2013.04.23 - Just Passing Through

The outskirts of Odessa, Texas
Scott Summers and Amanda Sefton stride through a gravel parking lot towards the entrance of the Yellow Belly Saloon. The small rocks make crunchy noises as they approach the entrance of the low-class saloon out on the edge of the flatland. Behind, to the west, the sun sets and streaks the sky in brilliant hues of orange, red, and purple.
Scott looks over at her and raises an eyebrow as he looks back to the door. He opens it slowly before murmuring to her, "This must be the place."
Only a few hours ago, the two X-men were briefed about the mission. Late last evening, at about bar time, a brawl broke out between the bartender and a patron. The former gave a good ass whoopin to the latter, but the problem was that he accidentally exposed himself as a mutant. You see, when Gary Taylor becomes stressed, his skin turns into a rocky epidermis that can take quite the punishment. Fists do nothing against him.
But a shotgun will.
So when the Professor caught wind of the situation, and what Kerry Albright had in store for round two, he sent Amanda and Scott to go prevent the altercation should the need arise.
Amanda gives the X-Man team lead a light nod as they pause outside the saloon for that brief moment. Even dressed down to match the locale, there's no way either of them will be mistaken for locals. They just don't really look like hillbillies... or rednecks. (Or whatever it is the rough and ready Texas brawlers within might be called.) Nevertheless, with luck, the pretty blonde will be enough of a distraction that fists won't fly too readily.
She can hope, anyway. (She just doesn't actually expect that'll be the case. It's amazing how pigheaded some people can be.)
"Ready whenever you are," she says with a smile, letting Scott lead the way in. "Let's go stop a lynching."
Scott nods to her and dips in through the doorway into the stark contrast of dark corners and bright, small lights.
For him, he's wearing a simple t-shirt, proclaiming the Texas Longhorns football team, a dirty matching hat and a pair of blue jeans. When in Rome. . .
Once they get inside, Scott gives a nod to the bartender and scopes a spot over past the dancefloor among a group of booths that give a good vantage point of the entire bar, but remain inconspicuous. He nods Amanda over in that direction before making an order with the bartender.
If Scott is irritated with the slow, older style country western music that's being played he does not readily show it. All in all, he does an alright job fitting in thus far. At least with the appearances.
"You gonna take off those glasses, buddy?" the bartender asks him, looking perplexed. Scott shakes his head, "Eye condition."
Amanda, her own blouse and jeans combination a fair approximation of rural fashion, flashes the bartender a dazzling smile. "What've you got on tap?" she asks lightly, even as she slides into a seat at the table Scott chooses. Fact is, a blue eyed blonde doesn't stand out very much in this great state, though her faint, generic European/UK accent might.
A casual glance around the bar gives her a general lay of the land, as well as a sense for the few patrons that linger in the place. Optimistically, perhaps many of them are regulars who don't care who serves their beer, as long as its cold and frothy. Realistically, however, she's sure a lot of them are there to either watch or participate in the show Mr. Albright intends to put on.
She's careful about how she places her satchel beside her. Here in the country, away from her beloved city, her powers -- aside from her hypnotic mutant ability -- aren't nearly as strong as she'd prefer. So, the stop-gap items in her bag of tricks will very likely be necessary.
More's the pity.
"Got a whole bunch, lil Lady," the bartender responds. He's pretty nonchalant given the events of last night. He stands over 6 foot, barrel chested, with a scraggly beard and a long black pony tail. "Way your words are comin' out tell me you're not from round here," he says to her with a faint grin.
"We'll take two," Scott says as he points to a watery domestic. Within a few moments the beers and money are exchanged and Scott is walking over toward the booth.
"Is it that obvious?" Amanda replies to the man, a teasing lilt in her voice. She knows damn well it is, but there's no harm in making light about it. She appears relaxed as Scott orders for both of them. The beers are incidental. "And here I was trying so hard to blend in." She winks as she says it -- flirting, yes, but also making it entirely obvious she's aware hell will freeze over before anyone mistakes her for a true country girl.
"She's visiting from out of town," Scott says simply and sets the beers down. Now, out of direct ear shot from the bartender. Though the glasses over his eyes mask where he's looking, Amanda will be certain he's combing the bar for anyone who might look familiar from the report Xavier put together. "Not here, yet," he murmurs.
