“One cola, please,” Charlotte ordered, slapping a twenty-dollar-bill on the granite counter-top before her. The bartender took her money, nodded, and went off to retrieve her cola.
I’m only slightly buzzed, the telepath managed to convince herself as she sipped at her cola, feeling the world spin around her due to being intoxicated.
I’m not an alcoholic, her cacophony of thoughts continued as she sipped at her cola, glancing interestedly around the bar. The minds of others had always been extraordinarily interesting, to say the very least. A man sitting in a booth nearby, devouring a burger, was thinking about how thankful he was to taste the delightful meat after years lacking in it due to his fiancee being on a vegan diet, a college girl was thinking about how midterms were the next day and regretting coming with her friends to the bar, and she could even sense the minds of the pedestrians outside.
It was amusing to think of how such different, complex beings could cohabit the same planet together in mostly harmony, especially when she was drunken. It was also refreshing to let go of her normally uptight nature and be somewhat comfortable in her own skin, for once. Often she found herself rambling about genetics and her beliefs in mutant-kind, and even a wheelchair and a beach in Cuba…
Dismissing those thoughts, Charlotte glanced around the bar counter. Mostly, it was empty, save for a few people. But what stuck out most to her was a young-looking woman, sporting a shorter light brown haircut, sitting alone and drinking. Deciding she’d join the girl’s company, not liking to see others alone, she headed over with her drink in hand and sat in the stool beside her.
“Hello, Claire,” she greeted, not realizing she was allowing her mutation to slip. “My name’s Charlotte Xavier. How do you do?”
Johanna never approve of such a place, but the majority of her colleagues would throw a fit at her if she ever protested about it. So she threw on her best smile and went along anyways, attempting to discard her edgy feeling about it which she couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps it was the fact Johanna would see human emotions at it’s worse, even if it was at such a ‘high-end’ place, it didn’t change the fact that it was a ‘bar’. Her nose would wrinkle in disgust with the smell of the people, and sometimes at how loud the people got; she hated it. But there she sat, with a group of her friends who were just as loud, sitting there as uncomfortable as she can get.
Craig, her most hated friend, was mostly the loudest and was a horrible alcoholic to begin with. “Unlike Johanna…” He mentioned, which had snapped her out of her trans. “Excuse me?” Johanna asked in a fit of confusion since she wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation to begin with. “About drinking, you rarely drink. I bet having a few drinks would really remove that stick that is lodged up your ass.” Within Johanna felt rage, more than usual, but despite that, she faked emotion and laughed along with the rest of the group, snapping the swizzle stick that she had in her hands.
After an hour her friends had left her alone, and she felt nothing. Getting up from the chair she hurried over to the bar, and had ordered a J & B on the rock, before taking a seat next to a female who was rubbing her temple, in a way, but Johanna couldn’t tell. Shrugging off the persons weird behavior, she begun drinking the J & B still as annoyed as she was before.
Sensing that the negative energy became stronger in her drunken mind as the other woman approached her, Charlotte could not help but allow her mind to dip into Johanna’s, momentarily shell shocked from the things she saw. Quickly, Charlotte withdrew from Johanna’s mind, feeling slightly rueful for invading the privacy of another, but her lack of control could be blamed upon her state of being. There was another instinct that she could feel crawling up inside of her—was it that penchant for taking in troubled strays that she had always been teased about back at the school?—and before she knew it she was facing Johanna.
“Good evening,” Charlotte greeted, holding out a hand. “Charlotte Xavier, how do you do? I do believe I recognize you from somewhere, but I can’t seem to remember where the bloody hell I do.”
Charlotte blamed her penchant for a good alcoholic beverage on her mother, whom had for the most part, locked herself away in her room following the devastating demise of her father and drank away her problems until she met her new husband. Despite the fact that alcoholism ran rampant in her kin, Charlotte was still a lightweight, so after about a few tall glasses of Guinness beer and a few shots of hard vodka, she was almost heavily intoxicated.
The minds of the others in the prestigious pub buzzed obnoxiously like flies, and although the telepath thought she had good control over her abilities, it still gave her a migraine. Perhaps another beer would help.
Sauntering away from the dancefloor where she’d been caught up in a rather intimate dance with a handsome young man, she took a seat at the high stool, having to almost climb on it due to her petite height.
“The usual, Charlie?” the bartender questioned. Charlotte shook her head slightly.
“A cola, please,” her voice was slurred and obviously drunken. The bartender shot her a concerned glance before heading off to retrieve her drink, and left Charlotte to her own devices.
Suddenly, once Charlotte finally found herself relaxed, she was struck with something horrifying and devastating — almost similar to when she discovered Erika in that ocean — that made the forefinger and middle finger of her right hand fly to her temple to find the terrifying source of the agony.
“Bloody hell,” she grumbled, bracing her head with her hand now.