Chapter 26: And Should the Sky be filled With Lightning and Snow……

October 18th, 2020. Alberta, Canada.

The Bear's Claw Bar and Grill was alive and well— maybe more alive than before because of the publicity surrounding it when word of musclebound naturalist sticking it to an illegal hunter spread like wildfire. It drew people in. But what made them stay was both the same….. and much different.

Storms and blizzards ravaged Alberta Canada almost endlessly. Record high numbers for this time of year. Even Canada's natives found the cold unforgiving and intense at times. The warmth of the bar became a lot of peoples norm. And when inside the bar... it was almost like the storm would cease….. if only for small moments.

Moments when one man took the stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." The bar's announcer, and bartender, and part-time cleaner, spoke into the mic on the stage as he looked at the large crowd seated around tables. "Tonight's guest is a regular here and boy does he not feel like it, eh? Each song is refreshing and vibrant…. Different from the last. So take a seat, buy some more drinks, and give it up for TAY ASTRA!"

The crowd clapped along as the musician took the stage.

Under the glow of the spotlight he looked calm— relaxed— then again his face was also hidden behind the shadows of his dreaded braids. They were long and shiny under the light— adorning the top of his head like a crisply faded crown. He wore black cargo pants and matching Air Force One's that didn't make a sound as he walked over to the chair and sat.

As he adjusted the mic to his level with his guitar seated in his lap, the muscles in his arms rippled like shaking wires. The mic looked silly in his large hands.

None if mattered when he picked up his guitar. Not to the crowd, and not to the musician. Not to Bronte. When the music started, that was all that mattered.

His first trigger. He'd never forgotten it. Not after leaving the Xavier Institute. Not after traveling the world for three whole years….. fighting …. Killing …. Learning the game. The game was vicious Luckily vicious ran as thick as molasses in his blood. He took it in stride. Every bullet to the skull, every Bowie knife through the guts and grenade to the midsection. He took it all. And he'd take more on the hunt for Romulus. So would his brothers and sisters. They were on a battle for freedom.

But he wasn't thinking about that as his thick fingers ran along the guitar strings.

Maybe it was because music in itself, was freeing. If only for the moment. For the duration of song. So he'd play a good one. One fitting the moment. One to calm the storm.

He cleared his throat and finished his warm up tune on the strings. He never thought he'd sing. His voice wasn't entirely for it back when he lived in New York. But In his aging it had deepened. He sounded more like Daken and Raze, if only a bit more smooth and less homicidal. It worked in his favor.

So he sang.

His fingers ran along the guitar strings. The tune was simple— folkish. In Bronte's mind it sounded like something you'd play in a bar in a fantasy realm. Or around a campfire with your band of brothers.

After a few pulls of the strings he stopped and began the song. Oh, misty eye of the mountain below..."

Who doesn't fuck with Ed Sheeran? Every hood in America fucks with Ed Sheeran. Sure, I See Fire wasn't a bar time turn up song, but again, it felt fitting.

So, he played. Giving the song his own remix with the bass boost of thunder and and his own stomping foot that shook the bar with the beat.

Slowly people quieted and began clapping along. Joined by the moment, by the rhythm and flow.

And the heavy snowfall ceased. The world outside calmed, save for the thunderous beat.

And for the time being, he was free. He was back up in the clouds. He was the wind in his hair, the lightning rocketing down towards the earth. He was limitless.

And then, the song came to a close. He reached the final lyric, having amped the crowd up off their seats and into a shared enjoyment. He ended it, calmly. Incorrectly. He ended it in what he felt was fitting. Words that he didn't know. He didn't know who he was referencing. Or if he was even speaking for himself. But it felt right.

"And I hope that you remember me….." The crowd inside the backend of the bar erupted in claps and whistles. Some raised their glasses, others dropped money inside the snapback placed at the foot of the stage.

Bronte stood up and bowed to the crowd, "Thank ya'll. Have a good night."

And then he was off. He wanted to play more, but everyone's shift was ending soon.

The crowd dissipated as he left the stage and weaved his way through the tables to approach the bar. Along the way he gave his thanks and fist bumps to people commending him for his performance.

It didn't take long to reach the bar. The Bear's Claw was small. Cramped at times, but after working in such a place for a couple weeks, he'd found it more wholesome over time.

Finding a bar wholesome. Probably perfectly encapsulates how Bronte's last three years had gone.

"Hit me, John." Bronte said to the bartender as he slid on his snapback and pulled out a few dollars.

John waved him off, "Keep the money, man. You bring in customers so that's how you pay me. If you really want to spend your money though, buy some new shoes. Your scaring people."

Bronte chuckled at the inside joke few would understand. "Right…."

After a few minutes his drink arrived. A cool bottle of Canada's finest. Labatt Blue. John came with two more as he took the cap off the first bottle with his teeth. As he drank, he surveyed the bar. All was well. Normal. He could recognize the regulars and new faces. New faces tended to stare at him.

Like the woman seated across the bar from him. She was staring harder than the rest. There was something different about it. About her. He couldn't believe he missed her.

It seemed impossible to now as she got up from her seat. Her movements were fluid— like a dancer. Or fighter….

