Carrick technically wasn’t old enough to drink at a bar in the states, that however never had stopped him before. He told the bartender that yes that was indeed his valid I.D. and yes that was indeed his real age. He just neglected to mention he deaged himself and became a teenager again. The bartender couldn’t say much because it wasn’t like wings were exactly common in I.D. cards and well... the shifter flexed his wings behind him and flicked his tail.

Pulling the guitar pick out of his mouth and placing it into his pocket he grinned, ”And no, this isn’t me brother I.D. either. Sorry bastard doesn’t have wings or a tail.” his tail flicked again behind him as he felt someone walk behind him. Instinctively he pulled the guitar at his side a little closer. It wasn’t that he was worried that someone was going to steal it but rather someone would damage it.

The Irishman had little luck lately keeping an instrument longer than two weeks and he had been nearing the two week mark. He had made sure not to bring it on any of his ‘outings’ with Zek and whenever he wasn’t playing a gig he left it home at the mansion.

Someone clasped his shoulder with a hand and he turned irritated someone touched him, putting on his ‘stage’ face though he smiled wide and exposed his pointed canines in a smile and a mock bow after they said he put on a great show, ”Thank ya sir, ma’am.” he nodded to both of them as a shot of whiskey was placed in front of him, ”Little bit of practice is all it takes.” he said faking modesty it took him a decade so far. His tail flicked behind him, ”If ya liked this show I got another tomorrow night at the Iceberg should come out and request something. Anything ya want me to learn?”

Knocking back the shot Carrick placed the glass on the table while he half listened to the request, ”Ah... Country? Well, not exactly the venue for it.” the pint arrived next on the bar in front of him, ”Well, I haven’t played weddings yet. Always up fer a little experimenting though.” he said half listening again taking a sip of the dark stuff in his glass.

”Rates aren’t cheap fer something like that. I have something of a short attention span.” he chuckled, ”That and having an angel at the wedding might get ya some looks.” Carrick took the card and shook the hands when they were offered. ”Cheers! See you two tomorrow then!” he raised a glass and then watched them leave.

”Apparently I put on a good show.” Carrick boasted to the bartender who was half listening. ”Another round, please. Long day.”

It wasn’t that Rex wanted to go to a bar. He didn’t. It was too connected to that part of him he wished never existed. The part that had pulled him down into such a sorry state of being that he’d turned his back on everything he’d believed in and drank from the cup of ungodly power those Welldrinkers commanded. The same ungodly power he could summon, brought forth by the Word of God.

He still wasn’t entirely convinced by his priest’s views on the matter, that the power and the manner in which he called it up, were signs that this was a gift and not a curse. And maybe that’s how it really was. It still didn’t help with his demons. The inner ones at least.

Rex took a deep breath to center himself before standing to attention and pulling open the bar’s door. Music and the voices of a crowd washed over him, along with so many memories, most of them blurred, of similar times in the past. But he was different now. He wasn’t at the bar for himself. No, he was collecting donations for his church, some clothing for the homeless.

He spied the bar quickly and made his way through the crowd in a no-nonsense beeline. Bartenders always knew everything. “Excuse me,”he said as he got to the bar, pitching his voice to be easily heard, yet well below a shout. “Is the owner in?”

The bartender polished a glass. “Just missed him. Out to lunch,” he said with a shrug.

Rex tilted his head for a moment and swept his gaze around the bar. His jaw clenched a bit. “That’s fine. I’ll just wait,” he finally said, taking a seat at the bar. “Beer. Non-alcoholic,” he said.

Only then did he really notice the winged mutant kid not too far from him. They were everywhere these days, and this one looked like he was really trying to get drunk. Ay yi yi.

The Irishman leaned up on the bar and gave a little huff when the non-alcoholic beer was severed before his round of drinks. Carrick silently wondered why someone would drink a non-alcholic drink but then he wasn’t an alcoholic. No, he was Irish.

Someone else patted him on the back, or rather the wing and then got swatted by his tail for touching his wing. Another spot Carrick liked getting touched by strangers even less. The feeling of his more arrogant and majestic form was the one to make it clear they weren’t to touch him again without permission.

His chest rumbled in a low growl and he washed it down with the shot that appeared moments later along with his pint. Carrick was out in public, his stage. Meaning he had to keep himself approachable if he was to work this bar ever again. ”Aye, relax a little. No harm, no foul.” he said to himself after quickly giving his head a little shake.

Carrick needed a distraction. ”Ya got business with the owner too?” he asked his tail flicking behind him warding all who tried to approach away. ”Let me guess, owes ya money too?” Carrick hadn’t been paid yet for his most recent performance meaning he’d be drinking until that time.

