CPaulLandri
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This is an AU X-Men story. I havent a clue as to the continuity of the comics so I'm pretty much writing blind. This is going to have a Mature Rating, but as it stands now, it might be lower. Hope you guys enjoy.
X-MEN
Raising the Bar
The second worst day of my life occurred just a few days before Halloween. I should have seen it coming, but I guess Im not perfect. As I bent down to pick up a half melted beer tap (The scorched remains of the Leinenkugels logo were evident, and I winced at it. I loved Leinenkugels,) I glanced over at Freebird. She was shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes. This was her place too, even though I owned it. Damn it, Paul, I thought, you let her down. You should have seen this one coming; the Kitchen isnt a place for our kind yet. You were an idiot to try and hide it.
Its all gone. The whole place, Freebirds tiny voice resonated in my ears. I couldnt look at her, not yet. I dropped the beer tap and walked over some more of the burnt out rubble. Those kids got us good. Racist scum, they even managed to burn the jukebox.
All my Dropkick Murphys C.D.s were completely destroyed. Truly, there is no God in heaven. The place stunk like a bonfire put out by beer. You know the kind of smell Im talking about, right? The smell of burnt wood mixed with the old, musky beer thats been left to die alone at the bottom of a pint glass? It smelled like that. Not an unpleasant smell, per se, but damn it all if it didnt make me nauseas. This was my bar. My bar!
It was Freebirds too, even though her name wasnt on any of the papers. It was just as much my place as hers. She loved working here, loved living upstairs with me, loved serving pints to loyal customers (they werent loyal anymore, mind you, because they found out about Freebird and I. About who and what we were, and didnt like it.)
I never thought it would come to this, though.
Yeah, you hear about it on the news. Some jerk decides to take a baseball bat and break a few windows, give a scare to the shop-keep. Stuff like that, but thats far away. Far from your place where everyone comes to have a good time and watch the Yanks win and the Knicks lose, or (when Freebird decides she wants complete control of the remote,) reruns of Scrubs and The Simpsons. I always allowed that because I love those shows and I love Freebird. Not in the way most twenty-eight year old bar owners love twenty three year old strictly off-the-books employees. Nah, I loved Freebird in a way most guys never could, nor would.
I looked over at her and she walked towards me slowly, careful not to step on any glass (not that it would have mattered, but I suppose it was a force of habit at this point,) and hugged me tightly. Usually she never hugged this tight, but I could tell she was sad. Sad and scared and pissed off in a way Id probably never know. This bar was more than a job to her, it was her home.
Our home.
Whyd this happen, Paul? Freebird asked, looking up at me as she always did. She was short, about Five foot three and weighing no more than 95 pounds soaking wet. Her eyes were green and her face dotted with freckles. Her hair was the kind of red that made boys turn their heads for a second look. It was like wildfire and she knew it. She braided it last night and was going to (much to my protests,) wear the lederhosen the Jagermesiter people had given us to help promote Oktoberfest. Chances are the outfit would have caused quite a stir. Freebird was a very pretty girl. Today though, she looked much older than twenty three. I hated it.
I looked into her eyes, trying to find an answer. Youd be surprised how easy it was to find one in those green eyes. Whenever she was worried about the rent or some dopey customer and how he or she was going to get home on a rainy night, Id just look into her eyes and tell her straight-up that everything would be fine and to let me handle it. Id smile a jack-o-lantern grin and shed smile back, reassured and ready to dispense the last legal drug to the Great Unwashed.
I couldnt tell her things would be okay this time. I couldnt tell her Id handle it because I couldnt. Paul Cammerreri could do a lot of things, but reassuring Freebird that everything would be alright wasnt one of them. I shook my head. A tear fell from her right eye and her lip quivered. She buried her head into my chest and began to sob.
Keep it together, Paul. I thought. Let her cry, but dont you dare! If you lose it, you might as well hang yourself in the ruined mess of a bathroom over there. I had to be strong. As strong as the day I got kicked out of my parents house. The day they insulted me with the check. The day they bought me out so theyd never have to see me again.
