Clarity (Open)

[Adrian Phoenix]

It was funny, in an ironic kinda way. That millions of men had sought immortality throughout the ages, putting their faith in everything from religious rituals to gods to elusive mountain springs. And here he was, a prisoner of eternity, granted a 'gift' countless had sought since the dawn of time and all he wanted was to be rid of it. For all those who thirsted for life everlasting were fools, men lost to the fear of the unknown, never realizing that eternal life was a fate so much worse than death. Without death, life had no meaning. It's entire purpose was to prepare you for the inevitable end, but if there was none, what meaning did it hold? What was the meaning of life when life had no meaning?

Adrian had come to realize that immortality was not life eternal. Life was the urgency that came with knowing your time was running out. Life was that which made time so important. Life was what gave passion to love, the elusive force that made human beings enter each day with unbridled fervor and passion. It was an existence far from his. While he never died, he never lived either. Instead he was caught in between, forever trapped in limbo, chained at the edge of oblivion, his soul long since lost while his body lingered, doomed to remain in this despicable half-life for eternity. It was enough to make any man a little depressed. Hell, it was enough to drive any man insane, and Adrian wasn't so sure it hadn't.

If there was one good thing to come from all this, it was that he had learned the true value of life, of mortality. That was the true gift, the true miracle which man should seek and strive for. The ability to die was far more precious then humanity seemed to think, and their constant questing to defy death and squander away their greatest boon felt almost like an insult to the one cursed to live when all around him died and withered. If the Others were to be believed, that was his purpose. To remain, eternal, until the end of time. He could vaguely recall believing that once, of feeling so utterly secure in his purpose, his destiny, that it filled his every cell with confidence that bordered on arrogance, of being so absolutely certain of his superiority. Part of him longed to feel that once more, yet he couldn't help but doubt that which once had seemed so clear. It was like he was looking into the mind of someone else, yet they had been him. Except not.

He was broken, shattered like the silvered glass of a mirror, his mind fragmented into a million pieces. Each piece, each fragment a being all of it's own, brought to a mockery of life when another vanished into the oblivion of his mind once. He wasn't even granted the luxury of being a complete person, instead condemned to being a mere shard of another, the mental ghost of a man lost to eternity.

Sometimes, his efforts to piece together the puzzle of his past felt so utterly futile. For every question he answered, a hundred more emerged. Every time he thought he found the memory of his first self, he realized that there had been another hundred before. The lifetimes were staggering, reaching back past the birth of Christ, yet even that seemed to only be the beginning. His mind held faint echoes of civilizations long lost to time, and his skin still bore the tattooed ghosts of their tongue. He knew not the signs, yet his mind echoed their meanings. Tales of being cursed or chosen, prayers to ancient gods for forgiveness or strength, stories in remembrance of lost loves.

Adrian pulled back the sleeve of his black suit, revealing the slowly fading mess of tattoos that lined his forearm. Some where new, their colors having only recently lost their splendor, while others were old, much of their strength and clarity lost to the ravages of his powers. Beneath it all, he could see the ghosts of the long forgotten past, signs and images so weak he could not be sure they were actually there, and not just the whispers of his lost memories.

Still wearing his work clothes, a plain yet fitting black suit and a white shirt with the top button undone and no tie, Adrian found his hand reaching for the glass resting on the bar, only to discover it empty. Alcohol couldn't touch him even on a good day, but there was something relaxing in the act itself. Helped his mind let go a little. The original hope was that he'd get one of his famous insights into his current case, but so far he'd had little luck in that department. He'd had the 'luck' of getting the department's most high profile case, the long chain of serial killings that had plagued New York for the last few months. The media was all over it, and the last thing Adrian needed was to be put under the microscope. While the fake identity he'd had forged for himself was so good it had fooled both the police and the FBI, he didn't feel like pushing his luck, especially considering how little of it he'd seemed to have had of it in the last few weeks.

So far, the only thing he'd been able to discern was that the killer wasn't only a mutant, but actually using his powers to kill directly. It wasn't something he was too happy about. God only know that the last thing the mutant world needed at this point was yet another reason for mankind to hate and fear them. But Adrian had sworn to bring the guilty to justice, with or without the law, and he wasn't about to let anyone, especially not as heinous a murderer as this one, get away because it inconvenienced the mutant community. No, he'd hunt this man to the end of the world if he had to.

