You had to go pretty far to avoid being recognised when your face had spent six months in Time Square recently. Further when you added being a known vigilante. Add pink hair and you'd ruled out most of New York City.

Most.

Cafas hadn't been in Brooklyn in forever. Well... There was that one time, but it hardly counted as a visit. The place seemed somehow meaner than the last time he'd been. Order must have been expanding. Whatever, it wasn't like they had the power to stop them. Let them expand until they were spread too thin, then strike the heart.

The bar he'd chosen, O' something's, or Mac something's, had the delightful aroma of stale beer and sadness. A television set, at least fifteen years old, played some four o'clock soap. The bartender hadn't looked at it since Cafas had walked in. He wasn't sure the man knew it was even on.

You walked in at twelve...

They sat in silence, no-one else was there but for a few roaches. The collection of glasses in front of Cafas gave evidence to how long he'd been there, and how little the barman cared. He'd not moved a single empty. Just kept using new glasses. He'd started a second layer just to give himself enough space to glare at.

The barkeep's newspaper rustled. Cafas tapped the bar. With a sigh the grey, balding, overweight man looked up. A grunt later Cafas had another whisky. Dust floated on top of it. He sipped, set it down. He went back to boring a hole into the bar with his eyes. It would be a wobbly hole to be sure.

Drunk again... Not drunk enough.

Big, noisy, crowded clubs tended to be more Isabel's speed on the occasion that she chose to go out drinking, mainly because all that noise and the number of people made it easier for her to blend in and go largely unnoticed by anyone that wasn't practically right on top of her. The loud music helped to drown out any intrusive thoughts and made it easier to enjoy a good buzz without worrying about whatever it was that had bothered her enough to goad her into visiting a club in the first place.

However, at the other end of the scale the little hole in the wall kind of bars spread throughout the Order's territory could be a nice change as well. Fewer people visited he dingy bars which meant there was less of a chance of causing some kind of uproar if a crowd was particularly uppity. Most people that visited the small bars did so with the sole purpose of getting drunk and keeping to themselves and she could sympathize with that when she was in a mood of her own.

The bar she'd wound up stumbling into had been of the latter persuasion. She couldn't honestly even remember having seen it before any time that she'd been out patrolling or collecting fees, but it wasn't an unwelcome surprise to happen across the place.

Dingy was one way to describe it. Downright filthy was another. There seemed to be a fine coat of dust on any surface that patrons hadn't recently sat on or leaned against and it looked like the floor hadn't been washed in years. Even the clean glasses being set on the bar top looked like they hadn't been touched in some time, though it might have had something to do with the greying rag the bartender was using to dry them. Isabel wasn't really pleased at the state of the place, but she figured once she'd had a few drinks she'd start caring less. And on the upside the grime probably meant the bar didn't do much business which meant there wouldn't be too many people filtering through to bother her.

Isabel perched herself at the bar a couple of seats down from a sour looking young man whose bright pink hair looked entirely out of place in a bar full of browns and greys. She eyed the grouchy stranger while she flagged down the bartender, waiting for something to click about the familiar face.

Doubting the bar had much to offer for the kind of mixed drinks she tended to favor, she opted for a simple rum and coke. Then there was the click. "Not exactly the kind of place you'd think a movie star would visit. Must suck when you stop being relevant."

"Not exactly the kind of place you'd think a movie star would visit. Must suck when you stop being relevant."

Cafas sighed again. Turns out even gang lands weren't far enough. He tilted his head to look at the woman who was addressing him. A frown crossed his face as he struggled to figure out why she seemed familiar. Try as he might he couldn't place her. Maybe if he could actually see her properly...

Maybe I've met her once? I've met a lot of people.

The man behind the bar seemed nervous. Clearly he didn't like the confrontational tone. He finally began moving some of the glasses from in front of Cafas. The X-man assumed it was more for the safety of the glasses than anything else.

Not that I'm gonna do anything with em.

He relaxed his face some, letting the frown and glare slip. He sat up, stretching a little as he did so, and tried to focus on the woman a few seats away.

"Couldn't happen soon enough t' be honest."

