—chapter three.

  ❛ I can take care of myself. ❜  

THE BAR WAS CRAMMED THAT NIGHT.

Though, Friday's were often like that.

There were a few good bars in the city that attracted the most attention, but unfortunately, she had to choose to work for Wallow's -- really, Wallow's, what did that even mean? -- which was occasionally wildly popular, but only well known for the cheap booze and the generally pleasant atmosphere...except on the days the place was not half empty.

Friday nights, of course, meant everyone was packed in and yelling and losing their mind for no good reason. It meant her and the few others on shift were clambering just to hear someone a couple of inches away. It also meant every single packed shift meant she looked a mess nearly 90% of it.

This shift played no different. Elodie's hair stuck in sweaty loops to her forehead, already shiny and beaded with droplets. Actually probably every inch of her was covered in sweat at the rate she was going, and of course the heat had to be cranked so high up, so she was practically boiling in her own liquid, a red-hot lobster for some unlucky asshole to deal with.

Elodie set down the glass and whirled back around, glaring at the back door.

"Charles, you filthy jerk -- get yer' ass out here already!"

Garbled mumbles echoed before a head of long, dark hair finally reappeared. The curly locks held tight to several boxes staggering in front of his face. He stumbled for a second but steadied himself and even managed to flip her off while putting the boxes down.

She only grinned at that, no time to spare on a comeback or snarky response. Elodie slid two new drinks across the counter and a five dollar bill for change to another and twisted back around even before she took another breath. 

"Woo-wee, look at you go. Tryna give me a run for my money, are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "The only run I'm 'running' is running this here bar all on my own, and you all know it."

"Please. You'd be dead in seconds if I wasn't here right now."

With that, she spun around again pushing past him with only slight aggression. His laughter echoed behind her, and that infused her with a grin of her own. "You wish, bitch."

Despite the sweaty Friday night dilemma, Elodie Verbeck was in an alright mood. It was not too often that happened, but for some reason, the universe had decided to grant her a little pep in her step. And so even when her landlord threw a fit about her not fully paying the rent, and even after having to walk to work in the bitter cold, she had an energy she normally lacked. One could even say, she was happy.

She was okay. Ergo, all things would end up okay.

(both of those sentences were huge hyperboles. and huge falsities, in every which meaning of the word. but it was fun to play pretend, once in a while.)

"He-ey," Claire sang out, sticking her head out of the back room to look at the two of them, "s'one of y'alls turns to bum about right 'ere. I'm taking my break."

"Ye-what? Right now?"

"Yeup." After seeing the disgruntled look on Charlie's face, the girl sighed. "Ten minutes is all, just give me that an' I'll be good."

"Goddam-ten minutes, right now?!"

"Uh-huh, and then I'll be back to being the only thing keeping this place from going up in flames."

Elodie snorted loudly. "Oh please. You hardly know the first thing about working here, Claire."

"Not true, y'ass!" 

"Oh, yeah. I'm not even convinced you know what alcohol is, aside from how easy it is to get you absolutely hammered."

"Oh, you shut up!" she hissed out, twisting away before Elodie could land a hand. "I'll be back in ten."

The brunette only chuckled and glanced towards Charlie. "You good without her?"

"Considering the only time I've ever seen her do a thing was when she wasted...I think we'll be just fine. You?"

Elodie only laughed, to that. "I really do love drunk Claire."

"It's the only version of her I can stand."

"Oh, shush. Like you're much better."

"Says the woman that screams at anyone whose order is not five words or shorter."

"One time!"

"Twice - no, four times! At least."

"It's not my fault people don't know what they want to order and spend forever mumblin' like I don't have shit to do. I don't know how it's my fault for explaining to them how this bar works, when they're the idiots who screwed up my system!"

The man shrugged, "even so, with that heart of fire...? Maybe bartending ain't the job for you."

