Staff Meetings Are Brutal
Written as a fan contribution for Spirits of Raleigh by ParanoidFighter
A staff meeting. They were having a fucking staff meeting. An actual, honest-to-whoever'd-listen staff meeting.
The frustration hung heavy in the air, an undercurrent so overt it could be cut with a knife. And there were a lot of knives sitting around that table.
John narrowed his eyes as he stood up and overlooked his motley crew of time-tested shadowrunners. And the empty seat. "Has anyone seen Hi-Jinx? She was supposed to be here."
Reina shook her head. "Not seen her today."
"Well that's just great." He scowled. "She especially needed to hear this, but I'll make sure to catch up with her later."
That had an eyebrow or two raising around the room as John cleared his throat. "First of all, I want to remind everyone here that we are professionals and we are shadowrunners. We are not a social club and, honestly, it's a risk that all of you are so friendly with each other in the first place. Don't think I don't know what you're doing when you're not on runs. I know who lives with who... but that's not for today." His tone was sharp. "I called you all here today because it has recently been brought to my attention," he said slowly, looking from runner to runner, "that there has been a whole host of jobs being turned down. Sometimes up to twenty a month. Does anyone care to explain this?"
Asshole, said the undercurrent.
John cleared his throat. "I want answers and we aren't leaving this room until I get them. I want to know why these jobs are being turned down and someone in this room has these answers."
Eight set of eyes swung over to stare at the Barkeep.
"Have you considered that a lot of these jobs are bullshit?" Reina asked. "They're the shit we send the new girls out to cut their teeth on — and they're the jobs we'd make harder by tipping off security in advance. There's nothin' to those jobs that's worth—"
"It's not worth anything because you aren't getting paid," John fumed. "Sasha," he turned and looked at the Decker who was clearly bored out of his mind. "What do you know about this?"
Sasha slowly raised a manicured eyebrow. "Enough to know that I ought to thank whoever's not sending me out to do DDOS jobs."
"Any particular reason you turned that down? Should've been a walk in the park for you." John's voice was clipped.
"Because it's not worth it. Simple as."
The Barkeep's eyes narrowed but he took a slow breath before looking over at Aoi. "What about you?"
She blinked owlishly and tilted her head. "What about me?"
"Have you been turning down any jobs?"
A slow shake of her head. "Not many jobs for a shaman that don't involve wine moms who want their palms read by a yogi who can also talk to the ghosts in their house."
"Sounds like a load of bullshit," Tahoma said as he glanced down to the dwarf.
"Because it is a load of bullshit," Aoi agreed, clearly frustrated with the steadier part of her income. "I show up, wiggle my fingers, say some spooky stuff, and then suddenly all the ghosts are gone and everything's fine again. There weren't even any ghosts in the house!" She sighed. "There's not even a single pissed off sprite..."
Tahoma paused, listening, a water glass halfway to his mouth. He lowered the glass and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he contemplated a new career path. It'd be easy enough to sell the persona — he'd just need to switch out his suits for something more dirt-stained, muss up his hair, and roll around in a patch of shit-smelling herbs to really complete the picture. Yes, this could work—
"What about you?" John asked. "You been turning down any jobs recently?"
"Nothing for your operation." Tahoma's voice was as slick as his coiffed hair.
"How about you, George?" John turned away from Tahoma and stared at his Rigger.
George shook his head. "I've been doing doubles for the last two months; no way I'd have time for another job, let alone a shadowrun."
Another slow breath from the Barkeep as he turned to face his next runner who was even less of his runner than Tahoma.
"Geoff—"
"Yeah, no. I've been busy tracking down and arresting the other runners taking the jobs you're asking us about. You're welcome."
John squared his jaw and looked over at Vincent.
The elf calmly returned the stare, impassive as marble, as he waited for John to speak.
Suddenly deciding better, John turned and looked down at the last member of his Cabinet. "Zelig," he practically bit off the syllables, "what do you know about this?"
Zelig, hunkered down in his seat between Vincent and Sasha, slowly looked up to John. "I know a lot, actually."
"And?"
"And I've been keeping track of these for months now. At first, I'd send out a job or two and—"
"And what?" John interjected sharply.
"And you can clearly see how those jobs were received." Zelig's voice was low but firm.
John looked away from the bartender and to the rest of the Cabinet—
"I pushed for those jobs, you know; I asked nicely and everything." Zelig sat up a little straighter. "But after the fifth decline, I asked why. And you know what? Everyone gave me a valid reason for why they said no. High risk hacks for little pay, someone wanting revenge on a someone else over a fender bender, all shit like that! All the stupid, petty shit that's just not worth it."
Sasha glanced to his left; Zelig may have a bit of a pottymouth, but he rarely raised his voice in anything akin to anger.
"I turned down all of those jobs, John. Almost every single job that comes our way that requires only one or two of the runners, because they just aren't worth it."
"And who are you to decide that?" Came John's icy tone.
"Me." Zelig finally sat up straight and leaned forward, an arm on the table, as he stared up at his employer. "The person you hired to run your bar. The person that knows what your crew will and won't do. The person who listens day in and day-fucking-out to the local drunks telling the same shitty stories, mops up spills near hushed conversations, and hears every goddamn thing that's said in this building."
Another glance from Sasha, but this one more out curiosity; was Zelig being hyperbolic or was he actually listening to every conversation?
"I hired you to run my bar," John agreed, "but not my crew, so I'm asking you one more time, Zelig: who are you to decide what my crew does?"
"John," Vincent finally spoke up, "I think this is—"
"No, Vincent," Zelig never took his eyes from John. "This is something John clearly wanted to do publicly, so let's do this." He turned in his chair, his back to Vincent, as he faced the Barkeep.
John's brown eyes were practically slits as he stared at the relatively recent — and suddenly mouthy — addition to his crew. "You've overstepped yourself, Zelig."
"I'm sorry," his apology was genuine.
"You've nothing to apologize for!" Reina gnashed her tusks as she stared between the bartender and the Barkeep. "Listen to him, John; he's doing us — and you! — a favor. If we went on all these bullshit runs, we'd never have time for the bigger ones that actually make us money. Serious money."
