Middle Ground - Chapter 2

Middle Ground - Chapter 2

Chapter 2
[Holding Someone’s Hair Back]

“There’s nothing that’ll save your soul. All you need is alcohol.”
-[The Living End]

She hated saloons.

It hadn’t been as bad during sundown, as the day had just begun to end and people began drifting into the bar to relax. But the sun lowered, and more people arrived, content to let alcohol drive away their inhibitions for the night. The packed saloon had become rowdy very quickly, and it was now full of rowdy drunkards, rowdy men well on their way to being drunk, as well as flirtatious women and a few no-nonsense older ladies who still had a head of sense on their shoulders.

But at least no one noticed the two of them.

They sat in the back, out of the way of the laughing, mirthful patrons as they held drinking games, played cards, and generally joked about. Some of the travelers who had come into town that day had been corralled at a table as they relayed tales and news from other towns in the outlands. She was glad that they were being left alone, though she couldn’t say how long their relative peace would last.

She was hoping she would remain out of sight of any lecherous eyes this night. She might have been considered a pretty girl, but there was a hard edge to her, both in her appearance and in her bearing, that may have made any would-be suitors think twice before approaching her. It was a cold beauty that hinted at unknown hardships conquered in the past, and the memories and experiences that came with them.

Her emerald eyes darted around the bar, half-closed as if she were asleep. She’d gotten tired of keeping up a good surly glare to hold any inebriated, testosterone driven men at bay. She let her hair fall over part of her face, slumping back in her chair with arms folded, and generally looking as irritated as she felt. She rolled her eyes as a particularly loud man stuttered in the middle of a no-doubt thrilling tale about his past female conquests, too drunk to remember what he’d been saying. When he eventually just started the story all over again the young woman growled under her breath, her eye twitching briefly.

A resounding cheer went up from the table nearest them, resulting in another twitch, and a man rose from his table in dismay at the money he’d just lost in a gratis game, stumbling backward. He swayed toward their table, and would have likely crashed into it had she not lifted a booted foot and planted it on his rear, stopping him in his tracks and then shoving him firmly back towards his own table. Luckily he didn’t pay much notice to it, too focused on attempting to regain his losses. She sighed and rested her forehead in the palm of one hand.

“Well ain’ you jus’ d’ image o’ cheer ‘n ‘appiness?” The comment caused her to give a sidelong glance at the young man seated next to her at the table. He was her only companion in the saloon—her brother in fact. One couldn’t tell by looking at them, though. His short platinum blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes were a stark contrast to her dark brown locks and green eyes. His features were strong and masculine, charmingly handsome. A pale mustache connected to a bit of fuzz on his chin in a well-trimmed goatee, and he sported a gleaming gold ring in each earlobe.

He flashed a good-humored grin and reached up to adjust a pair of round pilot’s goggles he wore on his forehead. “Smile some, Mari,” he said in a thick accent. “Or you gon’ stan’ out.” He said it like “Marie” with emphasis on the “Ma”.

She snorted and leaned forward to slump over the table, stretching an arm out and resting her head on it. “Ain’ none ‘ere sober ‘nough t’ stan’ out to, Riri.”

“Riri”, or Aouri as he was normally called, threw his head back and laughed deeply, a sound that wasn’t in the least out of place in the busy saloon. He leaned back in his chair and threw his legs up on the table next to her head, folding muscular arms over his chest. He wore a tight sky blue button-up with detailed embroidery on the front, the sleeves rolled up to his burly biceps, and faded black jeans. Brown leather chaps were buttoned over the pants. “You mebbe right.”

The saloon itself was a decent-sized establishment, spacious and lit by bright ether lamps hanging overhead. Tables were spread out over the floor, mostly round wooden tables for sitting, drinking and eating, while a few gratis card tables had been set up separately. Stairs in one corner led up to the second floor, where the inn rooms were. A songbox at the well-stocked bar was playing a lively guitar-driven tune that was able to make itself heard among the clamor of the bar’s patrons.

