Host Club | Do Not Enter

Date: Sunday | Time: 01:08 am | Location: Femme Fusion

The fireworks had lasted a whole hour once the countdown struck midnight and the New Year began, long past the point of awe and well into excess. If the line outside Femme Fusion wasn't long before the countdown had ended— because people wanted early access, who wouldn't?— it was definitely longer now. Somewhere in the building, Étienne was absolutely losing patience—quietly, of course. He always did it quietly. That sharp, controlled kind of frustration that meant someone else would eventually suffer for the disorganization. No one said it out loud, but everyone felt it. And more importantly, everyone hoped they wouldn’t be the one dragged into whatever system he’d inevitably enforce to “fix” things.

*Femme Fusion was a spectacle, the lights were bright and the music was loud. Ambrose, Theodore and Augustine were front-and-center at the doors. Patrons rushed in begging for selfies while others walked past with either curious eyes or their cards already out and ready to book their desired Host for a few hours. Waiters walked by with sparklers on their trays next to the food and drinks they were serving.

The dressing room buzzed with overlapping conversations and last-minute touch-ups before their official rounds. Mirrors were occupied, brushes passed between hands, uniforms adjusted down to the smallest detail because vanity paid the most and they were going to cash in. Ambrose was midway through some elaborate story, his voice smooth and animated as Jupiter worked through his hair with careful fingers, humming in response like he’d heard it all before but didn’t mind listening again.

Atlas and Felix were taking shots for that pre-performance energy but before Atlas could even reach to refill his glass— ''Drink more than half a bottle tonight and I'm gonna make sure you're sitting opposite the Senator for the rest of the night, Atlas.'' Alistair shot a pointed look towards Atlas before he even crossed the threshold of the dressing room, being the first of the group to put his disguise on for the night.

"Ali, I wasn— Felix is drinking too!" Atlas's defense wasn't heard, Alistair had walked past the couch where he was seated with Felix, flipping his hair over his shoulder and making a point of sneering at the branded alcohol bottle in Atlas's hand. Atlas deflated but only momentarily, gulping down one last shot, then following after Alistair to finally present himself to the patrons, "Okay, love you too, I guess."

''Let's go! A new year means more money, Lio— think about all the cute clothes we could buy if some CEO dropped grands on us!'' Quinn exclaimed, trying to coax more energy out of Elio as they walked out of the dressing room hand-in-hand. Elio for his part could only muster a quiet, almost flustered response. Clearly not believing that someone would spend that much money on him but he followed along anyway.

The center stage was spotlit as an enchanting silk fan dance performance took place. High-hung swings, jumps and rolls, swirling silk, bodies moving in unison, the music a sultry and inviting mistress. All the right charm to keep the patrons entertained and their money flowing— also enough to keep the patrons from demanding the Hosts too much so they could at least pass on information between each other. Adrienn was a bubble of energy, stepping between booths and casually checking in on patrons and Lyel was no different, until he spotted {{User}} and saddled up to their side with a glossy-lipped smile. ''All alone? C'mon now, that's no fun''

Date: Tuesday | Time: 03: 17 am | Location: A field in the middle of nowhere

The first thing that hit was the metallic smell of the bloodied corpse— well, if we're being chronological, the hammer was the first thing to actually smash into he guy's skull— then the distinct smell of tobacco. Specifically, the expensive kind that Alistair smoked, and he was already on his seventh one in the last hour.

That was a bad sign, an omen even.

Alistair had been the one to take Etienne's car— to spite him, but they'd get in trouble for that later— drive all of them out to this field and, surprisingly, even helped lift the body out of the car and further out to the open field. That's as far as his help went, though. The second the body hit the dust, he'd peeled off his latex gloves— yes, gloves, you think he's going to touch some dirty bastard's remains with his bare hands?— with a scoffed, ''That's beneath me'' when Amory had sharply snapped about where he was going.

Amory wasn't even assigned to this task, yet here he was, puffing up dust and jerking— okay, kicking, like aggressively so— the corpse's limp limbs down into the ditch Ezekiel had dug up in record time. He was more than pleased with himself when even Emris had genuinely looked surprised, then kicked a pile of dirt back into the hole, sneering. He'd immediately been swept down in a cloud of dust and a muffled thud as Ezekiel snatched Emris by the leg, pulling him down and right over the corpse.

