This guy was definitely not as fun as other drinking partners she'd happened to stumble upon. He wasn't even as fun as drinking by herself. Isabel had to admit that as out of her comfort zone it was, she much preferred the higher energy outing she'd had with a sobbing cloud lady rather than listening to the depressed grumblings of a sad sack whose bright, happy looking hair was unfairly deceptive.

But there was still the potential for a small scale brawl before the night was out, so maybe it wouldn't be a total waste.

Well, that and apparently the guy was a mutant. She couldn't say she was all that surprised, but she still didn't like the idea of a mutant cop. They were out there of course, but due to her history with New York's boys in blue and their history of cooperating with anti-mutant laws in the past the idea of a mutant willingly becoming an officer left a very bad taste in her mouth. They were nearly as bad as the X-Losers. Maybe they were worse. She wasn't completely sure.

At least they were on the same page about the human supremacists. The less of them left alive the better, though she didn't quite think the guy was as aggressive about the issue as she was. Not many people were. Being a cop would probably throw a wrench into the whole killing thing, so he was probably more of a turn-a-blind-eye kind of cop. It was better than most cops, but that wouldn't stop her from hating him on principle.

"Even so, most cops give this area a wide berth no matter their X-gene status," she said, turning her attention away from the fidgeting bartender and back to the man at the bar. Yeah, that's right. She knew about his job. Stupid cop. "The police don't exactly have a good track record when it comes to invading this area of the city."

"Even so, most cops give this area a wide berth no matter their X-gene status, the police don't exactly have a good track record when it comes to invading this area of the city."

Cop? Well, on a technicality Cafas supposed she was correct. They had been deputised. He hadn't been a fan of it when it happened, and he hadn't grown to like it any in that time. How many times had he told Sam? The police didn't want them. Respect was always hard won, and only hurt by those X-men who had decided to catapult their careers off the back of being X-men. He thought back to a mock interview with Calley, when he was applying for the NYPD.

"...I don't want to get a crash course, and be on the streets in spandex; I want to work my way up and earn my rank, earn your respect, like every other Officer who goes through this Academy..."

That was the opinion the NYPD had held then, it was the one they'd likely hold forever. It had hurt both parties and barely improved relations. Cafas didn't agree with their previous way of making themselves final arbiters of justice, but having files kept? Their identities public knowledge? Hell NYPC knew where they operated from and exactly their operational capacity. What were they going to do if the government turned on mutants again?

Lose, most likely.

Still, conversation to be had. "Funny, here I thought I was drinking at a bar, not mounting an invasion." Cafas emphasized the point with another sip. He cocked an eyebrow at Isabel in a way that perhaps in-advisably said 'you can't seriously have mistaken it for anything else.' "Plus, I'm not really a cop. I'll let you do the math on what that makes me." Another sip, because you didn't need to be Kealey to sense THAT rise in tension, and he wanted at least some of that drink.

Is this name-dropping? Does this really count?

"Anyway, what you, Aura, Meld and Co. get up to really doesn't bother me. I'm in this because it seemed the safer path to try for equality over supremacy. Those facing death and slavery tend to fight back more, and people sympathise with 'em. You probably know that well enough. Doing it our way, you alienate less people, and come off like an underdog, so people like you more just for that."

That made it all sound rather pragmatic. He was still kind of an idealist under it all, but there was certain information it was pertinent to avoid at times. Maybe he wasn't as pure of morality as some of his X-mates but equality is what he wanted.

What even happened to Meld? Or Aura? Insane, yes, but likable insane. Or maybe that's just rose tinted glasses.

"Invasion, unwanted trespassing, whatever. Cops are like roaches, you see one and you gotta treat it like an infestation cuz you know there's a bunch more crawling around outta sight." He could be a smartass all he wanted, but she had very little patience for police strolling into the Order's boundaries, especially if they strolled back out again with all of their extremities intact.

But apparently he wasn't a cop. Not that the difference mattered all that much. A name was just a name when they were working toward the same goal. All it really changed was now she knew the kid was a mutant on top of being a lousy goodie. "Fukken X-Nerds," she scowled into her glass as she tipped it back. A goodie mutant infestation might be a bit trickier to stomp out.

"Being liked isn't exactly high up on my list of things to care about," she shot back, rolling her eyes at the sheer absurdity of such a notion. Rocking the boat didn't get anyone liked, no matter how gently it was done. "You can pitch your hand-holding, give-peace-a-chance nonsense all you want but you're barking up the wrong tree, kid. In case you haven't noticed while reading your little files murder is kind of my thing and I don't really care if the humans and do-gooders like it or me."

