*backdated* | weds july 2nd | ororo + callisto

[x-callisto.livejournal.com]

Callisto and Ororo run into each other in a rather unexpected location.




Callisto was getting drunk.

This was no easy feat - although her mutations didn't by any means extend to immunity to poisons, they did afford her a certain sturdiness of constitution and recovery time that meant she wasn't easily saturated to the point of stupor.

She was drinking single malt Scotch. Callisto didn't have much of an appreciation for single malt Scotch beside the fact it was strong, but it was expensive and having seen her first paycheque she was disposed, in a wry, ironic sort of way, to waste some money. The wages were not particularly impressive, but nonetheless she had never been paid so much by a garage in the city - or indeed by anyone, legally at least.

Hey first payday, however, only explained her choice of beverage - and, indirectly, the bitter tinge to her mood. The drinking was related - again, indirectly - to her other recent work 'perk' - she'd finally been cleared to requisition vehicles from the mansion's communal pool. This had come in handy a few days previously in the event of the emergency at the mutant-friendly 'half-way house' shelter Ororo had referred to her, and then again this afternoon when, in spite of herself, she'd biked back into the city to revisit it.

And it was due to this second visit, voluntarily, unfuelled by any fires of irritation with a certain Ororo Munroe, that she was currently slumped in one of the booths in Harry's, long legs stretched out under the table, thin shoulders hunched, more than half way down what had been a fresh bottle of Talisker.

"An apricot schnapps, please, Harry," came the order at the bar from a smooth and rather familiar (to Callisto (and Harry) at least) voice. It was unusual for her to come to Harry's alone, on a school night - as she still thought of them, despite the fact that it was summer and she was no longer technically in charge of the school (or what was left of it) - but Ororo felt it was allowed. After all, it wasn't every week that she got possessed by an ancient and malevolent force which then made her battle towards the death with a good friend. No, that only happens every month around here, she thought wryly, giving Harry a grateful smile as he set down the glass in front of her.

Callisto's ears pricked up and perhaps if she was more alert she would have raised her head. As it was, she just slumped down further in her seat, knocking back her shot only to realise that of course this would necessitate going back to the bar again (something she hadn't had to do once when there with Wanda). She sighed, unfolded herself from the booth, and found herself standing next to one of the objects of her current irritation with life as a whole. The small voice that argued that Ororo had nothing to do with her mood would just have to be stifled, Callisto felt, in the face of her determination to be angry with the whole world at present.

"How much for you to just gimme the rest of that bottle, Harry?"

The man only smirked and shook his head, though he did pour her out another and hand it over just as Ororo placed the voice and turned to look at the woman beside her with an expression of surprise on her face. "Callisto," she murmured, her own glass still firmly on the bar.

"Ororo," came the reply, the sarcasm in the brunette's tone more cursory than pointed. Though she had been sipping up until now, Callisto knocked back the shot Harry slid her and pushed her glass forward for an immediate refill.

"I am surprised you can get served - or did you find an ID?" the silver-haired woman remarked conversationally, which caused Harry to pause in his motions to refill the glass and arch an eyebrow at Callisto. Realizing she may have just interrupted what looked to be a dedicated drinking spree, Ororo hastily tipped back her own glass.

"I'm twenty nine," Callisto informed the barman through gritted teeth, shooting a glare at Ororo that would have curdled milk.

"Gonna need to see an ID to back that up," Harry told her.

"Come on, there is no way I'm the only drinker here who doesn't legally exist," Callisto argued, leaning forward a little. "I don't have ID. Spent half my life underground. Literally. You've already taken plenty of money off me, so if you're breaking the law you're hardly gonna make it worse. C'mon."

"She truly is of the legal age, Harry," Ororo spoke up then, not sure if it would endear her even less to the dark-haired woman. "She is an employee of Xavier's and I can vouch for that fact, if need be."

Harry made a face. "I shouldn't," he said. But however irregular her visits Ororo was well known even to Harry to be someone to be relied upon for the truth, and, with a sigh and a tut, he poured Callisto's drink.

