14153/A Night Out at the Hideaway

A Night Out at the Hideaway
Date of Scene:	24 February 2022
Location:	Harry's Hideaway (Bar), Salem Centre
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Phoenix, Quicksilver, Loki

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Phoenix has posed:
The evening is late. Nearing midnight. What Jean is doing out so late on a school night is anybody's guess. And yet, here she is. She sits in a booth about halfway down the lefthand wall as one walks inside. She's got a drink sitting in front of her, a lowball tumbler half filled with rich amber liquid and ice. She picks it up and swirls it around, the ice cubes clinking in that melodic way they have. She does that for only a few swirls before lifting it to her lips and taking a sip. Outside, thick flakes of snow drift down, already turning the streets and sidewalks white.

Quicksilver has posed:
It's not an uncommon thing for Pietro to be running. In fact, it's an every day occurrence. And that's exactly what he's been doing. The path he takes through the city streets and alleys is never the same way two runs in a row. The destination is seldom the same two runs in a row either. There's something to be said for randomness. He comes to a halt out front of the bar, pausing for a moment as the snow speckles his white hair. Then he steps forward to pull open the door and step inside, his blue gaze flicking across the space in a brief manner before he moves deeper within.

Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey feels the mind of the man who enters, but turns her own mind firmly away. She lowers the glass and drags her finger along the rim of it in a slow circular motion. In the background, music plays from the jukebox that someone had started up. A slow, mellow song is what's playing. Jean seems to be doing more thinking than listening, her thoughts turned almost entirely inward, emerald eyes on the glistening liquid of her drink. She stops circling the rim to take up the glass again. Lifting it, another slow sip is taken.

Quicksilver has posed:
The white haired man lifts a hand to pull his fingers through his hair, sending some snowflakes skittering from it while others simply melt into it. Then he brushes his fingers against his pantleg, which is simply black jeans. His mind is a hectic and chaotic place sometimes, and there are often multiple things he's thinking about. His thoughts often flick back and forth from one thing to another in quick succession. As Pietro steps past the booth where the redheaded woman sits, his attention is caught by her and he offers a nod of silent greeting. He continues to step forward towards the bar itself. That he intends to get an alcoholic drink and that the alcohol will do nothing to him on account of his metabolism is an irony that's not lost on him.

Phoenix has posed:
Jean Grey is dressed in a deep, forest green turtleneck sweater, a pair of plain blue jeans, black boots with two inch heels. A coat is folded on the seat beside her, maroon colored leather. Probably a long coat from the bulk. Her copper hair has been left to hang loose, swaying about her shoulders in loose waves. As the man steps up next to her, Jean's emerald eyes shift up to glance to him. The nod of greeting is returned, and she looks back to her own glass. She raises a brow and looks to him, unable to keep out the thought that invades her mind. "And what is wrong with redheads?" she asks, that red brow remaining arched.

Quicksilver has posed:
In addition to the black jeans, he's got a pair of black sneakers, and a long sleeved pullover shirt in a dark cobalt blue. A black leather jacket completes the outfit. He didn't stare at the redheaded woman, at least. Yet with the speed at which his mind works, he doesn't have to stare. He only gets half a step past her booth when she asks that question of him. And that? That makes one of his eyebrows swiftly arch up. That was very much not expected! When he turns to look at her, the surprise is evident in his features. "Now that... I am fairly certain I did not say that out loud," Pietro comments, a bit of an accent to the words. Kind of Russian, but not -- Transian. Distracted as he is from his path, he remains by her booth, near her. "There is nothing wrong with redheads. If I had an issue with them, I am fairly certain that my sister would have had words with me over it," he adds, sounding a bit amused.

Phoenix has posed:
"I heard you. Clearly. A redhead. There is no escaping redheads. If you have no issue with redheads, why were you thinking that so loudly if I'd been looking your way, I would have heard you two counties over?" Wait. What? Did... Two counties over? Really? Her own accent is local. She smiles to soften the blow of her words. She's not annoyed. Actually more amused than anything else. She waves to the seat across from her. ~Harry. Apple brandy, please. Neat.~ The bartender, and owner as it happens, lifts his eyes to Jean's and nods once. He pours the desired drink and walks it over to the table, setting it on the corner. "Anything for you, Jeanie," he says before nodding once to Pietro, then turning and heading back to his bar. Back to his other customers nursing drinks there.

Quicksilver has posed:
"Did you, now," Pietro comments, a touch wryly. That eyebrow remains arched upwards, and there's a long moment in which he studies her. Part of what she said definitely warrants additional thought on some level. He knows exactly how far two counties over would be, and that -- that deserves at least a bit of consideration. "My sister would likely smite me where I stand if ever I had an issue with redheads. Given that she is one," he says, then lifts a hand in a slight gesture as though to put aside the notion. He is momentarily flummoxed, and then reaches the logical conclusion that his experience would lead him to -- she's a witch. She must be. "Two counties, hmm? That distance is not insignificant," he comments.

He makes her wait a second -- which for him is a lot -- before he moves to settle into the seat across from her. He glances towards the bartender when a drink -- but no, not just /a/ drink, /the drink he had been thinking about/ -- is brought to the table. He returns the bartender's nod, then looks to the drink. How in the hell...? He gives a brief glance to the bartender, a look again to the drink, and then his blue gaze turns to the redheaded woman across from him. He reaches out to the drink and picks up the glass before lifting it to take a sip.