"The planning for those runs is my job," John said calmly, "so you should have plenty of time—"
"Uh, John?" George was glancing down at his watch. "speaking of time, I really gotta go here in about fifteen minutes if I'm going to make it to work on time."
"Same." Geoff said from the back of the room, leaning around Vincent's back to stare at the Barkeep.
"Quiet!" John snarled as he pointed at Zelig. "You have no right and no authority to decide what my crew does and does not do. Do you understand me? From here on out, we are discussing every job and I will decide what we do. Are we clear?"
Zelig picked up a pint glass with a shaking hand and sipped the water. He slowly placed the glass back down on the table, a few droplets splashing onto the wood that were wiped away with a towel pulled seemingly from nowhere. He then looked back up to John, his pale face a careful display of professionalism. "Crystal, sir." He then glanced around the table. "Since we have everyone here, we can run through these jobs together—"
"No," George all but wailed, "I have to go soon!"
Clearing his throat, the formerly certified project manager stood up and pulled his notebook out from his inner vest pocket. "You want to run through the jobs, John? Fine. Let's do this now. Backlog refinement time."
John, fuming at the turn of events, remained standing as he fumed at the audacious display...
"Job 1, Saturday 8:39 pm: Steal diamond ring from ex wife. Milford Apartments. Total pay: 2500 CAS."
"Fuck that; the ammo used by their front desk security's more expensive than that payout." Reina looked back to John. "Can you let this shit go already? These are all just hazing jobs, not shadowruns."
"Job 2, Saturday 9:43 pm," Zelig continued as if Reina hadn't spoken, "and I quote 'get me a fuckin' pizza,' as said to—"
"Oh, that asshole," Reina scowled; "I threw his ass out that night." She glanced to the rest of the Cabinet. "I was covering for Paola," she explained to a sea of nodding heads.
"That's just two jobs," John held out his hand. "Give me that notebook. You're just cherrypicking shit to prove—"
"Job 3," Zelig didn't move, "Sunday, 11:59 pm: break into a safety deposit box in the vault of—"
John snatched the notebook out of Zelig's hand — a movement that had multiple runners sitting up a little straighter. He began flipping through the pages, determined to find something to hammer the bartender about, but all he saw was page after page of scrawl.
"I write in code," Zelig frowned, "in case I get jumped and that notebook gets taken."
"It's a good code," Sasha took the notebook back from John and returned it to Zelig, "even with the cypher, I still can't read his handwriting."
"Enough of this shit," John was fuming. "You fucked up, Zelig. You are not in a position of leadership. You don't get to decide—"
Tahoma stood up at that. "Look, Barkeep," he smiled his signature smile, "I think this is a little too intense for what's going on. We're talking about the little jobs that we all know we wouldn't do. And why would we? We've all done the big jobs that you've arranged and we've done them all well. In fact, because of how well you've planned everything out, we pulled those runs off so well that our names as runners have been steadily making themselves known. Because of you, all of us here could now make a decent living all on our own as individual runners. It's also worth pointing out that some of us even have legit jobs and pay taxes—"
"Idiots."
"Shut it, Sasha." Geoff hissed through clenched teeth, visibly seething at the recent turn of events.
"—point being, we're all here because we enjoy the work that you give us, Barkeep. We enjoy the challenge. We enjoy working with you. For you. And your bartender knows this. He's showing both his respect to us as well as common sense by not sent us jumping after every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes our way. By Zelig shutting these things down before they can even start, he's helping keep up our reputation by making us an exclusive group while also reducing any chance of unnecessy reputational damage. On top of that, he's making sure that we've got the availability for those jobs you meticulously plan and we execute. The fact Zelig's taken it upon himself to spare you the frustration of dealing with the grown-up version of "he kicked sand on my shoes; go push him over" requests that inevibitably come with increased infamy," his words were honey — thick and sweet, they flowed, enveloped, and ultimately trapped his victim... "should be a relief to you. You don't have to be distracted by something you already knew you wouldn't send your crew out to do."
"I know that," John glared at the smooth-talking conman.
Tahoma kept his expression naturally fixed, even going so far as to make sure he held his head at just the right angle to let the overhead lighting put a sparkle in his otherwise flat eyes. He knew he had gotten under John's skin; he could practically see the honey at his feet.
"But," John's voice softened ever-so-slightly, "I should still be the one to make that call. These people are asking about my crew—" he turned to look back at Zelig, only for Reina to slam her fist down on the table.
"You even fuckin' listening to yourself?" She pointed a finger at John; the slight change in his tone not enough to dampen her own anger with the situation. "Zel's savin' you a massive fuckin' headache with a few seconds of common fuckin' sense. Quit rippin' the guy a new asshole for doing the exact same shit you'd do."
"Do I need to remind you of your own contract, Reina?" John scowled, Tahoma's flattery already a forgotten memory.
"Maybe you fuckin' do, 'cause I don't remember it sayin' anythin' about staff meetings, let alone ones where you're fuckin' abusin' your bartender!"
"Enough." John took a step back from the table. "Zelig, we will talk about this later. For now, leave—"
"No." Sasha said quietly as he pulled a small whetstone across one of his claws. "You may be pissed off, but it's not all Zelig's fault." He admired the newly honed point. "We also—" John stood, silently glaring at the glares leveled his way, before he turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the reinforced metal.
The Cabinet sat in silence as they heard John stomping his way out of the basement, then across the bar itself. After the front doors closed, they let out a collective breath they had been holding as they looked around the room.
"Well, that was not what I wanted to do today." Tahoma sighed. "I was expecting to start planning for the next big job." He glanced over at Zelig, mouth twitching as if to say something, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he let out a slow breath and made his way to the door. "I'll see all of you later."
"Later," they all said as the elf walked out of the room.
"Man, John is such a jerk," George sighed as he made his way to the door, stopping by Zelig's chair as he went. "Don't let him get to you, Zel; we appreciate what you're doing. He'll get over it." He gave the man a smile and a pat on the back before he, too, left the room.
