I rematerialize myself on a rooftop overlooking a river a few blocks away, startling the hell out of a few pigeons loitering around on the staircase entrance. Quickly slipping off my bandanna, I stash it in my back pocket, and once again flip through the bills Uncle Sam had handed me. I still can't believe the audience liked our show that much, but I'm not going to complain about the windfall. Normally I'd put this kind of cash in a bank, but since I don't even have a legal I.D, much less an account anywhere, I'll just have to hide it somewhere back at the mansion. Question is, what to do now...
I step up to the ledge of the roof, looking out over the city. The sun has sunk beneath the horizon now, and New York stretches out in front of me like a glittering work of art. Fittingly for the city that never sleeps, the sounds of traffic and pedestrians hasn't quieted down at all, if anything they're even louder now than they were when it was still daylight. People are slipping in and out of bars and restaurants below me as the nightlife is beginning to start up, and I briefly consider joining them before deciding against the idea. First thing's first...
Finding a night-open store that might have what I'm looking for takes a while, but I finally find a small clothes shop tucked away in a dead-end street. The usual problem of actually finding clothes my size makes itself known, but after some quick rummaging, I come away with two spare sets of jeans, three t-shirts, though sadly no decent band merchandise ones as I prefer, since most of the bands I like won't exist for a few more years, and as an impulse buy, I pick up a black leather vest as well, to replace my usual denim vest that didn't make the trip across dimensions with me.
With my new purchases put safely away inside my backpack, though I decide to pull on the vest right away, I begin to ponder my next move. Spare clothes, spare cash... those were my immediate concerns, I could just head back to the mansion, but somehow, just hanging around my room for the rest of the evening doesn't seem very appealing.
You know what, I think I will have that drink.
.....
I wonder what the other Avengers do during their downtime. Pym is as much of a workaholic as Stark and Banner, so I doubt he even leaves his lab unless someone forces him, but Van Dyne was portrayed as a rich heiress and socialite in the comics, so if that still applies, I'm guessing she's off at some obscenely fancy party uptown somewhere. I have no idea what Thor does either, neither in his superhero identity, or as Donald Blake, though admittedly, since he needs a cane in his Dr.Blake identity, it does limit his nightlife options somewhat.
At any rate, I doubt they'd spend it the way I currently am.
I managed to find my way to a small, seedy bar near the waterfront of what I'm guessing is the Hudson river judging by the size, chosen mainly because it's the first place I found that didn't look like I'd get denied entry because I wasn't dressed in a suit and tie. Most of the people that I could see inside from the front window were wearing pretty much the same things I were, though I noticed a distinct lack of women.
In retrospect, it took me an embarassingly long time to put the pieces together.
The bar itself was rather nice, a bit dark and run down, but not exactly dirty or offputting, though I wouldn't call it cozy either. A blocky TV was pushed into a corner behind the bar, the small screen showing a broadcast of a football game, while a stereo somewhere was pumping out music. A tall, skinny man with long hair, wearing a newsboy cap for some reason, was standing behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a rag, occasionally pausing to pour up a drink for one of the patrons. It was surprisingly crowded, especially considering how small and isolated the bar was.
Everyone paused as I walked in, but quickly relaxed and went back to their drinks, as apparently I didn't merit more than a quick look. Again, at this point, I really should have started to suspect something. It wasn't until I was leaning against the counter, sipping on the terrible American beer I had ordered, that I started to look around the place, and noticed a few oddities.
I couldn't see any women, but I chalked that up to this presumably being a working class bar, not exactly the kind of place most girls would want to hang out at.
Only a few people were dressed in the kind of conservative clothing I saw on the street, with most of the others wearing jeans, t-shirts, and even the occasional leather jacket, but again, didn't seem to be that weird if it catered to laborers and workers.
It wasn't until I noticed a sign hanging on the front window with the back facing the street that something started looking off.
"This Is a Raided Premises. Police Dept. City of New York."
I frowned. That text seemed familiar, but where had I seen...
Somewhere in the back of my head, something finally clicked, and I remembered an adress sign I had only glanced at on the way down from the roof.
Greenwhich Village
"Ooooooohhhhhhh."
....
"Hey, haven't seen you around here before"
I'm interupted mid-revelation by a voice next to me, and I glance over to see a man who looks to be in his mid-20's, with dark hair neatly cropped into a classic Beatles cut, dressed in a black suit jacket over a grey turtleneck. I blink for a few moments, before my brain catches up with everything.
"Oh, uh, sorry, I was miles away. Yeah, just found the place."
He nods and smiles "It does take a bit of tracking down, doesn't it? Name's Alistair, nice meeting you!"
I raise an eyebrow "Alistair? Would that be your actual name, or the one you give out to random guys in bars?"
"It's a surprise" he makes a fake amazed face "What about you, big guy? You got a name, fake or otherwise?"
"Just call me Johan."
"Ohhh, imaginative." Alistair chuckles "Most guys just go by John Smith in here and call it a day."
I shrug and take a sip of my beer "That actually is my name, my parents weren't very imaginative."
"Well, there are worse problems to have" Alistair motions to the man behind the bar "Tom, two whisky for me and my new friend here! Unless the gentleman has another request?"
"Like I'm going to turn down a free drink. Line 'em up!" I leave my beer for the moment and accept the glass from the bartender, taking a sip and feeling the familiar burn down my throat. "Damn, what brand is that? Jack Daniels less successfull cousin Jim-Bob Daniels?"
Alistair smirks as he sips from his own drink "I admit the selection isn't the best around here, but atleast the ambience is crap." He sets his glass aside and leans against the counter "So, since you might as well be wearing a sign saying "I'm a Tourist, Please Rob Me", what's your story? You're actually in here looking for some action, or did you just make a terrible choice in vacation options?"
"I'm a third option, recently moved to the city, and somehow overlooked the glaring signs of what kind of bar this was when I was looking for somewhere to spend my evening."
Alistair nods knowingly, though I notice he seems to stiffen a bit "And since you haven't run out of here screaming, can I assume you're not too disappointed where you found yourself?"
Don't need to be Charles Xavier to know the meaning there.
I decide to just go with honesty "I'm not actively looking for anything, but... it's complicated."
Alistair relaxes again, giving a smile "Ah, those are the most interesting ones! So Mr. Not Looking But Not Uninterested, what brings you to our little slice of the American Pie?"
I finish up the whisky, supressing a shudder at the burn "That's also complicated, though I guess "work" would be the closest."
"There seems to be a lot of complications happening for you."
"Buddy, you don't know the half of it." And I'm pretty sure it's not going to get easier from here.
.....
It's closer to morning than midnight by the time I finally decide to call it a night and head back to the mansion, though before I head out, Alistair slips me two parting gifts, a scrap of paper with his phonenumber on it, and a quick kiss on the lips. I was telling the truth when I said I wasn't looking for anything, but decide to hold on to the number anyway, because who knows what I'll feel like the next time I have time to kill. Making sure I'm not spotted by any other night owls on the way out of the bars, I focus my power and vanish across the roofs, leaving a streak of light as I go.
All in all, I'd call my first day as a New Yorker a success...