Latent Troubles: Torturous Vow

A/N: Warning, character-centric. Warning, slow build up. Warning, messy and sporadic writing. Warning, amateur.

Just writing to waste time irl.

--- (WIP)

Quietly, Wynston threaded across the crowded dance floor as he wiped off the sweat trickling down his face. He kept uttering the words “excuse me” when facing a block of warm bodies with no openings. Although in a hurry to escape the infernal heat emanating from the crowd, his forest green eyes remained focused at one direction. His path was parallel to that direction, enough not to gain attention of those whom he was looking at.

Like a predator in the forest, he kept his head low and blended with his surroundings. He also kept a calculated distance from his preys, circling around their spot as he studied them meticulously. And waited patiently to bare his fangs and strike without notice.

= =

Wynston settled down on the counter, heaving a sigh of relief now that he can take a breather. He turned to face the glass counter and called the attention of the old man in bartender uniform. Upon placing his order, he propped up his left elbow and leaned lazily on the hand. His eyes resumed trailing his preys.

“Here you go, enjoy your drink.” Before Wynston could properly thank the old man, he had already gone serving drinks to the other side of the counter. He gazed at the rock glass, smiling as he clasped it with his right hand and brought it close to his nose. Then he closed his eyes, sniffing and savouring the tantalizing scent of whiskey from the rock glass. Among all the alcoholic beverages he'd tatsted, whiskey is his favorite just like how his older brother and father loves it. Their love for such alcohol probably runs in the family. Without wasting any more moment, the king cobra faunus chugged down quickly the alcohol, letting out a satisfied sigh afterwards.

“Benildean whiskey,” he grinned at the old man who's just about to refill his glass, “Nothing tastes like home.”

“Lucky for you, good sir, that’s one of our last stocks here. Business’ sluggish these days because of Grimm and whatever.” the old man grunted.

Wynston reduced his grin to a strained one and nodded in sympathy. “I couldn’t agree more. The attack to the kingdom also affected mine. I can't contact all of my clients."

"But I don’t think the staff share our sentiments.” he followed up as he used the refilled rock glass to point to his right, prompting the old man to look at the same direction. The nightclub, like the rest of other business establishments in the entertainment and red-light district, is bustling with high-spirited patrons and stereotypical entities lurking in the corners. Wynston noticed something: bulk of people weren’t drinking alcohol like in any typical clubs (low supply = soaring prices of alcohol, maybe) but instead invests on something more…… risky and addictive exploits looked down upon by "upright" people of society. Well, this nightclub is also a strip club after all.

One doesn't need to study psychology to understand why humans and faunus engage in such behaviors. Simple logic of taking the rational mind out of the picture would make these reasonable creatures no different from animals in wild. The thing is, wouldn't it be a fitting reward to allow the subdued baser instincts (id) of civilized and hardworking men to run wild even for a moment? Within acceptable constraints, of course.

"Oh, certainly, they'd better do their jobs, aye? No work, no money." the old man leaned on the counter as he surveyed "his girls" servicing their customers. "So, anyone caught your fancy yet?”

“Pardon me?” Wynston responded with befuddled expression, his hand holding the glass rock stopped midway towards his lips.

“Heh, saw you lookin' around earlier. Like a wolf stalking his prey." his dry, wrinkled lips curved into a smirk, studying the man's expression as he dried a wine glass. "C'mon, don't be shy."

That's why I felt someone's watching me

Wynston laughed nervously. He wondered if the old man could read him or is just nudging him to get a girl (and profit). A typical nightclub has more than one type of sources of revenue.

"Uh-yes? Yes, that's right. The woman with blue hair over there." Wynston pointed at a woman with revealing tuxedo bunny suit. As if on cue, a bald, potbellied man, whom the woman was serving drinks, rudely pulled her to his lap and spoke inaudibly, drowned by loud disco music played by the DJ. His lecherous snuffing of her hair made the woman stifle a bitter expression.

“Looks like she needs help.”

While he's not a fan of anything carnal, the light peach-haired man is well aware of the fundamental rules of establishments like this. One of them is that customers aren't allowed to touch the staff.

“Naida?” the old man then narrowed his eyes at the potbellied man. He suddenly let out a frustrated sigh before shaking his head. "Can't do. That don really likes her. You shouldn't make a wrong impression or you'll get yourself hanged in no time."

Wynston tilted his head slightly at the sudden change of tone.

"..... Did you?" he asked in low tone, his eyes still staring at the perverted man as the woman finally managed to break free from him and quickly set off to the kitchen area. The man let out a thunderous laugh with his subordinates.

"Just a minute." the old man looked to his right and adopted a commanding tone. "Hey, Whitney! Get Corben, now! I'm gonna take a break!"

"Okay, dad!" the woman on the other side of the U-shaped counter responded. Wynston glanced at her, observing that her bartender uniform at least fits the description of "normal and conservative". No matter how many times he'd been to nightclubs in every kingdom, he's still not used to how people dress up here.

All of a sudden, his eyes unfocused. Perhaps for a brief moment, Wynston was distracted, but for the man who suddenly remembered the sweet, gentle smile of that beautiful woman, this nostalgic memory running in cycle in his head seemed to stretch out to the point that he couldn't snap out of it.

Lena has always dressed conservatively, he thought.

"Okay, where were we? Ah, yes, that snobbish don and I and wrong impression.” Wynston blinked upon hearing the old man's voice. His right foot began tapping the floor softly as he wrestled with his consciousness to focus in reality. Daydreaming is good but not all the time especially when you're having a conversation.

“Alright, I guess it's safe to talk with you. Well, you're new here anyways. Just don't rat me out, capisce?”

“Yeah, just between us gentlemen.” Wynston nodded, cuing the old man to start talking.

“So, first off, there are rules. Everything has rules even in this sh*thole. Big sharks (mafia, gangster, etc.) honors that. And these assh*les aren't giving a damn like they own everything here.”

Perhaps they're a new gang?, Wynston kept the question to himself, not wanting to interrupt the old man.

“A week ago, I told off one of Don Carson's men not to touch my staff. Imagine when these stuck-up assh*les started harassing more of 'em.” the old man recounted with irritation. “Of course, I ain't gonna let 'em off because they're not the only gang here. Pride is everything here. So I talked to Don Carson to keep his men down or there'll be a gang war. Then he asked me 'who the hell are you to tell me what to do?' and guess what happened next: his goons just f*cked up the groups with big guns. Idiot savages from Mistral. Now there'll be trouble here sooner or later.”

As the old man poured himself a drink, Wynston, in deep thought, clasped his hands and propped up his elbows on the glass counter. The words 'my staff' were stuck in his head, implying that this old man is not only a bartender but also the owner of the nightclub. A manager, perhaps?

“This must be really hard for you.” Wynston said solemnly.

The old man waved his hand nonchalantly. “Nonsense. Already dealt worse than them. People like them don't get to live longer anyway so, yeah, business insurance's ready just in case.”

"You're sure confident, Mr......"

"Jax. Just call me Jax. No need to be formal." the old man called 'Jax' said in a friendly tone.

"Jax." the king cobra faunus repeated and smiled at him. "I can't even imagine myself surviving here like you do, Jax. Still, I'm worried what would happen to the bystanders if a gang war erupted all of a sudden."

"That's why it'll be prevented at any cost." Jax whispered the latter words to himself yet didn't escape the sharp ears of Wynston.

He must be that person

(WIP)