"Well, I've got nothing else, so--!" She joined him in a hearty laugh, bitter as her words were. Bitter words were always so easy to chew and spit out in the heat of a Friday night crowd. "You're stuck with me, Charles."

He just grinned and waved her off before continuing the task of unpacking, of course with all the exaggerated grunts and groans. Sadly, his audience was far too unsympathetic to his cause and even cracked jokes over his pretend agony. Charlie wept fake tears at every insult, and she stuck her tongue out when he called her a child - because irony was never lost on a cruel-hearted soul such as her own.

It was nice, despite the heat and roaring crowd. A rarity Elodie respected greatly, one she almost wished she could get lost in. Almost.

She spun around to face the bar again, wet cloth in hand and a smile already straining on her lips. Elodie did not bother with looking up to the person in front of her. Her focus was on the stained wood in front of her, and only half her attention was reserved to whatever poison was their drink of choice. She grinned - 'multi-tasking, bitchass' ran like a bad movie mantra through her head, repeating until she had to speak again.

"What can I get you tonight?"

"Hm...not sure, really."

"Okay, come o-" her words died almost immediately when she finally looked up. The comeback died on her tongue, and she swallowed back the syllables to meet her parched throat. Her lips formed a little 'o' as she stared wide-eyed at the stranger of what must have been a week or so ago.

It was a rarity for her to remember someone who had only come in once before, but how could she forget the black-spandex oddity of days past? That time at least, he didn't wear those stupid glasses, but he did sport a rather cheeky grin. It wasn't hard to guess why.

"You think you're so clever," she grumbled to him. Her hands scrubbed a little harder.

His smirk grew. "Couldn't resist. Overheard the conversation, thought I'd poke the bear."

"Uh-huh." Asshole, echoed in her head. "Hilarious."

"I'll have a Scotch," he said softly, at least as softly as one could in the booming atmosphere of the bar. His grin remained. "On the rocks."

Elodie nodded curtly and dropped her rag to fumble for a glass. She kept his face in her peripheral, though, watching him carefully as she worked. The man - Diego, his name was Diego - sported a very similar look to his last visit, though with a turtleneck rolled up tight and a coat to presumably, cover up the weird harness of before. At least, that had to be the reason to still be wearing it. No other sane being would be cold in a place like Wallow's in the winter.

She plopped the drink in front of him with a 'clink'. He murmured a thank you. He received nothing but another nod in response.

A few moments passed and the rush thinned, enough to place her right back near him. Not that she really cared too much about it, or him, or the fact that he was there again - nothing about that. However, being as she had nothing better to do...well, Elodie might as well attempt friendly conversation.

Treating the customers nicely, and whatnot.

"You decided to come back," she said, keeping her tone light. "And you changed up your drink." 

"Well, I'm not a beer guy."

Elodie smiled a little at that, but quickly reformed her lips into a firm line.

"You don't look much like a Scotch guy, either. If I'm honest."

His shoulders shrugged up. "What can I say, I'm a mystery."

"Hm...ri-ight."

His gaze met hers, questioning. His left brow raised - he wore a slit in it, she noticed absentmindedly. Purposeful, or...?

"Oh, come on. I mean," her hand waved through the air, aimless. "I can read you like a book, front to back."

"Can you, now?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time, man."

"What can you-" he caught himself midway, eyes jutting from her to behind. The grin faded from genuine to another sly smirk and before she could question why, he was pointing a long finger towards the back. "I think you've got some fans."

By 'fans', he, of course, met the gawking Charlie and a recently returned Claire who most certainly had not taken her entire break. Neither one really made the move to hide, even when she looked back at them; instead, they continued the smiling (and eager giggles, on the latter's part).

Elodie's Friday was suddenly not looking so joyful.

"Gi'me a moment," she hissed, growling before storming away. Her eyes were practically aflame as she headed towards them. Elodie only spared a moment of good thinking, pushing them around the corner so he couldn't see before glaring at the pair. 

