Most 'hole in the wall' bars were good and it seemed that Joe's, in Maine, was no acceptation. The wooden foundation was nestled in a cove of thick and lush trees, twenty feet from the road, in a small, no named town. A row of rooms were built onto the back for overnighters and travelers, that were lined with woodsy torch like lights.

Inside the bar, lights hung low over booths and two person tables of red, purple and yellow color. The floor was all wooden, from the restrooms to the backrooms. The counter itself was a dark brown, slick looking wood that gleamed. Behind the counter was a the wall holding all the liquor, mirror positioned behind and blue lights lining the edge.

The dim hanging lights reflected off the cropped cut, blonde hair of one Chrys Vega. What was seen of the white tank gave off an eerie glow, due to the voltage and black combat boots bounced lightly on the bar beam. The chain attached to the stonewashed blue jeans jingled with the movement, catching the strings of the ripped knees.

The stranger sat perched on the edge of the tall stool, a black leather jacket with red racing strips leisurely hanging over the high back. A pack of Marlboro's stuck up from the pocket of a blue and white flannel, over shirt. In one hand was a cold beer, the other a half burnt cigarette.

On the counter before her was the was an atlas, opened to the northern United States. Her head was bent over it, study the highways and memorizing it's roads. 'Hm…where to now?' taking a hit from the long white stick, her lids drooped to blink slowly.

It had been a long day for the traveling woman, bike breaking down in the middle of nowhere. Took hours for her to fix it and to make matters worst, it started to rain, no, no, no…it poured. Luckily, she found shelter under thick, overhanging branches. Enough food and water was tucked safely away in the saddle bags to survive the night, along with a wool blanket she used to keep her baby from getting scratched. Oh yes, a long day, indeed.

"Need another beer, sweetheart?" the bartender's gruff voice cut into her musings. Looking up, she caught site of his content smile and returned it. He needed more customers like this woman, someone who didn't make waves, just sat, drank and was quiet.

"Hmmmmm…" a large intake of air was taken as she rocked the can to hear the small amount of liquid swish around. A slow nod formed and she looked to the bartender. "That'll be good, hun."

A grin lit his chubby and tanned face as he nodded in agreement. Under the counter, he grabbed a second Corona and placed it before her. Grabbing a dingy rag, he started whipping the counter and keeping himself busy.

Looking back to the atlas, a finger traced the roads that would lead her to Montana. It would be about a day travel and the thought didn't exactly make her jumping for joy. She was tried of traveling so much, seven years was a large hunk of time. Maybe she could settle down in one of these cities this time, if not for a couple months.

Propping her elbow on the bar, she rested her chin in her hands. Taking the beer, she popped the lid on the counter edge, catching the cap with her knee, A dreamy look crossed her face and a distant gleam in her eye. She could almost see it, coming from a hard day of work, whatever she does cause she didn't know now. Her man would be waiting in the kitchen, apron on and dinner cooking...the thought had her chuckling.

That wasn't likely to happen at any point of her life, man in the kitchen, cooking, in an apron? Well, maybe if he has nothing else on.

Her fantasy would have continued, if not for the inebriated shuffle of feet that sounded from behind and murmured slurs. 'Don't turn around, don't turn around.' there was no reason to get into a fight, or at least another so close to the last. She always got into fights at bars…maybe that should tell her something, stop going to bars?

Snort-yea, that'll happen.

"We know what you are." a look of confusion flooded her face and she turned on the bar stool. Knew what you were? A group of drunkards stood crowded around a table that sat adjacent from her, trying to bully another. She wasn't to sure about if it was working, their target looked to be 6'2, maybe 6'3 and almost 200 pounds. A five o'clock shadow with his shoulders slouched over, red shades covering his deathly eyes. His face was hallow and long from tiredness and the pain he faced in the past couple years.

There was something about him, something that rang as…threatening. "And what's that?" his statement sounded empty, like he hadn't a care in the world and wished for it to end.

The tone worried her and it was times like this she hated having that maternal instinct that made her want to protect everyone. Taking a deep breath, a smile lit her heart shaped face and she pushed off the bar stool to stroll over, hands in pockets. "Hullo boys." her voice purposely dropped voice a couple notches to sound sultry. It gained the right reaction, the wasted boys glancing up at her, grinning suggestively. "Now, why don't y'al go sit back down and get another round of drinks…on me?" a brow cocked, a glint in her amber eyes.

"Only if you're with us." one of them grinned suggestively at her.

"Oh ya can bet on it, suga." she replied so sugary sweet if hurt her teeth. Her eyes squinted at them, lips pursing then smiled again and shooed them toward their table. When they were gone, she rolled her eyes, snorted softly and turned back to the stranger. Her eyes swept his tried and worn frame, making her frown. 'Need to eat more.' then her eyes dropped to his table, seeing only a beer. "Dinner of champions, that is."

