Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments
This story is based on the song Superheroes by The Script
Clary
I rip the paper out of the book, crumple it up, and throw it in the trash. The wind blows my long red hair into my face once again. I take the rubber band off of my wrist and loosely tie my hair back. Then I turn my attention back to my blank page.
Tapping my pencil to my lip, I try to find something that inspires me. Something I haven't drawn yet.
Almost all day I've been trying to come up with ideas for my portfolio. So far I have nothing. And I have to get to work in less than an hour, since Magnus wants me there at five instead of seven. (A/N: I know I said previously that her shift starts at 8, but I changed it to 7. Sorry if that confuses you!) And instead of it ending at 11:45, I have to stay until one in the morning. I sigh. I'm not getting anything done today.'
I look up and out at the view of New York City from the fire escape right out my window. Everything I see is something that's already been transferred to my paper before. I want to draw something different for my art portfolio.
I sit and think for a while. Then I finally have the decency to check my watch.
"Shit," I mutter, seeing it's already 4:45. I jump up and crawl back through my window. Then I quickly get changed into my uniform, and throw my hair into a high ponytail, like always. I grab my keys and my phone and silently make my way out of the apartment. Or at least try to. Because my brother is sitting in the living room, looking as if he was waiting for me.
"Where are you going?" he asks in an icy tone. I try not to divert my gaze from his dark eyes.
"I have work," I say, my voice wavering slightly. Jon looks unconvinced.
"Where do you work?" he demands. Oh no. If I tell him he'll definitely show up and make my life hell. If I don't tell him, I don't know what his reaction would be. And if I lie... I don't want to think of the consequences I might face.
"It's a club," I say, swallowing my fear. "On 52nd Street. The one with the free shots from 9 to 12." Okay, the last part was a lie. That club is a little ways away from Pandemonium. I think about correcting myself, but instead I continue to look my brother in the eye.
He seems to buy it, because he nods his head. I make a quick dash to the door, running out of the apartment building as fast as possible.
I jog to Pandemonium, trying not to fall in the boots I'm wearing. I enter the club at just before five, making my way to the bar. The place isn't crowded yet. The club opens really early; at seven o'clock. But the bars open three hours before then. That's one of the reasons why Pandemonium is so popular. You can literally party for hours on end.
I glance to the right and smile, seeing that the other bartender on this shift is Maia. She's probably the closest thing I have to a friend at work. We talk sometimes, at bar service is always great when both of us are on the clock.
Maia waves when she sees me, and I politely smile back. Then I tighten my ponytail, straighten my uniform, wash my hands, and the evening begins.
I focus on my job, trying to forget everything that has happened in the last two days. My brother's arrival, my parents acting like complete jerks to me, and my utter lack of inspiration for my portfolio.
Nothing interesting happens in the first few hours of my work.
I hand one of my regulars, Hannah, a sangria, when I hear a familiar voice.
"I'll have a rusty nail." I look up in shock as the golden haired man slides into an empty bar stool. I snap out of my surprise quickly, grabbing the Drambuie and Scotch Whiskey. I pour the liquor over ice and then grab a slice of lemon. I serve the drink and try to ignore him, but of course he has to try to talk to me.
"You looked a little shocked there," he says, leaning forward against the bar. I give a half smile.
"Just a little surprised to run into you yet again," I reply, wiping down the counter in front of me so I'm not just standing there.
"Yeah. I was surprised to see you last night again, too." The golden haired man takes a sip from his drink. I can't help notice how defined his jaw line is. "What were you doing there anyway?" I hesitate, contemplating if I should tell this stranger what I was doing last night.
Oh what the hell.
"I was picking up some art supplies for my portfolio," I answer. Then I get a drink order from another guy real quick and collect my tip. The man still decided to talk to me.
"An artist, huh? What school are you planning on going to?"
"Brooklyn Academy of Art," I say. Why am I telling him this?
The man smirks. "Brooklyn, huh? Getting tired of Manhattan?" I give a tight smile.
"Well, I haven't left Manhattan my entire life. Yeah, I'm getting a little sick of it." His eyebrows shoot up. He finishes taking a sip of his drink before saying something.
"You've never left Manhattan?" I shrug.
"Never had a real reason to. My parents would never let me." I wince at my last words. I hope he doesn't ask about my home life.
