The road looms out before her as she opens up the throttle beneath her hand. She’s left the mansion and everyone behind for the night, taking instead comfort in the open road. A bar, its neon lights and sparkling sign looms in front of her. She pulls the bike into the gravel parking lot, kicking up tiny pieces of rock. She sits for a second, the long slow strains of George Jones floating to her ears on the tail end of the door swinging closed by some other poor sap looking for some alone time. Possibly.

She lets down the kick stand and moves toward the door, swinging it open and breathing in the familiar scent of stale smoke and spilled booze. Her boots click on the old wooden floorboards as she makes her way to the bar. She slides into the seat, eyeing the bartender and waving him over. A few seconds later she’s staring into a snifter of double barrel whisky, warm and spicy. She knows because she’s already had a sip.

She settles into herself, ready for some internal debate while she listens to the mournful music played for the depressed locals at 1am. Her thoughts turn inward and she finds herself obsessing over her loneliness. She’s glad the crowd’s thin, this is just what she needs on nights like this. Another sip and she realizes she’s downed three quarters of her glass.

She tosses it back and asks for another. She doesn’t have to worry about being carded. She looks approximately 27 years old now. Who’s to know that she’s nearly 55. Her friends, those that are left, are showing their age and her mentors are mostly gone, the life of an X-Man isn’t a long one. Time runs in a blur together as she contemplates her life thus far. She’s interrupted by a drunk on the stool next to her, his hand unexpectedly settling uncomfortably on her lower back. She pulls away and shoots him a look. Tossing back the rest of her rapidly dwindling second glass.

“I wouldn’t start this, guy. You don’t know what you’re dealing with here.” He grins at her, and starts showing off. She’s slightly amazed at the number of the next generation that turned out to be mutants. ‘Humans are already dying out.’ Magneto whispers in her mind. She locks him back in his mental prison and turns her attention to the boy in front of her. She twinges when she realizes he’s probably only a few years younger than she looks. He’s too busy making twirling trailing light patterns in the air to notice. And he’s placed another hand on the small of her back.

“I’m serious. I’m not up for it tonight.” She meets his offended look with a dark glare and shifts on her stool leaning away from him. If there’s nothing else she’s learned in the last 30 years, it’s to expect the unexpected.

And the unexpected happens in the form of her hands being telekinetically bound behind her back before she can manage to set her glass back on the polished copper bar top. It shatters. She looks around and the bartenders gone. What is this a regular occurrence? She’s gonna kill Logan for recommending this bar. The biggest problem she’s come across with all the new mutants running around is the fact that the creeps and bad guys are getting harder to fight.

Her shoulder blades are wrenched a little further backward, and it causes her breasts to jut forward. She looks like a preening cheerleader. Kinda. She waits for him to get close enough, preferring to knock him the old fashioned way instead of having another uninvited guest taking up residence in her mind.

He moves closer, leering and practically salivating, and she’s regretting having worn the white V-neck that Logan loves so much. His breath reeks of beer and his scent is covered in anger and indignation. She wonders just where she should hit him first. She wonders if he’s got buddies and figures he probably does, but he’s probably one of their heavy hitters. Most of the mutants born are fairly useless, only one in every seven having anything as powerful as this guys telekinesis. The X-Men are now an elite task force, government endorsed even, instead of a renegade band of mutant menace.

She groans inwardly and refrains from fighting his hold as he leans in close. She’s remembering a no holds barred sparring match with Jean from about 20 years ago, and there’s no getting out of a telekinetic hold unless you can manage to knock their concentration off. Your best bet is to take advantage of their ego.

She feigns helplessness like she’s just another simpering female, letting the proper mask slip into place. Her brown eyes grow wide and innocent, tears brimming close. He smirks and moves in a little closer, his mouth next to her ear.

“I knew you’d-” He’s interrupted by a sharp headbutt, his nose pouring blood like a fountain and suddenly her arms are her own again. A well placed couple of jabs to the ribs and he’s writhing in a pile on the floor. A kick in the balls has him curling into the fetal position. She frisks him, coming up with his wallet and pulling out his ID and a twenty. She tosses the bill on the bar and tosses the suddenly-having-reappeared bartender a look. He snatches the twenty and disappears back to wherever the hell he was while she was being accosted.

She looks back down at the whimpering fool and snarls at him before pulling his drivers license up for a closer inspection. Quickly memorizing every detail, she settles back down on her bar stool tapping the plastic card on her light blue jean clad leg. A low heeled black boot comes up to rest on his rump. She taps her other foot a few times, regarding him carefully. Eventually he musters up enough courage to look at her again.

She runs a hand through her hair, aware of the dramatic effect the two tones create when they’ve mixed. She’s rather enjoying herself now. She zeros in on his eyes, giggling inside with unfettered glee. A welcome scent floats to her nose and she realizes that he must have come in while she was previously preoccupied. “You see, Alexander Josiah Martin, you know what this means don’t you?”

He shakes his head, stinking of fear.

“Well, it means that I’ll be having to pay you some regular visits. You know, just to make sure you keep yourself in line. I can’t have you running around harassing women.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully, meeting a pair of golden eyes across the room. “You really are lucky I had things under control when he came in.” She motions across the bar with her head, and Alexander Josiah Martin has the audacity to look. She smirks when Logan lets the claws slide out of one hand. “He knows I can take care of myself really, but sometimes he has the berserker rages, and he just can’t control himself. And he really doesn’t like telekinetics anymore.”

She steps over him, using the foot on his backside to propel her over him. Another kick to the small of his back, well placed enough to not cause him any permanent damage but enough to keep him painfully aware of his mistake for the next few days.

She comes up next to Logan, and he slides an arm around her waist, fingers stroking the exposed skin there. “You forgot your jacket.” He admonishes.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You having fun? Get what you need?” he asked, a smile teasing his face.

“Yeah,” she replies looking up at him with a smirk in her eyes. “Just a little Solitary Thinkin’.”