Harry slumped into The Leaky Tap, a local dive bar that catered to a certain select clientele. It wasn't a formal restriction, and there were some mundane locals rounding out the crowd on occasion, but from some combination of tradition, happenstance and convenience, this was a Protectorate hangout. Small and unassuming, but with a comfortable atmosphere and a wide selection of beers on tap, it also had the benefit of being less than a block away from the local PHQ.

While better known to the public as Singularity when in costume, Harry was, at this moment, just Harry. And Blue, the bartender, is, was, and always would be just the bartender.

The two had an understanding. Stories were traded for alcohol, with the unspoken agreement that said tales never left the mottled brown brick of the bar. For years this exchange was one of the highlights of both of their days. If Blue wasn't married and Harry wasn't painfully straight, the two would have moved in together years ago.

As it was, Blue just watched with a combination of curiosity and concern as Harry trudged his way to his usual barstool and plopped down onto it with a muffled whump. Sensing a story incoming, Blue kept up his end of the bargain preemptively, popping open a longneck and laying it down on top of a napkin within Harry's reach.

Harry grabbed it, taking a long pull, then thunked it back down, almost—but not quite—on the napkin.

It was a slow night, and Blue had nowhere else to be. He didn't have to wait long.

"You would not believe the day I've had," Harry started, without preamble.

"Try me," Blue replied, the traditional response. By this point in their relationship, he'd heard a lot, and the suspension on his disbelief was well and truly buffered. He wiped his hands on his dark green apron, tucked a small rag back into his back pocket, smoothed down his bushy gray mustache, then finally settled in to listen, leaning his back against the bar.

"So I was patrolling. Rooftops, not publicity." Harry took another swallow of his beer while Blue accepted the usual twinge of jealousy, knowing he'd never be able to fly. "And I start seeing shadows out of the corner of my eye. Little peeks. Something moving, not sure what."

Blue nodded. He slid the small bowl of spicy peanuts within reach of Harry, who took a fistful with unspoken thanks, popping one in his mouth every few words, chewing with his mouth open.

"I call it in, but it's nothing concrete. So I keep going. Start to catch more glimpses of whatever this thing was. I try to follow it, because it looks like bad news. Horns. Spikes. Claws. And it's big. Never a full picture, always darting just around the corner before I could get a good look at it. And I can move fast when I need to, but this thing was greased lightning. Scuttling up walls, hiding in shadows so I'd only realize I'd passed it when I saw a tail heading back the way I came, the works. Straight out of a horror film."

Harry scrunched up his face, five o'clock shadow shifting over his lantern jaw. A tiny bit of frustration entered his voice, which Blue knew was only a small part of what he must have felt. Even out of costume, in jeans and a local sports jersey, Harry kept close rein on himself. The sort of habits a Protectorate leader—albeit of one of the smaller departments—developed over the years.

"At this point console was asking around, looking for matches to the description, but I wasn't getting anything back yet. I couldn't get a solid look." Another peanut was tossed into his mouth, devoured with mechanical efficiency. "Just when I think I'm about to lose it for good, I see it attack. Broad daylight, this thing the size of a bus tackles a woman, picks her up right off the street, in front of a dozen witnesses. I'm shouting, she's screaming, I'm chasing, it's running down alleyways, people have their phones out, it's a mess."

Blue nodded slowly while Harry took another swig. This story had already earned him a second beer.

"I'm calling in backup when I finally manage to corner the thing in a blind alleyway. She's screaming, still alive, so I blast him." Harry made a finger-gun with one hand, closing one eye like he was aiming. Made a 'vorp' sound with his mouth, miming recoil. Blue had never actually seen Harry use his power in real life, so whenever he heard these stories, he imagined it actually sounded like that. It made the stories more interesting.

"It's still moving, growling, back to me, between me and the woman, who's still screaming. So I blast it again. And again. And again." More finger-guns, now with both barrels blazing. Blue raised an eyebrow. Four vorps? Nothing had ever stood up to four vorps before. "Finally, with one last roar, it stops moving." Harry mimed blowing invisible smoke from his fingertips, and Blue could see the exhaustion on his face, the circles under his eyes. Harry never mentioned more than half a dozen vorps in any one of his stories; seemed to take a lot out of him. Blue nodded again, satisfied on Harry's behalf.

"My aim is good, and the woman is still groaning, but quieter, so I think, 'score, damsel in distress saved'. Chalk up another one for the good guys." Harry paused to finish his beer. Blue had the replacement on the bar—on top of the first napkin—before Harry set the first one down on the polished wood.

"She's pinned beneath the monster—" Blue frowned a little at Harry's insensitivity, but the man just waved him off. "Don't give me that look, I don't care if it was a cee-fifty-three, it looked like a bear fucked an alligator in a nuclear power plant. Anyway, she's pinned, exhausted, clothes torn, maybe in shock. And you know what she says when I try to pull her out from under it?"

"Thanks?"

"Hell no. She said, and I quote, 'For fuck's sake, give me a minute to enjoy the afterglow'."

Blue paused. "Really?"

"Yeah. Apparently I interrupted an entirely consensual public dicking. Participated in it, even, hearing her talk about it."

The bartender was at a loss for words. Harry looked a bit dazed, retelling this story, but his second beer was untouched, and Blue didn't know what to do. He settled on a slightly uncomfortable silence, which Harry eventually broke, voice distant.

"You know the best part?"

Blue raised one graying eyebrow. "It gets better?"

"Yeah. She asked me for my number. Apparently my power is 'good enough for a repeat performance'. And then slipped me a Benjamin for not giving her 'another' public indecency citation." He reached into his pocket, then slapped the alleged hundred dollar bribe on the bar as proof. Blue didn't reach for it. The exchange was still in place, and his companion was earning those drinks.

At this point, at least, Blue knew the traditional words to say at the end of a tale like that. "Jesus, Harry. Only you."

"Right?"

Even though the ritual was complete, curiosity compelled Blue to ask a rare followup question. "And then, what, you just left them there?"

"I had to find a tarp first. He'd fallen asleep and she was... pinned there, until he woke up."

Blue snorted. "Typical man."

Harry just sat there in silence, contemplating his life choices.