"Peace and tranquility," Egrer said contentedly, strumming a gentle melody on Baby. He was in a fantastic mood; tonight, they were finally kicking off the PR campaign for their musical pack.
"One hundred and twenty-eight, one hundred and twenty-nine, one hundred and thirty..."
Yort was doing handstand pushups for his fourth set, only taking ten-second breaks to chug some nasty protein sludge. How he managed to keep going for so long would forever remain a mystery... No, wait, he was obsessed with the idea of getting stronger so he could return to his gang, whack his dad, and take his place. Or was Egrer confusing his backstory with some action movie? To be fair, cinemas were full of edgy avengers, and Yort's motivation was basically exactly that: I must get stronger to avenge my family / myself / my home / my beloved dog — underline twice and circle the correct option.
Illmond, on the other hand, didn't say a word. He just lay on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. His long bangs hid half of his face, and his arms rested limply at his sides. He had recovered from that unbelievable, immeasurable, and unbearable terror from the club bathroom incident, but sometimes he just needed to lie in a weird pose and think about stuff. It was terrifying to even imagine what went on in his brain during those moments; it could range from suicidal ideation to brainstorming the plot for his new hentai manga.
Egrer fundamentally didn't understand why things like that even needed a plot, but he never argued with a professional.
And Magenta... was Magenta. Absolutely unpredictable. Instead of doing something totally random like weaving clothes out of a bedsheet or hammering nails into the floor, she was meticulously cleaning her weapon. Surprisingly mundane for her.
What was even more surprising was that her weapon was a massive, fucking flamethrower. When Egrer first found out about it, he spent a long time trying to pry out of her if she had some secret passion for fire, heat, or the sun. After all, an Aura user's weapon is an extension of their soul; it reflects their predispositions or at least hints at them. But no matter how hard he tried, he never figured out if she was a closet pyromaniac or if she just really liked going to the beach. It merely reinforced his belief that rules simply didn't apply to Magenta.
"Twoooo huuuundred!" Yort hissed inhumanly. He straightened his arms and locked himself into a full handstand. His shirt was soaked in sweat, and his breathing sounded like an avalanche; he always gave it a hundred percent. Egrer stopped playing his guitar and turned his head toward Illmond, whose consciousness was still drifting in faraway lands.
"Ill, roll to the side a bit."
Illmond obediently rolled over, his vacant gaze now drilling a hole into the floorboard. Right where he had just been lying, Yort collapsed, causing a miniature earthquake. Everything that wasn't bolted down jumped a few inches into the air, including Egrer, Magenta, the table, the chairs, and the disassembled pieces of her flamethrower, Colorful Rainbow. Surprisingly, none of the flamethrower parts fell onto the floor, but the resulting cloud of dust and pollen was a stark reminder that it was time to clean the apartment again.
When the cups, spoons, and other dishes finally stopped rattling, a second of absolute silence followed, which Egrer immediately filled with Baby. He had heard this melody in a movie where the main character, a veteran of the Faunus Rights Revolution, retreated to a secluded Mistralian temple in the mountains to find peace for his soul. The movie itself was kind of boring, but the music and the scenery were absolutely divine.
"Peace and tranquility," Egrer repeated, ignoring the neighbors downstairs banging on the radiator, as well as the profanity-laced shouts about "noisy youths" coming through the thin wall. "I love moments like this, when everyone is busy with their own thing."
His old scroll—back from when screens were still made of actual glass—buzzed with a message.
«Hi, little wolf! How are things on your end?»
Egrer smiled and started typing a reply.
«Everything's great, Ma. Got to Vale without a hitch and already landed a part-time gig with my friends. We'll be starting at Beacon soon, the Headmaster accepted all of us.»
The reply came instantly. While a normal person needed at least a few seconds to type out a message, his adoptive mother was unbound by such mortal limitations. If he didn't know what her Semblance actually was, he would have assumed it was super-speed or technopathy.