Amanda nods lightly in response, her easy smile still on her lips. She'll let him do the scanning. It's less obvious that way. Adjusting her seat some does give her a better sweep of the bar, however, particularly the main door. Thugs like Albright is likely to be are usually fairly direct. Beneath the table, her fingers dance in an arcane pattern. Her voice drops to a low volume that's hardly audible even to Scott seated so close. There's a whisper of power, however, and a ward shimmers across the entry way -- one that will trigger squeaky hinge whenever a gun passes the threshold. To be fair, this is Texas. So, it could whine quite often before Albright comes in. But, if you ask her, it's better to know each potential weapon as it arrives, rather than ping off the first errant iron that comes along.
The first fifteen minutes are very quiet. Too quiet. Fifteen turns into 20. 20 turns to 30. Scott grimaces a bit, wondering if the intelligence that Xavier had was correct. Perhaps this Albright guy had given peace a chance at his second thought. Perhaps this was all for nothing.
He looks uncomfortable, twisting in his seat. He's been trained to be vigilant, of course, but there aren't a lot of sitting and waiting missions so this is somewhat new for him.
As more people enter the bar, the juke box begins playing more upbeat country songs, and a waitress arrives and begins taking orders for patrons, assisting the bartender. Gradually it starts to fill up pretty good in there.
Finally, Scott says something, almost out of boredom, but there's still intent behind it. "You left. Went back to Europe. Now you're back."
Amanda blinks mildly at Scott's chosen topic of conversation. She chuckles softly. "I did," she agrees. "And I am." She smiles lightly, her eyes twinkling, despite the focus on mission. Every so often, as people come in, a hinge squeaks just so and she notes the face of those that entered. None of them are Albright, but, well... it's Texas. There are weapons.
"I'd have returned sooner," she concedes, "but it took a while to clean up the mess there." Yeah. Two years qualifies as a while. Just what the mess was, however, she leaves to speculation. Doubtless, it was something suited to her unique abilities.
Scott nods, seemingly satisfied with the response. But before he can add anything more, the perky waitress with the hoarse voice and the gum in her mouth arrives. She'd be pretty if she wasn't wearing so much makeup and it's tough to tell if she's closer to 21 or 41. "Y'all just enjoying the scenery?" She points to Scott's glass, which he hasn't so much as sipped out of. "Been sitting here for quite some time and you haven't even had a sip, yet?" And then it dawns upon the waitress, who is aptly named Dawn. "Ooooooh." The oh is elongated and tails off at the end. "I get it. Y'all are in the middle of a fight." Her face widens into a grin that's gotten her many places in the past. "Well, I'll be back after a while."
She leaves abruptly, and goes to make smalltalk with one of the younger, cuter patrons, leaving the pair by themselves once more.
It's all Amanda can do, not to burst out laughing at the girl. But, she's had lots of practice acting, so it's not an impossible task. Instead, she reaches out for her drink and raises it in a silent toast, touching it to her lips. No, she doesn't actually sip. Nothing more than a bit of foam brushes her lips, but it's at least a bit of a show. After the girl has moved on, she chuckles softly. "I wonder which one of us is the wounded party," she muses quietly, blue eyes still dancing.
"I'll take that hit," Scott says towards her, but his eyes remain out at the bar. "I've been the butt far too often, lately. Lots of practice." Scott doesn't even bother bringing the drink to his lips. If Dawn and the bartender want to think they're fighting, he certainly looks the part. "I don't know about you, but-"
Scott's words are cut off by a slightly tipsy, young gentleman who strides up to the booth. He holds a bottle in the space between his forefinger and his thumb, but can still point towards Amanda, "Hey girl. You wanna dance? Seems like specs here and you are having some down time, and a girl like you shouldn't be made to sit and suffer."
Oh, this should be interesting. Amanda glances briefly to Scott. Fact is, while splitting up isn't always a good thing, the room's small enough that having the ability to close on any danger from opposite sides isn't necessarily a bad thing. That and, well, the girl can shield, when she needs to. Consquently, she dips a pair of fingers into a small pocket of her satchel and slides whatever it is she draws out into a pocket in her jeans before she rises. "Why not?" she says lightly to the fellow, rising as she does. To Scott, she adds, "Watch my purse." Like anyone can really touch it beside her.
Scott does his best to look like the surly, spurned significant other. It's a look he wears well and one that comes naturally to him.
Amanda is led out to the dance floor by her hand, and though the music is fast paced, the man wraps an arm around her midsection and attempts to pull her close to him. "I'm Randy," he says with a smile. "Who'er you?"
Funny, that.
