"Madge, hurry up, will ya? It's already pitch black outside," Egrer grumbled, trailing closely behind her. "If you don't know what to buy, don't buy anything. We could really use the spare cash."
Magenta hummed thoughtfully, inspecting the vials of Dust with the pickiness of a food critic. The agony of choice was written all over her face; she clearly understood she couldn't just grab everything at once. For a second, her finger hovered over a vial with a blue label reading "Water Dust", but then she suddenly clutched her hand to her chest. After hesitating for another ten seconds, she wandered off to a different counter.
"Madge..." Egrer trudged after her, knowing full well that leaving her unsupervised in a store full of highly explosive substances was a terrible idea. There had already been one incident. "I don't mean to be a nag, but we kinda have plans for tonight, in case you forgot. Well, technically, it's already night."
Behind the counter, the old shopkeeper had long since lost interest in his customers, quietly rustling his newspaper. He looked so engrossed that he probably wouldn't even notice if a few items magically disappeared. Egrer's old thief reflexes screamed at him to seize the opportunity, but he held back, staying true to his promise to never steal again.
Meanwhile, his other reflexes forced him to constantly glance toward the far corner of the shop, where their grocery bags were sitting. Before Magenta got a sudden itch in her pants to buy Dust, they had hit up a grocery store and stocked up on enough cheap instant ramen to last them a week. It would be a damn shame if some scumbag quietly swiped their food, but lugging the bags around the aisles was just too much of a hassle.
"I'm thinking... I'm thinking..." Magenta started biting her nail, then stared at her finger in surprise. It was as if she'd had a sudden epiphany. "I think... I want to eat. I want meat..."
"Think about the Dust! Why do you think we even dragged ourselves in here?!"
"Right!" She slapped her forehead, and a cloud of colorful pollen cascaded from her multicolored hair. "We don't have money for meat anyway!"
Egrer waved his hand in despair, but a second later, a cunning plan hatched in his mind.
"Actually, yeah, you're totally right! Let's hurry home and eat." He offered a placating, eager smile. "And instead of meat, we'll have sausages! Awesome, right?"
"But I haven't bought the Dust yet," Magenta objected gently.
"Then buy it," Egrer hissed through his teeth, aggressively shoving two vials of Fire Dust into her hands. Just to be safe, he immediately turned to the shopkeeper. "Ring these up for the young lady, please."
"Uh-huh." The old man nodded, put down his newspaper, and started fiddling with a malfunctioning cash register.
Magenta was still looking around with a preoccupied expression, but predicting what was going on in her head or what thoughts lived in there was downright impossible. 'Fickle' was practically her middle name. She obediently followed Egrer to the cashier, but the second he turned away to pay, she tried to slip away.
"Where do you think you're going?" He caught her by the collar of her colorful blouse and yanked her back. Sometimes the idea of buying her a leash became so tempting that only their disastrous financial situation held him back.
Magenta stared at her captor with the most serious expression imaginable.
"I forgot."
"What?"
"I forgot," she repeated. Egrer was rapidly losing his patience.
"What did you forget? What do you want? Stop holding us up!"
"I forgot what I forgot! Why did you stop me? Now I'll never remember... maybe it was something super-duper important..."
The cash register finally printed the receipt. Magenta instantly broke into a wide smile and took it from the shopkeeper's hands. They never spoke of that moment again.
"Yort, we're out of here."
"Fucking finally," a deep voice rumbled from the depths of the store, and a literal giant from Vacuo began squeezing his way between the magazine racks. He was so massive that even moving sideways caused half of the magazines to rain down onto the floor. "My bad, gramps. You can clean that up yourself, right?"
The old shopkeeper stared at the mess with a look of doomed resignation, as if this sort of thing happened in his shop all the time.
"I'm starving," Yort grumbled, zipping up his jacket before heading for the exit.
He hated Vale's autumn weather with every fiber of his being. The chill made him shiver, giving off the false impression that he was weak and cowardly. And he absolutely hated it when people thought his muscles were just for show.
Grabbing their grocery bags, the pack stepped outside. The bell above the door jingled a farewell, and the old shopkeeper grunted as he got to work cleaning up.
