Madrox; Bad Ass Choas

[xmm_natalie]

One thing I am really not fond of is fire. I can handle the dark, I can handle the people being assholes and throwing things and yelling (although /really/ Bahir, /must/ you?), but apparently I have had my fill of fire.

I swear there was a time when the worst thing to be afraid of in Manhattan was a mugging.


10/24

=NYC= Student Center - Emerson University
Housed inside an enormous, three-story brick building is the Student Center, the living room of the college where students and faculty alike are known to congregate. Inside, the hallways are open freely, and stretch up to the ceiling of the building itself, enabling students on even the third floor to peer over the railing and check the goings-on below. To the west, the main hall bleeds into the cafeterias, and to the west is the bookstore, where several students work between classes for a quick buck.
[Exits : [Up]stairs, [Bo]okstore, [Ca]feteria, and [O]utside]
[Players : Natalie ]

The school's very own coffee shop gets all quietly dull after a certain hour. Although the flourescents are no less bright at night than they are at noon, if anything, brighter, a kind of half shadow sneaks between the tables and under the chairs and there's a suspended evening feel in the air that's almost morose. Or maybe Madrox is projecting. Instead of taking notes on a scratch pad as he is often seen doing, Madrox has his laptop and
Madrox is working off and on. Type a few lines and then lean backward and watch the wall. Or nudge a finger thoughtfull against a styrofoam cup. Hmmph.

Natalie , on the other hand, is without her laptop at the moment, although her hands are still full of various papers and notebooks. Her head is ducked down as she enters the coffee shop, attention on the text before her rather than her path forward. She nearly walks head-on into a table, sidestepping it at the last moment.

Madrox raises his head at the sudden movement and glances down-- only to glance up again, belatedly startled. He half-rises.

Natalie is a bit more careful after her near-miss, smiling an apology to a nearby student before angling off toward the bar where sweet caffiene can be found.

Madrox remains half-risen and for a moment watches her movements very carefully, as if running the near miss and her unfortunate meeting with a book-shelf together. Then, as he stops watching, he opens his mouth, clears his throat . . . then hesitates.

The clearing of his throat catches Natalie's attention, and she glances briefly over her shoulder-- and then pauses. Her hands tighten around her notebook and she frowns in that pause. After a moment, she turns forward with pursed lips and moves forward swiftly.

Now, as Madrox looks at Natalie, he is perhaps calculating the probability of being hit in some fashion in the next few minutes, so he adopts no expression other than cautious concern. "Natalie," is greeting, sort of. He'll work up to the next.

Natalie's jaw sets a touch as she steps forward to the bar and leans in to offer her order to the barista. For the moment, she pretends steadfastly as if she does not hear Jamie /at all/. She's very polite.

Madrox lets in his breath. Tries again, a bit more direct. "I wanted to apologize, if you'll allow it."

Natalie's spine stiffens as she turns to face Jamie, expression clearly irritated-to-angry. "What, again?" she wonders. Unfriendly. "Didn't insult me enough the first time?"

The look Jamie affords Natalie this time is pure bafflement, which segues into a moment of blankness. And then he covers, his expression now slightly abashed. "Just a simple apology this time. I'm sorry for what happened."

"You'll have to forgive me if I call bullshit on that one," Natalie snipes in return. She shakes her head, impatient, and urges, "Run along back to your girlfriend."

"But I /am/ sorry," Jamie insists, as part of his brain tries to determine /what/ he must have said else-body. "I mean, hell. Girlfriend or not, you don't /do/ that."

"No," Natalie agrees tensely. "You don't."

"And." Jamie puts on another of his pauses. "Anyway. Sorry. Sorry I didn't do enough to stop it."

Natalie studies Jamie for a moment, gaze full of suspicion and doubt as she folds an armful of articles over her chest.

"I'm-- not sure what else to say." Jamie puts one hand, flat, on the table. "So. Yeah. And I'm sorry I offended you . . . before."

"Right," Natalie answers, and her tone is clearly grudging as she dips her head in a faint nod. "Well. Okay. Thank you. Apology accepted."

"Thank you. And if," Jamie snakes his hand behind his neck and clears his throat, "you need anything or whatever. Yeah. Anyway."

"If I /need/ anything?" Natalie wonders.

"Just offering!" Jamie lowers his hand. "Although I haven't the faintest what. I'm just glad to see you up and about."

"As opposed to lying in traction in the hospital?" Natalie wonders, tone clipped. "No, I'm quite mobile. Nothing much. Just a few stitches. Concussion."

"Yes." Madrox is succinct this time, and tries to continue further succinct. "Then I'm grateful it wasn't worse. Nasty as concussions are."

"Yes," Natalie replies succintly.

"I won't keep you any longer," Jamie states, all decisive, and sits back down.

"Thanks," Natalie says once more. Relief rides clear in her expression, and she turns her back to him to await her drink.

Madrox nods and starts tap-tapping back on his keyboard.
Madrox apologizes. Again.

=NYC= Bad Ass Coffee - East Village - Manhattan

The decor is one of tropical paradise. There are potted ferns and mini-palms in every nook and cranny, while the walls are painted a cheerful yellow and as much green or wooden decorations as possible have been added. Opposite the door is the counter where you order, a long line of giant cookie jars leading you to the register. Behind the counter are a plethora of tea leaves and coffee grounds, purchaseable brewed by the cup of packaged by the pound! You can get just about any kind of herbal tea, coffee, cinnamon bun, muffin, cookie, cake, pie, soup, chili, or sandwich here. They serve the works, all at really cheap prices. All around the open area are tall wooden tables with wooden barstools set around them, and off in each corner is a green couch and two matching armchairs. Up on a raised dias to the left is the smoking area, sealed off into it's own room with plexiglass windows and filled with similar tables and barstools. This place is the hangout of the altervative crowd -- artists, goths, punks, and the like. The people are friendly and the music is good -- enjoy!

It's October. It's October, and the weather is brisk and a holiday where blood and gore and an overabundance of female skin shoved into vinyl is even more acceptable in New York than is usual. Bad Ass Cafe has taken full advantage of these facts, and hints of faked cobwebs stretch across a few corners while miniature pumpkins line the counter. A menu behind promises lattes of a similar flavor, and a collection of larger pumpkins sits to one side, shamelessly hawked to any New Yorker yearning for a bit of country charmin their holiday.

In this decadent Halloween paradise (no REALLY) stands a pair of grumpy academics: Natalie is nudged up against Bahir in a lazy lean as she scans the chalked menu behind the counter. "I dunno, do I /want/ caffiene?" she wonders.

"No caffeine," Jason informs Sarah in the stuffiest thick of a Ukranian accent he can manage. He is not himself. He is a tall, blond Russian man built like half a brick and dressed in a turtleneck and ski-cap. His Sarah is likewise tall and blond and he will /insist/ on giving her an accent. If one is going out for coffee, one should at least make a game of it.

