Issue 1 Downtime

"Bloody hell..."

Contrary to what anyone might think, especially when they saw him coming in banged up after a post-football toss-up, Connor wasn't stupid. He'd gotten admitted to the school just as much on scholarship that he'd earned as for the sake that he was a mutant.

This semester, he was taking his second-year business courses. Accounting and finance courses were difficult, but he was pouring himself into them. They dealt with money after all, and he knew full well he'd need to know how to handle the books wherever he worked. General business courses were a little dry, but he could manage that, too. The math classes he had to take were par for the course, and he knew that he'd have to be good with numbers, even if the particular classes he was taking weren't going to be particularly useful later.

On the other hand, lit classes...

It's not that he didn't ever read, of course. Everyone got bored, everyone picked up a book. And he was a bartender. Armchair philosophy and amateur psychology were something every good bartender used to act self-important and to relate to some of their customers. But taking apart a story, a poem, or god forbid some bloody ancient play, analyzing it, using historical reference and literary tools to find the root themes and...

"Oh, sod it all..." he muttered as he flipped a page, referring again to the assignment sheet. "And no chance that someone at this bloody place won't catch on if I download the bloody report..."

Isabel was sober (for once) and was cutting through the garden on her way back from the infirmary. She spotted Connor and stopped awkwardly in her tracks, trying to decide what to do.

Connor, however, caught sight of her when he looked up from his book for a moment, and eager to not be doing this assignment, siezed on the distraction. "Lookin' better today, there, luv," he commented with a grin.

"yeah, feeling better too." Isabel said awkwardly "Thanks for getting me home last night."

"No problem, luv," he said. "Not going to leave you out there drunk, all sorts of ne'er do wells out on the street. An' I ought to know, I've had a toss-up with most of 'em," he added with a chuckle.

"Yeah, anyway, thanks." Isabel said "Um, I should let you get back to your homework."

Connor gave the book a dirty look. "Eh, I'm not going to finish this mess any time soon. I can put it off a bit," he said.

"It can't be that bad." Isabel said "What book is it?"

Connor shrugged, holding up the book so she could read the title. "I mean, 's not bad, but that's just readin' it, not picking it apart and explaining every three bloody words."

"I could help you, if you want."

"Knew you looked like an angel, luv," Connor said with a smirk.

"Hey, its only fair." Isabel said "You helped me home, I'll help you with your paper."

"Bah, don't need to pay me back for that. I mean... not going to tell you not to help me, because bloody 'ell, do I hate this shite, but I'd do it again anyway."

"It was a big deal for me." Isabel said.

"Well, someone needs ta watch your back," Connor said, making a face at the book, then pushing it aside, indicating if any looks were given that he needed a break. "So," he said, in typical hooligan fashion, "What's your club?"

"Real Salt Lake." Isabel replied."They're in the playoffs." she added, a bit defensively.

"An' how would they do over here?" he asked, finding the idea of American 'soccker' just absolutely adorable on her.

"See, this is why liking football over here sucks balls. You'd think it'd be great, since everyone likes it. But NO, it sucks. And they'd do pretty well, actually. Certainly in the second division, maybe even the first."

"Ah, so you have been following the games over here, then?" he mused, utterly unphased by the criticism. "Who've you been following?"

"Everton."

Connor smirked. "Could be worse, I guess."

"And you?"

"Newcastle United," he answered, like he was (admittedly in good humor) daring her to say something about them.

"Seriously?"

"Aye, why would I be joking?" Connor asked, a bit defensively.

"Nothing, except that they are the thugs of all thugs." Isabel said "I mean, no offense."

Connor scoffed. "We bloody are not. Pikers from Sunderland just get sore that we can kick their arses and bloody well know it."

"Two words. Prison. Stripes."

"Aw leave it out, luv. That's just a happy coincidence, those colors have been a tradition for over a century. Proud tradition, no matter what slander the bleedin' police try to make it look like."

"Of course." Isabel said, feeling a bit amused. It was a unfamiliar sensation.

"Fact that we can just stay in our colors when we get nicked is just a bonus," he said with a smirk.

Isabel smiled, and let out a 'snerk' of amusement. She was...it was a pleasant conversation, and that was...odd.

Connor chuckled. "You actually been to a football game here, luv?"

"Not exactly." Isabel said "I've been to a pub when the game was on."

Connor considered it. "Any fights start?"

"Just some shouting and guys not trying too hard to get away from the friends holding them back."

Connor scoffed. "Not the same. Crowd wasn't into it," he said with an air of authority.

"Or they weren't total hooligans." Isabel said "Anyway" she added "I should get going."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it, luv," Connor said. "Ye sure? Got a class?"

"yeah." Isabel fibbed "I don't want to be late."