«You know, if this was Shade or Haven, I would have just kidnapped the Headmaster's relatives and blackmailed him into accepting you. But Ozpin is too tough a nut to crack for something so trivial.»
Egrer snorted loudly, catching Magenta's attention. The girl abandoned her flamethrower, suddenly consumed by a new, far more interesting activity: eavesdropping. She stealthily stood right behind his shoulder and, without an ounce of shame, began reading his texts.
For a split second, Egrer wondered if he should tell Mom that the Headmaster of Beacon knew about his past. Not necessarily how much he knew, but the fact that he knew at all! Egrer had always stayed in the shadows of their little family, mostly handling lockpicking, hacking cameras, and other low-level electronic sabotage. But if Ozpin knew exactly who his family was, Egrer would have been swarmed by a SWAT team that very day. Or did the Headmaster truly believe his own words? Damn, that man was too mysterious.
But if Egrer told her that, she would absolutely hijack a Bullhead packed with explosives and crash it straight into the Headmaster's tower. So no, absolutely not, she could never find out.
«Thanks, but I can handle getting in on my own merits,» Egrer sent the message, miraculously beating his mother's super-speed to add: «Or do you not believe in me?»
This time, she took slightly longer than a microsecond to reply. That spoke volumes.
«Of course I believe in you, little wolf!»
Egrer heard a muffled giggle behind his back. He immediately clutched the scroll to his chest and turned around with an annoyed expression. Magenta ducked, a shower of pollen cascading from her multicolored hair as she tried to catch a glimpse of the screen. It seemed she hadn't even realized she'd been caught.
"Madge, didn't your mom teach you that reading other people's texts is bad?"
"No." She tilted her head in confusion. "Was she supposed to?"
"Yes." Egrer's eye twitched—not from the pollen, but from sheer frustration. Suddenly, a lot of things about her social ineptitude made perfect sense. Although, socially awkward people are just "awkward," as the name implies. Magenta was a social tank, flattening societal norms simply because they were there.
"Oops! I didn't know, I'm sorry!" She genuinely looked guilty, but Egrer wasn't fooled. By tomorrow, she would forget this conversation ever happened and go right back to shameless eavesdropping. And when reminded, the cycle would repeat.
"Remind me, you inherited your Faunus traits from your mother, right?" Magenta nodded. That really explained a lot. "Alright, you're forgiven."
A second later, he heard her muffled giggling again.
"Pfft-hehe... little wolf..." Egrer clenched his fist around the scroll. Oh, Twin Gods! She had looked so embarrassed and completely crushed just a moment ago! Now he was the one feeling embarrassed.
"There's nothing funny about it! It's not like your mom didn't call you 'little butterfly'! Everyone calls Faunus kids by an affectionate nickname based on their animal trait!"
"Not just Faunus, Eg," Yort suddenly joined the conversation.
He was drinking his protein sludge while sitting directly on Illmond's back. Illmond showed no signs of life (to be fair, he rarely looked alive to begin with), but he was definitely fine, regardless of the giant, jacked mass sitting on him. He had his Aura unlocked; he wasn't going to be crushed just because someone used him as a chair.
"Personally, my mom called me 'bunny', and I'm not a Faunus. Plus, she named me after a famous florist."
"Bunny? Florist?"
"Yeah, cool, right? I even have a tattoo on my left shoulder blade—a rabbit in a flower meadow. It looks badass."
Egrer didn't know what surprised him more: the fact that this mountain of muscle thought a bunny tattoo was "badass," that Yort admitted this without a shred of embarrassment, or that his mother had looked at this future bruiser and decided "Bunny" was the perfect nickname. The sheer absurdity of the information left Egrer in a stupor, staring blankly into space.
"It was great right up until my mom got smeared across half of Vacuo in a Dust explosion during an epic airship heist. Mind you, the airship got smeared too."