His voice felt odd after hours in silence. Cafas couldn't be sure if it was the whisky or said hours that had made him slur that sentence. Still, it sounded recognisable enough to him. It couldn't have been too all over the place. His glass came to his lips once more, and what whisky was left in it disappeared.

"Anyway, do I know you? I swear I've seen you somewhere, but I can't place it."

Yeah it was probably the whisky making him slur. Cafas tapped the bar without looking at it, then shook his head, getting sick of their little pattern. "Just gimme the bottle mate." There was a pause, then a heavy thunk. Cafas glanced back. New bottle, one drink missing. Back to this mystery acquaintance.

It sounded like the young man was already half in the bag when he stopped scowling and decided to speak. Not that it was all that surprising since he was sitting in a bar and seemed to have the majority of the tender's attention. Isabel was also aware that the bartender was finally starting to clean up the bar a little and the glass that was placed in front of her looked just a bit less grimey than the rest. Being a landlord in a manner of speaking had its perks.

"You don't look like someone that's happy to be out of the spotlight," she said with a bit of a smirk as she picked up the glass in front of her and took a sip. Happy people didn't tend to get smashed in a bar by themselves, but bitter people did and bitter people with bitter regrets tended to deny whatever it was they missed while they got smashed.

Her smirk faded a bit as he questioned her identity. Being recognized was always a coin toss since certain images had begun circulating in the media. Unless someone was outright asking about that damned calendar it was hard to tell what kind of places people had recognized her from. She couldn't honestly say she completely hated it when some jackass brought up the bikini nonsense because it gave her an excuse to stab someone, but she still preferred it when her face looked familiar from the numerous news alerts she'd starred in.

"I guess you could say I'm a bit of a local celebrity, too," she ventured, watching the bartender as he brought out the bottle of whiskey for the stranger and noticeably kept his half-hearted cleaning to the part of the bar further away from where Isabel had chosen to sit. She may not have personally collected from the tiny establishment, but he obviously knew she was someone to be wary of.

"I'm not gonna try to fool anyone into thinking I don't like the attention, though. Well, most of the attention. It's a lot easier than pretending and drinking to convince myself otherwise."

"You don't look like someone that's happy to be out of the spotlight,"

Cafas shrugged. It wasn't really his issue. His issue was more to do with how recently he had been in it and what it had meant for his relationship. Pretty much a death sentence. Was it Three years? Maybe more? He couldn't tell any more. Filming, pick ups, voice recording, press, publicity, talk shows. The list went on.

"I guess you could say I'm a bit of a local celebrity, too,"

The frown was back. A somewhat pained look of concentration. He was trying so hard to remember. His brain was giving him some things to work with, but the final few bridges weren't fully navigable in his state. Local no doubt meant Brooklyn. Anyone famous across all the city was probably at least of national fame. Brooklyn celebrities, for the most part, were part of that gang working out of the Sanctuary. He tried to focus on her.

"I'm not gonna try to fool anyone into thinking I don't like the attention, though. Well, most of the attention. It's a lot easier than pretending and drinking to convince myself otherwise."

"Aura? No, it's been a while but not long enough for her to change that much. I swear I know you, or of you..."

But it was not use. Maybe if he'd been sober. Maybe if this wasn't his second bottle of Johnny in four hours. As it was he was pretty happy to be upright and able to determine this was in fact NOT Aura. He reconsidered the bottle in front of him. Maybe he needed his brain a bit more functional. He moved on to address the rest of her statement.

"If you really want to know, I'm drinking to try and forget... I don't know. The relationship I had? How badly it's been ****ed up by this stupid acting ****? That I might be falling for someone else and I've got no idea if it's mutual? How god damn lonely it is when the bottle has been your best friend for months? Take your pick." The anger and resent in his voice grew as he spoke. He could feel it bubbling up inside him.

A glass shattered hard across the room as he finished speaking. He hadn't even noticed that he'd picked it up. The barman jumped, made as if to protest but thought better of it. Instead he grabbed a broom and headed off to sweep the shards up.

"Isabel. But I have known Aura for a while." She liked playing the guessing game every now and again but the poor drunk would never figure it out at the rate he was drinking. She was usually faced with pretty similar expressions whenever it dawned on someone who she was in any case, so there wasn't much point drawing it out this time. He seemed to have more pressing matters on his mind anyway.

