Suddenly, October was completely different in Astrid's eyes.

Not only did he maliciously taser mountain man three times, but he also stole his wallet. That's right, not once. Not twice. Three times. Three whole times. A superfluous number for someone that looked like they had already received a concussion of some degree.

The winged girl waited eagerly for her drink at the bar, keeping her mind locked on October at the same time. She wondered if he had any connections with any organizations or something. Or maybe if he would just let her associate herself with him. That would look good on her already extensive resume of evil.

>>"You're a good fighter, too. Those crystal wings are neat!"

"Really?" The comment had perked her up even more. "I learning still," she told him honestly. It was a bit embarrassing for her to admit, but she wanted to get on his good side. If she were truly, wholly evil, she wouldn't need to practice at all. Obviously, she would just be able to pick it up like a natural. But alas, that was not the case.

Her wine arrived on the table, and she took a sip. She choked and nearly had to spit it out. It was horrible; it had absolutely none of the rich flavour of French wine. Instead, it tasted like watered down vinegar. It took everything she had to make herself swallow it instead of spitting it across the bar.

"Yeah," Elliott nodded. "Very cool, for still learning. I'm still learning, too. Learning how to kick people real hard, and hit them with sticks." Capoeira, taekwondo, escrima. Fancy names weren't needed to describe the basic emphasis.

He may have been a little drunk, now. Punch drunk and real drunk. But it wasn't weird to think that the fight had been fun, in hindsight. At the time, not so much, but then, that's fighting for you. The winner gets the best memories. The loser gets no memories. They get knocked out. And Valkyrie was fun, too. She kind of felt like a little sister to him. Like someone who he could train to be even tougher. That may have been Kineta rubbing off on him. His old mentor had loved to train.

He felt a sudden pang of regret. Her wine had not been as good as she was accustomed to, it seemed. Or else she just didn't know how to drink wine. If she was foreign, like she seemed, her palate might have been used to the better things. Or maybe this bar just served horse piss. Yeah. It was probably the last one.

"Yech, sorry. Wine no good? What do you normally drink? Maybe another bar might have better stuff." Elliott frowned.

The Bartender was not amused at the comment about the quality of his liquor. He crossed his arms, and glanced at the shotgun that was still sitting right there. Then, he turned and went to call the cops. At least, Elliott assumed it was 911. For an ambulance. And not anything more sinister. He was too buzzed to be that paranoid!

"Is fine," Astrid choked out and set down her wine glass on the bar. She looked at the red liquid and decided to never pick it up again. It wasn't worth faking it.

Her eyes traveled from the surroundings of the bar to the bartender. Or, at least where the bartender had been. Except, he had gone to call someone on the phone. From what she could make out, it sounded like something important.

Or was it... It was! He was calling the cops!

Astrid eyes darkened and her brow furrowed in anger. "Hey!" She called to him loudly, "not cops!"

She didn't bother to give him a minute to put down the phone as she picked a crystal from her wing and threw it at him. It grazed past his head and implanted itself into the wall with a loud thud.

"*Vous êtes une pomme de terre avec le visage d'un cochon d'inde!" She called to him in French.

"Want hurt him?" Astrid asked October with a hint of a grin on her face.

---

*You are a potato with the face of a guinea pig!

He didn't waste alcohol. As Elliott finished the last of his drink, the crystal sailed off into the distance to embed itself in a wall. He had the glass tilted back to savor the last few drops of the liquor, so he missed the connotations about cops and hurting the bartender with jagged rock matter. When the glass clinked back down on the counter, Elliott stared at the situation that had developed in the few seconds he'd looked away.

Val was shouting something in French, and had attacked the Bartender. The Bartender had the phone in his hand. He spun on her in a furor.

"I WAS CALLING AN AMBULANCE FOR THE DUMBASSES, BUT NOW I'M CALLING THE COPS!!" He shouted. He had not been calling the police, it appeared. It only seemed that way. But now, he most certainly was. He turned, yanked the crystal out of the wall, and threw it back at her all the force of a mad god. It sunk into the counter about five inches in front of her, a dark warning. Then, he spun back to the phone and dialed. "DON'T MAKE ANY MOVE OTHER THAN TO GET OUT OF THIS BAR." He shouted back at them. He wasn't scared by the crystals or the tiny valkyrie lady. It was the principal of the thing. He wasn't likely to get injured, but he sure as hell wouldn't get attacked in his own bar.