Yort said it with such an inspired look on his face that it was clear he was proud his mother had died in such a highly cinematic, action-movie way.
"And my mom was a junkie," Illmond muttered, lifting his head.
Then he dropped it back down. Why he decided to share that was unclear. Maybe he just got swept up in the heartwarming topic of conversation. Because what could be more wholesome than discussing mothers? Even if one was a sky-pirate, another a professional master thief, the third a drug addict, and the fourth a butterfly-Faunus with all the resulting quirks.
In general, Yort hadn't opened up like this in a long time... Was he starting to realize that Egrer wasn't faking his friendship? Unlikely. Since that balcony conversation, the topic hadn't come up again, and the leader had just been formulating plans, occasionally throwing out bait with no results. It was a miserable situation—to prove the sincerity of his friendship, he had to call in Yort's debt, but doing so meant Yort would just ride off into the sunset. And that would be that.
And they worked so well together; they would make an explosive team at Beacon! Even if the pack was split up among different teams, they could still hang out and keep in touch. But it wouldn't be the same.
"Alright, alright, I've got a conversation pending here." Shooing Magenta away with a glare, Egrer returned to his scroll. His adoptive mother hadn't waited for his reply and had sent fourteen consecutive messages, reassuring him of how deeply she believed in him. It was sweet, sure, but the sheer necessity of writing that much proved what her actual opinion was.
While he was reading, two more popped up, then another. Egrer decided to just cut to the chase; he read slower than she typed.
«I get it, Ma. Thanks for the kind words, but I won't accept help even from the best teachers if it involves you threatening their families.»
«As you wish, honey. No threats, no framing, no blackmail!»
«Or kidnappings.»
«I wouldn't even dream of it!»
Before the overly affectionate lady could invent yet another creative way to "facilitate" his enrollment at Beacon, Egrer decided to change the subject.
«Don't worry, I've got everything covered at the academy. Tell me, how's Dad? Has he cooled off?»
«Cooled off? Please. He still pretends you never existed, constantly throws fits, and smokes enough for five people.»
No way. He still hadn't gotten over his escape? Egrer had told them from the very beginning that he only joined their little family to escape the Mistral slums! He had stressed multiple times that he wanted to dedicate his life to music, and stressed even harder that he didn't want to be a smuggler and a thief for the rest of his life.
And the fact that Egrer eventually blew up at his dad when he was detailing his "glorious" future in the criminal underworld? That was his own fault. You can't just stubbornly ignore your kids, letting everything you don't want to hear go in one ear and out the other. At the very least, it's rude, and it definitely shows you're not exactly Father of the Year material.
«It's been two years. I thought he didn't cling so tightly to the past.»
«Maybe you poked some of his old wounds? I've known him a long time, but he doesn't even tell me everything. You know how fiercely he guards his secrets, especially the highly personal ones. I think he even started trusting me less after your escape.»
A sudden spike of fear gripped Egrer—fear that his family might fall apart completely. Even though he had left them, he still missed them, though he'd never admit it out loud. He used to worry about this a lot, but his mother's ironclad arguments always calmed him down. She'd text things like, "He'll survive, he's taken worse hits," or "Don't take this the wrong way, but he never valued you enough to hold a grudge for this long."
But could anyone really understand a hardened cynic and misanthrope with a twisted sense of humor well enough to make such claims? After all, when Egrer decided to dip, a massive chase had ensued.
Initially, he had planned to slip away quietly, but that didn't work out. He had to make excuses and dodge questions, and it went poorly... In the end, he told his father off to his face, dumping everything he thought about his worldview, stating he didn't want to live like that anymore and wanted a different destiny. He really didn't like that. He had his own criteria for a successful life, and a music career wasn't on the list.
So, Egrer just bolted, running blind. As a result, a White Fang operation got botched, a bridge connecting two mountains was blown up, and a pessimistic Mistralian dropout artist was saved from a suicidal plunge off that very same bridge.