"Loomis, fill me up would you?" He asked of the six armed, one-eyed bartender, getting a silent nod and another glass of whiskey in response. "Thanks"

He liked this bar, and he visited it fairly frequently. Least once a week, with that number rising into double digits whenever he was working a tough case, which as of late seemed to be always. So he supposed he could be considered something of a regular. It was a good dive, to be honest, and probably the only place he returned to with any kind of regularity, even despite his tendency to always try new things. The drinks were good, and once or twice he'd run into one of people from the Xavier Institute, more then a few who made fascinating company, as he loved to listen to the tales of their more then slightly interesting lives. All life fascinated him immensely, but the tales of the Institutes inhabitants stirred him in ways few others could. Their existence was just so full of passion, virtual maelstroms of emotion and torment and bliss. A existence that stood in stark contrast to the muted, cold life he lived, a state that had little to do with it's lack of leather uniforms and expensive military airplanes.

The only thing that bugged him was that every time he said he was sorry for never having meet the late Charles Xavier, he felt like he was lying...

[Mark Sheppard]

Eight years…It had been eight years since he had last seen his mother alive; Last seen her smile, last heard her sing, last said I love you. Eight years, and yet the pain was still as raw as it had been the day she was taken from him. Of course, his father’s illness at the time hadn’t helped matters either. While the young boy should have been mourning the loss of his beloved mother, he instead was forced to man up and be strong for his father. Already weakened by the cancer, the devastating loss of his wife was of no help to the once seemingly invincible man. It had killed Mark to see his father crumble as he had. Hell, when not even a Red Sox game could cheer him up, the boy knew things would never be the same. His mother’s death only proved to intensify the pain within his father, and although Mark would have given anything to bring his father back to health, he knew there was just too much damage to repair. Losing the love of his life had caused James Sheppard to lose his will to live. It was her he had lived for, and though Mark knew his father loved him, not even he could save him.

Eight years later and here he stood, outside of Harry’s Hideaway contemplating entrance. There were only two times a year when DJ would drink, or rather, get drunk, one being his birthday, and the other on the anniversary of his mother’s death, because on that day, while he may have only lost one parent physically, he had actually lost both emotionally. He needed to stop this, on this day his morals were thrown out the window, and despite the guilt he felt, he for some reason couldn’t stop it. He had tried last year, and once again had succumbed to the lure of numbness. On this day he drank the pain away, he drank away all of the memories that tortured him, drank away life following his mother and father’s deaths. Being thrown from foster home to foster home even if only for a year, had done a number on the boy. He learned then how heartless and cruel the world could be. The people that took him in didn’t even want a child, they wanted a tax write-off, and as sad as that were to say, it was inevitably true. This year should have been different, but as usual, it wasn’t.

His iPod carefully stashed in his inner coat pocket, Mark was well aware that using his powers with his emotions running as highly as they were on this night, would be disastrous. The brown-haired man only hoped that the music in the bar wouldn’t be overly loud, if he could avoid concentrating on it, the night would turn out much better. Inhaling deeply, the stench of New York overtaking him, he conceded and entered the bar just as he had since he had gotten a fake ID when he was 17. That was something Xavier’s didn’t know about, at least they hadn’t mentioned anything. Everyone at the Institute had their secrets; this was his.

His blue eyes scanned the bar hoping to catch glimpse of a familiar face. Drinking alone just made the night that much worse, thus he needed to find someone, anyone, that would put up with his shit for the night. Lord knew he probably wouldn’t be very good company, but sometimes bad company was better than none at all. Azure orbs landed upon a face already sitting at the bar and apparently requesting a drink from Loomis. The bartender was one DJ saw each time he made an appearance here, sometimes the bar would host performances, and occasionally the handsome mutant would take the stage himself. His music though was more suited for coffee houses and the like, but covering 80’s rock material always seemed to be a crowd pleaser.

Clad in his usual teaching attire of black slacks and a colored button-up, blue today, he approached the bar aiming for a seat next to the aforementioned man. He was older than Mark, that much was obvious, and he was dressed smartly, but there was something else about him. If Mark didn’t know better, he’d think this guy were having a worse day than him. Looking more closely, he took a guess and made an assumption that this guy may even have had a worse life than him. Sure, losing both parents before you can drive is detrimental to a person, but this guy…something had definitely messed him up. Raising his hand to Loomis, he received a nod and gestured for his usual, Chivas on the rocks. It was a strong drink, but the kick was exactly what Mark needed tonight. Perching himself on the stool next to the dark-haired man, he spoke. “Life sucks, huh?” His drink now before him, he lifted it to his lips, downing the harsh substance, and wincing as it burned its way down his throat.