Amanda allows herself to be fairly pliable in Randy's arms. "Mandy," she says by way of introduction. She meets his eyes with her own, kicking in a light bit of 'whammy', to control him, as she does. There's an advantage to being naturally hypnotic. "Nice to meet you, Randy." She presses her hands against his chest, succeeding in keeping him from groping too inappropriately. Fact is, it's not her first rodeo... so to speak. And she's relaxed enough with her own self that she's learned to use what she's got to her best advantage.
Of course, if he does get too frisky, she's perfectly willing to swoon should Scott step in and be the valiant -- if surly -- jealous boyfriend. That would be just fine.
"Come here often?"
"Mandy?" Randy asks with a smile. "Hey, that rhymes. I guess we're meant to be." He's pretty chivalrous, this Randall, and doesn't try anything other than the close dancing. Scott, Amanda's would be 'valiant' step in, seems mildly amused at what Amanda's gotten herself into, but makes no move to prevent it. Instead, he seems intrigued as to where it will go.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that me and my buddies come here often." Beat. "Like every night." He laughs loudly-really loudly-at his own joke before giving Amanda a twirl. "What about you? What's a girl with a polish accent doin' in a place like this." Well, give him points for trying at least.
Amanda twirls lightly. Heck, it gives her a chance to give the room a cursory sweep. So, much the better. Again, her hands come up to rest against the man's chest. "Aw, shucks, ah'm jes' passin' through, mistah," she replies, giving the man a saucy wink and a her best, campy imitation of Rogue. Though his laugh is a bit overwhelming, she laughs as well. Okay. Technically, she's laughing at him. But, he doesn't need to know that.
"Every night, eh?" she notes now. "This place that exciting?"
"Lot more excitin' when a girl like you walks in." Randy tilts his head over towards Scott. "So what's the deal with the guy with the glasses? He bein' a jerk to you? You need me to set him straight?"
Randy glances at Scott, who is sitting stoically, still without having touched his beer.
Just then, there's a really creaky wooden sound that can be heard by those willing to notice it (read: Not Randy) and a group of three men, come waltzing in through the doorway. The bartender does not seem to notice them, in fact, he's gone out the side entrance with a pack of smokes in one hand and a lighter in the other.
The squeak certainly catches Amanda's attention. She glances toward the door and notes the three good ol' boys that come strolling through. And the fact at least one of them resembles the image the Professor provided. At Randy's question, she glances back over to Scott, to see if he's noted them. "Oh, him?" she says lightly. "No, you don't need to bother with him any. He's just put out because I'm going home soon -- and he's not allowed to come."
As Randy turns her about the dance floor, she tracks the trio once more. "You said you come here every night?" she asks the man. "Who're those blokes over there? They look thick as thieves."
"That?" Randy says. "That's Albright and his boys. Rough customers. Heard they got in a brawl here last night, if you believe that." But Randy is more focused on the news that Amanda is leaving than anything else. "You're headin' back? Guess we'd better enjoy what time we've got together."
Scott definitely sees the trio come in. As Amanda watches, he deftly puts his beer under the table and pours it out along the wall. From there, he stands and makes his way across the dance floor, almost poignantly ignoring Amanda in keeping with theme, and heads to the bar.
That Scott is up and moving reassures Amanda. If he can keep the boys from heading out back, so much the better.
"Indeed," she says to Randy, looking once more into his eyes. Her fingers brush his cheek as she amps up her hypnotic presence of mind. "What do you think? Think we should slip out back and tell the barkeep those boys have come looking for him?" The way she says it... might give the man the idea she'd be right grateful if they did.
Scott, from the bar, looks over his shoulder and nods to Amanda, before looking back to the bar again. Albright and his boys are scoping too. Once they realize the bartender is not in the room, the decide to begin filing out the front entrance, the same way they came in. Scott notices, and looks back to Amanda, before making his way toward the side door entrance the way the bartender went for his smoke break.
Slipping out the back probably sounds like a fine idea to Randy... until, of course, Scott starts heading that way himself. "Looks like your boyfriend's already there," the man drawls.
"Oh, well then," Amanda concedes. "Why don't we slip out front for a while instead." She gives him a dazzling smile. "Just let me grab my purse, first." Because, seriously, she's gonna need that thing.
She pushes gently away from him and retreats to the table, scooping up the runic satchel and slinging it across her chest. Then, with light steps, she starts heading for the front door, where Albright and posse have disappeared. Randy makes to follow. "Oh, damn," she cusses lightly, giving him an apologetic smile. "Looks like I've lost my cell. I don't suppose you'd be the gentleman and ask the waitress if she happened to find one, would you? Maybe help me find it? It's white."
