Observations
by
Zerelda X
X-men belong to Marvel. Charlotte belongs to me, as does any other unrecognizable person. No profit, no harm.
I couldn't help but notice the couple.
They were having an argument.
Most people wouldn't have known they were fighting, but I'm not most people. I'm a mutant, one of the 'secret' mutants the public is so afraid of, because I have no obvious physical difference that stands out and screams 'COME AND GET ME!'
Just as well. I don't want anyone to come and get me. I just want to go on about my business of everyday life. Be left alone. I don't understand the mutants who flaunt their differences in front of the world. Asking for the trouble they get.
Most people wouldn't have know they were fighting because they weren't saying a word. Not one sound. It was in their auras. Wild fiery reds and oranges leaping out of him, yellows and oranges from her. Sparks of red and gold where their auras met.
That's what I can do. I can see auras. Pretty mundane, really. I see the colors. Not a good way to stop a mutant supervillian, is it? What could I do? Tell him to shake it off and 'get happy?' Show a little sunny yellow?
I was told by a doctor when I first started seeing colors that it was probably a brain tumor. Mom had a fit, dragging me from one doctor to the next. One finally told her I was a mutant and to take me home. She never forgave him or me for that. Oh well.
It was obvious, too, they were emotionally involved with each other on a personal level, even though she looked young enough to be his daughter. They occupied each other's personal space. But as enemies or lovers, it was hard to tell. I would guess lovers. Maybe a little of both. Most couples are like that. Natural born enemies.
Couples are the most fascinating to watch.
He pulled her close and kissed her. Yeah, lovers. Kinda illegal for a father-daughter bond. Their auras cooled down to some very nice shades of blue and lavender that quickly gave way to their natural colors. Fight was over. Can't tell who won. Maybe they both did. Fascinating.
I've made a good living on the dynamics of interpersonal relationships. A bartender / owner gets plenty of practice at it, even gets tipped well for good advice. Got a fist in the eye once for telling it like it is. That's the risk you run. 'Ya pays yer money, ya takes yer chances', or whatever some kid said on TV.
Don't like TV, don't watch it much. No auras. Have to keep it on here for the customers, though. Just junk on the tube, except maybe the football games.
They sat quietly in the back booth, still not saying anything. Every now and then he'd come back to the bar and get another couple of beers for himself. She had peach brandy with lemon. Who could drink that?
No talking. That's what puzzles me. Everyone coming in here, whether they know it or not, wants to connect with another living person. Exchange a few words about the weather, the local sports team, even political views. Just a few words to feel like they aren't invisible to the outside world. Someone can see them, recognize their existence. Something more than a mirror on the wall.
Like the loner at the end of the bar. He's got a muddy brown around him, but if someone says just one word to him, even 'excuse me' he brightens up to a golden tan. Sad. He comes in here a lot.
This is the first time I've seen them in here, though. I'd remember them, that's for sure. The halos of color surrounding them are different from anyone else in this area. Her natural aura is burgundy, a beautiful deep rich color. It flares into lighter shades of rose and pink.
His is all shadows, dark greens and blacks, but he doesn't seem to share the same characteristics as others with such dark auras. Almost like you would imagine the woods surrounding the castle in 'Beauty and the Beast' would be; menacing, dangerous. That's who they reminded me of, Beauty and the Beast.
Last time I saw that type of aura was when a mutant came into the bank. They, we seem to feel everything more intensely. A darkness that covers our entire soul but still lets the natural color shine through. They must be mutants. One of them has to be a telepath because they're still not talking, yet they are definitely interacting with each other on some level.
Really fascinating.
Where their auras meet a blending happens, like they're part of each other's psyche. That's a ten dollar word. Can't use it in here. The whole area is mutant-shy. Talk about the mind at all they think you're a mutant ready to take everything they've got and melt their flesh off their bones.
I think they're waiting for someone. I wonder who it is and what color he'll be.
