Waking Nightmares
The bar is smoky and crowded, just the way he likes it, he can lose himself in the constant chatter of overheard snatches of conversation, providing a welcome white noise.sensation. Bishop also observed the occasional drunken disagreements. None of those drunks think of bothering the man known as Bishop. His size alone would be rather intimidating, not to mention he's perfected the stone-faced visage and the narrow eyed glare. Still, he wonders why he spends his off nights searching for this rather questionable drinking establishments, it's not like him, and while he has imbibed a few brews at Harry's Hideaway alongside his fellow X-Men Logan, that was in the spirit of companionship and camaraderie. So why, does he feel like he's here trying to run away from something that he can't even easily name?
The evening grows longer and the bar's patrons begin to leave one by one or in groups, some leaning on each other's shoulders for support much like derelict buildings in the poorer sections of the city.
Bishop knows its getting late, and the bartender, keeping his glass flowing with his chosen drink for the evening has been darting not so subtle hints that he needs to close up and Bishop should take his leave. The bartender behind the polished marble counter leaves and is replaced by a black woman, that Bishop finds quite attractive. He's been to enough bars to know that bartenders like to chat up their customers, and while Bishop doesn't like to talk, somehow she's drawn him out some, and maybe it's the booze. Bishop really can't say anymore. He's had a gradually growing headache lately and he knows he should check in with Dr. MCcoy, but the man's been voluntarily locked up in the medlab at the X-Men's mansion, he hates to bother the other with his minor problem.
The headaches are getting worse, and alcohol is the last treatment he needs. Its hard for to get a decent night's sleep, Of late his dreams have been plagued by broken snatches of his past life as a member of Xavier Security Forces, those are familiar. Bishop has always known that originating from another alternate reality would tend to have that effect on his psyche.
He has moved past that 'So why the hell am I dreaming about a future that has yet to be?' In this alternate reality, Bishop or an alternate version of himself seems to be a lone crusader wandering around a blasted landscape, and he alone seems to be bound and determined to deliver a message that would make a difference to that world. No one is listening.
He downs the last sip of his mug, and settles his tab with the attractive black woman, who returns his receipt with a smile and suggestive wink. Bishop forces a return smile out, wishing that it could be that simple. Maybe tonight will be better and these waking nightmares will be just a figment of his imagination, but he should know things are seldom this easy.