It had been a busy day. Ever since Sveta became part of the Inner Echelon of Haven, she suddenly had a purpose, which also meant she had a to-do list and a schedule, and... things to do. It was good. It was exciting. But it was also exhausting sometimes, in a good way, but nonetheless in a way that she needed to get used to.
Being out and about was still difficult sometimes. It was easier now that she had places to be - she had not punched another teenage girl or innocent photographer for weeks. That was definitely progress. Sveta was still jumpy, looking over her shoulder all the time, but she knew Haven was looking out for her. If SUPER tried for her again, there would be hell to pay. Knowing Devon, probably literally.

And yet, sometimes it did get to be too much. Walking down the street, Sveta felt like she needed to get out of the New York crowd, the noise, and the people in the beginning afternoon rush our pushing uncomfortably close. She did not like people in her personal space, even bundled up and gloved as she was. Too much of a risk that someone would accidentally set off some kind of mutant power. She had hoped she would make it back to Haven before rush hour started, but she didn't. She could have called for a car, but that felt like admitting defeat. She still had some of her pride. So, with a sudden decision, Sveta walked into the dearts decent-looking bar, gladly noting that it was not crowded at all, and threw herself onto the nearest stool at the bar. She didn't even have to run shoulders with anyone. Letting out a sigh, she calmed herself a little.

A drink sounded good. She could call a car after.

It was a typical night, really, if not just a little slow. People came and went, most in groups or simply passing through quickly. Matt did his job without much thought, pouring drinks for people, supplying enough beer nuts to keep their hands going back and back to the bowl on the counter, and most importantly, listening quietly when people wanted to complain. People often decided to share their life stories or go into long spiels about their coworkers and such. Really, it wasn't so bad. You could learn a lot about people by just keeping your mouth shut. When people felt comfortable around him, there were no holds barred.

A little ways into the evening and things still hadn't picked up. It was a little surprising, considering it was a Friday, but not having to rush back and forth across the bar wasn't the worst thing in the world. Matt didn't mind the little bit of extra time to stand and listen to the band that had started a set. They were quiet, ambient. It made for great music to sit and talk to. He stood quietly as he dried the latest load of glassware, watching the band go through their set.

Soon enough, a rather jumpy-looking blonde woman stepped into the bar and took a seat. Matt watched her as she walked in, taking in her demeanour. She almost seemed glad to have taken a seat, and from the looks of it, she didn't mind being alone so much. Still, it was his job to approach her. "What can I get for you?" he asked, his hands busy with a glass he had been drying. He made eye contact with the woman, though his expression wouldn't give away all that much. There wasn't all that much to give away, really. It had been a calm day.

>> "What can I get for you?"

Sveta winced a little at the voice, then immediately got angry at herself for being so jumpy. It was the bartender, duh. He did not look overly eager, which was just fine by her. She did not like being chatted at when she was trying to hold it together in a public place... But he did not look like the chatty type. In fact, he looked very calm, doing his job routinely. Sveta sighed again, relaxing into her chair.

"Vodka martini, please" she said simply. It's all good. Seat at a bar, a drink, people who leave you alone. Live music. All is normal. She was just tired from all the work. Normal people did this all the time. "I need something to eat..." she added, mostly talking to herself.

"Uh-huh," Matt said with a nod, moving to start preparing her drink. It looked like he'd surprised her by talking, but she'd caught herself quickly. It almost looked like she had PTSD or something similar. He'd seen lots of guys with similar ticks in his time, being scared by the simplest things after getting lost in their own world. For Matt, it was mostly centred around his sleep and random attacks, but he understood what it was like. It was best not to push or expect too much from someone when they were easily frightened like that. It did make him wonder what would have gotten her to that place, though. She didn't exactly look like she was current or even former military.

The music got just a little longer as the band changed their song, but it wasn't too much of a difference. A few heavier drum beats, but other than that, it was similar. Matt turned his head to look at them as he finished the last shake of the martini, but looked back a second later. He set a glass down on the counter in front of her and then poured the drink in, adding a stick of olives a second later.

Poor girl was speaking partially to herself. Matt reached under the bar once her drink was in front of her and pulled out a menu, setting it in front of her on the bar. That would have their listing of food and the prices. The menu wasn't extensive, but it had all the regular bar fixings. Burgers, wings, pizza, nachos. The selection wasn't awesome, but the food was pretty good. "Long day?" he asked her, motioning down to the menu that he'd put in front of her. She looked like she'd been through the ringer a few times over.

