strucknerves

[strucknerves]

Henrique Zaga as Roberto da Costa The New Mutants (2020) dir. Josh Boone

[strucknerves]

FINLEY WALSH​

Finley slips into a bar stool at O’Donahues. She leans her hand in her palm, staring glassy eyed into the liquor bottles. She’s silently waiting for someone behind the bar to clock the fact that she’s there, and without a drink, but she figures it’ll be a while, and she’s fine zoning out. She scans the back lit bottles until she catches another set of eyes looking at her from her peripheral. When she turns to look at him, she realizes just how close she sat without even thinking about it. “Wow. I totally encroached on your personal space, didn’t I? I can move if you want, I don’t wanna be one of those weirdos.”

@strucknerves​​

“no, not at all,” emilio’s answer is tinged with both a smile and a sigh, “this place is usually cramped, anyway.” but not with the likes of her, he thinks—except for that one time when a teenage girl had somehow snuck inside what would be two steps away from a gang bar. “i noticed that you looked a bit perplexed by the bar’s impressive array of drinks,” he smiles, “which isn’t a common expression in these places.”

[strucknerves]

MONIQUE WASHINGTON​

“No, it’s fine. I… I get it.” They wouldn’t hold anything against him, especially because Monique didn’t have a lot, or any, high expectations for their friendship. Monique nodded their head, eyes flickering between both Emilio and Papi, listening to both as the pair spoke to them. Emilio using English and Papi who just barked. “Why wouldn’t he? He says you’re a fantastic owner, that of course he’ll worry about you.” Then there was the comment about his face, which Monique was trying hard not to point out. Because it was rude to do so. “Papi says that despite your new face, that he still likes you, so don’t worry about it.” 

“you really are papi’s spokesperson, aren’t you?” chuckles emilio, “i do wish i could understand him sometimes—it’s gotta be pretty daunting being in new york for a small dog. it’s his first big city, so.” a smile softens his face as he scratches his dog behind the ears. “well, that’s good to hear, especially since i can’t do anything about it—unless i start wearing masks, but i think that’d scare him more,” he smiles. “how’re you, though?”

[strucknerves]

HOLLAND BRIGHT​

          “Oh  really.   I  don’t  see  a  drink  in  my  hand.   Look  sir,   I  don’t  know  who  you  think  you  are,   but  I  can  handle  myself  here  and  I’m  not  drinking.   So  as  far  as  I’m  aware,   there’s  nothing  stopping  me  from  staying  here.”   She  tilts  her  head  a  bit  and  says  in  a  sarcastic  voice.   “You’re  not  my  dad  and  I  don’t  have  to  answer  to  you,   but  if  you  want,   I  can  kick  your  ass  at  darts  or  something  and  you  can  leave  me  alone  the  rest  of  the  night.”   Did  she  think  she  could  win?   No,   probably  not.   But  it  was  better  to  fake  confidence  than  leave  because  someone  thought  she  was  too  young. 

emilio’s nose wrinkles, “i think the law’s what’s stopping you from staying here,” he opines, although he’s careful not to sound patronizing lest he suffer the wrath of a teenager in a public place. but to her threat, emilio could barely stifle a chuckle, “alright, well, i fully concede i’m not your father, but if beating you at darts is what’s gonna get you outta here—i’ll bite. after you,” he says, gesturing over to the dart board.

[strucknerves]

BLAKE NGUYEN​

“Save some kids?” Blake echoes with a mixture of amusement and, yeah, some teasing disbelief. She’s only briefly distracted when a heaping basket of fries is pushed to her from across the bar, at which point she’ll grab the bottle of ketchup and empty roughly a quarter of it into a pile on the waxy paper. “Did you get some kittens out of some trees, too? Help an old lady cross the street, stop a bank robbery?” Blake gestures towards him with a couple of ketchup-dipped fries before taking a bite. “You’ll put the Omegas out of business.”

“yeah, exactly that,” emilio chuckles, “just doing some civic duties and all that. we’ve all done it, haven’t we? kitten rescues and pedestrian assistance?” though he isn’t sure if that’s a cliché or not—it must be if she brought it up so quickly. how many cats in america always find themselves up in trees that it’s become common? “—oh, hardly. though it’d be nice to have superpowers,” he says, and a small smile plays on his lips. “i wasn’t blessed with them, unfortunately.”