"Thank you," Callisto said, pouting and turning another dark look Ororo's way. Clearly her reference had not off-set her initial crime. She pushed away from the bar as she stood back, taking her shot and retreating to her booth.

You are welcome... Ororo rolled her eyes and pushed her glass forward for a refill, not sure she had the energy or inclination to deal with Callisto and her characteristic prickliness today. After their last argument she was more or less convinced that befriending the mechanic was a lost cause, and with the way her head was pounding the prospect of beating it against a brick wall only to be yelled at some more was less than appealing.

For her own part Callisto now felt a much stronger urge to destroy, if not her liver, at least her sense of self for a few hours, and her visits to the bar became more frequent, though her choice of beverage now changed from shot to shot - vodka, rum, bourbon, nothing was sacred. Eventually she actually began to look drunk, and seemed to slow a little. It was never so apparent what an impressive grace and economy there was to Callisto's movement and body language until one saw her without it. Drunkenness made her look like the sullen teenager her speech and actions often made her out to be.

Finally, upon one of her many visits to the bar, during which Ororo was still nursing her third drink, the weatherworker spoke up. "Perhaps you ought to take a break?" she offered, hoping the other woman had been mellowed enough by drink that this wouldn't earn her an immediate punch to the face.

She was lucky; just as Callisto turned she felt a tiny sway to her step and gripped the bar, well in time to prevent herself from falling but precluding any intended violence.

"'Perhaps' you should mind your own business."

"Do you have a way to return to the mansion tonight, safely?"

Callisto scowled. "I'll walk."

"It is not close," Ororo said, raising her eyebrows. She left off the fact that it didn't seem Callisto could walk in a straight line for five feet, let alone the distance to the mansion.

"Did it the other week. 'Snot far. What's it to you?"

"I was merely concerned for your safety," Ororo sighed, picking up her glass and surveying the liquid inside. "That is all."

A sober Callisto would have found something in this to sneer about. Drunk, she was nonplussed. "...Right. Well. I'll be fine."

"As you say."

The brunette hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. This wasn't how things usually went, was it? Usually she was much more annoyed by now. She was definitely annoyed a minute ago.

"Looks like I'm not the only one drinking alone," she said pointedly (though she would almost certainly be unable to say what she was pointing at).

"So it would seem." Ororo finished contemplating her glass and swallowed the rest of the drink in one gulp, setting it back on the bar and motioning to Harry with one hand. "I try not to make a habit of it."

"Drinking? Or being alone?"

Turning to look at Callisto, Ororo furrowed her brow. "Everything in moderation," she quipped then, shrugging.

"Very, uh, diplomatic." Callisto motioned for Harry to refill her glass - this time with vodka, this time standing at the bar as she took her first sip. "Don't really believe in moderation."

"I would not have guessed." By now Ororo had drunk enough that a slight edge of sarcasm showed in her words, though usually she tempered even the most pointed phrases with a smile.

"Yeah, well. It's overrated," Callisto observed, narrowing her eyes a little into her glass.

"Perhaps for some."

"Just because you're safe it doesn't make you better," Callisto observed. "Besides," she added with slightly narrowed eyes. "We both know that's not who you really are."

Ororo gave a slight laugh. "Do we? Well, I am glad, because I had been wondering. Good to know that at least one person knows who I really am. Now, if you would be so kind as to enlighten me..."

"Oh c'mon..." Callisto waved a hand in a gesture that was no doubt supposed to mean something. "Like I said before. The teacher, the responsible staff, loving girlfriend - even the hero... 'sall just a cover for that soul of yours." The taller woman frowned at this, as if questioning her own choice of word. But she seemed to decide to stick at it, waving her hand again, a little lower. "You've got a wild soul. Uninin... Unhin... Free. Underneath it all."

"If I wear a mask," Ororo stated then, her voice low enough that only Callisto could hear it, "I am not the only one here who does. Though perhaps instead of hiding an uninhibited soul, yours hides one that longs to be a part of something good."