As Freebird sobbed in my arms I pictured my mom and dad. Theyd probably enjoy watching this. Hell, they probably would have set the fire themselves if they werent nestled away in their McMansion in Freehold.
Ma and Pa were both big Financial planners in Manhattan, so needless to say, they were really well off. When they found out who I was, that is to say, what I was, they wanted no part in it.
You know, you see it on the news all the time. Parents finding out the truth and going into fits of extreme rage and kicking their kids out of their houses, or sending them to some evangelical camp to make them normal, but thats far away and you never think it could happen to you. Hell no, my parents are progressive people. They vote Democrat and give to three charities and they recycle to boot!
Apparently Far Away is just a place we give to the reality thats right in front of our faces. Not so far away, huh? So when the reality hit them about what I really was, I suppose they couldnt handle it.
#
Youre kicking me out? I asked. This was seven years ago.
Of course. Wed hate to think about what people might say about us. My mother said, taking a sip of that God aweful merlot shed gotten from a recent trip to Paris. Italian wine is so much better. So much more mature in flavor. I should know. I would be owning a bar in the very near future. I looked at my father, a man who had always been sympathetic to everyone. His hair was now completely gray but he was in damned good shape for someone in his mid-fifties. Personal trainers will do that, I suppose.
Son, we understand youre upset, but you are still our son, He said. His voice was cheerful despite the bombshell he had just dropped on me, so were prepared to make sure youre comfortable.
God, you arent going to shoot me, are you? I mean, I can try to change! It was a stupid thing for me to say, but like I said, I had just been delivered a bombshell.
Always had a flair for the dramtic, my mother said, a little snarkishly. No, Paul, what we are saying is, were going to give you a bit of money.
I dont think I ever saw my Old Man whip out his checkbook faster. I guess they were in a real hurry to get rid of me. He scribbled down some things on the check and tore it off like an old band-aid. He handed it to me.
Half a million.
Ill repeat that, because it bears repeating.
Half a million dollars.
I looked at them, skeptical at first, but as I saw how serious they were, I could tell they wanted me out, and soon. Like, five minutes ago, soon.
X-MEN
Raising the Bar
The second worst day of my life occurred just a few days before Halloween. I should have seen it coming, but I guess Im not perfect. As I bent down to pick up a half melted beer tap (The scorched remains of the Leinenkugels logo were evident, and I winced at it. I loved Leinenkugels,) I glanced over at Freebird. She was shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes. This was her place too, even though I owned it. Damn it, Paul, I thought, you let her down. You should have seen this one coming; the Kitchen isnt a place for our kind yet. You were an idiot to try and hide it.
Its all gone. The whole place, Freebirds tiny voice resonated in my ears. I couldnt look at her, not yet. I dropped the beer tap and walked over some more of the burnt out rubble. Those kids got us good. Racist scum, they even managed to burn the jukebox.
All my Dropkick Murphys C.D.s were completely destroyed. Truly, there is no God in heaven. The place stunk like a bonfire put out by beer. You know the kind of smell Im talking about, right? The smell of burnt wood mixed with the old, musky beer thats been left to die alone at the bottom of a pint glass? It smelled like that. Not an unpleasant smell, per se, but damn it all if it didnt make me nauseas. This was my bar. My bar!
It was Freebirds too, even though her name wasnt on any of the papers. It was just as much my place as hers. She loved working here, loved living upstairs with me, loved serving pints to loyal customers (they werent loyal anymore, mind you, because they found out about Freebird and I. About who and what we were, and didnt like it.)
I never thought it would come to this, though.
Yeah, you hear about it on the news. Some jerk decides to take a baseball bat and break a few windows, give a scare to the shop-keep. Stuff like that, but thats far away. Far from your place where everyone comes to have a good time and watch the Yanks win and the Knicks lose, or (when Freebird decides she wants complete control of the remote,) reruns of Scrubs and The Simpsons. I always allowed that because I love those shows and I love Freebird. Not in the way most twenty-eight year old bar owners love twenty three year old strictly off-the-books employees. Nah, I loved Freebird in a way most guys never could, nor would.
