a hundred thousand bad ideas in almost thirty years, and somehow, taking penelope park out for drinks seemed to be the worst one sheâd ever had. it had hardly been four hours since she had walked into pennyâs bakery, a shit-eating grin on her face and a bottle of vodka in her hand, lovingly dangled in front of pennyâs face as she pleaded for her company â one or two drinks couldnât hurt, could they ? hah ! hanna had assumed that, considering penny stood at four foot nothing, and was the human personification of cotton candy, that she would be a lightweight, but she couldnât have begun to imagine just how intoxicated penny would get, or how quickly. the shattered shot glass ( and the cracked bar-top beneath it ) had been her first warning that, perhaps, she should escort the little lady home â and fuck, hadnât that just gone well ?
hanna was no stranger to pain, or the sensation of bones shifting and grinding beneath the skin. the pops and cracks of dislocations had become familiar, almost soothing sensations to her, but that had been when she was with normal humans, or at the very least, mutants with normal strength levels. as penny wrenched her arm, dancing out of her grip, hanna felt a very real sense of alarm that this was one injury which she wouldnât come back from, muscles & tendons & skin stretching to an uncomfortable degree, pain shooting up her arm, into her shoulder, her chest; why had she agreed to go drinking with a stubborn child with super-strength ? her arm was falling off. it had to be. fuck.
so she was a horrible friend. so she abandoned penny to stumble into the ladies room, tearing her jacket off, her shirt immediately after, heedless of anyone who might have been using the bathroom. beneath the strap of her bra, her right shoulder was bruising before her eyes, brown skin turning black and purple, the darkness spreading down her arm, just a little; towards her neck, down to her chest, fuck. touching fingertips to the bruises caused her to wince, and gripping her elbow to slide her shoulder back into the socket would have done the same, had that touch not caused her to realize that her elbow and forearm had fallen out of place too. not bad work for a living cupcake, she had to admit. caught up in her admiration of pennyâs handiwork, she paid no mind to the music which thrummed through the speakers and into the bathroom â at least, until the sound of pennyâs voice broke through the wall, and she remembered just what she had been trying to stop her from doing.
well, she thought, glancing towards the door. that fucking failed.
but what else could she do ? penny was already on the stage, and goddamn, she was doing good. who knew that such a voice could hide in so tiny a girl ? she was killing it. could she really go up there and spoil her fun ? ( could she risk almost losing yet another limb ? ) it didnât take long to find an answer, one which came to her in the bastardized version of an old, and rather dark, irish proverb â ye can bate the wife, ye can bate the child, ye can bate the dog, but ye cannot bate a bitta music. upon re-dressing and emerging from the bathroom, hanna instead made her way to the foot of the karaoke stage, shouting encouragement ( and, of course, lewd comments ) to penny as she ⊠well, dancing was a strong word for what she was doing, but she certainly was moving, anyway. for the duration of the rest of the song, hanna cheered. the second the music ended, she vaulted onto the stage, pain radiating through an arm which now seemed to be broken on a molecular level, and attempted to scoop penny up and over her shoulder.
â you absolute mad bastard, â she told her with a laugh, warm and genuine and only slightly strained. â fuckinâ yoncĂ© would be proud of ye, girlo â but itâs fuckinâ late, and youâre like⊠five, at most. âmon. weâre goinâ home. you can take my bed fâr the night, iâll go on the sofa, anâ please, for the love of all good fuck, donât break my fucking arm again. â she paused for a moment to look wistfully at the karaoke machine ( oh, she would do such a good version of heaven is a place on earth ⊠) before looking back at the inebriated toddler in her arms. no. she had to be responsible. she had to get penny home.
she was barely managing one night. how the fuck people parented for eighteen years and more, she had no idea. â weâll stop by the chippy on the way home anâ everything, â she offered, a bargain, a bribe, a beg â please, letâs just get out of this bar. people were staring, but not because of pennyâs singing anymore. they were drawing attention. midnight was getting close. the ringleader was going to kick her ass up and down the island, and penny was still. not. budging.
â âmon, yâwee shit ! â
penelope lost herself in the music, s t u m b l i n g around the stage in the best attempt at dancing that she could manage in her inebriated state. she would have never done anything like this sober -- sure, sheâd pretend to be beyoncĂ© by herself in the kitchen sometimes, but who doesnât really? and as the song came to a close and she took her bow ( to a rather large amount of cheers, thank you very much ), she sent a small prayer of gratitude up to the alcohol gods, without whom none of this would be possible.
it was only when she raised her head that she noticed hanna beside her. penny had kind of...forgotten about her friend in the midst of performance. had she been there the whole time? was she doing backup vocals? had they harmonized well at least? penelope didnât get much of a chance to investigate before hanna attempted to usher her off the stage and out the door for the second time that evening.
penelope dropped like a lifeless doll in the older womanâs arms, becoming dead weight in the hopes of stopping her friend before she managed to drag her out of the bar.
â hanna noooooooooooo! donâ wanna go home, âs not fun at home, âm havinâ fun here, ârenât you havinâ fun here? we shoulâ have more fun here! â
it was the truth -- penelope was having fun. t o o much fun, in fact, if the looks they were getting from the other patrons were anything to go by, but she didnât care about anyone else. hell, she didnât even notice anyone else, too caught up with the floaty feeling of her own body and the half-thoughts spinning around her jumbled mind. there was a r e a s o n penny usually limited herself to one or two drinks on the rare occasions that she went out: she didnât handle her liquor very well. the small path of destruction she had been leaving behind as the night progressed was testament to that, and while hanna was aware of their surroundings ( and the danger that penny was putting them in ) penelope herself had no clue. in fact, she was so wrapped up in herself that it took her a few moments to truly digest what her friend had told her.
she looked up at hanna, eyes wide like a puppyâs and already beginning to fill with tears. her lip began to quiver, although she wasnât even aware that she was crying.
â did i -- did i really break yâer arm ? -- oh hanna âm so âÂ