”Name’s Carrick.” it was the bar, anyone who sat at the bar new that they’d be subject to other patrons and unwanted conversations. Them were the rules. Lucky for Carrick as long as no one was touching him or his wings without permission he was a pretty sociable.

The beer came quickly. Rex took it, considered it intently for a moment, then tipped it up to his mouth and drank. The taste was there, bringing back memories and sensations, but no alcohol to mess him up or cause him to relapse. He could survive with this.

There was some regret though. The beer was non-alcoholic. Which meant nothing was dulling his mind or senses or offering sweet oblivion to ward him from the mutant kid try to talk to him. Sangre de Dios. “No. Owes me charity,” he said gruffly, never returning the beer to the bar. He didn’t quite look at the kid. That would invite conversation, something Rex absolutely wanted to avoid.

Something he was obviously terrible at doing. Now the kid was introducing himself. “Father help me,” he prayed quietly. Clearly this was penance. “Rex,” he grunted, with only a glance out of the corner of his eye. He took a long drought from his beer.

The man seemed irritated. Carrick’s tail flicked behind him as he sipped his pint and then rested it on the counter. It was like talking with a warmer version of Sammy-boy. Though he was sure the icemancer was started to warm up to him. ”Charity huh?” the shifter asked wondering which charity the guy was trying to get. Bar tab, cash...

”Yer Da hear?” he asked smirking to Rex now that he had a name. The fella didn’t need to give a name he could have said, ‘doesn’t matter’ or responded with a nod when Carrick introduced himself. Bar etiquette. This was a holy place a neutral territory. Until it wasn’t.

”Which charity you working fer?” he asked curiously. ”Depending how ya sell it I might have a little extra cash coming my way. Don’t know if ya saw the set but I believe it was a good one.” he flashed his pointed teeth in a grin.

”Always believe ya should help the less fortunate.” especially when it was just a few bucks. A small amount Carrick was okay with parting from. If there was a heaven and he was going there Carrick would be happy to point out that he was generous with other peoples money.

Rex nodded ever so lightly as the kid confirmed it was charity. Rex thought that would be the end of the exchange. Rex hoped that would be the end of the exchange. Rex prayed that would be the end of the exchange.

It appeared God was busy or just felt Rex needed more penance. The Irish kid didn’t stop talking.

Rex slowly turned his head just enough to actually look the kid in the eye. “He is always around,” he said firmly and solemnly, a touch of rebuke in his voice and a spark of authority in his eyes. He wasn’t one to push his theological viewpoints on other people, but he also wasn’t one to enjoy them being mocked, however so lightly. That was a warning.

“Volunteering,” he corrected the kid, turning back toward his beer. He glanced the other way down the bar, hopefully for the owner to appear. No cigar. “Clothing drive. For St. Peter’s Church of the Cross. Always accept donations.” He took a drink - his throat was getting dry after all that talking.

Then he just drank the rest in a swift chug. Oh God, the kid wasn’t just a mutant, he was a musician too! Rex began muttering oaths and prayers of supplications in Latin and Spanish. Why was he given this cross to bear?!

”Oh, he’s dead.” Carrick said a bit awkwardly at first then filled the silence with a sip from his pint. ”Sorry, wish mine was. Big guy took the wrong parent.” he said. The shifter did believe in the man upstairs but over the years and watching his mother suffer the way she did (something he remembers little of), he thought the relationship was bit strained. Like it didn’t matter who died even good people.

”Oh good on ya!” the shifter said raising a pint to taking a sip showed off his wings and tail a bit, ”Afraid Cash will have ta do so long as it gets into the right hands. Don’t think anyone wants me clothes. They are tailored.” by himself. The stitching was rough and it was clear some points were over cut then crudely stitched back up.

While the man muttered the prayers he picked up on a few of the words. The ones in Latin stood out and then the ones in Spanish (yes, Carrick loved Spanish soap operas). However only having any experience speaking the one (years of catholic school) Carrick responded in kind with a, ” hic mihi erat mortuus lingua” ‘here I thought it was a dead language’. He sipped again then pointed to the stranger as the bartender approached, ”I’ll get his next round! Someone else speaks Latin!” While he wasn’t practiced he wanted to see what he remembered.

Rex’s eyebrows scrunched together. What? Who was dead? This…individual was not making sense. Clearly the kid has been drinking too much as it was. All the more reason to stay away from bars, Rex thought.

Then he stiffened. Oh. He slowly put his beer down. He turned enough to look at the kid, to really look at him. “Condolences,” he said after an equally long bout of silence. The kid had a dead mother and a father he wished was dead. Rex had seen it before, time and time again. He’d drank with a number of people like that, too. “That’s...rough.”

He winced a bit as he said the words. They didn’t sound right. But he couldn’t think of anything better so he just left them there. He turned back to his beer.

He took another drink as the kid seemed to act a bit perkier. Undoubtedly it was not due to Rex’s words, he was too honest with himself to believe otherwise.

