Chapter Text
The Marker’s wheel spun loudly, the clicking repetitive and grating on the ears of anyone not betting. Smoke clung to the painted walls, some acrid and some sweet, and Tsukishima wrinkled his nose against both of them. The Crow Club didn’t have a policy against smoking, nor did it have one against just about any substance use. The only rules here applied to cheating and fighting, neither of which tended to apply to Tsukishima.
Sadly, he had his own orders, which had nothing to do with cheating. They consisted, mostly, of keeping customers happy and recommending the most expensive drinks he could make. Such as-
“Two Crow Cocktails and make it snappy.”
Tsukishima nearly swore, but instead bit his tongue and nodded. He couldn’t afford to piss off any more customers, not with Daichi breathing down his neck. He’d gotten an earful last week for calling a customer a thick-headed boar when he tried to order a virgin whiskey. Which, in Tsukishima’s eyes, was a perfectly reasonable assessment.
He grabbed the ingredients and slid them down to Yamaguchi, his fellow bartender. They’d been making drinks together for upwards six years now, both learning too young to stay off the streets of Ketterdam and the Reaper’s Barge. They hadn’t started mixing drinks, but it was deft hands and sharp eyes that caught them the job.
“No.” The man, with terribly dyed hair that made Tsukishima grateful to be naturally blond, was shaking his head. “You make them.” He pointed at Tsukishima, who felt the edges of a headache coming on.
“Sorry?”
“It’s not that loud in here,” the customer said, disdain dripping off of his already slurred voice. “Make my damn drinks.”
Tsukishima gritted his teeth behind closed lips, trying to control his breathing. He would not physically or verbally attack this man. He would make his drinks, and get his money. Another drunk pigeon throwing wads of kruge at the betting tables to pay for Tsukishima’s books and tea.
“Of course,” he forced out, pasting a pained smile on his face. Yamaguchi wordlessly slid the bottles back towards him with a concerned look, which Tsukishima ignored. He mixed the drinks as fast as humanly possible, making a small mess, but he couldn’t care less. He wanted this guy to go back to his gambling and stop bothering him.
He poured the finished drinks, placed them on the counter, and held out his hand for the money. The man snorted.
“Babe, these are on the house.”
Babe?
“ Excuse me ,” Tsukishima spat out, reeling. Yamaguchi was snickering behind him, concern evidently forgotten. “No they are not .”
“Says who?”
“Says- says me! You have to pay for your drinks, that’s how it works!”
The man pouted, sticking out a pierced bottom lip. Tsukishima physically recoiled.
“C’mon specs, gimme a chance!”
Yamaguchi flat out laughed, hanging onto the bar for support as Tsukishima got redder and redder. The man started to smile again, this time triumphant, and Tsukishima lashed out.
“Get out of my face you ass, and pay for your drinks.”
The man’s smile disappeared, and confusion took its place. The headache worsened.
“I thought we had something, specs.”
“Call me that again and I’ll break your fingers.”
The man flinched back to Tsukishima’s delight, finally looking scared. He threw his money down on the counter and grabbed one of the drinks.
“Other one’s for you,” he said with an attempt at a charming smile, obviously trying to salvage the situation. His sleazy smile, drooping eyelids, and piss-colored hair only made things worse, and Tsukishima allowed himself a sharp grin that promised danger. According to Hinata it was “bad enough to scare a sea serpent away from a whale.”
“Get out of my sight,” he ordered.
The man scurried away with his drink, leaving the other one, and Tsukishima sighed. What a waste, no one but pigeons drank the crappy cocktails. Well, except for-
“Tsukishima!” The orange hurricane whirled into one of the seats, eyes glowing unnaturally in the dim lighting. A drum started playing in Tsukishima’s skull. “Someone forgot their drink?”
“Yes,” he said, not in the mood to explain the whole situation. “Take it.”
Hinata whooped loudly, easily cutting through the conversations at the bar, and snatched the drink.
“Looks like the job went well,” Yamaguchi called over, shaking a drink for a lovey couple who looked very involved with each other. Tsukishima wrinkled his nose at the sight.
“It did!” Hinata downed the drink. “Oikawa’s face was priceless, you should have seen it! He was all ‘ ehhh ?’ And Kageyama was like ‘ whoosh ’ and-.”
“Where is the King?” Tsukishima asked, trying to ignore the annoying shitface from a few moments ago. The offending man was staring openly at the bar, and when he made eye contact with Tsukishima, his face lit up and he winked. Tsukishima’s blood boiled.
“Taking a piss, probably, he kept complaining about all the bathrooms being closed. Got another one of these?” Hinata held up the empty glass, and Yamaguchi got to it before Tsukishima could smash it against his head and end his suffering.
“Coming right up. Tsuki, can you handle-?”
