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xp_logsAmanda drops into Kirby's after work and chats with Sam, the bartender, while waiting for Marie-Ange.
The refreshing cool dimness of Kirby's enveloped Amanda as she entered and paused a fraction, allowing her eyes to adjust. New York in August was sticky and gross, and even the short walk from their offices in District X had made her sweaty. Blowing her hair out of her face with a huff, she smiled at the blond man behind the bar. "Hey Sam. A pint of Harp, if you please."
It had been a slow shift so far, but the end of the work day meant that Sam's regular crowd was about to come shuffling in from their offices. Looking up as the door opened Sam grinned when he saw Amanda enter the bar.
"You know the drill Amanda, ID first then your drink. How was work?" Sam said warmly, pulling out a pint glass while waiting on her ID.
Amanda rolled her eyes, but pulled out her wallet. "Same ID as last time I was here," she mock-groused. "But hey, an old lady like me has to take whatever compliments she gets and getting carded by you? That's a compliment."
"And you know I card everyone, every time they come in." He says with a soft laugh. "And yer not old Amanda. Prolly feel younger'n me if I had to guess."
"Some days. Depends on what sort of work day I've had." Amanda crossed over to the bar and held out her driver's licence. "Speaking of, how's yours been?"
"Pretty slow so far, but I don't have to close so I'll take it. Means I get to call my Ma and siblings before they go to bed tonight which'll be nice." Sam smiled, and then leaned forward to hand her her drink. "What about yours? Things goin' alright at the office? I ain't gotta fight nobody for ya right?"
Amanda almost snorted her first sip at that. "Sam, you're a lovely boy, but I really don't need anyone doing my fighting for me," she told him. Then her phone pinged and she pulled it out, reading the text message with a slightly silly grin. "Except maybe Angie. She's on her way, by the way."
“Aweee you think I’m lovely?” Sam teased, running his hand through his hair to fluff it up. “Anyone coming with her? Or just Angie?”
"You give me beer. Of course you're lovely," she replied in a similar tone. She leaned sideways against the bar, propped up with one elbow while she drank from the pint in her other hand. "Nope, just Angie. So you don't have to make all those girly frou-frou drinks for Jubilee."
“‘Manda, I’ll have you know that those are some of my favorite drinks.” Sam said, hand held to his heart in faux offense. “I’m just usually too lazy to make them for myself.”
Amanda wrinkled her nose. "I'll leave you and Jubes to it." Then the door opened, letting in a stream of bright sunshine and she smiled at the newcomer. "Hey love."
"I could drink something complex and girly." Marie-Ange said, dropping down onto the barstool next to Amanda. "I could. I will not, but I could. Whatever cider is on tap, please."
"ID please Angie- it's Angry Orchard, that okay? I can get ya a bottle of Stella or Strongbow no problem." Sam grins. "Good to see ya by the way, how was work?"
"Every time you card me, it makes me entirely overjoyed that I am good at hiding the grey hairs." Marie-Ange's nose crinkled up in amusement. "Work is the cause of the grey hairs, and the resulting dye." She pulled a wallet out of her bag, and opened it to show her driver's license - the real one, from New York - to Sam. "Angry Orchard is fine, I like angry trees."
"You got it, coming right up. So work's been rough? Anything I could help with?" Sam's smile shifted to something awkward. "I mean, knowin' of course that I'm not...on a team or anything."
Marie-Ange shook her head. "Not unless I have read you very incorrectly." She smiled, wrinkling up her nose. "And my job means I have to be very good at reading people, so I imagine you would not suit the Snow Valley offices well. Unless you secretly harbor a desire to conversationally skewer a government official thrice a week into helping fund a mutant think tank?"
"Angie- I helped run a coal miner's union and I'm from Kentucky, I'm about always ready to skewer a government official if it means helping people." Sam shrugged then sighed a bit. "...though they might not take me too seriously."
"I think you also would not be happy working for me." Marie-Ange wasn't going to go into detail about what X-Force did, not here, but her read on Sam was that while he was likely a relentless force when he felt he was doing right, that their brand of 'doing right' wouldn't suit him well at all. He did not seem the stabbing type. "But I assure you, if I ever do need someone to skewer corporations who are anti-union, I know the right man to talk to."
"Hey, they only take me seriously when I put on the fake American accent and wear heels," Amanda piped up. She'd migrated from leaning on the bar to an actual barstool, hooking her Doc Martens on the highest foot rail. "I'd rather bash some heads together on a picket line any day."
"Well my American accent tends to get me labeled an 'inbred idiot'." Sam sighed, putting air quotes around 'inbred idiot.' "At least up here it does. Most folks sound like me back home....Sorry 'bout the heels though, my sister wore some to her prom and I didn't hear the end of it for two weeks. I don't envy ya there."
"Angie's been teaching me how to walk in 'em so the next fancy do we're at, I don't end up falling on my face." Amanda was joking, playing up her image as the chaviest of London chavs.
Marie-Ange made the smallest, least-huffy huff, and then took a long drink from the cider that Sam had pulled for her. "You do fine, no one is asking you to wear five inch spike heels or absurdist platform boots. I still say you could wear a tuxedo and spats, and I would be happy, but..." She waved a hand. "Sometimes one has to wear a ballgown."
"Hmmmm-" Sam said with a wink. "I know I can't pull off platform boots. Not sure I could pull off a ballgown. What do you guys think?"
Amanda chuckled. "I think you'd look absolutely darling in taffeta and sequins."