Was he ashamed of that teenage tantrum? He felt like an absolute idiot the moment the curses faded into the distance! It was the dumbest thing he'd ever done in his life. Everything could have been handled so much more... peacefully? Diplomatically? He could have pretended to accept his father's position and tried to escape another time.
The situation Egrer found himself in required one short, succinct word that perfectly encapsulated his state of mind and his attitude toward the mess.
Clusterfuck. That was the perfect word, and it became the very first word spoken by the reborn Egrer, newly freed from the oppression of his adoptive parents. But there was no joy in realizing that fact.
And this anomalous behavior from an experienced smuggler, cynic, and skeptic did not inspire confidence in Egrer. Not after everything he'd been through. All this irritation would build up inside him, and, just like with his adoptive son, it would eventually explode onto Mom. And then the family would be over for good.
With sweating fingers, he typed:
«I hope you guys will be okay.»
If Egrer wanted to, he could go back. He'd get scolded, punished, but they would definitely take him back. But he didn't want to. His dream, the one he had worked like a cursed dog for, was so close he could practically reach out and grab it. It was unbearable to abandon his grand plan right as it entered its final stage.
He had said many times that he would sacrifice everything for his goal, and he would say it a hundred times more. In that regard, Egrer definitely took after his father. And if his family—the people who pulled him out of the favela, to whom he owed his life and his endless gratitude—finally crumbled because of his decision... well, so be it. He would accept that price.
He had already accepted it.
***
"Hmm..." Yort grunted, lugging a massive metal box containing his disassembled drum kit. It was enormous even when put together, holding everything he needed—cymbals, various tom-toms, and a hefty bass drum. Moving it was incredibly awkward.
While a normal person would immediately describe it as "heavy," weight wasn't really an issue if you were training to be a Huntsman or had an active Aura. Awkward, however, was the operative word. To see where he was going, Yort balanced the crate on his head, supporting it with both hands. He looked absolutely ridiculous, especially with cymbal stands poking out of his pants pockets, restricting his stride. Egrer had offered to split the load, but Yort had just growled, hugged his drums, and told him to go to the Vacuo Casino.
What a casino had to do with it, and why the phrase carried such a negative connotation for him, was a mystery to everyone.
"Hmm... I'm thinking your mom is Raven Branwen."
"Have you officially run out of sane options?" Egrer glanced warily at a group of Faunus loitering near an alleyway. If they were lucky, they were just local gangbangers, not White Fang terrorists. It wasn't that Egrer was prone to assuming every Faunus with a tail or ears was a terrorist, but what would normal Faunus be doing in a place like this at this hour? Whatever the case, they needed to turn down a different alley. "And please, stop saying her name out loud."
"That legend is total bullshit. Raven Branwen, who is your mother," he added pointlessly, "can't possibly kill everyone who knows her name."
"She can, and that's a fact." Egrer had known many people who knew that cursed name, and most of them were dead. Sure, they died in shootouts or got "food poisoning," but that woman was definitely involved in their demises.
"Raven Branwen just has a really complicated Semblance."
"Yeah, like knowing everyone who knows her name. And stop saying those two words, Yort!"
"Then what am I supposed to call Raven Branwen? She-who-will-turn-your-guts-inside-out-if-you-say-her-name?"
"Why make it so long? You could just say 'crazy bitch'." Before he even finished the sentence, Magenta, skipping alongside them, suddenly grabbed him by the ear.
"You can't use such filthy words to describe girls!" she punctuated her statement by ruthlessly yanking Egrer's ear in different directions.
Egrer felt justifiably outraged.
"Girls?! Madge, she is the most deranged, brutal psychopath in all of Remnant! Read the Mistral news!" He grabbed her fingers and tried to pry them open, but the girl's grip was truly monstrous. She proved it by sharply lifting her arm, forcing Egrer to hop on one foot to keep his ear attached to his head. "Alright, alright! I promise, if I ever meet her, I'll beg for forgiveness!"