"There you go again, assuming everyone wants to be a hero."

"And there you go, assuming that heroism is the only way to accomplish any good."

"Right, I forgot, community care. Shelters. Do you have the slightest idea what a shelter is actually like for a teenaged mutant?" Callisto's tone made it clear she had personal experience of this. "You'd be amazed what people think they deserve for putting a roof over your head."

Ororo set down the glass harder than was necessary; some of the amber liquid sloshed over the sides onto the bar. "No, I do not know what it is like, Callisto," she said, frowning. "And would you like to know why? Because I never had so much as a shelter, not even a temporary home, until I came to Xavier's. I lived on the streets when I was a child, in the employ of a man who was no more than a modern-day Fagin, though he styled himself far greater. And his concerns were not to see us fed and sheltered, but only that we brought him his 'due' - you would be amazed at the punishments he thought we deserved if we didn't."

This silenced Callisto. It wasn't that she thought she was worst off of anyone - indeed, her own instincts and skills had meant that she'd avoided a good number of the horrific experiences that fellow Morlocks, certainly, had gone through - or at least she'd avoided their repetition. But it had never occurred to her that, of all people, Ororo Munroe was in her boat, or even on the same ocean.

An apology died on her lips - it clearly wasn't what was required. She rested an elbow on the bar, leaning her face into her hand, speechless for the moment.

Sopping up the worst of the spill with a napkin, Ororo frowned at the row of bottles in front of her. The visit to Harry's certainly hadn't helped her mull over the slightly fractured sense of identity that had been plaguing her all week, and the conversation with Callisto had left a sour taste in her mouth that no amount of sweet liqueur would erase. Perhaps in the morning she would write it off to too much alcohol and sore nerves on both their parts, but for now, too many old memories had been stirred up. Outside the sky rumbled - a summer storm, or maybe something augmented by the weather worker's plummeting moods?

"Perhaps I try too hard," she muttered, pushing herself away from the counter.

"No, wait..." In a fleeting moment of coordination Callisto had caught Ororo's arm to still her.

It wasn't the blow she had been expecting earlier, but the silver-haired woman still tensed, waiting for the cutting words to come. When they didn't, she stepped away from Callisto's hand, turning to face the other woman with a distinctly perturbed expression on her face. "I believe this is the part where you tell me what an interfering do-gooder I am," she said tiredly. "And how I clearly cannot hope to understand what you or anybody else is going through. I know that. So save your words and I will let you drink in peace."

Callisto dropped her hand to her side, her frown deepening, her gaze dropping to her feet. "No. I think this might be the part where I apologise," she said.

Ororo's mouth dropped open just as the patter of rain was heard on the windows. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," Callisto said simply. "I shouldn't've assumed... stuff."

"That's... all right."

"I just..." The other woman sighed, shoving her hands into her pockets and leaning against the bar. "Stuff on my mind. It's not about you. Honestly I wish I could do what you do. But I don't work that way. I get too... frustrated. Angry. At the way things are. So I just try to ignore them." Her voice got progressively quieter as she spoke, as though the few patrons in the bar might hear her and think differently of her.

Normally at this time Ororo would started another speech about how ignoring the problem only made it worse, but Callisto knew that. Of course she did. Instead, the silver-hair woman only sighed and said, "And that is your choice. No one has the right to tell you otherwise. But if you think you are the only one who gets angry, Callisto..." She shook her head. The only difference between you and I is that I do not want to be angry at myself for letting the problems continue.

Callisto pursed her lips, silent for a moment. When she spoke her voice was still low, barely audible. "I went back."

"Pardon?" Ororo asked again.

Sighing, the other woman glanced around at the bar again, seemingly feeling a little exposed now just standing there. "The half-way house," she clarified. "I went back. To check up on that kid, I guess."