Sarah is tall and blonde, her usual hunched, closed posture replaced by the casual confidence that hiding beneath the blanket of Jason's little game lets her borrow. Her accent is to his specifications, because she is certainly not playing along with that willingly. "For you or for me? What else am I going to drink at a coffee place? Water?" The only hint that she /is/ playing along is in the fact that she is not yet cursing like a drunken sailor. She is in tight jeans and a likewise tight sweater. She might secretly be enjoying showing off. Maybe.

"Yes," Bahir answers Natalie in succinct fashion. Shields are drawn over telepathy as tightly as the lightweight zippered hoodie is drawn to his throat, clutched with a hand that only slowly loses the chill from outdoors. Beneath, he wears a simple shirt with a faded print on it, which is really a poor choice for a stroll through the cool autumn air. "You want caffeine. You /always/ want caffeine. We are /academics/. I want tea. Or maybe coffee. Fuck, trust an emogothhackwhatever--" He slurs the words together with careless disdain. "--place like this to get all into Halloween."

Rossi is already here. Already present. Already possessed of a table in the back, held determinedly against all comers. Cute comers. College girls, professional women -- even a winsome young androgynous thing that proves to have a bass that Barry White would be proud to possess. His legs stretched and ankles crossed, the detective slouches in an armchair, his feet propped on the seat of a sturdy wooden chair. He is drinking coffee. He is reading the paper. He is ("Fu-- I mean, fine.") surrendering the other chair at the table to a 3-year old Asian girl with a toy dog.

It's the round-cheeked, dark-eyed ones. Get him every time. Little fuckers.

Alyssa chats with the pumpkin-hawker, teenage-slim even bundled against October's chill in a turtleneck and sweatervest, glossy brown hair bound in twin ponytails. She has a cup of something in one hand, the other proprietary over the curve of a gargantuan gourd; there is recognition in bright green eyes as turns to scan the coffee shop during a break in conversation, but then she turns back to haggling over price.

Wanda has only very recently taken up residence at a central table, her legs crossed at the ankle and a pumpkin scone half-eaten and discarded beside the object of her interest: that is, her sketchbook. Humanity she etches in broad strokes of pencil upon the white blankness of the page, catching this or that person in rough character study that never grows in depth enough to mark much specific detail. The likenesses she has stolen are only familiar from the body language she has swiped from them. She is dressed in the soft green cotton of an embroidered blouse and the creamy beige of slacks; silver and amethyst glint at one wrist, and a cheap (but silvery!) hair-clip holds the greater mass of her auburn hair away from her neck.

"Shut up," Natalie orders. In succint fashion. "Just because you've been keeping your head up your ass doesn't mean /some/ of us can't enjoy the holiday." You can tell they're friends because she smiles, slightly, as she says it, and drives her elbow into his side in a teasing jab. "Fine, caffiene-- pumpkin latte?" she requests, raising her voice to call to the barista over the rising din of the coffee shop.

"Yes. Purified water," Jason makes it particularly gutteral. "To protect our precious bodily fluids. Keep them as God intended-- do you know what's /in/ coffee, dearie-darlingest?" He slips the idlest of hands around her shoulders.

Rossi is wet. Not at all suggestively.

Perv.

Don't you know it.

"Ow." Bahir places a hand to the point on his ribs where her elbow intersected and gives Natalie a narrow glare. "What is your issue with my ribs?" he grumps, and then leans forward to snap his fingers at the barista, who really isn't paid enough to deal with a bitchy Bahir. "Hey. Maybe if you used /two/ hands on that instead of one you'd be /done/ and you could come take our order already."

There is a heavy sigh and a sideways glance out of the corners of the Scandanavian looking blonde that screams entirely of the Sarah hidden beneath her. "Things I want to drink," she replies sharply. Then she narrows her eyes at the handes moving around her shoulders and addresses one of them. "Pooky. Kiss. Fucking. Bear." The term of endearment is a little off, perhaps, coming out with each word growing increasingly snarled. She at least keeps it quiet.

Xorn cannot drink coffee, as he has no mouth, but it is cold outside, and it has just started to rain. So it is that he steps in through the door, damp about the shoulders and the polished metal that constitutes his ghastly visage. Without benefit of eyes to blink with, he just sort of stands there and looks about, somehow managing an air of surprise against all odds.

The small Asian child drags the chair away, chattering in some incomprehensible language understood mostly on the supersonic level. Chairless, Rossi allows his feet to thump down to the pedestrian ground. It is momentary distraction, providing him a reason to look up from the written word. There are familiar faces in the cafe now. The black brows draw a line at Bahir and Natalie; the recognition of Alyssa gives him pause. It is Xorn's arrival, however, that skips surprise like a rock across his expression. "Holy fuck." Not a creative reaction, but sound, all the same. "I remember Skeletor being bonier."

Sofia is also here. Now. She walks through the entrance of the caf, eyes peering to the title with eyebrows arching. "What a vulgar name," she says to herself, a low, inaudible sort of whisper that she is accustomed to. No need to anger those inside, she is the visitor. Not exactly a visitor anymore, but new to the American scene. The culture inside captures the Venezuelan native's attention, brown accord-shaped looking around before finalizing on the counter, the menu above more importantly. "I guess some badass coffee would not hurt," she says a little too loudly. What a vulgar name.

"Don't make me take you in the back to give you a lecture on manners," Natalie hisses in response to her grumpy partner before she shoots an /oh/ so apologetic smile toward the barista, who is less forgiving of Bahir, and then steps back to eye the display of pumpkins. This is perhaps not a wise decision, given the crowd that's descended on the small shop, because it's certain that she bumps into a patron. Or two. Possibly there is a domino effect.

The roll of wheels can be heard rolling down the street, and Magnes is in a large black Hello Kitty hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, two cat ears on the top with pink in the middle for skin tone. On his eyes he wears large flight goggles with two way mirrors for a lens. He'd look completely different if it weren't for his customized skates being so goddamned flamboyant. "Coffee, that seems like a viable option." he decides, removing his skates and revealing sky blue sneakers as he walks in, just making it in as the rain starts. And oh hell it's crowded in here, his shoulders squirm, familiarity is all over the place, and Sarah is no less than -completely- confusing, feeling the boney shapes but seeing something different. Still, he's not even going near her, god knows who she might be, and he's staying out of trouble, dangerous illusion mutants! "Table, need a good table..." He walks over to a table in the corner, taking a seat and surveying the area, spotting many people he doesn't particularly like, some new ones, and possibly one that he might possibly get along with?

"I'm sorry, dearest, but you speak a language I do not understand," Jason croons so gently, and keeps his hand /where/ it is as he moves further in. "And badass coffee," he asides to the Venezualian stranger as he walks, "/will/ hurt. It will taint your fluids. Make them all gritty. Like river sludge." It is in looking back that he notices Xorn. And lightly double-takes. What.

