Fang's gaze swept across the table, acknowledging each manager with a nod and a curt greeting. "Reepia. Dale. Rex. Cindy. Lanon. Asmodeus." His voice, though calm, carried an undercurrent of tension that hung heavy in the air.
"As you all know," he began, his tone businesslike, "we're here tonight to discuss a proposed change to our work schedule. A change that could have a significant impact on the club's operations and the lives of our employees." He paused, his eyes meeting each manager in turn. "I want to hear everyone's thoughts on this matter, openly and honestly. No holding back."
Reepia, ever the pragmatist, was the first to speak up. "It's a shit idea," she declared, her voice gruff and unwavering. "This club runs on a 24/7 schedule. We can't afford to have people taking days off willy-nilly. It'll disrupt the flow of the kitchen, create staffing shortages, and ultimately impact the quality of our food."
She forcefully stubbed out the last of the cigarette she had been smoking, her eyes narrowed in determination. "The kitchen is the stomach of the club," she continued, her voice rising slightly. "If it doesn't eat some days, the club will suffer."
She lit another cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that momentarily obscured her face. "We're not a charity, Fang," she concluded, her tone firm. "We're a business. And businesses need to prioritize productivity and efficiency. This idea is a recipe for disaster."
Dale, surprisingly, was the next to speak. "I'm actually in favor of it," he announced, his voice a calm counterpoint to Reepia's passionate outburst. "A day off might do us all some good."
He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've been bartending here for over a decade," he continued, his voice laced with a hint of weariness. "And I've seen firsthand the toll this job can take on people. The long hours, the late nights, the constant exposure to... well, you know." He gestured vaguely around.
"A day off would give us a chance to recharge, to spend time with our families, to pursue our own interests," he explained. "It might even make us better at our jobs in the long run. A happy bartender makes for happy customers, after all."
Lanon, ever the advocate for his staff, chimed in next. "I'm also in favor of this proposal," he declared, his voice smooth and persuasive. "My team, in particular, could benefit greatly from a regular day off."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a passionate intensity. "The work they do is emotionally and physically demanding," he explained. "They cater to the deepest desires of our clientele, often pushing their own boundaries in the process. A day off would give them a chance to recover, to reconnect with themselves, and to return to their duties with renewed energy and enthusiasm."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the table. "And let's not forget the potential benefits for the club's reputation," he added. "Offering our employees a better work-life balance would truly show what a progressive establishment we are… I know some of the staff here do not fully appreciate the progress we have made here."
Rex, the head of security, shifted in his seat, his expression growing increasingly impatient. When Lanon finally paused for breath, he seized the opportunity to interject.
"I'm against this whole idea," he declared, his voice a low growl that echoed through the room. "It's a recipe for disaster."
He leaned forward, his muscular arms resting on the table, his presence radiating an intimidating aura. "The security team needs to be on the same page. Always," he argued. "We can't afford to have people taking days off, especially not now, with the city breathing down our necks and the mafia sniffing around. Do you think this place will be safer if I'm not here every day?"
He gestured towards Kev, his eyes narrowing. "We just had a major security incident," he reminded them, his voice laced with a hint of accusation.
Asmodeus, his colorful feathers ruffled in agitation, chimed in with a dramatic flourish. "Hear, hear!" he exclaimed, his voice a melodic trill. "I, too, am against this paltry preposterous proposal!"
He stood dramatically, his beak clicking in disapproval. "A day off would disrupt the delicate balance of my musicians' schedules," he declared, his voice rising in pitch. "Their art requires constant practice, unwavering dedication. A single day away from their instruments would lead to a catastrophic decline in their performance. The very soul of the club would suffer!"
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the table. "Imagine the horror," he continued, his voice laced with theatrical despair, "a night at Club Fang without the sublime melodies that simulate the senses and provoke the passions. It would be a travesty, a desecration of all that we hold dear!"
Finally, Cindy, the head of housekeeping, spoke up, her voice a quiet but firm counterpoint to the passionate outbursts of her colleagues. "I'm in favor of the idea," she said simply.
She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. "I've been working for a long time," she continued, her voice soft but carrying a weight of experience. "Longer than any of you, I daresay." She looked up, her eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "The chance to spend an entire day at my own home, to see my family, to tend to my garden... it would be a revelation."
Her voice grew stronger, her posture straightening. "And I know I'm not alone," she added. "Many of my long-term cleaners feel the same way. We're loyal to this club, to you, Fang. But we also have lives outside these walls, lives that could flourish with attention."
Cindy's words, though quiet and measured, seemed to carry a surprising weight. The other managers, even the initially resistant ones, fell silent, their expressions thoughtful. It was clear that Cindy's opinion held sway, her decades of service and unwavering dedication earning her a respect that transcended her position.
Fang leaned back in his chair, a contemplative frown creasing his brow. "You've all made compelling arguments. Thank you," he acknowledged, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the room. He paused, his gaze lingering on Rex. "The potential impact on security is a particularly valid concern," he conceded, acknowledging the tiger-man's earlier point.
He then turned to Horns, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "And it seems our esteemed Chief of Staff doesn't want to weigh in with his own opinion on this matter," he observed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
Horns shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I'm happy to let democracy decide, boss," he replied.
Fang chuckled, his gaze returning to the assembled managers. "Very well then," he declared, his voice firm and decisive. "The final decision falls on me."
Fang's gaze softened as he turned to Kev. "Before I make my decision," he said, his voice a gentle rumble, "would you like to add anything to the discussion, Kev? It was your idea after all."