"Hmph! Fine, but you won't fool me!" He absolutely would. Magenta would forget this promise in a minute. But if Egrer ever did come face to face with the "crazy bitch," begging for mercy and apologizing for having the audacity to look in Her Bitchiness's general direction would be his only option anyway. And even then, she'd probably slice him to ribbons.
"Hmm, fine, so Raven Branwen isn't your mother..."
"Stop saying that name!!!"
"...You love your mom and you'd never insult her like that. Hmmm..." Yort let out another drawn-out grunt. "Unless you want me to think that. Yeah, you sneaky lit—" He abruptly cut himself off, glancing sideways at Magenta. He never cursed around her, no matter how badly he wanted to.
The girl in question continued skipping happily down the dark alley, completely ignoring the graffiti covering the walls and the overturned dumpsters. Faunus night vision made it easy to spot the empty syringes and small baggies scattered along the brickwork.
Honestly, add some shanties made of discarded slate and tires, and the resemblance to his home favela would be 1:1. And this wasn't even considered a "bad" neighborhood—it was just a regular district!
"Hey, Ill," Yort called out, looking back. "Stop dragging your feet, or the locals are gonna eat you. You're basically the international standard for 'victim'."
"I-I was just t-thinking that this is a really bad idea," the miserable artist managed to stammer out. He was hugging his own shoulders, constantly looking around, and nervously fiddling with the strap of his bass guitar case—in short, he was incredibly uncomfortable. As he was everywhere, really.
"Don't be scared," Magenta bounded over to him, determined to share her happiness. "There are going to be lots of nice people and great music! Isn't it wonderful, singing songs, dancing, and meeting new people?"
"It's full of gangsters!" Illmond hissed hysterically, as if terrified the aforementioned gangsters would hear him. "And no, none of this is wonderful! It would be much better if I was at home!"
Magenta wasn't listening anymore. She gently grabbed his elbow—nearly dislocating the poor guy's arm in the process—and dragged him toward the rest of the pack. She whispered something soothing to him, and he genuinely calmed down. Their butterfly was a master at this; she had an incredibly keen sense of what a person needed to hear.
But Illmond's tranquility didn't last five steps. Four steps later, they rounded the corner and the club's entrance came into view. An elegantly dressed mobster in signature sunglasses, a suit jacket, and a bowler hat was calmly smoking by the door. He caught them out of the corner of his eye and began tracking their approach, making Illmond start shaking all over again.
Egrer clapped the shut-in on the shoulder—nearly giving him a heart attack—and said in an overly cheerful voice:
"Ready to lay down some sick tracks?"
"N-no, I want to go home." His pace slowed down proportionally to their proximity to the club, but Egrer hadn't put a hand on his shoulder for nothing. With Magenta humming a lullaby on one side and the leader of their musical group physically steering him on the other, Illmond didn't stand a chance. "M-maybe I should, you know, just leave? I'm only g-going to cause problems."
"I know music isn't exactly your main profile, but you're actually pretty good at it!"
As long as they kept a close eye on the perv, there shouldn't be any issues. The main rule: never leave him alone, especially not with girls. To some—those in whom he recognized some mysterious 'Moe power' (whatever that meant)—he would be clingy and borderline worshipful. To others, he would be absolutely, disrespectfully rude. It was sometimes funny watching him call gorgeous women "useless 3D trash." Well, until they heard him.
Egrer clapped his friend on the shoulder again.
"And since you're good at it, we can easily make enough money for rent. And delicious instant ramen, of course." Yort winced at those words, barely suppressing a gag reflex.
"I'm already sick of that crap. It's the only garbage we eat."
"Seems fine to me," Egrer countered. "I eat it and I don't complain."
"You don't eat it, you swallow it! Without chewing! The whole pack at once!"
