by Danny and Grimm
"Hal?"
"Danny."
"What do you think of all this?"
"What? You mean all this shit with Dirk and Ed and the agent?"
"Yeah."
"If I were you, I would've stabbed Turner in the eye with a truckload of snake venom the first chance I got. But then... I'm not you. Yet."
"Right..." This was not going away easily. For now, there seemed to be some sort of truce, however uneasy it may be. But still, this was not going away easily. Ed, Turner, Dirk: there's issues there... issues that will need to be resolved before we can call ourselves a team. But, damn it, if I have to kick all their arses to do it, they're going to resolve them. This is my team, my home, hell, even my friends. I'm not going to let them fall apart because of some clashing egos.
Danny Hearn walked to his room on the seventh floor to get ready. It looked like the team was getting set for a night on the town, and that was something Danny had yet to fully experience since he came to this era. He'd been on the occasional social jaunt, but never just headed out for a night of fun. He sat down on the bed.
He winced as he did so, as paint shot up his torso. Here I am, recovering from a broken rib and a stab wound, and I volunteer for a fistfight with an ex-EPS agent. Fucking pride. Fucking Turner. I couldn't have walked away, though. Not from a chance to make my point. Turns out Dirk made it for me. Still... all that fighting from before Dirk showed up REALLY isn't good for the healing process. But for now... I have to put up with Turner hanging around, apparently, because Eurostar vouches for him.
Speaking of which, Eurostar was back. Things had to get better now. Eurostar was back. There weren't too many of the originals left. Lance was gone, Tobias was gone, Pete was gone. Danny felt like he was living in a house full of strangers. But now... Eurostar is back, the first meta I met when I came here, the man who helped me out. If it wasn't for him, I would never have hooked up with the team. Eurostar is back.
Danny got dressed, wearing plain jeans and a plain T-shirt. He looked down at himself, then looked in the mirror. Plain jeans. Plain T-shirt. Hell, I've been here a couple of months now, and THIS is all I own? I think that's a tomato sauce stain on the jeans. This just won't do. Fashion never seemed all that important, but now I'm actually going to do something social. I feel like I should be in something slightly nicer, slightly cooler.
He went to go see if he could borrow some clothes from someone.
The group slowly filed out of their cabs and began making their way down the street toward the bar, Grimm leading the way.
Danny, following quickly behind while trying not to dirty up his borrowed clothing, asked, "What do you mean 'underground meta bar'? La Perdita is open to metahumans. That's why we came here in the first place."
"Is that some kinda code for 'gay bar'?" Dirk Bell bellowed from the back, still limping.
"They're open to the more photogenic among the meta and posthuman populace that have come here. But there are some here whose lives are not much better than what they sought to escape. Even the more open-minded among the citizens shun most of the people here. I think it will do most of you good to experience this. Welcome to Jake's place," Grimm said, ignoring Dirk.
They walked past a window filled with flyers for tonight's show. The flyers read: "Tonight! The sensation of La Perdita! Bahhghhhruptha, Lord of the Flies! With Wumb!"
"Hey, Bahhghhruptha's here tonight. Wonder how he's doing?" Mick Harrison mentioned to Shirley Francis.
As the group made their way inside, they were astounded by the wide array of physically diverse metas inside the bar.
"Greem! Good to see you again," came a loud voice with a thick Russian accent. It belonged to a very large man dressed in biker leathers with purple skin.
"Wulf," Grimm addressed the man. "No trouble tonight, I hope. My friends are here to have a good time."
"No trouble, Greem. No trouble," said Blackwulf. "I do have business proposition for you, though, comrade. Come see me after you get situated."
"I may just do that."
Dirk Bell limped all the way over to the far corner of the bar, sitting with his back against the wall, where he could keep an eye on everyone in the place.
"Paranoid nut job," Danny muttered under his breath.
"H-heh hooah hah hahah hahahahah..." The group was startled by the sound of the bizarre laughter. Even more startling was the source. It was Grimm.
"Mind telling us what's so funny?" Edulcore Cicciotto said, not knowing what to make of this newcomer.
"Dirk just sat in Octavia's section."
"Who's Octavia?"
"You'll see."
Danny wandered up to the front of the bar, where the opening band was playing. "Wow. Live music," he muttered to himself.
"Yeah, who would've thought?" said Hal. "It's very loud, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is."
"You want me to alter your ears, so that they're not adversely affected by the noise level?"
"No, I want to experience this the way it meant to be."
Danny walked by the stage area, noticing the female bass player, who was pale-skinned with long, dark hair, wearing a short black leather dress with fishnet stockings, black cowboy boots (complete with spurs), all topped off with a black cowboy hat. As Danny passed by, she smiled widely, showing off her sharp, gleaming incisors.
"Um, I think I should experience this with the others. From a distance, yeah."
"Smart move."
"Shut it, Hal."