The very first gust of night wind made Yort helplessly sniffle. No matter how much he bundled up, he just couldn't get used to the local climate. He was actually lucky; usually, around this time of year, thick clouds and fog blanketed Vale like a heavy quilt preparing for winter. Tonight, surprisingly, the sky was clear, without a single cloud.
Buses didn't run this late, so they had to walk home. Fortunately, they lived nearby, just a few blocks away.
Egrer led the way, grumbling impatiently every time Magenta froze to stare at bright neon signs. It was as if she hadn't inherited the traits of a butterfly Faunus, but rather a moth, drawn helplessly to the light.
As they walked, the flashy stores dwindled, replaced by dreary, gray skyscrapers—they had entered a residential district and soon reached their building. Whoever built these concrete boxes prioritized maximum capacity over comfort or aesthetics. The building was over a hundred stories tall, crammed with tiny, cheap apartments.
The local demographic consisted of the destitute: beggars, drunks, deadbeats, and unlucky bastards who just happened to end up here. The building practically hummed with the overlapping sounds of its overcrowded inhabitants. Even at night, if you listened closely, you could hear a couple arguing, someone drunkenly singing their heart out, a baby crying, or a TV blasting at maximum volume.
Suddenly, loud pops from behind them joined the faint cacophony of the slums. They seemed to be coming from the direction of the Dust shop.
"Gunshots?" Yort perked up, sniffling. He was ready to sprint back at a moment's notice, eager for a fight. "Looks like someone decided to rob the old man. What is that, the third shop this week?"
"Doubt those are gunshots. Probably just fireworks," Egrer shrugged. He had absolutely zero desire to run back and play hero. With a quiet click, he inserted the key into the building's front door lock. Another prolonged whistle echoed through the night, followed by a much louder bang. "See? Told you. Who'd start a shootout in the middle of the city?"
"Maybe we should go look?" Magenta was also intrigued by the sounds. "I've always loved fireworks!"
"By the time we get there, it'll all be over. We already wasted enough time in the shops, I'm not waiting any longer!" Egrer grabbed her hand and forcibly dragged her inside the building.
——————
"Listen, Eg." Yort lazily poked at his instant ramen with a fork. With zero appetite, he just sat at the table, glaring a hole through his food and annoying his leader. "You said you quit the game. So why are we going to work for your old mob buddy?"
"We're not going to rob stores, we're going to play music." Egrer slurped up half a pack of noodles in one go and swallowed without chewing. "He owns a nightclub, we have musical skills. It's a win-win."
"Are you kidding me? Are you sure he's just dying for some live music? In a nightclub? Yeah, right, keep dreaming."
"Guuuuyyyyys," a sleepy head poked out from under a blanket. Illmond had slept through the entire day, but even that wasn't enough for him. "You're being too loud. Go talk in the other room."
"We rent a studio apartment, you moron." Yort forcefully shoved the two terrifyingly sleepy, heavily bagged eyes back under the covers.
"Exactly," a muffled voice came from the blankets. "We still have a bathroom."
"Ill, nighttime is for sleeping, not drawing. So suffer in silence and don't interrupt us while we figure out how to make some cash," Egrer said, finishing the last of his ramen. "Otherwise, we won't even have this run-down room to sleep in."
"I'll just post my new work on the Extranet, and someone will donate to us." Illmond emerged into the light again, but Yort, feeling a sudden surge of unprovoked aggression, shoved him right back.
"Who? You've gotten exactly three donations in your entire life. Don't answer that, just go to sleep, we're having an important business meeting here."
Egrer picked up where they had been interrupted.
"Alright, so we've all been accepted into Beacon, but we need to survive for another month until Initiation. Maybe Junior doesn't exactly need live music, but his club is a hangout for a bunch of gangs, and that zoo needs to be kept in check. And we, let me remind you, are basically students of Beacon! The coolest, most badass Huntsman academy in all of Remnant. Plus, he's an old acquaintance of mine. We'll definitely work something out."
"So why don't we just get jobs as bouncers? You're hiding something."
"Ha-ha, good one! You're the only one here who looks like a bouncer," Egrer punched his friend's bulging bicep. "And he already has plenty of his own guys. Think about it: Madge is the sweetest creature alive, she has no business in a club like that; but fate brought us together. Ill is a scrawny beanpole with eyebags the size of his own head..."
"Gee, thanks."
"...and I'm way too friendly-looking to scare off scumbags just by standing there. See? Perfectly logical. Stop being paranoid and imagining some grand conspiracy."