His response had drowned Val's question out of Elliott's memory. "Nah, let's just leave." Elliott replied casually. His sleeve swept across his mouth as he wiped away the nasty aftertaste of crappy booze. He looked at her, and smirked. The green man added in short, simple bursts of English. "More liquor. Better liquor. Somewhere else." Then, he tossed the wine glass at the wall next to the bartender, and swept towards the door. The shattering glass was music to his ears. He made sure to step on glasses guy's stomach on the way towards the door. "Oops. Sorry." Elliott said. But he wasn't.

Glasses guy groaned.

It appeared that that bartender hadn't been calling the cops. Huh. Well how was Astrid supposed to know that? It wasn't like it was her fault or anything. And now he was throwing her crystal back and yelling.

Rude.

She followed Elliott along as he walked out of the bar. He was right; there were better things to do than stick around in that crappy bar. Heh. He had stepped on Glasses' stomach. A move he deserved.

October was actually pretty cool.

Not a lot had been gained from that night, but at least she had met him. "Yeah," she agreed following an audible chuckle, "we leave."

Stepping through the doors of the bar, she breathed in the semi-fresh New York night air. Cars moved slowly through the traffic, everyone with somewhere to be. It was a windy night for sure. She could feel it as her black hair and now-feathered wings whipped around violently.

"Where we go?" Valkyrie asked her new green skinned friend. She didn't really know of any other bars, but it seemed as though he had been to his fair share. 

There were a lot of great bars in New York. In the area they were in, there were much fewer good bars than there were dive bars, and barely any great bars. That came with the bad territory, and the whole 'don't id patrons' thing that was their MO. They wanted a great bar. Thus, they had to exit the area.

"Midtown," Elliott said. "Better bars, there. Too far to walk. So." He waved his hand. A passing cab saw them and stopped. It shocked him. "Whoa." He laughed. "That never works."

The cabbie looked at them, and grinned. "Midtown?" The cabbie said. It was almost like he knew. It was almost like... he had seen the future. His skin was a blackish purple, and he had a sprout of three dreadlocks coming out the top of his head from a bun. He wore yellow tinted glasses, and sported what Elliott thought were killer sleeves of tattoos on each arm. An obvious mutant. That was for certain.

"Yeah," Elliott said breathlessly. "Good call." He looked to Val, and gestured to the cab. "Shall we?" He followed her into the cab.

The cabbie took them to Midtown, just below central park near the Radio Music Hall. He knew a good bar there. He knew several good bars there. It was always an important job as cabbie to know the area, and he did. He talked to them about the various landmarks and great bars in the area.

((OOC: Hope the godmode was okay, here. Figured it was too far to walk, and it'd save us time! Feel free to get us to the bar, so Randy can hop in!))

Astrid narrowed her eyes at the cab driver that arrived in front of them. He was very clearly a mutant, possibly one who was clairvoyant. It would make sense, after all, since he had driven up in front of them and suggested the same location that October had. Wherever that was.

The young girl grumbled as she folded her wings tightly against her back to be able to fit in the back of the cramped cab. It would have been far faster if she had been able to fly there, but that would mean she would have to find a way to get October there, which may have meant carrying him, and she was not inclined to carry anyone.

That knowledge didn't make the trip any more comfortable, though. Her wings were pressed against the filthy seats, and there was hardly enough room for her to sit comfortably with the restricting seat belt.

By the time they had made it to wherever Midtown was, she felt like she needed to shower for two days. But there was drinking to be done, so she wouldn't make a big deal of it.

They stood on the pavement, in front of a bar called The Looking Glass. Astrid shrugged, it looked good enough, so she stepped forwards and opened the door. "This one," she called back to October, expecting him to follow. 

She took a seat at the bar and kept her elbows on the table. "Drink," she nodded to the bartender, not knowing any of the proper names for specific drinks. She figured that if she looked confident enough, maybe they wouldn't notice her age so much.

If October had thought about it, they could have gone sans cab. She could have flown. He could have leaped. His leaps weren't astoundingly far, though. At least, at the moment. Maybe some day, he would leap tall buildings in a single bound, then come crashing down like a meteor in a falling meteor kick. For now, he was buzzed and the thought had not even occurred to him, so they squished themselves inside of a cab and it was very uncomfortable.

He didn't pay all that much attention to the cab driver's talk. He paid the fare with some more of the mountain's money. The guy had a hefty wallet. He must have had a good job. He was probably a trucker. Yeah. That seemed a very mountain job.

As far as cab seat cleanliness went, he rated that cab as in the top tenth percentile of clean cabs in the city. Which wasn't saying much, but it was saying something. Empty words. He had ridden in far dirtier cabs. That didn't mean he came off feeling like he'd just had a hot shower and a good meal, though. Val seemed like she was disgusted by it. At least, he felt like she might have been. She didn't complain, but-- well, teenage girls tend not to like smelly cabs. He had a hunch.

