A disgruntled chaperone sat folded at the far end of the bar, a small book of poetry pinched between a knobby thumb and forefinger. When Charlotte had battered down his door (and yes, he was in poor enough sorts to drop the honorifics), loudly demanding that Ezra take her and Miss Gwendolyn "out for drinks", he had never imagined that their destination would be a hovel such as this.

The music (and he used that term loosely) thudded out of the oversized speakers in such a way that all discernible vocals and instrumentation seeped out in a muddied, confusing mess. Each body seemed too exposed, clad in the barest of minimums and slick with this sheans of sweat. This place was a den of sin, and Ezra would be so happy to leave from it, purging any recollection of this venue from his mind.

That is, if he could find his renters. Charlotte and Miss Gwendolyn had vanished almost an hour ago, when they'd first arrived, and Ezra had seen neither hide not hair of them since.

"Hey buddy, can I get you somethin'?"

The gruff voice caused Ezra to startle, prying his attention off of the dance floor. His corner of the bar, which was flush with a wall, was decidedly devoid of drinks

"Y-yes sir! Shirley Temple, please?" Ezra requested, "With extra cherries?"

If he had to babysit, he might as well treat himself to something nice. The barkeep nodded and went to work. Another club patron, a redhead with smudged lipstick and owlish eyes, pressed against Ezra's arm en route to the bar.

"Andaginmartini, while yerr at it," the girl slurred. She talked through her nose. Ezra recoiled, but was too polite to pull away altogether.

"I.. I beg your pardon, madam," Ezra insisted lightly, trying to pull free. The woman looked at him, taking a moment to drink Ezra's appearance in. She seemed unaware of how much she was infringing upon his personal space. A sloppy smile broke out upon her face.

"Whuzza professor like you doin' in a place like dis?" She demanded.

It had to be the tweed suit, ugly sweater, and shirt and tie. The barkeep returned with the Shirley Temple, but did nothing to assist the mutant. He only gave the inebriated woman a sidelong glance before moving to another past of the bar.

"Madam, I am a librarian," Ezra insisted.

For some reason, Dante had decided to try a new bar. He'd grown fond of the one only a few blocks from his apartment, but he felt a little adventurous tonight. So he was sitting in a **** bar, listening to **** music. At least there were some good-looking patrons in this bar, anyway. So he had some nice....scenery to look at, nonetheless. He also noticed, in the corner, a rather large physical mutant of a gentleman. He didn't let his eyes linger; he didn't want to seem rude, after all.

So he just sat towards the center of the bar, sipping on his third beer. He was honestly thinking about going home after he finished this one. Dante was dressed normally, sleeveless black shirt that showed off his tattoos. Setting the empty beer down, his eyes glanced over. Heh, the big guy had company. Way to go, fella--wait...

Dante ordered another beer as he sat and watched. The situation was starting to look differently than it had first seemed. It seemed as though she was sort of giving him a hard time, but Dante just sat and watched for now.

The lady giggled when Ezra insisted that he was a librarian, altogether oblivious to the terseness in his tone. 

"A librarian, huh," the lady crooned, attempting to fuss with Ezra's hair. Ezra batted at the woman's hand. Maybe he should just... relocate? Somewhere away from the bar, where inebriated women would not be a bother... "That means you're... pretty smart, right?"

"N-no," Ezra replied. He was well-read, certainly, but his intellect was, at best, average...

"Jjjjin martini, please," the lady proclaimed, loudly, in the direction of the barkeep. The bartender made no intdication of hearing her. She returned her attention to Ezra, appraising him.

"Yaknow," she trilled, a hand settling on Ezra's thigh. The homunculus froze, "Yer pretty tall... you know what they say abou' tall guys, right?"

Her hand was creeping higher, and this flipped a switch in Ezra. An open hand connected with the woman's shoulder and pushed her away. Ezra had stood up, his golden eyes saucerlike. Perhaps in some situations, other visible mutants would welcome such attention, but... not him... 

The force of the shove sent the woman reeling backward. She lost her footing and went down. He hadn't shoved her roughly, but... a light shove from a guy who was seven-feet tall... wasn't a light shove at all. The crowd gasped at the woman, who yelled incoherently in alarm.

In any other situation, Ezra would have extended a hand to her, but instead he knotted a hand in his sweater. She terrified him. By some miracle, she got to her feet, screaming a stream of obscenities. Ezra held his hands up, looking to be on the verge of tears.

Having said her piece, the woman stormed back into the fray of the dancefloor, hopefully never to return. Ezra did not reclaim his seat.

He glanced towards his drink, which had been toppled in the exchange. Great. He looked back out towards the dance floor... no sight of Miss Gwendolyn or Miss Charlotte... 