Aoi was next to step away from the table. "Like Tahoma, I thought this was a planning meeting..." She shook her head as she picked up one of the muffins Sasha had brought. "Waste of time, except for getting confirmation's John's an ass if someone else thinks for themselves."
"We're not the fuckin' military," Reina scowled, "you'd think he'd know that by now. We don't jump 'cause he said jump. And we sure as shit don't ask how high without knowin' why we're jumpin' in the first place." She, too, took a muffin. Unlike Aoi, though, Reina leaned back in her seat and took a bite as Aoi scuttled from the room. "Seriously, Zel: fuck John. Man's a bastard."
"You better be glad this room's not bugged," Sasha said as he handed Zelig a wrapped muffin. "I'd hate to see the temper tantrum John'd throw if he heard us talking shit."
"Like I give a fuck!" Reina said around a mouthful of blueberry lemon zest crumbs, "I'd kick his ass if he started shit."
"You're not supposed to attack your boss," Zelig's voice was soft, shaking, and growing more hollow by the second, "it's not a great look when security comes in. Happened in the next aisle over."
"And fuck your old workplace, while we're at it."
Sasha nodded in agreement with Reina's interjection as he opened the muffin wrapper. "C'mon, it's cardamom."
Zelig blinked slowly before just-as-slowly looking around the room as he trembled, fingers clenching and unclenching as his breathing shortened into quick, ragged gasps.
Vincent rubbed Zelig's shoulder and looked over at Geoff. "I know your shift's starting soon; don't worry about here. We'll take care of him."
Geoff nodded slowly and stood up. He gave his boyfriend a kiss before placing a warm hand on Zelig's shoulder. Zelig, however, could only blink at the muffin Sasha had just put into his twitching hands, all but unaware of the world around him as he began to hyperventilate.
Unwanting to leave but unable to stay, Geoff gave Zelig's shoulder a squeeze before walking out of the room...
Reina leaned forward, concerned now, as she looked between Sasha, Vincent, and the now-gasping Zelig. "Do we need to get him to Frangelico?"
Vincent shook his head. "Not at this point, but if you wouldn't mind letting her know Zelig may be visiting soon, that would be very appreciated."
Reina nodded and stood up. "Will do." She glanced at the bartender as he rocked on the very stationary wooden chair. "Breathe, camarero. Y'stood up to a bastard; be proud of that." She gave Zelig her most encouraging smile before she, too, left the room.
Sasha looked over at the door and then back to Vincent and Zelig. "You sure about Claire? He seems bad off."
"He is," Vincent agreed as he gently rubbed Zelig's back, "but anything she could give him would just make it worse. We found that out the hard way a few times."
"So... what do we do?"
"Leave here, for starters, although I'm not sure how now that Geoff's driven away. I only have my motorcycle and that is not a bike designed for two." He glanced at the watch on his wrist and sighed. "And I do not want to call for a taxi, not from here; it's nearing rush hour—"
The bartender made a strange hiccuping gasp as he started to lurch for the door, only for Vincent and Sasha to gently push him back down into his seat.
"Like hell you're working tonight." Sasha said firmly, once again handing the man the muffin he specifically baked for him. "John wants to run shit himself so badly, let him run his own damn bar for a few days."
"Good idea, actually," Vincent stood up and pulled out his phone. "I'm going to let him know that is what is going to happen." He placed a hand on Zelig's back. "I will be back in a few minutes. I promise."
Another strange hiccup, but Zelig slowly nodded as he looked down at the muffin.
The door opened and closed almost imperceptibly as Zelig carefully pinched off part of the confection. "I don't like getting yelled at," his voice was too breathy, too pitchy, "it just—it just—it—"
Sasha placed the bar towel over Zelig's lap as he watched the man's roving eyes and listened to the rapid breathing. "It's done, though," Sasha said as calmly as he could, "and you've got us backing you up. John won't do that again, not if he wants to keep his crew. I think he just learned that we'd walk out on him if he pushes us too far. Because we will. And he knows we'd be just fine without him."
Zelig whimpered at that, but Sasha shook his head.
"He's already got someone with a book full of jobs waiting for a crew, remember?" Sasha gave Zelig a gap-toothed grin. "You're a threat to him now and he can't handle that." His tone was light, joking, but scathing all the same.
"I don't want his job."
"After tonight, I don't think he does, either. Did you see how Reina was about to jump across the table at him?"
A hiccup that sounded almost like Zelig's dry wheeze of a laugh. "I like Reina."
"She likes you, too; we all do, Zel." He picked up the piece of muffin off the towel on Zelig's lap and placed it back on the table, all too aware Zelig was unaware he had even dropped it. "Would some coffee be better at this point?"
"Yes but no," a smile twitched across the man's face as he looked around. "Don't need caffeine. Not now."
"You sure? I think you'd be able to beat my typing speed with a cup in you."
Another wheezing hiccup.
"C'mon, have a bite. Get some food in you; have you eaten anything today?"
A slow shake of his head as he picked up the muffin once more, only for it to fall out of his shaking hand and land on the towel across his lap. His expression tightened, his eyes glassy, as he hugged himself with white-knuckled ferocity.
Sasha said nothing as he put the muffin back on the table before placing his hand on Zelig's back and turning his eyes to the door. There were no mics or cameras stashed away in this part of the building, but oh, what he'd give to listen to Vincent laying into Joh—
"—I don't give a shit," Vincent opened the door, still on the phone, "and if you want to keep your crew, I highly suggest you rethink how you handle your crew. The only person who truly works for you is Zelig and he can legally walk away from you in ways that would ensure the courts — and your own contacts — will never leave you alone." Vincent paused, listening, before he scowled. "Work the bar yourself; Zelig will be back on Monday. And don't you dare call him and try to continue this conversation after I hang up. I will know if you do. And I will not be happy." He then ended the call before John could retaliate.
Sasha glanced up at the elf. "Well that sounded like fun."
