Rogue (nosouthernbelle) wrote in no_good_deed, @ 2010-12-08 18:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | complete, continued, old pc: gambit, rogue |
This ain't Coyote Ugly
Who: Rogue OT Remy (and anyone else in the area?)
What: We'll see, won't we?
When: 12/8 During Happy Hour!
Where: The Maple Leaf on Oak Street in the Carrollton neighborhood of Uptown New Orleans.
Rating: The setting being a bar, we're going to say PG-13 to be safe.
Funny how it could be the middle of the week in New Orleans and just as many people came into The Maple Leaf as did on a Friday or Saturday night. It was never slow here, and that was one of the many things Rogue loved about the place. Most of the faces she saw were regulars, people she knew by name and who knew her in return. She was the cute red-headed bartender who served up sass with her drinks and never let things get too personal. She'd been at Maple Leaf for a few years now, starting out first as a waitress and eventually getting her license to tend the bar and mix drinks. It was home, and had been for almost six years now.
Her shift was just starting, and she was in the backroom getting ready. The soulful voice of a woman was heavy in the air, the entertainment for the night. She exchanged a few casual words with others who were coming in the same time as her, and those who were leaving. Her long hair was down tonight, fanning down her back as she left the break room and headed out into the madness.
She heard her name called a few times, "Anna," as she passed. Rogue smiled and greeted everyone politely, tying her small white apron around her waist as she slipped behind the bar. "Good Lord," she laughed, sliding in between a waitress picking up an order and Harry, the tender she was replacing. "It's crazy in here tonight! Whoever said there's a recession ain't never been down here!" Those close enough to hear her cheered and raised their glasses.
There was no moment of adjustment, save Harry filling her in on the drinks yet to be made. Rogue picked up bottles and spun them, mixing drinks, scooping ice, and filling glasses from taps. To look at her would make it impossible to tell she was churning with emotion inside. She laughed and smiled, green eyes sparkling. But in her head, her thoughts were a thousand miles elsewhere.
Last night she'd had the strangest dream. It was of a boy with blonde hair and a wicked smile. He was playing football with his brother, who it appeared she was in the dream. The boy was probably no older than ten, and it was obvious he wanted his brother's approval. In the dream, the boy threw the football and she ran to catch it. Not watching where she was going, she trampled right through a bed of roses. The boy's face froze and Rogue felt the dread of the boy she was supposed to be.
When she woke up, her heart was racing and her hands were shaking. That was not a dream that belonged to her. It was not a memory ever shared with her because it was someone else's childhood memory. It was a memory that belonged to Bobby Drake.
At the bar, Rogue could pretend everything was fine. She could forget the three years of her life that she'd been a mutant. She'd taken the Cure. She was human, and there was no going back.