[Melissa Gold]

Mimi was singing along with the radio as she came out of the backroom, pushing the door open with her back as she balanced a large tray of newly washed glasses between both hands. For a second, while the door was held open, the music from the radio could be heard behind her, supporting her voice, and then the door swung shut again and she was singing alone.

It was rare that Mimi sang alone anymore. She would sing along with the radio or belt one out with the karaoke machine, but it was always someone else’s song sung someone else’s way, it was never just her. That was part of her old life, one that was it was easiest just to forget entirely. So she hummed, she whistled, she laughed, she played drums on the countertop, but she rarely ever sang.

Even now that she was singing, it was something light and careless, generically cheerful. Her voice had power and talent, but she disguised it through silliness and exaggeration, pretending that she was over trying in order to hide she wasn’t trying.

Setting the tray on the shelf behind the bar, she began stacking the glasses neatly on top of it. She’d switched from singing to humming, noticing that the bar was now crowded with customers. It had been mostly empty when she’d headed back to fetch the glasses, and had she realized that it had filled up in her absence, she probably would have stopped singing before she left the room.

DJ was sitting in front of Loomis, and she watched through the mirror over the bar as he looked sourly into his whiskey glass. She had a small, secret crush on the quiet music teacher, who came down to the bar occasionally to drink or play music, but she’d never done anything more about it then the same casual banter she kept up with most of her customers. In the hierarchy of mutant life, Xavier teachers ranked several dozen notches above bartenders on the dating ladder, which is why she never made much about the small crush. Luckily with her bright, friendly personality and the bar’s large male client base, there was always someone interested in her. And she usually picked the worst of the lot.

“Aren’t you two exceptionally cheerful looking tonight.” She said, referring to both DJ and his drinking partner for the evening, the introspective and moody Adrian, who, in her experience, had always preferred to drink alone. A nice guy, just terribly deep and troubled and unusually uninterested in her company. “Shall we fire up the country music section of the jukebox? Loomy’s got a great song in which the man’s wife leaves, his dog dies, and his truck gets stolen. It even bums me out a little.”

Mimi’s good mood was legendary at the bar, which is part of the reason she rarely sang. Her powers were so mixed up in her music that any time she sang, her mood would just spill out over those around her, contaminating them and infecting them. Had she sang more often, people would realize that under all the laughter, the teasing comments, lighthearted flirting, and the constant energy, she was really just as lonely and miserable as everyone else.

^{(ooc: Mimi’s ability means that when she sings, it affects your mood with whatever she’s feeling. If you choose to feel the effect, she’s in a good mood. Not great, not bad, just content with life and happy to be busy. Do what you will with it.)}

[Adrian Phoenix]

Despite his introspective and somewhat cynical demeanor, Adrian wasn't that discontent with life. Sure, it had it's downsides, but it also had the smell of fresh flowers, honey on toast sandwiches and sunny Sunday mornings in bed. It was one of those things you learned when you got older, roughly around two centuries or so, that life, despite all the dark sides, was mostly a good thing. It had it's moments of darkness, but Adrian had come to realize that a single moment with the one you loved was worth a hundred years of pain. For all the memories of sorrow and loss, the fleeting minutes of joy outshone them all. It was his memories of playing with his children that kept him going and the prospect of uncovering another day spent in the peaceful company of one of the women he'd loved that kept him searching. And while he would not lie and say that the memories of their deaths brought him no pain, it was tempered by the knowledge that it was inevitable. All things died to him, and it was his destiny to remain, forever, in their wake. Yet he had more then once decided that he would not let that stop him from experiencing the all too fleeting moments of happiness that entered his eternal existence.

Unfortunately, it seemed that little of the world shared his viewpoint, and the new arrival at the bar seemed no exception. Adrian was a pretty perceptive person, but you didn't need to be to notice the almost palpable waves of grief, sorrow and anger coming off the young man currently taking a seat next to him. The kid, least he was one from Adrian's perspective, was quite clearly depressed about something, which his declaration of "Life sucks, huh?" only seemed to enforce.