[strucknerves]

APINYA THOPAWIT

it’s sickingly familiar. nia, lounging on a hotel (currently: motel) bed, anticipating julien’s return, ready to jump on him the second he comes in. all the physical pieces are there—it’s the emotions around them that have changed. “almost,” she answers in a singsong tone, then in a flash she’s on julien. a knife she’d had in her pocket is now against his throat, and she grins at him. “i thought before eating, we could have a talk. that’s okay with you, right, baby?” 

the feeling of a knife against his neck isn’t an unfamiliar one—and it’s almost pavlovian how emilio smiles in response to it. “whatever the princess wants,” he answers with as much sincerity as his saccharine smile. before she can throw another quip, he quickly grabs her wrist and pushes against it hard enough to disarm her. then, twisting around—with their bodies aligned front-to-back like a rigid tango—he softly grunts, “but no weapons, alright?”

[strucknerves]

FINS​

          @strucknerves​ !!

         despite better judgement, fins approaches. “hey, saint…” he addresses carefully, looking for any signs that his presence is unwanted. “i watched your fight. you were really good.” after a beat, he adds. “i wish i could be as fast as you. sometimes you end up looking like a blur.”

emilio takes a moment to absorb the compliment, “hey, thanks, man,” —or is it just shark? “that means a lot, coming from you. praise here is hard to come by.” not that he’s baffled by it, of course. it must be irksome (to say the least) when you’re defeated in a cage match by a squib. but hey, it’s part of the gimmick, and only one person’s taken it personally (so far). “you know, i think you could be the fastest contender here if you had a coach—barring that one guy with super speed, of course.”

[strucknerves]

SAWYER SULLIVAN

It takes him a moment to realise he’s being addressed. One voice barely cuts through the clamour, and it doesn’t really occur to Sawyer that anyone would want to talk to him here in any case. Blinking, taking a soft breath, he turns to find the person that spoke. 

It’s nobody Sawyer recognises, but the man has an oddly kind face. Maybe it’s because Sawyer is feeling so overwhelmed, but he feels immediately inclined to trust Emilio. “Uh… Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit of a meat market in here.” He exhales a mirthless laugh. It reminds him all too much of the brutality of Essex, so the excitement in the air doesn’t feel contagious. It feels nauseating.

“that’s one way of putting it,” emilio softly chuckles. “are you just here to watch?” he assumes as much, looking over at the wild expression on his face—otherwise, emilio’d feel a sort of responsibility to talk him out of getting inside the ring. “it gets a little more rowdy than usual here during the weekends, but nobody picks fights on this side of the arena.”

[strucknerves]

JACQUELINE RUMLEY

“Think of it as charity. As in, you probably need it, Emilio.” She cracks her grin, and pats him on the cheek, patronizingly. She missed this, like a warm coat on a cold winter’s night that she’d long thought was lost. No one else got this side of her. The vigilante. The harbinger. Even if she isn’t out there with her on the roof, at least she can take solace in the fact that they can be a little comfortable around each other. Just a little.

Winning a cage match against a mutant? Oh, this she has to see. “I’m coming then,” she says, laughing despite herself. Emilio’s made some wild claims, but she knows that three to one she’d still bet on him with his bare fists. Mutants learn to rely on their power; they don’t learn how to use their physicality in a fight. “Besides, if those guys get someone from the audience to teach you a lesson, I might even volunteer.”

“Just the confessional? You know I’m not good on my knees, Saint.” If it seems pointed, it is, a sharp eyebrow raised in response. “Besides, God’s been dead since the twenties—everyone knows that. Or at least I do, and just assume. You gonna tell me he’s been listening all these years and I still haven’t gotten enlightenment?”

“no matter how you square it,” grins emilio, his lips pursing as he feels jackie’s skin against his own, “free is free.” he really feels how torn up his face is, slit open by vicious, inhuman claws. it’s something he shouldn’t even think about, considering his profession (it pales in comparison to most of what he suffered), but still. it’s a new, odd sensation when it’s his face. it’s a message as it is the clothes he wears on his back.

