Chapter Text
One thing about Charles Coven is that he knows what he wants and how to get it. He obviously didn’t want to own a roller rink, but that’s how he gets what he wants. It was home to the arena, Charles couldn’t give two fucks what happened to it during the day, with it being a hotspot for families and their very loud children. But at night it was his. Transforming the 80s themed Roller Rama that’s past due for an upgrade into a lively fighting betting ring. It’s exactly what someone would picture for classic 80s, the carpet is neon with a black background filled with confetti details, skates line the walls waiting to be rented, and most importantly a large disco ball hangs above it all, shining in the flashing lights.
Tonight was like any other, arriving in his expensive dark blue Mercedes-Benz, enjoying the privacy from his blacked out windows. He was a man of habit, coming every day at exactly 7pm. He grabs out his keys from his pocket and shuffles through them, ultimately grabbing a mundane silver key, not something you’d expect to open a fighting ring. If he could make it so he’s the only one with that copy of the key, he would. But unfortunately these kids need time to practice so each and every one of them have one. Very unfortunate. He jams it into the door and opens it, the creaking of it filling the large empty room. Stepping inside he sighs, regretting it as the lingering smell of sweat from the patrons who were skating not too long ago fills his lungs. He shakes his head and continues to his office.
Another word to describe Charles is extra, his office is hidden right in plain sight and this time only he has the key to it. The interior is filled with sleek modern decorations, with the wall being made out of glass. He has two comfortable chairs facing the window to the arena along with a wall of wine, this is where he makes his most important business deals. He takes pride in how effective his system is, having perfected it through the hundreds of deals he has successfully administered. Whether that be a simple hiring of a kid for the arena, or with other corporate big wigs for the CCRP.
His office is filled with an ominous blue light, although he hasn’t flipped the switch yet. The light seems to taunt him, giving him an uneasy feeling, but he ignores it. He doesn’t have to put the lights on, as the blue is so luminous, simply sitting in his chair. He grabs a bottle of Chardonnay and fills his wine glass halfway. Tonight should be relatively filled with the rich crowd of Hatchetfield, as the line up for fighters is very promising. The main goal of this ring was to place high bets, as nowhere else provides this service of something as exciting as fighting with these ‘gifts’ the children were bestowed. And Charles makes it known how special this is to patrons. These powers range from reading minds, to simply blasting fire. The cost is high to keep a place like this running, but the earning is even higher.
Hatchetfield has a history of rich patrons, most being from the Church of the Starry Children. Some look at it as a cult, but can’t all religions be painted that way? That’s what Charles thinks, anyways. It was founded in 1829. Although they were driven out with pitchforks and hatchets in 1979 by the town the church is still strong, the only thing the pitchforks have done was drive exactly what they were doing out of the public’s perception. As nothing can remove the faith of the Lords in Black. Nothing can remove what is real.
Charles presses a button on the control board beside his chair, making the entire building light up with a blinding spotlight onto the ring. Fortunately for him, he was the first one here, usually everyone comes to him with questions and such if all the fighters are already here, but today seems to be slower. He sips again from his wine, examining if any burn marks or damage can be spotted on the ring, as every night it must be fixed from the ferocity in which they fight. Charles smiles to himself as he notices it is spotless and perfect, exactly as it should be. He turns around to put the console away, but in this action he spots a certain someone standing outside his one way glass door. How could he know he was in here?
It would be hard to describe this man, from the way he dressed to the demeanor in which he acted. In a nice way to say it, he is a has-been cowboy that never was. Eddie Chiplucky. He is the one thing Charles cannot seem to get because he doesn’t know he wants him yet.
“Chuck? Ya in here? I know you’re always here early.” Eddie says as he knocks on the door, in a quite obtrusive way. His southern accent has a hint of falseness to it, but at this point Charles isn’t sure if he could stop the accent. He examines him through the glass, his stubbly beard that has been shaved very improperly, his eyes going all the way down to his very worn out boots. The question of how they got worn down is beyond Charles, as his only job is to supply him with fighters, not much of a physical aspect to it.
Charles reluctantly stand up, he’s very careful on how he enters and exits his office as to make it so nobody knows how to get there, yet it’s hard to shake Eddie off. He’s hard to avoid, yet, he doesn’t want to avoid him too much. He stares at Eddie for another moment, his untidy hair hidden by his cowboy hat, and his necklace with a scorpion embraced in the amber. He didn’t know where he got this set up from, nor to why he would ever want to wear anything like that. These sort of gimmicks were for the fighters, not the workers. He actually quite liked it when the fighters embraced their nicknames and dressed to what their powers represented them as. Eddie is quite funny, and the way he acts intrigues Charles, which is the only explanation as to why he thinks about Chiplucky as much as he does.