"Not so bad." Adrian replied honestly, polishing off the last of his drink before giving the kid a knowledgeable half-smile. "Not so bad at all." He recognized the pain well enough, and he could imagine the thoughts going through the young man's mind. Anger, grief, guilt over whatever it was he blamed himself for not having done differently. How many times hadn't he felt the same, asking himself what if over and over again until his guilt was clear and the blame rested on him? How many times hadn't his own loss made him seek solace at the bottom of a bottle? The crux was, alcohol held no comfort for a man it could not touch. Adrian was out of it's grasp, while his new companion was all too near.

Grief was a terrible, terrible thing, worse then any blade and more dangerous then any gun. It didn't kill your body, but it wounded your soul. Once it dug it claws into your heart, it took a lot for it to let go, and until it did it would eat at you from within, hurting you worse then any weapon ever could, and driving you to continue it's work. Adrian was all too familiar with it's tempting darkness, having succumbed to it more then once in his countless lifes, even though his memories of those times was, like the rest of it, shattered and broken. As hard as it was for him to face, the fact was that what little he had recovered was just fragments, broken images and single events. He remembered much of little, but he still didn't have the full life of even one incarnation. Just a single day here and an hour there, just enough to know what he no longer had and tempt him with the happy memories of his past. Memories that were, it seemed, vastly outnumbered by their darker twins.

Adrian was half contemplating asking for the kid's story, partially out of compassion and partially out of curiosity. The details of man and mutant kind was a fascinating subject to him, especially when one considered how his unique condition seemed to set him apart from them at every turn, barring him forever from truly being one of them. He could pretend, put on a mask and imagine he was no different from any of them, but it would be a lie. And Adrian was far too old and cynical to fall for it, no matter how hard he tried to fool himself. Maybe that was why he was so fond of hearing the tales of others, in a desperate attempt to understand all the aspects of humanity he could no longer remember and never learn.

Luckily, it seemed any eventual attempts at converting another soul to the light would not be done alone, as the bar's waitress and shinning ray of light saw fit to grace them with her presence. Thanks to a overpowering thirst for knowledge, Adrian had, like he so often did, uncovered a few facts about the young woman who worked here. As it was, her voice could sway the spirit, imparting joy or sorrow merely through her songs. And while Adrian's spirit was far too heavy with the weight of the ages to be so easily swayed, even he could not resist smiling as she entered the room, her talented voice once again at work.

He watched her as she glanced at them through the mirror, and for a second he almost though he saw... no, his old mind had to be playing tricks on him. Even he wasn't that perceptive... was he? Ahh well, none of his business, no, none of his business at all. Then again, when had that ever stopped him before?

As it was, the young songbird picked just that time to interrupt any and every plan he had to move on his thoughts with the more then slightly sarcastic statement of “Aren’t you two exceptionally cheerful looking tonight.”

"Why, miss Gold, are you insinuating I am anything but utterly and perfectly happy?" He responded, oh so wittily. Girl had a point though. He did project a somewhat... somber air, to put it lightly. Could they blame him? He'd seen far more of the world then any man had a right to see, and he''d experienced far more darkness then any man was meant to experience. Even so, he liked to think he wasn't that depressing a character. Just a little... realistic. About his destiny, and what it had in store for him. While he certainly intended to never hold back for fear of heartbreak, he wasn't so blinded that he lost sight of the fact that he was still most likely going to outlast everything and everyone on the planet, and possibly even the planet itself.

"And I appreciate the offer, but I think you'd better hold the country. I've had enough pain to last me a thousand years. Maybe next millennium." Adrian finished with a cryptic smile. In here, he wasn't all that worried about revealing just what his power was. He was, after all, among equals. Or, least those more equal in genes then humanity.

"So, tell me, my somber young friend." He said, turning once more to the man next to him. "What's your story?"

[Melissa Gold]

"Why, miss Gold, are you insinuating I am anything but utterly and perfectly happy?"

“I’m insinuating that you look like someone’s gone and left you in charge of telling kids they’re puppy’s got cancer.” She shot back, winking at him through the mirror over the bar. Adrian was one of the better guys at the bar, a little dark and troubled, but friendly enough.

"And I appreciate the offer, but I think you'd better hold the country. I've had enough pain to last me a thousand years. Maybe next millennium."

She had a shot back for that too, but Loomis quickly cleared his throat and directed her over to the cash register, where a couple was waiting to close out their tab. She shot the boys a “duty calls” look of apology and headed over to help them.

