Chapter Text
“I’m tellin’ ya! It’s all this asshole’s fault! If he wasn’t late, we woulda gotten a chance to escape!”
“Oh fuck off! It ain’t my fault that Mr. Bigshot over ‘ere didn’t get the car checked!”
The night was like any other, the bar busy and filled with various shady people. Drug dealers, assassins, mafia gangs, you name it. The Grotto: a bar filled with the who’s who of crime. They only have three rules at The Grotto :
- Pay for your own food and drinks.
- You can’t stay if you don’t order anything.
- No fights.
Ironically enough, the ones running the bar are one of the most feared mafia gangs in Twisted Wonderland: Octavinelle. Known for their connections, artillery trade, and the amount of cash in their pockets, they are a force to be reckoned with. However, what made them more powerful was neither their boss nor their arms.
It was their bartender, Noir.
Many think she only had one job: to just serve drinks and nothing more. Her quiet demeanor and lifeless, cold gaze may look like they don't listen to whatever is happening around them, yet they know more than they would lead you to believe. Noir was Octavinelle’s boss’ ear. She knows a lot of important, inside information about different gangs. They would then pass on this information to the boss, Azul Ashengrotto, himself. On top of being the boss's ear, Noir is an excellent fighter. They lived in the streets most of their life until Azul brought her in. Now, she prefers to stay out of trouble.
Noir wiped the bar counter clean, all while eavesdropping on other gangs.
“Ey, so about that Rosehearts guy, heard he real scary.”
“Pssh! I call bullshit! Heard he some 5-foot somethin’ kid, he ain’t scarin’ nobody!”
‘Is this really worth listening to? What a waste of time,’ Noir sighed and tried listening in on another conversation from another table as they continued wiping the counter. Nothing. Nothing important or worth listening to.
As they continued wiping, a man wearing a hat sat down on the barstool. Messy green hair peaked under his hat; golden eyes lay behind his black glasses; on his cheek was a club, like the one you would find on a deck of cards, painted on his right cheek. ‘Him again? But where are the others? He usually has these other guys with him,’ Noir has seen this man at least five times, and he was always with the same group of four people, but not tonight. He was alone. Noir walked up to him, treating him like any other customer but proceeding with caution as always.
“What will be, sir?”
“Oh, I have no plans of drinking tonight,” he responded, which confused the bartender. Noir looked at him, confused. ‘What? If that’s the case then–,’
“Oh, I’m sorry, but you can’t stay if–”
“I am here for something, though."
“What?” Noir looked at him, more confused. ‘Not a drink, maybe food? Why is he looking at me like that?’ Out of instinct, their hand balled into a fist as a smile graced the green-haired.
“I'm here for you.”
All of a sudden, Noir stopped wiping. ‘Me? He’s here for me?’ It did not take them long to notice that he had a gun. “What do you want from me?” they asked just loud enough for him to hear. The man chuckled.
“Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you. The boss would rather have you unharmed. I just need you to be a good little bartender and meet me at the back. Okay, sweetheart?”
“‘Sweetheart?’ Who’s he calling ‘sweetheart?’”
“You, obviously, Noir Tiburon.”
The young bartender's black, dull eyes met the boy’s golden ones. They were so warm and comforting, yet, somewhere in them, there was a sense of…madness. ‘Not another word, Noir. Behind those kind eyes is a no-mercy killer…,’ Noir quietly reached for her knife.
“I can tell you reaching for that knife strapped to your thigh. I wouldn’t even try if I were you.”
Noir’s hand froze, moving it away from her knife. ‘Observant son of a bitch,’ they could not help but ball their hand into a fist, resisting the urge to punch this guy in the face. “As I said, I am not going to hurt you,” he said sincerely, “All you have to do is just meet me outside, at the back of the bar, after your shift. I promise you, I won’t hurt.” He seemed sincere enough, but Noir does not know him. For all they know, he could be lying.
“Okay, I will see you outside. But I won’t hesitate to kill you once you do something wrong, got that?”
“Cross my heart, sweetheart. Cross my heart.”
It was finally the end of their shift, and as promised, they met with the green-haired boy at the back of the bar. However, he was not alone. Outside the bar was a black car.
“You said nothing about–”
“I’m sorry.”
A damp cloth was pressed into the bartender's face. “Mmph! Mmh…mmh…,” their vision slowly became fuzzy before blacking out.
“Ugh…what the…huh?! W-Where am I?”
“Good morning, Tiburon.”
Noir woke up in a bed, someone else’s bed. She got up, put on their glasses, and turned to the door to see her captor with a tray of breakfast. They were about to reach for their knife only to find it gone. “All your weapons are confiscated and will be returned to you soon. For now, I made breakfast,” he walks into the room, placing the tray on her lap. “You need to eat up. We need you alive,” the boy says, Noir turning away from the food. They push the tray off their lap, causing the food to spill out, before shooting a sharp stare at their kidnapper.
“I usually teach kids who waste food a lesson–”
“Then lecture me, four-eyes.”
“Oh, a sharp tongue for a quiet little thing,” he teases, pulling a fresh apple from his pocket and throwing it to the girl. “Now, eat before I cut it off,” he says, grabbing a chair. He just stared at Noir as she held the apple in her hands. They looked at the boy, who was just sitting there, his arms crossed. The two made eye contact as she took a bite from the fruit. Noir’s eyes widened, looking at the fruit before swallowing and taking another bite. Their captor smirked.
“Sweet, isn’t it?”
“Irrt irrs (It is), *munch* *munch*”
They finished the fruit, their seeds in their empty hand.
“Now, get up and wash up. The boss wants to see you."