He sniffed indignantly. He couldn't leave them... but he didn't want to stay...

Dante sat, watching the scene, rather curiously; hell, he could tell from here that he wasn't interested. But the thing was Dante couldn't tell if the woman was that drunk or just that stupid. He couldn't hear the whole exchange, but the smoke-manipulator was picking up enough to tell the poor guy was uncomfortable. And then he shoved her. And just like that, crazy drunk lady was gone, but that didn't mean she was gone gone. She could always come back. Scratch that. They always came back, usually with a male that was ridiculously muscular and always pissed off.

He grabbed another drink and then asked the bartender for another one as someone came over to clean up the mess. Dante also headed in that direction, with a beer in one hand and another Shirley Temple in the other. Taking a seat, he handed the not-beer to the distraught mutant. "There you go, bud. On me. People can be such assholes," he said with a slight shrug as the smaller man's eyes kept darting to the rest of the bar, almost paranoid.

Ezra refused to sit, at first. It was as though he was entranced. Then, he noticed (dimly) that someone was cleaning-up his spilled drink. Embarrassment prompted him to assist in the clean-up, but he hadn't a towel with which to help. So instead, he simply murmured, "Good heavens, I'm so sorry!" at intervals while the barkeep attended to the mess.

"Good heavens," he reiterated, eyeing the now-mopped counter. Someone spoke to him, and Ezra pressed his small poetry book to his chest, worried that someone was going to give him grief. It was a smaller man, and he came bearing another Shirley Temple.

>> "There you go, bud. On me. People can do such assholes."

Ezra balked slightly at the man's language, but the proferred beverage and sympathetic tone was enough to prompt the lanky mutant to sit beside him.

"That... that woman was doing immoderate things to me!" Ezra protested. Of course, since the other man was offering him a replacement drink, he was probably well aware of this.

"I-I don't usually come to places like this," Ezra admonished, stirring his drink with a straw, "I was just... just chaperoning my neighbors, and that... that woman..."

Ezra's knobby index finger beat a staccato on the side of the glass, and he wrung his hands around it.

"I've never seen the appeal in places like this," Ezra concluded, which he decided was better than speaking poorly of a woman, however immoderate that woman might be. He took a sip of the proferred drink, cracking an uneasy smile at him, "M-my name is Ezra. Ezra Pahlke."

Dante nodded. "Yeah...I saw. If you're going to get that trashed, the least you can do is stay home so no one else has to put up with you," he said as he took another swig of his beer. "I was actually going to come over as soon as you looked uncomfortable, but....well you kinda took care of it for me," he said with a shrug. "Don't worry though; drunk people can take more punishment but most of em are bigger babies in exchange. In the morning, though? Heh..."

He chuckled lightly, almost sadistically. As far as he was concerned, even though he'd never hit a woman, that one kind of got what was coming to her, and that he couldn't argue with. "This isn't my usual stop; the one I frequent tends to be better about this sort of thing. The music's better, the people aren't as bad, and they're better to look at than this crowd here," he said with a chuckle, taking another healthy swig of beer and setting the bottle on the counter before extending his hand.

"Dante. Dante Schuyler."

Ezra said nothing in response to the man's remarks. He wasn't wrong, but... It embarrassed Ezra to think like that, much less speak like that... He smiled uncertainly into the mixed beverage before him, a grayish flush deepening in his cheeks. The taller man joined in the chuckle, however his laugh was half-hearted and uncertain, fading before it grew to robust.

He was ashamed of pushing her, even if she'd deserved it. They exchanged handshakes. His name was Dante, Dante Schuyler. The two exchanged a handshake, Ezra's grasp on Dante's hand was very light.

"Like Dante Aligheri, the poet," Ezra sighed, "It's a good name. The pleasure is mine."

Ezra turned, facing inwardly again. Turning to shake hands had required him to turn his body. A dreamy look crept into his eyes, but only because he was thinking about the Divine Comedy... Thinking about books seemed to placate him, at least for the moment.

"I tend not to imbibe in public in general," the homunculus reiterated, "I get emotional."

He smiled, feeling pathetic. Imagine a man, getting sentimental over nothing except a few drinks....

The first thing Dante noticed was that the big guy--Ezra--had a very light grip. He didn't know if he was timid, or if he was just a gentle giant, though from what he saw, he'd bet everything he had on the latter. Not that was much of a bet, considering his two most valuable possessions, his guitar and his dog, would not be on the table.

He smirked, nodding. In reality the young man had no idea who the hell that was. After all, he was the guy who slept through most of his academics in school, and barely scooted past by the skin of his teeth. "That's a good policy to have, actually. I usually go to a bar to get started, then end up finishing off at home. He shrugged, moving to catch his jacket before it fell off the back of the stool, and finally just draped it over his shoulder.