“Already done.” He swept behind Yamaguchi, ignoring Hinata’s squawk about being ignored, and took the massive storm of costumed customers coming in through the doors. He didn’t recognize a single face behind the masks and elaborate makeup, and felt a lone spike of triumph through the headache and overall discomfort. The Crow Club had been turning up more and more profits in the past years, thanks to Kaz Brekker and his unwavering passion, if it could be called that. Ruthless greed seemed a little more accurate.
He made drink after drink, didn’t fall into any small talk traps, opened and closed tabs, and counted kruge contentedly. This wasn’t even counting the tip jar, which was near overflowing thanks to Yamaguchi’s faux kindness and Tsukishima’s efficiency. Imps and creatures and brides waltzed to and fro, caught between drinks and the allure of the tables. Why let a few pieces of cloth and metal decide one’s fate Tsukishima didn’t get, but it paid him so he kept his mouth shut.
“So,” a familiar, unwelcome voice drawled, and Tsukishima eyed the corkscrew longingly, stuck between gouging his brain out through his nose, and killing this bastard with it, “are you free later?”
“What part of ‘get out of my face you ass’ didn’t stick?” Tsukishima hissed, straightening up to full height. He debated rolling his sleeves up, but that seemed tacky. He could take this guy in a fight, he could take most of Ketterdam in a one on one brawl, but there wasn’t a need to advertise that. Flaunting one’s brawn didn’t make them any better at breaking noses or calculating the right angle to snap a radial bone.
“C’mon babe, you know we have something,” the man purred, or tried to purr. He sounded like he had a head cold. Tsukishima tried to catch the attention of the table this drunkard had been gambling at, but all his friends seemed more invested in the cards.
“Stop calling me that and leave me alone.” He didn’t threaten to kick the guy out, because for some reason that ‘lowered the reputation of the club’ and ‘could put a dent in profits.’ The idiot would have to make a move first to get himself kicked out.
“Don’t be like that,” the man groaned, leaning over the bar. Tsukishima took a step back, wrinkling his nose. “I want you.”
“Hell no,” Tsukishima snapped, taking another repulsed step back. A break was sounding like the best thing in the world at the moment, but this creep would probably follow him. The thought made his stomach shrivel. “Either order or get away from me.”
“Why do you keep shooting me down? Am I ugly?”
Between the excessive piercings, broom-like hair, slightly inebriated speech, and tattoo of a rival gang on the inside of his elbow, Tsukishima could not have found him less attractive. He’d seen corpses with a better personality, at least they knew when to shut up.
He could outright say yes, he was uglier than a literal corpse, and risk starting a fight even if it also might get the guy to go away. Option two was to ignore him, but Tsukishima had a feeling this guy wouldn’t take kindly to that. Option three was to not give in and continue to tell him to leave, but the thought made his already aching throat worsen and would make him look desperate.
Option two it was.
He turned away from the shit-faced Hyena, the tattoo he’d spotted boasting that gang affiliation proudly, and grabbed a dirty glass to rinse and clean. As expected, the man took that as a sign that he needed to try harder, and he managed to sprawl his body even further across the bar.
“Is it because we don’t know one another? We can fix that honey. I’m Terushima!”
Tsukishima said nothing, the name filling in the blanks. He was a high level grunt with the Hyenas, usually watching cargo and sticking his dick in anything that stood still long enough. If anyone thought of Barrel filth, their first would be of him and his pack. But there was no denying his reputation for doing dirty work between parties, and he was dependable in a fight if word in the street meant anything.
“You’re so sexy,” Terushima groaned, sprawled out across the bar. He didn’t seem very strong and competent in any regard. A patron nearby wrinkled her powdered nose, and Tsukishima agreed strongly. The smell of jurda and mixers wafting off of her made his stomach turn, and he agreed with her a little less.
“Why won’t you talk to me, we could make it work. I’d let you do anything you wanted, promise.”
That was the last straw, and he’d finally closed the tab with what looked to be the last customer in the massive line. Tsukishima turned tail and stalked to the other end of the bar where Yamaguchi was chatting with Hinata and, oh, there was the King. He had a swath of white bandages on his cheek, but otherwise looked content, sipping on a whiskey soda by the looks of it.
“Making friends?” Yamaguchi said when he stalked over, grinning innocently.
“King, can you kick his ass? I’m not allowed to.”
“Why would I?” The squaller glared at him, sporting the beginning of a black eye. Strange, usually Hinata came home with more injuries.
“That’s Terushima. Hyena.”
“So?” Kageyama took another sip and leaned to look at Tsukishima’s broom-headed stalker. “He’s not doing anything wrong, and we’re on good terms with the Hyenas.”
“Since when?”
“Since they agreed to pay what they’d stolen in jurda,” Hinata chimed in, something fruity and sweet nestled in his hand. “Terushima was the one to bring us the money after all.”
“He’s pissing me off,” Tsukishima tried, and was met with three snorts. “Don’t give me that crap, he’s trying to- to get me alone!”
“I’d do it,” Hinata said at once, lighting up. “I’ve heard he’s hung .”