It's the second thing that Sofia says which draws Bahir's attention in a slanting glance over his shoulder. He looks past Sarah and Jason, unfamiliar as they are beneath their illused facades, to briefly study the youngest woman. He somehow misses out on Xorn. SOMEHOW. "Coffee wouldn't hurt -- if they could find their asses with both hands to /serve it/," he adds with a sharp redirection forward again toward the battered and abused barista. He doesn't move. Thus, he avoids playing dominoes. He waits for the barista to finish with the patron ahead of him.

Julio is rather further from his place of lodging and learning than he really ought to be on a Wednesday night, though nothing about the Mexican teenager sets him aside as looking like he belongs in that Certain Mansion In Westchester. He's dressed in nondescript jeans, a t-shirt, and a black track jacket with green stripes down the sleeves; a formless backpack not nearly heavy enough to contain a full workload is slung lightly over one shoulder. He pushes his way into the coffee shop not long after Sofia does, turning a furrow-browed look on the menu as he appends himself to the line.

Sarah rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. One of her hands moves up to hold onto Jason's. She squeezes down with a firmness quite beyond an affectionate touch. "Don't bother strangers about their /fluids,/ dear," she chastizes through clenched teeth. His double-take, however, pulls her into a look of her own. Sarah joins the growing throng staring at Xorn's literal chrome dome.

Rossi folds his paper, his distraction enough to tug his attention elsewhere once more. He misses Magnes's entrance, in favor of snagging his leather coat off the back of a chair to shrug it on. The newspaper is tucked under his arm, the headlines folded inward, and he pushes his way towards the door. Scavengers pounce on his table. (Well. It is /crowded/ tonight, after all.)

Wanda gives Rossi an annoyed look, because his change in position altered her sketch before it was completed. Bastard. She sets down her pencil and studies her fingers, their tips blacked by the leavings of her work. She smears them against her napkin and then breaks off a small corner of the scone with them, considering its orangey color before she eats it. She settles back in her seat, rubbing her hands together, and arches her eyebrows quite high. Her gaze slides past Xorn, as a definite oddity, to Magnes. Her nose crinkles with the disgust of recognition and her gaze wanders quite deliberately on. Perhaps she can pretend the boy does not exist. "Natalie Simon," she identifies aloud, largely from surprise.

There are many people in Badass today. It is not /too/ shocking to think that the one metal skull face with glowing eyes among them might be overlooked in the bustle. As things are, Xorn is not unaware of the many stares that he /is/ collecting. The lurid blue light in the hollow of his eye sockets casts from face to face, and Xorn attempts to get out of the entrance way, effectively clearing the path behind him while simultaneously stepping directly in front of one Christopher Rossi.

"/Bahir/," Natalie hisses, voice sharp under her breath as she glances toward Sofia. "I want my latte /without/ saliva, thank-- shit!" The latter comes as she jostles forward in reaction to her stumble and mutters a quickly apologetic offering toward those she collided with before spinning around in the perfect picture of totally not grace. "Huh?" she inquires eloqently toward Wanda, blinking in search of the source.

Wanda lifts one hand and wiggles her fingers in a wave hello, her expression one reflecting the mild bafflement that carries from the greeting.

Magnes keeps his face held up by a fist, he'll get coffee eventually, but for now he's watching everyone with interest, what do they do when he's not bumping into them? "So that Maximoff chick and that Natalie chick know eachother, this explains much." he muses to himself, staying hunched, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

Accord reached between Alyssa and her pumpkin vendor, the teenager gathers her prize; cup of still-steaming liquid (chai. it is chai tea) is balanced atop her pumpkin, which is then lifted into her arms. This, perhaps, is unwise. She eyes the crowd, clutches her pumpkin more tighly, and begins to work her way through the crowd on a cloud of muttered apologies and flashed smiles as she bumps her way through. This works fairly well, until she has to sidestep to avoid something small and sticky and /running/ through the crowd

She dodges, she weaves, and then, overbalanced, becomes a victim of Natalie's ripple effect. The cup goes first; the ensuing yelp is then turned into a short, sharp, "/Shit/!" as she drops the pumpkin on Bahir('s foot.)

The pumpkin goes thud. Spectaculary.

One Christopher Rossi, who has certain meritorious qualities that will doubtless earn him a place in Heaven, does not /actually/ plow right into Xorn. He stops, more or less before actual contact is made. Green, human eyes meet twinky glowing ones. "Christ," says the detective, not without some curiosity. "That is a seriously worked up costume. You supposed to be Skeletor? Because the one I grew up with wore blue spandex and had a thing for purple bondage gear."

"Mm. Good point on the saliva," Bahir murmurs in aside to Natalie. It is their turn to order now, and given her warning, he leans forward to point at a glassed refrigerator. "One of those ridiculously expensive and overpriced iced white teas, please. Blueberry, I th--" /!!!/ he goes as Aly's pumpkin does a spectacular thud on his instep. "Mother/fucker/," he curses, turning to glare at her. Venom enters his gaze upon identification. "Slut."

"Ow." Jason, trying to watch Skeletor vs. Rossi while extricating his poor, tender hand from Sarah's malicious grip, briefly loses track of fluids. "It's not like I'm asking her about her urine. Although maybe I should."

"Oh!" says Natalie, rising on her tiptoes to wiggle her fingers in Wanda's direction. "It's Wanda Maximoff," she shares with Bahir, just before obsenities explode outward and her gaze rips back toward Bahir with a censoring frown. "What is /wrong/ with you?"

The barista gives a sudden whoop of sheer delight, totally distracted from people trying to get their drinks as she discovers a pile of heretofor unregarded cash money on the floor in front of the register.

Magnes quickly stands up, letting his hood slide down. "Watch your damned mouth when talking to a woman!" he defends when Bahir calls Natalie a slut, such an injustice can't be ignored! "Thank you." he says as he walks over to help Alyssa. "Are you alright?"

Meanwhile, Sarah lets Jason's hand go when he retracts it. She is more interested in the thump of a pumpkin and the following cursing. She lifts herself up onto her toes to try to get a better view of the confrontation in the making. Bahir's cursing loses her attention only momentarily thanks to Jason's next comment. "What? Cut it out. I don't want to hear about pee. Some slut is about to get kicked, I think," she informs him. Everyone must watch the show.

Pumpkin residue slicks the floor past Bahir's feet, sending an unsuspecting five-year-old running past careening directly into Alyssa.

"Fuck off," Bahir snaps in Magnes's direction, confusion or not. It's a crowded store! Natalie's not far! It's an easy mistake -- but one he has no patience for. Sad.

Xorn breathes at Rossi, Darth Vader style, with mechanical decompression and an unhealthy rattle echoing hollow from a tube in his neck. His "eyes" stare blankly, the steel of his skull tilts slightly aside, and there is a static rasp. Then, "My skull exploded violently upon mutant manifestation," drones forth from no part of the mask in particular -- a low, resonant, robotic monotone that literally seems to shiver the air around it. "You are in my way."

