Clover hesitated before proceeding.
Her sister was sitting hunched over the bar counter, looking at nothing, talking to no one. Even with the party going on strong just inches away, there was a perceptible aura of loneliness around her she couldn't seem to shake off. Normally, Clover wouldn't have batted an eye at this; she believed that those like Crimson could hardly ever aspire beyond the hand they'd been dealt in life, and that the only ones to blame for dealing said hand were no one but themselves. However, seeing her so lonely in person definitely had something of an effect on the bodyguard; she probably hadn't done a single thing with anyone who mattered since her affair with Julien...
Clover told the others to wait. It was up to her to take the initiative for this. All the spots around Crimson were taken, so she squeezed herself in between the little space between Crimson's stool and the one to her right. She made sure to stand straight, smile aplenty, and make herself look confident and accessible, just as she'd been told. "Hey, c'mon now. That wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked then, putting a hand to her sister's back.
"...I bet you were just licking your lips while you watched me debase myself in front of everybody there – weren't ya? How could you make me do something like that?" the red twin hissed.
"Oh please, get over yourself, princess. All you did was say sorry; it's not like you had to get on your knees and beg for your life. I told ya it'd be okay."
"Yeah?" Crimson scoffed and looked the other way. "Well, thanks for being such an outstanding pillar of support – and for once again showing me where your allegiances lie."
Clover went silent for a moment; she knew exactly what was being insinuated here. The bodyguard had hoped that were a conversation they'd never have to enter again tonight, for it'd be sure to widen the rift between them even more. "Er, tell ya what – why don't we move over to that jukebox and see what's on the list, huh?" she proposed suddenly to change the subject, "There oughta be something there that'll cheer you up. What d'you say?"
From the longing glare Crimson gave that machine, it could be gleaned there was nothing she would've loved to do more. But then, she shrugged and tore her eyes off it. "If that's what you wanna do, be my guest. I'm not leaving this seat just so I can lose it."
Clover looked over to Mort and Maurice to quietly ask for help; she had no clue how else to persuade Crimson to get off that stool. The duo, who were watching from the periphery, quickly hatched something up, after which they stepped in.
"Heh, no worries there," peeped Mort, as he jumped on Clover's lap, "I'll keep it safe while you girls do your thing. As soon as you're back, I'll give it back to you – ah, Maurice, why don't you go with them and help them decide; you know, 'cause with personalities as mismatched as theirs, it's gonna take ages if you don't."
The aye-aye nodded enthusiastically. "Sure thing! Er, if we may, ladies..." He extended both hands aside as if to lead the way, smiling cloyingly. Crimson stared at all three of them with a creased brow; while she couldn't read anything particularly strange in their behavior that revealed they were scheming something, she found it pretty distasteful that Maurice had to thrust himself into matters that didn't concern him and didn't want him to come along. Yet since her sister seemed to differ on this point, there was little she could say. She was in no position whatsoever to start making demands.
"...As long as I can get a new stool afterwards..." she muttered right before they all left.
"Hey, I'm not diseased or anything, okay? I shower semi-frequently!" the mouse lemur retorted, though by then she was gone. He waited a few more seconds, and then turned himself to another figure who'd been hiding in the crowd nearby. Trying to not make it too obvious, he signaled it was safe to come out.
Julien was sure to move quickly; he knew Clover and Maurice wouldn't be able to hold Crimson's interest for very long. Light on his feet and keeping his head down so the added height of his crown wouldn't give him away, he began roaming the far right corner of the bar in search of a stool to sit on; however, as with Clover before, there were none available there either. Luckily though, a patron, having noticed his plight, was generous enough to give up his.
"Yo, buddy! Psst!" He beckoned Dwayne, minding the volume of his voice – even with all this hubbub, he couldn't take any chances of Crimson hearing him.
The bartender came over in an instant, boasting his usual smile. "Yes, Your Majesty. What is it you need?"
"Um, well... Let's see..." He glanced over to the opposite side to wager whether it was safe to continue. "Ah – Dwayne, was it?"
The other man's smile widened at the king addressing him by name. "That's right. That's the name Ma and Pa gave this here fella – and choose right they did, if I say so myself!"
"Good, that's good..." Julien leaned a bit closer. "Um, listen, er, 'Dwayne'; me and my crew are in the middle of something right now and it's really, really, really fricking important that you listen to me 'cause everything – and I do mean everything, including your job – we've been building up to so far hinges upon it." Then he pointed to the highest shelves lining the wall. "I need the very best spirit you have in there and I need it now; doesn't matter how rare, exclusive or expensive it is. I'm taking it."