Her walk retained that fluidity. Hips swaying on silent steps. She wore a hoodie and coat, but both were designed to leave a small section of her stomach exposed. She was toned. Smooth tan skin stretched over lithe muscle. Her belly piercing danced under the dim bar lights like a shaken star. The hood she wore hid the top half of her face in shadows, leaving only her dark purple glossed lips visible aside from the thick platinum blonde braid of her hair that hung down to her stomach. Bronte liked that hair color…

She came to sit by him. She smelled of outside air, and a rich sensual perfume. Something low-key and sweet…. Old even. As she turned her back to him and took a seat in the chair, he could see a tattoo at the small of her back between two dimples. A wolf's paw.

"Oh yea I'm fuckin with Canada." Bronte thought with a nod as he took another swig of his drink.

The lady turned around to face the bartender, "I'll have what he's having." She smiled at him.

Bronte waved off the bartender, "Don't even worry about that."

He slid her one of his beers.

"On the house."

There was that smile again, "Thank you, Mr. Astra." She said as she ran her glistening fingernails along the icy beer bottle.

Bronte froze if only for a fraction of a second for one reason. Her accent. She elongated her words similarly to people with thick Italian accents, but she also had elements of a Japanese accent. Bronte didn't need her to speak again to know so. Because Daken sounded the same.

Suddenly this didn't feel like a possible one night stand.

He played his role. If there was something more going on, showing her that he knew wasn't an intelligent idea.

"No problem...?"

"Remy." The lady provided her name. Her voice was deep for a woman. But in a good way. It felt nice on his ears.

"Remy. I like that accent, where are you from?" Bronte asked.

"Europe…. I've been all over. I like traveling."

Bronte stirred his drink, "Oh yea?"

Remy nodded and ran a hand down her long golden braid.

"Is that what brings you here? You searching for the Wendigo too?"

Remy shook her head, "No. I am in search of something though. Something very important to me."

"And what is that Remy?" Bronte questioned beneath the dull chattering buzz of the bar.

"I can't say just yet. But I think I've found it." Remy explained as her purple glossed lips twisted into a faint smile. It looked good on her.

"Oh word? Good for you." Bronte said before bumping beers with her.

She chuckled at that, he didn't know why.

Then she spoke, "You're not much like him. But I see him in you…. Along with something else. It scares me. That's good."

Bronte wanted to question what she said, but he didn't need to. For the last three years of his life he'd only been compared to one person. There was only one person people really brought up when talking about or to him. And it seemed this, Remy, was no different.

The question was, how did she know Wolverine?

The storm outside intensified. Before he could say a word she finished her beer and got up, "Thank you for the conversation and ale, Mr. Astra. Id like to hear you sing again sometime."

And then she was walking out of the bar.

Bronte surged to his feet to follow after her. His mind spun, caught between whether or not he should be popping his claws or asking questions. The place was surrounded…. She couldn't have been in the bar in bad faith. That was suicidal. Or she was that strong…..

Before he could settle on an idea he reached her right before she made it to the double doors.

He grabbed her arm. He could feel the soft skin and muscle beneath the coat.

"I don't like cliffhangers. I also don't fuck with cryptic messages. Who are you, Remy? And why did you really come to this bar?"

Remy shook free of Bronte's grip and turned to face him. As she did, her hood rippled and revealed more of her face. He could see she had a face marking. A dark tattooing that ran across her eyes in a thick circle. Odd.

She suddenly stepped in close to him. Close enough that he could feel her breath on his ear.

"If you are who I think you are— who I know you are, Mr. Astra. Then listen closely. You can get all your answers about me in time. I know you're going to hit the old Department K Headquarters. And when you do remember this, many things are hidden in that building. Unlike the others, it's not as out of commission as it looks."

That only made Bronte have more questions. But before he could ask them, she was kissing him. Her lips were as soft as they looked. Her smell even more infectious.

"Ugh!" Bronte grunted as she shoved him off with the strength of a dozen men. He crashed into a table and sent a row of drinks crashing to the floor.

In the midst of the commotion she disappeared. Bronte was up and chasing after her scent in seconds. But when he reached the outside, all he found was Laura and Daken.

Daken looked as suspicious as Bronte.

"You saw her right?"

Daken nodded slowly, "Yea….. she seemed— familiar. I don't know."

Laura shrugged and took her hands out of her coat pockets, "She definitely wasn't a regular."

"She knew about our plans."

Laura and Daken froze momentarily waiting for Bronte to confirm he meant those plans, "What?"

Bronte felt as confused as they sounded, "I think…. She just tried to help us."

Laura pointed at the bar doors, "Go get Raze and Gabbie. We're going home. No—"

The doors suddenly burst open as Raze and Gabbie stepped out.

"God damn Brontosaur, you failing with the ladies again? I thought we we're past the New York days."

"Nah this was different." Bronte said, "That woman's connected to Wolverine….. and possibly Rom—"

"Don't say his name." Daken interrupted.

Bronte nodded, "The point is, for whatever reason, she just made an attempt to help us. We need to get home and adjust our plans."