Thankfully he doesn't. It looks like he's about to, but some blonde with outrageously big breasts comes up and sits on his lap. I take the opportunity to move down the bar an work there for a little bit.
But the golden haired man comes back to where I am a few minutes later, this time without the blonde. I avoid him as long as politely possible, getting drinks for other people. But after a while it would just seem extremely rude if I didn't come over to him. So I walk over and wait for him to tell me what he wants.
Instead of ordering a drink he looks me in the eyes. "Are you any good?"
"What?"
"At art. Are you any good?" I think for a moment.
"I don't know. I like to think I'm okay." The golden haired man smirks.
"If you want, you can bring in a piece of your work and let me see it. Then I can judge if you're any good." I quickly glance my my watch. It's a little after eleven. Rush hour.
I smile politely. "Thank you, but I don't think that would be necessary." For some reason the guy looks impressed. "Now if you excuse me, there's a lot of people I need to serve."
-Superheroes-
For the next two hours, Maia and I own the bar. We work fast and accurately, serving as many people as we can per minute. The bar is pretty crowded. There's always something to make and something to collect.
I see the golden haired man come by two more times. I ask Maia if she can take care of him both times. She gave me a weird look, but complied.
At a little after midnight, the traffic at the bar slowly dissipates, until there's barely anyone here. To my annoyance, one of those barely anyones is the golden haired man. He sits there alone, sipping a glass of some kind of brown liquid. The lights in the background from the dance floor create shadows on his face. His golden hair looks less vibrant now; his tawny eyes darker than before. The white shirt he wears defines his arms, making them look even bigger. I look back at his face and see... is that a bruise?
I look closer and sure enough, there's an ugly purple and black bruise on the side of his temple. Now that I'm looking, I see that his knuckles are also split on his hands, more so on his left. Was there a club fight earlier that I didn't notice? Because these marks look fairly new.
"Clary!" I break my gaze away from the handsome specimen to see Maia standing a few feet away, waving a hand in front of my face.
"Yeah?" I ask, stupidly. My coworker scoffs and points behind me.
"The girl back there has been trying to get your attention for the past three minutes." I turn around, and sure enough, a gorgeous girl with long, straight black hair and chocolate brown eyes is looking at me. Her attire is usual for a club. It brings out all of the curves she has.
I quickly walk over to the girl and take the glass from her hand. "Sorry about that," I say, blushing. I expect her to roll her eyes or make some kind of rude comment, but instead she just smiles softly.
"It's okay," she says kindly. Her voice is kind of deep, what you would expect from a girl who looks really tall. "It's almost one in the morning. It's a late night." I smile back appreciatively.
"What'll you be having?"
"Cosmopolitan, please." I make her cocktail quickly. I hand her the drink and scan the bar for anyone else who might need another drink. I don't see anyone who needs a refill.
"Take a break," the girl says. "Talk with me." Not sure how to decline, I lean against the counter.
The girl sets down her drink and holds out her hand. "I'm Isabelle. Isabelle Lightwood. But you can call me Izzy." I shake her hand.
"Clary. It's nice to meet you." Isabelle, or Izzy, raises an eyebrow.
"Just Clary?"
"Morgenstern. Clarissa Morgenstern." Izzy gives me a strange look. Then her face goes back to normal and she takes a sip of her drink.
"Fancy name you have there." I give a small smile.
"Yeah. Wasn't exactly my choice."
We sit, or in my case stand, in silence for a little bit. But Izzy breaks it soon enough.
"So," she says. "How old are you?"
"I just turned eighteen." Her eyes widen in disbelief.
"Sorry if this offends you, but you really don't look eighteen." I'm about to tell her it's fine, but she just keeps talking. "I could've sworn I've seen you at this bar before. Isn't the legal age for a bartender eighteen?" Not wanting to explain the whole thing, I just shrug.
"My manager pulled a few strings. Started working here at age fifteen, started bartending when I was sixteen." Izzy nods.
"When did you turn eighteen?" she asks.
"Yesterday," I say. Her eyes brighten.
"Happy birthday!" I give a light laugh.
"Thanks."
Izzy and I talk for a little while longer. I learn that she's twenty two, she majored in fashion, she has her own boutique here in Manhattan which is right near The Plaza Hotel, she has two brothers and no sisters, and that she's lived in New York for about five years.