“you gotta pay a visit sometime—you’d like it there.” emilio’s eyes roamed over the crowd, taking in the unifying spectacle of humanity walking over the fairgrounds’ flattened grass. he teases her with a narrowing of his eyes, “i doubt you could take me on,” he says, “you’re looking at the only non-mutant contender in that joint— i’m kind of a big deal.”

his smile broadens then, “your god, maybe. but not mine.” and though emilio knows better than to bloviate about religion with jackie—especially as they are being a tad bit sacrilegious—he can’t help himself sometimes. he knows he makes up for it, though. “who said anything about you being on your knees?” emilio smirks, “what’ve you got going on in that head of yours?”

[strucknerves]

- Richard Siken, "Driving, Not Washing"

[strucknerves]

JACQUELYN RUMLEY

“Really? So that’s why the rooftops’ve been silent, huh?” During the night, where she hunts, with less mercy and grace than usual, she hadn’t seen Emilio going at all. Perhaps it was a change of heart, after the whole Xavier’s deal, but she wasn’t in the business of guessing anyways. What Emilio wanted, Emilio did. They both have the means to deal with whatever shit they’ve been going through. “You want me to be your tour guide, pretty boy? Fine, I’ll bite.”

She closes her eyes and redoes her mental rolodex of things she has to do until she knows that she’s absolutely free. “Or is this a play to make me watch boxing? Because I can watch a match, if you want, but if you get your ass beat, I’m never going to make you forget it.”

“miss me that much, huh?” emilio teases; though the more he thinks about it, the more he does miss taking up assignments with late night stakeouts. the silence on a rooftop is unmatches, he finds. it’s a unique kind of peaceful to know you're far from the madding crowd—literally. jacquelyn’s occasional company doesn’t make it worse, either. “wow, sponsoring my surgery and a compliment? you’re generous today, rumley.”

and as for the boxing, he simply grins. “i was actually trying to brag a little, but you’re more than welcome to see me win a couple belts—or get my ass beat. it really depends on how much the guys over there want to punish me. it can get pretty aggravating for a human to win a cage match against a mutant.” maybe he is bragging now, though this time, emilio’s sure it’s warranted.

“besides, it’s either that, or i invite you to attend mass with me, but something tells me churches aren’t your speed. maybe the confessional.”

[strucknerves]

ZIA GHAZALI​

“You’ve got me beat by several weeks. I got here maybe three weeks ago, now.” It doesn’t feel quite that long, but with everything between Mo prepping the place for newly freed Essex residents, and just getting used to the flow of a city this big, time had flown by. “Zia, thank you for the uncharacteristically warm welcome,” She returns, taking his hand with a friendly shake. “What you brought you to the city? You Gospel on the dangers of Dive Bars?”

“i’m just paying it forward. i was welcomed warmly by a stranger when i first got here, too, and i’ve been warned not to expect kindness from new yorkers,” chuckles emilio. “ah, that would be an interesting answer, wouldn’t it? if my life’s mission is to bloviate and preach on dive bar hygiene? —but the truth, though, is that i just wanted a change of pace. i’m a bit of a nomad; i like to move around and see what’s out there. life’s meant to be lived, right?” he smiles, “what about you?”

[strucknerves]

HOLLAND BRIGHT​

          “No,   I’m  twenty.”   Holland  knew  that  she  looked  so  much  younger  than  she  was.   It  wasn’t  her  fault  that  she  looked  young.   “It’s  not  a  fake  ID.”   She  pulls  out  her  wallet  and  shows  her  ID,   as  well  as  the  fake  one.   “I  can  handle  myself  here.”   She  knew  that  was  probably  lying,   she  couldn’t  handle  herself  if  she  got  into  trouble.   Holland  knew  how  to  keep  herself  out  of  trouble  though.   “Are  you  going  to  keep  lecturing  me?”   

“…and, correct me if i’m wrong, but the legal drinking age in america is twenty-one. so, objectively and definitely, you shouldn’t be in here right now.” emilio explains with an unintentional, fatherlike tone, despite his best efforts not to take it that way. it’s been a while since he’s had a conversation with someone young. he isn’t doing well in this regard. “and listen, i’m not going to talk about whether you can ‘handle’ yourself—i don’t know you, and i’m not going to assume that i do—i’m just going off the law, here. besides, you could be at any of the dozen other places in this city that are far more entertaining than a dive bar.”

