- Vale, 7 years prior to RWBY -
The streets of downtown Vale were a lonesome place after dark, even more so on humid nights such as this one. In light of the recent showers, the streets were as good as vacant, devoid of their usual activity and filled, instead, with the soft echoes of water droplets trickling down from the rooftops. The air was thick with the presence of rain and with the moon and stars hidden behind somber skies of grey, the citizens of this coastal city were left with little but the holographic streetlights to guide them through the dark.
Whereas most citizens tended to keep to the more lively parts of the residential district, some chose to seek another kind of liveliness in the more questionable parts of town. One such person, a young brawler going by the name of 'Junior', shoved his hands deeper in his pockets as he made his way down the slippery street.
His clothes were dank from the drizzly weather, from his maroon hoodie down to his desert cargos. Needless to say, his fingerless gloves did little to shield him against the surrounding cold, hence the aforementioned stuffing of pockets, nor did the sunglasses propped on his nose do him much good in the cloudy weather. Or so you would think...!
Rounding a corner, the brawler came to a stop.
Producing a note from his pocket, he double checked the address before guiding his steps towards a large concrete building across the street. The muffled sound of pulsing music reached his ears almost as soon as he entered, verifying that he had indeed come to the right place. Making his way past the wardrobe, overlooking the tender's offer to take his non-existent coat, he found himself faced with a giant slide door. Upon approach, the door split with effortless ease, nearly blinding the man as he was introduced to a world of flashing lights and neon.
The music was no longer muffled – booming, rather - as he entered the giant room, scanning the premises in silent awe. Calling it 'impressive' would be an understatement! The place couldn't have been less than ten thousand square feet, big enough to house not only a giant dance floor, bustling with patrons, but a large catwalk structure leading all around the room and even a full-sized bar to the far left. The neon trimmings that lined the jet black interior had a very exotic, future-esque feel to them, which he supposed was the idea.
The patrons were no less exotic, he noted, as he passed a group of party-goers on his way to the bar. Their flashy clothes were like something out of a tacky science-fiction flick, with colourised hair and excessive makeup to match.
Junior shook his head at the prospect as he finally reached the counter.
"Jack and Coke." he said as he mounted one of the barstools, earning himself a puzzled look from the tender.
"You, ah, got any ID?" he asked, scanning the brawler from head to toe.
It wasn't an obvious question, mind you. Despite his relatively young age, having just turned 20, Junior stood head and shoulders above most of the people at the bar, including the tender himself. He also had the makings of a thick beard growing on his chin, although, currently, it only sufficed as a simple goatee.
"Do I need one?" Junior asked, utilizing his advantageous height as he peered at the tender.
"Yeah. You do!" the guy sneered, the tone of his voice underlining the obvious.
"So... skip the jack and gimme a coke!" Junior shrugged.
"Get lost!" the tender shot back, thrusting his thumb at the exit. "If you want soda, there's a corner store just down the street!"
Junior suppressed an urge to smack him and decided to change the subject instead.
"I'm here to see your boss!" he said firmly, knitting his brows at the tender.
"What do I look like? A receptionist? Beat it, kid!"
Junior, very calmly, cracked his head from side to side.
Seconds later, the tender had wiped the entire bar clean, using only himself as rag. He only came to crashing stop as he finally slid off the end of the counter, along with several drinks and appetizers, much to the dismay of every patron along the way. Junior ignored their dumbstruck expressions as he produced a can of coke from behind the bar, leaving the proper amount of Lien in its wake. In the end, no one was either dumb or drunk enough to confront him about it.
Popping the cap with practiced ease, he had barely begun to drink when a husky voice suddenly spoke from behind.
"Aren't you a little young to be in this club, junior?" the voice asked with a hint of bitterness.
Junior's head did a 180 as he turned his attention to the source of the voice: a silver-haired man in a spotless, white suit, shadowed by a pack of similarly dressed goons. His aged face, albeit wrinkled, radiated a sense of authority and cunning, as did the greenish-blue eyes locked upon the stranger. Like Junior, his chin was adorned with a goatee, only his was as silvery as the rest of his hair.
Junior suppressed a smile as he silently identified the man.
"Aren't you a little grey to have a name like Cyan Casket?" he replied as he turned to face the man.
"Humour." Casket deadpanned, shifting his lips in a joyless smile as he rolled his eyes at the prospect. "Great." His eyes shifted back to the stranger. "So, you know who I am. You got a name, kiddo?"
"You already guessed it." Junior replied matter-of-factly.
Casket's brows shifted in puzzlement.
"Your name's 'kiddo'?" he asked, prompting a couple of snickers from his goons. Casket himself couldn't help but to scoff in amusement. "Boy, your parents really must've hated you!" That struck a nerve.
