Before, Ty never really drank unless applicable: depression, or to chance meeting a girl to take home for the night. Today, neither of these were applicable; he had no sorrows he wanted to drown, and he was spoken for. In his time away, he'd found a higher appreciation of alcohol, and learned how to drink more recreationally.

However, tonight Ty found himself in a bar that was not on his list of usual stops. He felt that sometimes, it was just time for a change of scenery. So, the ginger-headed troublemaker was silently and peacefully working on his rum on the rocks, enjoying the golden colored nectar as he just passed the time with his own thoughts. He thought about Tses, wishing there was a way to reconcile with her, just to give closure to the chaotic chapter that had been the two of them. He felt like a jerk for what he'd done, but he felt he had to leave to save her life. And if saving her life meant losing her...then...wasn't it worth it?

Then there was Mag. Their relationship was still fresh, but he had a good feeling about it. Though he hoped he wouldn't be dragging himself to her apartment covered in bruises anytime soon; or if he did, maybe at least it'd be a more manly cause than falling out of a tree.

"Hey, Red."

Ty was forced from his thoughts by a gruff voice and a firm hand on his shoulder. "You're in my spot." Ty turned to look at the guy, hand still on his glass. His icy blue eyes unwavering, he made eye contact as he focused, writing a simple image of a cat onto his mug. This action served no other purpose than to make the young man's eyes glow red in an attempt to make his attacker back down. It was a bluff that usually worked, but not tonight.

The man laughed, then shoved Ty off of the stool, grabbing his rum in the process. Then...he froze, seeing the image of the cat Ty had just randomly written. At this moment, Ty pushed the guy off of the stool, the glass falling to the floor and shattering in the process.

When the attacker, a stocky guy with a bald head and an apparent love of blue flannel stood up, he attempted to rush the redhead, who was barely able to sidestep, tripping the brute in the process. Ty took a punch to the stomach, answering with a kick to the midsection and an uppercut, but before Captain Flannel could attack, Ty already had his blade out.

"You, good sir. Owe me a drink."

Instead the man left, and Ty slapped some money on the bar for damages and another drink, sliding back onto his stool, murmuring a string of swear words under his breath.

How was it he could never drink in peace? What was it about New York City?

A good two days sober, he'd finally caved. It wasn't as easy as he'd hoped. Coping with the original reason he'd been drinking as well as a chemical reliance. By the time he'd passed the third bar that evening, his resolve crumbled. He'd been straight in the door at the fourth. He couldn't remember if he'd been before, but they didn't refuse him entry, so he was probably fine.

Looks like the sort of place that has regulars and not much else.

Cafas had been sitting, enjoying the numbing sensation that was starting to reach his face, when all of a sudden, there was a scuffle. Arguments over seating arrangements. Was it not bad enough he had to feel guilty for failing Maya with his mere presence in the bar?

Don't know what I expected really. This city is insane.

A bald, flannel clad man tripped right into Cafas' drink. Gone, all of it. That was the final straw with this silly fight. The metal manipulator stood to full height and turned around, ready to throw Mr. Flannel and his red-headed buddy out of the bar. By the time he actually turned to do so however, the fight was over. A knife had been pulled, and the message received loud and clear.

Lucky that didn't escalate.

When the redhead sat back down and threw down his cash, Cafas decided he'd let the drink be. The guy clearly had a proper sense of respect for bar-fight etiquette. Cafas respected that to the value of one drink under the circumstances. He hadn't started the fight either. The pink haired guy pulled up a seat next to the redhead. He could use a drinking partner.

"He's probably gonna be back with mates, but that was handily done." Cafas motioned to the barman for another drink, casually fishing the price of it out of his wallet.

"He's probably gonna be back with mates, but that was handily done."

Ty turned to look at the pink haired gentleman who joined him, and he gave a nod. "Probably. But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," he said sort of nonchalantly. "All I wanna do right now is enjoy a nice rum. Guys like that think just cuz they're bigger, they can take those smaller than them. And I'm not gonna lie, he probably could have, had he proper trainin'." The ginger took another sip of his drink, savoring it.

Every now and then, he looked over his shoulder, as if he was expecting Captain Flannel to come back with the Lumberjack Squad or something. "I guess that's what I get for straying from my usual venue. But...it happens, I guess." His blue eyes scanned the room; it wasn't too busy, but this didn't seem like a place that got very busy.