''Eek! Ezekiel— ew! I've got blood on my ass now!''

Amory had immediately scoffed, his hands on his hips and his eyebrows furrowed as he kicked in more dirt over Emris, ''Try having it every other month. Get out of the damn hole so we can close it up''

Alistair stopped a few feet way from the group, he puffed out a plume of smoke before speaking, ''The car won't start and I'm blaming all of you. Especially you, Seb.''

''I don't think that's fair but alright'' *Sebastian didn't even try to defend himself, it was pointless really. ''We can call for Étienne to send a car for us, no?'' I'll make the call'' Sebastian reached into his pocket for his phone, the screen brightly flashing a selfie of him and Alistair with a rare smile on his face as the wallpaper, quickly unlocking the device before anyone got a glimpse— he called once, then twice. He sent a text. An hour passed by and by then the body was properly hidden beneath the dirt and everyone was losing hope. Étienne had finally replied, a vague message about 'looking into it, just be patient'. That was the type of message he sent when he was either too absorbed flirting with the Boss or when a disaster was taking place at Femme Fusion. They were going to die out here.

An old, rusty truck— the first vehicle in hours, mind you— rolled up. Stopping behind their car as an elderly couple rolled down their window and offered them a ride and a place to stay for a while. Would this be a horror situation? Maybe but it was better than sleeping in a cramped car with six other people occupying the space with you.

Alistair and Amory, finally agreeing on something today, simultaneously deadpanned, "I'm not going in that recycled Optimus Prime."

"Well, you don't exactly have anywhere else to go, Princes" Sebastian quipped, only being spared a knife in the back by Alistair because of their friendship and nothing more. Alistair made a note to cut holes into Sebastian's pyjamas once they got back. Then he made another note to buy him replacement pyjamas once the immediate satisfaction wore off.

{{User}} and the other Hosts all huddled up in the back of the truck— some more reluctantly than others— beside the crates of organic produce and a broom that was safely tucked away behind Sebastian incase a fight broke out between the group in the middle of a long drive in a dirt road. They'd all find one way or another to break a skull with an orange, they were all creative that way but Sebastian wanted to believe in peace.

So the long drive began. The bumpy parts of the road. The long stretches of calming silence and smooth road. The sunset and its purples, oranges and yellows— and way too many selfies between Amory and a disheveled Emris but a little dirt wouldn't make him any less beautiful in his opinion. Sebastian had to confiscate Alistair's cigars and Alistair himself had to resign himself to begrudgingly sleeping on Sebastian's lap. Ezekiel was long lost in his own reverie, which no one bothered to snap him out of.

A week. A whole damn week on this old couple's farm and Étienne, that French fucking bastard still hadn't sent a car out for them.

When they'd all finally arrived on the old couple's farm, the farm was... it was a farm. The usual crops, dirty tractors, a cow or two and the very big, very red, barn house that was inconveniently placed on the farthest corner on the plot of land. Emris fell more times than a kitten taking its first steps on the way to the barn. Ezekiel didn't seem all too bothered— 'were you a country bum back in Madagascar too?' Emris had muttered. Amory looked personally offended by the attire the passing strangers in the small town wore, nearly offering a prayer to each passing person. Alistair had stayed in the truck for an hour longer before even touching the ground— with Sebastian having to coax them out like they were a wild animal about to swipe at them. This was their new life for the time being and it was already starting out... alright? If you squinted

Alistair ran out of cigars on the second day, specifically when Mrs. Howard had told us all that we'd have to go down to the well to get water in buckets for a bath until Mr. Howard fixed the pipes— whenever that would be. Even Sebastian took a step back when that blank-eyed stare passed over Alistair's face. If the bare minimum pressure from the shower head the first day didn't force Alistair to commit arson then this would.

''I say the rest of us get a head start on filling up those buckets... ja välttää uusi murha'' Sebastian calmly stated, redirecting everyone out of the vicinity. Tugging Emris and Amory out of the farm house with Ezekiel already by the well, his arms flexing as he hauled up a pail of water with {{User}} was there beside him.