The bartender did not make comments on her jumpiness, did not try to get her to talk, and did not try to flirt. He was either that good at his job, or he genuinely did not care. Either way, Sveta sighed a little as she watched him make her drink. The drink was going to be a good start in pulling herself together. She should probably eat something too, she muttered to herself, unless she wanted to drink on an empty stomach...

As if by magic, her vodka martini arrived, and the menu with it. Sveta blinked in surprise and glanced up. Damn, the guy really was good at his job.

>> "Long day?"

"Yeah, you could... say that." she paused, picking up the menu. There was something... different. Soothing. It took her a moment to finally remember what that feeling was; when she did, it gave her a pause, and she looked up at the guy again, seeing him in a whole new light.
Her coffee buzz was gone. He was an adapted.

Did he know? It was always a question. Booker was aware, but it was generally harder for adapteds to realize their powers than mutants. Sveta considered things for a moment, and decided not to comment, even though the look she gave her probably already gave away her surprise. What were the chances, her walking into an adapted field just when she needed it the most?...

"Hot dog sounds good." she concluded, handing back the menu "Thanks."

The blonde was incredibly easily surprised. It was like she was either from some sort of rough situation where movements were deemed dangerous and worthy of jumping over, or she had something else going on. Whatever it was, Matt paused after making her jump with the menu, wondering if he should have said something before putting it down. She seemed to be alright, though, so he figured that he might be in the clear in terms of fault.

Normally, if a person didn’t seem like they wanted to talk, then Matt wouldn’t engage. This girl, though, he did want to talk to. Most people’s stories were similar or the same; they had lives, and all of their lives sucked. He was judging, but most of the time, they had less to complain about than they thought that they did. Still, he nodded and sympathized when they told him all about it, and he didn’t say differently when they claimed it was the hardest thing in the world.

The blonde looked to be a different tale altogether. Snap judgements were hard, but there was something... different about the way she was acting. Matt watched out of the corner of his eye as her expression watching him seemed to change. He definitely hadn’t done anything different, but she somehow looked calmer. Very interesting indeed. She was peculiar, right down to her perfect smile and her accent.

”Alright then, one hotdog,” he repeated, taking the menu back from her and turning around to type it into the little computer they used for orders. He wasn’t going to engage. She clearly didn’t want to be engaged...

But God damn it, now he was interested.

”And what makes a day long in your books?” he asked with a quirk if his eyebrow, still in constant, but slow, motion as he put the glasses away that he had been drying. ”I’ve been trying to place your accent, but I can’t seem to. Maybe I’m losing my touch.”

She made the order, and it was submitted. The moment she made it, Sveta felt hungry. Food was a good idea. She sipped her martini in the meantime, relaxed in the knowledge that she had made a good decision. The bartender moved around at a steady pace; her own coffee buzz came and went as he moved farther or closer. She guessed his radius was about six or seven feet, but it was not an exact science.

>>”And what makes a day long in your books?... I’ve been trying to place your accent, but I can’t seem to. Maybe I’m losing my touch.”

"There's no trick to it, it's exactly what it sounds like." Sveta smirked over her drink "I'm from Russia. But I live in New York now."

It was strange to say it like that. After all this time, she was finally feeling like she was a new yorker, and not someone who accidentally ended up staying. New York was not the dream the Matchmaker had been selling, but it was... better in some other ways. Not that she could explain exactly.

"I... recently started a new job" she answered his previous question "And I guess I have to get used to the pace."

No trick to it. Matt met her eyes with a smirk and a shake of his head. "Russian, huh? That's a decent relocation." It was a statement made from one immigrant to another. Not a question, not a judgement, just a statement. It could be difficult to adjust to a completely new country and learn a whole new language, and Matt knew this from doing it as a young kid. He'd been young enough to learn the language as well as his first and ditch the accent that had made the other kids pick on him, but he couldn't imagine trying to do it as an adult. It had been an difficult enough adjustment back then.