"You're that asshole from Emerson!" Magnes exclaims at Bahir with recognition. "Apologize to her." he demands, pointing at Alyssa. "You have no right to go around calling women such things."

"Fuck off and die, Bahir!" Aly carols, though there is a certain vicious cheer in her voice. "That was twenty dollars worth of fucking pumpkin." She prods at it with a toe -- just in time to get bowled over by the small creature that caused this in the first place. "/Shi--" is broken off as she and the small child go down in a tumbled mass of limbs. One hand lands perilously close to Bahir's foot.

Wanda rubs at an eye with the first finger of her left hand. She cranes her neck, peering for the door and calculating the sanity of an attempted escape from the ratcheting chaos.

Meanwhile, a bitchy argument has been taken up behind the register as the barista defends her desire to keep the discovered cash with the manager on duty, who is having a seriously bad night.

The lights flicker.

Natalie's eyes widen. She stares. After a moment she ducks her head, shoves some money across the counter, and tells Bahir, "Bring me my latte, I'm going to go say hi," before escaping with a quick gasp toward Wanda's table. "Hi," she says with a breathless smile. "I'm so not hanging out over there."

The child and Alyssa impact draws a short cheer out of the tall-blonde Sarah. "Down she goes!" The accented voice whoops. She is perhaps not at her most sedate. The crowd around her has a delightful effect upon her attitude. She jabs at Jason with an elbow, letting out a laugh. "This place rocks. We should come out here more often."

Bahir steps on it. It's Alyssa's hand. He's jostled himself by the madness. It's an accident. And he just can't resist the temptation. Soon off it again, he finds his feet somewhat unsteadily, pressed back against the counte.r He gives Natalie a tight nod, and eyes Alyssa through narrow eyes. "Sure are fast to hit your knees, Alyssa."

Well, that's a mood-killer. "Oh," Rossi says, a little dampened. Not much. He leans into Xorn squinting. "Pissy British guy?" he begins, before the small fracas behind him swivels his head around, and the recognition of voices -- fuck -- and combatants -- more fuck -- thins his mouth into a hard, slashed line. He sidesteps to allow Xorn past him into the cafe; arms straighten into his pockets, into a hard, rigid line. He deliberates, hesitates, and then plows his way out of the cafe. Not his problem.

"It is a madhouse in here," Wanda observes to Natalie, drumming her fingertips against the side of the table. She flips her sketchbook shut and breathes out in a sigh, eyebrows arching. "A complete madhouse."

"Stop jabbing me. I'm paying attention." Jason does, however, not look at Alyssa, but rather hisses in all good excitable humor, "Metal-face over there had his /head/ explode when his power manifested. Maybe being in public not so bright?" He is telegraphing through his accent-- and looks upward uncertainly when the lights flicker.

"A bit," Natalie breathes toward Wanda, glancing over her shoulder with a frown. "My partner's being a total asshole, too. I think he likes making it worse." Her gaze sweeps forward again and she leans into the table with a frown. "Anyway. How are things?"

Bahir does not. He is a virtuous innocent assailed by vicious teenagers and their pumpkins. Also, he needs to pay for his iced tea.

"Man, and I though I had it rough," Sarah tells Jason. She looks over at Xorn, but the little war between Bahir and Alyssa is so enticing. Poor Sarah, she is torn! Do we gawk at the mutant with an even worse lot in life or do we watch Alyssa writhe around in pumpkin guts? The flicker of the lights barely dawns on her. Overstimulation.

"Ah, your partner?" Wanda lifts her chin slightly as she slants a glance past Natalie towards her friend, and her mouth twitches upward at one corner. "He has suffered the misfortune with the pumpkin? I have never seen it so wild in here. My brother will be sorry he missed it." (Perhaps not.)

Coffee hurts? It never did that in her old country. A simple nod went to the couple, taking the advice as it is given, before turning back to the menu ahead. Only to find someone else looking at her, or passed her. Tightening her coat, Sofia looks behind her to see a skeleton, saying, "This place definitely has its characters--" The swears catch up to her young ears and Sofia winces as if they are spoken to her. "--strange chara--" words also cut off by an off balance body. "Ouch."

Alyssa sends the toddler off on its slightly-gooey way, and glares up at Bahir. "Pissy bitch," she declares, and wings a handful of pumpkin guts and seeds at him before she plants her hands and attempts to scramble to her feet. (She is unsucessful. She wings another chunk of pumpkin at Bahir's leg.)

Xorn does not lean back, but his head does; polished metal glinting in the freshly flickered light. His curiosity stretches upward independently of the pumpkin mess and all related name calling, though he is hardly ignorant of it. The flat (assumed) line of his gaze turns back over his shoulder after the recently exited Christopher, and he finally steps towards the pumpkin people.

Priors, Magnes isn't quite used to considering that he has a prior, but he -so- wants to punch the hell out of Bahir. He didn't miss it, he felt the foot cover the hand, oh boy. "What the hell is your problem? How can you just -insult- someone? I mean, you just can't do that, it doesn't -work- like that." he attempts to explain, completely baffled, does such assholeness exist? "Apologize to her." he demands again, holding a hand down to Alyssa. "I'll help you up."

"Research," Natalie clarifies with an irritated twist ofher lips. "He's having a hard time. But still, you know?" She waves a hand, dismissive, and then drags out a nod. "How's Pietro? You guys are doing good?" Look! Normal conversation! Pleasant conversation! Obtained through a forceful, willful ignoring of the chaos behind her.

A long-lost pearl and diamond ring presses sharply into the palm of Alyssa's hand as she scrambles to her feet.

The lights flicker again. Then they yellow, and go out, emergency lights included. It is suddenly very dark.

"Oh, shit."

"You /cunt/," Bahir swears crankily as Alyssa dribbles guts on his clothing. He slimes them off to fling back at her with a shake of his hand, grabbing for napkins on the counter. He magically continues to ignore Magnes, reaching into his back pocket to extend plastic and pay for his drink -- just in time for the lights to go out. "Motherfucker."

"What the HELL?"

"I think this is unusual," Jason says brightly as he attempts to follow Xorn's route into the coffee shop, while carrying on with Sarah and Sofia. "It's unusually crowded. Unusually crass. The lighting is bad, the air is sweaty. It's /delightful/." And just as Jason draws out that last ful, the cafe is dark. And he maybe laughs a little. "/Great/."

Wanda looks momentarily distracted, her head canting slightly to one side as she slants an almost worried glance towards the, er, combatants. "Hmm," she muses, with a quiver of nerves writ across her face, but whatever she was about to say next is stalled by the dark. "That wasn't--" she starts to say, and cuts herself off before the words slip any further.

A surprised shout in Spanish comes from the piece of coffee line real estate that includes one Julio Richter.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Sarah's fake accent calls out. She goes very tense beside Jason. She hisses a whisper at him, "Gimmie my shit back. Right now."

