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The bar was dim, full of obnoxious men who were drunk or getting there, and it smelled like a combination smoke and sour breath. It was also the only bar in the only town in fifty miles. So while the dive was not exactly the place Warren wanted to be at the moment, it got him out of the clear cold weather…a chance to smoke without him shivering so much that the cigarette fell out of his mouth…and half way decent alcohol.
His clothes…black jeans, black shirt and dark brown ankle length duster kept him warm enough most of the time…but they were getting on in years. If he got any money sometime soon he'd have to buy some new rags. The patched duffel bag he'd been carrying around for years was slung across the back of his barstool. Reaching a hand up he fingered the ends of his hair, the red streaked strands reaching just below his collar bone. He didn't need a hair cut, after all it wasn't like he was trying to impress anybody.
As Warren leaned his elbow on the top of the bar again…one hand cradling his shot glass that was still half full, the other one holding his almost gone cigarette and thanking whatever god there was that at least the music playing in the background wasn't some yodeling country singer…the rumble of a motorcycle sounded in the dive's parking lot. Warren's chapped lips twitched in a almost there smile, the purring sound of the engine bringing fond memories of him and Baron working in the garage when he had been fourteen. Dispelling the memories with a shake of his head he watched the entrance from the corner of his dark eyes. The engine had sounded like something from a Harley or maybe a Vulcan…no…maybe a hybrid? They were rare but you saw one every once in a while.
The heavy door of the bar swung open easily showing the bar patrons their newest comrade. Worn jeans clung to long muscled legs, a flannel red shirt stretched across wide shoulders and a compact chest…the black leather jacket had snow dusted across the shoulders. Brown hair that stood up and curled at the ends flared down to somewhat bushy sideburns. Thin lips clenched a stub of a cigar and high cheekbones were cherry red from being buffeted by freezing temperatures. Dark black eyes surveyed the bar suspiciously, a feral light glinting in their depths. Looking to be somewhere in his thirties the man carried no helmet or gloves and yet his clothes carried melting specks of snow.
After giving the man a once over, Warren turned his attention back to his drink and nicotine. He watched from the corner of his eyes as the man grabbed a stool five down from his and ordered a beer. Noticing he was being observed, the man twisted till he faced Warren.
A voice roughened by smoke, tobacco and something else growled at him "You got a problem, bud?"
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A preview of a plot I've been thinking about for a while. Tell me what you guys think. Should I continue? By the way, for those of you who don't get the crossover yet it's Sky High/X-Men.