“Cash is fine,” he grunted, failing to notice anything about the kids' clothing. He heard some rustling like flapping clothes and figured the freak was airing his wings out or something. Rex slid a hand half over his drink, just in case feathers tried to fall into it.

He stiffened again. Then he...smiled. And let out a quick bark of laughter before catching himself. He couldn’t get rid of the amusement. “That...was gibberish,” he mused, finishing off his beer. “Here my tongue was dead?” Rex shook his head, still smiling. “Try again, kid.”

”Nah, it’s fine.” the shifter lied waving off the condolences. He wasn’t there to feel sorry for himself nor did he want anyone to. This was a joyous occasion at the bar after a gig. He was about to get paid! There was no time to wallow. ”She’s in a better place, less suffering.” he raised his pint glass and finished the rest of the drink with ease. He was a seasoned drinker after all. His mother while she might have made questionable choices was and will always be a saint. His father on the other hand...

”Cash is kings.” he agreed then and debated how much money he was going to donate. He didn’t travel the city with much of it on him. He also had a bad habit of shifting so it was stupid to bring a bunch of money if there was no guarantee he’d make it back to the mansion with it.

He spoke gibberish? Had it been that long? ”paenitet?” ‘sorry’ not sure if that was even a word now that he was questioning what he knew. ”fuit tempus” ‘been some time’. ”Guess what they say is true ya don’t use it ya lose it eh?” he asked as another shot and pint were placed in front of him while another non-alcoholic drink was placed in front of Rex.

”Me knuckles are already hurting thinking about the penguins rolling over in their graves.” he shook his dominate hand as if someone smacked his knuckles with a ruler. Man did he hate school. ”Was trying ta say here I thought it was a dead language. Never met anyone else who speaks it on the street. Didn’t know people of the cloth went out fer drinks. Alcohol or non.” he said never really thinking about it.

Rex considered what the kid said. It didn’t sound convincing. Or rather, he sounded very convincing that everything was fine. That’s how Rex knew it was a lie. He told himself that same lie every single day of his life. Huh. Maybe there was more to this kid than just being a loud and talkative mutant. Rex grunted. It was far more eloquent than anything he could say in the other languages he spoke.

The slim vestige of goodwill built toward the kid was all that stopped Rex from rolling his eyes. Cash is kings? Rex was feeling old, sitting by this kid. Unfortunately it was too late to find another place to sit - the rest of the seats at the bar had filled up except for the ones in immediate proximity to him and the winged mutant. Rex also felt like the kid was talking just to hear himself talk. “Padre nuestro que estás en el cielo…”

Another beer appeared before him. He sipped it cautiously, then took another swig. “Sure kid,” he said, resigning himself to this purgatory. It didn’t sound like the kid had ever known Latin, just maybe picked up some random phrases from somewhere and crudely patched them together. “If you say so.” Would the kid get the hint?

No. No, he would not.

He was talking about dead penguins. Rex glared at his beer. Would it kill him to have an alcoholic one? Or twelve? He grabbed it tightly and knocked back a third of it. Gah. No sweet oblivion. “They don’t,” he said reluctantly. He only said anything at all because the kid was talking about priests, and coming to some false conclusion. He shot the kid a glance. “You even old enough to drink?”

Carrick heard the ‘padre’ and figured the guy was blessing his beer or something. Was he converting non-alcoholic beer to wine/alcoholic beer? If so that was a pretty neat trick. One Carrick wanted to see in action if it was real. Maybe he could be taught? It would definitely take his ‘angel’ game to a whole new level.

”Aye, I do say so.” he agreed. It was what he heard about a lot of things. Most of which he didn’t have to be worried about losing now.

”They don’t?” he asked raising an eyebrow. ”Well, guess that makes you not a priest then.” Carrick decided. He no longer felt bad about swearing in front of the guy if he wasn’t of the cloth. Even if he had done enough ‘hail mary’s’ in his life for more than one person.

”Aye, I am. Don’t look it though right?” he said smirking, ”Was blessed with good looks, wings, slow aging and cursed with a tail.” his tail flicked behind him to show it off. It was the most controlled the thing had been all night. The slow aging was totally a lie.

”Yer not a cop are ya? Do I have to show my I.D. to you as well?” he asked chuckling. ”Most places check my I.D. before I start playing. Makes it easier to tell who they are hiring to play.” he shrugged.

The kid kept talking. Even after Rex’s monosyllabic responses. Usually this was when conversations died around Rex, sometimes intentionally, sometimes from lack of traction. It wasn’t that Rex went out of his way to kill dialogues, but rather it took going out of his way to extend them. Even if they were pointless exchanges of meaningless trivia.