"I think he sees reason now," was all Vincent said before he looked down at the motionless bartender. "Zel," he walked over and gently touched the man's shoulder with his fingertips, a light touch that still had Zelig bolting upright with wild eyes, "think you'll be able to go for a walk soon? Going outside will help."
The bartender tried to speak, but the only sound escaping his lips was his wheezing.
"Where are you looking to go?" Sasha asked.
"Think the Sweet Spot's too far to walk right now?"
Sasha nodded, frowning, then blinked. "I can ask Ezra to bring the van over—"
"n-No, I can walk," Zelig said quietly as he looked around the room, brows knitted as he tried to gather himself once more. "Don't need to bring anyone else into this mess."
"If you're sure," Vincent helped Zelig stand, only to lunge forward to catch the visibly trembling man before he fell. Stepping closer, he wrapped his arms around the bartender and held him to his cold chest. "We'll go when you're ready." He pressed Zelig's head onto his shoulder as he adjusted his grip on the other man — mainly to ease up on his own over-tight grip so Zelig could breathe again.
Watching the scene, Sasha found himself chewing on his lip as questions began popping into mind. "How did you two meet, anyway?" He asked before he could stop himself. "Not seen you this touchy with anyone except Geoff. And this is even more touchy than that."
"It's a long story." Vincent said quietly. "And be patient with Geoff; he's working through a lot of things."
"Gonna elaborate on any of that?"
"No. Neither are wholly my stories to share."
Sasha begrudgingly nodded at th—
"Known him for a long time. Years," Zelig mumbled, his head on Vincent's shoulder, standing just a few inches shorter than the elf, "feels like it, anyway. Don't remember when we first. Long time ago."
Vincent chuckled. "There you go."
Sasha only rolled his eyes because Zelig couldn't see it before returning his attentions to his claws and the whetstone. "Great story."
"I thought so, too." Vincent chuckled as he heard Zelig's own wheeze of a laugh. "Full of action, intrigue, and exposition."
"Don't forget the spicy bits," Zelig's voice was muffled by Vincent's jacket as Vincent laughed.
"Oh, yes," he patted the back of Zelig's bald head, "can't forget those hot-and-heavy moments." He grinned as he listened to a very soft, airy chuckle.
Sasha raised an eyebrow at that; his curiosity was gnawing at him, even moreso now—
"I thought you said your libido was dead." Sasha said before he could stop himself.
"It is dead," the bartender's voice had an undertone of life to it now. "Dead dead deady-dead-dead."
"Dabba doop doop dead," Vincent chuckled as the two shared a glance — and an old joke — before he looked over to Sasha, barking a laugh at his slackjawed expression.
"You did not say that." Sasha's voice went from disbelieving to incredulous in record time. "You, Mr Prim-and-Proper, did not say what I think you said."
"Sa—"
"You did not just say that when I didn't fuckin' record it!" Sasha resisted the urge to scrub his ocular lenses out of frustration. "No one's believe me if I ever tell them you said that!"
"Sasha—"
"You asshole!"
"Why we callin' Vodka an asshole this time?" Reina's question announced her return.
"He said "dabba doop doop dead" just now."
"Sure he did."
"See?" Sasha whined before realizing that Reina had someone hiding behind her. "April? Where have you been?"
"Upshtairsh. John shaid to meet at the bar, sho I went to the bar..."
"Oh. Great. She's drunk." Sasha sighed. "Probably for the better she wasn't here earlier, then; John would've blown a gasket."
"He'sh that mad?" Her voice wavered. "At me?"
"At all of us." Reina pulled April out from behind her and plonked the troll down on a chair. "Be glad you missed it and be glad I found you before he did." She turned April's face to meet her own, purple eyes locking with bloodshot brown. "I'm tellin' you this now: stay outta his sight until you sober up." Her tone left no room for question.
"Oh..." She held Reina's stare until Reina looked away, her gaze then promptly falling to her shoes. Sitting in silence, save for the occasional sniffle, April slowly raised her head and looked over to Vincent and Zelig. She may've been drunk, but she knew it was unusual to see them holding each other. Whispering wasn't that unusual, though, but Zelig wiping at his eyes definitely was... "What'sh goin' on? Ish Zel upshet?"
"John decided to show us he's a egotistical asshole." Sasha sighed. "Got pissed off at Zelig for turning down all those dumbass jobs that people keep asking us for without asking for permission first. Same ones we all kept turning down to begin with."
April frowned. "He'sh mad about that?"
"Mad Zelig didn't run it by him, more than anything. But he's also mad at us for turning down all those shit jobs to begin with." Reina scowled as she shook her head. "Honestly, it's insultin' he'd think we'd agree to do that shit in the first place. I've got better things to do than fuel some asshole's power trip because they shoved me a twenty and told me to do something stupid."
"You know John likes to play general — ordering his troops around and watching them march, just because he can," Zelig mumbled.
Vincent nodded, giving Zelig's arm a pat before they stepped apart. "And he does not like it when we refuse to play along." He glanced back at his friend. "Ready to go for a walk?"
Nodding, Zelig picked up the cardamom muffin and finally took a small bite. A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth as he swallowed. "Thanks," he gestured to Sasha with the gluten-free muffin as he slowly walked toward the door. Vincent also gave Sasha a nod as he walked with Zelig, an arm around him, both for reassurance and safety in the event Zelig's legs gave out again.
Sasha returned both the smile and the nod before he stood up and followed after them. Their departure was as good a reason as any to finally escape that damn bunker. And the lectures he knew Reina was about to flay—no, lay; the word was lay—into April. Sasha knew the lectures were needed, as was the severity of their delivery, because those lectures would keep April alive. But that knowledge didn't make them any easier to listen to. After all, every lecture was a lesson learned — often the hard way. And, in some cases, he thought as he splayed his cybernetic fingers and extended his claws, there was undeniable physical proof to further drive the point home... After the door closed, Reina ran a hand down her face as she sat down on the edge of the table. "Fuckin' hell, this day."
"Yeah," April grabbed a muffin, "shtaff meetingsh are brutal."