Noticing Callisto's unease, Ororo made a 'follow me' gesture and headed back towards the booth the other woman had been occupying earlier, luckily still free. When they had both taken a seat she rested her forearms on the table, looking across it with interest. "I am glad to hear it. How was it?"

Callisto frowned, staring into the tumbler of whisky she'd brought with her. "I dunno." This all felt entirely strange. Back in the day she took care of people, sure. But there'd never been a song and dance. She'd never needed to talk about it. She wasn't sure she liked it.

"Mm. And the teenager?"

"Would be in hospital if he didn't heal up so damn fast," Callisto said without looking up. "He swears he didn't ask for it this time."

"Who hurt him?" Ororo asked, frowning.

"He doesn't know. Or wouldn't say. 'Some men' apparently."

"Did you speak with any of the organizers about him? Or the other inhabitants of the shelter? Surely someone must know something."

"I'm not an idiot," Callisto almost snapped. Then she closed her eyes briefly, and opened them again, her gaze still trained on the table in front of her rather than Ororo. "Of course I did. They knew he'd been beaten up but they couldn't tell me any more. He wouldn't speak to them either. They knew less than I did."

"Well, then." Ororo's voice was gentle. "It sounds as if he is starting to trust you. If you continue your visits, hopefully in time he might feel comfortable telling you more, and then something can be done to help him."

There was a long silence. Clearly Callisto was even less talkative when she was actually, well, talking. "It'd been two days, Munroe. How much more often is that stupid kid going to go out and get the shit kicked out of him before 'something can be done'?" She glanced up, finally, her eyes conveying her complicated mix of frustration, anger, sadness in a way that her voice could not.

Ororo couldn't help it. She reached across the table, placing a hand over Callisto's and squeezing it softly in a sympathetic gesture. "Perhaps knowing someone cares about his well-being will be enough," she suggested. "Or," she added with a small smile, "knowing that you will be there to keep him in line will do it."

Callisto's expression flickered, her hand completely still under Ororo's, as through frozen by the unexpected, not-necessarily-welcome contact. She sighed. "He's just one kid," she said, in a tone that said she knew all the arguments against the utterance already, almost as though she was speaking from a script.

Sitting back, Ororo regarded the other woman for a moment, her expression neutral. Then she stood, placing one hand on the table to steady herself. "So were we," she murmured, almost as if she had forgotten Callisto was there and was talking to herself. "But it would have been enough."

The brunette observed Ororo silently for a moment, sitting back herself. "Where're you going?" she asked now, apparently either diffused enough by alcohol to reduce her attention span, or keen to change the subject.

"Back to the mansion," came the reply as Ororo blinked and refocused on the other woman. Not 'home' because... she wasn't sure.

"How're you planning to get there? 'Safely'?" Apparently Callisto wasn't so drunk she couldn't remember previous conversations.

"I am going to fly."

Callisto looked for a moment like she was going to say something either witty or sarcastic, or possibly both. Then she just sighed. "Of course you are."

"...is that a problem?" the other woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why would it be?"

"Flying is safer than being on the road. At least if I crash, it is only myself and a tree in danger. And trees are very tough." It was hard to tell if Ororo was being serious now.

Callisto shrugged, smirking a little. "All right for some, I guess."

"Would you like me to send someone to pick you up? I am sure they would not mind the errand..."

"Nope," Callisto said, pushing to her feet and pulling on her jacket, retrieving a few banknotes from her pocket to pay the bill. "Gotta wheel the bike back, anyway." She stuck her hands back in her pockets, swaying less on the spot than she had before at the bar. Clearly either the alcohol was already wearing off or she was finding a drunken equilibrium.

"Very well. I hope you reach the mansion safely." Glancing out the window, Ororo considered the falling rain for a moment, her eyes clouding over for a moment as she pushed the clouds away. At least now it would be dry. If Callisto noticed the gesture she didn't comment, and indeed was already making her way out of the bar.

After paying her own tab Ororo followed her outside, though they did not exchange any other words now that they were out of the bar. As she stepped through the puddles that had formed on the ground during the brief rainshower, Ororo couldn't help but think back to last time she and Callisto had met in similar conditions; the result had not been so civil.