She’d always liked songboxes. The devices were enchanted to generate music. Choose a style of music, and the songbox would create a song itself. The songs it created were always random, and well-enchanted songboxes created masterpieces every time they were turned on, the best ones being as skilled as many master composers. They played music indefinitely, as long as they didn’t run out of power, and though they did vary the music and switch songs every now and then to keep it from growing monotonous, they didn’t stop playing until they were turned off. They were complicated devices to make, and Mari was surprised a backwater place like this had one, especially one as good as this one was.

She sighed in exasperation and shoved Aouri’s boots away from her head. “I’d rather be up inna room, ‘way from all dese folk.” The two of them had been traveling all day, having left from another outland town further west, and had come across this place an hour before sunset. There wasn’t likely to be any closer towns, so they would rest here for the night.

Aouri took a swig from the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “No ‘ppreciations fo’ free ennertainmen’,” he remarked, glancing around the saloon.

Mari lifted her head a bit and eyed him. “Get y’self drunk, an’ I ain’ haulin’ yo’ butt up t’ d’ room.”

Aouri arched an eyebrow. “Ma’, you ever see me drunk?”

“On’y a matter o’ time, Riri.” She shifted her posture yet again to hold her head up in the palm of one hand, slumping over. Her stomach rumbled audibly during a lull in the din, and she resisted the urge to hit it.

Aouri laughed again. “Go git y’self some nourriture.”

She grunted. “Ain’ hungry.”

“Qui’ bein’ difficult,” Aouri muttered. “Ain’ like money an issue no mo’.”

“Ferme-la!” Mari hissed quietly, glancing around at the people nearby. “Don’ mention dat ou’ here! Es-tu fou??”

Aouri snorted, but he did the same, looking around warily as he took another drink. “Ain’ no one here who care.”

“Mebbe so, but dey coul’ be followin’ us. Less folk overhear, d’ better.” Mari gave a surreptitious glance to the large metal briefcase sitting between her and her brother. A single rune of Ethric glowed on each side, a symbol resembling a warped ‘7’. She exchanged a look with Aouri, and their eyes said the same thing: it was a subject best left for later. They both made sure that it was safely between the two of them and out of sight of the other patrons. It wouldn’t do for anyone to start asking questions.

Her stomach growled again, and this time she did hit it, slamming a fist into her bare midriff. In reality she was very hungry, as she hadn’t eaten anything since early afternoon, and it hadn’t been much. But she didn’t want to have to get up and make her way around the cluttered tables where everyone could gawk at her. She got stared at a bit too often for her liking. So she stayed right where she was.

“Ya can a’ways go up t’ d’ room,” her brother suggested.

“Wouldn’ feel comf’table by myself,” she said with a shake of her head. She had her reasons.

Aouri shrugged. “Best make yo’self comf’table here, den, I tell you now. I migh’ be here fo’ while.” He swung his feet off of the table. “I’ll be back.”

Mari sighed and slumped over at the table again, her dour sentiments echoed by her stomach. “Git me somethin’ t’ eat?”

“Non.”

“Why not?” she demanded with a frown, lifting her head.

“Gon’ try ‘n join one o’ dese gratis tables.” The pale blonde reached into a pocket and flashed an Etho card. It was thin and flat, a small rectangle of some transparent substance much like glass. More Ethric symbols glowed on the card’s flat surface, these runes representing numbers. Being the official language of everything magic, which was everywhere, Ethric was also everywhere. Most everyone could speak it these days, and it was being used more and more to represent things in place of other languages. In this case, how many Ethos, the official currency of space itself, the card was worth.

Mari narrowed her eyes. “No, you don’, neither. I can’t afford you blowin’ all d’ cash. ‘Specially in dis case!”

“Ma’, dis ain’t de money, dis our money.” He shrugged and slipped the card back into his pocket. “Won’ spend more ‘n twenny, yeah? C’mon.”

With a frustrated growl, Mari moved a lock of hair aside with a puff of breath and gave him an irritated look. “Ain’ no reason y’ still can’t git me somethin’…”

Aouri smiled at her. “You git it yo’self, yeah?” He moved off, but not before dodging a half-hearted swing from his sister. “A bientôt!”

