The sad thing about wanting to go to a bar in the daytime was that they weren't open. And Seven really wanted to go to a bar, but it was only the middle of the freaking day. Mae had gone back to work, and they didn't really want to spend any more of their day drinking the beer at home and just lazing about--anymore than they already had today, anyway. Seven had taken a free day--they felt they really needed to just unwind, and maybe get hammered in the process. 

So...where does one go when the bars are closed and drinking at home isn't desired? 

...Well, they found a place: The Missing Link, a bar and grill known for it's scantily clad servers and their florescent yellow shirts. God those were horrible; the running gag was those things glowed in the dark. But the food really was good, and this was one of their stomping grounds, just...not normally for booze. Desperate times and all that, they supposed. 

Blonde hair hung loosely over their face as they made their way to the bar, icy blue eyes finding a spot at the far end, alone, and far enough away from any devices that the only sound they picked up was the sound from their phone, and of course the ambient sound of the room, mixed with a slight buzz from the TV signal, but it wasn't bad. Good enough their headphones rested around their neck. They wore a basic black sweatshirt and a pair of black cargo pants with their usual dirty white sneakers. Across their right cheek were three parallel scratches, equal in length and equal distance apart as if they'd been slashed by something. Waving for a beer, they took the bottle, popping the top and knocking it back in their left hand before wincing, and swapping to their right, downing the beer easily and waving for another one. The individual favored their ribs. The beer....wasn't great, but as long as they kept coming, Seven couldn't complain. 

Their cold eyes scanned the room from time to time, their ears listening for any new static from a cellphone, radio, laptop, anything with some sort of signal that might be approaching. 

"You're just the best, Garrett. I'm telling you that you will make a killing in New York." Garrett smiled, always a fan of fans. "Well, Janice, I appreciate you. I think you should tell your friends. I just need a week or so to set up for gigs. I've got some money right now, just need to get set up somewhere and I'll definitely get in touch." He may have come back to the States but his reputation followed him like a cloud. At least it was a better kind of rep than the one he used to have in New York. For the moment, he was anonymous and that was just dandy. Looking around, he saw some dive called the Missing Link. Looked dark and seedy. Perfect.

Walking in, he was dressed in khakis and a T shirt that had Chris Walken's face from the famous skit, the black shirt saying 'I gotta fever!' His shades had to come off but they quickly adjusted to the weird black light effect. Girls in yellow shirts and short shorts worked fine. There was a kind of tang to the air that came with wing sauce and sweat that made the joint okay by him. Taking a seat at the bar, one of these florescent femme fatales rolled up to him and asked him what he wanted. "Newcastle, maybe a basket of fries?" The girl had a Cleopatra look with black bob and eye shadow to match. Her name tag said Shanda. "Want a tab? I'm Shanda. Welcome to the Missing Link. What's your name?"

"Just a sec, Janice. I'll be right with you." Looking at her, he smiled and said, "Garrett. Nice to meet you, Shanda. Yeah, a tab's great." She looked at him a little longer and then toddled off, bring him back to his call. "So, like I say, once I get set up proper, say a week, you will be the first person I call, alright?" Janice made a kind of sigh and relented. "Alright, but you better call me first! No way am I missing out on the greatest hands God ever put on this earth." He smiled some more. "You got it. I'm going to go now but we'll talk soon." He hung up because Janice thought that because she had money that she deserved airtime. Lots of people had money. Not everyone deserved airtime.

Phone in pocket and Shanda was putting a little paper coaster and a tall cool bottle of Newcastle Brown in front of him. "Here ya go, Garrett. Let me know if you want anything else. " A thumbs up came up as he pulled a draught of the ale. Maybe he could relax for a moment. Didn't look that busy. No one knew he was back in New York. Well, Janice did and her friends would, or probably did already. Whatever. Another sip or ten and he wouldn't care anymore.

Ever since the thing with Matt imploded for the second time in an equally spectacular fashion, and Nate had moved to Chicago, and Devon had gone business-style a.w.o.l., Sveta had returned to her old and comfortable routine of having liquor for lunch. She avoided the bar Matt worked at, obviously, and in order to go unnoticed, she selected increasingly seedier joints. At least this way, if work or private life caught up to her, she could break furniture without having to pay a fortune.