Reina pinched the bridge of her nose, grimacing, as she resisted the urge to do a lot of things that involved a combination of swearing, yelling, and several objects being made airborne.
The frustration hung heavy in the air, an undercurrent so overt it could be cut with a knife. And there were a lot of knives sitting around that table.
John narrowed his eyes as he stood up and overlooked his motley crew of time-tested shadowrunners. And the empty seat. "Has anyone seen Hi-Jinx? She was supposed to be here."
Reina shook her head. "Not seen her today."
"Well that's just great." He scowled. "She especially needed to hear this, but I'll make sure to catch up with her later."
That had an eyebrow or two raising around the room as John cleared his throat. "First of all, I want to remind everyone here that we are professionals and we are shadowrunners. We are not a social club and, honestly, it's a risk that all of you are so friendly with each other in the first place. Don't think I don't know what you're doing when you're not on runs. I know who lives with who... but that's not for today." His tone was sharp. "I called you all here today because it has recently been brought to my attention," he said slowly, looking from runner to runner, "that there has been a whole host of jobs being turned down. Sometimes up to twenty a month. Does anyone care to explain this?"
Asshole, said the undercurrent.
John cleared his throat. "I want answers and we aren't leaving this room until I get them. I want to know why these jobs are being turned down and someone in this room has these answers."
Eight set of eyes swung over to stare at the Barkeep.
"Have you considered that a lot of these jobs are bullshit?" Reina asked. "They're the shit we send the new girls out to cut their teeth on — and they're the jobs we'd make harder by tipping off security in advance. There's nothin' to those jobs that's worth—"
"It's not worth anything because you aren't getting paid," John fumed. "Sasha," he turned and looked at the Decker who was clearly bored out of his mind. "What do you know about this?"
Sasha slowly raised a manicured eyebrow. "Enough to know that I ought to thank whoever's not sending me out to do DDOS jobs."
"Any particular reason you turned that down? Should've been a walk in the park for you." John's voice was clipped.
"Because it's not worth it. Simple as."
The Barkeep's eyes narrowed but he took a slow breath before looking over at Aoi. "What about you?"
She blinked owlishly and tilted her head. "What about me?"
"Have you been turning down any jobs?"
A slow shake of her head. "Not many jobs for a shaman that don't involve wine moms who want their palms read by a yogi who can also talk to the ghosts in their house."
"Sounds like a load of bullshit," Tahoma said as he glanced down to the dwarf.
"Because it is a load of bullshit," Aoi agreed, clearly frustrated with the steadier part of her income. "I show up, wiggle my fingers, say some spooky stuff, and then suddenly all the ghosts are gone and everything's fine again. There weren't even any ghosts in the house!" She sighed. "There's not even a single pissed off sprite..."
Tahoma paused, listening, a water glass halfway to his mouth. He lowered the glass and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he contemplated a new career path. It'd be easy enough to sell the persona — he'd just need to switch out his suits for something more dirt-stained, muss up his hair, and roll around in a patch of shit-smelling herbs to really complete the picture. Yes, this could work—
"What about you?" John asked. "You been turning down any jobs recently?"
"Nothing for your operation." Tahoma's voice was as slick as his coiffed hair.
"How about you, George?" John turned away from Tahoma and stared at his Rigger.
George shook his head. "I've been doing doubles for the last two months; no way I'd have time for another job, let alone a shadowrun."
Another slow breath from the Barkeep as he turned to face his next runner who was even less of his runner than Tahoma.
"Geoff—"
"Yeah, no. I've been busy tracking down and arresting the other runners taking the jobs you're asking us about. You're welcome."
John squared his jaw and looked over at Vincent.
The elf calmly returned the stare, impassive as marble, as he waited for John to speak.
Suddenly deciding better, John turned and looked down at the last member of his Cabinet. "Zelig," he practically bit off the syllables, "what do you know about this?"
Zelig, hunkered down in his seat between Vincent and Sasha, slowly looked up to John. "I know a lot, actually."
"And?"
"And I've been keeping track of these for months now. At first, I'd send out a job or two and—"
"And what?" John interjected sharply.
"And you can clearly see how those jobs were received." Zelig's voice was low but firm.
John looked away from the bartender and to the rest of the Cabinet—
"I pushed for those jobs, you know; I asked nicely and everything." Zelig sat up a little straighter. "But after the fifth decline, I asked why. And you know what? Everyone gave me a valid reason for why they said no. High risk hacks for little pay, someone wanting revenge on a someone else over a fender bender, all shit like that! All the stupid, petty shit that's just not worth it."
Sasha glanced to his left; Zelig may have a bit of a pottymouth, but he rarely raised his voice in anything akin to anger.
"I turned down all of those jobs, John. Almost every single job that comes our way that requires only one or two of the runners, because they just aren't worth it."
"And who are you to decide that?" Came John's icy tone.
"Me." Zelig finally sat up straight and leaned forward, an arm on the table, as he stared up at his employer. "The person you hired to run your bar. The person that knows what your crew will and won't do. The person who listens day in and day-fucking-out to the local drunks telling the same shitty stories, mops up spills near hushed conversations, and hears every goddamn thing that's said in this building."
Another glance from Sasha, but this one more out curiosity; was Zelig being hyperbolic or was he actually listening to every conversation?
"I hired you to run my bar," John agreed, "but not my crew, so I'm asking you one more time, Zelig: who are you to decide what my crew does?"
"John," Vincent finally spoke up, "I think this is—"
"No, Vincent," Zelig never took his eyes from John. "This is something John clearly wanted to do publicly, so let's do this." He turned in his chair, his back to Vincent, as he faced the Barkeep.
John's brown eyes were practically slits as he stared at the relatively recent — and suddenly mouthy — addition to his crew. "You've overstepped yourself, Zelig."
"I'm sorry," his apology was genuine.
"You've nothing to apologize for!" Reina gnashed her tusks as she stared between the bartender and the Barkeep. "Listen to him, John; he's doing us — and you! — a favor. If we went on all these bullshit runs, we'd never have time for the bigger ones that actually make us money. Serious money."
