Casey rolled her eyes, staring at the newcomer who’d walked into the bar.

It was nearly 1.30am and her boss had promised if it stayed quiet then she could shut up early and go home. See her kid. That being the case, she didn’t feel like serving the long string of humanity that’d just walked into The Honey Wagon Bar, no matter how cute he was… (Though she had to admit, you didn’t see many short men who looked that much like Hugh Jackman…) The asshole didn’t even check to see if they were open, just strode in like he owned the place and sidled over to a bar stool. Threw some dollars down on the counter and gestured tersely for a Molson. Casey was tempted to say they were closed and could he please haul his ass outta here but something stopped her-

After all, she thought, it was rare to see a mutant who was so open with what they were.

Because this guy was obviously more than normal. First of all there was his mass of shaggy blond hair which seemed to sprout like a lions’ mane all down his back. Then there was the long, ragged, dirty yellow finger nails he was using to scratch at the bar. Underneath his hands, his palms looked… scaly. Wart-covered, almost like a toad’s. But perhaps the most telling thing was his eyes, red on black and somehow vicious-looking. The eyes of a man who was used to getting what he wanted-

And who didn’t mind who he had to go through to make sure things stayed that way.

Didn’t happen often, but Casey suddenly wished she wasn’t working the graveyard shift on her own.

Without a word she handed him the beer. Considered telling him it was on the house if it would make him move quicker but years of experience told her that was more likely to make him stay. She put his change quietly down onto the bar and retreated to the far corner, pulling out glasses and polishing them. Trying not to make eye contact with the newcomer since Christ knew how he’d react to that. He grinned to himself, probably understanding, and picked up the paper of all things. Folded it out and checked the headline: Mutant Rights Activist Remy LeBeau Retires, and underneath it a picture of a pretty woman with white streaks in her hair holding hands with a short, angry looking dude who looked-

Well, looked kinda like this guy, in point of fact. Like maybe they were brothers or something. The newcomer gave a bark of laughter when he saw the photo, red on black eyes widening in amusement. “So the runt finally got her,” he muttered dryly. “With a bit o’ luck he won’t get her killed neither.” And he drained his beer. Laughed to himself again. Stood up and made to go.

Casey wisely decided not to ask for clarification on what he’d meant.

“I’ll let ya get home then, little darlin’,” the newcomer muttered then. That grin still lethal looking but somehow less dangerous now he’d looked at the picture of the girl with white streaks.“But do me a favour, okay? Anyone comes looking for me, and you tell them I’ve been here. You tell them I walked away and I’m still standing, ya got that?” Casey nodded mutely. If he’d asked her to sing the Star-Spangled Banner she’d have given it a try.

“Yes sir. Anyone in particular I should give this message to?” she stuttered.

The grin got wider. “You’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em, little one. That’s all I’m gonna say. And when you do-” he winked at her- “You tell ‘em James Howlett was here,”

And with that he stalked outta the bar, leaving her quaking in his wake.

Casey didn’t hesitate. She locked up and got out of there faster than she ever had before. Went home and watched her kid sleep, had a beer and a cigarette and tried to tell herself she was over-reacting. That nobody would really come looking for that guy.

The next day however, she found herself another job three towns away.

After all, she really didn’t want to meet the people who’d come looking for James Howlett. No matter how cute he was.