"Am I missing something, or is it still a busy ass Friday night here at this very bar we are all scheduled at? Cause like-"

"-who's that?"

"Who's - who's what? I-" Elodie bit her tongue. "He's a customer, same as everyone else here, Claire. What the hell d'you mean, 'who's that'?"

The girl just grinned cheekily. Despite the dragon standing before her, it was clear she had no interest in diverting the conversation; she had already set her eyes on the prize. "I just mean, you rarely ev'n say two words to a customer, and now you're out here having full on conversation with a tall, dark, sensation? Seems a little-"

"-nope, cut that out."

"Cut what out -"

"-Elodie Verbeck," Charlie cut in, dramatically pausing to jab at her face, "are you blushing?"

Her first thought, illogical and frantic, was to bite his finger off (she didn't, because she was sane and a grown adult - but it did strike her as an idea).

Her second thought was smarter. The lighting in the bar was absolute shit, due to the manager being aesthetically blind and unsure how to appeal to anyone, so there was no way he could actually see the colour in her cheeks. But even if he could, she furiously considered, it was no way related to anything but the heat. Overheating was a plague. And it definitely got the sweat and blood flowing, so blushing -- she wasn't blushing.

She recounted that same argument to the both of them, triumphantly.

Charlie only grinned, however. "You're definitely blushing. It's cute, isn't it cute, Claire?"

The girl nodded eagerly. "Oh, yeah. I didn't even know you had any other emotions in there! Oh my go-wsh, this is so iconic."

Even as she jutted her chin out, though, her face did feel hot and she could feel the rag in her hands warm even while standing there. Elodie clenched her jaw and grimaced, "no. That's hilarious, but no. Not adorable, not blushing, it's hot and I'm working - unlike the two of you!

Charlie faked mock upset. "Isn't it required to monitor symptoms in a rare, emotionally stunted species?"

"You're an asshole - and you're not working. Can't we all just work, please?"

Claire's grin had grown so much, she nearly mimicked the Cheshire Cat perfectly, complete with the glowing eyes lit up by the bulbs above. "Of course you can. Have fu-unn, tits up!"

"Screw off," she mumbled, even while her face burned. The rag in her hand had gone dry as a bone, and yet clutched it tightly still, as though it was going to offer her any emotional support. Elodie flipped them both off (only resulting in more laughter) and pulled away. "I'm going to do my job now, I suggest you guys do the same."

Their coos and calls echoed behind her, even when the water blasted in the sink, but she did her best to ignore them. It was rather impossible to ignore his grin, though, one that actually matched the duo in the corner's. 

As if things did not have to be going downhill enough.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking something."

He lifted his head a bit to stare at her, still with that sleepy smirk and half-cocked brow. "A guy's allowed to think, right? Or d'you got a rule against that here, too?"

At that, Elodie just huffed and continued her work. She doused the rag in the hot water, the boiling suds going unnoticed by practiced hands, and moved back to the counter. Her movements grew tenser and tenser, the rag practically pummeled into the woodtop. 

Oh, how she wanted to say something. Anything. It didn't even have to be rude - she just wanted to get 'him', understand his presence in this universe because for some reason, it just didn't sit right with her. But with the audience behind her and his cocky grin, she just could not win, could she? And that just made her frustration levels run even higher. 

So she scrubbed, attempting to release her emotions healthily. 

(spoiler alert - such methods never worked.)

"Careful, there."

Elodie glanced up, almost without thinking. "Huh?"

"You're working like you're tryna scrub the whole counter away."

"Wh-oh." She looked down to see a sudsy side of wet wood, practically dripping in boiling hot water. Sighing, she grabbed a dry cloth and wiped it down. "Dammit."

"Hey, don't feel too bad. It's normal to get flustered in front of good lookin' people."

"Oh, that's so clever..." Her movements hardly lessened, even when the wood groaned. "You think you're so funny, don't'cha?"