At a little before one, Izzy picks up her stuff, thanks me for providing drinks and talk, and exits the club. The bar is now empty. I start to wipe down the counters and clear the empty glasses. The club is still open for another hour, but the bar is now officially closed.
I finish washing all of the glasses. I pick up my bag from under the bar and I'm about to head out, when I notice the golden haired man walking up to me. I freeze not sure what to do. But instead of talking, he just lays down a twenty dollar bill and starts to walk out of the club.
"Wait!" I call at the last moment. The man turns around and looks at me. I blush, not sure what I was thinking. "Do you mind if I bring in a piece or two?" Surprisingly, the man smiles.
"Not at all."
I smile as I watch him walk out of the club.
"Who's that?" I hear Maia say from next to me. I shrug my shoulders.
"Not sure. I met him yesterday." She raises her eyebrow.
"That explains why I haven't seen him around here before." I nod. "Why did you ask for me to take him? I mean, it doesn't look like he was being a jerk to you or anything like-" I abruptly turn to Maia, cutting her off.
"I just wanted to avoid conversation," I snap. Maia looks a little taken aback. She just nods, and goes back to reorganizing the bottles and bottles on the back of the bar.
I pick up my bag and exit the bar area. I walk out of the club swiftly, pushing past people who still remain in the club. I walk down the streets of the city, making my way back to my apartment. I don't even bother to see if Simon is still in Central Park. That's how tired I am.
I open the door to the apartment as silently as I can. I enter the living space, relieved to see my brother passed out on the couch. I go to my room and start to get ready for bed.
I'm about to hit the hay, when I spot my sketchbook on my bed. As if in a trance, I'm drawn to the blank pages. Forgetting about how tired I am, I grab a pencil off of the floor and pick up my sketchbook. I open my window and step out onto the fire escape. I open the empty book and my pencil starts to move across the page.
An hour later, I look at my creation. I've drawn the man with the golden hair, sitting at the bar all alone. His bruise and cuts more noticeable in my drawing than in real life.
I shut my book and crawl back into my room. I throw my sketchbook on the floor, my pencil tucked into the spirals. Then without even pulling off the covers, I collapse onto my bed and fall into a deep sleep.
Jace
I can't sleep. No matter how hard I try, I can't sleep. All I can do is think about the red headed beauty who bartends at my new hang out spot. It's crazy to think I don't even know her name.
I flinch every time I think about what she said about her parents. How they would never let her leave Manhattan. My mind immediately assumed the worst. That she had a childhood like mine: abusive. So I watched her closely for the rest of the night. Trying to find any signs of her being abused. I didn't see anything. But she does seem to not trust people.
At the end of the night, I did see the red head talking with one of my good friends, Isabelle Lightwood.
Izzy and I met a few years ago at one of the underground fights. Her brother was there, and she was trying to talk him out of it. She went a little crazy and threatened the entire room of burly men to call the cops. That's usually how you get beat up or killed in a situation like that. So I politely escorted her out of the place. Then I told her I would try to help her brother. After that we just started hanging. Now she's like a sister to me.
The conversation Izzy had with the bartender was a pretty lengthy one. I'll have to ask her what the mysterious girl said. Maybe she knows her name.
At the end of the night, I was extremely surprised when she took me up on my offer of her art work. I hope she follows through with it. I'm interested in her talent.
I really should have guessed the red head was an artist. Her hands look like they were made to hold a pencil. And she looks like the person who has an artistic eye. Plus there's the fact that we ran into each other at an art store. At the end of the evening, I saw her looking around the club. Her hand was twitching in a way that mimicked holding a pencil.
I rub my own hands, my split knuckles coated in dried blood from my fight earlier. I had almost lost to a guy who was new in town. He was a huge dick that wouldn't keep his mouth shut. Kept talking about how he was going to "kick my ass." I was lucky to walk away with a win. I had one lucky shot at his nose which threw him off balance. He might have been new to the club, but it was apparent he was no stranger to underground fight clubs.
I put my arms behind my head and lay flat on my back. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and trying to relax. I finally drift off, the image of red hair and green eyes dancing through my mind.
A/N: Sorry about the late update! My computer went completely wack and deleted the last half of the chapter. So I had to rewrite it. Damn you, computer.
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-SneekAttack101