"Honestly, I'm more of a solitary drunk for similar reasons. Though whether or not it's sad emotional or angry emotional depends on the day."

Ezra smiled shyly and bowed his head in agreement. He vascillated between being a weepy drunk and an affectionate one, neither of which was really smiled upon in public. Perhaps that was why Ezra was soo willing to chaperone for Charlotte and Gwendolyn. The homunculus took another sip of his Shirley Temple, smiling as he rose the straw to his lips. Dante seemed like a nice man.

Had Ezra been paying anymore attention, he would have noticed a teary-eyed redhead making her way through the crowd, this time with a man in-tow. But he was smiling into his drink, not glancing around the bar.

A hand tapped Ezra's tweed-clad shoulder, and the mutant rotated in his seat. He met the gaze of a heavyset, muscle-strapped man with a shaved head and shrewd, deepset blue eyes.

"Yes?" Ezra inquired.

"Heard you were getting rough with my gal," the man said sharply.

Ezra followed the man's gaze, spying the familiar teary-eyed redhead. His polite smile faltered. He glanced towards Dante, his throat clenching.

"I... uh... your... companion was doing... untoward things... to me," Ezra protested, "She would not leave me alone."

"So I'm guessing your kind think it's okay to treat a woman like that?" the guy demanded, drawing his face close to Ezra's. The homunculus could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"N-no sir."

To be honest, the decent conversation had actually somewhat distracted Dante from his paranoia, which proved not to be a good thing, for he was just as surprised when the rather large dude made his way toward his new friend with that whiny drunk chick in tow. But it didn't take long for the smoke-manipulator to realize what was going on and he spun from his stool and hopped to his feet. Sure, he was a good deal smaller than this guy, but that didn't stop the hothead.

"First off, if that's your girl, I feel bad for you; she was trying to feel up my buddy here. He merely wasn't interested. So if she's at a bar with you, still trying to get some elsewhere, I'd go home and figure out why you can't deliver, instead of--"

The punch to the gut not only cut the sentence short, but it sent a puff of smoke involuntarily flying out of Dante's mouth. That was...different. The follow-up to the jaw didn't tickle either, but Dante staggered back as the guy came forward again. It gave him just enough time to clear his throat, and then blow a thick stream of gray smoke into the jerk's face using his power to make it stay there, irritating the guy's eyes, nose, and his lungs with it. Then, he picked up his stool from behind him, and cracked it over the guy's head before peppering the guy with random punches to whatever he could make contact with.

Dante knew as soon as this guy was recovered, the odds would quickly shift away from the smaller man's favor.

Ezra could feel himself clamming up, the nexus embedded in his chest whirring anxiously from the tension. Dante got to his feet, squaring-up against the man who was confronting them. Ezra lanuidly rose from his seat, as well, his hand knotting in his sweater. He backed as far into the corner as he could. What could he say in this situation? This man was being flaggrantly discriminatory against mutants, but Ezra had thrown the woman to the ground.

Dante seemed to have no shortage of words, however, as he rose to Ezra's defense, verbally dragging and berating the much larger man.

The larger man wasn't having any of it, however, dealing a uncalled-for blow to the smaller man's gut. Smoke flew from him. Was this the aggressor's doing? No, he'd grouped Ezra and other mutants as "your people", which meant... the smoke was Dante's doing. Dante staggered, Ezra reflexively put-out a steadying hand. It'd be messy if his newfound friend smacked their head against the bar.

The rest happened in a flash... Dante spewing smoke as though he'd taken the longest drag from a cigar, retrieving a stool and using it as an implement to crack over their aggressor's head. At the pit of his stomach, Ezra could feel a familiar impulse churniing. Time to go... it's time to go.

The homunculus plucked his book of poetry up off of the counter, because no matter how dire the situation, he would never leave his book. This was all his fault. If Ezra hadn't pushed the young woman in the first place, he wouldn't be witnessing the throwdown between Dante and whoever the big guy was.

"Time to go," Ezra said simply, his voice terse with anxiousness. Just as he had retrieved the book, he now felt personally responsible for Dante. A knobby hand curled into the back of the other man's shirt, and Ezra all-but-carried him through the crowd. The bouncers would be upon them if they waited much longer, and Dante would get into more trouble than the homunculus was worth.

Ezra cut through the crowd with ease, and only released the other man once they were out in the crisp air of the outdoors. Ezra tucked his book of poetry under his arm and his hands, now free, wrung themselves together anxiously.

"I, uh," he looked at Dante, and realization came crashing down on the larger mutant, "Thank you... my deepest apologies, I just... I couldn't leave you there... and, uh, thank you for, um..."