"That's how I always eat. Can you guys not do that?" Magenta and Yort shook their heads. Illmond probably would have chimed in too, but he was too busy with his futile resistance. "Must be another feature of my Faunus heritage. But as a good leader, I'll take action. For instance, from now on, we can buy instant mashed potatoes."
"Traded a headache for an upset stomach," Yort muttered under his breath.
At one point, Illmond planted his feet firmly on the pavement, but was horrified to realize he was still moving at the exact same speed. The scraping sound of his boots was a symphony of his own powerlessness.
"No, no, no... I don't want to, p-please."
"Ill, everyone there is cool, stop panicking!"
The bouncer, unobtrusively watching them, nervously stroked his goatee, shifting his weight and taking half-steps toward the club, then back toward them. This slightly unnerved Egrer, to say nothing of the fragile soul of an artist. Only Magenta remained oblivious, skipping along and probably playing through the rehearsed setlist in her head.
As the pack got closer, the gangster flicked his cigarette away and spoke a phrase Egrer hadn't heard in two years—a phrase that explained all of his weird behavior:
"Halt, who goes there? Papers, citizens, let's see some ID." He extended a demanding hand, which Egrer high-fived with all his might.
"Man, you're at the wrong job. The nearest police precinct is three blocks that way." Egrer then offered a fist, which the gangster immediately bumped.
"Eg, bro!" The mobster spread his arms for a hug. He was barely holding back tears, sniffling loudly.
"Gelb, long time no see!" Egrer happily stepped into the embrace, and the mobster finally broke down, crying tears of joy.
"What the fuck is this?" Yort frowned. Without looking, he caught Illmond by the collar just as he tried to slip away, while using his other hand to balance the heavy drum crate on his head. This whole situation looked like an inside joke he wasn't privy to, and he hated not understanding things.
"This is an old buddy of mine," Egrer explained, still locked in a bro-hug. "He used to be a cop, but he got fired for abuse of power."
Egrer knew this was a lie. Gelb had been fired due to a spectacularly idiotic and hilarious incident. But as a true friend, he couldn't recount that epic saga and embarrass the former cop. Gelb wasn't exactly popular in the gang as it was, and if it weren't for that very incident, Junior would have left him bound and gagged in an elf costume at a gay club. Instead, Junior got a good laugh out of it and added another epic tale to his collection.
"Oh yeah, yeah," the gangster started his usual routine, "I used to beat confessions out of petty thieves on the regular. Knocked their teeth out with 'em. That's why they gave me the boot." He flashed a cocky grin, hoping for a positive reaction. And the embodiment of justice delivered one immediately.
"How can you be friends with such a heartless person, Eg?!" Magenta forcefully broke up their bro-hug. Egrer was prepared for it and didn't even stumble, but poor Gelb was about to experience the unparalleled agony of a guilt trip.
Even if he confessed that the story was fabricated just so people wouldn't treat him like a total loser, she wouldn't believe him. She'd just double down on her lecturing, eventually convincing him that he genuinely needed to apologize to all the thieves he had caught. But they didn't have time for this! The sooner they got inside the club, the sooner they could start playing!
"Cop turned crook... What a moron," Yort muttered, while Magenta continued brainwashing her latest victim.
"Don't be so judgmental, it happens a lot in Vale."
"In Vacuo, a wise guy like that would get buried up to his neck in the sand and pelted with rocks until he croaked." Egrer shuddered, imagining Gelb enduring such a fate. But he quickly pulled himself together; they needed to get inside as soon as possible.
"Ill, can you tell her we shouldn't be wasting time?" the leader asked. Illmond grunted something unintelligible, which sounded like an agreement. "Yort, let him go."
The giant obediently opened his hand, allowing Illmond to take a deep breath. However, he still glared resentfully at Egrer.
"Why do I have to deal with this?"