"We are, like you said, 'basically students of Beacon'. If anyone has a problem with how we look, we hit 'em with a one-two to the liver and introduce their face to the pavement."
"True, but I feel like you don't fully grasp the job description of a bouncer." His idiotic smile slowly began to creep onto his face.
Meticulous and distrustful, Yort clearly sensed a trap and kept digging. Curse that Vacuo paranoia—they wouldn't even trust their own family, acknowledging no authority but themselves.
"Stop dodging the question. I know all about this stuff."
"Are there even clubs in Vacuo? Wow, color me surprised!"
"Vacuo might be a shithole, but even we know how to party. Stop changing the subject. I bet you just want to do this for PR and publicity, not to make some quick cash."
Egrer held his mug under the tap. Water slowly filled it, but alas, thoughts weren't filling his brain at the same speed. Yort waited patiently, twirling noodles on his fork and drilling a hole into his leader with his eyes. When the water finally overflowed, Egrer slowly started drinking. The rusty metallic taste made him wince, but he still needed to buy some time.
"The two aren't mutually exclusive." What the hell? Is that the best my brain cells could come up with given that head start? Egrer completely lost faith in his own mind; it was far too stupid for his body.
"Right. Then just say it how it is: we're going for PR, we'll eat shitty ramen for another month until Beacon starts, and we'll live in a crumbling studio apartment. There are four of us, Eg, and one of us is a girl who needs to be protected from the creepy hikikomori-perv, because she'll never understand that changing clothes in front of guys is a bad idea."
"I am not a perv! I merely draw highly detailed romantic drama!"
"You draw porn comic books, what else would you call yourself?" Yort threw an extra blanket—yanked from the second tier of their bunk bed—over Illmond's head.
And speaking of the bed, it was a four-tier monstrosity. You couldn't even sit up straight on it; the top bunk practically scraped the ceiling. If you removed the gaps between the sleeping tiers, the whole structure wouldn't even shrink that much.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to be a misunderstood creator? To you, I'm just an object of ridicule, but I have a complex personality!"
"Just shut it."
"Back off, Yort. Leave him alone," Egrer ordered. Yort shot him a dark glare but pretended the whole scene hadn't happened.
"Long story short, we need money. Regular music gigs are out because nobody is gonna pay top lien to a bunch of no-names."
"Where'd you get that bullshit idea?"
"Because nobody will hire us!" Egrer snapped, slamming his hand on the table. "We're too unknown for restaurants, there are no battle-of-the-bands with cash prizes, nobody needs us, you idiot! The Liens we have left won't even last us a week."
"So what's your genius plan? You and I don't know how to do anything except steal and rob. Ill has never had any luck with donations, and Madge... well, she's Madge..."
Maybe she possessed some hidden talents, but she was a recent addition to Egrer's pack, and nobody had discovered them yet. Hoping she'd just volunteer her strong suits was a lost cause; Magenta was more likely to brag about being able to hold her breath underwater for two minutes or something equally useless.
"Fuck, when you put it like that, it really makes it sound like our team is completely useless to society." Yort let out a defeated sigh and propped his big paws up on the table.
"Hey, we're not in Vacuo anymore. Get your clodhoppers off the table." Egrer shoved his arrogant limbs away. As long as he was the boss here, everyone was going to follow basic hygiene rules, wash their hands before eating, and not litter. Being a neat freak wasn't a bad thing; it was honorable, no matter how much Yort tried to use the word as an insult. "And you're not imagining things, that's exactly how it is. But we still know how to play music! And that's how we're gonna make our money."
"So we're gonna be scraping by on shitty ramen for a whole month. That sucks."
"We don't have a choice. I'm not thrilled about it either."
Now that was a blatant lie, and Egrer hastily hid his nervous smile behind his mug. First of all, there was a choice: a construction site would have paid top lien for workers with unlocked Auras and infinite stamina. Good thing Yort was a high-tier criminal back in Vacuo, so a thought like that would never enter his head. Second of all, Egrer was actually thrilled that his musical career was officially kicking off tonight. Finally! He had been anticipating this all day.
Naturally, their living conditions weren't exactly ideal, but wasn't this a worthy price to pay? During his interview with Ozpin, he had admitted he was willing to trade his own life for this dream. He wasn't going to back out on his words now.