With that, Diego raised his arms up to the counter, crossed to prop him up. He leant closer to her with a little twinkle in his eyes that made her question just about everything about him (and herself...just a bit). His teeth slid over his bottom lip, biting down for a second before he spoke, savouring every second of pause in the situation even if it was just a fleeting moment in time.

Oh, how she wished she could deck him.

"I don't think I'm funny," he whispered, just quiet enough for the two of them. "I know I'm goddamn hilarious."

If she had to admit anything, she would confess to being just the littlest bit rattled by that. But only just. She found herself leaning in too, almost giddy from the angry energy always singing around her bones. They were close then, almost too close; she could see nearly every detail in the dim light, and how his eyes shifted for a mere milli-second down to her lips (making her own to-be victory even sweeter).

"You certainly look hilarious, 'Mr. Tough Guy'," she murmured, smiling innocently while drawing back.

His grin fell. 

 "Wouldn't go for a career in comedy, though," she continued. "The circus outfit'll only get you so far before people realise you're about as interesting as freakin'...potato salad."

Diego spluttered. "Please. You like this."

"You wish I did."

"Mm."

She snorted. "Don't 'mm' me."

"I'll do whatever I want," he retorted, and triumph raised his brows as he realised he had indeed got her name right. "Free rights and all that, eh?"

"Free my ass."

"You want that?"

She nearly flew over the bar, at that point, the only thing holding her back being that she knew he was kidding, or at least partly joking, and that she was working. Workplace violence was considered somewhat of a no-no. 

Not that she would waste that one chance on him - she would never admit that to the stranger, but he wasn't the worst company to keep. Even when making stupid jokes to rile her up, and the strange outfits he chose to reside in. At least he was much more pleasant than the other customers, in more ways than just one. He was intriguing, and that said a lot more than most people that came in.

Sure, she could hardly talk in the rush of the Friday night crawl, and she really wasn't interested in much conversation anyways, but it was at least something.

ELODIE TIGHTENED HER THIN JACKET AROUND HER AND SHIVERED. She hated a lot of things, but cold nights were one of the worst things she knew of. The truly cold ones - her blood ran too hot for her to suffer in the easiest of storms, but walking home in the midst of a pre-blizzard shitstorm was no fun. The worst of it was, she knew it was her fault that she was there, stumbling along the sidewalk wishing for the safety of her bed, but that did not make it any easier to deal with.

If anything, she just became angrier.

She was even too tired to be physically angry, which meant the warmth that filled her in the heat of the bar was lacking during her four-o'-clock-in-the-morning wander home. Exhaustion had caught up to her and she was regretting those sleepless nights spent worrying and planning in exchange for her forty winks. She was normally a bit better at ignoring the pangs of sleep, but the bitch always got too strong to fight and right then, it had become a whole damn monster raging at her. Tiredness had already stripped away most of her resolve. Just a little longer, and it'd force her body to collapse like a foldable lawn chair, right there in the snow.

Elodie yawned, shivering in the wind as a particularly rough gust swept through the street. "Dammit, you," she mumbled to herself, "next time, you're taking a cab. Or...something. Even a freaking plane if it means getting out of this nightmare."

The world was gearing up for a storm, and due to the hideous monster that was the climate, that meant snow. Which then meant even worse conditions and that she would be stumbling home in inches of thick white powder chilling her straight to the core. Undoubtedly she'd be sneezing up a storm every night too, tossing and turning through horrific head colds and - she cursed even through another large yawn.

If things weren't already miserable.

Elodie absolutely hated the cold, perhaps more than anything else in the world. It was the one thing that she could not do something about and the bane of her entire existence. She was never built for the cold - she was born in freaking Chile. Chile did not have sub-zero climates that bummed through in the wee hours of the morning.

Which was her fault? But, still.

"Stop!"

