[Light description of anxiety]
My brain apparently decided it can handle writing and posting three multi-chapters at the same time, though I'm a lot less sure. I don't really know where this came from, but I wrote it at the same time as The World As We Know It, so some things tie in with that. It's a self-standing AU though.
It starts as a light-hearted coffee-shop AU. Probably won't stay that way.
Enjoy!
Clarice takes off her sunglasses and eyes the unassuming front window of the little café, above which a sign reads The Underground. It doesn't seem to live up at all to the promise of the name, consisting of a single well-lit room with the counter at the back, not seeming to offer any kind of exciting and forbidden night-life. The tables and chairs are a soft sea green, painted wood on metal legs rather than the more common plastic, and the whole place has a slight vintage feel to it.
Clarice pushes the door, feeling more self-conscious with each step. She hasn't been in this kind of neighborhood for months, if not years. She's not usually welcome in such nice-looking places. Shatter may have assured her that the owners of the café are mutant-friendly, she won't believe it until she sees it with her own eyes.
The café is nearly empty, with only a young man sitting behind the counter reading on his phone and one patron sitting at the table furthest back.
"Hi," Clarice says to the man behind the counter. "I heard you're looking to hire someone part time?"
To his credit, the man doesn't even start at her appearance when he looks up. He smiles instead, in a warm kind of way.
"Yes we are," he nods. "You're looking for a job? It's going to be quiet here for a while, so we can sit down and talk if you have time."
Clarice hesitates, eyeing the two men in the room. It doesn't seem to be standard hiring procedure, but she doesn't see a real threat there. The man is friendly but hasn't given her a second look, and the one patron hasn't even looked up from his computer.
"You can also drop your resume with me if you prefer," the owner smiles.
"No, I have some time," Clarice decides. Who is she kidding? She's been looking for a job for months, she has nothing but time. "I'm Clarice."
"Marcos," the owner says, coming around the counter to shakes her hand. "I own this place with my girlfriend Lorna. We can sit over here," he indicates a table by the counter. "You like coffee? If you're here for the job, it's on the house."
"Wow, you don't do things halfway, do you?" Clarice deadpans, despite her brain screaming at her to stop and sit down politely. "Yes, I like coffee," she adds more kindly.
Marcos goes back behind the counter while she drops her coat over a chair and starts the machine. "John, you want some more?" he asks.
The man Clarice had assumed was a simple patron looks up. "Yes, please." His eyes run over Clarice, but he doesn't show any surprise and simply nods at her. Clarice nods back, noticing his chiseled features and the Native beaded bracelet on his wrist. Neither of the two men have any obvious mutation, but Clarice has yet to meet a human who doesn't react when spotting her eyes, so she assumes they're probably mutants.
Marcos leans over the counter. "John here is a good friend, and he helps out with the accounts and other boring stuff," he tells Clarice. "For that, he gets free drinks whenever he wants," he adds with a wink. "He regularly tries to pay anyway, so you should be warned."
Clarice startles at Marcos talking like she's already hired. "Shouldn't you read my resume before you start showing me around?"
"I will, don't worry," Marcos says, putting the three cups on a tray. He places one on his friend's table and goes over to sit across from Clarice. "But we don't have any other candidates, and I know something of the struggle to find a job for mutants who can't pass. So as far as I'm concerned, as long as you show up on time and get along with everyone, you're hired."
Clarice stomps down carefully on the inner voice that wants her to do a victory dance. She's faced rejection for so long that she can't quite help being allured by Marcos's easy acceptance. It's immediately followed by a weight of lead in her stomach, and her face falls.
"Sorry," she says, "but I can't take a job out of charity. You don't know anything about me."
"I know you have bartender experience. And I know you're a good person who can't find a job because people are hateful. Shatter called me, told me about you. It's enough for me."
"Oh," Clarice says, feeling foolish. "Well, I still think you should follow proper hiring procedure."
"Sure, we can do this like an interview if you want. I'll read your resume, you'll tell me about yourself, and then I can show you around," Marcos says with a half-smile, like he's laughing at her.