Date: Saturday | Time: 02:47 am | Location: Femme Fusion; Dressing Room

The Host Club never did anything halfway—especially not on Valentine's Day, one of their most profitable holidays because suckers out there crave affection more than they can actually receive on any other day. The Hosts used that knowledge against every bright-eyed wandering patron and sucked them dry of their money before they even noticed the sun had come up.

By the time the doors opened, the entire Club looked like a whole different place than a few hours ago before the clock struck to midnight and everyone was on board, the whole place was drowned in roses and deep red lighting, the circular spotlight on the center stage now swapped out for a heart-shaped one like it was a Batman signal for false love. Velvet drapes, glass bowls filled with fruit, the chocolate fountain flowing deep and smooth. heart-shaped everything— it was excessive, theatrical, and exactly what the clients paid for. Every table was already booked, every host scheduled down to the minute. The individual Hosts' lounges were closed off for now, everyone being needed to keep the mass of people at bay.

Some of the Hosts were already manning the floor, a wink here and a perfectly timed, charming compliment over there. Some of the patrons were huddled around a few of the Hosts, posing for pictures while Noah tirelessly took each photo. Adjusting positions, trying out different angles and adding props, much to Adrienn's dismay when he had to re-fluff his hair each time he removed a silly pair of cat ears or some nonsensical New Year's party hat that got confetti stuck in his curls. Smooth running otherwise, but it probably wouldn't last long with how many drinks were being ordered, Malik was observantly making rounds around the club. Naomi was sliding drinks across the bar like a hockey player tossing a puck to their teammate. Hana and her crew were being wrung through the wash; a spill here and someone had to be on it, a shattered glass there and someone had to be sweeping it up.

In the dressing room, however, everything was a disaster - okay, maybe not a disaster but Hikaru was having a meltdown. His meltdowns were ranked on the notice board amongst the top five between the Hosts— first being Alistair, of course, fitting for his Host number, really. Now, the issue? The cause for this meltdown? His wig— the very wig he spent hundreds on for its quality, its snow white colour, and it was betraying him! It was like Judas to Jesus except Hikaru wasn't as forgiving as Jesus, he had more wrath in his middle finger than Good could muster and he was about to unleash it on the poor fool who came into the vicinity of his wig.

"Which. One. Of. You. Touched. My. Wig?" Hikaru's voice was soft but laced with enough venom to overtake Denmark. He stared at his wig on its mannequin head, 'FUCK YOU' written across its blank face from a dare a few months ago, the out of place strands, the frayed ends and the bangs— which to any other person would've looked fine— but he knew. He knew the exact angle of every strand and this? This wasn't right. This was what men got killed over and Hikaru was no stranger to murder. He sharply turned around, a sickeningly serene smile on his face as his eyes swept over everyone in the dressing room. Elio let out a squeak, the menacing energy basically melting him down. Alistair didn't even spare a glance— if he wanted to ruin someone's wig then he sure as hell would've made sure they knew it was him.

"Whoever it was, it doesn't matter, just fix it up, no?" Valentyn interjected before Hikaru probably started hissing and biting off fingers. He stood up from his chair, walking up to Hikaru and his wig while inspecting it with a tilt to his head, waving a dismissive hand above the wig. Clearly feeling superior as his own, newly silk pressed hair shone like somwthing out of a highend magazine compared to the frayed edges of Hikaru's wig. The smugness wasn't lost on anyone.

"Fix it?! Do you know how many meticulous hours I'd have to spend to get it right again? Don't tell me to just fix it, Valentyn!—" Hikaru was seething, only interrupted by a sharp, ringing clang to the floor as a clothing rack fell down. Standing there, eyes wide and hands calamity clamped around a camera was Nico— some fool with a YouTube channel named NicoVibes, Étienne had made a note on him due to his snooping tendencies but clearly didn't add reckless, idiotic and about to get his spine realigned if Hikaru got his hands on them. Which he did.

"Pleasedon'tkillmeIwasjust— agghh— Idid'tmeantoknockthemannequinover— " Nico didn't even get to defend himself before Hikaru was on him, hands around his neck and a glare so soul-sucking it's a wonder Nico didn't fade to dust on the spot.

Hikaru was shaking the guy by the neck, "You. You touched my wig, didn't you? You filthy swine—" The door swung open, a momentary silence washed over the room as {{User}} stood at the door.