As she walked she sang, more to herself then anyone else, although she was just loud enough for Adrian to hear: “He finally drank his pain away a little at a time, But he never could get drunk enough thing off his mind, until the night…”

She switched off to humming as she flipped the cash register on and started clicking off buttons on the touch screen. She really did love her job, and her customers. It wasn’t quite the Metropolitan Opera, but it was good enough. And for Mimi, good enough was more then she usually got

[Mark Sheppard]

"Not so bad…Not so bad at all."

He threw a slanted smile in the man’s direction, rather surprised with his response. For a guy who had looked quite depressed moments before, the smile he flashed to Mark wasn’t one of melancholy, but more empathetic towards to younger man. His blue eyes gleamed with mild confusion at the man’s statement. Such a stoic manner prior to his seating beside Adrian, the elder now held a lighter air to him.

“Aren’t you two exceptionally cheerful looking tonight?…Shall we fire up the country music section of the jukebox? Loomy’s got a great song in which the man’s wife leaves, his dog dies, and his truck gets stolen. It even bums me out a little.”

His eyes lifting from the now empty glass before, his eyes met Harry’s other resident bartender, Melissa Gold. The mimicrist would need to be blind to deny Mimi’s beauty; from the varying violet hues of her mane, to her fair skin; any man, woman, and child alike would need to be completely ignorant to miss her splendor. He’d never delved too deeply in conversation with her; not that he could clearly remember. Then again though, when he got drunk; he got really, really drunk.

The dark-haired man’s response was one that brought another smile to DJ’s face. It was surprising that on a day when things were usually so awful and gloomy, that he sat here actually smiling when he wasn’t completely obliterated with alcohol. The feeling wasn’t one he had been accustomed to on this day. Never before had he been able to crack even the slightest hint of a grin, yet here he sat with Mimi and Adrian appearing almost happy. The revelation was a welcomed relief to his usual sorrow over the occasion. His grin widened as he listened to the playful banter the other engaged in; a weight lifting from his chest, leaving him room to breathe normally.

"So, tell me, my somber young friend. What's your story?"

Surprised to see the attention had shifted back upon himself, Mark was slightly taken aback by the inquisition. Most often it was the bartender one would tell their problems to, not a stranger who was also consuming the alcohol that soothed the handsome teacher on days such as these. His blue eyes met those of the elder man; those which held a distinct wisdom; as if he had been through all that Mark had and more, yet was stronger because of it. The feeling was odd, but as he heard the beautiful bartender’s light humming, he became open to sharing his solemn story with the man to his right.

“Eight years ago today my mother was killed in a car accident; all because of some idiot’s lack of attention. A woman who never hurt a single soul was taken from everyone who loved her, and everyone she loved. It’s not the other driver I blame though; that’s all on me. She wouldn’t have even been on the road if it weren’t for me. Me and my stupid music.” He raised his hand to Loomis again, Mimi appeared to be otherwise occupied. Another double shot placed before him, he quickly knocked it back. “Kinda pathetic, right? Get over it already, move on. I’ve tried, believe me, I’ve tried, but on just this one day I guess it’s only right that I’m tortured.” Reaching his hand out to the man who was still technically a stranger to him, Mark’s face twisted from a sour frown, to a brief sarcastic smile. “I’m Mark, by the way; sorry to lay everything out there like that.”

[Adrian Phoenix]

As the young man divulged the tale of losing his mother, Adrian couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy towards the kid, the story and emotions behind it bringing up memories of his own. Loved ones lost to sickness or violence, and all too often the unstoppable ravages of time that seemed to rob him of all he held dear time and time again.

He was no stranger to the guilt either, that black void in your heart were the people you loved used to be, whispering to you that it was all your fault, repeating it's lies over and over until the turned to truth and you couldn't imagine ever thinking different. It burned into your gut like a bullet, ripped out your insides and ate you away until you were just a shell, an empty husk of what you used to be. The kid wasn't there yet, but he would, sooner or later. Just a matter of time before the one day a year became a week, then a month, then two and so on until he came looking for answers at the bottom of that bottle every damn day. And then it would be too late. Too late to do anything but sink deeper into that dark pit of despair until you drowned, lost yourself to it's cold, numbing touch and never looked back, never even remembering a time when there had been anything but the sorrow.