"Whatever, let's drop it," Yort said, lightly smacking the blanket-cocooned Illmond. "Listen up, perv, get up. We're going to see Eg's buddy."
"What buddy? Clubs only operate at night, leave me alone."
"What time do you think it is right now, retard?" A sleepy head poked out of its sanctuary, suspiciously expecting a punch from Yort at any moment. When Illmond's eyes finally found the clock, they briefly stopped looking like the narrow slits characteristic of Mistral natives. But only briefly.
"Whatever. I'm busy. Go without me."
The former heir to a Vacuo crime boss (if Egrer had understood his stories correctly) gave his leader a meaningful look. Egrer offered a majestic nod, granting Yort permission to switch to physical coercion. Nobody was going to sabotage this, not even an old friend.
While Illmond was being forcefully dragged out of bed, Egrer patted Magenta on the back. She had agreed to cover her ears and turn around while they discussed "income methods." Otherwise, their planning session would have been constantly derailed by a flood of highly naive and utterly useless suggestions.
"Oh, you guys are done!"
"Yeah, and now we're heading to my old acquaintance's place. We're going to play a gig!"
"Yaaaaay!" The girl started jumping for joy, and a cloud of pollen rained down from her multicolored hair. Because of that dust, they had to wipe down every surface in the apartment almost daily, or else severe sneezing fits would drive them to the grave. Egrer was actually quite happy to clean more often, but the rest of the pack didn't share his passion for sanitation.
The culprit behind this state of affairs remained blissfully unaware; nobody had the heart to tell her that her Faunus heritage was the cause of so much extra cleaning. Magenta always got incredibly upset if her traits caused suffering to others.
But goddamn it, it was so incredibly hard to keep your own bodily functions under control!
"Hurry it up, guys." A single tear rolled down Egrer's cheek. Oh, Twin Gods, I'm going to sneeze.
"Why are you crying?"
"Tears of joy, Madge. We're finally stepping out into the real world." If my own lungs don't kill me first.
—————
Egrer always remembered Junior's club being located in a slightly more respectable neighborhood. At least it was two years ago, back when he traveled the world with his family, smuggling Dust and weapons (which they usually stole beforehand). Those were fun days, even if he didn't particularly enjoy living that way. That was exactly why he was here now, and not robbing some Schnee Dust Company cargo train.
But seriously, what was up with these slums? Was the Vale Council ever planning to renovate these buildings? Or were they perfectly fine with walls covered in profanity-laced graffiti?
Egrer had never felt more out of his element. He was wearing his favorite light-brown suit jacket and patterned trousers—the absolute best outfit he owned. And this attire completely clashed with the surroundings; it was too expensive, too flashy, too conspicuous. He knew exactly how he looked from the outside. Back when Egrer lived in the Mistral favelas, peacocks who accidentally wandered into the wrong neighborhood rarely met a happy end. Thank the Twin Gods they all had unlocked Auras and combat training, so they didn't have to worry about street thugs.
But when a creepy-looking guy suddenly jumped out in front of them, Egrer still yelped.
"H-heeey, kids! Wanna take a trip to paradise?" the stranger rasped, opening his trench coat wide. The entire pack recoiled, covering their eyes, but what lay hidden beneath the fabric was somehow worse than a naked body. "Speed, uppers, weed, little magic pills... I got everything you need, kiddies!"
"Eg, look, look!" Magenta squealed, reaching for the dealer's assortment. "The colors are so pretty!"
"Ew, Madge, don't touch that!" Egrer grabbed her hand. "And you, fade into the fog before we break your kneecaps! Yort!"
Their resident giant took a step forward, cracking his knuckles.
"Alright, alright, I get it! No need for threats..." The guy zipped up his coat and scurried away.
"Madge, remember this: never listen to strangers. Got it?"
"But he was so friendly..."
"Never! Do you hear me?" She pouted but obediently nodded. "Let's keep moving."
Yort's displeased glare burned into Egrer's back. The leader could practically hear his skeptical voice: "A respectable establishment, huh? Barely any criminal activity, right? Let's just go rob a store instead." If the club itself turned out to be a similar nightmare, then honestly, robbing a store would be preferable to wading into Junior's bullshit.