She arched a brow, unimpressed, when the pink haired has-been tossed a glass and shattered it. Fortunately for him he was probably only allowed to stay and risk breaking more property because Isabel had made an appearance. She doubted the bartender wanted to start an argument while she was there since fights tended to escalate pretty quickly where she was involved.

"Well, that sucks," she offered, though her tone was far from sympathetic as she took another drink. "Can't say I have those problems. Relationships are a big waste of time and they usually just end in a big mess, so I don't bother. Sucks that you've got yourself all wrapped up in that nonsense, but the drinking ain't gonna get you anywhere after you manage a blackout. All you're gonna get is a hangover on top of everything."

Not that she was one that deserved to be dishing out any kind of advice to anyone. She was quickly becoming a habitual drinker herself, though she was learning not to push it to blackout levels of drunkenness after a few particularly rough mornings. "But whatever floats your boat I guess."

"Isabel. But I have known Aura for a while."

The synapses in his brain finally found a route to the memory they were trying to access. Isabel. Most criminal mutants had a file at the mansion, she had a whole drawer. Maybe a solid foot of paper. The digital file alone was arduous to navigate. Well, this sure was an interesting turn of events. In earlier days he might have even tried to apprehend her, against all better judgement.

Not that day though. Cafas nodded appreciatively. "Ah. I've seen your file." He left it there. If she wanted more she could ask. Cafas wasn't about to volunteer his affiliations within Order territory if no-one cared to know them.

"Well, that sucks. Can't say I have those problems. Relationships are a big waste of time and they usually just end in a big mess, so I don't bother. Sucks that you've got yourself all wrapped up in that nonsense, but the drinking ain't gonna get you anywhere after you manage a blackout. All you're gonna get is a hangover on top of everything."

He'd had so many at this point... What was another? Another morning rolling out of bed at some obnoxiously brunchy hour. Another breakfast with drinks, lunch with drinks then drinks till he passed out or they stopped serving him, whichever came first.

"But whatever floats your boat I guess."

He gave a mirthless grin. A grimace you only found when you'd truly reached your limit on life. "It's more bailing out than floating. Still, you're not wrong. The drinking is more numbing than actually helping." Helping, it sounded borderline impossible to him. What was he going to do? It's not like he could go back in time and fix it all before it started. Even the notion was ridiculous. Might make a decent movie though.

Nope, no more movies. Not worth it.

The bottle sat in front of him. The lid was still on it. His eyes burned into the space of the one missing drink. He had to struggle not to pour another. That wasn't a good sign at all. The barman had left him a couple of empty glasses, though Cafas suspected after his previous outburst they may be moved quickly.

Still, not like I threw it AT anyone.

"So you avoid relationships... You don't get lonely?" Maybe he was asking for trouble, prying into the mind of someone he knew full well had killed people for kicks. Still, you never know, he may learn something valuable. Even if it is don't pry into the mind of the psychopath.

'File' was a very particular way to phrase how the young man knew her. No one she knew said 'file' unless they were keeping records and that usually meant cops or some other kind of stupid do-gooder. It certainly didn't win him any points. Isabel did not play well with cops. She wasn't going to let it ruin her night of drinking, though. She'd behave for the time being, but she wasn't going to make herself any promises that he'd stumble out of the bar in one piece.

She finished off her drink and gestured for another one while the young man agreed with her sentiments in a depressed tone. "Numbing's all well and good but that's a good way to turn into an alcoholic." Not that she really cared for some cop's drinking habits, she just hated the idea of depending on anything. Dependence was a weakness and weaknesses could be exploited.

The last question earned him a bit of a disgusted look. "No. I don't get lonely." Loneliness was for people that needed to be around other people. Isabel was self-sufficient and didn't need anyone for anything. It was just another form of dependence and she didn't need it. "If I did I might end up just another sadsack like you."

"Numbing's all well and good but that's a good way to turn into an alcoholic."

There wasn't much turning any more. Cafas would argue he was already there. Well and truly. That was the first step to getting better, right? Admitting you have a problem. Whatever the case with that, he didn't see a clear way out of it. Maybe the short period of time would make a recovery easier? He could only try right?