"Of course, Your Majesty; anything you wish. What is it you have in mind?"
"Two mango martinis, for the girls. Make them strong and add plenty of sugar dressings on them – oh, and some jackfruit too. My ex loves that stuff; you cut it in fine slices and string them around one of those cute little paper umbrellas, she'll never stop thanking you."
"...Er... jackfruit, sir?" Dwayne dithered, as if he feared to have heard right. Julien frowned at him.
"Yes, that's what I said. Why, don't you have any in the freezer, or wherever you store all your food?"
"Well... I so do hate to be the bearer of bad news, but... no. We haven't received a shipment of those fruits in months; what little we had left of the last stock ran out weeks ago."
"Wha – are you kidding me?!" Julien almost screeched out.
"I wish I were, Your Majesty, but... it is how it is! We do have some leftover breadfruit and plenty of bananas and pineapples, if you'll have them. Perhaps they'd make a decent substitute-
"Screw your substitutes, man!" the royal dramatically rebuffed him, "We need the real thing, alright; you don't know what's at stake here! I got someone who's super important to me literally dying of heartbreak 'cause of her family issues, and now that she's been given a one-in-a-million chance to rectify them, you're telling me you don't have what I'm asking for? Why, surely there must be something you can do!"
Dwayne scratched his chin, his mind going a million miles an hour; he naturally wanted to please his king, yet the only way he saw was one he couldn't bring himself to say easily. "I mean... I could go outside to forage for some, but this is a beach; there are no jackfruit trees in the area... and besides, have you actually seen a jackfruit in person? Those things are bigger than a shark's maw! Even if I did find one, how am I gonna carry it by myself? And – and if I leave, who's gonna take care of the bar?" he mumbled with a look of repentance on his face, as though he half-expected His Majesty to fire him on the spot for daring to oppose him.
"How the hell should I know?" came the snappy answer, "Fetch a cart and a couple volunteers, and get on with it already! I'll have you running all over this gods-forsaken island to find that fruit if I have to, but you're not gonna mess this up for me!"
"...Yes, Your Majesty," Dwayne capitulated, subserviently bowing to him. "It'll be done."
Then he begrudgingly cast aside his shakers, jiggers, glasses and towels, shut off the beer taps, and stepped out from behind the counter. He was tremendously unhappy about having to abandon his post; without anyone to tend to the needs of the ever-thirsty patrons, he was certain the Bay's hot streak was all but over. Once their drinks had been consumed, the heavier drinkers would question what the point of staying was, and upon seeing that no one was coming to fix them more, leave. Julien could see the disappointment well up in Dwayne's eyes as he watched him discreetly ask the waiter to join him outside.
A pang of guilt raced through the king at that moment. He let out an annoyed sigh; the good side of his conscience was starting to nag him again.
"Frank dammit..." he whispered to himself – and then he left his stool to halt the two lemurs. He didn't mind losing it. He would need it no more anyway. "Hey you, come here!"
They both turned to him. "Ye – yes, Your Majesty?"
"Look, I don't like being rude; it's just that... well, everything must be perfect for my friend if she's to sweeten up her smoking-hot-but-kind-of-a-capital-B of a sister," he told them, "When you wanna be there for somebody you care about and who needs you, you tend to do stuff that might come off as... kinda unhinged. You understand, don't you?"
The two employees nodded posthaste. "Yeah. We do."
"Great, 'cause I also want you to understand that I'm gonna mix things up a little around here – just temporarily, until this matter's resolved." Slinging his arms behind his straightened back, he took one step toward the waiter. "What's your name, bro?"
The waiter, a slightly shorter, younger man than either of the other two, stammered, "E – Edwin, sir."
Julien smirked. "Edwin and Dwayne, huh? Alright then... Edwin, you're staying right here with us. We're still gonna need someone to look after the tables for this." Then he glared at the barman, his golden eyes shimmering with a distinct devilish glee that let on he was planning something they weren't going to like. "Dwayne, you go grab someone off the beach to help with the jackfruits – tell them their illustrious ruler needs their help, and don't take no for an answer!"
"What if I can't find any?"
"Then I hope you excel at improv, 'cause we're gonna be in for a world of pain if you don't."
"And the other clients?" Edwin asked.
"What about them?" Julien chuckled. "Well... There's this one thing I've always wanted to try out..."