A few minutes later, they finally spotted their destination in the distance. Standing by the tinted glass doors was a criminal element—but not your average street thug. He was elegantly dressed in a tailored suit, a bowler hat, and red sunglasses. Junior's gang clearly had a strict dress code. At least some things hadn't changed.
Egrer reached over his shoulder for the guitar strap, only to grasp empty air. Right, he had left the guitar at home so he wouldn't come across as too arrogant, as if assuming Junior would immediately let them play on stage that very same night.
"Yort, if anything happens, just stay quiet and stand there looking like an intimidating mountain of muscle. I'll handle the talking," Egrer whispered over his shoulder. "Ill, I can't believe I'm saying this, but keep an eye on Madge."
"Huh?" The girl blinked in surprise. "Why does someone need to keep an eye on me? We're going to have fun!"
"Just in case. Things have... changed around here."
"I-I really don't like this," Illmond muttered, wrapping himself tighter in his coat and pulling his hood down. "Maybe we should come up with something else? It's creepy out here... Crap! That g-guy is staring right at us."
Illmond froze in his tracks, but a swift, motivating kick to the rear from Yort got him moving again. Egrer offered a comforting smile, specifically aimed at the suddenly nervous Magenta.
"Where else would he look? We're the only people on the street and we're walking straight towards him. Remember, this is just a regular nightclub. Four teenagers showing up at night won't raise any suspicion. Junior runs all his shady business under a heavy cover, so don't worry, he's not going to attack us on sight."
"I'm getting nervous," Magenta admitted, anxiously twirling a strand of her multicolored hair around her finger. "I've never been to this part of the city. It's scary."
"Count to a hundred." She nodded and began silently mouthing the numbers. In a few seconds, she'd get bored, but by then, they'd have reached the club. "Alright, remember: we're just teenagers looking to party. Act the part."
"Fuck, Eg, your attempts to calm us down are giving me the creeps. Who the hell is this Junior guy anyway?"
"Just an information broker. Everyone there knows me, I'll handle everyth—"
"Alright, Eg, just shut up, you've answered the question. Ill is about to pass out." Illmond was indeed shaking as if he'd just taken a dip in an Atlas ice resort and immediately stepped out into a blizzard.
Illmond was the ultimate homebody, and any change of scenery triggered a panic attack. When they eventually moved to Beacon, the poor guy was probably going to need tranquilizers; otherwise, his combined agoraphobia and claustrophobia would give him a heart attack. How did he even manage to develop two completely opposite phobias?
Egrer himself was struggling to keep walking; the talking had been a welcome distraction. Now, in the dead silence, it felt like he had barricaded himself inside a jewelry store without a hostage, while a SWAT team prepared to breach the doors. The calm before the storm.
The bouncer at the door showed no signs of recognizing him—which Egrer had desperately hoped for—but let them pass without issue. The automatic doors slid open, and a popular pop track immediately blasted their eardrums.
"Guys, everything is great. You can relax now." He let out a breath of relief.
Inside, the building hadn't changed a bit—the same giant dance floor, the same suspicious individuals loitering in the corners with drinks, and the same DJ wearing a plush bear head. If Egrer remembered correctly, his name was just Joe, and he had a pretty badass automated Dust turret hidden behind his DJ booth.
"Wow, it's fun in here!" Magenta beamed, starting to sway to the beat.
Above them, wildly expensive holographic projectors spun steadily on a massive steel rig, creating illusions of falling red rose petals, while simpler models hidden in planters projected images of white trees. The club's black, white, and red aesthetic hadn't changed, mirroring the official colors of Junior's gang.
Magenta was thrilled by the marvels of modern technology, but Illmond only felt worse—his shivering was now accompanied by chattering teeth. Upon seeing the crowded dance floor, he paled several shades, yet obediently trailed behind his leader. They had performed in front of large crowds a couple of times before, so he shouldn't be too much of a problem. Besides, nighttime was his element.
The suited men in bowler hats tracked the pack with their eyes, clearly realizing they hadn't come just to drink and dance. Many of them were stationed near fire axes mounted on the walls—of which there were entirely too many. Junior's club was a fully legitimate business; no drug dealing, no prostitution, and nobody was being entombed in the basement walls. The worst that usually happened were occasional brawls, and those were always started by the patrons, keeping Junior's hands clean.