Still, she sounded like she was settled there now. A New Yorker by choice - was there any other kind, really? New York was a place full of immigrants and people who had sought it out on purpose. For Matt, it had been a landing place that had simply become a sort of beacon, but he could understand the attraction for some. It was the city of both hope and failure.

Finally, she went into what was causing her long face a little. He stopped in front of her, the glassware put away fully. There were no other customers to serve, so he was able to give her his undivided attention. He didn't really have anything else to do, anyway, and the band seemed to be wrapping up their set. It would be another half hour or more before anyone else went up there.

"What's the job?" he asked casually. He did wonder what sorts of things would make a gorgeous girl like herself look so downtrodden. Most people were eager to share about their work and what they did, so he figured it would be a safe question. "Pacing can be hard, though. I get that."

>>"Russian, huh? That's a decent relocation."

"Yeah" Sveta chuckled, drinking to the understatement. Not that she was about to tell the tale of how she arrived once upon a time, engaged to a total stranger. But yeah... New York City had been a learning curve, even when there only had been one of it. Something in the guy's tone told her that he had a similar experience. Minus being a mail order bride, probably.

>>"What's the job? Pacing can be hard, though. I get that."

She had hoped he would leave the details alone, but he didn't. Sveta had not really figured out yet how she was going to explain what she did for a living, as a member of Haven. She should have asked Devon, he was good at keeping things organized. Or at least delegating it to others who were good.

"It's... you'd call it community work, I guess" she ventured, poking at the olives in her drink "Mutant rights, mostly." It made her sound like more of a saint than she really was, but there was no other, vague yet descriptive way of putting it "It's a lot of event organizing, networking... that kind of thing."

Matt was not a naive man. Given the history he had with his wife's death, someone who was naive might've assumed that he would have a problem with mutants. This really wasn't the case. Over the years, he had met many people of different shapes, sizes, races, and orientations, and he had decided on one specific detail: people were more than their bodies. People were what they said; what they did. Bodies were one thing, actions were another. The man who had met them in the bank that fateful day had tried his best to save their lives, but had died in the same fashion as his wife had. Matt couldn't hold that against him any more than he could hold a war against one individual fighter. There was more to the world than each single person.

On the topic of mutants, he considered himself to be pretty neutral. He did want the best for them, in the end, and he considered himself to be a supporter, but he wasn't going to be attending rallies just yet, or, say, working for a mutant rights organization.

"Mutant rights, huh?" he parroted, his arms extending on the countertop as he put his palms face down. "How'd you get into that sort of work?" He had lots more questions for her, about how exactly organizations like that functioned, or what she did with networking and event coordination, but he would leave that to her to fill in the gaps if she wanted to. Only if she wanted to. He didn't know - maybe it was a touchy subject for her after all. Most people were a little less vague when they started to talk about what they spent their days doing. It was, after all, their entire life.

The noise of a plate being set down on the metal countertop of the little window to the right of the bar told Matt that the woman's order was ready. He walked away for just a second to grab the plate before walking back and setting it down in front of her. "One hot dog. You want anything to go on top? Ketchup, mustard?"

If the guy was not into the whole mutant thing, it was better to find out sooner rather than later. Sveta was not going to dish everything, but if the bartender suddenly had something important to do at the other end of the bar, so be it. It was still better than having a nice conversation, just to find out later that the dude was a waste of time.
He didn't bolt, or make any faces. He did, however, look curious.

>>"Mutant rights, huh? How'd you get into that sort of work?"

Wasn't that the excellent question. Sveta was not sure she could answer that without any details. Or that she could answer it at all, honestly. It was the intersection of many things.

>>"One hot dog. You want anything to go on top? Ketchup, mustard?"

"Yes, please" she was glad to have some food before she finished off her whole drink. Ketchup and mustard were good in copious amounts. As long as she did not make a mess. She did have to eat with gloves on, after all. "It's just... I got a job with an organization that helps mutants. It's not easy to be one, even in New York... we try to help where we can." she ventured "I mean, I'd love to say that I'm that good a person. But honestly, I have seen enough trouble up close that I'm just happy to help." she smirked and drank "And I did need a job. Teaching Russian only gets you so far in this city."