It took all of Junior's willpower not to punch him square in the face, as was his tendency. Instead, he settled for a heated glare as he clarified his statement.
"Junior."
"Oh. Classy." Casket hummed, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. "Alright then, Junior, aside from beating up my staff..." He paused here to toss a meaning glance at the bartender, still moaning on the floor. "What do you want?"
As if on cue, Junior reached into the pocket of his hoodie and produced a stack of photos, which he proceeded to brandish at the old man. Casket's eyes grew dark as they caught sight of the images, showcasing crates stocked full of weapons. Not just any weapons, either: his weapons.
Junior stuffed the photographs back into his pocket as he leaned against the counter.
"I wanna know how a guy can own a place like this!" he said, tossing a vague gesture at the barroom.
The goons exchanged puzzled looks as Casket eyed him from head to toe. Needless to say, he didn't look very pleased. Nevertheless, he kept his cool, shifting his eyes in a brief glance at the surrounding patrons before returning to the person in question.
"Let's go to my office!" he decided, nodding his head in a gesture to follow.
Making quick work of his remaining coke, Junior stalked the old man as they left the bar behind, along with its afflicted tender.
"Search him." Casket ordered the second the door was shut.
"What? Hey!" Junior shot as two goons moved in to restrain him. A difficult task, they found, as the so-called kid just happened to be not only taller than them, but a lot more muscular too. "What gives?!"
"First rule of running a business, kid:" Casket replied, casually, as he sat behind his desk. "Take no chances." Then, with a much more cryptic tone, he added: "If the cops have a bug on you, I wanna make sure they hear it when you scream!"
Junior's eyes widened at the prospect.
"I'm not some frickin' snitch, okay?!" he barked, punctuating his deceleration by shooting his elbows out to his sides, sending both henchmen sprawling back with a fresh nosebleed. Big mistake, he realized, as the sound of several weapons being cocked behind his back reached his ears. Hoping to stall them, Junior shot his arms up in a submissive kind of gesture. "Look, if I wanted dirt on you, I wouldn't have to ask you directly!" he shot at Casket, who – thus far – had observed the whole ordeal with an eerily calm expression. "I know all about your dirty little operation at the docks: six hundred crates of illegal weapons and ammunition, marked down as 'peaches' in the registers!"
Casket's expression remained cold as he narrowed his eyes at the boy.
"I have no idea what you're talking about!"
"Of course you don't!" Junior exclaimed, more than a little sarcastic, as he tossed his hands in the air. "You're just an honest business man trying to make a living like everyone else in this stinking city!" Dropping the act, Junior stopped to hold his arms out. "You know what? Search me! I'll shoot myself if you find a bug!"
Silence fell over the office as Casket eyed him, coldly. There was something about this kid that seemed off, somehow, like he wasn't just some two-dimensional thug looking to blackmail one of the biggest crime bosses in Vale. Then again, he had met dumber people in his life, so maybe he shouldn't be so surprised...?
His goons still had their weapons firmly trained on Junior's back, triggers at the ready as their eyes shifted from their prey to their boss, just waiting for the order to shoot. Needless to say, it was a tension-filled couple of seconds until, finally, the old man spoke.
"You've got guts, kid! I'll give you that!" he said, the slightest of smiles hinting at his lips. "But guts can only take you so far!" Turning to one of the henchmen, Casket made a gesture. "Search him."
Junior remained as if nailed to the floor as the guy moved in, sweeping his figure with some kind of scanner, all the way from his shoulders to his feet. Meanwhile, in the background, the two goons who had been unfortunate enough to get in his way were removed from the scene. Having completed his sweep, the henchman finally declared him 'clean'. Seeing Casket's expression soften, Junior felt confident enough to lower his arms.
"Sit." the club owner didn't so much ask as command him, referring to a chair in front of his desk. Shooting the henchmen a brief, cautious glance, Junior did as instructed. Casket looked at him sternly as he spoke in a serious voice. "How did you know about the guns?"
"I know a lot of things!" Junior shrugged, taking this time to adjust his shades.
"How did you know about the guns?!" Casket echoed, dangerously, prompting his henchmen to shift in the background.
Watching the goons from the corner of his eye, knowing very well he could be killed at any moment, Junior began to relate.
"Finding your ship was the easy part! I just had to get a hold of the registers and find out which freighter supposedly carried less cargo than it was capable of. Once I knew what I was looking for, I just had to find it. When the shipment arrived, I snuck in and popped one of the crates! Obviously, the top layer was covered with nothing but peaches, but if you'd take the time to dig a little, you'd find yourself with enough firepower to take on a pack of Beowolves!" With that, he shrugged. "Simple as that!"
