Chapter Text
“You sure about this, kiddo?” Dad asked, standing on the other side of the dinner table. He couldn’t stop his fingers from fidgeting with themselves as he licked his dry lips. “I understood wanting to start homeschooling and getting your GED, but this…”
I sighed, massaging my forehead. I could understand where he was coming from–his 16-year-old daughter wanting to work at a bar of all places seemed like a recipe for disaster. I’ll admit, even I wonder how the hell I got here in the first place–but that’s not important.
“Yeah, Dad, I am,” I said before clearing my throat. “Look, I just… I want to be able to do things on my own. Not just rely on you for god knows how long.”
Dad hummed, scratching at his stubbled chin.
“And no, it’s not an excuse for underage drinking,” I said. “I’ve met the owner, and I know he’d have my ass if I were to drink anything.”
“Yeah,” Dad said with a chuckle before sighing. “Alvin’s an alright guy–me and the others actually used to sometimes go for drinks there. Stopped going after you were born, though. I think… I think it’s ok with me.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, getting up from the dining chair to hug him.
“Seriously, though, you better not start drinking,” Dad said.
“Pfft, shut up,” I said, pushing him away with a laugh.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
With a groan, I smacked that damned alarm clock as serene silence greeted me once again. Rubbing at my eyes, I pushed myself up from my bed, letting my feet land on the soft carpet beneath me. Looking outside, I saw a dull gray sky, the rain pitter-pattering against the concrete.
Sighing as I got out of bed, I scratched at my neck and arms as the faint itching reemerged. I walked towards the bathroom, grabbing my bathrobe from the hallway closet, as I was greeted by my reflection in the sink’s mirror. I spent a few seconds turning my head in every which way, just to stare at the rough patches of skin all over me. It was a bit pointless to stare–not like giving them a mean look would make it go away, now would it?
I spent the next hour just taking in my rainy morning, showering, eating, and rubbing my skin with cream to ease the itchiness. Sure, it wasn’t always as bad as the pain, but it was definitely more annoying. I’ll admit, getting Panacea to help with it felt more tempting with each passing day, even if getting her services might prove… tricky.
Also expensive as fuck.
Going back into my room, I picked out my usual work outfit–a white shirt, black vest, and pants. As Alvin used to beat into me metaphorically, running a bar is no excuse to look like the alcoholics that frequent it. I finished my coffee with one last swig as I put on my trench coat, grabbed my umbrella, and left my apartment. Standing outside, the damp, cool air hit me as I took a deep breath and went to work.
Pulling out my phone, I checked my messages to see a new one from Sierra–my employee. Sierra was an alright sort; hard working, friendly, respectful–all that good stuff–pretty good cook too. Though, admittedly, I had sort of spent the entire interview with her trying to hold myself back from ripping the dreads off her pale scalp. It might not have been offensive to me exactly, but I sure find stupidity offensive. Still ended up badgering her for the first few months about it, till she finally changed to some hair that didn’t beg for her to get her shit kicked in.
Sierra: hey boss just opened up the bar for you this morning
Sierra: got it all cleaned up and ready to go
Sierra: aaaaaaaand doggys here
I sighed at the last message.
Dante: I understand.
Frankly, I shouldn’t be that surprised; she always visits early–almost every day.
Just hope she’s a little less… blunt than usual.
Stepping into an alleyway, I walked deeper into it until I knew no one could catch sight of me. Taking a deep breath, I let my umbrella down as rain began to hit my hair. Just as quickly, the water that had begun to soak into my hair evaporated as flames engulfed my body. Crackling and hissing became white noise as I stared at the blackened screen of my phone held in my fiery hands–instead of my face, I was greeted by a large fire with glasses impossibly hanging on.
I began walking again as I turned the corner and saw the bar entrance–a wooden sign hanging above the red wooden door, the bar’s name engraved into it with small scorch marks scattered about.
Dante’s Inferno.
And I still don’t care what anyone says, it is not that cheesy.
Opening the door, I enter my bar, greeted by its usual warm lighting and dark wooden floors, contrasted by the red cushions on every seat and white brick walls. Some people still love to question me about the wood, or just being a walking fireball who works at and owns a bar. Which, I’ll admit, the irony of it still makes me chuckle. Usually, the cape with fire powers is the last person you’d want inside a bar, much less the one that’s on fire.
“Hey sexy.”
And with those words, I misstep and almost trip. Even after all this time, she still manages to catch me off guard.
“Rachel,” I sigh, turning to the woman in question, a small smirk on her face. “A ‘good morning’ would suffice, you know?”
Rachel Lindt, or Bitch as she prefers, sat comfortably in one of the bar’s booths, her three dogs lying next to her. Her murky red hair flowed from her head, down past her shoulders, in a wild mane, framing her handsomely square face, paired with her favourite swamp-green jacket and ripped jeans, her entire appearance fitting that animalistic persona of hers.
She was actually pretty nice to talk to, contrary to popular belief–a lot smarter too, just not in the way people expect. She may be a little more on the simple side, but that doesn’t mean much in the long run.
“But I like the shade of pink you get when I do it,” I look down and, yup, my flames are pink again.
“Very funny,” I say, keeping my voice controlled as my flames slowly change back to orange.
“Oh, hey Dante,” I turned to see Sierra walk up to us, setting down bowls for the three dogs. Her wavy red hair was pulled back into a bun, and she wore the black-and-red employee uniform, even though she was the only one. But the girl just had to insist on wearing it–something about her girlfriend Charlotte thinking she looked hot in it. “Anything else I should do?”
“Well, that depends,” I said, turning back to Rachel. “What would you like to order, Ms. Lindt? The usual?”
“Yeah,” She said, nodding before another smirk appeared on her face. “And I’d like Dante for dessert.”
My face scrunched up in annoyance as I could hear Sierra giggle at me before leaving for the kitchen.
“That’s not something you’d normally say,” I spoke, clearing my throat as I tried to stop my traitorous flames from turning pink again. I walked towards the bar, hanging up my coat and umbrella, and positioning myself in the middle of the bar, rolling the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows.
“Tats told me to say it,” Rachel said. “She has good ideas.”
“Right, of course,” I sighed, getting ready for a long day–ironic, since it was Sunday.
My name is Taylor Hebert, owner of Dante’s Inferno, and I only have one problem as a cape in this city. Well, multiple, really, but kicking drunkards’ shit in for not following the rules is small in comparison to this one in particular.
The Undersiders, Criminal Overlords of Brockton Bay, love to come by just to fuck with me. Every. Damn. Day.