Clarice takes a sip of her coffee, trying not to show her annoyance.
"Marcos already likes you," the other man−John−says from his corner of the room. "It takes a lot to change his mind, so you might as well not bother."
Clarice turns to him in surprise. He's been so quiet that she'd already forgotten he was there.
"John, try not to scare her away, will you?" Marcos says.
John just smirks and holds out his cup. Clarice can't help smiling back, amused at the two men's antics.
"I'm not scared yet," she says.
"Alright, then, give me that resume of yours," Marcos says. "You know it's only a part-time position?"
"At this point, I'll take anything I can get," Clarice admits quietly. She would never say that in a classical interview, but somehow she already feels safe and comfortable with these two men. Mutants. Her own kind. She's rarely seen an openly mutant-run place before, there are so few of them. Most mutants either have to hide what they are, or contend themselves with menial jobs.
"Why do you need additional help anyway?" Clarice asks, eyeing the empty room.
"Oh, don't worry, this is just the afternoon lull. We're plenty busy in the morning and at lunchtime. We've managed on our own for the last year, but the café is getting more and more popular, and Lorna and I are going to have a baby."
"Oh, congratulations!" Clarice exclaims, more out of politeness than genuine happiness, but Marcos's face lights up.
"The baby is due in September," he says, "and it could be a difficult pregnancy because of Lorna's powers, so we thought we'd get someone now rather than wait until she's on maternity leave. That way you can get used to the way things work before you have to take over. And we'll want to cut our hours after the baby's born, so it should be a long term position too."
Clarice nods. "Good," she says. She hasn't been able to stay in the same place more than a few months in a row in years, but this could be it. She can only hope.
"When can you start?" Marcos asks, somewhat out of the blue.
"Oh, uh, I don't know−" Clarice answers in panic.
"Hey, it's okay, I just want to know if you have other engagements you need to be done with first."
"No, nothing," Clarice says.
"Then I'll expect you to be here at eight on Tuesday. I can have the contract drawn-up by then. Now will you let me give you a tour?"
"So you've met Marcos?" Shatter asks when Clarice swings by the shelter the next day.
She's been volunteering here for a while, now, since she's had nothing else to do. It's a mixed human and mutant shelter, mostly for homeless families, and it's one of the rare places where Clarice doesn't feel unwelcome.
"Yes," she answers. "I got the job. Thanks to you, apparently."
"You're not happy with that."
"Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for what you did," Clarice says slowly.
"You just wish you could get a job just because of your qualifications. I know what it feels like, Clarice. I also know that sometimes you have to let go of your pride and take what's offered."
"I guess. Marcos seems like a good guy, at least."
"He really is," Shatter says. "We've been good friends for years."
"And his girlfriend?"
"Lorna? Did you meet her?"
"No, she wasn't around", Clarice answers.
"She's...a bit intense, but you get used to it. She's a very vocal mutant rights activist, and not just for the ones who can pass. She's done a lot of work at the mutant community center, and she's usually the one organizing protests around here."
"She sounds like someone to know."
"Definitely. You've ever been to the center?"
"Not yet," Clarice says. She's been in the city for a couple of months, but she's been hesitant to get involved with the local mutant groups. She's had too many bad experiences before. Between the mutant supremacists and Brotherhood affiliates, the separatists and the ones who believe visible mutants don't belong with them, there's plenty of organizations she doesn't want anything to do with.
"You should, they're good," Shatter says. "They have evening classes on everything from yoga to Controlling Your Ability 101, and conferences every other Saturday."
"Controlling Your Ability 101?" Clarice repeats. "That sounds like a load of bullshit."
"It's not. John's very good at what he does. He's trained with the best."
"John?"
"John Proudstar," Shatter answers. "He's our other local activist. He and Lorna run the center together."
"Athletic guy, long hair, Native jewelry? I think I met him at the café."
"Yeah, that's him. He's a Marine. Well, former Marine now, I suppose. He set up the fundraising that got us the new building."
"Former Marine? What does he do now?" Clarice asks. "I assume he's not making a living from giving evening classes to mutant kids."