Natalie's eyes widen behind the frames of her glasses and she glances instantly toward what light slants in from the street. Unforunately, part of the window has been blocked by enthusiastic Halloween decorating. "Wanda?" Natalie wonders carefully.

As is usually the case in such scenarios, somebody shrill and not particularly intelligent begins to scream. Several children start to cry. Also, there is swearing. New Yorkers are good at swearing.

Magnes feels everyone at least, and considers going Zatoichi on Bahir while he can't see it, but chooses the higher(?) ground! "Alyssa, take my hand." he hunches down, tapping the top of her hand with his finger.

Electric blue in the darkness, the sockets of Xorn's eyes dim and dull along with the lights, only to strike up again fully force a few seconds later. There is a hoarse, staticy rasp from his direction. An exclamation of surprise, perhaps.

"The lights have gone," Wanda replies matter-of-factly (self-correcting from her near-admission with a slight tremor of her spine). "Probably a fuse." Which, after only the slightest skim into the possibilities of their environs, she knows to be incorrect.

Alyssa curls her fingers around -- ring shape. Huh. She has time to lob another, "Oh, fuck /off/," at Bahir before -- "/Fuck/." In the absence of light, her eyes gleam, mutant-bright and reflective as she scrambles a little bit closer to Bahir, unrepentantly using his leg to lever herself upright. Gleamgleam, go the eyes. Gleamgleam, as she turns toward the sound of her name, and wrinkles her nose. "Thanks," she mutters, but tucks her hands back behind her. And gleams at Bahir some more.

Bahir picks up his iced tea and turns to face the general cafe. His argument with Alyssa momentarily put off, he glowers grumpily through the dim interior with his back pressed to the counter. He even allows her to lever herself up via his legs. Although he glares at her for it, at the moment, he says nothing. He glances in her direction pointedly. Eyes.

So many curse words, so little space, so much human contact. This is not Sofia's definition of badass coffee. There is no coffee in her hand yet. "This is insane," Sofia adds to the screams and now lack of lighting.

"It's not the lights I'm really worried about," Natalie admits, voice pitched low as if that will somehow, strangely, carry better to her near-companion in the chaos. "It's all the people in the dark." Her head lifts slightly, pupils adjusting slowly to the lack of light, and turns it in the direction in which she suspects Bahir before she wonders, loudly and clunkily, << Bahir? >>

Bahir's not listening. Things are mad enough.

Someone gets the bright idea to light up with their cigarette lighter. Unfortunately, they are fumblefingered, and in the process, their napkin catches fire.

Well.

At least there's light.

In the dark, whether it makes sense or not, Sarah stands there and holds at one of her elbows with the opposite hand. It mainly looks like the tall blonde is insecure and clinging to her own arm. Reality is a tad different, however. All of the yelling and the presence of so many bodies in the scant light has her badly on edge.

Alyssa's eyes gleam back at Bahir. She blinks. And, uh, waves slightly. Oops.

A salt shaker bounces off of the side of Bahir's head.

"Oh," Wanda says aloud, as the flame blazes bright yellow-white. "How nice."

"/Shit/" Natalie

"/Shit/!" Natalie says, standing so abruptly that her chair topples backwards with a crash. This time she tries it aloud as she eyes the flame and then the direction of the door. "Bahir!"

Jason laughs a little longer, a long, subdued chuckle that is, nonetheless, completely inappropriate. But in a moment of either sympathy for all, or simply not /liking/ the fire all alone in the dark, all alone in a /crowd/, he "turns the lights on."

Magnes sighs for a moment, trying to deduct just how dangerous this situation could get. "Alright, anyone have a laptop? We can use the light, this is a freakin' coffee shop, -someone- has to have a laptop." he points out as if it were a law of nature. In the dark, no illusions to fool his sight, he feels Sarah, but not in the physical way. Turning back to face her, he doesn't say a damned thing, infact, he moves away, it's too crowded to accidentally spark a dangerous bone swinging situation. "Is something on fire?" he asks, sniffing the air but not quite catching the source of the light.

Bahir picks the salt shaker up and flings it out with indiscriminate crankiness, tossing it away from him, and into the mass of humanity. Then he notices the fire. Hmm. "You know," he tells Alyssa, "many people are killed in stampedes."

Fire is desirable when one is living in an actual prehistoric cave with no possible other light source or means of preparing food. When the cave in question is actually a food establishment when blessed with electricity, the desirability quotient goes into negative numbers. Julio's eyes are immediately directed toward the sudden flare of light, and he inhales sharply at its presence, the sound ending in the slightest of whines as he bites down on his lower lip. Fingers clench tight at his sides to avoid shaking.

Wanda rises abruptly, and sweeps the coffee shop with a sudden, intense gaze. Her hand forms a fist, knuckles pressed to the table's surface. She looks decidedly unsettled, if what she is searching for is not immediately clear.

The salt shaker whirls through the air, and lands, plop, in Xorn's gloved hand, improbably enough. His head tilts slowly down. He stares at it, leather-gloved hand and metal-capped shaker illuminated (for him, beyond the touch of telepathic ability) in dull shades of black and blue. He does not seem to notice the fire, or the unhappy people around him.

Sofia notices the flame in the distance, it providing little light source in such an environment, and her eyes grow wide. The lights come on in the next instant, and the flame is gone. Odd. Americans are odd. Standing from the domio effect of some clumsy customer, Sofia bumps into the skeleton man. "Um... hello."

Illused light results in temporary blindness, Alyssa's eyes telling her one thing as her brain tells her another -- she could see in the dark, but now -- now. Shit. She squeezes her eyes shut, and, panicked, scuttles closer to Bahir. "Yes," she says, eyes still closed. "I am sure they are."

Another salt shaker bounces off of Bahir's head. The other side, this time.

When illumination returns, Sarah eases, but only a little. She backs toward the nearest wall. With so many unsettled people all around her, she does not want anyone at her back. "Man, this is a fucking riot waiting to happen," she hisses at Jason. Her usual snarl is not the same in the illusion-voice she is borrowing.

"I would suggest not-- /what the fuck/," Bahir snaps, bending down to pick up the salt shaker. This time, he pauses to look for a likely suspect, starting with the barista. Glare.

Wanda jerks with two fingers, and another patron stumbles. Hot coffee splashes all over another person who happened to be in the way, and coincidentally, douses the fire. Meanwhile, she is looking increasingly tense.

From Natalie, there is noticeable relief when the fire is exterminated, and for the moment she remains standing where she is, still and silent with one hand atop the table in front of her. Patience is a virtue, right?

"Get in the spirit, dearest!" and oh is Jason bright again, joining Sarah in her retreat. "How often does such fierce nonsense fall into our laps? Riots are not without purpose, or without entertainment. If this flies out of control," he adds, "we can always stop it before something awful happens. Heroics, my dear."

