Chapter Text
The way people in the Zones talk about the Fabulous Killjoys, you’d think they were a boy band or something.
Well, okay, maybe not exactly a boy band - Not a lotta call for that kind of family friendly, saccharine junk out in the desert, but you get the general idea. Fame is a pain in the ass, but in terms of notoriety, the Fabulous Killjoys are second to none. Probably even surpassed Mad Gear at this point, although they’d never admit that.
Despite all the artificial hair colours, the flashy clothes, the loud music and the attitude to match, being noticed isn’t something you want out in the Zones. Keep your mask on, your head down, make as much of a scene as you want but don’t let anyone know who you are. Never stop running, and don’t leave any traces of yourself behind when you go. Being noticed means you get a reputation, reputation means notoriety, and notoriety comes in the form of a big fat price on your life. If the desert makes enough noise about someone that Better Living Industries tunes in, then that’s it. Your number’s up. Kiss your loved ones goodbye and wait for them to catch up to you, because they will. They always do.
None of the Killjoys can pinpoint the moment that they hit such an extreme level of fame. Maybe if they could, they might have gone back and made some changes. Bought themselves a little more time. Party Poison in particular swears that it happened overnight. As far as he’s concerned, one day it was just him and his friends minding their own business, and the next he couldn’t so much as stop to fill up his gas tank without someone recognising him and saying some shit. A more observant person would know that this wasn’t true. They’d notice the way that people stared in awe at this ragtag group of kaleidoscopic punks, they’d hear the hushed whispers behind their backs. These kids might be onto something, you know. Ya heard how many dracs they’ve taken out…? Hear they’ve even got a few ‘crows under their belts. Maybe with enough time… Given the right opportunities… (Always quiet, always secretive. It’s a deathwish to be optimistic out loud. Got a history of disappointment, and it’s almost certainly doomed to repeat itself.) Sure, the Zones are a huge, sweeping desert - but if the right people say the right things about you, word travels fast.
Anyway, doesn’t matter how they got here. They’re here now, and they have to deal with it. Some of them handle it better than others. Jet Star worries, although he can’t help but see the advantages it brings them. Makes trading a hell of a lot easier - They feel bad about doing it, but it’s too easy to dazzle a starstruck young ‘joy into giving The Four discounts on whatever it is they’re selling. (Doesn’t work on Tommy Chow Mein, as they’ve come to learn. No matter how much Poison flutters his eyelashes and brags about being famous, the bastard won’t budge. It’s admirable, really.) As the only one deemed responsible enough to keep track of their supplies (through his own judgement), Jet silently thanks the Witch for the resources their fame has brought them. As an afterthought, he guiltily adds a quick apology for manipulating other killjoys in order to get them. Anything extra they have they’ll give away or trade, obviously - but god is he relieved not to have to watch the resident siblings of their crew fight over basic necessities again.
Kobra Kid doesn’t voice his opinions often - He leaves that up to his loud-mouthed brother, more than happy to take a step out of the limelight. But he does have opinions, and as much as he might hate to admit it, there’s a part of him that enjoys his newfound fame. Not for the attention or anything like that, most of the time he could do without that. If he’s being entirely honest, Kobra thought he was going to fucking hate being “famous”. And true to his word, he did. That is until he had a run-in with some dracs who were bothering some innocent people, took ‘em all out, no big deal. Shoot first, ask questions later, you know the drill. Didn’t notice even for a second that the people those blank, BLI-sanctioned bloodsuckers were gunning for had a kid with them until it was all over, and this dirty snot-nosed little boy was looking up at him with the widest eyes he’d ever seen. That is when the Kobra Kid decided that it wasn’t all awful, people knowing who he was. He’d been a scared little kid in a world gone mad, too. If he could give this generation of zone brats even an illusion of safety and protection, then why the hell not. If they want to pretend that a group of killjoys (still really just kids themselves) are superheroes, then let ‘em. Do what you gotta do to survive.
Fun Ghoul sees danger at every turn. Ironic, for the arsonist to be the most cautious, but he just knows the Zones the most intimately. Knows that with a reputation like theirs, people will start coming after them. BLI/nd as the most obvious example, but there’s a lot more to worry about than the pigs. Not everyone in the Zones is a killjoy, not everyone there is even a good person. Common sense, really, but it’s easy to forget that just because you are there to take part in some sort of revolution, doesn’t mean that everyone there shares your ideals. Some people are just there to wreak havoc. Some people just want the freedom to hurt others (and Ghoul wears a permanent reminder of that on his face). But they just had to be too open, too public, didn’t they? People know about him and his friends now, and they have a reputation for being powerful, for some fucking reason. Sooner or later, someone’s gonna come and try to challenge that. Someone’s going to come and kill his friends, kill him - Just to prove a sick point. Just to show that they could. So, no. Fun Ghoul is not handling his newfound fame well.
Party Poison would just say that Ghoul is being paranoid, brush him off like he always does when he gets dark and angry and suspicious. Why do you always think the worst of people? He’s firm in his opinion that he and his friends are perfectly safe. Well, as safe as you can be out in the desert with a burning hot sun, little food, and an evil corporation trying to kill you at every turn. Safe as houses, obviously. Surely it does not come as a surprise to anybody that Party Poison is the one most comfortable with his new position as The Zone’s Most Wanted/Loved. He cultivated that reputation himself, and by Destroya, is he proud of it. Yeah, it’s risky to draw so much attention to yourself, anyone in their right mind can see that. Just… In Poison’s eyes, there’s rarely a risk that isn’t worth taking. And as the self-assumed leader of the Fabulous Killjoys, he’s assessed the risk and decided it’s completely worth it. As far as he’s concerned: more notoriety means more publicity, more publicity means more support, and more support means a better chance of survival. A better chance of winning. Isn’t that the end goal here? To make it out alive, and build a better world for others? (His personal penchant for being in the spotlight has absolutely nothing to do with this. Obviously.)
Poison makes his position clear, time and time again. And every time, it does little to sway the opinion of the stubborn black-haired killjoy. Fun Ghoul just looks back at him with distaste and a fire in his eyes, ready to launch into a tirade about Poison’s selfish actions, and how he puts each and every one of them in danger, every single day. Your brother, Poison. Ever think about him? Did you even think for one second that you might slip up, you’ll get too big for your own fucking boots and it’ll be Kobra who pays the price. Not you. I don’t know how you can live with yourself.
Everyone else just gets up and leaves, they’ve heard this argument before. They know it’ll end in a fight that goes absolutely nowhere. Kobra Kid and Jet Star just exchange looks and go off to do their own thing. Maybe they’ll trip and fall into a parallel universe where Poison and Ghoul don’t fight over every single tiny issue in their lives. Wishful thinking.
They’ve been fighting like this for as long as they’ve known each other.