The Blood Phoenix: An X-Men: First Class Fanfiction

Chapter 5: Argentina

Erik and I entered the Argentinian bar. I was now wearing a dark blue dress with the same black sunglasses that I had worn in Paris. When we came into the bar, I eyed the scene.

'Buenas tardes, caballeros. Hace calor afuera. Cerveza por favor. Cerveza alemana (Afternoon, gentlemen. Hot out there. Beer, please. German beer).'

'Por supuesto (Of course),' the bartender replied. Turning his attention to me, he spoke something that made my blood literally boil upon impact with anger. Upon hearing this, Erik stared him dead in the eyes, which made him turn away. Once he had turned away, he spoke to me in English, 'Don't mind him. He's just interested in your looks.'

'Agreed,' I replied. Looking at the wall, I saw a photo that said 'Caspartina' below it in big letters and a photo of three men. In the middle was Klaus Schmidt... Sebastian Shaw. I elbowed Erik and he looked at it. We made eye contact with each other. This can't be good, Erik,' I spoke in his head. He stared at me, then realised I was speaking in his head and that there were no other telepathics in the room. Just then there was another voice. I and Erik turned to see two gentlemen sitting at another table, looking at us.

'Sí, es Bitburger. Te gusta (Yes, it's Bitburger. You like it)?' The second man soon asked. Taking his beer, he took my hand and we sat down at the table.

'El mejor. Qué te trae a la Argentina (The best. What brings you to Argentina)?' my father asked.

'El clima. Soy un granjero de cerdos (The climate. I'm a pig farmer),' one of the men replied.

'Sastre,' the second man spoke. 'Desde que era niño Mi padre hizo los mejores trajes en Dusseldorf (Tailor. Since I was a boy. My father made the finest suits in all of Dusseldorf.).' That was a dead giveaway. Erik's eyes lit up and involuntarily, so did mine.

'Mis padres eran de Dusseldorf. Cómo se llamaban? No tenían nombre. Se los quitaron ... los criadores de cerdos ... ... y los sastres (My parents were from Dusseldorf. What was their name? They didn't have a name. It was taken away from them... by pig farmers... and tailors...' I could feel the tension rise as he clicked glasses with the two men. I noticed a man pull put a knife. Standing up, I lunged forward and grabbed the knife. My anger was beyond compensation now.

'Sangre y Honor. Cuál te gustaría arrojar primero (Blood and honor. Which would you care to shed first)?' I hissed at the man.

'Estábamos bajo órdenes (We were under orders),' he said, looking nervously between Erik and I.

'Sangre entonces (Blood, then),' I replied, smiling and thrusting the knife into his hand. He howled in pain. Just then, I heard the cocking of a pistol. 'Oh, you don't want to do that, boys,' I taunted.

'Congelar, gilipollas (Freeze, assholes),' the bartender spoke.

'Vamos, dispara (Come on, shoot)!' Using my telepathy, I forced the bartender to direct his gun over to the Nazi stooge and shoot him. Erik, also using his powers, directed the knife into the bartender's chest and then stabbed the knife back into the man's hand.

'Quien ... que eres (Who... what are you)?' the man with the knife in his hand asked. Erik and I walked over to the photo of Shaw with the two men, the one that said 'Caspartina.'

'Let's just say we're Frankenstein's monsters. And we're looking for our creator,' Erik spoke. Erik, using his powers, moved the gun from the dead bartender and shot the other Nazi stooge. I walked through the mess of the scene.

'At least we've got our lead. One step closer to getting our revenge,' I said in English.

'Yes. Yes, we are. Let's go.' Taking his coat off the rack, we exited the Argentinian bar.