In retrospect, Elodie should have heard the footsteps. She should not have tuned out and ignored the world around her at four in the morning in a perhaps not-so-great neighbourhood, where normally she would be en guard and hold herself ready for any defense necessary. She most certainly would not have spoken aloud and hummed along her grumpy way, so that she was a walking target amongst the snow, too, perhaps her biggest mistake of the night. Emotional monologues about her own misery should be recited in the safety of one's home, not in the middle of nowhere. And she knew that, too!

Not like she could go back in time, however. The music had to be faced.

She swallowed and turned, hands rising up after seeing the gun in hand. It was not the first time she had seen one and not the first time it was pointed at her, but was one ever really ready to see the barrel of a loaded weapon staring them down? Elodie sure could deal with not having to get over that fear.

A part of her mentally laughed at that. Might not have to get over shit, if this particular gun got her first.

"I - I don't-"

"-shuddup, bitch," he slurred. He practically screamed it at her, forcing her back in a state of panic she rarely found herself in.

But even in terror, she could make out the little details that gave away far too much. It was in the way he stood, how his hands shook holding the gun up, the way his legs spread far apart to stabilize him in the snow. The homemade mask that he wore didn't match his winter getup, and the lopsided holes for his nose and eyes screamed awkward, at most. He really should have cut one for the mouth, Elodie mused to herself; the muffled huffs of his voice really diminished the fear factor. 

"Empty your pockets!"

"I don't have anything, I just-" Elodie flinched as he got closer, even with the resolve and idea to not do so. She wanted to be strong, knew she could be, but scared or not, he still held a gun. And guns sometimes had a mind of their own. "I just got back from work dude. I have nothing on me."

"Empty your fucking pockets, 'fore I shoot you!"

She sighed, feathers ruffling up just enough to inspire her offense. Sure, she might be terrified out of her mind, but no scrawny kid was going to take her out, would they?

Absent-mindedly, even as she set her stance, Elodie felt her body run hot. But just before she act, both prey and predator were cut off by a new voice.

"I believe she said she didn't have anything."

Dammit.

She knew that voice. Rolling, melodious, dark and weirdly beautiful - she could recognise it anywhere, even in the heat of such a dangerous situation. Sure, she had only heard it a couple of times at a bar, but she'd be stupid to not immediately recognise the name belonging to the voice.

"Diego?"

"Hey, g-get back!"

"Yeah, I'll pass."

"Get ba-" the poor robber was cut off then - funnily enough, by his own scream. The gun fell with a thud to the frozen concrete and Elodie had to watch in shock as the man dropped too, staring at the knife in his shoulder. In the light of the street lights, she could see the blood blossoming from the wound, staining his worn jacket and then dripping into the snow. 

Absent-mindedly, she thought it was a quite pretty picture. Red on crispy, icy white. What a tormented concept of a painting.

The man howled again, and the spell was broken. Elodie did not know what to do then; the robber was down for the count, and she really didn't want to help him out, but - how did knife wounds work? Were there any big arteries in the shoulder she should know about? She hardly remembered a thing from long-gone biology classes, and she doubted any of it would help her out in the case of a man who threatened to shoot her, anyways. Did she even want to help him!?

(no, not really. selfishly, she just wanted to get the hell out of there.)

Elodie stumbled back onto to meet something solid; Diego, who had been in the motion of reaching her. She found herself ashamed of the little squeak that echoed, though she covered it (not really) with a hacking cough and then a halting question of,

"is he going to live?"

His only answer to that was a curt nod before he drew her back. Diego led her away from the man on the pavement, giving her only one last glance before they both turned away. Vaguely, she recognised how cold his fingers were, and how stupid it was that he didn't wear gloves - wouldn't someone who threw knives for a living care about their fingers?

She didn't express that to him, though.

It took her just a minute, though, from turning away to question everything. Elodie shoved him away and stared, incredulously, at the man. She finally saw the crappy mask covering his face and the wardrobe took up, how his chest heaved and fell from new adrenaline and the knife, yes legitimate knife in his left hand gleaming in the moonlight. "Holy cra...what was that all about?!"