“Riri! Wha’ ‘bout dis?” she tried to ask, gesturing to the case on the floor, but he didn’t hear her, already getting the attention of one of the men at the card table. She swore in French and folded her arms, resolving herself to simply remain at the table. But at the same time, she wanted to get up and leave simply because he’d left her there. Of course, he’d probably expected that…

Screw it. She snatched the briefcase up and stood from her chair to make her way toward the bar. Either way she was likely going to be miserable, so she might as well be miserable on a full stomach. She had a bit of money for food.

She was dressed in low-cut jeans that hugged large hips, leather suspenders dangling from them, and a knotted red flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Though she wore a black sleeveless shirt under it, it was a cutoff, leaving her toned midriff bare. It was clear that she had some muscle to her, but not enough to compromise her feminine figure, which she considered somewhat unfortunate at the moment. Most men hated women who looked like they could beat them up.

She tried to keep to herself and avoid eye contact as she maneuvered among the men and women of the saloon, but she couldn’t help but notice a few eyes turn toward her in the process. The sound of her boots on the hard floor seemed to somehow be the loudest sound in the room to Mari, drawing more attention to her. She managed not to bump into anyone at least, and she did her best to hold the briefcase still at her side so that it wouldn’t stand out too much.

She supposed she couldn’t complain about any attention she garnered, given the way she was dressed. But the desert was…, well, hot. She couldn’t very well take off her shirt, so she kept her midriff bare to stay cool, not for attention. She had no idea how some other women out here could wear frilly dresses and whatnot.

When she reached the bar she muscled in between two stools and set the case down, motioning to the tender to grab his attention. The bartender, a skinny man with slicked back salt-and-pepper hair and narrow, calculating eyes, glanced at her and made his way leisurely over. He wore a strange, stylish black suit that she could only identify as being very traditionally Asian, even though the man himself didn’t look anything like one. “What food y’ got?” she asked him.

He eyed her for a moment, perhaps because of her accent. It wasn’t a common one, and a lot of people had difficulty understanding what she said sometimes. But before she could repeat herself just in case, he shrugged lethargically. “Steak… Few soups, some sides like taters ‘n whatnot… Steak’s best, though. Want a menu?”

Mari shook her head. “Steak’s fine. An’ some… “tater”… Got any bean? Some o’ dem, too.” When the bartender turned away to begin fixing the food at the stove behind him Mari leaned forward to rest her elbows against the counter. She wore a number of bracelets on both arms, made out of everything from twine to beads to metal to yarn, and some of them clanked together as she raised a hand to brush her hair behind an ear. Gold hoops hung from her ears, not large enough that they’d grow annoying to her.

Wishing the tender was able to make food instantly, she idly glanced around the bar. For being in a small town like this it sure was well-stocked. Bottles lined the back wall on shelves, above the stove and counter. They had a decent selection, from what little she knew about alcohol. They must have been getting regular shipments in from somewhere. She briefly wondered how they were paying for it. Likely the usual Ether harvesting.

The stool to her right was empty, but a man sat hunched over the counter to her left, head bowed. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed him before now. He probably stood out the most of anyone. Clad in all black with a dusty coat and long dark hair, he wasn’t drinking or eating or laughing or talking with anyone. He was just…sitting, and smoking a pipe. A bottle sat on the bar in front of him, but since Mari hadn’t noticed him move at all since she’d gotten there she guessed that he hadn’t actually drunk from it in a while.

Everything about the man was dark, as if he were swathed in shadows. The hat on his head hid most of his face. He just sat there staring at the counter, a long sword leaning against the bar beside him. If not for the smoke drifting from his mouth he may as well have been a duramex replicate of a museum exhibit. He didn’t acknowledge Mari’s presence, and if he noticed her staring at him he didn’t seem to care.

