Wednesday Night

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

Two telepaths, a late-night excursion, and a bar fight. This can't possibly end well.



Inside a small pub, a few miles from the Academy, Betsy and Emma amuse themselves at the expense of some very drunk sailors. “He’s cute,” Betsy comments acknowledging a sailor from the far corner, as he talks and gestures wildly to his shipmates.

Emma quirks an eyebrow in the sailor’s direction and turns to Betsy, “There’s no accounting for taste, is there?” She then notices the empty glass in front of Betsy. “Thirsty?”

“Hmm,” Elisabeth murmurs, nodding her head. She motions for the bartender, “Another dirty marty, please.” She tries to tap the glass to motion for a refill, but misses the glass completely.

Emma turns away to hide her smile. She moves the glass from Betsy’s reach and shakes her head at the approaching bartender. “Definitely not.”

“You’re no fun,” Elisabeth says sulkily. She leaves the bar and walks back to their table in the corner.

Emma remains at the bar, waiting to pay their tab. When a sailor brushes up against her thigh , “Hello, suga’. How ‘bout I buy you a drink?”

“No.” Emma looks down at the sailor’s wandering hand and scoffs. “Go away.”

A look of confusion blankets his face, as he staggers back to his friends, unaware of Emma’s slight influence. But as he turns, his eye catches sight of Betsy at the table and he stumbles toward her. By now, Betsy is lost in her own thoughts, as she waits for Emma. She’s oblivious to what is happening around her and the man approaching.

“Hey baby,” the sailor says as he grabs Betsy from behind. “Wanna dance with Billy, huh? You’re a pretty thing.”

Betsy reacts to the sudden jerk out of her chair by falling into him. She tries to regain her balance and push away, while the sailors throughout the bar are whooping and yelling. They're egging the young sailor on as he manhandles Betsy with his roaming hands and mouth.

“Wouldn’t be so grouchy with these shades off, I bet.” Another sailor comes up and grab Betsy from behind, she finally pulls out of their grasp with such force that it rips her shades from her face.

She starts to fall forward as Emma's hand shoots out and braces her on the table. A concerned look written on her face as the younger woman refuses to look up. “Betsy?”

Betsy looks up in Emma’s direction, her irises covered in a thin blue veil. The white in her eyes are washed away in the maelstrom forming within the deep, cold irises. There is no misunderstnanding Betsy’s rage.

Emma can feel her companion’s fury, but is blinded by her own wrath. Neither woman chooses to restrain the other, as they focus their collective hatred towards the two men standing before them.

Laughing nervously, both men are thrown back by Betsy’s eyes and focused gaze. Neither one noticing the careful tug in their mind. But their nervousness slowly molds into fear as they lose the ability to move. After a few tangible moments, realization hits them and they are aware of their error.

Emma turns to Betsy, looking intently within her and sensing the alcohol-induced rage. The once calm presense is gone. Emma voices her concern, telepathically. “Betsy, what are you doing?”

Elisabeth tilts her head slightly. “They deserved it.” The alcohol was more than affecting her judgment; it was fueling the anger and frustration she'd felt for months.

Emma acquiesced. “Betsy, nothing permanent, darling.”

The other woman gritted her teeth. “Of course not. Just teaching a lesson.” Betsy turned her attention back to the sailor who had grabbed her shades and took it from him, placing them securely on her face. "Now. Where were we?"

Betsy face takes on an untypical wicked smile, "I wouldn't mind if you would get me another martini, Emma, would you care for something?"

Emma irritated at the turn of events, reaches for an ashtray from the table. She swings it and smacks one sailor on the chin. "No. We were just leaving.”

Ms. Frost stares down the other sailors across the slumped form of their drinking buddy. She's daring them to challenge her, and she's not using her powers to intimidate them.

A silent rumble fills the bar and Betsy starts at some of the voiced thoughts amplified in her state. Her mind screams two words, “They know.”

Emma darts a look at Betsy, hearing her scream. Fuck. She scans the sailors to see if there's going to be trouble. It feels like trouble.

A tidal wave of minds, crashes down on Betsy and she braces herself against the table. She’s lost the momentum she’d gain with her anger. She’s feeling more than unbalanced. Control, breathe in, out. Block them, Bet. She says to herself. Elisabeth looks up as a column of anger comes towards her, she pulls back and avoids the punch. She retaliates by punching her attacker across the face.

Emma ducks and punches a sailor in the stomach. Another sailor grabs her arm, but Emma twists and slams the ball of her hand into his chin. She links with Betsy so they can feel each other's movements and the movements of everyone around them. Two women, become one fighting force.

The lingering feelings of alcohol wash away and Betsy regains her center through linking with Emma. The masses around them are no longer a jumble of thoughts, but have faces and bodies to link them to. She feels whole for a moment, but lets go of her nostalgia, as she sends a flying kick into an approaching sailors abdomen.

By now, the bar is entangled in a brawl and both women are at the center of it. A pool cue comes straight for Emma. She’s forced to take on her diamond and lets it smash on her head. She then grabs the cue and smacks the guy back. This is not her idea of fun. “Betsy. We should get out of here.”

Sharing the same sentiment, Betsy nods at Emma, as she dodges a chair aimed for her. “How?”

Taking her cue, Emma finds the drunkest mind in the room and inflicts that person's disorientation and nausea on everyone around them to throw them momentarily off balance. She grabs Betsy's hand and darts for the door.

As they exit the bar, Betsy laughs as they reach Emma’s Jag. Elisabeth turns to Emma and with a smile that lights her whole face says, "Well, that was interesting."

Emma can't contain her laughter. She throws down the pool cue, she’s still holding and leans against her car hood to catch her breath. "Oh, hell, Betsy, we should do that every week."

"Yes," Betsy sighed and raises her hand in objection. "But, I can do without the drunk sailors with the hands they can't keep to themselves. Thank you.”

Still feeling the connection between them, Emma slowly pulls back. Betsy looks up and without the other woman’s focus, she feels the full affect of her drinking. Betsy wobbles slightly and grabs her head. “Whoa.”

Emma hands shoots out to balance her, “It did sound so much more fun on paper though.” Emma stares at her inebriated companion and sighs. “Come on, let's go home."

Betsy merely nods. Words prove too difficult now. As Betsy finds herself in the passenger seat and passes out well before Emma even gets inside the car.