"I was capable of handling things." he replied coolly.

"Really? Ah think ya definition of 'handling things' is different from mine." she snorted, cocking a brow when he turned, at least she thought he turned his eyes on her. It felt like he did. 'Damn those glasses.' neither said anything but she did let out a bitter laugh that seemed to startle him. "Ya got one hell of a bed side manner, darlin'." turning, she headed back to the bartender, leaning over the counter. "Send that table full of guys another round, on me…" trailing off, she glanced over her shoulder to Shades, as she dubbed him, who was still watching. "And whatever tall and dark is havin'."

Glancing to the rowdy boys, he grinned with a nod but when his eyes drifted to the single mans table, his looked changed one of sober disdain. "You don't want to associate with…his kind." his voice dropped low.

"…why not?" Chrys squinted in confusion, head cocking slightly.

"He's one of them." his eyes bulged on them, glancing to the man again, to see if he had heard. Unbeknownst to him, he had, always did but he was vaguely curious about the reaction of this strange southern.

"Them?" she repeated in the same spooky voice, another brow raising.

"You know…a mutant." he all but whispered the name with hate, disgust and fear. How all three could be locked together was beyond her.

She looked oddly at him, over at the other guy to see him still watching her, intently then back to the bartender. "Andddddd? Mutants still need uh beer sometimes." she paused a moment as if thinking then, "Just send'im one." he just stared at her, an unreadable look and she grew annoyed, quickly.

Why was it so hard to just do what she asked? "Today'd be nice." leveling a glare so cold, it had him scurrying away to do her bidding. Sighing for what had to be the hundredth time today, she shook her head. It really had been a long day and was time to turn in.

Tossing what she owed on the counter, she swiped the atlas and left her barely touched Corona. Her mood for a good, stiff drink had dropped…considerably. Some people just knew how to ruin it all. So he was a mutant, not all are bad, it's the same with fricking humans, some bad some good. They weren't any different really…or so she felt.

Shaking away the distractive thoughts, she made way toward the door through the smoky, barely lit atmosphere, ignoring the cat calls of the drunken table. She never noticed the smirk on the face of the handsome stranger, it would have only been another tribute to add to his sexy, mysterious nature.

Once outside, she rolled her shoulders and pulled another cigarette free. Head tilting at an angel, it was lit with a Pink Floyd lighter from the same pocket and took a particularly long draw. Her head rolled back, eyes closing a moment as she enjoyed this moment of solitude then straightened herself. Eyes swept over the parking lot and caught site of her bike and started to whistle a catchy tune as she moved the couple feel toward it. All her things, like clothes and toiletries were inside.

"Hey…" Chrys stopped abruptly, tensed and turned slowly. Seeing Shades standing at the base of the stairs, beer in hand, she relaxed slightly and caught whatever he tossed out. It was an unopened Corona. A smile touched the corner of her lips and she turned to her bike, popping the cap off.

"Thanks for the beer." said item was shaken slightly at her, eyes behind the red tinted glasses taking her in. She wasn't like the usual women he came across in his travels or even her, skinny as a rail and tall. There was meat on her bones that gave her curves that most women could be jealous about, standing only to his chin, even with her boots.

This time, when her mouth twitched, she smiled and shrugged. "No prob, like ah said, even mutants need a beer…thanks." she gestured to her own beer.

Her accent reminded him of a friend from home. "Now, I would say either you're one yourself…" he looked her over and doubted it. "Or are very close to one."

"Well, unless being uh fricking' genius is a power…" she trailed off, looking up so that their eyes could connect. There really was no distrust or hate in her serene eyes. As for Chrys, something was oddly comforting about the man and it was a bit stressful. Last time she trusted anyone, it resulted in almost dying and there was no want to repeat those actions.

After another moment of silence, of Chrys staring at him, she thrust a hand out. "Names Chrystian Marie Vega, Chrys for short."

"Scott Summers." he took her hand and they shook on it.

"So, what brings ya out ta North Carolina, Scott Summers?" as she talked, she moved a couple steps backward toward her grey gun metal and black, Aprilia RSV Tunono, leaning against the seat.

"Just…sight seeing." he lied easily and she knew, snorting as a hand waved.

"That's uh load of bull if ah ever heard any." giving him a pointed look, she continued. "There ain't no sigh seein' out'ere." he looked sheepish at her catching him. "But, ah ain't going pursue it."

"That would be greatly appreciated." his voice seemed to have much relief. "What brings you to North Carolina, Chrystian Marie Vega?" the tables were turned.

"Oh…just sight seeing." a grin appeared as he snorted this time.