Today she managed to get away from an hour or so between finance meetings and managing the budding Haven spy network, so she headed to a place she'd noticed before. It was called Missing Link, and seemed to be catered to a male... or rather, female-appreciating... audience. Which was just fine for her, because it was not a place anyone would hope to find a Haven executive in. Sveta was dressed down for the lunch trip, wearing jeans and a green blouse and a sleek leather jacket. The heels and skirts and suits were for office work only, after all.

Making a beeline for the bar, Sveta spotted an empty seat at equal distance from two other people, one on his phone and the other a blonde person drinking a beer. She was not here to make friends; just to get her daily intake of alcohol. Food first.

"Hello" she greeted the bartender when she came her way "Shot and a beer please. Whatever tastes decent."

Life is long and some things disappear behind the curtain of memory. Other things play peek a boo out of that same curtain, when you thought they would never return. The instant perk up boost that someone like Svetlana put in the air, like an incense sparking the nose, wasn't something you just forgot about. A lot like killing hundreds of people by touching the back of her neck. His head naturally turned. She looked as good as ever. Age had made her more attractive, probably because she was more real. She wasn't a new young beauty on the scene with an amazing mutant power. She was that girl you killed people with once.

In the bar, nothing happened. He sat where he sat, she walked in and asked for a drink. Same thing happens hundreds of times a day in the city and nobody bats an eye. So far, he was the only one to notice a situation that was remarkably different. It was sort of funny to Garrett that the first mutant he would run into would be this one. Of course, if his life abroad had taught him anything, it was that coincidence was rare, actual random coincidence. Even when it did happen to occur, it was almost always for a reason. What was this reason?

A long pull of his brown ale helped. He tried not to stare, choosing to look at whatever sports banter was going on, blend in. She hadn't seen or noticed him, so maybe he could just wait and see what happened next. Or maybe he would just step out and avoid the drama that was sure to happen next. Yeah, maybe leaving quietly would be the best move. "Garrett! Here are those fries!" Shanda. Perfect. Remaining calm, he smiled and took his basket, digging into them so he would have a mouthful and not have to speak, pretending to be even more interested in whatever crap was on the tv. "Need ketchup?" She was being attentive as she should, Garrett shook his head and gave a thumbs up. Wandering off to other customers, Garrett kept eating and looking straight ahead. If he felt eyes on him, he would just keep feeling them and mind his own business. If she noticed or wanted to make a big deal out of it, that was on her.

Sveta was aware at least one of the men at the bar was watching her. That was nothing out of the ordinary, men stared at pretty blondes a lot, and then sometimes they regretted it. She waited for her drink and downed the shot, hoping to take the beer a little bit slower. Still, there was the tingling feeling (beyond her own powers) on the back of her neck that she was being seen. She had had enough bad experiences to not like that feeling too much. Maybe she'd drink the beer quicker after all.

>>"Garrett! Here are those fries!"

Ooh, fries sounded good.

Sveta glanced over, at the fries, and in the direction of the man who'd looked at her. Mostly the fries. She turned back to her own drink a moment later, but... something was off. Her instincts on overdrive as usual, she glanced up again. Why did he seem so familiar? Their eyes met, and Sveta froze.

Oh. Sh*t.

There was no doubt about it. The mention of his name brought a simple glance. Garrett could try to hide that this meeting was going to happen. He could have paid his check and simply walked out. It had been years since they inadvertently killed hundreds of people. Had it been Isabel or Aura, they might have had a laugh about it. Well, Aura. Isabel wasn't much for humor. Her humor gland calcified..The thought brought a grin to his face and the confidence to match. Garrett turned his face and then his body in his seat, his Newcastle raised as a greeting to her.

"That look on your face. I'd take a picture but you know I'm not like that." He took a drink of liquid courage and continued. The look on her face reflected the feeling he had felt when she walked by him. A finely mutated nervous system generally doesn't let the little things slip. "I'd give you a hug, but well.." He shrugged and continued to grin. "I understand that you may have some weird feelings, but it doesn't have to be weird."

Quite a stretch.

