Hey, dudes! Sorry the last chapter was so short; I just had no time, what
with school starting and all. Trust me, this one is much longer! All you
people who like my super-sneaky X-Men cameos in the prologue are going to
love this chapter!
Plus, if you have any trouble understanding some of the accents within my
story, just read those parts aloud. It really helps! ^_^
Chris Bannex: YOU ROCK!!!!!!!!!! I really hope this chapter lives up to your expectations!
Crono101: Will you review my later chapters PLEASE? And write more chapters of "A Gaurdian's Story"! The suspense is killing me!!!
And now, on with the story:
The Ace of Spades Bar and Poker House was very small, about the size of the average New Yorker's living room, and the walls were red and orange, like flames. The air inside was clear as crystal, unlike the smoke-filled joints that most people went to. The lights were dim, and gave the Ace of Spades a warm and pleasant aura. There were only about fifteen people inside, though, including the bartender, who were watching a football game on TV because he had nothing else to do. The rest of the inhabitants were all sitting at a large round table in the corner of the room, poring over a game of Blackjack. It's funny, thought Nuria, that everyone's playing Blackjack in a Poker House. Darn weird, I'll say. She stomped the wet, sticky snow off of her shoes as she was contemplating the oddness of the situation. Her half-brother, who was standing next to her, did the same, on a ratty flowered doormat that said "Have A Groovy Day" on it in faded rainbow-colored lettering.
Even though her father worked at the Ace of Spades, it was Nuria's first time there. Her parents were protective, and had forbid her to go to any bar in New York until she had reached the legal drinking age. She was sixteen, and her brother was fifteen, so she was directly disobeying her parents' orders by letting Alan go inside. Just the thought of her parents' reactions to Nuria's lack of judgment made Nuria's spine tingle. Maybe she should turn back and go home . . .
Nuria shook her head. Alan was a reasonable person; he must have had a good reason to see his stepfather in the middle of his second shift. Maybe something horrible had happened at his high school or something, and he had to talk to his stepfather about it. But why wouldn't he want to talk to Nuria about it?
"Yo!" Alan called out to the people in the corner. "What's up?" He took off his sweatshirt and squeezed out all of the melted snow that had collected itself inside the fabric.
One of the Blackjack players, a muscular man with a gray trench coat, raised a huge gloved hand and took off the large sunglasses he was wearing to reveal catlike yellow eyes. "Oh my stars and garters," he said.
He had a deep, intelligent voice, like a university teacher's, that clashed strangely with his appearance. "Cyke," He said to the bartender, jerking his head towards the two teenagers. "Look who's come to visit." Then he grinned toothily.
Something's wrong with that smile . . Nuria thought nervously. No one's teeth are that pointed . . .
The bartender, a square-jawed man with tousled copper hair, turned away from the football game and stared at Nuria and Alan.
"What are you kids doing in here?" He demanded, as the two teenagers walked over to the bar. "You shouldn't be in a place like this! What'll your parents say when they find out where you are?"
Jeez, thought Alan, zipping off the lower legs of his pants, making them shorts, and squeezing out the denim. We can take care of ourselves, you know.
The yellow-eyed man smirked, and shook his head at the bartender, as if to say, "What am I going to do with you?"
"Look at the girl, Scott." He said. "Doesn't she look familiar to you?
Scott looked Nuria over.
"Yeah . . ." He said slowly. "I think so. . But where from, I wonder?" Then he leaned forward and stared intently at Nuria.
Nuria stiffened. Scott's ruby-red glasses were so thick that she couldn't see his eyes clearly, but there seemed to be light emanating from them, shining through the crystalline material that his glasses were made of. That can't be right, Nuria thought, shivering slightly. I must be seeing things . . .
Finally, Scott leaned back, and quickly adjusted his glasses, which had been slipping slowly down the bridge of his nose.
"You're right, Hank," He said. He grinned, seemingly amused at how slow he had been. "She's John's spitting image."
