Falice: From A to Z

Lies

Summary: Northsiders know the Whyte Wyrm for one thing and one thing only. Lawlessness. But to their neighbours to the South, it was home.

aka the one where the Wyrm is a bar that caters to delinquents with superpowers.

Rating: General.

Genre: drama, fantasy, supernatural, superhero AU

~~Lies~~

Northsiders know the Whyte Wyrm for one thing and one thing only. Lawlessness. But to their neighbours to the South, it was home.

Late at night, clad in leather jackets, Southsiders swarm the bar. They are the ones spat on by society, those who are constantly laughed at by the universe. But here, in the grimy bar on the wrong side of the tracks, they can forget all about the shitty hands they were dealt.

There is only one official rule. Powers and weapons are always to be left at the door.

Of course there is always the occasional idiot who ignores the giant sign plastered on the door only to be thrown out on their ass. Four out of five times, the idiot breaks into tears when the powers they've relied on as a crutch fails them for the first time in their lives.

"What did you do to me?" Malachai cries. He's on his knees, hysterically examining his very normal hands. He's oblivious to the crowd that had formed around him. "There should be sparks. Why aren't there sparks ?"

"You broke the rule," grunts Hog Eye. "You brought a knife."

Malachai flicks his fingers. Nothing. "What did you do?" he sobs. " What did you do? "

FP steps into the circle and turns to the jeering crowd. "That's enough everybody. Go back to getting drunk."

There is a collective groan before the small crowd files back into the bar.

"Malachai, is it?" FP turns to him who is rocking back and forth on the pavement. "You know, you wouldn't be in this mess if you just followed the rule."

"You're going down, old man," Malachai threatens.

"Good luck with that." FP laughs humorlessly. He turns back toward the bar. "Now get off my turf, or the Ghoulies will pay."

-

Cheryl Blossom marches into the Wyrm as FP is wiping the bar rail. She slides a red dossier towards him and makes herself comfortable on the barstool.

"I have a proposition for you," she states firmly, crossing her gloved hands across her chest. FP warily opens the folder to find a cover letter and resume inside. She must have spritzed it with something because it smells like flowers.

"You want a job?" FP frowns. That didn't make any sense. The large inheritance Clifford left her was old news. "But you're rich."

Cheryl lowers her gaze. "This is the only place where I can touch somebody without hurting them."

Suddenly the last few months made a whole lot more sense to FP. Toni Topaz bringing her new Northsider to the bar. How they couldn't keep their hands off each other and complained the loudest when he announced last call.

FP made a point of never asking. This bar is meant to be a safe space, the only space where the misfits of Riverdale aren't defined by their unconventional powers.

They say it affects roughly 12% of the population, although it is very likely to be more. It's hard to measure these things, especially since powers manifests in varying strengths and ability. Some powers aren't particularly super - Archie Andrews can draw a perfect circle 100% of the time. It's useless but harmless.