Shatter looks suddenly uncomfortable. "He came back from Afghanistan a few months ago," he says. "He's been living with Marcos and Lorna. He mostly takes care of the center."
Clarice picks up on his hesitation and doesn't push. "So you guys have a pretty active community, huh?" she says instead.
"Sure," Shatter nods. "It's nice to have somewhere to go where you're not judged, you know?"
"I can imagine," Clarice mutters.
Clarice doesn't do much for the rest of the weekend. She hasn't really had time to make friends in the city, and most of her acquaintances are from the shelter. She stays at home instead, binge watching her favorite shows with hot chocolate. On Monday, she gets up before six to go for a run, since it's the only time she won't get stared at.
She can handle herself against attackers or even people who hurl insults at her, but she's just tired of it. It's been getting worse, lately. Or maybe it's just being in a large city again, maybe it's just worse in Atlanta.
So she locks herself up in her crappy apartment and scrolls her Twitter timeline, smiling at memes and encouraging her Internet friends. Most of them are mutant right activists, people she's never met and never intends to, but usually reading their messages buoys her.
As the day wears on though, she grows more and more apprehensive about starting the job tomorrow. How will the customers receive her? Marcos and John may not have a problem with her appearance, but what if this Lorna does? What if she's run out by some hate group again? There's more than enough of them around.
She goes to bed in a state of high anxiety, and she sleeps fitfully until her alarm wakes her up at six-thirty. Though she decided on the outfit to wear three days ago−Marcos didn't tell her if they have any kind of uniform, but the café doesn't seem the type−she frets over her makeup for a while, until she decides it doesn't really matter. She's probably end up being fired before anyone remarks on how much eyeliner she put on. No one ever notices her makeup once they've seen her eyes, anyway.
The café is close enough to walk to, which is good since she doesn't have a car anymore. She left the last one in Athens, burned down by Purifiers. She hasn't had enough money for a new one, even a crappy second-hand one, in the year since she ran away.
The café isn't open yet when she arrives five minutes before eight, but Clarice can see Marcos behind the counter. She knocks on the glass door, removing her sunglasses, and Marcos looks up at her.
Clarice recoils in surprise when the door opens on its own before she can push it. She steps in hesitantly, trying to school her features into something both open and professional, but Marcos just smirks at her.
"Good morning," he says. "You're right on time. Don't worry about the door, Lorna was just showing off."
Clarice looks around her to find a woman younger than her sitting cross-legged on a table. The first thing Clarice notices is her green hair, even before she sees the greenish light show around her hand. The door closes and locks itself again behind Clarice.
"So you're Clarice," she says. "I'm Lorna. Nice to meet you."
Clarice privately thinks Lorna doesn't sound all that happy to meet her, but it my just be her anxiety talking. She smiles and, when Lorna makes no move to shake her hand or even stand, waves awkwardly.
"Nice to meet you too," she says. "And congratulations, for the baby." She hesitates. She wants to ask about her abilities, but it can be such horribly bad form to ask questions about it first thing. But then Lorna did just show off.
"Lorna can control metal and magnetism," Marcos relieves her of her dilemma.
"What do you do?" Clarice asks more confidently, seeing how relaxed they are about this.
Marcos holds out his hands. As he opens them, they start emitting light, until it gets so bright that Clarice has to turn away.
"Nice," she says.
"You turn," Lorna says, jumping down from her table. "Unless your mutation is just cosmetic?"
Clarice tenses a bit, not sure she likes her tone. So what if it was just her eyes and ears and face mark?
Out of pure rebellion, she concentrates on a small portal−anything large enough to transport a human would take too much time−that opens right above the table Lorna just vacated. She drops her sunglasses into it, making the young woman jump when they make a noise behind here.
Marcos whistles appreciatively, smirking at Lorna's surprise.
"A teleporter?" Lorna asks, eyeing the glasses. "That's nice. Useful. Can you portal yourself as well?"
"If I need too," Clarice answers. "But it takes a lot of energy."
"Now that the introductions have been made, how about we get to work?" Marcos comes over from behind the counter. "This place isn't gonna run itself."