Everyone else at the Blackjack player's table was watching them now. Alan appeared to be finished squeezing all the water out of his clothing, and was sitting at a nearby table, watching with an impatient expression on his face. Nuria raised her eyebrows.
"You're thinking John Allerdyce, right?" She leaned one arm against the counter. "Well, you're right, I'm his daughter, and I'd like to know where he is."
One of the other blackjack players, a middle-aged woman with long, red hair and a green cotton cardigan, got up, and smiled.
"Come with me," she said, her soft, gentle voice warming Nuria's cold, wet body from head to toe. "I'll show you where he is."
Nuria paused, and slowly nodded. She recognized that woman from somewhere, but she couldn't put her finger on where. Nuria couldn't help but feel comfortable around her, as if she had known her all her life. Nuria beckoned to Alan, and he got up, got his still-wet clothes and followed the redheaded woman to a small door behind the counter. The woman paused next to Scott and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then led the teenagers out of the Ace of Spades, and as soon as the three of them were out the door, Scott's face turned as red as the woman's hair.
*****************************************
The door led the three of them into another gray alley, but was filled with wooden crates containing various types of alcohol. It was so closed up, it was like a room, and there was barely any walking space. Alan shut the door, then felt it click. Oops, he thought. Bad idea.
The redheaded woman stopped dead in the middle of the alley, and looked around.
"John isn't in here, just so you two know," she said. "He's a block away, helping a trucker unload more crates."
Alan smirked. Well, then, lady, he thought, why did you lead us in here if we were supposed to go over there? The door's locked now, so we're trapped in a room of boxes, for god's sake!
Then Nuria and Alan felt a strange presence pass through their minds, like a warm glow. A picture of a bird came into their minds, a bird whose feathers were made of fire. The redheaded woman opened her eyes, and the presence disappeared, back into the oblivion from whence it came. The woman's hair, which had been tied up in a tight ponytail, seemed to have frizzed out a little when her eyes were closed.
"We're not trapped," The redheaded woman said, as if replying to Alan's thoughts. "I can get us out of here. And also, please don't call me 'Lady'. My name is Jean Grey. And now, I'll show you how we're getting out."
Chris Bannex: YOU ROCK!!!!!!!!!! I really hope this chapter lives up to your expectations!
Crono101: Will you review my later chapters PLEASE? And write more chapters of "A Gaurdian's Story"! The suspense is killing me!!!
And now, on with the story:
The Ace of Spades Bar and Poker House was very small, about the size of the average New Yorker's living room, and the walls were red and orange, like flames. The air inside was clear as crystal, unlike the smoke-filled joints that most people went to. The lights were dim, and gave the Ace of Spades a warm and pleasant aura. There were only about fifteen people inside, though, including the bartender, who were watching a football game on TV because he had nothing else to do. The rest of the inhabitants were all sitting at a large round table in the corner of the room, poring over a game of Blackjack. It's funny, thought Nuria, that everyone's playing Blackjack in a Poker House. Darn weird, I'll say. She stomped the wet, sticky snow off of her shoes as she was contemplating the oddness of the situation. Her half-brother, who was standing next to her, did the same, on a ratty flowered doormat that said "Have A Groovy Day" on it in faded rainbow-colored lettering.
Even though her father worked at the Ace of Spades, it was Nuria's first time there. Her parents were protective, and had forbid her to go to any bar in New York until she had reached the legal drinking age. She was sixteen, and her brother was fifteen, so she was directly disobeying her parents' orders by letting Alan go inside. Just the thought of her parents' reactions to Nuria's lack of judgment made Nuria's spine tingle. Maybe she should turn back and go home . . .
Nuria shook her head. Alan was a reasonable person; he must have had a good reason to see his stepfather in the middle of his second shift. Maybe something horrible had happened at his high school or something, and he had to talk to his stepfather about it. But why wouldn't he want to talk to Nuria about it?
"Yo!" Alan called out to the people in the corner. "What's up?" He took off his sweatshirt and squeezed out all of the melted snow that had collected itself inside the fabric.