"Because Yort and I don't exactly have clean records. I don't want her turning her lectures on us for good measure." Egrer nudged him, hurrying him along. "Come on! The sooner we get in, the sooner we can play."
"You can't just beat people up, even if they're thieves!" Magenta was gaining momentum. The gangster was sitting on the ground, listening to her with his mouth open, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes full of remorse. "You already caught them, why the senseless cruelty?! You are the most heartless person I have ever seen! Oh, wait, sorry. If you're a Faunus, I didn't mean to insult you, really. But you're still awful!"
"Alright," Illmond nodded, taking a step forward. "Madge, listen, maybe we shouldn't be too hard on him, huh? I think he gets the point."
In the ten seconds since the lecture began, Gelb had managed to drop to his knees and start sobbing again, this time from a burning sense of shame. He was generally a very emotional guy.
"Yes!" the gangster cried through his sobs. He raised his eyes to Magenta as if she were an angel and clasped his hands in prayer. "I understand everything! I am so, so ashamed! Please, end this torture, I'll reform, I swear on my life!"
This reaction was surprising even for Egrer, who was used to this kind of thing. Gelb was always weird, but to drop to his knees and beg a scrawny girl for mercy... that was a bit much. Then again, all Aura users are weird; having your soul wide open tends to heavily impact your personality. For Egrer, hyper-sensitivity wasn't necessarily a terrible trait—certainly better than the cynicism and malice of his father, or the overprotectiveness of his mother.
"And as my first act of atonement, drinks are on me! Yes, yes!" Judging by Magenta's frown, this wasn't the kind of repentance she was looking for, but she was satisfied enough. Generosity is a virtue, after all.
"Finally!" Egrer waved his hands impatiently as the doors to Junior's lair opened before him. "Since we've got all the issues sorted, let's hustle!"
Illmond let out a doomed sigh but trudged after the pack. It was a good thing he didn't have to be dragged by force anymore; it was not only inconvenient but genuinely unpleasant for Egrer to force his friend to do something he didn't want to do. But it was for his own good! There was nothing positive about Illmond rotting in his room, and Egrer just wanted to help him socialize. Even if it was a deeply secondary goal right now.
The club was empty, which was to be expected, as Junior had warned them. Just sparse clusters of uniformed gangsters standing by the walls talking amongst themselves, and DJ Bear sitting up in his booth fiddling with some knobs. Even from the entrance, they could hear him loudly beatboxing, without taking off the plush bear head.
In such an empty venue—which right now felt absolutely nothing like a nightclub, slash, criminal info-broker base—the multicolored disco ball spun cheerfully. Providing a stark contrast to it, a gloomy Junior was working behind the bar, arranging liquor bottles so the labels perfectly faced future customers.
"Hei, Junior!" Egrer greeted him halfway across the massive dance floor. Junior visibly flinched but didn't even turn around, continuing his task.
"Yeah, hey." Those were his only words, delivered in a tone that made it perfectly clear: something very serious was currently holding him back from committing murder.
"Boss is in a mood," Gelb whispered, reflexively adjusting his tie. "I think I'm gonna head back and guard the door." He tipped his bowler hat in farewell and was about to sprint back, but Yort caught him.
"The drinks," he demanded, giving Gelb a solid shake by the shoulder.
"Catch you next time, kid." The retired Vacuo pirate, or whatever he was, simply squeezed his hand tighter, making the gangster's Aura flare yellow. "Wait, wait, bro! How about I just give you the cash, huh? Huh? You guys can buy your own rounds."
"Stealing from people is bad," Magenta tried to intervene, but Yort's other massive palm planted itself flat against her face, keeping her from reaching his ears. The giant crate he'd been carrying this whole time balanced perfectly on his head. "Hey!"
"A thousand Lien. In my pocket."
Egrer didn't intervene, considering this fair play. If he can't treat them, he can give them the money to treat themselves. Perfectly fair, why did Madge call it stealing? And why is Illmond muttering something about a bandit lair and living with highwaymen?
