Pein's clientele base was something fairly infirm, and, at times, something to fret over. People came and went through the door nestled beneath a rack of coats in the closet of a run-down bar with an idea of their own on what a brothel ought to be and what the prices ought to be and what sort of baggage they ought to be freed of in the process of making love to his promiscuous employees. Unfortunately for him, that meant daily disappointments and ear strain due to the incessant shrieking about damages and being 'cheated' of what a customer clearly 'paid for'. If it weren't for the fact that he was apt to use a certain critically buff bodyguard to kindly show someone to the door, he would likely have lost his head (or worse, his paycheck) within the first week of the Akatsuki's operation.
In short, it had been another long, grueling day- and it wasn't quite over yet. A rap of knuckles on wood signaled someone's interest in entering his only sanctuary from the madness that was sex and money, and with a weary come in if you must he was greeted by the touted form of the one and only miser in the building- also known as Kakuzu, the treasurer.
And he did not appear very happy.
Deciding it best to placate whatever manner of being that pestered the elder, the pierced man exhales, a hand scoping out the back of his skull as a question broke through weary lips, "Kakuzu. What's the problem this time?"
It did not, of course, serve Kakuzu's personality for him to answer straight away- no, first and foremost a withering glance was cast around the room, as if the very dirt that pervaded the station was something offensive to him. Fingers tap tap tapped the clipboard that wiry digits wrapped snugly 'round, lime optics appraising the slope of his boss' back and judging it harshly. Pein knew very well that he was not exactly up to par- in fact, he was certain that he was failing the involuntary test rather spectacularly in comparison to his predecessor. With any luck, he wouldn't be canned within the first month as Madara had- then again, he had zero intention of repeating the whole cocaine-in-the-food fiasco to drive profits up.
Apparently having deigned to open his mouth, the gold-skinned man spoke a single line, "They're at it again."
The reasoning behind his throaty groan and the pressing of palms to eye sockets was vast and varied; the term they could easily be applicable to nearly every pair of coworkers he had in stock, and the fact that it was used meant that something was going wrong- something that was sadly quite normal in the scope of things. They all had certain bad habits that resulted in less than tasteful situations that he specifically had to sort out- no longer capable of simply designating someone the task of mediation after an equally indecent episode that involved a trip to the hospital for several paying customers. The orange-haired male rose, straightened himself and shuffled out into the hallway, past the condescending stare of his subordinate and into the equally disheartening press of sweaty bodies and club music.
The oval room that attendees are first presented is generally where a lineup will be called for a customer to pick and choose who exactly they wanted to pay for. After doing so, they proceeded down a narrow hall that branched off to individual rooms as well as a cafe slash bar deal that merely served to remind people that fucking on an empty stomach was never exactly fun. It was in the bar that people normally mingled- and though the attention normally focused on their soon-to-be-partners-in-bed, this was not always the case. More often than not, people had to be excused from the bartender's counter after a few drinks before they even made it to the room they'd be staying in, the result of which being a considerable loss of profit.
While the music was, at times, unbearably loud, people often had a way of drowning out the speakers with their own innate chaos- such was the case when Pein's feet found themselves in the room where the problem was. A certain raven-haired youth that looked just barely of age to be a legal adult was perched upon the counter-top, examining purple nails as the brawn of the situation dealt with a particularly unruly customer that didn't seem to know what look, don't touch and you get what you pay for and nothing else meant. Though he was only half a step behind the issue, he could easily hear the commotion that was being created- and knew that by the time he saw the twitch of thin brows at a rather hard-hitting insult aimed towards the body-guard that he was just a second too late.
With an almost deft movement, the smoky-eyed teen had dismounted the counter, took a single step towards the ranting man and sent a manicured fist into the drunkard's face in a single, lightning-fast shot that Kisame had no way to stop. Pein hurried over, pushing his way through the crowd to attempt to get between the two- but the man was reeling, and his coworker was clearly not done pounding some sense into the other. For as fragile as he looked, Itachi was incredibly strong- and above all else, he was fast enough to evade Kisame's attempts to hold him down.. though it was debatable that he was even trying to, what with the grin that split across jagged teeth at the sight.
"Alright- alright, Itachi, that's enough!"
It took quite a bit of effort to restrain him, arms looping under shoulders and heaving backwards- the grinning, sharklike body shifted to haul the downed man to his feet, then proceeded to escort him outside in a fairly harsh manner as he kicked like a wounded animal. While Pein busied himself trying to calm the man in his arms- the very same who jerked forwards ever so often, eyes burning with fierce intensity- Kakuzu stood stiffly against the wall, disapproval in his gaze.
Just another day, came fatigued thoughts, in paradise.