The band was finishing with a song unlike the rest they had played. It was no longer ambient and it definitely didn't fade into the background. With each drum hit, Matt found himself leaning a little closer to hear the girl across the bar. He glanced in their direction, trying to figure out why they had suddenly taken a change of pace with their music. It wasn't like the bar was full, really. It was just the blonde woman, a couple in one of the booths, Matt, and the kitchen staff. Clearly, they thought that they were something else and they needed to give the bar something to remember them by.

Thankfully, Matt was able to make out, for the most part, what she was saying. With a nod, he ducked down and grabbed a little rack from beneath the bar, setting it on the counter next to her. It held ketchup, mustard, relish, and some salt and pepper. There was some chipotle mayo in the kitchen, but that was by request only, usually.

He listened to her response about her job, nodding along. His nod fell in time with the music, without him even noticing. She didn't say directly that she was a mutant, but he wondered if she might be. People tended to get involved with the things that affected them the most directly. Plus, the gloves were a little bit strange. Most people would take them off before going to eat a hotdog. There was a chance that that had something to do with a possible mutation.

"Helping other people's a draining task," Matt mused with an understanding glance. He'd done that for a time. "And there's no such thing as 'good people'. It's all about what you do. So, good for you." If he wasn't at work, he would have clinked his glass to hers, but alas, he was constricted by the need for a pay check. Instead, he simply offered her a slight grin.

She'd had another job before, from the sounds of it. Teaching Russian. Fitting. Matt chuckled and nodded, knowing how difficult it could be to get a good job in a city like New York. "Where were you teaching Russian?"

The music got louder, and Sveta wrinkled her nose for a moment, before she went back to eating her hot dog. The bartender stayed, continuing the conversation, and leaned in to be heard better. She was inside his aura again, and quietly enjoyed the soothing feeling of her powers being temporarily turned off. She hoped the guy was not getting the mistaken idea that she enjoyed the talk for his company...

>>"Helping other people's a draining task. And there's no such thing as 'good people'. It's all about what you do. So, good for you."

Sveta smirked and raised her glass before she drank. She really did not consider herself a good person. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. She tried to do the best she could, and help people that needed help. It was already a big step forward for her.

>>"Where were you teaching Russian?"

"Private practice" she chuckled, biting into the hot dog. It wasn't like she really paid taxes after that work. It was mostly funding her vigilante persona... not that she was going to tell him that. It was time to turn the tables on him. "So, how about you? Is bartending your main gig?"

How many people thought of themselves as good people? Lots, actually, though many of them were deluding themselves. At least she was being honest with herself and not trying to convince herself otherwise. Trying to pretend that you were a good person usually just led to a air of pretentiousness and a poor attitude. If he was going to believe anything about himself, then Matt was only going to believe that he was trying his best. Nothing more, nothing less.

She continued on, delving a little more into what she used to do. Matt had to admit, she was a lot less forthcoming than most of the people who walked into the bar and sat by themselves. Often, those were the people most desperate for someone to lend an ear, or they were off looking to score with someone else in the bar. The brooding, silent type wasn't as common, especially in the form of a young blonde woman. It wasn't often that he would have to ask so many leading questions to get someone going, though he supposed she was only one drink in. She had stopped after 'private practice', though. That was a little mysterious. He wasn't sure that he had ever seen a private practice for learning another language. Everything about the woman seemed to be mysterious.

"Yeah, I work here most nights, so I guess you could say it's my main gig right now. I also work some reno jobs. Drywall, stuff like that," he said with a shrug. It was strange that this was what his life had come to. In his twenties, he never would have pictured himself there, but then again, who would? No one could have seen the curves that his life ended up taking. Life was like that for most people, though. At least, it seemed like it probably would be for the blonde.

The guy had an advantage compared to Sveta: He was not drinking. The blonde could hold her liquor (she had a lot of practice), but still, having this kind of give-and-take conversation over a bar when only one party was indulging in alcohol was a lot less fun. She guessed that he was used to people talking his ear off about break-ups and whatnot (or was that a movie thing?), but she was a little surprised at the questions. Maybe he was bored?...

>>"Yeah, I work here most nights, so I guess you could say it's my main gig right now. I also work some reno jobs. Drywall, stuff like that."

Renovation. Handy man type, huh. Sveta smirked, taking a break from the hot dog to finish off her olives, and then the martini. If she was going to be spending time at this bar after all, she needed more drinks. Either to talk, or to get him to talk.

"New York native, or did you move here from somewhere?"