All the while listening to his story, Casket had remained perfectly stone-faced, as seemed to be his tendency. But, as the story was coming to an end, his wrinkled lips crept back in a vague smile as he studied the young brawler.
"Gutsy and resourceful...!" he observed. "I'm startin' to like you, kid!" A hum escaped his aged lips. "Shame, really, seeing as how I might have to kill ya!"
Junior didn't answer. Instead, he settled for miming the old man's expression from before. Casket arched a silvery brow at his lacklustre reaction. He had expected at least a flinch! Shrugging off the disappointment, the old man rose from his chair, making his way to a nearby counter where he produced a bottle of whiskey and a glass.
"You said you wanted to know how a guy like me can own a club like this?" he asked as he uncorked the bottle.
"I wanna know how I can own a club like this!" Junior clarified at his back.
Casket paused briefly at that, shooting Junior a studious glance before tilting the bottle, spilling the liquor into the glass.
"And why is that, if you don't mind me asking?" he said, eyes never leaving the whiskey.
Junior's forehead creased at the question. For the first time since he entered the club, he found himself at a loss of words.
He could say that, ever since his father died in an accident, he felt virtually bereft of any guidance in life and didn't know what to do with himself. He could say that, because of it, he had lost all his will to play baseball and he needed something to fill that void. He could say that it was because he hated seeing his mother work herself to death, day in and day out, just to keep a roof over their heads and he needed a way to make things right.
In the end, as much as it nagged him, he said none of those things.
"I guess so...!" Casket murmured as he noted Junior's silence. Having filled his glass with liquor and ice, he turned to face the desk again. "Then, how about this: what would you do with a club?"
"I'd build it up!" Junior answered, firmly, voice devoid of any hesitation. "Make it the most popular place in the city!"
"That's no small feat!" Casket noted, sufficiently amused.
"Exactly." Junior replied.
"And the competition?"
Junior's eyes narrowed in a look of determination.
"They can eat my dust!"
Casket couldn't help but to chuckle at the sincerity in his voice. It appeared his hunch about this kid had been correct, to some degree. He really believed in what he said! Despite himself, not to mention the fact that the little punk had actually blackmailed him into giving him an audience, he decided to entertain the youthful optimism with a word of guidance.
"Junior, was it?" he asked, before taking a swig of whiskey, watching the remaining ice swirl around the glass as he continued. "You wanna know how to succeed in this business? You wanna know how to make a name for yourself?" His eyes looked to Junior, who mirrored the action. "Keep doing what you're doing!" Junior's brows rose, curiously, at the statement, prompting the man to continue his little speech. "You've got guts, you're resourceful; and you've got vision!" With that, he stopped to sweep the last of his drink. "But you're still lacking one thing!"
"What's that?" Junior demanded, knitting his brows at the old man.
"Class." Casket answered in a nonchalant manner. "I mean, look at you!" he scoffed, waving a hand at his appearance. "You look like you just crawled out of mount Glenn! Get a suit, for Grimm's sake, and loose the glasses!"
Junior watched as he returned to the counter to pour himself another drink.
"That's it?" he asked, hoping for clarification. "That's all it takes?"
"That and a river of whiskey!" Casket grinned knowingly as he turned to face him, before sweeping another glass with practiced ease. "Trust me. You'll need it!"
Junior couldn't help but crack a slight grin at the prospect. With that, the moment between them passed and Casket's expression returned to its serious state.
"Photos." he said, nodding at his desk. Getting the message, Junior produced the images once again and placed them on the desktop. Letting another pensive hum escape his lips, Casket tossed his head at the entrance. "Get out!"
The streets of Vale were as vacant as when he had arrived, only now it had begun to rain again.
"Resourceful, huh?" Junior mumbled as he stepped out on the street, plucking the sunglasses from his face. He cracked a silent smile as he watched the letters 'REC' flash on it's inner display. Sure was a good thing that goon with the scanner had missed his head! With that, he tossed one final glance at the club before turning to walk down the street, knowing his life would never be the same from this point on.
It wasn't long before the headlines on every newspaper in Vale talked about the sensational arrest of Cyan Casket, the crime boss, after a successful raid on one of his properties. What was, perhaps, even more sensational, though, was the fact that it had all been accomplished thanks to a video sent to the police from an anonymous source. The video, along with several other incriminating pieces of evidence, including photo copies, missing records and physical assets, was enough to put Casket behind bars for a long time!
Likewise, it wasn't long before Casket's properties and assets were all purchased and subsequently sold off, all for a most considerable sum, by a certain Hei Xiong. That is, with the exception of one, certain establishment that seemed to have appealed to Mr. Xiong especially. An establishment most commonly referred to as, simply: The Club.