However, quite a few people did want to murder Junior. It happened fairly often, actually, given that he was a complicated man who knew entirely too much. Hence the axes—the primary weapons of Junior's gang. The sheer quantity of them was easily justified as "ensuring fire safety." He had connections in the government, so nobody dug too deep.
"Hei, Junior!" Egrer waved cheerfully as he sat down at the bar. He had always called him by that double name, since 'Junior' was just a nickname, and his real name was Hei Xiong. Egrer always found this harmless pun amusing. "Grew a goatee? It suits you!"
"Yeah, hey." The boss of the local gang—and the owner/bartender of this club—generously poured a shot of amber liquid and downed it himself. A welcome drink, so to speak.
"I see your folks picked up a few more ankle-biters."
"Nope, this is my gang now! A musical band!" Egrer puffed out his chest, presenting his pack one by one. "This is Yort, this is Ill, and this is Madge."
"Hi!" The girl waved sweetly.
Yort offered a stiff nod, fully embodying his role as an imposing mountain of muscle.
"And what's wrong with this one?" Junior raised an eyebrow, shifting his gaze to Illmond, which only made the guy tremble harder. He tugged at his collar and mumbled:
"C-caught a slight cold. So hot in here... making me sh-shiver." He let out a nervous laugh under Junior's skeptical stare. "W-where's the b-bathroom around here?" Junior silently pointed toward a hallway.
The poor introvert nearly faceplanted while trying to stand up, and then bumped into the exact same guy twice. The man was also rushing to the bathroom, but he was so out of it he didn't even notice being shoved twice in a row.
Maybe bringing Illmond along was a bad idea, but on the other hand, he needed to get used to it; they were going to be spending a lot of time here. Egrer shot a look at their resident muscle-head, silently asking him to keep an eye on Magenta just in case she forgot why they were there. Which she absolutely would, and she might just bolt for the dance floor without a second thought.
"So... this is your gang, huh."
"A musical band, yes. I quit the stealing business and decided to dedicate my life to music, and these are my like-minded friends."
"Pfft, sounds a bit sappy. You been reading too much chick-lit drama?" Junior sneered, pouring himself another shot. "Noble thieves, stupid villains... fess up, the villains in this teen epic are your parents, right? You're the ones who blew up that bridge in Mistral?"
"According to the media, that was the White Fang. And the fact that someone blew up their trucks full of stolen Dust just to escape a furious dad... well, that definitely wasn't me."
"Eg, you blew up a bridge?" Magenta asked, shocked. "They spent so much effort building it! Aren't you ashamed?"
To be fair, it had been a life-or-death situation, and Egrer hadn't exactly felt like stopping to ask his dad if he was actually going to murder him. So no, he wasn't ashamed.
"Actually, I helped the police—who were also chasing us, by the way," he started to justify himself, "catch dangerous racist terrorists. Let them never know the face or name of their benefactor."
"Right, ha-ha, there he is—the noble thief. Anyway, why are you here? Just a heads-up, the twins have the day off today. They'll be back tomorrow."
"No, I'm not here for them. We just need to make some cash." Junior frowned in confusion. "Yes, I quit the game, and I'm not going to do anything illegal. But robbing Atlas weapon caches isn't my only skill, and you don't just need muscle-heads around here."
"And... what? You want to play in my club? Did that explosion give you a concussion, you lunatic? Get out of here, you've brought me enough trouble already."
Hey, Egrer hadn't done anything bad to this club or his business! That was entirely on his adoptive parents!
"We play really well!" Magenta jumped into the conversation. "And we can prove it!"
"Junior, buddy, you won't regret it. Ask Melanie, she'll tell you how great I sing. And that was over two years ago; I've improved my skills so much since then!"
"I don't give a damn how you sing. This is a nightclub, not a concert hall."
Was Egrer's perfect plan falling apart? Seriously, he couldn't just go work on a construction site or play in the slums—nobody there had the money to pay their wages. Do clubs really not need live music? But any music is cooler when it's live! What kind of idiots go to these places?!
Suddenly, a stroke of genius hit him! This specific club wasn't just filled with bored teenagers; half the clientele consisted of various criminal elements.
"By the way, Junior, we all recently got accepted into Beacon. That's gotta count for something."
"And what, you're gonna wave around fake IDs trying to act tough? I know for a fact you don't meet Beacon's standards. And I've never even seen this 'musical band' of yours before."