The Looking Glass, huh? Maybe the owner's name was Alice. Val stepped up to the door, and he followed her through. He sat down next to her, and nodded at the bartender in the same way. "Whiskey, on the rocks." Elliott said. Identification didn't even come to mind. He didn't LOOK 12, though. That was all Val's baggage to carry. He looked nice and college aged. 21, at least. If he was capable of growing facial hair, he would have a nice big beard by now. If he was capable of crying, he'd shed crocodile tears about his lack thereof.

He was clearly less than thrilled. Maybe is was because his main bartender was sick. Maybe is was the new guy who knew how to do that 'toss the bottle over your shoulder into the shaker' trick. Randy was pretty sure his main tender could to but he knew better than to show off in front of his boss. Ok, not show off when Randy was behind the counter. Whatever the reason he was not having a good day. Not for a lack of business, thank God that wasn't an issue. Nothing had really gone wrong for him it was just annoying. People got sick, it was part of life. He just wished someone other than the new guy could have come in.

It did give him a reason to actually wear his uniform though; unlike most days where he spend so much time in the office that anything more than jeans and a polo was a waste. His was the reverse of his employees uniform: Black shirt, white slacks, white vest and tie. Simple, classy, and it set him apart while keeping a part of the team. Randy was halfway through wiping down the bar when they walked in. Some teenage fallen angel and a frog. He had seen weirder couples before so who was he to judge?

>> "Drink"

>> "Whiskey, on the rocks."

He raised an eyebrow at the orders while they sat down. The customer is always right sure, but there were laws in New York. The girl was definitely underage. Frog man sounded old enough but with a physical mutation like that Randy wasn't taking chances. "Got an I.D. boy?" He filled a glass with ice and water then slid it to the girl. Next time be more specific with your drink order kid...

Stupid bartender with his stupid white vest and tie had given her stupid water. Stupid, non-alcoholic water. Did he seriously think she would be okay with that? Seriously?

Especially not after having been served at the last bar. No, water simply would not do. Plus, he wasn't even serving October, who might have been able to get her a drink. Stupid Yank bartender in his stupid outfit not serving them stupid alcohol.

Astrid puffed out the feathers on her wings so they looked a bit bigger as she stood up on her chair. From her chair, she stepped onto the bar. It felt sticky and disgusting under her very expensive (and not legally purchased) boots. She would have to shower at least five times by the time she finally turned in.

While standing on the bar, she cleared her throat as loudly as possible so that everyone in the bar turned to see what was going on. Those who hadn't already turned, really. Most had started to stare when she got on the bar in the first place.

"No. Water." Astrid said in a sharp, loud tone. Then, she held the glass high in the air and tipped out the contents onto the bar in a long, drawn out action. Once all the water had been poured onto the bar and was dripping over the edge, she smashed the glass down on the ground. It shattered on impact and sent glass pieces around the bar in every direction.

The drink he passed Val looked suspiciously like Vodka. Vodka looked suspiciously like water. The ID comment clued him in to the fact that it wasn't vodka at all. A pity. Vodka is delicious. Val probably would have enjoyed that drink. The look on her face said she did not enjoy being patronized with water, however average and bland water might be. Her reaction to being served water amused the hell out of him, so he let her do it.

She got up on the bar. Repeat. On the bar. The bar the guy had been wiping down. His bar. And then she had loudly announced her distaste. The three syllables stood out like crap on a carpet. The water spill and broken glass added emphasis... like the stink that hung around.

Elliott looked the bartender dead in the eye... which probably was a difficult thing to do, if his eyes had turned to the very annoying distraction of a girl on his counter, breaking his stuff. "No. I.D." He intoned, dark as the grave. A tongue shot out from the mouth on the palm of his hand. It wrapped itself around a bottle of whiskey and he ripped it in like a line retracting as he jerked his hand back. The bottle flew through air to land neatly in his palm. He opened it in one swift motion, and took a swig. The alcohol had made him bold, and the boldness wasn't going to win him any of the bartender's favor. He took what he could get.

Angel was not happy with her water. The glare made it obvious. Climbing onto the bar was clearly less than necessary.

>> "No. Water."

Randy flinched despite himself as the glass shattered. Oh, this was going to just make his night. Tonight was not the night to push his buttons and this girl was already off to a bad start. Like five year old in a high rise elevator whose mother was ignoring them bad. He returned her glare. Could he push her down slow enough to not hurt her? It would be a bit of a risk with water and broken glass everywhere.

>> "No. I.D."