And then something very unusual happened. About to turn her attention elsewhere, Mari had begun to look away when the man started coughing. It was a very raspy, throaty cough, so much so that it almost hurt Mari just to listen to it. And then glowing embers not unlike sparks flew from the man’s mouth, disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared but not before a few of them bounced over the bar in front of him.

Mari’s eyebrows went up, and she stared at him again in puzzlement. The man removed his pipe and covered his mouth until the remainder of the coughs died away, so she wasn’t able to see it a second time. But there was no doubt that she’d just seen the man cough up sparks. Or at least, she was fairly certain. She hadn’t had any alcohol that night so she shouldn’t have been seeing things.

He acted like he hadn’t even noticed, and instead of growing worried he grabbed his bottle and took a long drink, as if he were trying to put out a fire in his stomach with it. What was this guy on? He seemed like he didn’t care about… anything. Hair was draped messily over his face, he was starting to need a shave, and he smelled strongly of smoke. Of course, this was common for most patrons after midnight but the spark thing was a new one for her.

She looked up at the bartender, who had turned away from his stove, and their eyes briefly locked. His expression and a slightly raised eyebrow told her that he’d seen it too. But the black man lifted his head and glanced up at the tender from beneath the brim of his hat, sunglasses obscuring his eyes. The lanky bartender didn’t look the type to ask questions, and he simply shrugged a bit and turned his attention elsewhere. Mari tried to look like she was busy scanning the bottles on the back wall.

“Nice tatt’.” As a voice spoke up behind her Mari turned around with a subtle sense of mounting hostility. The young man who’d spoken up smiled at her from where he stood a few feet away, all gangly limbs and boyish features. She couldn’t tell if he was drunk or not, but she suspected that either way he was going to be a jackass.

He was likely referring to the tattoo she had on her lower back. It was a tribal rendition of a raven with wings spread wide, right at her tailbone. Of course he would like it, she thought with a snort. Most men did, and it wasn’t because the design looked cool. She’d gotten the tattoo a long time ago, when she’d been young and rather foolish, and she regretted it now. She hated the damn thing.

She faced him and casually leaned back against the bar, fixing him with a bland stare and an arched eyebrow. “Gee, t’anks,” she muttered. Though she’d been hit on before she was in no mood for it tonight, and she was hoping that her offish manner might give the guy a hint. No such luck, though.

“I’m guessin’ you jus’ came in t’day, ‘cause you sure ain’t from ‘round ‘ere. None o’ the gals hereabouts is half as pretty.” The guy grinned and tried to make it look charming. It didn’t quite work out so well. Admittedly he was somewhat attractive, but in a sleazy sort of way. He looked a little like a rodent, with a pointed face and scraggly brown hair.

Gee, t’anks, she thought again, but she didn’t repeat it. Honestly she didn’t consider herself nearly as good-looking as a lot of the other women in the bar, feature-wise, but since she didn’t seem to have much on she supposed that qualified her above everyone else. Men could always ignore a face, but they never missed a few pleasing curves. Especially if they were drunk.

She decided not to acknowledge the blatant advance and simply nodded. “Got in ‘bout six o’ clock wit’ my brother o’er dere.” She nodded in Aouri’s direction, hoping the young man would get a glimpse of him and possibly back off. But again, no such luck.

“That so?” he asked with a laugh, moving forward to lean against the empty stool next to her. Her bland stare shifted into an irritated glare, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Interestin’ accent you got there. Where you from?”

Mari gave a vague wave east and turned back to the bar. “East of ‘ere. Town call Reléville. Small place.”

“An’ what kind o’ accent is that?” Weasel-boy leaned in slightly, as if he were actually interested, causing Mari to lean away slightly. She would have moved away entirely if not for the spark-spewing cowboy to her left, and the fact that she was still waiting for her food.

“Cajun,” she answered.

“What?”

“Cajun.”

The man’s face creased in puzzlement. She suspected it did that a lot. “What’s that? Some kinda weird off-world thing?”

“…Is French.”

“Oh. Coulda just said that in the first place.”