Ororo was mad. Outside the sky was roiling with dark clouds, and her scuffed leather boots and the cuffs of her trousers bore testament to the fact that it was already spitting down rain. She had stalked into the bar about fifteen minutes earlier, still muttering to herself about Xavier and his stupid rules, rules which she very patently wasn’t following. It just wasn’t fair for him to expect her to conform to all the restrictions he had placed on the other students – they might be all right for the likes of them, but she didn’t need to be told when to do her homework and when to go out. She would go out any time she pleased.

So here she was, out, drinking something called a ‘Red Death’ and listening to the sound of thunder growl outside the streaky windows. It was rather satisfying, and she gave a grin of approval as lightning lanced across the sky, momentarily throwing light over the dimly-lit patrons at the bar. Not that it made for a more pleasant drinking experience. Most of them looked better in the dark.

The weather was not helping Callisto's mood. Her squat had been raided last night and the squatters, human and mutant alike, were back on the streets, and it looked very much like, tonight at least, she was going to be either sleeping rough under a stormy sky, or in the tunnels. She didn't like the tunnels much. There were an increasing amount of creepy people living down there and she had little desire to get to know them better.

Further to that, she'd just lost her last ten dollars in a poker game with a guy who'd apparently not seen fit to mention that he had x-ray vision, and was disinclined to forfeit once busted. He was also a lot bigger than her, and while she knew she could take him she wasn't convinced he didn't have plenty of equally big friends.

Then of course, returning to her usual spot in the back corner of the bar, there had to be someone else there. The white-haired girl was too well-presented and too well-fed to belong here, and Callisto was in no mood to be welcoming to strangers.

Ororo eyed the lanky girl as she approached, blue eyes narrowed as she watched the stranger’s movements. It wasn’t that she was spoiling for a fight, exactly, but she was more than ready to defend her territory if need be. She was done with being pushed around, and if she couldn’t take her frustrations out on the main source, then she’d find something else.

"I was sitting there."

The statement was a simple confirmation of the information that had already been imparted by Callisto's stance and demeanor. She folded her thin arms, bare to the shoulder despite the rain and wind outside, her thin, sleeveless denim shirt still damp, though she'd been indoors some time.

“You were not sitting here when I arrived.” Ororo’s tone was low, her accent a confusing jumble of Arabic and Swahili overtones with the faintest hint of crisp English that she had picked up from the Professor. She took another drink, setting her glass solidly on the table and sitting back in her seat. “So this is mine now. Find somewhere else to sit.”

The few people in the vicinity turned around at this, abandoning their conversations and turning their attention to the two girls. Callisto was a regular in this establishment, and was well known to be easily riled, and less than patient with people who gave her trouble.

Now, her eyes narrowed, and she took a step to stand right in front of the table, looking down at the newcomer.

"You're not from 'round here, are you?" she asked then.

“How could you tell?” Ororo all but snorted, rolling her eyes dismissively. She was used to people staring at her, whether for her hair, her eyes, or the way she spoke, and this girl hardly impressed her with her deductive reasoning. “I’ve been here before.” Twice, but that wasn’t the point. She had just as much right to sit here as the scrawny girl in front of her. More, even, since she could actually pay for her drinks.

"Well, for one, you didn't get up when I came over. Secondly, you still haven't. This bar has plenty of dark corners. Go find another. Or better yet, use any common sense you have in that pretty little head and leave altogether before you irritate me." Callisto already sounded pretty irritated.

“I’m not done yet.” All right, she wasn’t stupid. She could see that the girl was upset, and the rational part of her was wishing she had brought Scott or Hank along. Of course, Scott was too busy mooning over Jean to have a good time, and Hank had locked himself away in his lab again, and this reminder of her friends’ annoying habits only served to cement Ororo’s stubbornness.