Ezra broke off, his hand-wringing growing more profound.

"At the very least, I owe you a drink, Mr. Schuyler," Ezra muttered with finality, his golden gaze surfacing to Dante's face momentarily, "Or a ride, I have a car... or an apology..."

And he owed him his thanks, too, but he'd already offered that twice.

Dante didn't hear the words, but he felt fingers tangling in his collar, and all of a sudden he was leaving the bar. But not of his own free will. Once they were outside a ways and he was released, it was then that he realized his adrenaline had worn off and his face was probably sporting(or would sport) a nasty bruise.

"Hey, it's cool man," Dante said with a slight chuckle. "I appreciate it; so I guess we're even, huh? I mean I have no problem stepping in when people are bullying mutants. That's kind of a sore spot for me, anyway." He looked at Ezra with a slight smile, one hand moving to rest on his own tender cheek.

"You don't owe me anything, but I wouldn't mind another drink, to be honest," he finally said after a pause.

>> "Hey, it's cool man, I appreciate it."

Ezra paused, dumbfounded. He wasn't upset? About being forcibly ousted from a bar? About being carried forth like a kitten by their scruff. The expression that had tightened with apologetic tension slackened, momentarily unsure if where to flit next.

>> "...so I guess we're even, huh? I mean I have no problem stepping in when people are bullying mutants. That's kind of a sore spot for me, anyway."

Ezra smiled crookedly, looking at his hands.

"You needn't thank me for anything, Mr. Schuyler," he said hastily, "I just panicked and took you with me..."

>> "You don't owe me anything, but I wouldn't mind another drink, to be honest."

The homunculus nodded his head, clasping his hands behind his back.

"It's the least I could do," he insisted, "I'll give you the honor of choosing the venue, while I contact my friends."

He should at least let Miss Charlotte and Miss Gwendolyn know that he'd left the bar with another man. Ezra flushed at the implications, hurriedly typing his message onto the keyboard of his flip-phone. Leaving to get him drinks! His flush deepened. Not that that made it any better.

Ezra pressed send and snapped the phone shut, re-pocketing the device. Mr. Schuyler was attractive, in a rogueish way.  And he had a soft spot for mutants, which only heightened his appeal.

Looking rather flustered, Ezra shifted his gaze to Dante once again, "By your leave."

Dante gave a smile and a shrug, pulling his jacket on, then digging a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket. Lighting one, he put everything back in his pocket as he took a drag from his cigarette, then breathed it back in through his nose, closing his eyes as the smoke began to refill his lungs.

"Well, I appreciate it; that guy probably would have broken me in half if you hadn't." He gave a light chuckle as he continued smoking, inhaling his smoke right after exhaling as they walked. "My usual stomping ground isn't far from here, let's head there," he suggested, leading the way.

The rest of the walk was relatively quiet, but when they walked into his usual bar, it was fairly crowded, but his usual seat was open, as well as the one next to it. He led his new acquaintance up to the bar. "My usual, and whatever my friend here wants," Dante said with a slight nod to Ezra.

Ezra looked on dispassionately as Dante smoked, a persistent flush lingering in his cheeks. In the old days people smoked much more avidly, indoors and out, and so it didn't bother Ezra's sensibilities as it might bother others. He also didn't breathe, so there was that.

>> "My usual stomping ground isn't far from here, let's head there."

Ezra nodded complacently. A nearby venue. He could text Charlotte when they arrived, then it wouldn't feel like he was totally abandoning her. Dante led, Ezra followed a few steps behind, his hands wedged in his pockets. Periodically, the homunculus caught his gaze wandering over the rear profile his newfound friend. Then he'd pry his eyes away, staring at the street or the faces of buildings they passed or at his own reflection.

The homunculus barely registered crossing over the threshold from outside to inside until the din of voices rose to his ears. There was a moment of wide-eyed bewilderment when he thought he'd lost Dante... But then Ezra relocated him, and the two men ventured to the bar.

>>  "My usual, and whatever my friend here wants."

The spindly-limbed man rested his elbows in the counter, hands clasped together as he surveyed the bartender. Ezra was tempted to get another Shirley Temple, to replace his abandoned beverage from before... But now that he was a company of another man, a small part of him felt like he should imbibe, too. And even though he was a total lightweight, one drink couldn't be too terrible, right? Especially after being molested by a drunk woman... Ezra blanched.

"A Tom Collins, please," Ezra requested, setting his poetry book flat on the bar.

One drink wouldn't hurt. He quirked a smile at Dante.

"So... you're a mutant, too?" he inquired lightly, "The smoke... surprised me..."

He wasn't much a conversationalist, so he glommed onto what he knew they had in common.