He certainly depended on the drink. That at least, he could not question. It had started innocently enough, just a bit of stress relief in a strange city. Then it was his new city ritual. It had just picked up from there. Now he was in a bar more than out.

"No. I don't get lonely. If I did I might end up just another sadsack like you."

"Well, cheers to that. Let me tell you, in my experience, you've got the right idea." He raised an empty glass to her. Not that he expected her to clink him. He lowered his glass again and contemplated pouring out a drink. It had barely been five minutes since his last, so he decided not to. Might be rude to pass out mid conversation. He pushed the bottle lightly away.

Not getting lonely sounded great. He wondered if it was something you could learn? Probably. He knew if he put his mind to it he could train himself not to feel it. Why though? Avoid the pain?

Maybe so you're not in a bar from Noon to Midnight. Daily.

"So, you drinking to something in particular?" Cafas lazily swung his head to look at Isabel. Maybe she'd just noticed him and thought it too good an opportunity to miss. She recognised him from the stupid movies, maybe she knew full well he was an X-man. Or perhaps she'd just felt the need to drink in some dingy hole with only one other patron.

Of course she had he right idea. All of Isabel's ideas were right ideas, especially when she was talking to some stupid cop. And she always knew better than cops because cops were inherently inferior and full of bad ideas. Like drinking with a known cop killer.

"I'm drinking because I like drinking," she replied simply, not particularly keen on having some kind of heart-to-heart with a sad, drunk stranger. She had her reasons for drinking every now and again, things she'd rather not have to think about sober but they were no one's business but her own. Well, her own and Zephyr's depending on how much he wanted to pry into her private life on the occasions he made her sit down and really talk to him. But that was neither here nor there.

"Doesn't hurt to keep an eye on local businesses, either," she added, glancing up at the bartender as a second drink was set down in front of her and giving him a bit of a grin. "Keeps things running smoothly in a community when you know the business owners and what kind of customers they bring in." Customers like cops. She might have to speak to the owner of the bar sometime soon if it turned out they were any kind of regulars venturing into the Order's set boarders. She would nip that right in the bud.

"I'm drinking because I like drinking,"

He'd told himself that too at first. He'd have told her so had she not kept going.

"Doesn't hurt to keep an eye on local businesses, either,"

She'd get no argument from Cafas on that.

"Keeps things running smoothly in a community when you know the business owners and what kind of customers they bring in."

Yep, extremely useful no matter what kind of authority group you ran. Even a kleptocracy benefited from having as much information as they could gather.

Oh... Wait.

Again there was that feeling of sudden realisation as Cafas' inebriated brain pieced together enough of the inputs it was receiving to actually form a conclusion. Cafas sighed deeply. He really wasn't in the mood for a fight. He was even less in the mood to get the barkeep killed. His hand found a stack of coins. He did his best to weld them together into a solid lump of metal. He left his hand on it just in case.

"Look, I just wanted an out of the way place to drink. This bloke an' me have exchanged exactly three words. They were "whisky" and "four dollars"."

Not that Cafas expected that to work, but he had to try. Now maybe he could work on defusing the whole thing. He doubted it though. The size of her file seemed to indicate a tendency to over-react. "So if we could just drink, that'd be great. I really can't be arsed with the paperwork involved in even acknowledging I saw you."

Not a hint of fear anywhere. Just a bored resignation. Cafas wasn't even sure he entirely disagreed with the Order. Well, that wasn't true. He really would rather everyone learn to co-exist. Still, he knew what side he'd root for if peace stopped being an option. Hell, he'd fight too.

Speaking of a fight, he was, despite trying to appear relaxed, prepared for one to start any second. He pushed past the fog of alcohol in his brain to actually focus his mind. If she went for him, he'd at least be ready for her.

The drunk picked up on the implied threat quicker than she thought he would, though she couldn't be sure if he actually had half a brain or if he just made a lucky assumption based on her 'file'. Not that it really mattered either way. No matter how perceptive the guy was he had very little chance of walking away unscathed if she decided to follow through with the threat.

She turned to look at the young man in feigned innocence, as if she didn't know why he'd suddenly shifted the conversation. "But we are just drinking," she replied, giving her glass a gentle shake to rattle the ice cubes as if it would help him remember what was going on around him. Poor, confused little drunk.