"Don't give a damn about your pass-times. Don't want you to join the hippy brigade. Really all I wanted was to pass out on a bar in peace. Instead, I'm here talking to a psychopath who doesn't seem to get that I don't give the slightest shit what she or her gang do. You want mutant supremacy? Be my damn guest. I'm working another angle. Now, either make good on your thinly veiled damn threats so I can put a hole in you the size of your obnoxious bow, or get it through your skull that we're two sides of the same coin."

Two tactics, pretty much the same goal. One was just a little more extreme than the other. Surely someone had pointed that out to them all? They fought over methods and morals. It was their only real sore point. Heck, had the X-men been any less a criminal organisation before the deputisation? It hadn't felt like it. They'd worn the masks for a reason. Yet while they sat around arguing levels of extremity in their approach, nothing got done. Year after year it got better on the surface and worse the minute you dug.

It seemed mostly like the order doing it too. The X-men barely showed an interest in them. They had their files, sure. Cafas also had a file. Ghost had a file. Every last person the X-men had ever come in contact with had a file somewhere. The files didn't make someone special. No, to be special the X-men actually had to dedicate resources to stopping them. When was the last time they'd diverted resources toward the order?

So then they have the nerve to say we're the ones causing trouble...

Cafas' shin found the metal leg of his stool. It gave out as it was very suddenly turned to liquid and wormed its way to his hand. The wooden seat clattered to the ground as the crappy steel solidified into several half pound balls. He'd run out of patience. It had been bound to happen. He was ready for her. As ready as he could be given his state.

There was not enough room in her skull for Isabel to roll her eyes as hard as she wanted to. Goodies were so easy to set off and all of them were far too eager to launch into some kind of speech or rant or whatever. Apparently it was even easier when they'd been drinking for the better part of the day with the added bonus of the bozo thinking it was a good idea to fight a high profile mutant while drunk.

She watched with one raised eyebrow as he made his challenge and the stool beneath him collapsed so he could posture. Lazily she downed the last sip from her glass and let him stand there in all his drunk aggression and overconfidence. The bartender was quite suddenly and conspicuously missing. He must have taken cover under or behind some rickety piece of furniture near where he'd been sitting. He wouldn't be foolish enough to call the cops, Isabel was sure. He'd just have to stay out of the way and hope everything blew over without too much damage to his property. Not that there would be much of a difference either way.

The whole situation could get a little bit tricky. She could fight the fool if that was what he really wanted, but she wouldn't be able to do so as recklessly as she normally would have liked. Public rampages were on her List of Things Zephyr Doesn't Like so if she was going to play the game it would have to be kept small scale.

Then again, fighting a drunk probably wouldn't be too complicated.

"Already itching for a fight that badly? And I'm supposed to be the violent one." She couldn't see one yet, but she was sure there was a weapon of some sort in his arsenal. It was just a question of whether it would be physical or something trickier. It was hard to tell with mutants unless they were the showy type.

Isabel pulled up her armor, carefully keeping it hidden beneath her clothing for the time being. She liked having some element of surprise, though she suspected that file he mentioned would make surprises much more difficult.

She turned in her seat the face the young man, a small grin spreading across her face and her empty glass turning slowly in her hand. "You think you can take on someone like me, boozer? Take your best shot."

She took her sweet time with that last sip. Enough that Cafas began to cool off and start to think again.

"Already itching for a fight that badly? And I'm supposed to be the violent one."

Cafas wasn't really. He was mostly itching to be left alone to drink. He was getting angry, there was no denying it, and it was severely affecting his judgement. He was falling back into a mindset he'd been trying to shake for a long time. He was not the final arbiter of justice, he did not have the right to act as executioner. Saph had capitalised on his tendency to do so and Cafas still felt bad about it.

"You think you can take on someone like me, boozer? Take your best shot."

Boozer. That one hit home. He had been drinking a lot. Did it really help? Maybe. He didn't think most people would support it. It was his life though, wasn't it? He'd done things he wasn't proud of. He had a right to forget them.

Maybe you have a responsibility to remember?... Shut up.

Cafas grabbed the whisky bottle off the bar, still glaring at the murderess. "Honestly? Yeah I do. I ain't gonna though. You have a good night. Tell Aura that Cafas says hi." The pink haired drunk walked unstably to the door. He wasn't going to fight her if he could avoid it. Why bother? Given what he knew, it was just going to end with one of them dead.

Not my place to kill people...