A flash of movement caught the corner of Randy's eye. Frogman had a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Frogman told Randy he didn’t have an I.D. and then steals a bottle of whiskey. These punks just hit strike one and two. Maybe they had already been drinking, some of the low class bars didn’t check I.D.s. Frankly that didn’t matter. Randy was in a bad mood from the start and these kids thought that they could come in and walk all over him. No way in hell was that gonna happen.

Looking back to Angel Randy returned her glare. ”Get off my bar. If you didn’t want water then you should have said so. Cuz now ya owe me for the broken glass. As for you Kermit...” Randy gave “Kermit” the tiniest of grins befor porting directly behind him and reaching over his shoulder for the bottle. ”No I.D. means no booze.”

Here one minute, gone the next. A voice over Elliott's shoulder drew the opposite effect its owner had likely intended. Probably, the man had been going for the type of shock and fear that leaves one's bowels feeling decidedly liquid. Or maybe the 'Kermit' comment had meant to make Elliott angry enough to drop his guard. Or maybe he'd meant to show that since, yes, he was a mutant, maybe they all needed to calm down and sort this out methodically.

If he'd been on a different night, maybe the man might have had a gun. It struck Elliott one second after he chose his reply.

His lips pulled back from his jagged teeth in a dark smile. "Kermit? Seriously? I'm a ****ing alien, gods dammit." He laughed.

Then, he slapped the bottle back into the guy's hand in the most polite and gentlemanly fashion. There. The guy had his liquor back. He'd just have to clean off the lip of the bottle where his mouth had been.

Elliott didn't turn. He didn't swing his elbow around to hit the side of the bartender's face in a brutal fashion ripped from some sort of martial art. He didn't pick another bar fight, and he didn't decide to be mean. The alcohol had made him bold, but the realization after he'd returned the bottle of liquor brought with it the painful weight of mild sobriety that comes from gained wisdom in earned age. If the man HAD had a gun, that would have been the end of the night of fun. But if they ran with it and played things on HIS terms, perhaps they could salvage it. So he spoke over his shoulder to the man as politely as his tone and the situation allowed. Which, let's face it, was past rude, and hardly salvageable at all.

"I'll pay for the glass and the drink I stole." Elliott said lightly. "Val, maybe you can get down and we can have fun here some other way. Plenty of fine non-alcoholic beverages this nice man" who doesn't have a gun visible at this time "can make." He hoped the tone made the unspoken part of that sentence come through clear, but she was French, so it wasn't likely. "And there is dancing here. And I think I saw a pool table nearby. Maybe my winged friend over there would enjoy a Shirley Temple. I know I like a nice jack and coke. But you can skimp on the jack and charge me for it, if that helps us out here."

He never stopped smiling while he talked to the man who had appeared behind him. He never turned to face him. He was confident he could take him, if push came to shove. On another night, that elbow to the face over his shoulder would have been delightful. Maybe talking nice and diffusing a situation would lose points with the wing girl, but getting into a situation with a mutant bar owner on his own turf in a nice part of town was a bad idea. It was bad for business. He was a little drunk. He wasn't stupid. Well. Most of the time.

Astrid looked at October with a confused expression. What was he doing? Maybe it was some kind of angle to give in? Yes, that made sense. There was no way that he would disrespect her like that without some kind of plan that involved it in some way. It was the only reasonable explanation.

So, she would go along with it. She would play along like a good partner that was most definitely not being betrayed in the cruelest way possible. No, there was no way that was happening.

The young girl huffed loudly, straightened her dress, and stepped precariously from the top of the bar onto a stool, using her wings to help her balance. Once she stood with both feet on the stool, coming close to falling, she very slowly crouched down and retook her seat. There would be no more scene.

Then, she put her elbows on the bar and winked knowingly at October, telling him to take the lead and she would follow. Because he obviously had a plan. Then, she looked expectantly at the bartender, waiting for some incredibly disappointing virgin drink.

The bartender assented. He wasn't happy about it, but he nodded at the Mr. Kermit. Elliott paid him for all the damage and alcohol, pressing out cash on the bar. He slipped his wallet away, and turned back to Val with a sigh.

He got his coke. She got her ginger ale with grenadine syrup, with a cherry on top. He apologized one more time to the bartender, then nodded towards anything in the bar away from... the bar. Yeah. There were more things they could do here that were fun. Way more fun than the bartender, that was. He was fairly certain Val would find her non-alcoholic drinky drink sub par, but he meant to make the rest of the night entertaining to make up for the buzzkill bartender. Elliott really hadn't wanted to stick her like that.

There was a pool table. There were darts. There was dancing. "Darts?" Elliott asked her. "You probably have good aim. Shooting your crystals and stuff."

The two of them played darts the rest of the night. It was actually fun.

((OOC: Thread end.))