"You're safer drinking anyway, kid. Most sober people can't handle me, nevermind someone that's already seeing double." He should be grateful, really. She was being far to generous in giving him so much wiggle room to either shut up or walk away. Alcohol seemed to give her temperament an agreeable turn most of the time, though being secure on her home turf might have had something to do with it.

"But we are just drinking. You're safer drinking anyway, kid. Most sober people can't handle me, nevermind someone that's already seeing double."

"Kid" seemed a little rich. They appeared to be roughly the same age. The rest of her contemptuous and arrogant commentary didn't impress Cafas any either. Her feigned innocence didn't fool him none. He was on alert now. He wasn't going to pick a fight though, not when it seemed like it may be simmering down.

What a piece of work. Can't even be properly civilized when I'm just having a chat.

Momentarily his hand left the coin stack, though now it was more just a cylindrical lump of metal. Grasping a glass and the bottle, he poured out a long drink and took a small sip. Just enough, hopefully, to give the impression he was relaxing again. He struggled against the alcohol to keep his brain as sharp as possible in the situation.

Easy does it...

"Suits me. Here," he slid the bottle up the bar, halfway between them, "I reckon this bloke wants to get back to his soaps." The barman looked like he didn't know what to do, but went and sat by the TV anyway. Cafas took another small sip, keeping the bottle and Isabel in his peripheral vision.

It didn't get past Isabel that the young man's hand had disappeared after the threat had been issued and only reappeared once she'd defused the tension a little. Cops with guns were nothing new to her, but his figure didn't look bulky enough to be hiding a gun belt. Maybe there was a knife or something in his pocket, or else he was reaching for a phone to call for backup. In any case she made a mental note to keep an eye on his hands in case they disappeared again.

She allowed him to slide the bottle of whiskey in her direction, but made no move to pour a drink for herself. She was still nursing the rum and coke she'd ordered and she wasn't in any big rush to down it and move onto something else. The less she drank from the bottle, the more was left for the pink-haired sourpuss and therefore the less sober he'd be and she'd have the upper hand even more so than she already did.

The barman was dismissed, which seemed a bit odd to her coming from someone so keen to keep drinking. Granted there was still nearly an entire bottle left over from his last order, but most bar patrons weren't too eager to get rid of the tender. It wouldn't impede her drinking much, since she would pretty much have free rein of the place and could fetch her own drinks if she wanted to. The barkeep clearly knew who she was and to cause problems for her would in turn cause much more serious problems for him. But since the young man at the bar wasn't one of her colleagues there seemed to be very little motivation to appease him in the same way.

"Gotta say you picked a real out of the way place to get sloshed," she commented, watching the bartender awkwardly take a seat and try to look like he wasn't paying attention to the tense exchange between his two patrons. He wasn't succeeding very well. "Even people avoiding their problems this hard usually stick a little closer to home."

"Gotta say you picked a real out of the way place to get sloshed, even people avoiding their problems this hard usually stick a little closer to home."

Cafas smiled down at his drink. Closer to home? Exactly where was home? Best he could tell it was any bar that would serve him. He turned the wry expression to Isabel, considering how to respond. Did he need to respond? Was she looking for a why? Seemed out of character so far. Still, no reason not to give her something at least. "Does it really seem that odd? I'm a mutant, half the world knows it. So I go somewhere people don't give us trouble, and where no-one questions it if a human-supremacist never shows up again."

Not that he intended to kill anyone. He just wasn't sure he could show proper restraint if he were attacked. He'd feel guilty for a while, but he'd justify it to himself eventually. If it could be justified, that was. The mission with The Ranger, the Violin Guy, people killed in self defense. He'd justified those to himself. That massacre with Meld and Aura... That was a different matter.

As long as I never feel truly okay about any of them... I guess I'm fine.

She wasn't accepting the bottle. In fairness, she still had a drink in front of her. He took a sip of his own drink. She was really throwing him off his drinking game with this whole being needlessly tense with him. Cafas had no problem drinking with murderers. He'd liked Meld well enough despite everything, and he was hardly a saint.