The television news talks about a mutant uprising in the city. Not much of that out here in the sticks. The 'man on the street' interviews are anti-mutant in a big way. I can understand it. Look at all the damage mutants do when they're fighting each other. Who pays for that? The mutants? Not on your government funded retirement, they don't. I'm paying taxes to rebuild things that shouldn't have been wrecked in the first place. Makes me angry sometimes.
I'm on the public's side in this. Really powerful mutants need to be under control, and fast. If they can kill you in weird ways or destroy a fifty story building with a thought, get rid of them. My bank account can't take anymore.
They're really not helping the cause. What about the everyday people? Or the weaker mutants? Who's helping them?
But back to the couple in the booth.
I know, I'm focusing on them a little too much for anyone's comfort, but there's no one else here to think about right now. I get antsy if I don't see colors. Like maybe I need them to validate myself. Probably why I run a bar. Get all kinds, all colors in here.
He gets up and heads to the comfort station in the back, not surprising as much beer as he's drunk. Yet he's not drunk, shows no sign of intoxication in his aura or the way he moved. Even with his bulk he shouldn't be able to drink that much alcohol, professionally speaking.
She, on the other hand, shows some effects of the one drink she had, (brandy and lemon?), her colors growing softer. If you've never seen an aura, you can't begin to imagine how soft some look. A woman in here last week had a pale yellow color so soft it looked like liquid sunshine, the way you see it sometimes through the trees. Like you could wrap yourself in it.
The outside door opened and another man came in. Kid, really. He was a semi-regular, down on his luck right now (and who isn't?). He seems like a kid, but I'm sure he's older than the woman in the back. I carded her. An apple-pie face. A sad, scared apple-pie face. I could tell right away he was going to be trouble, his colors were swirling crazily around him, deep muddy reds. He was really hurting and I never serve anyone in that state. Lose my bar in a lawsuit because someone doesn't want to take personal responsibility? Not on your life.
The reds turn bloody. He's about to do something really stupid. Seen it before. Whenever I do, I duck.
He's not going to let me, or anyone else, duck. He pulls a gun from his jacket pocket and points it right at me. Demands everything in the till.
He's stupid, thinking a bar has any real money early in the afternoon. I'm not going to point it out to him, I'm no hero. No super mutant.
Then she gets up and strolls over to the bar, still not saying a word. Two stupid people to deal with. There just went my insurance premiums.
He's panicking, shouting at her to stop, to get back, nearly speechless in his terror of what he's doing more than what she's doing.
Then she speaks. Her voice is soft and rich, soothing. She calls him by name.
Mark.
Now he's really jumping, his hand beginning to shake.
Then something amazing happens. I've never seen it happen before. Her colors, the wonderful burgundy surrounding her, take on sparkles of silver and gold, and spread to completely encompass the two of them.
I know, she tells him, it's hard when you've got a family to take care of, not knowing where the next meal's coming from....
He starts to cry. It's sad to see a grown man cry when he's not strong enough to take the tears.
...hard when you've lost your job. This isn't the answer...
Behind them the man came through the front door silently. How did he get there? Wouldn't even have noticed him if his colors weren't going wild, too, flashes of bright green and red in the darkness. He moved like a cat, all grace and lightning. For a moment I thought I saw knives in his hands, but I can't be sure because of what happened next.
The poor kid settled right down. Right down into her arms, bawling like a baby on her shoulder. Her colors closed in around them both, the other man in there with them. He stood to one side protectively, just waiting.
She handed him something behind the kid's back, still murmuring into his ear while he slobbered on her.
He came over where I stood in rapt amazement. Phone, he growled at me. Then repeated it.
It took me a second, but I handed him the bar phone. He opened the wallet, (she'd picked the kid's pocket), found a number and dialed it. He laid the gun next to it on the bar. Never saw her take that either.
Yeah, now his voice is a muted growl, this Mark Corbin's house? His wife? He needs ya to come pick 'im up. Where?
He looks at me expectantly, unloading the .22 pistol as he speaks, dropping the shells in his shirt pocket. I give him the bar's name. He repeats it, tells her to hurry.