One of the Blackjack players, a muscular man with a gray trench coat, raised a huge gloved hand and took off the large sunglasses he was wearing to reveal catlike yellow eyes. "Oh my stars and garters," he said.
He had a deep, intelligent voice, like a university teacher's, that clashed strangely with his appearance. "Cyke," He said to the bartender, jerking his head towards the two teenagers. "Look who's come to visit." Then he grinned toothily.
Something's wrong with that smile . . Nuria thought nervously. No one's teeth are that pointed . . .
The bartender, a square-jawed man with tousled copper hair, turned away from the football game and stared at Nuria and Alan.
"What are you kids doing in here?" He demanded, as the two teenagers walked over to the bar. "You shouldn't be in a place like this! What'll your parents say when they find out where you are?"
Jeez, thought Alan, zipping off the lower legs of his pants, making them shorts, and squeezing out the denim. We can take care of ourselves, you know.
The yellow-eyed man smirked, and shook his head at the bartender, as if to say, "What am I going to do with you?"
"Look at the girl, Scott." He said. "Doesn't she look familiar to you?
Scott looked Nuria over.
"Yeah . . ." He said slowly. "I think so. . But where from, I wonder?" Then he leaned forward and stared intently at Nuria.
Nuria stiffened. Scott's ruby-red glasses were so thick that she couldn't see his eyes clearly, but there seemed to be light emanating from them, shining through the crystalline material that his glasses were made of. That can't be right, Nuria thought, shivering slightly. I must be seeing things . . .
Finally, Scott leaned back, and quickly adjusted his glasses, which had been slipping slowly down the bridge of his nose.
"You're right, Hank," He said. He grinned, seemingly amused at how slow he had been. "She's John's spitting image."
Everyone else at the Blackjack player's table was watching them now. Alan appeared to be finished squeezing all the water out of his clothing, and was sitting at a nearby table, watching with an impatient expression on his face. Nuria raised her eyebrows.
"You're thinking John Allerdyce, right?" She leaned one arm against the counter. "Well, you're right, I'm his daughter, and I'd like to know where he is."
One of the other blackjack players, a middle-aged woman with long, red hair and a green cotton cardigan, got up, and smiled.
"Come with me," she said, her soft, gentle voice warming Nuria's cold, wet body from head to toe. "I'll show you where he is."
Nuria paused, and slowly nodded. She recognized that woman from somewhere, but she couldn't put her finger on where. Nuria couldn't help but feel comfortable around her, as if she had known her all her life. Nuria beckoned to Alan, and he got up, got his still-wet clothes and followed the redheaded woman to a small door behind the counter. The woman paused next to Scott and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then led the teenagers out of the Ace of Spades, and as soon as the three of them were out the door, Scott's face turned as red as the woman's hair.
*****************************************
The door led the three of them into another gray alley, but was filled with wooden crates containing various types of alcohol. It was so closed up, it was like a room, and there was barely any walking space. Alan shut the door, then felt it click. Oops, he thought. Bad idea.
The redheaded woman stopped dead in the middle of the alley, and looked around.
"John isn't in here, just so you two know," she said. "He's a block away, helping a trucker unload more crates."
Alan smirked. Well, then, lady, he thought, why did you lead us in here if we were supposed to go over there? The door's locked now, so we're trapped in a room of boxes, for god's sake!
Then Nuria and Alan felt a strange presence pass through their minds, like a warm glow. A picture of a bird came into their minds, a bird whose feathers were made of fire. The redheaded woman opened her eyes, and the presence disappeared, back into the oblivion from whence it came. The woman's hair, which had been tied up in a tight ponytail, seemed to have frizzed out a little when her eyes were closed.
"We're not trapped," The redheaded woman said, as if replying to Alan's thoughts. "I can get us out of here. And also, please don't call me 'Lady'. My name is Jean Grey. And now, I'll show you how we're getting out."