Charles does not respond to Eddie but simply opens the door and steps out, closing it on his way to Eddie.
“What are you hiding in there that you’re so private about? A body?” Eddie laughs to himself, trying to break the ice between the two.
“Something of the sort, yes.” Charles responds. Eddie gives off yet another awkward laugh, unsure as to whether his boss was joking or not. Charles wasn’t some emotionless being, sure he prioritized his work over all, but being a good business man requires you to be charismatic. Yet, with Eddie he doesn’t have to convince him to do anything, he’s his boss and he should do what he says. Most of this time he does do what he says, just in an unconventional manner.
“What do you need?” Charles says, impatient as he still has the rest of his wine waiting for him in the room, wanting to finish it before everyone starts arriving.
“Oh right, you’re gonna love this, trust me. I got us a new kid for the arena.” Eddie pauses, waiting for any sort of reaction. Charles gives him none so he continues.
“His name is Daniel and he’s waiting downstairs. I just didn’t make him follow me up here as I didn’t know if you were here yet.” Eddie just keeps talking. One word to describe this cowboy is not mysterious, something that cowboys usually should be. Charles nods, this is some great news, although he doesn’t want to praise Eddie too much for it. Just in time to watch as people come in to prepare for their fights as well. Charles leads the way down the stairs as Eddie follows him very closely. Charles is usually one for personal space when he’s not trying to make a deal, but right now he doesn’t mind it, yet doesn’t know why. He just shakes his head and makes his way towards the nervous looking kid on the other end of the arena.
“I’ve also already been thinking of names for him, I’ll have you know. I mean most of the kids here have their nicknames from me so you can most certainly trust me on this pal. Something like, the clock turner or the time keeper.” Eddie says this with some proudness in his voice, gods knows how much mores he’d be boasting if Charles gave him the recognition from this. That’s at least what Charles thinks, he doesn’t think highly of Eddie at all, well doesn’t want to at least.
“I see.” Charles responds, looking at Daniel as they come right to him. The boy practically shrinks under Charles gaze, making him realizing he needs to put on his friendly face now that it wasn’t just him and Eddie. He gives a smile to the kid and holds his hand out to shake it.
“Pleasure meeting you kid, my name is Charlie Coven but you can just call me Charles. All my friends do.” Charles says. Daniel reluctantly shakes his hand, he could practically feel the amount of sweating this kid has done while waiting for Eddie to bring his new supposed boss down. Looking closer at him, Daniel is probably in middle school, twelve years old give or take. Daniel retracts his hand and opens his mouth, not knowing what to say he simply closes it again.
“Where’s your parents Daniel? Will I be having the pleasure of meeting them?” Charles continues. Daniel pauses, he didn’t know they had to be here. The cowboy man was very fast in how he explained things, and at this point he wasn’t surprised that he was kidnapped. Was he? He was unsure, as he was just standing in a closed roller rink. Besides, he didn’t like his parents much anyways. Charles turns to Eddie and gives him an accusatory look, it wasn’t too hard to tell the kid to bring there parents with them now was it. Eddie gives a guilty expression, knowing now the most important part that he forgot to tell Charles.
“Chuck, it’s all good, his older brother is here. He’s like what, 18, that’s legal guardian enough.” Eddie leans in closer to Charles. “Plus, from what I’ve heard from this kid his parents don’t seem to care too much about him anyways.”
Charles nods, this does make it quite easier to convince them to join the whole arena when the parents care less. No good parent willingly lets there child get into these type of fights.
“Speaking of he should be here soon. I offered a ride for him in my limousine but he wanted to drive here himself.” Eddie says, not mentioning the fact that he never specified it was a limo to the two. But hey, no one’s perfect, especially not him. The doors to the arena swing open as more people walk in, Charles couldn’t tell if the brother was apart of the handful of people. It was a group of kids with their duffle bags in hand, some seemed very nervous and some seemed to be excited. This of course were the arena fighters. The age range from them extending from twelve years old to eighteen. Charles makes his way towards them, having already told them yesterday what the line up was and when it would all be, but it wouldn’t hurt to say it again. Eddie turned to Daniel and grinned toothily, revealing a gold tooth that somehow shined under the dim arena light. It was knocked out from an old arena accident, but Eddie doesn’t have to explain that to him. Eddie shrugged at Charles' sudden leave but continued on with his explanation of the arena.
“You know what would be a good name for ya? Stopwatch.” Eddie nods to himself. He doesn’t look at the kid to see what he thinks, his face is really just filled with confusion. That’s how every kid feels in their first days of the arena. Eddie knows the feeling all too well, of starting as one of the fighters, of course.