Chapter 1: Tuning
Moxxie never thought he'd ever consider such a thing, but he was beginning to hate the theater.
Well, calling this a proper theater was a stretch. This was a theater, sure, a movie theater.
He had sat through these showings more times than he could count. The things that passed as screenplay nowadays were getting under his skin. Soulless romance, mass-produced action flicks, and spineless horror films. Occasionally, the rare indie flick trying too hard to be like the last one. He wasn't even upset with the poor writing so much as the apparent lack of effort. The amount of boom mics he'd seen dip into the screen was insulting.
He could think of a couple real plays he could never get tired of. If he could be watching those instead, the piss-poor paycheck would be worth it. It'd be just like when he used to sneak into the rafters of the city theater back in Wrath, watching all manner of plays and concerts meant only for Nobles or rich folk to see.
He missed the concerts the most. There was nothing quite like seeing one in person, an entire orchestra at work, playing amazing works written by masters of their craft. He hadn't seen one in years now.
Even if he could afford it, there were rarely any concert halls in the Ring of Pride. Which was surprising, due to the sheer volume of rich and nobles located here. But ever since the first Holy Weapon incident, it became more common for them to visit other rings for leisure activities. Which left theaters in Pride to turn to films instead of plays.
So Moxxie was stuck here, waiting in a goddamn ticket booth until the next movie ended so he could go in and clean the popcorn, piss, and condoms off the floors and seats. And boy, was the wait utterly mind-numbing.
Don't get it wrong, he wasn't exactly excited to have to clean up the theater after the show. But just sitting in this cramped little booth waiting for people to come buy tickets was boring him to death.
Moxxie would be banging his head against the desk right now, just to receive any kind of stimulation at all. Something, anything to keep him awake and his brain active. But, he'd get a bruise on his forehead if he did, and then he wouldn't be presentable, and then he'd get fired. Not something he could afford to deal with right now. Or ever, being realistic about it.
Being realistic, this was a completely dead end job. Moxxie had more than enough time to figure that out. He wasn't going to get any kind of raise, no promotion, and working at a movie theatre wasn't really much of a resume booster. He was trapped here, living less than paycheck to paycheck, having to make cash on the side to barely scratch by.
It had been like that ever since he moved out.
His plans for making it in Imp City fell through the floorboards and into the dirt. He hated having his plans fail, it was like being wrong, but you had to experience it slowly and painfully. And experience it he did, nonstop, constant reminders since the moment he turned eighteen and all the way till-
"Can I get a lil' service?"
Moxxie had to take a second to gather himself mentally. In front of the booth was a lanky fellow wearing an all-black suit and fedora. All black, save for the single silver pin on the collar. Moxxie knew that outfit, and knew what came with it. The man himself was young, but had saggy eyes, horrible posture, and two extremely pronounced buckteeth, almost jetting forward like a horse.
"Can I help you?" Moxxie asked.
The taller Imp just stared back at him, or so he thought, he couldn't really tell with the shades.
"…Sir?"
The figure sighed, removing his shades. "C'mon Max, don't ya 'member me?"
"Max? I don't use-" Moxxie paused, squinting at the figure for a moment. "Wait, Huey?"
"Yer darn right it's Huey! How've ya been?"
Moxxie was too busy having his mouth hanging to bother correcting him. Satan knows that after years of trying before, it's not like he'd get his name correct now anyways.
"I- why are you-" he had to stop himself for a second to gather his words. "What are you doing here?"
"I came t' say hi to my best bud!" Huey said, scratching his neck, "And also maybe ask fer a little help from ya."
"What do you need my help for?"
"Oh y'know… just… family business."
Moxxie furrowed his brows the second he heard the word "family" leave his mouth.
"I got out when I could, you know that. I'm not, and never was, involved with your family."
Huey frowned, "Okay, look, I get yer not really a big fan of th' whole thing. I'm not tryin' to drag you int'a anything. I just… I need your help, just this once."
Moxxie glanced at the clock. He could probably call in his lunch break now, and Satan, he was hungry.
"Can we talk about this over some lunch?"
Moxxie and Huey had made their way to a nearby diner, sitting themselves at the counter that overlooked the sidewalk outside.
While waiting for their food to arrive, Huey was stirring some creamer into his coffee, and Moxxie was still just taking in the fact that Huey was here, now, in person.
How long had it been now? Four years?
The last time Moxxie had seen Huey was when he turned eighteen. Huey had been his bunkmate his whole life up until that point, both of them failing to get adopted.
That didn't seem to upset Huey nearly as much as it did Moxxie. Huey downright didn't want to be adopted, he had… other plans.