Phoenix has posed:
The evening is late. Nearing midnight. What Jean is doing out so late on a school night is anybody's guess. And yet, here she is. She sits in a booth, with Pietro sitting opposite her sipping from a glass of apple brandy, about halfway down the lefthand wall as one walks inside. She's got a drink sitting in front of her, a lowball tumbler half filled with rich amber liquid and ice. In the background, music plays from the jukebox that someone had started up. A slow, mellow song is what's playing. Outside, thick flakes of snow drift down, already turning the streets and sidewalks white.

"Smart sister," murmurs Jean as she curls her fingers around the glass in front of her. She wears a deep, forest green turtleneck sweater, a pair of plain blue jeans, black boots with two inch heels. A coat is folded on the seat beside her, maroon colored leather. Probably a long coat from the bulk. Her copper hair has been left to hang loose, swaying about her shoulders in loose waves. She tilts her head as the surface thoughts catch her attention, and she lets out a sudden laugh. "I'm not a witch." She lifts her glass to take a sip of her own from it. Lowering it, her emerald eyes sparkle with amusement. "I can see how you might, though." She inclines her head briefly to him. "I'm Jean."

Loki has posed:
The doors to Harry's open, allowing the entrance of a tall and lanky gentleman. Loki makes no qualms about his appearance, wearing blue jeans and a dark olive tee shirt with a black sports jacket over such. His hair is just past his shoulders, but up in a ponytail and he has a walking cane with him. Strong blue eyes glance around for a moment as if seeking for something. Someone? No one ever knows, but the Trickster is looking about as agile and devious as he always is. A few more steps inwards, his gaze shifts to the patrons of the bar, those at tables, booths, the mutants against the wall.

He smirks.

Then he takes himself to the bar and slowly settles upon a stool, leaning his cane against the bar itself while looking over the drinks against the wall. A little flick of fingers, a whisper of words, and then he's being served something green in a highball glass with a straw. Asgard knows what the hell it is.

Quicksilver has posed:
The white-haired speedster snorts softly, and he gives a nod. "That she is," he agrees, about his sister. As if he'd not agree about that? He doesn't have a death wish! His sister could kick his ass anytime she wanted, speed or no speed. And he knows it. He lightly swirls the brandy within his glass, then lifts it to take another sip of it, savouring the apple flavour of it. He lifts his free hand to lightly pull his fingers through his hair as she denies being a witch, not that he's necessarily convinced on that score.

"Consider it the voice of experience," Pietro comments, his gaze holding on her. He gives a small nod to acknowledge her introduction. "It's a pleasure. A strange pleasure," he comments, giving a bit of a smirk. This is an unusual turning of the tables, for him. "I'm Pietro," he offers in turn, a smile quirking his lips.

Phoenix has posed:
Just as she had when the door opened to admit the white haired man sitting across from her, Jean doesn't look. She doesn't even listen unless the surface thoughts are obvious. Her attention remains, for the moment, upon the man sitting across her booth's table from her. Jean chuckles at the man's words. "I promise," she says, the smile touching the words, her lips, and her eyes. "I'm not a witch."

Another chuckle, and Jean sets the glass on the table, cradling it between her hands again. "I'll take that. Strange is one way to describe me." She inclines her head as he speaks his name. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Pietro."

Loki has posed:
Loki is normally very much locked down when it comes to his thoughts. Though sometimes a few of them might flit to the surface. Like now, when he's wondering idly about when he'll feel the steel of his brother's hammer again... or perhaps be tackled to the ground once more by America's Ass(tm) himself. Perhaps Iron Man will crash through the roof... or the Hulk will bash him into the floor again! It's a weird life, living in some sort of perpetual fear but showing no signs of it on the outside at all. Mix it with the ever present thought of when and where to seize a moment of trickery. Deceit. And Loki's mind is a palace of chaos.

He must LOVE it that way.

Another sip of his concoction is taken before he turns to scan the bar once more. No one interesting. Not really. Aside from the woman and her white haired companion at the booth against the wall. They gain a glimpse, a smirk, but nothing more before eyes narrow. Like he's trying to decide something. But what?

Quicksilver has posed:
Lightly, Pietro swirls the brandy in his glass, and then he lifts it to take a sip of it. He considers her words for a long moment, and then he gives a nod. "Well. Because you promised, I'll believe you," he says, quirking a smile. Some of his defensiveness seems to be fading from him, at least. He shifts slightly, leaning back a touch. "And yet, you have a two county range to hear what I might happen to be thinking," he says, a flicker of amusement touching his voice.

He lifts his free hand to make a slight gesture. "The strange was for having thoughts plucked of my head as though they were candies in a jar. It is something I am unaccustomed to. You, I would not consider strange. You, I would consider, a pleasure," he says, a smile quirking his lips. He casts a brief glance across the bar, but his attention turns easily and readily back to Jean.

Phoenix has posed:
Chaos is something Jean doesn't like so much. Though her eyes do move to rest upon Loki's form for a moment. Perhaps wondering at the brief glimpses she catches. Interesting. And just in time to catch the glimpse the man casts toward the booth. She looks away, back to the man at her booth.

She smiles at the compliment. "Why thank you," she says. "But I am strange. My apologies about plucking your candied thoughts. I try not to delve past the surface." Doing so can be uncomfortable, at best.

Loki has posed:
Loki lofts a single brow as he catches the gaze of the woman with the fiery red hair who also - and quickly - turns her attention away from him. He tilts his head just so, in a curious manner, and turns only to grab his drink before sliding off his stool and making his way to the booth she shares with the white haired man.

"Penny for your thoughts? I know I'm a looker, but that doesn't mean you have to turn your gaze away when I catch you looking. For me, it's perfectly alright if you stare..." Then he glances towards Piertro and gives a half-smirk - only the right side of his lips curling upwards. "Your boyfriend here might not appreciate you staring at another man too much, however."