"The planning for those runs is my job," John said calmly, "so you should have plenty of time—"
"Uh, John?" George was glancing down at his watch. "speaking of time, I really gotta go here in about fifteen minutes if I'm going to make it to work on time."
"Same." Geoff said from the back of the room, leaning around Vincent's back to stare at the Barkeep.
"Quiet!" John snarled as he pointed at Zelig. "You have no right and no authority to decide what my crew does and does not do. Do you understand me? From here on out, we are discussing every job and I will decide what we do. Are we clear?"
Zelig picked up a pint glass with a shaking hand and sipped the water. He slowly placed the glass back down on the table, a few droplets splashing onto the wood that were wiped away with a towel pulled seemingly from nowhere. He then looked back up to John, his pale face a careful display of professionalism. "Crystal, sir." He then glanced around the table. "Since we have everyone here, we can run through these jobs together—"
"No," George all but wailed, "I have to go soon!"
Clearing his throat, the formerly certified project manager stood up and pulled his notebook out from his inner vest pocket. "You want to run through the jobs, John? Fine. Let's do this now. Backlog refinement time."
John, fuming at the turn of events, remained standing as he fumed at the audacious display...
"Job 1, Saturday 8:39 pm: Steal diamond ring from ex wife. Milford Apartments. Total pay: 2500 CAS."
"Fuck that; the ammo used by their front desk security's more expensive than that payout." Reina looked back to John. "Can you let this shit go already? These are all just hazing jobs, not shadowruns."
"Job 2, Saturday 9:43 pm," Zelig continued as if Reina hadn't spoken, "and I quote 'get me a fuckin' pizza,' as said to—"
"Oh, that asshole," Reina scowled; "I threw his ass out that night." She glanced to the rest of the Cabinet. "I was covering for Paola," she explained to a sea of nodding heads.
"That's just two jobs," John held out his hand. "Give me that notebook. You're just cherrypicking shit to prove—"
"Job 3," Zelig didn't move, "Sunday, 11:59 pm: break into a safety deposit box in the vault of—"
John snatched the notebook out of Zelig's hand — a movement that had multiple runners sitting up a little straighter. He began flipping through the pages, determined to find something to hammer the bartender about, but all he saw was page after page of scrawl.
"I write in code," Zelig frowned, "in case I get jumped and that notebook gets taken."
"It's a good code," Sasha took the notebook back from John and returned it to Zelig, "even with the cypher, I still can't read his handwriting."
"Enough of this shit," John was fuming. "You fucked up, Zelig. You are not in a position of leadership. You don't get to decide—"
Tahoma stood up at that. "Look, Barkeep," he smiled his signature smile, "I think this is a little too intense for what's going on. We're talking about the little jobs that we all know we wouldn't do. And why would we? We've all done the big jobs that you've arranged and we've done them all well. In fact, because of how well you've planned everything out, we pulled those runs off so well that our names as runners have been steadily making themselves known. Because of you, all of us here could now make a decent living all on our own as individual runners. It's also worth pointing out that some of us even have legit jobs and pay taxes—"
"Idiots."
"Shut it, Sasha." Geoff hissed through clenched teeth, visibly seething at the recent turn of events.
"—point being, we're all here because we enjoy the work that you give us, Barkeep. We enjoy the challenge. We enjoy working with you. For you. And your bartender knows this. He's showing both his respect to us as well as common sense by not sent us jumping after every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes our way. By Zelig shutting these things down before they can even start, he's helping keep up our reputation by making us an exclusive group while also reducing any chance of unnecessy reputational damage. On top of that, he's making sure that we've got the availability for those jobs you meticulously plan and we execute. The fact Zelig's taken it upon himself to spare you the frustration of dealing with the grown-up version of "he kicked sand on my shoes; go push him over" requests that inevibitably come with increased infamy," his words were honey — thick and sweet, they flowed, enveloped, and ultimately trapped his victim... "should be a relief to you. You don't have to be distracted by something you already knew you wouldn't send your crew out to do."
"I know that," John glared at the smooth-talking conman.
Tahoma kept his expression naturally fixed, even going so far as to make sure he held his head at just the right angle to let the overhead lighting put a sparkle in his otherwise flat eyes. He knew he had gotten under John's skin; he could practically see the honey at his feet.
"But," John's voice softened ever-so-slightly, "I should still be the one to make that call. These people are asking about my crew—" he turned to look back at Zelig, only for Reina to slam her fist down on the table.
"You even fuckin' listening to yourself?" She pointed a finger at John; the slight change in his tone not enough to dampen her own anger with the situation. "Zel's savin' you a massive fuckin' headache with a few seconds of common fuckin' sense. Quit rippin' the guy a new asshole for doing the exact same shit you'd do."
"Do I need to remind you of your own contract, Reina?" John scowled, Tahoma's flattery already a forgotten memory.
"Maybe you fuckin' do, 'cause I don't remember it sayin' anythin' about staff meetings, let alone ones where you're fuckin' abusin' your bartender!"
"Enough." John took a step back from the table. "Zelig, we will talk about this later. For now, leave—"
"No." Sasha said quietly as he pulled a small whetstone across one of his claws. "You may be pissed off, but it's not all Zelig's fault." He admired the newly honed point. "We also—" John stood, silently glaring at the glares leveled his way, before he turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the reinforced metal.
The Cabinet sat in silence as they heard John stomping his way out of the basement, then across the bar itself. After the front doors closed, they let out a collective breath they had been holding as they looked around the room.
"Well, that was not what I wanted to do today." Tahoma sighed. "I was expecting to start planning for the next big job." He glanced over at Zelig, mouth twitching as if to say something, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he let out a slow breath and made his way to the door. "I'll see all of you later."
"Later," they all said as the elf walked out of the room.
"Man, John is such a jerk," George sighed as he made his way to the door, stopping by Zelig's chair as he went. "Don't let him get to you, Zel; we appreciate what you're doing. He'll get over it." He gave the man a smile and a pat on the back before he, too, left the room.
