Kev headed back to his apartment, he had a few more hours to kill before the meeting, and he intended to use them wisely. He would read, he would practice his guitar, and he would prepare himself for the challenges that lay ahead. He was ready to prove his worth, to show everyone that he was more than just a pretty face or a "grabbable little thing."
However, the allure of the history books quickly faded as Kev struggled to make sense of the complex narratives and unfamiliar references. He longed for a simpler distraction, something to occupy his mind and ease the growing restlessness that plagued him. A documentary, a movie, a tv show… even a radio show would be easier to digest. With a sigh of resignation, he set the book aside and reached for his stash of herbs.
He rolled a joint, the familiar scent of the dried greens filling the air. He lit it, inhaling deeply, and let the soothing smoke wash over him. As the gentle buzz settled in, his anxieties began to melt away, replaced by a sense of peaceful contentment.
He wandered aimlessly around his apartment, wishing for anything to fill the silence. The absence of modern technology, once a novelty, was now starting to feel like a burden. He missed the mindless entertainment, the background noise that had always been a part of his life back on Earth.
He rolled another joint, seeking solace in the familiar ritual. As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, a knock at the door startled him. He glanced at his watch, surprised to see that it was already nearly 4pm.
He quickly stubbed out the joint and opened the door, revealing Horns standing on the threshold. The massive moose-man was in another of his seemingly identical suits, a stack of papers clutched in his massive hand. In his other hand was a plastic shopping bag filled with fruits and a stack of bagels.
"Ready for the meeting tonight?" Horns asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
Kev nodded, a nervous excitement fluttering in his chest. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, taking the groceries.
Horns settled onto the couch, placing the stack of papers on the coffee table with a thud. "You should probably get dressed, Kev," he advised, his voice carrying a hint of urgency. "Fang's already awake."
"Oh, right," Kev replied, snapping out of his daydream. "Thanks for reminding me." He disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later in a striking red suit. It fit him like a second skin, the vibrant color accentuating his fair complexion and blue eyes.
"Marybelle's a real pro," Kev commented, admiring his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he fixed his hair.
He joined Horns in the living room, taking a seat on the couch. "How was your night?" he asked, remembering his earlier request.
"Oh, you know, I dreamt about something cool… but I forgot what it was," he replied. "Now, tell me, how was your day?"
Kev recounted his explorations of the mansion and the backyard, his encounter with Cindy, and his conversation with Lanon. He shared his observations about the club's unique atmosphere and the dedication of its staff. Horns listened intently, occasionally interjecting with his own insights and anecdotes.
As the conversation flowed, Kev couldn't help but bring up the earlier incident with the city enforcers. "Was Fang really going to have someone be my bodyguard?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Horns chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated through the couch cushions. "He was dead serious about it," he admitted. "But Cindy managed to talk him out of it."
"She seems to have a lot of sway with him," Kev observed, remembering the respect and affection in Fang's voice when he spoke of the head of housekeeping.
"Cindy's been working for Fang's family since he was little," Horns explained. "She practically raised him. He trusts her implicitly."
"I didn't realize," Kev replied, a thoughtful expression on his face. "She looks great for her age."
Horns chuckled. "She gets to work downstairs and doesn't have to deal with Fang directly too often anymore," he explained. "Saves her a lot of stress."
Kev's curiosity shifted to another manager. "What about Lanon?" he asked. "He seems like a… unique kind of guy. I was surprised to see him here during the day."
"Lanon was brought on a few years back," Horns explained, taking a thoughtful drag from his joint. "The club's been evolving, adding different services to stay afloat amidst the attacks the city's been instigating."
He paused, a hint of admiration in his voice. "He's a real good manager. His workers have some of the hardest jobs in the place, and he makes sure they're well taken care of." Horns exhaled a plume of smoke. "I'm glad he handles his own staffing too. Saves me a lot of time and headaches."
Horns, stubbing out his joint in the ashtray, heaved himself up from the couch. "Well, I better go check on a few things before the meeting," he announced, collecting his papers. "Fang should be over to pick you up soon."
Kev settled back onto the couch, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar ritual. As he exhaled, a gentle knock echoed through the apartment. He smiled, knowing exactly who it was.
"Come in," he called out, his voice filled with a newfound warmth.
The door opened, and Fang stepped in, his presence filling the room with a subtle energy. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in an angular white suit accentuating his broad shoulders and powerful build. His amber eyes sparkled with a mix of anticipation and affection as he took in Kev's appearance.