“Find your own corner. Or maybe you should step outside again… the rain might do you some good.” She sniffed conspicuously and picked up her drink again.

Now a sharp intake of breath was heard and several of the people who'd turned round to watch turned back again, hunching their shoulders against what was to come. Unfolding her arms, slowly, the skinny girl reached behind herself.

What followed was a blur of movement. Ororo heard the sharp thud by her right shoulder a split second before she felt the pain in her thumb, her glass leaving her hand and hitting the cement floor with a loud smash. Callisto still had a small knife in her right hand, the one from her left buried in the wall beside Ororo, her thumb blossoming red where the flesh had been nicked.

"You're really just as smart as you look, aren't you?"

There was a crash of thunder as Ororo’s eyes misted over, the pain from her thumb small but sharp. “You dare touch me,” she hissed, standing suddenly and shoving the table hard enough to knock against Callisto’s legs. Her days of playing at goddess-hood were long gone, but the outrage of sudden pain and what was more, the affront against her was enough to bring that haughtiness rushing back. “Apologize, or you will be sorry.”

The brunette raised her eyebrows, opening her mouth to speak but interrupted by the sound of a significant cough nearby. A large man in an apron was standing a few feet away, his face avuncular but stern. "Out. Both of you. Now."

After a pause, Callisto shot a defiant smirk at Ororo before deliberately turning her back on her, and stalking slowly out of the bar and into the rain outside.

Pausing long enough to finish the last of her drink and to wrench the knife from the wall (leaving behind a small hole in the crumbling plaster), Ororo followed suit, her mood not having been improved by her encounter in the bar. As a result, the rain increased as soon as she set foot outside, though it didn’t seem to faze her in the slightest. Tucking the knife into her waistband, she looked around for the other girl, wary of an ambush or any other surprises that might be aimed her way.

She didn't have to look long. Callisto was still there, but by no means lying in wait. She was standing across the street, her backdrop of distressed cement and rusting chain-link fence matching perfectly to her appearance, all the skinnier and more pathetic for the way her soaked, worn clothing clung to her frame. She still had a knife in her hand, and was flipping it absently, not even looking at it, her baleful gaze fixed on Ororo.

“You may give me that apology now,” the white-haired girl said, trying the trick she had been practicing of letting the wind carry her voice across the alleyway. Her thumb stung as the fresh rainwater trickled into the cut.

"You rich kids are all the same," Callisto spat, raising her voice to be heard over the rain. "You think the world should just fall down at your feet. Bad news, princess. I don't owe you anything - least of all an apology. Go back where you came from."

“Rich?” Ororo couldn’t help but laugh as she strode across the pavement towards Callisto. For all that she was now in the apparent lap of luxury, Ororo considered herself anything but rich. Especially when the comforts she was offered came at the price of following Xavier’s rules and having to change herself completely. “I believe you are mistaken. I am not rich, and you do owe me – over something as simple as a seat at a table in a bar you injured me. At the very least you will give me an apology.”

“You aren't starving and you clearly have a home to go to. In my book that's rich..." Callisto's stance changed subtly as Ororo approached, knees bending, weight shifting to the balls of her feet. Scrawny though she looked it was clear she knew how to handle herself. "And I don't like being told what to do."

“Then perhaps you ought to think before you act next time.” In stark contrast with her words, Ororo sprang forward, one hand lashing out to catch Callisto’s wrist and twisting it hard in order to get her to drop the knife. The other arm she sent around the dark-haired girl’s neck in a chokehold; crude tactics, maybe, but they had proven effective before and she had no doubt they would again.

Perhaps it was the driving rain, which had only worsened since she'd come outside, or perhaps it was just shock that Ororo moved as quickly as she did, but it was a second before Callisto reacted. When she did, however, it was decisively - with what seemed an effortless shrug of her shoulders Ororo found herself flying through the air, and landed heavily on her back, the other girl looming over her, bending to retrieve the knife.