Aoi was next to step away from the table. "Like Tahoma, I thought this was a planning meeting..." She shook her head as she picked up one of the muffins Sasha had brought. "Waste of time, except for getting confirmation's John's an ass if someone else thinks for themselves."
"We're not the fuckin' military," Reina scowled, "you'd think he'd know that by now. We don't jump 'cause he said jump. And we sure as shit don't ask how high without knowin' why we're jumpin' in the first place." She, too, took a muffin. Unlike Aoi, though, Reina leaned back in her seat and took a bite as Aoi scuttled from the room. "Seriously, Zel: fuck John. Man's a bastard."
"You better be glad this room's not bugged," Sasha said as he handed Zelig a wrapped muffin. "I'd hate to see the temper tantrum John'd throw if he heard us talking shit."
"Like I give a fuck!" Reina said around a mouthful of blueberry lemon zest crumbs, "I'd kick his ass if he started shit."
"You're not supposed to attack your boss," Zelig's voice was soft, shaking, and growing more hollow by the second, "it's not a great look when security comes in. Happened in the next aisle over."
"And fuck your old workplace, while we're at it."
Sasha nodded in agreement with Reina's interjection as he opened the muffin wrapper. "C'mon, it's cardamom."
Zelig blinked slowly before just-as-slowly looking around the room as he trembled, fingers clenching and unclenching as his breathing shortened into quick, ragged gasps.
Vincent rubbed Zelig's shoulder and looked over at Geoff. "I know your shift's starting soon; don't worry about here. We'll take care of him."
Geoff nodded slowly and stood up. He gave his boyfriend a kiss before placing a warm hand on Zelig's shoulder. Zelig, however, could only blink at the muffin Sasha had just put into his twitching hands, all but unaware of the world around him as he began to hyperventilate.
Unwanting to leave but unable to stay, Geoff gave Zelig's shoulder a squeeze before walking out of the room...
Reina leaned forward, concerned now, as she looked between Sasha, Vincent, and the now-gasping Zelig. "Do we need to get him to Frangelico?"
Vincent shook his head. "Not at this point, but if you wouldn't mind letting her know Zelig may be visiting soon, that would be very appreciated."
Reina nodded and stood up. "Will do." She glanced at the bartender as he rocked on the very stationary wooden chair. "Breathe, camarero. Y'stood up to a bastard; be proud of that." She gave Zelig her most encouraging smile before she, too, left the room.
Sasha looked over at the door and then back to Vincent and Zelig. "You sure about Claire? He seems bad off."
"He is," Vincent agreed as he gently rubbed Zelig's back, "but anything she could give him would just make it worse. We found that out the hard way a few times."
"So... what do we do?"
"Leave here, for starters, although I'm not sure how now that Geoff's driven away. I only have my motorcycle and that is not a bike designed for two." He glanced at the watch on his wrist and sighed. "And I do not want to call for a taxi, not from here; it's nearing rush hour—"
The bartender made a strange hiccuping gasp as he started to lurch for the door, only for Vincent and Sasha to gently push him back down into his seat.
"Like hell you're working tonight." Sasha said firmly, once again handing the man the muffin he specifically baked for him. "John wants to run shit himself so badly, let him run his own damn bar for a few days."
"Good idea, actually," Vincent stood up and pulled out his phone. "I'm going to let him know that is what is going to happen." He placed a hand on Zelig's back. "I will be back in a few minutes. I promise."
Another strange hiccup, but Zelig slowly nodded as he looked down at the muffin.
The door opened and closed almost imperceptibly as Zelig carefully pinched off part of the confection. "I don't like getting yelled at," his voice was too breathy, too pitchy, "it just—it just—it—"
Sasha placed the bar towel over Zelig's lap as he watched the man's roving eyes and listened to the rapid breathing. "It's done, though," Sasha said as calmly as he could, "and you've got us backing you up. John won't do that again, not if he wants to keep his crew. I think he just learned that we'd walk out on him if he pushes us too far. Because we will. And he knows we'd be just fine without him."
Zelig whimpered at that, but Sasha shook his head.
"He's already got someone with a book full of jobs waiting for a crew, remember?" Sasha gave Zelig a gap-toothed grin. "You're a threat to him now and he can't handle that." His tone was light, joking, but scathing all the same.
"I don't want his job."
"After tonight, I don't think he does, either. Did you see how Reina was about to jump across the table at him?"
A hiccup that sounded almost like Zelig's dry wheeze of a laugh. "I like Reina."
"She likes you, too; we all do, Zel." He picked up the piece of muffin off the towel on Zelig's lap and placed it back on the table, all too aware Zelig was unaware he had even dropped it. "Would some coffee be better at this point?"
"Yes but no," a smile twitched across the man's face as he looked around. "Don't need caffeine. Not now."
"You sure? I think you'd be able to beat my typing speed with a cup in you."
Another wheezing hiccup.
"C'mon, have a bite. Get some food in you; have you eaten anything today?"
A slow shake of his head as he picked up the muffin once more, only for it to fall out of his shaking hand and land on the towel across his lap. His expression tightened, his eyes glassy, as he hugged himself with white-knuckled ferocity.
Sasha said nothing as he put the muffin back on the table before placing his hand on Zelig's back and turning his eyes to the door. There were no mics or cameras stashed away in this part of the building, but oh, what he'd give to listen to Vincent laying into Joh—
"—I don't give a shit," Vincent opened the door, still on the phone, "and if you want to keep your crew, I highly suggest you rethink how you handle your crew. The only person who truly works for you is Zelig and he can legally walk away from you in ways that would ensure the courts — and your own contacts — will never leave you alone." Vincent paused, listening, before he scowled. "Work the bar yourself; Zelig will be back on Monday. And don't you dare call him and try to continue this conversation after I hang up. I will know if you do. And I will not be happy." He then ended the call before John could retaliate.
Sasha glanced up at the elf. "Well that sounded like fun."
"I think he sees reason now," was all Vincent said before he looked down at the motionless bartender. "Zel," he walked over and gently touched the man's shoulder with his fingertips, a light touch that still had Zelig bolting upright with wild eyes, "think you'll be able to go for a walk soon? Going outside will help."