The bump from Sofia does not jar Xorn so much as it prompts him back into reality. Salt shaker still in hand, he holds it politely out for her to take, apparently under the assumption that she desires it. Probably for salting things. "Hello."

"I ain't a hero," she snaps at Jason. Sarah is slipping into her usual pattern of speech, now that the game is all but completely forgotten. She is still grabbing at her elbows, switching from one to the other in search of the comfort or something that she cannot quite find. "I swear, the next person who bumps into me..."

Finally, an illusion that doesn't bug the shit out of Magnes. He of course can't tell that the light is an illusion, and simply sighs in relief. "Finally, freakin' lights." He walks over to Alyssa who appears to be getting closer to Bahir. "Are you alright, Alyssa?" Her being his only actual friend here, at least by proxy, that's who his most concern goes to, glaring at Bahir. "You know, you still didn't apologize to her, the lights going off doesn't make you not morally obligated to apologize."

Bahir hefts his salt shaker. He considers Magnes wordlessly.

A salt shaker spirals past Bahir's nose while he is considering Magnes, and clonks off of Sarah's bony brow. It is not clear precisely where it came from.

"Shut /up/, Magnes," Aly hisses, folding her arms over her chest (ew, pumpkin-gutted) and opening her eyes just enough to size up Bahir and his salt sh-- oh, there goes another one. She ducks away from Magnes and wedges herself between Bahir and the counter. Too cranky to die!

As the shaker clonks, a slippery-stepped customer trying to make a break for it bumps up against Sarah.

The offering of a salt shaker is taken, out of fear if anything, and places it on a nearby table. "Is this what you Americans would call a 'stick up'?" Sofia questions, hands going airborne at the idea. Too many Cops episodes.

The illusionary lights show Julio in a state of coming down from near panic, a state stopped in its tracks by the containment of the fire. He breathes slowly and his fingers twitch at his sides. His eyes are trained on his shoes, which have been decorated by errant flying pumpkin seeds.

"Who the /fuck/ threw that?!" Sarah is not really one to sit idle when being hit with flying salt shakers. She takes two steps forward, just in time for a customer to bump into her. "Fucker!" she erupts and takes a swing at the guy's head. Illusions or no, she is too freaked out by the crowd to maintain.

"/Fucker/," Bahir snaps, glaring in the direction that the third salt shaker came from with the second still in his hand. He only looks a /little/ suspicious, what with him being in the path of the one that hit Sarah.

"You could be. Wade into the madness and pin down a rioting fool with the flat of your arm? And he would owe you a life debt. After you spare him of course." Jason is perhaps waxing a bit too eloquent, relatively untouched as he is by REALITY at this moment. But then, well, Sarah lashes out. "Hey! /Heroics!/" But he does not exactly stop her.

Natalie , so far unscathed in any large part, moves very carefully. "I think," she tells Wanda lowly, whether the other woman is listening or no, "That I am going-- home. Tell Pietro--" Whatever message she cares to be carried to him remains unspoken as she instead turns to begin the effort of picking her way through the crowd and to the door.

And the unfortunate fool goes /down/. KO!

Sarah seems satisfied with having knocked the guy who bumped into her on his ass. Now her attention is on trying to figure out who hit her in the face with the salt. Bahir ends up with her staring right at him. There is suddenly an angry blonde woman shoving her way through the crowd in his direction. "Hey, you think throwing shit at people is fucking funny? C'mere, lemme show you funny!"

"I am Russian," comes Xorn's polite reply. His mood is made somewhat questionable by the synthetic, vibrating bass drone of his voice, but he does not seem particularly nervous or upset. He stands tall and continues to be oblivious.

Sarah's ire naturally draws Bahir's attention. Just as naturally, being the innocent party, he looks behind and to the side to see who she is talking to. He eyes Magnes. He eyes Alyssa. He looks back at her. Oh. He drops the salt shaker and takes a step back, pushing Alyssa a little further away and then kicking at her foot as incentive to move. He sets his iced tea down. "Wasn't me, you crazy bitch," he snaps at her.

"Ah hell." is all Magnes says, not getting a chance to respond to Alyssa. Sarah is pissed, which is basically like 'Hulk mad!', gotta do something. He pulls his Hello Kitty hood over his forehead, letting the goggles protect his eyes. Must hide recognition! "Ma'am." he starts to Sarah, trying to feign a deeper voice than he actually has. "I believe someone else threw it, no need to bloodshed and such. Marrow was such a cool band, can I have your autograph?" he tries the random fan tactic, maybe it'll work!

Alyssa does not /quite/ yelp as Sarah starts swinging, but there is no time -- there is not time, there is just panic, as her eyes go wide and wider and then she is /there/, and Aly is small. Small, and scared, and being nudged by Bahir. She moves, but not far, reaching to ball one smallish fist in his shirt. "He didn't throw it honest," she declares, possibly somewhat petulantly.

Wanda nods once vaguely, largely at the sound of her brother's name. Then she strides out from behind the table, leaving sketchbook carelessly behind. Her jaw is set and her gaze skips restlessly hither and thither.

Ah, Magnes. He is a wonderful thing. Sarah's eyes go wide at the mention of the name Marrow, hidden behind Jason's power as she is. Recognition dawns on the pretty blonde face and twists into a scowl. Bahir? Salt-shakers? What? "You little..." she lunges at him, hands trying for his throat and a knee trying for his groin.

A panicked patron tries the door -- the glass of which rattles, but doesn't budge. "It's locked!" she cries.

"Go gently! Go gently!" Jason takes off at a brisk dodge of a run after Sarah, and his concern is /quite/ raised when he notices her target. He tosses a brief auditory illusion in Bahir's direction, just as he starts on the word "crazy," rendering him shortishly mute. But Sarah's been distracted-- "/Gently/."

Natalie is directly behind that patron, and her eyes widen as she stares at the back of his neck. "What? How is it /locked/?" she wants to know.

Bahir twitches as Sarah lunges -- but then he realizes the angle of her lunge is toward Magnes, and he just takes a slight step to the side to get out of the way, moving between her and Alyssa. Then he blinks, and clears his throat, testing his voice after bizarre silence by saying, "Fuck this?" It works. Yay!

A napkin holder sails after Jason's head, glinting in the imaginary light that he is the source of.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Russian," Sofia says careless as to what he really meant. The chaos around her is more than enough to compensate for her ignorance. She turns to the sound of the patron at the door, Sofia, in turn, starting for her and another. "Please tell me it is not."

Alyssa takes advantage of the distraction -- and of Bahir between herself and the crazy blonde -- to ball her other fist slightly higher in the back of Bahir's shirt as she stretches to her toes and says, "I'm sorry for the pumpkin. Please don't actually fuck off and die -- can we get /out/ of this?" She does not actually add 'alive.'