I looked over at her and she walked towards me slowly, careful not to step on any glass (not that it would have mattered, but I suppose it was a force of habit at this point,) and hugged me tightly. Usually she never hugged this tight, but I could tell she was sad. Sad and scared and pissed off in a way Id probably never know. This bar was more than a job to her, it was her home.
Our home.
Whyd this happen, Paul? Freebird asked, looking up at me as she always did. She was short, about Five foot three and weighing no more than 95 pounds soaking wet. Her eyes were green and her face dotted with freckles. Her hair was the kind of red that made boys turn their heads for a second look. It was like wildfire and she knew it. She braided it last night and was going to (much to my protests,) wear the lederhosen the Jagermesiter people had given us to help promote Oktoberfest. Chances are the outfit would have caused quite a stir. Freebird was a very pretty girl. Today though, she looked much older than twenty three. I hated it.
I looked into her eyes, trying to find an answer. Youd be surprised how easy it was to find one in those green eyes. Whenever she was worried about the rent or some dopey customer and how he or she was going to get home on a rainy night, Id just look into her eyes and tell her straight-up that everything would be fine and to let me handle it. Id smile a jack-o-lantern grin and shed smile back, reassured and ready to dispense the last legal drug to the Great Unwashed.
I couldnt tell her things would be okay this time. I couldnt tell her Id handle it because I couldnt. Paul Cammerreri could do a lot of things, but reassuring Freebird that everything would be alright wasnt one of them. I shook my head. A tear fell from her right eye and her lip quivered. She buried her head into my chest and began to sob.
Keep it together, Paul. I thought. Let her cry, but dont you dare! If you lose it, you might as well hang yourself in the ruined mess of a bathroom over there. I had to be strong. As strong as the day I got kicked out of my parents house. The day they insulted me with the check. The day they bought me out so theyd never have to see me again.
As Freebird sobbed in my arms I pictured my mom and dad. Theyd probably enjoy watching this. Hell, they probably would have set the fire themselves if they werent nestled away in their McMansion in Freehold.
Ma and Pa were both big Financial planners in Manhattan, so needless to say, they were really well off. When they found out who I was, that is to say, what I was, they wanted no part in it.
You know, you see it on the news all the time. Parents finding out the truth and going into fits of extreme rage and kicking their kids out of their houses, or sending them to some evangelical camp to make them normal, but thats far away and you never think it could happen to you. Hell no, my parents are progressive people. They vote Democrat and give to three charities and they recycle to boot!
Apparently Far Away is just a place we give to the reality thats right in front of our faces. Not so far away, huh? So when the reality hit them about what I really was, I suppose they couldnt handle it.
#
Youre kicking me out? I asked. This was seven years ago.
Of course. Wed hate to think about what people might say about us. My mother said, taking a sip of that God aweful merlot shed gotten from a recent trip to Paris. Italian wine is so much better. So much more mature in flavor. I should know. I would be owning a bar in the very near future. I looked at my father, a man who had always been sympathetic to everyone. His hair was now completely gray but he was in damned good shape for someone in his mid-fifties. Personal trainers will do that, I suppose.
Son, we understand youre upset, but you are still our son, He said. His voice was cheerful despite the bombshell he had just dropped on me, so were prepared to make sure youre comfortable.
God, you arent going to shoot me, are you? I mean, I can try to change! It was a stupid thing for me to say, but like I said, I had just been delivered a bombshell.
Always had a flair for the dramtic, my mother said, a little snarkishly. No, Paul, what we are saying is, were going to give you a bit of money.
I dont think I ever saw my Old Man whip out his checkbook faster. I guess they were in a real hurry to get rid of me. He scribbled down some things on the check and tore it off like an old band-aid. He handed it to me.
Half a million.
Ill repeat that, because it bears repeating.
Half a million dollars.
I looked at them, skeptical at first, but as I saw how serious they were, I could tell they wanted me out, and soon. Like, five minutes ago, soon.