Wrapped as he is -- not that he'd ever want to admit it -- Randy is all too willing to do as the pretty blonde asks. Which, of course, gives her the time she needs to make her escape. Outside, her hand slides into her satchel once more, and she strolls after the trio as they near the corner of the building. "Hey!" she calls out to them. "Any of you blokes seen a tall brown-haired fellow with red sunglasses around here?"
By the time Amanda reaches them, they've already gotten to the corner. Her words are heard, but go unheeded. Albright's two friends reach back into their waistband and move to pull handguns, while Albright is already going for the shotgun he's pulled from the front seat. It's difficult for Amanda to see because her view is blocked by the building, but from nowhere, a man with a Texas Longhorn hat leaps into her vision and on top of one of the cronies before he's able to squeeze a shot off!
"Shoulda looked up," Amanda shrugs, as one of the men is tackled. They never look up. It's a moot point, however. The witch picks up the pace, now, and sprints to the corner of the building to pick out exactly what's happening. As she runs, she chants the beginnings of a likely spell that should be effective at binding the nearest of them with ropy lengths of iron spun from the inevitable rust-buckets that populate parking lots like this.
The other cronie is immediately grappled by iron the long tendrils wrap around him and cinch together in a manner that trips him up and puts him on the gravel, harmless.
Albright, for all his stupidity, is pretty calm under pressure. It probably has something to do with those war stories about Granada he likes to tell. In any event, he pulls the shotgun up to his shoulder, ready to shoot a big ass hole straight through the bartender, who Amanda can now clearly see. The bearded man now looks like a mixture of his old self and of a white-grey rocky sort of thing, but it's clear he knows that his mutant power will not be enough to save his life.
Scott, leaps to his feet and is about to go after Albright, when the man he'd thrown to the ground earlier reaches up to grab at his foot. It's not a clean trip, but it is enough to knock Scott off balance and prevent him from getting to Albright who is now ready to pull the trigger.
Muttering another spell, Amanda is sprinting toward the shotgun wielding lunatic (which just goes to show that she, herself, must be crazy). Using one hand to vault over the hood of a pickup, a magic bolt flies out of the palm of the other, aimed at the vet's barrel. If her aim's good, his shot will go wide. If not, Rocky could be in for a world of hurt. The bolt is an instinctive response. The spell is a shield that may protect the Texan mutant -- but it won't solidify until after the bolt has hit, which means it's really dicey protection. But, it's the best she can do out in this tumbleweed town.
The bolt flies from Amanda's hand and soars through the air. Her aim is true and it knocks the shotgun away from the target. His bracing hand becomes a sort of fulcrum, and the gun goes off before spinning like a propeller off into the parking lot. Finally Scott's able to right himself and buries Albright in a vicious tackle that can only be truly appreciated in the great state of Texas; western Texas at that.
The pair go flying off into the gravel, and as soon as they hit, Scott's up and slamming Albright a handful of times in the face with his right fist.
Amanda's boots crunch on the gravel as she lands, watching the gun fly out of Albright's hands. She turns toward Rocky, reaching out a palm towards him as she does. "Are you okay?" She needs to make sure of that before she considers rescuing Albright from Scott's pummeling. She also sweeps her gaze back to the vet's two buddies. The one in irons is certainly no threat. The one Scott tackled is groaning a little, given the second barrage he doubtless suffered as part of Cyke's effort to regain his feet.
The bartender nods slowly and once it's clear he's not going to be shot, his rocky appearance eventually goes back to normal. Meanwhile, once Albright is knocked out cold, Scott finally relents and gets to his feet. "You're going to want to call the police," Scott says plainly, almost as if nothing happened.
"But...who are you?" the third mutant asks.
"That's not important," replies Scott. "We're friends."
Amanda exhales with a certain amount of relief, as Scott rises, and gives Rocky a lopsided smile. Scott answers his question well enough. Just as well, really, since Randy comes strolling out the side door about this time. "Mandy? I can't find your pho-- Holy Hanna, what happened here?"
Amanda steps over to Scott and immediately snakes her arms about his waist, smiling up at him. "Scotty saved me," she tells Randy, looking for all the world like she's reconciled with her jealous boyfriend. "Oh!" She reaches into a pocket and slides out her phone. "And, I'm sorry. I found it. So, it's okay. Thanks."
Coquette, much?
Randy just sort of stares as Scott makes his way down across the gravel lot and away from the bar. They walk past the cars and out onto the highway, where they carry on walking off to nowhere. Randy looks to Rocky, who shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.
"Guess they was just passing through," the dancing man says forlornly.
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