Kev took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the table, meeting the eyes of each manager in turn. "I apologize if any of you are upset with me for suggesting this change," he began, his voice sincere. "I understand it's a big ask, and it might disrupt the way things have always been done here."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I come from a different place," he continued, his voice gaining confidence, "a place where a job isn't a luxury, but a necessity. The human government doesn't readily provide housing or basic income for its people. For a human, a job means they won't starve or sleep in the rain."
He looked at each manager in turn, his gaze unwavering. "I didn't want to rock the boat," he admitted, "but I feel passionate about this. Humans fought and died for their basic work rights, and it feels... cruel and unusual to me if your employees… you, work without days off."
He took a deep breath, his voice filled with conviction. "It might be a big cultural change for the club, I know," he acknowledged. "But after the initial growing pains, I believe it will make us even better. The staff will be happier, healthier, and more motivated. And that will translate into a better experience for your customers."
Kev's gaze shifted to Horns. "The next time Fang fires a waitress," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "you'll have someone trained and ready to step in. No more asking others to cover a missing position."
He turned to Reepia, his voice calm and steady. "Your chefs will have a chance to visit other restaurants in the city, to learn new techniques, to expand their culinary horizons. Imagine the creativity and innovation that will bring to the kitchen!"
He looked at Asmodeus, a smile forming on his face. "Your musicians will be able to go to concerts, participate in community bands, or simply enjoy the silence for a change. They'll come back refreshed, their passion for music reignited."
Finally, his gaze settled on Rex. "And your security team," he said, his voice firm, "they'll be able to hit the gym, spend time with their loved ones, or even... find a mate." He winked playfully at the tiger-man.
Rex, unable to resist the opportunity to flirt, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "What day are you going to take off, human?" he purred, his voice a low rumble. "I'll take the same day off, and we can... find a mate together."
Fang's growl cut through the room like a whip crack. "Silence, cat!" he barked, his eyes flashing with a warning glint.
Rex, momentarily cowed, leaned back in his chair, a smirk still playing on his lips.
Fang took a deep breath, his composure returning. "Does anyone else have anything to add?" he asked, his gaze sweeping across the table, his tone inviting further discussion.
Reepia puffed on her cigarette, her frustration evident in the rapid succession of exhales. "Just agree with your human and make it so," she grumbled, her voice thick with smoke. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, and marched towards the kitchen, her apron flapping behind her like a banner of defiance.
"Please, everyone," Fang said, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "Don't hold back. This is the time to make your opinions known."
Rex, his initial resistance seemingly waning, leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look on his face. "I'll do whatever the boss says," he finally conceded, his voice a low rumble. "But I still think it's a risky move."
Asmodeus, his feathers ruffled in agitation, tapped his beak thoughtfully. "I hadn't considered the possibility of attending other performances," he mused, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "Perhaps there is some merit to this idea after all."
Fang's gaze swept across the table once more, taking in the varied expressions of his managers. The decision was still far from unanimous, but it was made.
Fang cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "If there are no further objections," he announced, his voice carrying a note of finality, "we will move forward with this on a trial run basis. However, I don't want it implemented until after the auditors from the mafia visit. We need all hands on deck for that event."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the table once more. "After that, we'll give this a month-long probationary period. We'll monitor productivity, staff morale, and overall club performance. Then, we'll have another meeting to decide whether or not to continue with the new schedule."
Dale, a surprised smile playing on his lips, raised his glass in a mock toast. "That sounds strangely well-reasoned, Fang," he quipped. "Kev's been rubbing off on you, I see."
Cindy patted Dale's shoulder affectionately. "Sounds like you might not need to be as worried for the pup anymore," she said, her voice filled with warmth.
Asmodeus, his feathers rustling with impatience, stood up abruptly. "Horns," he declared, his voice a melodic trill, "you can handle the audition arrangements for my department. I must get ready for the stage." He turned to Kev with a dramatic flourish. "Farewell, my human friend. I eagerly await our next musical encounter." With that, he swept out of the VIP section, leaving a trail of exotic scents in his wake.
Rex, his predatory gaze lingering on Kev, couldn't resist one last flirtatious remark. "Let me know what day you take off, Kev. I'll make sure to clear my schedule."
He winked, then sauntered away, his muscular frame disappearing into the crowd.
Dale, shaking his head in amusement, rose from his seat. "A whole day off," he mused, a wistful smile on his face. "A day where I don't have to see drunken, horny beasts stumbling around and spilling their drinks on my bar. It sounds too good to be true."
He patted Kev's shoulder gently. "Good job with the boss, kid," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "You're doing fine."
With a final nod, he returned to his post behind the bar, leaving Kev and Fang alone with Cindy.
Cindy, her expression softened by a grateful smile, reached across the table to take Kev's hand. "Thank you, Kev," she said, her voice sincere. "I think you're right, this will be a wonderful thing, for everyone."
Kev returned her smile, his heart warmed by her approval. "I haven't done much yet," he protested modestly.
"Oh, but you have," Cindy insisted. "You're already making a difference, Kev. Don't underestimate yourself."
With a final squeeze of Kev's hand, Cindy rose from her seat and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Kev and Fang alone in the quiet booth.
Kev looked at Fang, a surprised smile playing on his lips. "That was quick," he remarked, his voice laced with a hint of admiration. "I thought the meeting might take longer."
There's no reason to drag it out," Fang replied, his gaze meeting Kev's. "We've heard everyone's opinions, weighed the pros and cons, and made a decision. The nice thing about having a tight-knit team is that we can move quickly when we need to."
"Now," he said, rising from his seat and extending a hand towards Kev, "let's go get those herbs you left in your room. Now that the meeting's over, you can finally indulge in a bit of relaxation."