Garrett grinned at her and raised his drink in greeting. Sveta turned pale and scrambled back, sliding off the bar stool and keeping it between them.

>>"That look on your face. I'd take a picture but you know I'm not like that."

What the **** was he doing here?! Sveta's day had just turned into a nightmare, and one she had had multiple times. But this, this was not a nightmare. She glanced around. How many people were at the bar? Or the building? The neighboring streets? Her spine turned to ice at the thought.

Not again. Never again.

>>"I'd give you a hug, but well.. I understand that you may have some weird feelings, but it doesn't have to be weird."

Sveta glared at Garrett. He was between her and the exit. She did not like that at all.

Weird?... There were one mass murder beyond weird.

"What the hell do you want?"

Well, she was mad and shocked. Not a huge surprise. He watched her eyes flash past him and then glare in his direction. Garrett just shook his head and laughed. "You think I'm keeping you here? Sure, I could reach out and grab you, lock you down and kiss you until this block went dark, but I'm not that guy, Effie." There were so many reasons not to come back to New York. Camps, meta bots, human haters, crooked ass government agents and cops. Garrett finished his drink and fingered at his fries. "Hey Shanda, let me settle up." He slid a card in her direction across the bar. Costa Rica had been beautiful and peaceful, but make no mistake. Garrett had gone there because it was cheap and it was a no extradition country. If anyone knew his body count, he surely did.

Maybe it was too low. But he had definitely never killed a mutant. Not that he could remember. He had shot Syn but only because it was fun and why not? He had done meditation, yoga, massage, just about every kind of extracurricular he could to avoid the thing that was always staring him in the face. He had learned that his problems and the people that bothered him were only reflections of parts of himself that he didn't want to face. So, like it or not, he had to come back and set things straight. Not right, but straight.

He wrote the tip amount on the check and winked at Shanda and stood up from the bar. "You can hate me all you want. Think you're the first or the last? I'm not going to try to keep you penned in. I mean you no harm, sister. I'll go outside where everyone can see us and you have room to run, call a cab or even sic one of those oppressor bots on me. It's all good. If you want some closure, come outside and get it. I'm best as an ally." He really was. Garrett could be the best right had man you ever had. It sure beat the hell out of having him as an adversary. He blew her a little kiss and walked out of the bar, waiting on the sidewalk for her eventual appearance.

And no, he didn't give her a chance to reply. What a dick!

For the briefest of moments, the long suppressed sliver of optimism in Sveta struggled for hope. Maybe this was not the same Garrett she knew? Maybe he was another one of those Other New York copies of people, someone who didn't even know her, never met Other Sveta? Maybe?...

>>"You think I'm keeping you here? Sure, I could reach out and grab you, lock you down and kiss you until this block went dark, but I'm not that guy, Effie."

No luck. Duh. When did she ever have luck like that?

Sveta's brain ran through options. She could make a break for it, and hope the place had a back door. Or a storage room she could barricade herself in, and call for Haven backup. She could call for Haven backup anyway. He had not made a move to grab her yet. She slid her hand to her jacket pocket for the phone. His words about kissing her sent ice down her spine.

>>"You can hate me all you want. Think you're the first or the last? I'm not going to try to keep you penned in. I mean you no harm, sister. I'll go outside where everyone can see us and you have room to run, call a cab or even sic one of those oppressor bots on me. It's all good. If you want some closure, come outside and get it. I'm best as an ally."

You are best a million miles from here.

She looked at him warily as he turned and walked out of the bar, not giving her time to respond. None of his speech answered her question: what the hell was he doing back in New York? The last she knew, he was gone, in hiding or exile or a trip to Hawaii or whatever, as long as he was not in town. But now he was back, and Sveta felt so stunned for a moment she thought she would throw the drink up.

Pulling her phone out, she sent a text to Haven. Asking for a car to pic her up, with the code word they used when things were dicey and someone needed an out. She had been tempted to use it before as boring fundraising dinners, but this time, it was serious, and she was glad she had not cried wolf before.

With the car on the way, she left some money on the bar, and walked out of the club, stopping in the doorway, to be in view of the people inside.

"You still haven't told me what the hell you are doing back in New York."