Adrian be damned if he'd let that happen without doing a goddamn thing to stop it. He was a cop, the old kind, the honest kind. The kind that knew that wearing the badge meant more then just putting people in jail. It was about helping people, standing up for the ones who'd had their legs swept away by the cruel, harsh reality of the world, and doing it for more then a measly paycheck and a pat on the back. It was about being a human being.

But you didn't fix guilt with a snap of the fingers and some good intentions. No, it was harder to kill then that. Harder to kill then any man ever was, immortal or otherwise. It dug in so deep you'd never really get it out. Best thing you could hope for was peace, of forgetting the bad for long enough that your mind made sense of it again and you could get on with your life.

But you never forgot, not really. It never went away, never disappeared and left you alone. It always came back, right when you thought you were finally free from it, when you thought that at long last you'd found serenity. Right then it hit you like a punch to the gut, and you felt all that sorrow, all that grief and pain and sadness coming right on back, reminding you of all those things you were never gonna feel again.

And that wasn't a bad thing. Because as much pain as remembering brought you, forgetting was so much, much worse. It didn't solve anything, didn't help you. Not really. You still had the guilt, still had all that darkness, but now you didn't even remember why. The best you could do was to remember. Not the loss, but what went before that. All those tiny little moments that had seemed so insignificant and trivial back then, but looking back, you realized they were the ones that mattered the most, mattered more then anything else ever would. And then you just held on. You kept them close to your heart, close enough to remind you that it wasn't your fault. Close enough to keep all that darkness at bay.

"Listen kid..." he said, not really sure how the hell to put this. "You'll never get over it. Your gonna carry it with you 'till the day you die. But this... this ain't no way to remember. You let the guilt tell you into thinking this is your fault, let it control you like this... it'll kill you. It'll swallow you whole and it ain't never gonna let go. And trust me, you don't want that, no matter how bad you think you deserve it."

He reached out with his scarred, callused hand, wrapping it around the kid's and giving it a strong shake. "Name's Adrian. For now." he added, with the crooked half-smile it took you two lifetimes to perfect.

[Melissa Gold]

Mimi only caught the tail end of the conversation when she returned, the bit that went “Hey, I’m Adrian”, or something close. She missed everything that came before, which was probably for the best. She loved her job at the bar, she loved her clients, and she loved listening to them share little, private bits of their lives with her. There was a constant sense of connection and intimateness that came with the profession that filled a need somewhere deep inside her. She needed to that connection with others, and the job provided it. It provided it in a false, superficial way that didn’t come with the risks of true connection or true intimateness, but it was safer that way. It was drinking without the risk of getting drunk, but without the buzz too. But Mimi had gone her whole life without that, so she barely noticed it wasn’t there.

But while she loved the people in the bar, she didn’t do well with the sob stories. The customers, they did have real sob stories. Horrible, tragic, terrible things that no person should have to experience or remember, things that would never fully disappear or go away. But, when you grow up homeless on the street because your dad’s missing and your mom’s in prison for stabbing her crack dealer, when you are stepped on every time you try to crawl out of the sewer of your life, you end up with a real skewed sale of tragedy. Having your wife leave you, only getting to see your kid every other weekend, being turned down for a promotion, having your mother get hit by a car. They were horrible things, and Mimi really did feel for them. But she often failed to understand why the person had such a hard time learning to live with them, why they acted as if they were the end of the world, the ultimate tragedy.

Which is why it was probably best that she turned back up on the “Hey” bit, although before she could make a joke about what Adrian’s name was going to be next week (she was torn between Mungo and Sparky the Wonderdog), she was dragged away on another drink order.

He spoke in a rush of words that all sort of tumbled out together into nonsense. “Miller” and “two” were the only words that made sense and she took them at face value, filling up two glasses and presenting them with one of her usual smiles. He was a young man, tall and dark-haired, clearly new to the bar and a little nervous about his surroundings. She’d noticed him when he’d come in, a new face among a group of her favorite regulars: the noisy, rowdy, college-age boys who usually kept her nights interesting and busy. She’d also noticed him standing at the bar, stalling off Loomis’s attempt to wait on him with indecision and muttering, trying not to be caught watching her. So she wasn’t surprised when her delivery of the beer was rewarded with a second rush of words that included both a “thank you” and a request for her phone number.

“Sure thing.” She said perkily, as she always did when the boys mistook her friendliness for interest. Grabbing a matchbook from the bowl at the counter, she presented it to him with a seriousness that was almost believable. The matchbook bore the bar’s name, address, and phone number, all mixed up in a cheep graphic art design that had been overpaid for sometime in the early nineties and clung to religiously ever sense. “There you go. Don’t call before 4 because no one will be here. Let me know if you guys need anything else.”