Rex glanced at the clock. Not even six minutes had passed. They said time flew when you were having fun. No wonder the clock hands were just crawling.

“No, I’m not a priest,” he said gruffly, setting his drink down and beginning to massage his temples. This was penance. He just knew it. All those times he’d spent in bars like this, drinking himself to oblivion. Now he was being forced to deal with all the potential horrors of that life, without any of the numbing effects of the alcohol. Obviously he was dead and this was his torment. It wouldn’t surprise him if the kid pulled out a pitchfork from somewhere.

He looked over at the kid suspiciously, taking in the wings and tail once again. “Sure it’s not all a curse?” he said before massaging his temples again. He did manage not to shudder though. It would be bad enough being some kind of mutant, but having a freakish expression of power like that would just have to make everyday things ridiculous to do. Even in New York.

His head dropped a little. “No, kid, I’m not a cop either. Don’t need to see your ID.” Rex didn’t need to see the kid’s face either. What ever happened to the old time concept of drinking alone at a bar? Millennials probably murdered it. Again, the call of strong drink reached for it and Rex stifled an urge to cross himself. “Why aren’t you up on stage playing then?” he said. What he didn’t say was ‘and why are you down here bothering me?’

”No? Just kicked from the cloth then?” he asked looking at him then shaking his head, ”Nah ya don’t seem the type.” he said having grown up around a lot of god fearing folk. His mother being one of them.

”Is it?” he asked looking over his shoulders to his wings and grabbing hold of them a little shaking them. ”I mean, yeah. It could be. If ya hated flying, sure. But who hates flying? No one that’s who.” he said nodding his head not everyone had the same thoughts and feelings about flying like he did. Most of the time Carrick avoided those people but at the bar. Well it was his penance for mocking the ‘grounders’ as he flew over them during traffic jams.

”Finished me set already didn’t I? Killed it!” he said squinting slightly and sipping his drink, ”Figured I’d earn a cold one and some cheery company of strangers. Ones that enjoy swapping stories.” he rolled his eyes missing the attitude his fellow Irishman shared willingly. ”Americans.” he said into his drink.

”Well if yer gathering donations, drinking non-alcoholic beer and not a cop then what are ya?” Carrick asked slyly knowing now he was pressing buttons.

The kid kept talking. Now he’d progressed to the point where he asked questions and then answered those questions himself. Rex shook his head and tried to focus on some of the bottles on display behind the bar. The kid must’ve been drinking a lot already, he was far too gregarious. He was also misreading every single signal Rex was trying to emit, short of flatly telling the kid to shove off.

Father in heaven, what was with it with kids today? Or at least this one in particular?

He glanced over as the kid started clutching his wings. Rex sighed and rolled his eyes. He could feel himself getting closer to the grave. More questions that the kid answered himself, except now they were getting to be even more of a waste of time. He raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention but then slapped it down on the bar again. No, he’d gone eight months without touching a drop - he could do this.

Rex touched a hand to his chest, where he could feel the crucifix necklace underneath it. He knocked back the rest of his beer and fervently wished it had a kick to it. “Congratulations,” Rex said. If it was particularly inflectionless, it wasn’t intentional. But he’d asked why the kid wasn’t performing and he’d been told so proper protocol dictated he make the effort to respond. He just knew the kid was going to take the inch and run a mile with it though.

Rex tightened his grip on his mug. “I’m a...” he paused for a moment. “Volunteer.” He was still a firefighter of course, but he didn’t feel it lately. “Don’t you have friends or someone you can hang out with?” he groused instead of getting in touch with his feelings.

”Thank ya!” the Irishman said nodding his head. That was more than he was expecting from the guy who seemed to know not of the bar room etiquette. It was a start and if they’d have to wait an hour for the owner well then... maybe Carrick could properly teach him how to talk to strangers in a bar.

”Oh a Volunteer!? Oddly good at avoiding answers aren’t ya? No matter. Secrets said at the bar top stay here. Tis’ the rules and all that.” he took a swig and watched the man about to flag down the bartender, ”Yer doing it wrong.” Carrick chided before opening up his wings and waving, ”Oi! Another round, unless yer boss is coming to pay us ta leave!” the bartender rolled his eyes and then started to gather Carrick’s drinks again and another non-alcholic beverage.

”Be easier if I had a pair of tits eh?” he chuckled. ”Got all these extra appendages but still have trouble getting attention. Big hit back home, but then again everyone knew me there.” he shook his head and got back to the question.

”Aye, got friends. Girlfriend to, princess of mine. Beautiful. Want ta see a photo?” Carrick asked checking his pockets for his phone. ”Gave her the night off to do her kind of things. Just a quick set after all no need ta bring a crowd. Just glad my mates didn’t tag along. Would have been a fight before I even started.” he said finding his phone and looking for an appropriate photo to show off.