My attention is back on the woman, so I didn't see what he did next, but I heard it. The high pitched squeal of metal against metal. One second the pistol is whole, the next it's in pieces on my bar. Make that disappear, will ya? he asked, picking up a handful of cocktail napkins. I decide I don't want to know how he did that.
He gives them to her, along with the wallet. This time I see her put it back.
She sat him down at a table, giving him the paper napkins to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.
He's calming down, choking out the whole story of his failures, blow by bitter blow. It's not an unusual story for these times, but somehow it sounds worse than anything I've ever heard. He sure managed to cram a lot of misery in a short life.
The man sits down across from him at the table. She sits between the two. The colors are all returning to normal. The tightening around my chest, my newly-rediscovered, fast-departing best friend Fear is releasing her stranglehold on me.
She pats his hand while he talks, the cry-induced hiccups fading away till he's resting his head in his arms on the table. After another moment, the kid's asleep.
She took the man's hand. I could see the waves of energy flow between them. It was so...intimate, more so than watching their silent argument.
A young girl stepped timidly inside the door, her aura like bruised oranges, she was hurting just as bad as he was inside. The woman summoned a smile and went to her, taking her arm, already explaining the situation, drawing her back outside.
I could see them talking through the window, then it was the girl's turn to cry on the woman's shoulder. She pulled herself together a lot quicker, though. I've noticed how women do that. They fall apart and put themselves back together pretty quick while men want to struggle with the falling apart, taking four times as long to work through it.
I could see the woman asking her questions. The girl opened the door of a battered car and lifted out a baby. Couldn't have been more than six months old.
The woman took the baby and held him against her shoulder, much like she'd done to his father, a gentle smile on her face. She handed the baby back to the mother, then reached into her pocket, pulling out her own wallet.
The young mother shook her head, but the woman pulled out a business card and handed it to her. She read it, then nodded. I could see her lips form the word 'job' from here.
The man stood up, taking out his wallet, extracting some bills and tucking them inside the kid's shirt pocket. Then he carried the kid outside over his shoulder, putting him in the passenger seat.
Whatever she said to the young girl, it made a difference. I could see her aura lighten up dramatically. Help. That's what she must have offered. Not a handout, but an opportunity.
They watched the couple drive off, then came back inside. No need to call the cops, he said to me, just a misunderstandin'.
I nodded. No one got killed, I still have my money, and three lives were set on a new course. Four, if you count mine.
Now, if those publicity seeking mutants want to help people and mutants, they should start at the root of the problem. Hurting, hungry, desperate people do crazy things. Today, nothing crazy happened here. Nothing destroyed, no innocent bystanders, and not so innocent bartenders, hurt. We didn't need any flashy 'I'm saving the world' mutants. Just two who cared enough to stop a young man from making a terrible mistake. Not a bad afternoon's work.
I might have to re-think my whole position on the mutant-human thing. These two *human beings* made a small change that might have long lasting effects. All without flash, lightning, any body parts falling off, saying not word to each other. I don't think they need the spoken word between themselves.
Like I said, couples are fascinating.
They saw a car pull up out front and got up from their table. He tried to pay, but I put their drinks on the house and wave them off when they left. The guy in the car has a really different aura, too. Wonder if he'll come in. I've never seen colors so blue.
~*~*~*~*~
Charlotte and Logan met up with Hank outside.
"I do hope you did not grow weary of waiting for me," Hank said. "I apologize for my tardiness."
"That's okay," she told him with a smile. "So we waited awhile." She shared a long look with Logan, who slid a brawny arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. He was going to say plenty later on the subject of putting herself in danger, she knew, but it was one of those things. "I'm glad you didn't get lost from my directions. Bear and his wife are looking forward to your visit." It was a good time to visit herself. It had been much too long since she'd been here.
"As I am with them. I've researched the pharmacological aspect of the solstice rites and I wanted to discuss with him the....."
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