"Name's Ty," the young man finally spoke, extending his right hand to shake; he held his drink in his left. But his mind's gears were already turning; if the guys did come in, Ty was already forming a plan.

"Probably. But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. All I wanna do right now is enjoy a nice rum. Guys like that think just cuz they're bigger, they can take those smaller than them. And I'm not gonna lie, he probably could have, had he proper trainin'."

His new drink arrived shortly after the redhead began speaking. Cafas appreciated the guy's sentiment. Why worry about the future when there's a drink to be had. To emphasise the point to himself Cafas took a sip of his whisky. Rough, cheap. He didn't believe in wasting the good stuff past the third or fourth drink.

"Size only really counts when all else is equal. Well, unless you're bigger and more skilled."

He had a lot of experience in that field. Fighting was kind of his specialty wasn't it? He'd seen bigger people easily taken down by smaller, more skilled combatants. He'd taken out his fair share of skilled people due to a greater reach and harder hits too.

"I guess that's what I get for straying from my usual venue. But...it happens, I guess."

Cafas couldn't say he had a usual venue. He didn't see the point, especially when he was trying to quit drinking. It would only make the whole thing harder if he was giving up regular drinking buddies too. As if it wasn't hard enough before adding that in. His presence in a bar demonstrated that pretty clearly.

The redhead was scanning the room. Cafas took another sip. He knew it wouldn't make a lot difference. They'd hear any group before they saw them. Groups of people spoiling for a fight were rarely the quiet subtle types. Even more rare if they were going for a bar fight.

"Name's Ty,"

"Cafas"

He shook the offered hand and re-examined his drink. It was nearly gone. It was funny how fast spirits could disappear. Maybe it had more to do with how fast Cafas drank. He drained the glass in frustration. "Try not to stab that idiot if he comes back. I can't be bothered with the paperwork and court dates involved."

Ty gave a nod at the description of size. Sadly, Ty knew just enough fighting to get by, so if he ever met anyone with more extensive training, he would pretty well be screwed. Well...maybe. He did have the secret weapon that no one saw coming. Maybe using his power to get a cheap shot in a fight was dirty, but hey. It was only dirty in the eyes of the receiver.

...There was an obvious difference in drinking styles. Ty liked to drink his alcohol slowly and methodically, whereas Cafas just seemed to pound his away like it was nothing. Granted, it was frankly none of Ty's business how or why anyone else drank, so he kept his fool mouth shut.

"Try not to stab that idiot if he comes back. I can't be bothered with the paperwork and court dates involved."

"Noted. Usually...actually using it is a last resort. If the guys aren't all drunk, it should be okay. In most cases, even when outnumbered, trouble stops when you pull a knife." A gun worked better, but that was another part of Ty's moral code: no guns. (Though he had broken that one before, it never ended well.) "Usually, it gives the impression that if they kill ya, you're taking at least one of 'em with. And...no one wants to risk being the one."

Usually. There were many breeds of moron, after all.

"Noted. Usually...actually using it is a last resort. If the guys aren't all drunk, it should be okay. In most cases, even when outnumbered, trouble stops when you pull a knife. Usually, it gives the impression that if they kill ya, you're taking at least one of 'em with. And...no one wants to risk being the one."

Cafas nodded the nod of a man that knew that information all too well. "Just sayin'. Hopefully none of them have a gun. Damn things make things real unpredictable." Not that guns tended to be a problem for Cafas personally, but if they hit someone else... People were amazingly inaccurate in a brawl situation. Bystanders got hurt.

Man is that ever a paperwork nightmare...

The thought of people getting hurt made him sad. He was meant to be doing his best to not be miserable. If he was going to fail with the drinking, he would at least make sure to try with that. He ordered another drink, payed for it and changed the topic. Thinking of a new subject wasn't the easiest thing. He'd just met Ty after all, how should he know what they could both talk about?

"So, how'd you end up in here anyway? Not exactly what I'd call a welcoming place." He didn't seem like a sad sap getting drunk to forget. There was more than enough of those scattered around the bar. Seemed like their main customer base to Cafas. The place just screamed "You can pass out on a table and we'll leave you 'til close". He could recognise it in a place pretty well.

"Yeeeah...I draw the line at guns. Not my forte," he muttered, shuddering as he downed the last bit of his drink.

"Heh...honestly, I just took a walk away from my normal beaten path. Wanted to try someplace new, where the people don't know me, away from the usual routine." Granted, he was sort of regretting it, considering the fight over seating. But hey, at least there was conversation.