"What, me saving your ass?"

She huffed. "I didn't need you to do that. I'da been fine."

"Would you?" he scoffed. "With what weapon? He had you right there, face it."

"You don't know me at all!"

"What's that gotta do with me saving your life back there?"

"It's got everything-" she paused, glancing back to the shadowy path behind them. The man was already leaving. She feared for a second he would follow them, but fortunately, he seemed too preoccupied with the wound than to chase a petty reward. 

Sighing, Elodie turned her attention back to Diego. "I just -- I don't get this. What were you doing, how'd you know this was happening? Why were you here, of all places? And with all these damn knives!?"

Diego hung his head back, his breath a puff of cloud disappearing in the night air. She could tell her response frustrated him, but admittedly she did not care. Didn't she deserve some sort of an answer? Thank you's could always come later.

 "I wasn't - I was nearby. I saw the situation and decided I didn't want your dumbass death on my conscience." There was more he was not saying, something about why he was there that made her worry, but prying in on a man with a thousand and one knives, didn't seem right yet. "Would you have rathered me leave you to die?"

"Well, no, I just..." now Elodie was feeling rather stupid, and she did not like that. She tightened her arms around her body, the cold seeping back in after the panic drained out, and tried not to shiver. "I didn't expect it. And honestly? This was, is weird. And super unexpected. And...all those other synonyms!"

"Weird?! Why is this weird?!"

"Well, okay - I didn't think the douche from the bar would be actually some sorta vigilante, roaming the streets with motherfucking knives. So many of them! I thought you were a loser trapeze artist or something, not Batman with kitchen knives!"

His gaze softened just a little, not much but enough to show he had not gone total death-robot as she had worried. "I told you this is what I did, didn't I?"

"Well, I guess I didn't exactly picture this."

"Go figure."

Elodie had a lot of questions. Too many to ask just then with her mind all gone into pieces and her still freezing in the cold that was only getting worse by the minute. She pulled her toque down around her ears a bit more and glanced back to where she had been heading, down a well-walked path that did not seem so simple, anymore.

Her gaze went back to him, who still stood there silhouetted by the moonlight, only with the knife pocketed somewhere, then. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome...I guess."

His words were teasing and she took no offense, only grinning and shaking her head. "Whatever. Thanks, Diego. I gotta get home now."

Elodie turned away and began her trek the rest of the way home, only to stop after a couple of steps. He was still there, and actually following her, speeding up to stand by her side once she stopped. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Walking you home."

"Why?"

"I gotta make sure my deed of justice was not in vain."

"I'll be fine, go be a hero somewhere else."

Diego scoffed and started to walk as she looked on. "I don't know if I can trust your word on that. I'm going this way, anyways."

"You have no idea where I live."

He did not look back, "then I'd better hope you hurry up and show me before I make a fool out'ta myself!"

"You don't need to do this! I'm tougher than I look, you know?"

Finally, the man stopped, but he did not totally turn. Instead he just tilted his head back enough, so his large dark eyes glinted in the streetlights. He was no longer smiling the same way, rather he just looked at her, softer. "I know I don't have to. But this area isn't safe. You're alone. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Okay, but-"

"-just please, let me walk you home."

Elodie, in the end, let him walk her home, though she argued against it nearly fifty percent of the way home. And she had to admit to herself - though definitely not to him - that his presence made her feel a whole lot safer and certainly warmer. In a strange sort of way.

Updated note - this is so silly, but reading this book back, I feel so clever because some of the references in TUA season two are literally in here...like Elodie referencing him as being 'batman but lamer' and saying he's an easy book to read...it's so dumb and I'm stretching truths like it's chewing gum, but it's funny to me. Don't know why.

Anyways, here we are, truly the first proper conversation between the lads. I miss the pleasure of writing this book; like they're goofy weirdos and dumbasses at times, but I like them, they make me happy.

Thank you for reading! (: