The smoke that filled the run down bar made most of the patrons nothing more than hazy outlines. His band's music made the shadows sway slightly in time to the beat, which was only interrupted occasionally with the sound of breaking glass or shouted obscenities. The room was almost too small for the stage, and the low ceiling made it seem even smaller. The set ended, and he waved to the audience before putting away his guitar and hopping offstage to grab a beer; they came out of the pay for the night, but he ran his band with an iron fist and kept them from putting him in debt (though it was a cheap brand, anyway).
He sighed as his bottle was slid down the counter to him.
He knew that he could go far as lead guitarist, yet he felt that he was called to bigger things. But ambition didn't amount to much. He took a swig of his draft. It wasn't as cold as he liked it and he frowned at it. It was then that he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, and he sighed.
Sitting by himself, and nursing what looked to be his fourth bottle, sat a man who was trying his best to look like he belonged. His clothes might be the same jeans and leather, but they were just a little too new looking; just a little too top of the line. The sons of the rich came in, trying to rebel against their family's money, or choice of friends, or college or political affiliation. Sometimes they just sat in the back and drank and left; but more often they drank enough to let go of common sense and started trouble. They all had a chip on their shoulder and something to prove. They were self-entitled children and Giovanni hated dealing with them.

He finished his beer and wiped his mouth on his arm. He strode over to the stranger, shaking out his hair as he did so. He cocked his head to one side. "Enjoying your evening?"
The man looked at him with only slightly unfocused eyes. "Anyone ever tell you your hair is too long?"
It came all the way down his back and, after himself, was what his female fans worshipped most.
"No one who matters ever has," he replied. "Do you plan on leaving soon, or are you going now?"
The other man, too thin for his tough-guy outfit, took another slow drink from his glass of beer. Another sign of being an outsider; he was the only one drinking beer from a glass in the room.
"I was planning on staying longer, in spite of the music," he responded lazily.
Giovanni decided to take care of this problem before it became worse; if he insulted the music some of the band's fans could get rough quickly. And if it wasn't the music it would be something else. Something in the man's eyes said that they just wanted to cause trouble.
This is why he hated rich kids.
Giovanni gave a quick jerk of his head to the man to follow him and started toward the door. As he suspected, the other man followed him with an almost excited expression of anticipation.
Once outside, Giovanni pulled on leather gloves on and said, "I'm giving you one warning: Leave now."
The other man puffed up. "If you think you can intimidate—"
The leather gloves were there to protect his hands; he had punched a man in the mouth before without them when he was just starting out and couldn't play for weeks. The wound had gotten infected and caused him no amount of pain.
Even with the gloves, he didn't aim for the mouth anymore. He always hit the nose first; and though this time he was denied the particularly refreshing crack of a bone breaking, it succeeded in its primary objective of bleeding immediately and profusely.
The other man screamed in pain and cupped both of his hands around his nose in agony, and was then promptly punched several times in the gut. He fell to the ground, where he was kicked until he stopped moving.

Giovanni slowly took off his gloves while looming over the man and walked back into the bar. He hadn't even bothered to take the man out to the back, instead humiliating him in view of the front window. Not that he was worried. The bar's owner allowed Giovanni certain privileges, one of those being to take down trouble-makers. Though the men Giovanni usually targeted were (soon-to-be-ex) boyfriends of the girl he was sleeping with that night, he prevented enough actual troublemakers from causing fights that his actions were looked upon with a certain fondness by the less drunk patrons.
He stepped back onto the stage and he could feel the energy from the fight, short as it was, rush through him. His playing took on a whole new level and the crowd also entered into his high. They screamed and danced louder and harder than they had all the night earlier, and they followed him wherever he went in his playing. It was this thrill that made him feel whole; this feeling of power over people. It was then that he could forget everything else and relish his control.
And when he stopped that night, he had his pick of women panting to be with him. Maybe it was from his earlier display, but he had no trouble with boyfriends this time.
Leaving the building, he could see that the man had recovered enough to prop himself up by the front wall of the bar, clutching his sides and breathing heavily through his mouth; dried blood everywhere.
Giovanni walked by him with the girls of that night (he had found he just couldn't choose between them today), and pointedly ignored him as he walked by. All in all, it was a good night.

