to clint in a faint squint, "Is jes' J.P. to you." There was a shrug as he mused out loud shaking his head, "a moins que vous ne m'achetiez d'abord un homard? " he squint and spelled it for him with a casual nod. "J.P." His face split into a swarthy, bruised grin, "Like the banker guy, yeah? Soun' like it was a good time tho. Have a lil brother tha' just sets stuffon fire. I tell em even for us? He burn all the food things."
*
|ROLL| Cannonball +rolls 1d20 for: 14
*
Cannonball looks between JP and Clint with a curious air. He takes a solid man-swig of his beer after the toast, and doesn't cop to his own lineage, though he doesn't lie about it either. "It was a rough place as Jack's. Its sposed ta be better now, but…hey…maybe we just don't deserve it." There's an aww shucks expression on his face, like, he knows he isn't exactly high class. "Why ya gotta keep talkin' Frenchi around me?"
*
"Dois-je l'acheter?" Clint casually asks into the mouth of his beer, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two mutants while they talk and JP toasts with himself since Clint isn't about to lie about what he is and isn't.
"Sorry, Sam. I just like wandering tongues." Clint smiles at a crooked angle, leaning heavy on insinuation. "But I get where you're at. Wasn't anything against you or yours, I swear. And what's all that malarky about not deserving it?" Clint scoffs and looks around. "Looks like people are enjoying it. Why not them? I like a good dive, don't get me wrong," the archer laughs lightly. "But this is nice."
*
|ROLL| JP +rolls 1d20 for: 13
*
JP actually did a spit-take back into his glass rather than on Sam's newly cleaned (and rump scrubbed) counter top. "Merde." He was honestly too busy laughing to be angry. Pinching the bridge of his nose he muttered to Sam, "I teach you. I never finished 9th grade and if I can do it? You can." it didn't seem to hurt JP's business savvy any. He squint back to Clint and finally answered him "Yes." Finally he leveled with them, "When your name i 28 letters long and you have to write it out? Yeha you shorten tha' shit."
*
Cannonball arches his brows. "What sense is it ta learn French if I live in America? Just speak English cuz ya /can/…I hear it out yer mouth." He makes a little gesture and then gives Clint the 'yer encouragin' him ' look.
*
Clint grins like the devil into his beer, not the least bit apologetic as he takes a deep drink, chugging down past the halfway point before it thunks back to the bartop, smiling like the cat that got in the cream. A sly look in JP's direction. Enjoying that surprise far, far too much. The look from Sam gathers another wide grin, completely transparent in his attempt to maybe sort of possibly thinking about being apologetic. "I'm sorry, Sam. His face was pretty classic, you gotta admit."
*
JP finished his beer and pointed two bruised fingers to Sam. Seriously how many fights did this guy get in this week!? Well he didn't seem to mind, though he was ready to barter reason with the hothead. "C'mon Cowboy, you know you don' mind because firs' time a punch is thrown? I'm right there with you." Ther ewas a faint wink, one of solidaroty, or his eye had inherited convulsions. Who really knew. "I got' go ring up Dizzy an' see if the parts t'repair my care are in." This was the test of his patience right there. He loved that care more than half his siblings. "An' then I go find the fucker that pushed in her front end and push in their front end." Which would likly involve punching and maybe dental work. Sam got an offered handshake. "Truce man." Clint? He got a slap tot he sleeve as a thanks. "Catch you 'roun', Clint." And with that he snappointed to the juke box he took seige of earlier and flipped it over to Johnny Cash Boy Named Sue.