Marie-Ange nodded. "Sequins yes, but I think long and slinky. Exploit all of your long legs."
The refreshing cool dimness of Kirby's enveloped Amanda as she entered and paused a fraction, allowing her eyes to adjust. New York in August was sticky and gross, and even the short walk from their offices in District X had made her sweaty. Blowing her hair out of her face with a huff, she smiled at the blond man behind the bar. "Hey Sam. A pint of Harp, if you please."
It had been a slow shift so far, but the end of the work day meant that Sam's regular crowd was about to come shuffling in from their offices. Looking up as the door opened Sam grinned when he saw Amanda enter the bar.
"You know the drill Amanda, ID first then your drink. How was work?" Sam said warmly, pulling out a pint glass while waiting on her ID.
Amanda rolled her eyes, but pulled out her wallet. "Same ID as last time I was here," she mock-groused. "But hey, an old lady like me has to take whatever compliments she gets and getting carded by you? That's a compliment."
"And you know I card everyone, every time they come in." He says with a soft laugh. "And yer not old Amanda. Prolly feel younger'n me if I had to guess."
"Some days. Depends on what sort of work day I've had." Amanda crossed over to the bar and held out her driver's licence. "Speaking of, how's yours been?"
"Pretty slow so far, but I don't have to close so I'll take it. Means I get to call my Ma and siblings before they go to bed tonight which'll be nice." Sam smiled, and then leaned forward to hand her her drink. "What about yours? Things goin' alright at the office? I ain't gotta fight nobody for ya right?"
Amanda almost snorted her first sip at that. "Sam, you're a lovely boy, but I really don't need anyone doing my fighting for me," she told him. Then her phone pinged and she pulled it out, reading the text message with a slightly silly grin. "Except maybe Angie. She's on her way, by the way."
“Aweee you think I’m lovely?” Sam teased, running his hand through his hair to fluff it up. “Anyone coming with her? Or just Angie?”
"You give me beer. Of course you're lovely," she replied in a similar tone. She leaned sideways against the bar, propped up with one elbow while she drank from the pint in her other hand. "Nope, just Angie. So you don't have to make all those girly frou-frou drinks for Jubilee."
“‘Manda, I’ll have you know that those are some of my favorite drinks.” Sam said, hand held to his heart in faux offense. “I’m just usually too lazy to make them for myself.”
Amanda wrinkled her nose. "I'll leave you and Jubes to it." Then the door opened, letting in a stream of bright sunshine and she smiled at the newcomer. "Hey love."
"I could drink something complex and girly." Marie-Ange said, dropping down onto the barstool next to Amanda. "I could. I will not, but I could. Whatever cider is on tap, please."
"ID please Angie- it's Angry Orchard, that okay? I can get ya a bottle of Stella or Strongbow no problem." Sam grins. "Good to see ya by the way, how was work?"
"Every time you card me, it makes me entirely overjoyed that I am good at hiding the grey hairs." Marie-Ange's nose crinkled up in amusement. "Work is the cause of the grey hairs, and the resulting dye." She pulled a wallet out of her bag, and opened it to show her driver's license - the real one, from New York - to Sam. "Angry Orchard is fine, I like angry trees."
"You got it, coming right up. So work's been rough? Anything I could help with?" Sam's smile shifted to something awkward. "I mean, knowin' of course that I'm not...on a team or anything."
Marie-Ange shook her head. "Not unless I have read you very incorrectly." She smiled, wrinkling up her nose. "And my job means I have to be very good at reading people, so I imagine you would not suit the Snow Valley offices well. Unless you secretly harbor a desire to conversationally skewer a government official thrice a week into helping fund a mutant think tank?"
"Angie- I helped run a coal miner's union and I'm from Kentucky, I'm about always ready to skewer a government official if it means helping people." Sam shrugged then sighed a bit. "...though they might not take me too seriously."
"I think you also would not be happy working for me." Marie-Ange wasn't going to go into detail about what X-Force did, not here, but her read on Sam was that while he was likely a relentless force when he felt he was doing right, that their brand of 'doing right' wouldn't suit him well at all. He did not seem the stabbing type. "But I assure you, if I ever do need someone to skewer corporations who are anti-union, I know the right man to talk to."
"Hey, they only take me seriously when I put on the fake American accent and wear heels," Amanda piped up. She'd migrated from leaning on the bar to an actual barstool, hooking her Doc Martens on the highest foot rail. "I'd rather bash some heads together on a picket line any day."
"Well my American accent tends to get me labeled an 'inbred idiot'." Sam sighed, putting air quotes around 'inbred idiot.' "At least up here it does. Most folks sound like me back home....Sorry 'bout the heels though, my sister wore some to her prom and I didn't hear the end of it for two weeks. I don't envy ya there."
"Angie's been teaching me how to walk in 'em so the next fancy do we're at, I don't end up falling on my face." Amanda was joking, playing up her image as the chaviest of London chavs.
Marie-Ange made the smallest, least-huffy huff, and then took a long drink from the cider that Sam had pulled for her. "You do fine, no one is asking you to wear five inch spike heels or absurdist platform boots. I still say you could wear a tuxedo and spats, and I would be happy, but..." She waved a hand. "Sometimes one has to wear a ballgown."
"Hmmmm-" Sam said with a wink. "I know I can't pull off platform boots. Not sure I could pull off a ballgown. What do you guys think?"
Amanda chuckled. "I think you'd look absolutely darling in taffeta and sequins."
Marie-Ange nodded. "Sequins yes, but I think long and slinky. Exploit all of your long legs."