He was back in the bar, in the same place, two days later. His face was a mess with two black eyes and a swollen nose. He wasn't looking anyone else in the eyes, though, so Giovanni decided to leave him alone for now. If he had to, he would beat someone down as many times as need be, but he didn't do it without provocation.
When he got to the counter, he found a beer already waiting for him, an expensive brand that wasn't included on his tab.
"What is this? Give me my usual."
The bartender shook his head. "I can't, Gio. That guy in the back?" he pointed to the skinny man and the man waved at them brightly. "He told me all your drinks were on him tonight and to give you only the best."
Giovanni growled. He didn't trust this situation one bit. He quickly went back to the stage where he instead drank from a bottle of water he had brought. It was warm and it wasn't beer, but that guy didn't buy it for him.
His escape wasn't to be that easy, however.
Not even an hour later he was sent a beer. It had happened before occasionally, from a fan or from a woman, but he knew that this one was from that man. But to refuse to drink it would make him seem ungrateful to the fans watching, so he chugged it so as not to enjoy it. Giovanni just made sure to glare at the man in the corner during the rest of the set. The man took it all without flinching and left before they were done for the night.

He wasn't there the next night, and Giovanni was relieved that his strange revenge was over so quickly.
But once again, the expensive bottle was waiting for him when he walked over during break.
"Don't play with me," he growled to the barkeep.
He shook his head. "Orders from the boss. It seems that weirdo came to the boss and paid in advance for you, since you wouldn't order for yourself."
"How much?"
"The boss wouldn't tell me, but I was told you could order any amount of anything this week."
Giovanni said nothing and grabbed the beer roughly from the counter.
The anger that was growing inside him from owing this man was a rage that he had never felt before. It was different from the energy he used to fight for women; it went beyond mere insult. He had never seriously considered killing a man before this, but this man seemed intent on being the first.

He had to endure a week of this humiliation before the man showed up again, still sporting black eyes. This gave Giovanni some consolation.
Some.
He went up to him when he was on break, but was interrupted before he could speak.
"We'll talk when your band is done playing."
Giovanni prepared to drag the man outside by his still too-nice leather jacket when,
"If you want me to stop paying for you, I'd listen."
Giovanni stiffly walked back to his band and got through the rest of the night, keeping an eye on the man with a mixture of rage and apprehension. He barely had time to curtly tell one of his band-mates to take care of his guitar for him and tell his female fans, "Not right now" before he saw Richie Rich heading towards the exit. He followed after, irritated that he wasn't doing the leading. They got outside and the man suddenly turned on him and said, "First you do me a favor, and then we'll talk."
Giovanni grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him close.
"How about you stop paying for me and I won't break you again?"
The other man put up his hands in front of his face in an "I give up" kind of gesture.
"As much as I'm sure you'd love to do that, and are capable of doing it, there's something in it for you."
"Like what?"
"After the favor, dear sir, after."
Giovanni growled and let him go, and the other man smoothed out the wrinkles in the coat, restoring it to its abnormal pristine condition. "Follow me," he said, as he made his way into an alley. They walked down a narrow passage that widened into a dead-end between two apartment buildings. Two large men were already there. They leered at the sight of Rich-Kid.
"Didn't think ya'd show up, Prissy-boy. Ready to back up your tough talk?"
Richie looked at them with pity. "I wouldn't dream of touching you. My bodyguard here will play instead."
He made a sign, and Giovanni understood that this was the "favor" that had been mentioned.
He sighed and removed his vest; it was one he liked and didn't want it to get blood on it.
Both men were bigger than him, but didn't seem to be carrying any weapons. He didn't feel any remorse in beginning to beat up two men he didn't know or even have a reason to fight. It was more of an annoyance against this fat cat who had somehow talked him into taking orders. Giovanni decided to use this chance to vent his frustration on the two men, unfair as it might have been to them.

Giovanni might have been in trouble if the two men had been together and were working as a team, but as it was they were just two guys the other man had insulted. So when Giovanni rushed the closest guy, the other didn't jump in right away to help. He had started out with the old tried'n'true nose punch first, and this time he was sure he had broken it. This bought him some extra time. He quickly dropped down and swept the other man off his feet and onto his back, where he started beating his head into the ground. The man tried to push Giovanni off, but his arms were pinned. It was at this point that the other man decided to step in, body-checking Giovanni from behind and rushing after him as he skidded along the ground. He got in a few good kicks before Giovanni rolled over and grabbed the inside of his leg, pulling him forward and down and the man crashed nearly on top of him. Giovanni grabbed his foot in a figure four and, placing on knee on the other man's knee, used the man's own ankle as torque to break his knee by twisting his leg. Screaming in pain, the man grabbed his knee and writhed in pain. Standing back up, Giovanni saw that the first man had already run away. He ran his hand through his long hair and strode over to the rich boy, putting his vest back on as he did so.
"Ready to talk?"
The other man winced. "Maybe in a quieter—and more private- location?"
Giovanni had already tuned out the screaming man, but it seemed money-bags couldn't. A private place would be a problem, though, as the bar was anything but, and the back room that was used as the band's break room would be filled with part of the band making out in it. He groaned internally.
"Follow me," he said. He led him back to his own apartment.