"That was two years ago! I've gotten a lot stronger! Just hear me out: we can play music while keeping an eye on this crowd from a great vantage point. You know they'll start a shootout at the slightest provocation. Sounds like a sweet deal, right?" From his peripheral vision, he heard Yort let out an approving grunt. Damn straight! His brain cells were still firing, and that wasn't all! "Plus, your regular club beats don't exactly appeal to those older, rougher guys. My music might actually draw them into your joint more often."
"Our music," Magenta corrected.
"Our music, yeah. That's what I said."
"Those 'rougher guys' are perfectly fine with how things are, kid. They don't come here for the music and booze; they come for my main product—information, get it? That's my primary source of income. Even if crowds of regular people poured in here every night, the money they'd bring in wouldn't even come close to what I make off those 'rougher guys'."
"B-but we could~"
"I have my own boys, and I have the twins. And forget whatever you're thinking right now—they love money a lot more than your singing, and I'm the one paying them."
Wow, that was a massive hole in Egrer's logic. He had just been thoroughly verbally demolished.
"If that's all, hit the road."
Well, the Twin Gods bear witness, he didn't want to resort to this...
"You know, buddy~"
"What now?" Junior was losing his patience. Another second and he'd throw them out by force. This next argument had to break him completely, crush all resistance, and force him to finally hire them!
"I had a falling out with Dad, but Mom always supported my endeavors." Hei Xiong gulped loudly. Egrer felt incredibly ashamed to threaten bringing his mom here, but he saw no other way. He couldn't sink any lower. "We text each other frequently, and she asks very probing questions about how I'm doing here without them. She wants all the details. All of them. Even the fact that you refused to help me with a tiny little problem... My friends and I are about to get evicted onto the street, you know~"
"Alright, alright, stop! You've got the job. Just do not let that chimera anywhere near my club!"
Yort let out a surprised "Wow" and muttered to himself that he absolutely had to find out who this "Mom" was. Egrer, meanwhile, was trying with all his might to keep his smile looking sweet and innocent so it wouldn't morph into the grin of the King of Idiots. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple. Junior, incidentally, also started sweating.
"Threatening people is bad," Magenta stated firmly. She suddenly leaned past Yort and grabbed her leader by the ear.
"What are you doing?! Let go!"
"Apologize." She commanded, pulling his ear harder.
"I'm sorry, Junior!" A camera flash went off from the bartender's side. "Junior?!"
"I'll send this to the twins if you get cocky."
Oh, Twin Gods. (Even the Gods were mocking him now). Those two girls would hold this over his head for the rest of his life—a scrawny girl pulling him like a bulldozer. They would laugh at every given opportunity!
Egrer's shoelaces come untied? Wow, you're so weak you can't even tie your shoes right! Egrer trips? Hah, legs giving out on you already, huh? Egrer walks past them? You walk like you're about to collapse from exhaustion! They would brand him a weakling, a wimp, or something equally insulting, which would absolutely ruin the reputation of a future great musician.
"I apologized, let go!"
"He hasn't forgiven you yet. Ask again." Magenta pulled harder, forcing Egrer to lean against Yort's legs. The Vacuo thug ignored everything around him, while Junior, sporting a nasty grin, took another photo.
"Junior, forgive me already so we can get down to business! Why did this negotiation turn into a circus?!"
"Alright, I've got enough blackmail material anyway." Junior cleared his throat, transforming back into a serious mob boss with a serious face and serious, adult demeanor. "I forgive you."
Egrer's poor ear was finally released, and he happily straightened up.
Now they both possessed weapons of mass destruction, and this exact fact prevented either of them from getting too cocky. If Hei imposed slave-like working conditions, Mom would come knocking, and this club would be reduced to a memory. If Egrer demanded exorbitant pay, his musical career would become incredibly difficult—he'd have to flee to the edges of civilization to seek fame, far away from where the twins could spread the story of this incident.
And yet, if either of them actually used their terrifying weapon, the other would immediately retaliate. Just to be a spiteful bastard on the way out. They would both be destroyed—one morally, the other physically—which ironically made these weapons completely useless. It allowed you to eliminate your opponent, but at what cost?
At the cost of everything. Junior and Egrer simply had to come to an agreement.