"Locked?" Wanda slants her glance toward the door, and reaches silently into the fabric of reality, her hand lifting. Her fingers close into a fist over the air and she tugs at nothing, gently. The door's still locked! She pretends to use the curled fingers of her hand to wipe at sweat from her brow (very, very ninj). Her steps drift nonchalantly towards Xorn.

Magnes drops his hood, ah hell. He's still not faster than Sarah, so instead of foolishly attempting to dodge, he finally decides on grabbing her wrists as hard as he possibly can, and lifting a foot to push at her knee. Needless to say, she's also stronger than he is, and he goes tumbling back by the sheer force of her body, but tries to keep a grip on her wrists. "Get off me, there's no point in fighting here! There's something I wanted to give you!" Talk talk talk, until something can get her off him!

"Watch it with the fucking vegetables next time," Bahir mutters grumpily at Alyssa. Dark eyes turn to flick across the room toward the front door, which seems to be a minor /issue/ for others, and then away toward fire exits. He nods toward one near the back, where a short hall goes to the restrooms. "Start edging your way over there."

And what was that about diminished worry? Shoes slicked with pumpkin, Julio takes a couple of shuffling steps toward the door, fingers still flexing, as the lights illuminate the increasing violence. The declaration of being locked in, however, is enough to cause another sharp intake of breath and balling of his fists, though these quiver at his sides rather than being used on someone.

Sarah is not a fan of being restrained. When Magnes grabs onto her wrists and tries to keep them, it sends her into some sort of a frantic state. She yanks frantically backwards to free her hands, which sends her bumping into the crowd and likely sending surges of movement through people. "Get /the fuck/ off of my hands!" she yells, practically in Magnes' face. She goes so far as to try to headbutt him in her sudden frantic attempts to get loose of the kid's grasp.

"No," says Xorn, "I am from Russia. My name is Xorn." A leather-gloved hand is offered for Sofia to take, but he turns his head at the numerous exclamations involving the locked state of the door. "The door is locked," he confirms helpfully a few seconds later.

Alyssa may or may not mutter something that sounds a WHOLE LOT like 'too cranky to die,' as she (with one handful of Bahir's shirt still balled in her fist) starts edging OH SO SUBTLY (no, really) toward the indicated escape route.

<< Natalie? >> Telepathy skims and dips across minds with the fall of Bahir's shields: carefully measured, it is only partial, allowing him to find Natalie's familiar mind amidst the unfriendly and unfamiliar mass of others -- before he hiccups back to go, << Jason? >> Brief words, then he's back to speaking to Natalie as he slides along the counter toward the side door. << There's a fire door. Near the back. Meet me there? >>

Magnes lets her go as soon as she jerks back, he's not exactly trying to -keep- her close. He scrambles to get up, trying to walk backward and keep his eye on her, and his distance. "Sorry, but you did sorta just try to kill me, -again-. Could you cut that out? I'm not gonna hit a woman." he tries to reason with her again, not paying attention to all this stuff about locked doors.

Jason leaps backward, but the flying napkin holder and Sarah's backward collision coincide with each other and he sprawls onto his rear end. For a moment, the room returns dim-dark, and then the lights are back on. Bahir's query is all but lost. But Sarah-- Sarah can hardly go unremarked. He gathers himself. In just a moment . . .

"I am about three seconds away from suggesting we throw a fucking chair through the window," Natalie states tightly before her head lifts with a short, sharp intake of breath. Reaction to unexpected telepathy. Her head turns instinctively. << What? Where-- oh, thank /god/, >> she answers, and turns abruptly to try to pick her way through crowd, mess, and flying objects.

"Unlock it," Wanda directs in short, sharp Russian as she approaches. She does not go so far as to physically shove Skeletor, but she does raise her eyebrows, put her hands on her hips, and look very stern. She would make a terrifying schoolteacher.

<< Thank /me/. You're welcome. >> Reaching back to pick up his tea, Bahir continues to slide along to the side with Alyssa. Thoughts reshield again, drawn tight against the chaos. He looks over his shoulder at Alyssa with brief incredulity. "What did you say?"

"Stay the /fuck/ away from me, you brain-dead motherfuck." Sarah kicks in Magnes direction, but it is a half-hearted attempt. She looks around, enraged still and a bit beyond her limits. She rubs at both wrists, whatever Magnes set off in grabbing her there lingering. She instead looks around for Jason. "The hell did you go?" she demands, not thinking to look down.

For the first time this evening, there is some element of emotion to Xorn. It takes the form of startlement, stiff through his shoulders and back when the skull of his face turns sharply to stare at Wanda with hollow eyes. "I do not have the key," he replies after a short pause, also in Russian.

Natalie is at Bahir's side soon enough, and her presence of mind is enough to offer a faintly shakey, if somewhat wry, "Thank you," before she wonders, "It's open?" She is ignoring Alyssa, and Bahir's response to Alyssa. And pretty much everything outside of Bahir and the exit.

Jason stands up! Simple enough. He nearly comes up under Sarah's chin, in fact. "I'm here. /Chill/."

A pair of salt shakers ricochet off the back of Sarah's head, one and two. The second opens upon contact, spilling salt across people and pumpkin in a wide arc.

Sofia would suggest getting an employee to open the door, but, with a look behind her, she could see that most of them were hidden in fear. Turning back, she notices the cursing woman manuevering through the crowd. No harm in following. Unless they were killers. Hesitation apparent, Sofia backs from the door.

"Too cranky to di--" is cut off sharply as Alyssa looks up at Bahir, expression slightly guilty as they continue their slide. She adjusts her grip on his shirt, faint recognition flickering in her eyes at Natalie's approach. It is dismissed, as she squints up at Bahir and tells him, "Er. Nothing."

A small draft is felt within the room.

Magnes finally sighs, moving back from her half-hearted kick, not ready to get mauled by whole-hearted ones. "For now." he whispers mostly to himself, then looks around to see what else is going on. "What's all this stuff about a locked door?" he asks no one in particular, walking to his table to recover his skates.

"You don't need one, do you?" Wanda lifts her chin and stares up at Xorn's funny glowy-eyed head with a certain cool, absurd defiance. "I know you did it." She doesn't -- she is a creature of probability, not certainty; reality is made of quantum quarks and snabbles around in flux. Her Russian is, for all that it is her second language, not as good as her English: it bears the thick, heavy dredge of her Romani accent, moreso than her English does. Out of practice! "Fix it," she demands imperiously. "I do not desire to remain in this place any longer."

A fascinating question, Natalie. /Is/ it open? Bahir tries the door. If this means that the fire alarm suddenly goes off, as occasionally happens, he doesn't really care. He just waves with wry humor reflected back at Natalie, including Alyssa in the words, "Ladies first," as he pushes on the door.

The impacts at the back of her head stumble Sarah forward into Jason. The second one ends with a lot of salt down her back and in her clothes. She clutches at her head and actually shakes visibly, letting out an inarticulate yell of frustration. "Stop /fucking/ throwing shit at me!"