She was surprised her teeth weren’t grating together from gritting them so tightly. She gave the bartender a pointed stare, silently telling him to hurry the hell up with her food. Luckily he’d just finished cooking, and he served her plate a few minutes later, its contents hot and looking very tasty.

“Three Ethos,” the tender said, eying her with one hand still on the plate.

Mari frowned at him slightly. What a crook. Three Ethos was a major rip-off and he knew it. But it wasn’t her establishment. Rolling her eyes, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a five Etho card, beginning to hand it to the bartender over the counter.

But the young man beside her lay his hand over hers, stopping her. “Hol’ on there. I’ll pay for the lady’s food.”

Out of instinct Mari nearly punched him in the face, but she managed to refrain from resorting to violence and simply jerked her hand away, flashing him a cold stare. “D’ lady can pay fo’ her own food, thank ya.” She went to hand her money over again, but the weasel cut her off with an arm.

“No, c’mon. I insist.” He was already reaching into his pocket for his wallet. While Mari would have appreciated any excuse not to spend any of her own money, if she accepted his offer he would never leave her alone. She knew, because she’d made the mistake of doing so before.

She knocked his arm away and slapped her card down on the bar. “I said no, couillon. Back off or I back you off.”

The man got angry then, scowling at her. He was persistent. “Look, lady, I’m tryin’ to be nice. Jus’ lemme pay for the damn food.” He pulled out his wallet and removed money of his own, thrusting it out toward the bartender.

Or he tried to, at least, but Mari’s hand shot out and clamped around the man’s wrist. He attempted to pull away, but when she squeezed he cried out audibly and his knees buckled. She made sure it hurt. The cocky young man seemed to be a normal human, which was unfortunate for him because Mari was anything but. She was one of the Gifted.

In this day and age, almost half of the entire human race was Gifted, becoming what were now known as “Inhumans”. They had been discovered hundreds of years ago, a scant few abnormal beings, mutants, with inhuman abilities. Many considered it a genetic mutation or evolution, but one wasn’t born entirely Gifted. The powers manifested on their own, seemingly at random ages. But there were mainly two kinds.

The first were the Naturals, who were basically superhuman in every aspect. Their abilities were purely physical, and all bodily capabilities enhanced. Their muscle strength, reaction times, coordination, dexterity, endurance—all multiplied exponentially. Basically everything the human body was capable of, Naturals could do it better. They were stronger, faster, they healed faster, they could take more damage, they lived longer, and were just generally better.

Being a Natural herself, Mari was more than capable of beating any normal human to within an inch of their life. Belatedly, her would-be suitor seemed to realize this too. Not that it was doing him any good.

“I won’ repeat myself,” she said in a low, dangerous tone, squeezing his arm until he fell to his knees. “Now, either I break y’ arm in half, or you git d’ hell on outta here très vite, comprende?” She released her grip on his arm a little, just to give him enough breath to be able to say something.

“Look, now, what the hell’s goin’ on?” At that moment Mari’ became aware of another man’s presence beside her. Apparently she’d drawn the attention of most of the saloon, and they all looked toward the bar with varying expressions. The bartender beside them simply watched with a bland look, still waiting for his money. He didn’t look like a person who got excited about much.

She let go of the guy’s wrist and took a step back warily. The man who had spoken up looked from her to the young man kneeling on the floor, his eyes narrowed. He looked older, as his hair had begun to gray and his face was weathered. He didn’t seem to be drunk, at least, but she wasn’t certain. Things would be a great deal easier if he weren’t.

“This ‘un were harassin’ me,” she answered, folding her arms and flashing the younger man a glare.

The older man turned his eye upon the other. “That true, boy?”

The weasel looked up from cradling his arm. “Harassin’, shit! I only asked to pay for ‘er food!”

As the man turned toward her Mari rolled her eyes. “An’ I say no!”

The gray-haired man looked angry. “That ain’t no reason to resort to violence! What’s wrong with you?” Then he turned his attention back to the weasel. “An’ you! Wailin’ ‘n cringin’ ‘cause of some girl! Stan’ up, boy.”