...That was odd. Immediately Ororo regretted her brashness, realizing that it seemed very likely the other girl was a mutant, and not one that would be easily beaten. Struggling to right herself, she managed to get her feet underneath her well enough to lunge forward, crashing into Callisto's legs with as much force as she could muster. The rain made everything slick underfoot, and she augmented her own strength with a hard gust of wind.

Caught off guard not by the impact, which she'd seen coming, but by the wind that accompanied it, Callisto's boots slipped on the wet pavement, and her feet flew out from beneath her, though she aimed a swift, hard kick at Ororo's head as she fell.

Everything went black for a moment and Ororo's hand, which had been reaching for the knife at her belt, stilled. There was the taste of rainwater and blood in her mouth, and after several precious seconds ticked by she managed to close her fingers around the handle of the knife and pull it out. What had started as a more-or-less innocent tussle was quickly becoming dangerous.

Callisto was already back on her feet, knife in hand, waiting. She lunged as soon as Ororo was standing, swinging with the fist that did not contain a weapon. She'd yet to kill someone, human or mutant, and had no intention of doing so tonight.

Able to see through the rain well enough to notice the punch coming her way, Ororo nevertheless wasn't able to dodge quite fast enough, the blow landing on her shoulder hard enough to send a shock all the way down to her hand. She grit her teeth and turned into the impact, her hair plastered to her face by the rain. The other girl brought one bony knee up to contact with Ororo's stomach, knocking the wind out of her, bringing the side of her hand down on the back of her neck as she bent double, the blows coming fast, one after the other.

Ororo quickly found her body protesting, then threatening to give out, and she had to call on every reserve she had not to drop face-down in the puddles at their feet. Shutting her eyes tightly against the blossoming pain in her neck and head, she braced herself and pushed Callisto away, lashing out with one fist at the other girl's face.

She hadn't hit that hard or fast, but what came as a surprise to Callisto was not the blow itself but the fact that the hand held her knife. Ororo heard a sharp cry of pain, and the body in front of her lurched away as Callisto staggered backwards, her hand coming up to cover her right eye, blood seeping immediately between her fingers, running freely.

It took Ororo a moment to realize that the blows had stopped, and another again to notice the dark red blood welling up from Callisto's face. She gasped, though it caught in her throat and bent her over in a coughing fit as she backed away. She was torn between wanting to check that the other girl was all right - if anything, Xavier would have expected it - and running while she had the chance.

Finally, desperation and nerves got the best of her and she turned, dashing away through the pouring rain away from the bar and her foe, who had not made a move against her since she had cut her. The knife still gripped desperately in one hand, Ororo wouldn't realize she still held it until much later, when she was on her way back to the mansion and her 'rich girl' life.

As the other girl fled the scene, Callisto dropped to her knees, so blind with pain that she couldn't even tell whether the blade had made contact with her eye. The blood kept coming until she could feel it dripping from her elbows, a warm contrast to the sheets of rain that still fell. It was some time later that John, the barman, found her, crumpled unconscious from blood-loss on the street, and carried her back inside. It would be some hours before she woke up, and longer before she was in any way coherent.

If Callisto was musing on the same event, she gave no sign of it, merely kicking up the stand on her bike and beginning to wheel it towards the road leading to the mansion. "I guess I'll see you around, Munroe."

"Good night, Callisto." As soon as she had gotten out of direct sight of the bar Ororo gathered the winds and took to the sky, the trees rustling in her wake as she departed. Callisto stood a moment after she'd left, staring after her, before hunching her shoulders continuing to head for the road, lost in thought.

"One of these days, Cal, you're going to bite off more that you can chew. And you'll lose more than an eye."

The wound was deep, running from just above her eyebrow down across her cheek. Stitches never worked with Callisto, she knew, so she just had to hope that it knitted back together cleanly. Experimentally, she lifted the makeshift bandage that John had applied, sucking in a breath at the pain as she forced her eye open. Then, unexpectedly, she smirked. Her eye was red and bloodshot, but otherwise unharmed.

"Looks like I'm good for two yet."