Julio continues to stand tensely near the exit, fingers and knees quivering with potential energy, eyes mostly lidded and pointed at the uninteresting wood of the door. Uninteresting trumps overstimulating.

The fire alarm goes off.

The fire alarm sputters and dies seconds later. The battery must have needed replacing.

:(

(:

Natalie is lacking much responding humor, and her breath comes a bit quicker and a bit deeper at the rush of fresh air that streams inward. "Thank /god/," she says again, and she's out in a swift step. She does, at least, pause to see if Bahir is following.

Alyssa manages a stumble-stepping exit, but she doesn't let go of Bahir -- he likely gets pulled along with her, as, "Shit, fu--oh. Nevermind."

"Sarah." Jason threads /tired/ through her. If he cannot force emotion, he can force sensation. Tired. Sleepy. All this excitement makes you all numb and fuzzy headed, doesn't it.

Bahir follows. Out into the night, their open door is a tempting exit out into sanity. He takes it, leaving madness behind. "Well," he says as he looks down the alley and starts toward the street front. "That was exciting."

Hello, loud startling noise! A scant second of amplified banshees from the fire alarm above the door is sufficiently startling to discharge a vibration through the floor centered around Julio. The room jerks quickly to the side and back, a motion no longer than the span of the alarm's sound, but not ignorable.

Sarah slumps pitifully. She is still clutching at the back of her head, but she is not shuddering and shaking in such overwrought rage at being target practice for someone with a lot of salt shakers. She looks up at Jason, her body swaying with the rock of the room as the alarm screams and then fades. Sarah has gone from fearsome to practically pitiful in a matter of moments.

A patron still trying the front door suddenly manages to push through and out into the rain. "I got it!" he cries, but not before the ground has shaken, and there is a renewed panic to the press of patrons trying to get out that way.

"Not really," Natalie states, rubbing one hand up along her arm. She glances sideways at Bahir for a moment and then adds, "I'm taking a cab home. You going?"

Well shit, all the rules seem to have gone out the window, he puts his skates back on, standing up and rolling to the only noticable face left in the room (That doesn't want to kill him), "Ms. Maximoff, what's up with the door?" he asks with some concern, wondering why it's so damned hard for -anyone- to unlock a door. "Where are the clerks and stuff?"

Jason keeps the tired level at just that, although the shake of the room briefly deflects his attention as he splays out his feet for balance. Quieter, "That's it. We're all right, huh? We'll walk out of here in just a moment."

Giving Natalie a slight shake of his head, Bahir says, "Walking." His steps quicken a touch with the rippling vibration from the shop, and he looks up a little nervously before pushing forward, onto the street, and down the sidewalk. He glances at Alyssa sidelong. "You have quite a mouth on you."

From Xorn, there is another short silence, which is followed by a longer span of rasping and rattling when he tilts his head down to peer dully at Magnes. "I think that you are mistaken." He is still speaking in Russian.

Natalie glances at Bahir, frowning at him for a moment before she shakes her head and steps forward toward the curb, hand already lifted in desperate search for a cab. One appears in blissfully short order, and she's gone.

"I'm fucking /tired/," Sarah insists. Jason may not be forcing emotion, but she is looking upset. In the absence of anger, there is something else there. As odd as it may be, it looks like she is going to break into tears at any moment. She still holds the back of her head. "Can we just go?"

Wanda takes a half-step back, avoiding the swarm of wacky patrons who are desperate to get out. "I do not know, nor do I care," she says coldly to Magnes in English. Then she rewards Xorn with the bright flash of a smile. She shakes her head slightly, hair tumbling around her shoulders as it falls loose from her clip, which she catches in one hand. Then she turns on her heel and strides back for her sketchbook.

Alyssa keeps up, reaching to smooth the wrinkles that her clutching at his shirt has caused; after, her hands get shoved into pockets. "So do you you," she crabs back at him. Their paths, for the moment, are similar ones.

Jason offers Sarah his arm with every gentlemanly instinct he has. "Yes. Of course. Party's over." (He's not letting up the "tired" pressure.)

Julio continues to linger by the door, eyes now screwed entirely shut, face downcast with clear guilt. For that small release of energy, though, his fingers and knees still quiver, barely in control.

Though tired and suddenly pitiful, Sarah still has enough venom to shove Jason's arm away. She starts for the door, now that it is open and people seem capable of filing out into the waiting rain beyond.

"Yes, but I'm a bitter old man, and you are a young woman," Bahir lectures idly. He waves at Natalie as she heads off, watching to see that she safely makes it before looking sidelong at Alyssa. He lifts an eyebrow at her. "You should comport yourself with greater grace and dignity."

At the patron's exclaimation, Sofia does not hesitate to exit. There has been enough 'badass' in the event than desire can accept. With the hood of her coat thrust over her head, she walks down the sidewalk toward home. "Derek will just love to hear this," Sofia says to herself. A decent breeze of wind develops as she walks.

Jason follows close after Sarah, both to keep her subdued and to make sure she doesn't collapse somewhere inconvenient.

Magnes tilts his head at Xorn, "That is one badass costume, but uh, I don't understand german." German? Well at least he didn't say chinese. His eyes dart to the person handling Sarah, who else handles Sarah? "Son of a bitch..." he mutters, looking around for something of use; no gun, no bat, and he'd likely go to jail again, shit.

"Cranky," Alyssa corrects with something nearing genuine cheer, "cranky old man." She meets his glance, sidelong, then shrugs. "It's difficult to be dignified while dropping a pumpkin, and being stepped on." She makes a cranky face.

"Hello," says Xorn to Magnes, skullface turning down again to face him after he has taken a moment to stare after Wanda's smile. His greeting lacks inflection, like everything else he says. When the boy turns away, however, he does not pursue polite conversation, opting to turn for the door himself instead. It is still raining, but as he is not made of sugar, this should not be too much of a problem.

Sprinkle, sprinkle.

The sky pees.

Like Tit!

Sprinkle, tinkle.

Rolling his eyes at her correction, Bahir doesn't challenge it. Hanging close to the buildings, he avoids the majority of the rain. "If you didn't insist on thrusting your hands beneath my feet, they wouldn't get stepped on." He straightens, looking around and marking his direction as they come to a corner. He must go one way. "I've got to get going," he says, drawing his hoodie closer. He narrows his eyes at her. Where nice parting words /should/ go, instead there is silence, and he jogs off, away from her. Almost civilly.

Alyssa fortunately has to go the other -- there is a slight wave, and something resembling a smile, as she dissappears into the rain.

Jason gives Magnes a look that says nothing at all and departs with his Ukrainian woman that is not.

Magnes opens the door, noticing the rain and slamming it right after. "Alright, rain, I think I'll just sit in here for a few hours..." And with that, he walks over to a table and sits, twiddling his thumbs. "What a night."
Chaos.