The bartender tried to speak, but the only sound escaping his lips was his wheezing.
"Where are you looking to go?" Sasha asked.
"Think the Sweet Spot's too far to walk right now?"
Sasha nodded, frowning, then blinked. "I can ask Ezra to bring the van over—"
"n-No, I can walk," Zelig said quietly as he looked around the room, brows knitted as he tried to gather himself once more. "Don't need to bring anyone else into this mess."
"If you're sure," Vincent helped Zelig stand, only to lunge forward to catch the visibly trembling man before he fell. Stepping closer, he wrapped his arms around the bartender and held him to his cold chest. "We'll go when you're ready." He pressed Zelig's head onto his shoulder as he adjusted his grip on the other man — mainly to ease up on his own over-tight grip so Zelig could breathe again.
Watching the scene, Sasha found himself chewing on his lip as questions began popping into mind. "How did you two meet, anyway?" He asked before he could stop himself. "Not seen you this touchy with anyone except Geoff. And this is even more touchy than that."
"It's a long story." Vincent said quietly. "And be patient with Geoff; he's working through a lot of things."
"Gonna elaborate on any of that?"
"No. Neither are wholly my stories to share."
Sasha begrudgingly nodded at th—
"Known him for a long time. Years," Zelig mumbled, his head on Vincent's shoulder, standing just a few inches shorter than the elf, "feels like it, anyway. Don't remember when we first. Long time ago."
Vincent chuckled. "There you go."
Sasha only rolled his eyes because Zelig couldn't see it before returning his attentions to his claws and the whetstone. "Great story."
"I thought so, too." Vincent chuckled as he heard Zelig's own wheeze of a laugh. "Full of action, intrigue, and exposition."
"Don't forget the spicy bits," Zelig's voice was muffled by Vincent's jacket as Vincent laughed.
"Oh, yes," he patted the back of Zelig's bald head, "can't forget those hot-and-heavy moments." He grinned as he listened to a very soft, airy chuckle.
Sasha raised an eyebrow at that; his curiosity was gnawing at him, even moreso now—
"I thought you said your libido was dead." Sasha said before he could stop himself.
"It is dead," the bartender's voice had an undertone of life to it now. "Dead dead deady-dead-dead."
"Dabba doop doop dead," Vincent chuckled as the two shared a glance — and an old joke — before he looked over to Sasha, barking a laugh at his slackjawed expression.
"You did not say that." Sasha's voice went from disbelieving to incredulous in record time. "You, Mr Prim-and-Proper, did not say what I think you said."
"Sa—"
"You did not just say that when I didn't fuckin' record it!" Sasha resisted the urge to scrub his ocular lenses out of frustration. "No one's believe me if I ever tell them you said that!"
"Sasha—"
"You asshole!"
"Why we callin' Vodka an asshole this time?" Reina's question announced her return.
"He said "dabba doop doop dead" just now."
"Sure he did."
"See?" Sasha whined before realizing that Reina had someone hiding behind her. "April? Where have you been?"
"Upshtairsh. John shaid to meet at the bar, sho I went to the bar..."
"Oh. Great. She's drunk." Sasha sighed. "Probably for the better she wasn't here earlier, then; John would've blown a gasket."
"He'sh that mad?" Her voice wavered. "At me?"
"At all of us." Reina pulled April out from behind her and plonked the troll down on a chair. "Be glad you missed it and be glad I found you before he did." She turned April's face to meet her own, purple eyes locking with bloodshot brown. "I'm tellin' you this now: stay outta his sight until you sober up." Her tone left no room for question.
"Oh..." She held Reina's stare until Reina looked away, her gaze then promptly falling to her shoes. Sitting in silence, save for the occasional sniffle, April slowly raised her head and looked over to Vincent and Zelig. She may've been drunk, but she knew it was unusual to see them holding each other. Whispering wasn't that unusual, though, but Zelig wiping at his eyes definitely was... "What'sh goin' on? Ish Zel upshet?"
"John decided to show us he's a egotistical asshole." Sasha sighed. "Got pissed off at Zelig for turning down all those dumbass jobs that people keep asking us for without asking for permission first. Same ones we all kept turning down to begin with."
April frowned. "He'sh mad about that?"
"Mad Zelig didn't run it by him, more than anything. But he's also mad at us for turning down all those shit jobs to begin with." Reina scowled as she shook her head. "Honestly, it's insultin' he'd think we'd agree to do that shit in the first place. I've got better things to do than fuel some asshole's power trip because they shoved me a twenty and told me to do something stupid."
"You know John likes to play general — ordering his troops around and watching them march, just because he can," Zelig mumbled.
Vincent nodded, giving Zelig's arm a pat before they stepped apart. "And he does not like it when we refuse to play along." He glanced back at his friend. "Ready to go for a walk?"
Nodding, Zelig picked up the cardamom muffin and finally took a small bite. A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth as he swallowed. "Thanks," he gestured to Sasha with the gluten-free muffin as he slowly walked toward the door. Vincent also gave Sasha a nod as he walked with Zelig, an arm around him, both for reassurance and safety in the event Zelig's legs gave out again.
Sasha returned both the smile and the nod before he stood up and followed after them. Their departure was as good a reason as any to finally escape that damn bunker. And the lectures he knew Reina was about to flay—no, lay; the word was lay—into April. Sasha knew the lectures were needed, as was the severity of their delivery, because those lectures would keep April alive. But that knowledge didn't make them any easier to listen to. After all, every lecture was a lesson learned — often the hard way. And, in some cases, he thought as he splayed his cybernetic fingers and extended his claws, there was undeniable physical proof to further drive the point home... After the door closed, Reina ran a hand down her face as she sat down on the edge of the table. "Fuckin' hell, this day."
"Yeah," April grabbed a muffin, "shtaff meetingsh are brutal."
Reina pinched the bridge of her nose, grimacing, as she resisted the urge to do a lot of things that involved a combination of swearing, yelling, and several objects being made airborne.
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