When Moxxie turned eighteen, he left. Not just the orphanage, but the entire ring of Wrath. He wanted out, and he had dreams of making it in music or theater. Dreams which hadn't really panned out. As if it wasn't clear back then, all he had to do was look at Huey now to know what choice he made.
Black shirt, black suit, black tie, black fedora… Moxxie eyed Huey's waistline. Black gun holster too.
"Sorry 'bout the name earlier."
"What?" Moxxie asked as he quit assessing Huey's get-up.
"Your name… Got it wrong earlier, sorry 'bout that."
"Oh, that's fine. I've gotten pretty used to it by this point…" Moxxie drifted off the sentence, noting Huey's simultaneously confused yet concerned expression. Attempting to keep the conversation anywhere other than his own life, Moxxie spoke again.
"So… how have things been?"
"Oh, just dandy. Mostly," Huey sputtered between chewing his burger.
It wasn't any better than your usual hellside fast food burger. Compared to Moxxie's meager lunch of bread and cheese though, it felt like he was watching a feast from the sidelines.
"Job pays well too I imagine?" Moxxie asked.
Huey thought about flashing his wallet, but decided he didn't need to attract any more attention than he already did with the all-black fancy get-up.
"It sure does little bro."
"Huey," Moxxie said with a cringe, "we're not related."
"We were practically raised together."
"Yes, along with forty-eight other kids."
Huey glanced at Moxxie's meager lunch. "I suppose yer being a bitter little baby about it cause yer strapped fer cash?"
Moxxie grumbled.
"I can fix that, if you'd like."
"And how's that?"
"We got a… hefty offer for a hitjob. I'm talking millions each in pre-laundered, unmarked, untraceable cash."
Moxxie scoffed in his head. No one gives a shit about laundering money down here. Blood money, dirty cash, no one cared. The only people out of touch enough to still think that was a thing were… Moxxie's jaw dropped. "You're being hired by a noble?!"
"Quiet! Don't need nobody hearing this… we're being hired by a noble, to kill a noble."
Moxxie rubbed his temples, he could get in serious trouble just for talking about this. So why did he keep doing it? "How noble are they exactly?" Moxxie asked.
Huey started him dead in the eyes. "This goes up Moxxie. Way up."
"It's not a Geotia, right?" Moxxie waited for Huey to deny it, but no such answer came. "Huey, it couldn't possibly be a Goetia could it?"
"Eeh… I haven't gotten the deets yet, but-"
"Oh Satan, why'd you come to me about this?! How could I possibly-"
"You know more about that fancy noble crap than anyone else I know! Nobody in the family knows so much as what kind of books they'd read."
"Cheap romance and famous poetry mostly," Moxxie muttered almost instinctively.
"Exactly, this is what I'm talking about. You know them. Not surface level crap, but how they think. We need that. Most of the Capos are insisting we treat it like any other big op, and we'll be fine. I told the Don himself that was a bad idea. Thought I'd lose a finger for speakin' outta turn, but he humored me. Says if I can bring in someone who knows their class, we can work out a safer approach."
"Huey, I don't even have a gun."
Huey seemed dumbfounded. "You? You're a whiz with th' damn things, why don't you have a gun?"
"Cause I'm a gentleman, Huey. Gentlemen don't go around carrying guns," Moxxie mumbled.
Truth was, he just couldn't afford it. He'd long since pawned off his old one just to afford food. He couldn't let Huey know just how bad things were for him though, he wasn't sure he could handle the shame of having already failed at life so miserably.
"Yeah, sure thing bud. It's hell, we all have weapons down here. Listen, I can get you strapped, but only if you're gonna help. You'll get a cut of the money too. C'mon man, whaddya say?"
Moxxie nervously tapped his foot instead of responding. If were anything other than a noble, he'd honestly be willing to do it, just to make some decent money for once. But a member of the Ars Goetia family? That's not something he was sure he could handle. Political assassinations were far above killing random strangers.
"Listen, you don't have to decide now, but if ya choose to come…" Huey slipped a card onto the table. "1:00 AM, tomorrow. Password is "Pa's Dead Canary."
Moxxie picked up the card, but not before watching Huey get up from the stool.
"I'll see ya around Max."
"Moxxie."
"Right, sorry."
With a bell chime at the door, Huey was gone. Moxxie felt simultaneously relieved, and a little disappointed. He glanced at the card Huey had slipped him, recognizing the address in an instant. Hell, he couldn't forget it if he tried.
Who could possibly forget where they were raised?