"So what about you? I gather this isn't your usual venue either," he asked, looking around the room.

Part of him wondered what he'd been thinking coming here. It had the alluring pull of a seatless-bicycle shop.

"Don't really have a regular venue. This place sells booze, that's good enough for me."

A brief breeze passed into the bar as the door swung open. The way it slammed into the wall told him exactly who it was. Cafas sighed. Some people were a special kind of asshole. He clinked his glass against Ty's and downed his drink.

"That's the bastard!"

Cafas turned to assess numbers. Captain Flannel and the Lumberjack Squad. Five guys total, various blunt implements, from left to right he had The Country-Western Man, Moustachio, Captain Flannel, The Incredible Beergut and Ratface. They began to fan out as they walked over. They yelled loudly and shoved people in their way. Classic idiots.

"Teach you to pull a knife on me!"

Cafas pushed to his feet, indicating to the left of the group with a dart of his eyes. He began moving towards the leader with a calm pace. The semi cirlce broke slightly. It looked like they were going to let him through. No such luck for them.

Five vs Two. X-man odds.

He came within reach of their semi-circular line. Without hesitating Cafas drove a palm-strike into Moustachio's jaw. It was on like a certain barrel throwing gorilla.

Ty nodded. "I understand; I used to didn't, but I found this place that I just sorta fell right in with." And this place wasn't it.

"That's the bastard!" Ah, right on schedule, the five not-gentlemen strolled into the bar, gunning straight for him. He didn't know how many it would take to kick his ass, but he had knew exactly how many they planned to use.

At that point his drinking buddy acquaintance decided it would be time to leave. Great. And then...one of them got busted in the face. Okay, so it was five on two, instead of one.

But now it was going down and Ty wasn't exactly built for five on two fighting. Five?!? I'm five-eight, maybe a hundred fifty soaking wet, and they need five?!?

He quickly surveyed his surroundings. No running. But Mag wouldn't be too happy if she had to visit him in the hospital, either. Standing to his feet, he picked up the nearest weapon he could find that wasn't his knife: his barstool. He'd brought it up just in time to block a swing from a baseball bat that stunned both men momentarily. He swung low, aiming for the kneecap, just in time to catch...something...to his back.

He didn't know what it was, but it hurt like hell, and he went down in a flurry of punches, kicking and punching when he could get one in. At least he was getting some good shots in.

He hoped.

Cafas had been drinking, sure. He'd been drinking for a while even. He was nowhere near drunk enough for this fight to pose much more than an amusing excuse to use moves from movies. Country-Western man got unceremoniously thrown over the bar. Head first into a liquor shelf. Moustachio took some swings with what looked like a crowbar. Cafas couldn't quite tell while he was busy ducking it. He was NOT risking it being made of wood.

He threw an upper-cut into Moustachio's gut. He tossed him bodily into Ratface, who was busy kicking Ty. That was just ungentlemanly. Both went tumbling to the ground and Cafas came in with the ol' Randy Savage elbow drop, just for kicks. Moustachio rolled out of the way. Ratface did not. A glass collided with Cafas' back as he was standing up.

Motherf...

The glass hurt like hell as it smashed. He could feel the cuts. He turned and drove a rising roundhouse kick into The Incredible Beergut, who hadn't quite thought his glass tactic through, judging by the state of his hand. Beergut hit the Captain. Hopefully Ty had time to stand. "Come on, these guys are chumps."

From the sounds of it, one of the pair had more than a year's training. Fortunately.

When he finally had room to breathe he stood up, reminding himself that he promised no knife. So he picked up...the leg of his barstool that Ratface had broken when he and Moustachio took their tumble. As Moustachio stood up, he met with the piece of wood to the side of the face.

Why? Mostly because he wanted the last hit. At this point, the Lumberjack Squad decided it best to cut their losses and drag their sorry hides out of the bar. Ty groaned a string of swear words. "This...is why I don't fight that much. Too much more of this and my girlfriend's gunna have my head on a plate..."

"That is, if I don't take it first. Both of you have three seconds to get the hell out or I'm calling the cops."

The bartender had finally made himself known. But something came to Ty's mind. Something related to his..."profession" of choice.

"We better git, dude," he said, his Southern drawl as prominent as it could be. "He's already called the cops." After he'd finished his statement, he was prepared to drag his hide out, also. It seemed since his return from Kansas, he'd grown an even bigger knack for getting into trouble.

"Couldn't agree more."