"Here, I've got some..." Gelb started counting bills from his wallet, but Egrer snatched all the paper Lien in one swift motion.
"I think this will cover the juice." Three thousand. Not bad, enough for their large group, and maybe some leftover for ramen. No, wait, mashed potatoes! They were done with ramen. "Oh, don't be stingy, friend! You promised to treat us!"
These words were addressed to the surrounding gangsters, who had started to look at their behavior as overly brazen. But upon hearing about a "promise," they immediately went back to their own business. A promised treat is sacred. Plus, the former cop wasn't particularly well-liked here anyway...
"Uh, fine, absolutely, no problem at all. I'll go take my post then." Gelb forcefully yanked his arm free and finally tipped his hat. "Good seeing you, Eg. Young man, angel, have a pleasant evening."
"And you said you quit robbing people," Magenta frowned.
"It's not a robbery, it's a debt write-off," Egrer waved the newly acquired stack of cash.
"I'm gonna agree with the girl on this one," Junior said as they sat down at the bar. Yort, however, sat directly on his crate so nobody could steal it. "If you start shaking down my boys, I'll break your jaw and see how well you sing with it wired shut."
"He promised to treat us himself! But then he heard your scary voice and decided to bolt."
"Look who's talking about a scary voice."
"Hey, that's low." Egrer pointed to his throat. "I was born this way, don't you dare judge me."
"Why are you so angry today, Junior?" Magenta, subtle as a tank barrel, fired off her blunt question, completely ignoring Hei's murderous glare.
"Because two insufferable brats terrorized me for the last twenty-four hours."
"But you said yesterday was their day off!" Egrer protested.
"And I didn't have one," the gangster explained, as if to a complete idiot, tapping his finger on the bar several times. "And just when I finally decided to catch a nap, they break into my house and demand to know everything about you and your little band. I have no idea who told them you were here, probably someone in the club thought it'd be a fun surprise for them. And I got absolutely zero sleep! Tell me, what did I do to deserve this? Why do you and your psycho family hate me and my club so much?!"
Junior grabbed one of the bottles he was arranging and took a few swigs straight from the neck.
"What does this have to do with me?!" Egrer rightfully protested, but Hei's outrage far exceeded his own.
"Admit it, you deliberately showed up on their day off, and then early this morning, right when I was supposed to be sleeping, you pinged their scrolls: 'Hey, long time no see, I just dropped by Junior's and we made a suuuuper sweet deal, I'll tell you everything tomorrow!'"
Magenta giggled as Hei mimicked Egrer's raspy voice, but a second later, she snapped out of it, as if waking from a dream.
"Eg, how could you?!" Magenta cried. "Such deviousness and treachery, just to upset such a kind man?!"
A kind man?
Junior?!
Egrer was so utterly bewildered by the sheer gymnastics of her logic that he couldn't even form a rebuttal.
"Y-yeah, Eg, how could you?" Illmond, having managed to pull himself together, also launched a senseless accusation at his leader. "L-let's not upset Mr. Xiong with our presence anymore and j-just go home?"
"Fucking fantastic idea, kid, I'd be thrilled."
"Hold on, stop! You guys turned a serious business meeting into a circus again!" Everyone fell silent for a second, and Egrer used the opportunity to glance at Yort. He was sitting calmly, arms crossed, with no intention of accusing him of anything. "First of all, I didn't plan any of that. Second, Junior, I'm not as malicious as my dad, stop comparing us! And third, where are the twins?"
"Oooooh," Hei drawled nastily. "They're sleeping. Because they, unlike me, don't have to get up early, accept liquor shipments, wake up these hungover deadbeats, arrange meetings, do inventory... Oh, here they are." He abruptly stopped and pointed behind them.
But Egrer didn't have time to turn around. Sharp little claws dug into his shoulders, holding him in place. A whisper tickled his ear:
"Miss us?"