The young man stood to his feet still holding his arm, glaring at Mari. “She’s Gifted, Pa! Almost broke my arm, she did.”

So the older man was his father. Great, Mari thought sarcastically.

The glare she received from the father was even more venomous than before. He took a step forward, enough that she was able to smell the alcohol on his breath. So he was drunk, as well. Even better. “That figures…” he growled, eyes narrowed so much he was almost squinting. “All you Gifted think yer so much better than us humans, huh? Think you can do whatever you want, when you want.”

Silence had fallen over most of the saloon by now, leaving the songbox to blare on its own. All eyes were riveted on the confrontation, and she heard a few grunts of agreement scattered among them. Was this town against Inhumans? That would be just her luck. She knew that there were many humans who harbored hatred toward her kind, labeling them “freaks” and constantly accusing them of taking advantage of their abilities. She’d hoped she never had the misfortune to run into any, but it looked like it was too late for that.

Where the hell was Aouri? Mari scanned the crowd for his familiar pale head of hair and locked eyes with him toward the back, watching from one of the gratis tables. She shot him an impatient look and he seemed to remember himself, beginning to move toward the bar to lend a hand.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.” The father waved his hand in front of her face, drawing her attention back to him. Her first impulse was to smack his hand away, but she didn’t want the situation to escalate.

“I never say dat,” she responded with an angry glare. “All I want is t’ eat some sup, yeah?”

The man gestured to his son. “Then let ‘im pay for it!”

“No!”

“Well, why the hell not?”

“Cause I don’ like ‘im!” Mari blurted. The second it left her mouth she realized that it hadn’t come out the way she’d meant it to.

“Y’ see?? I knew it!” He pointed an accusatory finger in her face and glanced around at the other patrons. “She said it herself!” More cries of agreement and anger went up, and Mari mentally kicked herself. She made a note to never again aggravate drunken Gifted-haters. She should’ve just stayed in her damn seat.

“Whoa, whoa!” Aouri made his way to the bar and approached them, laying a hand on the father’s shoulder. “Look here now, podna, calm down a sec an’--”

The man abruptly turned and knocked his hand away, fixing him with a stare as well. “Git off me! Who the hell’re you?” Aouri stood at a good six and a half feet tall, a head above the older man, and was muscular and sturdy, but that didn’t seem to dissuade the drunk in the least. All traces of reason seemed to have fled from him.

“Her brother, dat’s who,” Aouri said with a frown. “An’ I don’ ‘ppreciate--”

“Another uppity jackass, is it?” The gray-haired man folded his arms and glowered up at Aouri brazenly. “What d’ you want?”

Aouri narrowed his eyes, his eyebrow twitching. Mari could tell he was already growing irritated, and he’d barely said two words to the man. “Look here, fella, what the hell we ever did t’ you, eh?”

The man’s son had evidently recovered, as he immediately stepped in front of his father and faced Aouri down despite the blonde’s size. He’d adopted an arrogant expression somewhere between a smile and a sneer. “Your bitch sister there almost broke my goddamn arm, fer starters,” he growled, getting in Aouri’s face.

The two siblings returned the favor, Mari taking an aggravated step forward as she and Aouri leaned toward the young man so abruptly as to cause him to hastily step back to his father’s side once more. “What you jus’ call me??” she demanded, murder written on her face. She’d had enough of this crap.

At the same time chairs scraped against the floor as other men at nearby tables stood up, some beginning to advance upon the feuding families. Mari and Aouri froze and tensed, readying themselves and not backing down. Mari didn’t want a fight, but she was prepared for one.

Aouri gave her a sidelong glance, taking his eyes off of the men only for a moment, and spoke in French. ‘You know, you can’t really blame them, Ma’.'

‘Shut up, Aouri,’ she retorted with a snort.

No one said anything else for the next several seconds, the two parties staring each other down. Mari realized that they were outnumbered, but judging from their hostile reaction towards Gifted she was guessing that all of the townsfolk were human. And it took a lot of regular humans to match a Natural in anything. She wasn’t particularly worried. If anything the odds were almost slightly fair. Almost.