Cafas threw a handful of bills over the bar as they left. Bar stools and liquor shelves weren't free, and the fight had broken them.

There was a definite bite in the air as he stepped outside. The Lumberjack Squad were hobbling their way down the street. The wind carried a few of their varied excuses back to him. They apparently couldn't just admit they'd been beat more than fairly.

What a pack of...

"So what you up to now? Aside from getting out of here before the cops show up." Cafas didn't have much else to be doing, and Ty seemed decent enough. He could do worse for an acquaintance to hang out with that night.

Whatever they did, Cafas hoped they did it inside. The air was taking on a distinctly Autumnal feel and Cafas wasn't dressed for it at all. He'd have worn a jacket if he'd known he'd be out that night.

A squad car turned onto the street they were on, two blocks away. Cafas took that as their cue to get out of there and cut down an alley to stay out of sight. With any luck no-one involved would actually speak to the cops. There was barely any real harm done.

Cafas was bleeding on his back from the glass being smashed. Luckily his shirt had prevented a lot of it, so it wasn't a hospital job.

Ty nodded as they stepped outside, and Ty pulled his black hoodie closed, zipping it and pulling the hood up. Luckily, he never left home without sleeves this time of year. He felt a smirk cross his lips as he saw the Lumberjack Squad limping away like a pack of wounded dogs. Granted, Cafas did most of the work, but Ty helped, okay?

"I was thinking find somewhere less...stupid...where I can nurse my wounds and keep on drinkin'," was his reply. If Cafas wanted to join or had any ideas of his own, they would be greatly accepted. "Long as I can make it home in one piece when I'm done." Yeah, that was definitely a plus. Hiding what wounds he had now would be hard enough.

"I really gotta stop this...my girl sees me hobbling around hurt all the time, and...well who knows what could happen? I'd rather not find out..." he gave a soft chuckle, then paused--but it wasn't because of the sirens that just went by, no. It was...something else.

He remembered Tses. Though they were long over now, it still cut deep. There wasn't any closure, and he had moved onto someone else. Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was an odd mixture of both. He just had to admit that he couldn't change the past. But at the same time, not to let past baggage affect his future.

"So, if you'd wanna hang some more, I'm game. Just...no more fighting." His back was sore, as well as his arms, chest, and other various places that had been stomped. But his back was liable to be bruised, and he hadn't fully recovered from the fall out of that tree not long ago. At least his face healed up, assuming it wasn't bruised too badly from the fight, and it may have been.

"My back is ****ing killing me. What the **** did I get hit with?" he asked, hoping maybe Cafas had at least seen what it was.

"You had me at keep drinking. I agree on the fighting though. I'm strictly speaking not meant to get into fights, but I've never liked bullies."

Finding another bar would be an easy enough task. Finding one that wouldn't mind the signs of a recent fight might be trickier. Cafas thought as they walked. He didn't see a way to pass off the blood he could feel on his back. Maybe he could find a sweater for sale. It was NYC after all. There would be something open.

"My back is ****ing killing me. What the **** did I get hit with?"

"Looked like a bat. Where he got one such short notice I got no idea. I feel like they might do this sort of thing frequently."

They popped out the other side of the city block. One street closer to the busy night life. Cafas spotted an "I Heart NY" stand. Taking the money of those too inebriated to realize they had no need for the souvenir. He, on the other hand, did. He approached and bought a decent enough sweater, which he threw on.

"There, they should actually let me in somewhere now. Maybe put a little more distance between us and any more mates those ****s might have."

The warmth it provided also helped.

The ginger gave another nod. "Yeah, bullies suck. Nothing but a bunch of meat heads who get off via their own testosterone and insecurities. Like those guys that play unskippable ads before an internet video," he replied, trying to hide his aggravation with a joke; from this conversation, it was quite obvious that Ty had seen and dealt with his fair share of bullies.

"Yeah, they struck me as the kind of guys who have a stash of random like that somewhere." He shrugged; at least that part of the night was over now. They made their way to a stand, where Cafas merely bought a sweater to cover his injuries. He hoped it wasn't too serious, but as one who hated hospitals and doctors with a fiery passion...he was in no place to throw stones.

"Yeah...I'm not sure I could handle a rematch or a round two at this point. Especially considering the odds," he grumbled. His eyes scanned the area; he wasn't exactly familiar with this part of town anymore; after all, this was the city, and things tended to change when one left for a year.

"So...any ideas? I'm not exactly familiar with this part of town anymore."