Disclaimers; I don't own X-Men as much as I fantasize that I do. I also don't own, and have never been inside Kenny's Castaways, that is a real bar located in Manhattan, so I apologize for any butchering I've done to the establishment in this chapter.
Between the blaring, whiney rock music and the obdurate customer in front of the register, Mercy continually reminded herself that killing Steven would only result in extra mopping.
"Your card is invalid, why don't you and your buddies round up some cash?" Mercy shouted over the strident live performance, handing the doubtlessly stolen Visa back to the man.
The disgruntled greaser stalked away to the opposite corner of the stage where seven other dubious men had pushed three tables together and had collectively littered them with mugs and bottles. The apparent ringleader of the group eyed Mercy with contemptuous disbelief once his disciple returned to the tables empty handed. Mercy ignored their chary stares and headed through a door marked 'Management' at the end of the gantry. Inside Steven's office, the cacophony of the live band quieted to an incessant hum that softly shook the filing cabinets and picture frames.
"This is the fifth hour of overtime, Steven," Mercy carped as she swiped her time card on the reader that sat on his desk.
"Lauren quit and a flaming bartender and crappy cover bands aren't going to boost clientele. Just put on that pretty smile and take some extra pay until we can find another cute girl," Steven grunted as he entered long receipt lists on a prehistoric computer. "Besides, those stupid punk bands always bring in some rowdy fans."
Mercy felt another migraine begin to take form, and the indignation spurred a bold question. "If you don't like Chris, why did you hire him?"
Steven instantly ceased typing and jerked his head upward, glowering at Mercy. "I hired him because the only other applicant was one those mutant freaks." He spat acerbically.
Mercy said a quick goodbye and hastily exited Steven's office before he could see the smirk she couldn't stifle. Though her headache amplified once in the midst of the bar, the pure irony of Chris' employment was uproarious. As if on cue, the epicene, telepathic Christophe himself laughed aloud while pouring a pale lager at the gantry. Catching Mercy's gaze, he tossed his head, motioning for her to come over.
"So you finally asked him, huh? You could have asked me," Chris winked as he topped the glass off, gently pushing it to Mercy. "This is for Adonis in the back next to the sleazes'. Why don't you deliver it to him?"
Mercy scoffed and stepped back. "I just clocked out and I want to go home, Chris. Is he not gay?"
Chris melodramatically shook his head and darted his eyes to the back of the bar. "He's been waiting on you, girl,"
Mercy rolled her eyes and snatched the amber glass. Delicately walking around the bar counter, she tried to inconspicuously search for this supposedly divine beauty. Disregarding the seven ruffians, she spotted a rugged face she hadn't seen before clocking out in Steven's office. For once, Chris wasn't exaggerating.
He was deviant and attractive, shrouded in an unsettling curiosity that was absolutely irresistible. His bedraggled hair and beard sported a rough edge, his smirk enticingly cocky. His left eyebrow rose and then dipped, creating the perfect arch to frame his intense eyes that Mercy suddenly realized where upon her. Unthinkingly, Mercy swept her platinum blonde and mud brown hair over her shoulder, flashing her teeth in a blushing smile.
"Bock?" She gently placed the still fizzing glass at his loose fist on the raised bar table. He nodded as he brought the glass to his lips, tossed his head back, and drained the liquid. "In a hurry?" Mercy asked amusedly, and against her escalating headache, she slid onto a stool and leaned in, propping her chin on her palm, her fingers creeping to her left temple to gingerly massage the throbbing.
The fetching man hunched in, his worn leather jacket stretching around his broad shoulders. "I was hoping we could leave now,"
Bemused, Mercy opened her mouth to question him when a sudden squeeze on her shoulder whipped her around to face the agitator from the thuggish group of seven. He was the gang leader Mercy had seen before, and he produced a nose-wrinkling smell; from alcohol or sweat, Mercy couldn't tell. Irritation flushed her cheeks and the pain in her head rumbled and brewed.
"Hey beautiful, do me a favor and charge this card so my boys can bounce," Again, Mercy was handed the Visa.
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't," Mercy's voice strained to remain pleasant, though her cocked eyebrow and tight grin spoke for her annoyance. "There's a hold on the card."
The raw ache in Mercy's brain threatened to snap when her long hair was yanked. In a matter of seconds, Mercy was viewing the world at a sideways angle and faintly regretting not doing a better job at wiping the tables. The music from the stage ungracefully halted. There was a chorus of clanging as mugs and bottles dropped to the tables and floor. Hot, repulsive breath blew in Mercy's ear.
"I don't like no for an answer."
A slimy hand crushed her face to the wood and another kept its clench on her hair. A stench that even the dumpster outside the bar couldn't match emitted from the thick lubricant that coated the man's hand and dripped down Mercy's face. Mercy felt the glue-like substance begin to heat to a scorch, and she released a weak cry as her tresses began to sear.
As quickly as it started, the fire was temporarily relieved by an abrupt, peculiar sound. From her firmed position, Mercy could just see them. They might have been called blades had they not protruded from flesh, but as it was, the three knife-like utensils were attached to a fist and dangerously pointed upwards.
"I'm not sure what you're wiping with those hands of yours, but if you want both of them, back off." Adonis?
Mercy's migraine pulsated.
Glass projected everywhere. Mercy pinched her eyes shut as the shards flew and showered the bar in glittering panic. Shrieks and shouts accompanied the tinkling of each piece. The sludge hands agonizingly pried themselves off Mercy's face, instantly dropping her temperature. Her legs wobbled as she regained equilibrium in her feet and brain, but a tug on her elbow lurched her backwards.
Adonis was dragging her through the catastrophe of Kenny's Castaways. Bewildered and exhausted, Mercy gave no resistance. Before being carted through the once stained-glass threshold, Mercy spotted a gaping and dumfounded Steven.
"I quit!" Mercy called and departed behind Adonis into the cool night.
For those who might be confused about the allusion used for Logan, Adonis was a figure in Greek mythology noted for his exceptional beauty.
So I rewrote this chapter seven times, four of which were totally different. I'm still not entirely happy with the end result, but oh, such is the pain of writing. Dx
I promise any and all skeptical readers that this fanfiction is not OC-centered. Slightly AU, but keep reading and it'll all tie in. =P
Hopefully, I'll redeem myself with chapter three, which may take about a week to upload.
Special thanks to AshleyCartwright, Shakespeare-is-Love, volleyball7605, HLBabi, pinup-gurl09, and Serpient for various forms of fanfiction love. :3
And thanks to everyone who is reading this for your time and consideration!
Love, Sunshine Samich