This Week's Article
|Clarice Ferguson/Blink: Clarice and Kyle Gibney head to small-town Texas for a theraputic bar fight.
"Way too much time, yo." Kyle said. "And eh, I mean, mostly only that guy, but I can be flexible, cause it's not like I'm getting laid much otherwise, and some dudes are okay. Quire's okay." Quire had in fact been way more than okay, if just a little younger than Kyle usually was in to. "Worthington's okay looking, which you know, feathers are my jam. Hank McCoy's not bad if you like, I mean, he's not really a bear but, you know."
Quire was okay? Clarice couldn't say anything, but she definitely did not agree. "Oh, I've banged Worthington. 10/10 would do again," she mentioned easily, "but he's in a relationship now. And being monogamous, which....is probably a good thing, but kinda surprising." Once he was ready, she opened a portal, taking them to a bar in Texas. She had promised beers and steers after all. "Hank is cute. Well, this Hank. Fucking duct tape world. I know it's terrible, but I just....hide in the lab and sewing because I hate it sometimes. The differences. And I am too sober for this."
"Yo. For reals. For the sober part." Kyle dutifully handed over the very sparkly very teal tape from his pockets and showed Clarice the much more boring black tape he'd kept for himself. "Won't match your mani, but I saw it in the limited edition bin. Dollar from every purchase went to Outsports." He'd bought five, the other four were down in the gym waiting to be adopted by whoever really wanted sparkly colorful wrap tape.
Oh, sparkly teal tape! "You get me the sweetest presents," she said, meaning it. Not many girls would appreciate teal sparkly knuckle tape, but she definitely did. "Eh, the mani changes. It'll survive. Or I'll redo it later," whatever. "Dude. Next time, buy it all, I'll pay you back," knuckles wrapped, she grinned, offering her fist to bump. "Ready to be muties?"
"I'm the best ex." Kyle declared. "Always. I could use some punch a redneck bigot after the week I've had. I haven't done that since..." He thought. "Jesus, I haven't gotten to punch a bigot since Alaska. Man. I am slipping."
"Way too long, for sure," Clarice opened a portal taking them to a run down bar along a desolate strip of highway in west Texas. "Beers, steers and now, queers. I wonder if they have that on the jukebox?"
They did not, much to Kyle's proclaimed disappointment as he dropped quarters into the jukebox at the entrance. Nor did they have any Tom Jones, nor anything else that he thought would lend itself to a really good start of a bar fight. He donated his quarters to the memory of Johnny Cash and punched in his cover of Hurt, because some brave soul had put that CD at the very end of the otherwise bland generic redneck country selection of music on the jukebox.
A little slow for a bar fight, but otherwise, completely apropros. Smiling ferally, Clarice turned, letting everyone get a good look at her and then, in turn, Kyle. "Howdy," she greeted the denizens, standing loose and ready. She was not disappointed as the first slurs were hurled while she strutted towards the bar, "Two of whatever's on tap," she told the bartender as he gaped at her.
At one point, that sort of scrutiny, the stares, bothered her. Now she knew, they were all waiting for someone to make the first move.
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