[strucknerves]

BLAKE NGUYEN​

Blake laughs as the bartender sets her drinks in front of her; she likes this guy’s style. “Pleasure, Julian. You’d probably cringe at some of my regular haunts.” She’s got a wide web of them. O’Donahues just happens to be her favorite when she’s trying to run across some of her Brotherhood pals. “I like ‘pissed off the right person’ over the totally tired ‘you should see the other guy’. Maybe I’ll give that a shot in the future. You often pick fights with people with claws?” The question is lightly posed but has some layers, ones that might make Blake change her opinion on Julian real quick; you often pick fights with what sounds like a mutant?

“i don’t believe in that—‘cringe’—you like what you like, you know? besides, “you’re talking to a guy who loves eating at greasy spoons, so,” emilio clicks his tongue, smiling, “don’t think that my opinion is going to count for much.” blake’s question makes him shift in his seat, unsure how to answer it without telling her the whole truth—a fact that would either jilt their rapport or make himself sound self-righteous. emilio starts by shaking his head, “nah. i don’t like picking fights. i was just trying to save some kids,” he explains quietly, a thin smile on his lips. he knows he sounds like a liar—but what lie could he tell that would make him sound any more unbelievable than he already does?

[strucknerves]

JACQUELYN RUMLEY

Her hands find his cheek, rubbing a thumb along the scars before snorting. “Don’t push it, pretty boy. I can write a check for some good plastic surgery and get that all fixed up.” Good. At least he doesn’t know—she can relax around him a little more. “And to be fair, the terrorists that ransacked the school weren’t part of the faculty. Otherwise, we’d have more positions open for staff—but that being said, you taking a day off from your, uh, usual activities?”

emilio chuckles, “i’d never turn down free plastic surgery. wanna head over to st. luke’s right now for a check-up?” in response to jacquelyn’s question, he simply shrugs. “i’ve been putting meetings and offers on hold—i just haven’t felt up to dealing with any of that since…” he tilts his head slightly in a gesture suggesting what happened at xavier’s, “…you know how it is. but it’s all good. i’ve got a boxing gig and some savings. i’d rather take it easy—and new york’s the greatest city on earth, right? i haven’t gotten to see any of the sights yet.”

[strucknerves]

MONIQUE WASHINGTON​

“Yeah, it has.” Too long if you asked them. If their life wasn’t a complete mess, Monique would’ve tried to hang out with him and Papi sooner. However… life wasn’t easy, not for them at least. Once closer, Monique got onto their knees, gently petting the top of Papi’s head. “I don’t think that’s true,” they said. “Though, he is worried. About you, obviously.” 

though feeling unsure, emilio forges a path forward. “i mean—no hard feelings, though,” he trails off uncomfortably at the thought of mentioning that there had been a city-wide war just last month. was monique a part of any of it? he sure hopes not. he pats papi on the head before returning his attention to monique. “he’s worried about me? that’s kind of him,” emilio chuckles, “i’m sure he’s still getting used to my new face.”

[strucknerves]

SAWYER SULLIVAN

Sawyer is really starting to think he might need therapy.

Which is probably a foregone conclusion, actually, but the last few weeks have just shot by so fast. One of the other ex-Essex residents had mentioned something in passing to him about an underground boxing ring, and how it was probably a good way to earn some cash on the side. Sawyer was never a good fighter, but he’s certainly experienced after what the Essex House put him through. Enough to take a few punches, maybe enough to earn a few dollars.

But first he just wants to check the place out, and that was a mistake. He realises the moment he enters; the muffled grunts of thrown punches, the sour smell of sweat and adrenaline, the cuts and bruises, they’re all too, too real. He wants to leave, but his feet won’t respond; it feels like something of a miracle that he’s still standing at all, because his legs have gone numb and his brows are knitted together in panic. There’s a far off look in his eyes, as though he’s not really there. @strucknerves​

the night is young, and in the underground arena of people fighting each other for fun and profit, there is no such thing as too much. the lights are dim. the crowd is roaring. the fighters step into the ring holding their gloves, ready to go head-to-head.

the announcer shouts through the speakers, introducing the fighters. “ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s fight! we have two fighters willing to put their lives on the line for our entertainment. this first fighter is a newcomer to the ring; he’s here to prove himself in front of you! let’s give him a warm welcome: mr. de-capitator!”

as the combat takes place in the large, closed-air arena surrounded by an audience of spectators, emilio approaches a man standing in the crowd as he makes his way through the dome. the unfamiliar face looked nervous compared to everyone else—it was rare for someone new to enter the maddening environment.

“hey, man,” emilio asks, concerned, “you alright?”