“That’s disgusting,” Yamaguchi said as Kageyama barked out a pained laugh. “Didn’t he fuck a goat?”
“No, that was a Dime Lion rumor,” Hinata argued. “He’s clean!”
“Clean as a sewer,” Tsukishima muttered.
“If you’re not going to, I will.”
“You can’t, you’re on barge patrol tomorrow,” Kageyama reminded him, and Hinata slumped.
“Tsukishima, you have to do this. For me.”
“I don’t have to do shit. And I’m not even attracted to guys, so double no!”
“Please,” Hinata begged, and Tsukishima rolled his eyes.
“Hey, glasses, I’m headed out.” Terushima was supported between a small woman and a tall man, giving him the look of a lopsided scarecrow. “Come find me, Kay?”
“Go sober up,” was Tsukishima’s mature response. He had bigger things to worry about, like the look Daichi was giving him across the bar. It wasn’t angry, thankfully, but it had an expectant air that meant tomorrow night he wouldn’t be here at the bar.
“Aww, you do care,” Terushima slurred out, eyes so unfocused Tsukishima half expected them to roll out of his head. “I’ll see you again.”
“Let’s hope not,” the female companion butted in, before Tsukishima could say it. “I’m sorry about him. Have a good night.”
“You as well,” Yamaguchi said with a bright smile. The man nodded, dropped a wad of kruge into the tip jar, and they stumbled out the door together. Yamaguchi’s smile slid from his face. “I hate customer service.”
“Well, you’re going to despise your jobs tomorrow then,” Daichi said, sliding into the barstool nearby. He was wearing a nice shirt and slacks, meaning he’d just come back from Brekker’s upstairs lair. He was one of the higher ups, a Dreg who’d been with the gang before Brekker renovated it.
“Why?” Yamaguchi dared to ask.
“Wraith’s already on a job and Brekker needs people to shadow the incoming pigeons tomorrow night, especially with tensions with Oikawa and Ushiwaka so high.”
Tsukishima groaned, already able to see where this was going.
“You two are out on the street,” Daichi confirmed. Tsukishima hated being out there, his job was to mix drinks and glare at people until they coughed up what they hadn’t already gambled, not patrol rowdy drunks and talk to people.
“Hey, you’ll get to see us out there,” Hinata chirped. Like that was any consolation.
“Don’t be like that Tsuki, it’ll be like old times!”
“Shut up Yamaguchi,” he grumbled, eyeing the corkscrew yet again. But he had a feeling that if he killed himself with it, Brekker would find a way to revive his body as punishment. A shiver went down his spine at the thought.
“At least you get to sleep in,” Kageyama said, disgust lacing his voice. “I’m stuck on shipment duty for a week.”
“That’s on you, squaller.”
“Fuck off.” Kageyama stood, stretching his arms above his head languidly. His movements were stiffer than usual, Tsukishima noted. “I’m going to bed.”
“Already? The sun just set!”
“Which one of us fell off of a building?”
“Uh, both of us?”
Kageyama threw his hands up in defeat, not without a wince, and stalked towards the stairs.
“You fell off a roof?” Yamaguchi asked. His sleeves had been rolled up at some point during the night, exposing the tattoos on his arms. There was his crow one, necessary for all of the Dregs, but he also had a map of constellations scattered across his body. One was bandaged right now, the one closest to his left elbow.
“Oikawa pushed me off of some mercher’s house,” Hinata grumped. “The idiot had to catch me and forgot to catch himself.”
That explained the bruises.
“And you still got the documents?”
“Oh yeah, he didn’t have any backup. He’s probably still up there with a knife in his arm.”
“You left him there?” Tsukishima admonished.
“Well yeah,” Hinata snapped back, “what was I supposed to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Tsukishima put on a look of mock thinking. “What should I do if I incapacitate a rival gang leader? Should I, A, leave him to be found and cared for or B, kill him?”
“ Kill him ?” Hinata shrieked, somehow not disturbing the patrons around him. Yamaguchi clapped his hands over ears. “And start a war?”
“It would not start a war,” Tsukishima deadpanned, ears ringing. “We killed that one Shiratorizawa leader and nothing happened.”
“Because we did it in secret ,” Hinata whispered indignantly, and Tsukishima got the impression of a kitten hissing at a snake. “And it’s supposed to stay that way.”
“No one in here gives a shit,” he responded, ignoring Daichi’s quiet chastisement of “language.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Hinata sniffed haughtily, and Tsukishima rolled his eyes so hard he saw the gods.
“Right. Go fall off another building.”
“With pleasure.” Hinata flounced from his seat out into the gambling hall, giving one of the marker wheel’s a cheeky spin. Suga, who was manning the table, grinned at him as he passed, and Tsukishima’s heart shuddered when Hinata smiled back. He had a wicked smile disguised as innocent; a deceptive little devil wrapped in angel wings. A crow masquerading as a dove.
He hated this job.