OUR LIFETIME « Pietro Maximoff

34 /| bars and sports cars pt. 1

warning: drunkenness, violence

•.* [chapter thirty-four]

*•*.*•.

four months later

"HEY ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, LADY?" The stranger drunkenly shouted in Savannah's ear. She'd known she was making a mistake when she traveled to the hole in the wall that was this bar. She'd only wanted to drink and to be as far away from Pietro as she could be for the moment.

Four drinks in, though, and she'd hardly felt a buzz. Her powers burned alcohol out of her system nearly faster than she could consume it, but she wasn't Pietro or Steve. She could get drunk. She just needed several more glasses of something considerably stronger.

Ignoring the man beside her, she waved to the young bartender. "Can I get something stronger, neat, and can you keep whatever it is coming?" Savannah asked the older woman whose pale skin stretched tightly over her face. Her brown eyes were bored, but she poured Savannah a glass of something brown and went onto another customer.

Savannah took it gratefully, downing it in one go. She swallowed hard, the liquid burning her throat but pleasantly warming her chest.

She may not have been able to sense a single soul in the dimly lit bar that smelled faintly of urine, cigarettes, and french fries, but she knew the exact moment the man beside her raised a hand in another attempt to get her attention.

Without looking at him she huffed. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He tried anyway, but Savannah ducked away from his touch and turned to him, finally giving him the attention he so desperately craved. His eyes were red and narrowed. His skin looked sallow and wrinkled. His brown hair was long and greasy, and he smelled strongly of cigarettes and vodka.

"Your kind ain't allowed here," he told her, his words slurring together.

Savannah made a face, her brows furrowing angrily. She felt her hands begin to heat. She was gloveless and irritated. "What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"You superheroes don't have a place here any more."

Savannah blinked, her anger bleeding from her. He just hated superheroes. "Oh." She turned back to the bar narrowly avoiding a mystery patch of stickiness on the epoxy as she grabbed the new drink the bartender had set out for her. She downed that one too. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the line of bottles. Her dark braids were falling into her face, and her old jean jacket fit a little too loosely on her shoulders. The black shirt she wore swallowed her. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes were dull. Savannah looked away, her eyes catching onto her empty glass. "You've got the wrong girl."

"I never forget a face, lady."

The bartender came up and refilled her cup before speaking to the man. "That ain't her, Joe. Jesus. Go find someone else to pick on."

"Now, Sandra," he began, addressing the bartender. "I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid." He grabbed for Savannah again, but this time she caught his arm in her hand. He grunted, trying to escape from her grip. The fact was that she didn't even need her powers to subdue him, and he was fucking lucky that the drinks were starting to work.

She grabbed her drink in her free hand, and took a second to enjoy it. She let go of him, threw a hundred on the counter and slid from her stool. She faced the man head on. He was at least a head taller than her like this.

He glared down at her, and his next movements were uncoordinated as he tried to grab her hair. Savannah sidestepped his advances and punched him squarely in the jaw. She didn't even mind the slight stinging in her knuckles. He let out a short cry as he fell into the bar. He recovered quickly, lunging for her. Savannah's hands were already glowing.