It wasn't on the bad side of town; it wasn't on the good side. It was close enough to downtown so that Giovanni could walk to most gigs if need be, and the inside was cleaner than expected of a rocker. Giovanni himself was a man who preferred order (his order) over disarray; and also there was nothing that turned a woman off faster, he had found, was walking into an apartment that looked like it belonged to a junkie.
Giovanni motioned the other guy to take a seat somewhere in the general seating area, and the man took the nicest looking one. He wasn't surprised.
Giovanni took the second best chair, sitting across the coffee table and staring at him intently. He wasn't going to be the first to break down and cooperate.
The other man seemed to tire quickly of this game, which Giovanni would have usually taken as a sign of winning but the other didn't seem annoyed. He seemed to be…looking down on him. Giovanni could feel his rage begin to return.
"What. Do. You. Want." He spat out, before he beat him up again.
He seemed to think before answering, to hesitate. It was just too much for Giovanni.
"Tell me what you want or I swear you'll be worse off than the last time I was through with you!"
"I have a dream," he said. "And I need your help to achieve it."
Giovanni had to laugh. At him, of course. At the whole idea.
At the line itself.
"Me? Some punk rocker is needed by Mr. Money here? Don't think you'll get me to do your dirty work for you again. Next time, you're on your own."
The other man shook his head. "Don't you see? I could never do that. That's the point. I do have money, and I could hire a bodyguard and pay him handsomely. But there are some matters that are…personal. And you, you know how to intimidate. We're nearly of the same stature, but however you carry yourself; however you think…I can't do that. I wasn't raised to do that." He spread out his palms, displaying his soft upbringing. "All I wanted to be was an artist, but circumstances have…" his voice trailed off, lost in a sadness that Giovanni could tell was still quite recent. "Money can buy power; money can inspire respect; money can create fear. But when I'm one-on-one, I want that strength, that presence that you have. So I can rely on myself. Do you see?"
Giovanni thought it was pointless. "You're wasting my time. You're wasting your time. Get out."
He shook his head. "You have a charisma, and I'm not expecting to learn that. I'm not expecting to learn how to fight, but...I know how high society moves. I want to know how to move the same way in…"
"Low society?"
"The rough crowd," he finished. "If I don't learn anything, fine. It's not you, it's me. But I don't think I'm wasting my time."
This sounded better to Giovanni.
"You mentioned something earlier about me getting somethin' out of this…"
"But of course."
"What?"
He smiled. "Ask, and ye shall receive. Whatever you like. There is little that I cannot obtain for you…and what little I cannot I'm working on."
He took note but ignored the slightly darker tone of the last sentence. He was of the opinion that rich people were all crazy.
Giovanni thought about what he could ask for; he could ask for enough to set him up for life. Enough to live like a king the rest of his days. But he knew that wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was that feeling he had onstage, all the time.
"It's similar, really. I don't plan on being in some band all my life, but I don't have the contacts to make a move. And…I'll tell you how to move down if you tell me how to move up."
He smiled, "Agreed."
Giovanni relaxed, just a bit, and took out his cigarettes. He almost put them away before offering one to his new "partner". That he actually took it surprised him, so was the way he broke off the filter, just like him.
Maybe he there was hope for something yet.
"Oh, by the way, I didn't catch your name. I'm sure you know mine," Giovanni started. "It's hard to trust a man with no name."
"Maximilion Pegasus."
They shook hands.
"Mind if I use your phone? I could order us in some food and wine. My staff will deliver."
"Merlot?"
"Naturally."
Yes, this would work out quite well.

A/N: The setting is Domino City from Yugioh, and it's the same Pegasus, but that's as far as the crossover goes. Neither Pokemon nor the card game will make an appearance in this story.
The story itself was inspired by the episode "Weekend Warrior" when Jeremy looked so much like Giovanni it became Giovanni.