The gray-haired father, who had apparently become the ringleader, stood with more cronies backing him up and sneered at the siblings, his arms folded belligerently across his chest. “Well now… All in favor o’ lettin’ the assholes stay?”

A few of the more sensible women raised their hands. “Give it a rest, would ya, ‘n leave ‘em be?” called one of them, but they were quickly put down by loud jeers and boos.

Mari felt herself feeling more and more offended. Oh, now we’re the assholes??

“All in favor o’ kickin’ their sorry asses all the way into the fuckin’ Void.” All the men who had stood up raised their hands, and a few more who were seated at tables stood and raised their hands as well. The young man who had advanced on Mari raised both hands, and his father looked around smugly and gave them a nasty smile.

Mari smiled sweetly back, and promptly responded with two upraised middle fingers. To her satisfaction, the man’s face twisted into an ugly drunken expression, and his impulsive son moved forward angrily. Mari saw Aouri begin to step in front of her. Not one to be babied or protected she tensed and began to step forward with him, readying herself for an unavoidable brawl.

But as she did she felt a hand settle on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks with a quiet firmness. She turned and instinctively brought an arm up to defend herself, or more accurately to drive her fist straight into the offender’s jaw. As she spun she managed to catch sight of the person just before her fist connected, altering her fist’s trajectory to adjust for height, and she recognized the figure a split-second before her blow connected. It was the cowboy in black.

Unable to stop herself her punch landed squarely across his mouth, snapping his head to the side. His sunglasses tumbled behind the bar, knocked from his face. The man rocked to one side as his foot almost left the floor, and placed a hand on the counter to steady himself, his other hand seeming to be missing. He shook his head as if in a slight daze, loose hair hiding his face.

Mari found something wrong with his reaction. She’d put enough power behind that punch to knock him over the bar, not just off-balance. Any human would have been seeing stars by now, but as she watched the cowboy merely reached up and rubbed at his temples as if he had a slight headache.

“Was that really necessary?” he muttered almost inaudibly.

She never got a chance to answer, however, because an uproarious commotion behind her caused her to turn around. She saw that two men were already laid out on the floor, and her brother was engaging several more, attempting to keep them at bay. One man had jumped onto his back and another clung to a leg while the drunk ringleader and his son tried to get in a few good punches. A few of the more sober patrons were slipping away, seeking to leave before things got out of hand. Not that they hadn’t already.

Another attacker managed to get past the blonde, wielding a chair as he ran headlong at Mari with a scowl on his face. She faced him down without worry and clenched her fists, ready to grab the chair out of his hands the moment he swung at her and give him a taste of it.

But as he began to raise it into swinging position, the strange one-armed cowboy surged forward in a dark blur, his fist already flying through the air. He drove a punch straight through the bottom of the chair and into the man’s nose, abruptly reversing his momentum and sending him flying back to crash into a table and knock it over loudly.

His abrupt entrance into the fray drew all eyes to him, and all other activity seemed to freeze. Aouri looked over as well, holding the weasel-faced man by the front of his shirt. Some of the women who the men had left behind yelped and scurried away from the mess, gathering at a safe distance. And then once more, the only sound that permeated the air was the music of the songbox at the bar.

The man turned his head to stare at the men, and then glanced over at Mari. A golden light emanated from beneath the brim of his hat, bathing his grim face in an eerie glow that originated from his eyes. Without his sunglasses on, they were revealed for everyone to see, pure golden spheres with no hint of an iris or pupil. They glowed as if miniature suns had been set into the whites of his eyes, lending them a frightening aspect.

An audible gasp went up from a few of the men, and some of them looked like they had just seen a ghost. Mari didn’t blame them. The glowing eyes gave it away. Only one race of Inhumans bore features like that, and they were the most powerful Inhumans alive. The tall cowboy was an Arcanus, and there was no doubt in Mari’s mind that he was the most dangerous person in the room.

And she’d just punched him in the face.