Mimi had long ago stopped keeping track of the number of times she was asked out in a night, and instead had developed her energy to developing dozens different ways of turning them down. Some were meaner others, some funnier, others were more complex. But they all had the same quality in that the end, no one had her phone number except her and Loomis.

“What’s wrong with that one?” Loomis asked, watching the boy turn and wake away with clear disapproval. It had been nearly a week since Mimi had ended her last troubled, destructive relationship and the old bartender clearly thought it was time for her to move on, preferably into something healthy, normal, and non-violent. Mimi, however, was unsurprisingly hesitant about rejoining the dating world and, also unsurprisingly, uninterested in talking about it.

“Come one, you know I’m just holding out for Adrian, who she knew wouldn't take offense at her comments.” Mimi countered easily, winking at Adrian. “He’s keeps pretending he’s not in love with me, but we all know he is. It’s in his eyes.”

“Right.” Loomis said, letting the conversation drop and heading off to do something else. Mimi laughed at her victory, and leaned against the bar.

“So, besides Adrian’s secret love for me, what else is new?”

[Mark Sheppard]

"Listen kid...You'll never get over it. Your gonna carry it with you 'till the day you die. But this... this ain't no way to remember. You let the guilt tell you into thinking this is your fault, let it control you like this... it'll kill you. It'll swallow you whole and it ain't never gonna let go. And trust me, you don't want that, no matter how bad you think you deserve it."

Mark hung his head in shame. This man was absolutely right. His mother’s death had taken over his life, he blamed himself, and in doing so punished himself for the actions of another. He heard the man’s words loud and clear, and was surprised the man seemed to know exactly what to say. His guilt had eaten away at him for years, it never relinquished its hold upon him until this moment. Suddenly, it was as if the weight that had been anchoring him down for the last eight years, was slowly lifting away from his slim form.

"Name's Adrian. For now."

Shaking hands with the man, blue eyes meeting deep brown orbs, the younger man felt at ease, truly at ease for the first time in years. Over one/third of his life had been spent mourning the loss of his parents, and now, with one meeting of the knowledgeable gentleman the tragedy’s hold on him lessened dramatically. Mark wondered exactly who this man was, how he held such wisdom. He assumed that the older fellow simply had more life experience; the lanky music teacher was only twenty-three, how much could he really know. He had been forced to mature more quickly than most, and the loss of his parents had been life-altering. This, though giving him a certain degree of wisdom, by no means meant that he was a master of understanding and helping those in other traumatic situations.

The man was a brilliant listener, more than happy to lend his ear to another to vent about their frustrations, pains, and even happiness; but this didn’t mean he was qualified to give advice. Knowing the self-doubt he had, Mark had always shied away from doing so; the last thing he wanted to do was give poor advice to someone who truly needed help. The way he looked at it, no advice was better than bad advice. His cerulean gaze moved again, this time landing upon the stunning violet haired bartender. He sobered up considerably, remembering the brief flirtatious banter she and Adrian had been involved in earlier and his eyebrow quirked. “Nice to meet ya, Adrian. I’m not sure how ya did it, but I’m actually feeling better, without all of the booze that I usually consume that is.” He hoped his following question wouldn’t be taken the wrong way. “So…what’s the deal with you and Mimi there? I could spot those sparks a mile away.” A light smile graced his handsome mug as Jon Bon Jovi’s voice began filtering into Mark’s eardrums. His hands tingled and the mimicrist knew better than to allow the music to take over. After all, Harry’s was a popular place, the last thing he wanted to do was destroy something in here. Should he feel the need for release, there was an entire night before him, to do with as he pleased. For now though, he smothered the sensation, ignoring the pull he felt to the song, and instead refocused his gaze on Adrian in anticipation of a response.

“So, besides Adrian’s secret love for me, what else is new?”

The unexpected sound of her voice jostled the young mutant only slightly. Laughing azures met with playful violet orbs, a crooked smile coming to rest upon Mark’s lips. “Oh, ya know the usual. Tryin’ to guess how many guys you’re gonna be turning down tonight. The matchbook trick, a classic.” His lighthearted nature at this moment was a most welcome reprieve from his normal mood on this day. He only hoped that the relief he was feeling would hold steady.