Fang's gaze lingered on Kev, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the heat of the summer day. The red suit, tailored to perfection, accentuated Kev's slender frame and brought out the color in his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words he'd carefully prepared vanished from his mind, replaced by a simple, heartfelt compliment.
"Red looks good on you," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Kev's spine.
Kev's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Thank you," he replied, gesturing towards the couch. "Come sit with me while I finish my smoke."
Fang, his usual composure momentarily forgotten, eagerly accepted the invitation. He settled beside Kev, the plush cushions sinking beneath his weight. He draped his arm over the small human and leaned close. As Kev took a drag from his cigarette, Fang reached into his pocket and produced a small, velvet-lined box.
"I have something for you," he said, his voice a soft purr.
Kev's eyes widened as he opened the box, revealing a large, tightly sealed bag filled with a vibrant green herb. Its pungent aroma, a skunky mix of earthy musk and sweet citrus, filled the air, instantly captivating his senses.
"It's the special delivery I asked Ralph for," Fang explained, his voice laced with a hint of pride. "Supposedly some of the finest in the entire city."
Kev's heart skipped a beat. He'd enjoyed the casual smoke Horns had provided, but this... this was something else entirely. The sheer potency of the herb was evident just from its scent. He couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation, mixed with a touch of apprehension.
"Thank you, Fang," he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "This is... very generous."
Fang's grin widened. "Try some," he urged. "It'll help you relax."
Kev hesitated, glancing at his watch. "I'd love to," he admitted, "but I want to be sharp for the meeting. I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of the managers."
Fang chuckled. "Don't worry about that," he assured Kev. "You'll do fine. Besides," he added with a wink, "a little bit of this might even help you have even better ideas."
Kev still hesitated. "I don't want Reepia to stab me," he said, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.
Fang's laughter boomed through the apartment. "That's a valid concern," he agreed, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Kev carefully placed the bag of herb in his kitchen cabinet, a smile playing on his lips. He was touched by Fang's thoughtfulness, his willingness to indulge Kev's newfound appreciation for the finer things in life.
"I'm ready to head to the meeting," he announced, turning back to Fang with a determined glint in his eyes.
Out in the hallway, as Kev carefully locked his apartment door, a sense of anticipation mingled with a touch of nervousness settled in his stomach. He turned to Fang, his brow furrowed slightly.
"Where are we meeting?" he inquired, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty.
"The VIP table," Fang replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
Kev couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Is that really the best place for such an important meeting?" he questioned. "It seems a bit... informal."
Fang chuckled, a low rumble that reverberated through the hallway. "That's where I do all my meetings, Kev," he explained, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It's comfortable, and it's got a great view of the action."
He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at Kev. "Besides," he added, "I introduced you to everyone there last night. It's only fitting that we hold the meeting in a place where you already feel somewhat comfortable."
Fang led Kev through the dimly lit corridors of the club, their footsteps echoing. The placid quiet of the day was absent, replaced by the hurried sounds of preparation. Workers scurried about, their movements efficient and practiced, as they put the finishing touches on the club's transformation from sunny slumber to moonlit spectacle.
As they approached the bar, Kev noticed the VIP section had been rearranged. The usual plush booths had been replaced by a single, large table, its polished surface gleaming in the soft light of the chandeliers. The managers, a motley assortment of beastmen and beastwomen, were already gathered around it, engaged in animated conversations.
Kev also observed a subtle change in the security presence. Instead of a single bouncer guarding the velvet rope, there were now two: Twitch, the ferret man, and Skippy, the imposing kangaroo, stood side-by-side, their vigilant gazes scanning the room.
As Fang and Kev approached the VIP table, a palpable tension filled the air. The managers, who had been engrossed in discussion moments before, fell silent, their postures stiffening as they acknowledged their boss's presence. Twitch and Skippy, their eyes locked on Fang, stood at attention, their bodies radiating a nervous energy. It was clear that news of the previous night's incident had spread through the security ranks, and no one wanted to find themselves reassigned to perimeter duty with the hapless Barry.
Fang, his demeanor a mix of authority and restrained power, took his seat at the head of the table, Kev and Horns flanking him on either side. The other six managers, their faces a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, watched him expectantly. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft clinking of glasses and the distant crackling of torches.