Meanwhile, at the other end of the room, Maurice and the twins stood gathered around the jukebox. Clover had informed her sister she wanted to learn the entire track list in excruciating detail so that she could make a more 'educated' decision – nevermind the fact that most of these songs were popular hits the vast majority of people would already know by heart anyway. Needless to say, this was just a ruse to stall for time until Julien finished up his business with the drinks.
She couldn't have been more relieved to have Maurice lending her a hand; without him, Crimson would've stopped paying attention to her clumsy attempts to drum up conversation minutes ago... even if the royal advisor's mind-numbing ramblings weren't what one would call exhilarating either.
"Oh, I like this one here! Did you know this guy used to play in a really artful, really creative prog band in the 70's? Then he went solo after the record label went under, took his music in a softer direction and became hugely popular with the pop crowd, but lost a lot of the more hardcore fans in doing so. Cool, huh?"
"Mm-hmm." Crimson would nod along, completely uninterested in what he was telling her.
"So what do you think? Should we play it, or keep looking?"
"Just choose something already, for the gods' sake."
"Er, let's keep looking. This stuff is quite fascinating in my eyes," a sheepish Clover would add, "Who knew you were so knowledgeable in music history, Maurice?"
"Just one of my hidden talents, I suppose. After all, what's a lemur without his music – right?"
Then he and Clover shared a troubled glance behind Crimson's back; neither of them was sure how much longer they could keep this up.
Several minutes later, their fruitless rundowns brought to them one song in particular, one whose mere existence was enough to make Crimson's blood boil. It didn't take Clover and Maurice long to figure out why she was all of a sudden staring at the jukebox like she wanted to light it on fire: the artist listed on the nameplate read "The New Wiper Fluid."
"Heh, would – would ya look at that," her sister noted skittishly; she was still not proud of the dark, convoluted story behind that song. "That's just 'bout the biggest hit we had during our spell as professional musicians... Y'know I sang and played guitar on that one, don't you?"
"Yeah, well," Maurice laughed a little to ease the rising tension, "'Sang' and 'played' are pretty big overstatements. Same goes for the rest of us. We had zero musical talent, so we had our friend Timo build a machine that would do pretty much all the work for us, he he... but I'm sure you're already familiar with the story, aren't you?"
Instead of replying, Crimson answered with a slower, angrier question of her own. "...D'you fellas know how many times I've been forced to listen to that horrid lil' earworm right here, on this very bar?"
Maurice paused, exchanging another secret glance with Clover. "Uh... no?"
"Far too bloody many. I wouldn't have minded it much if it were an actually good song, mind ya – but this? This bottom-of-the-barrel dreck belongs in a dumpster. And if I didn't have enough listening to the blasted thing in every club and party and airwave when it first came out, now I have to come here night after night only for my ears to be molested by it too... but of course, I'm not allowed to complain, 'cause no one cares 'bout what one person thinks. I swear it made me sick to my head, to the point where I started leaving the room whenever it played," the red twin hissed – the king's co-workers couldn't quite make out whether the sudden antipathy could be stemming from overexposure to the track, Julien's presence on it, jealousy at Clover for having a hit record, or a combination of the three. But they had no time to, as she glared at both of them, greening eerily. "Heh, it's funny, though; that vinyl there's actually a copy... I once heard this story where the original one got mysteriously stolen after closing time one night, and some beachcomber found it snapped in half under the sand a few days later... They never found the culprit; I wonder who could've it been..."
"Yeah, me too..." the royal advisor hissed. Crimson smiled cutely at him, looking clear of all responsibility.
"But anyhoo," she continued, "If there was one thing I had to be thankful for when this rust bucket got busted, it's that I didn't have to listen to the lot of ya con your way into the public's hearts like a bunch of power-hungry scammers anymore."
"As opposed to you conning your way into boys' bedsheets for a cheap high?" her twin countered. "Look, you can rag on our music all night if ya like, but don't patronize us. Even if the Fluid's popularity was undeserved, we did come clean in the end – and we didn't do it to wheedle fans back, but 'cause it was the right thing to do – which is a whole lot more than I can say 'bout you!"
At this, Crimson jumped in Clover's face, infuriated. "Listen here, you-
"Girls, girls!" Maurice quickly stepped between the two and pushed them apart to prevent yet another argument from breaking out. "Take it easy, will you? Let's not go into that again!" He glared up at their eyes which were red-hot with ire, fully expecting the insults and the shouting and the fighting to start anew, and he held his hands high above like a wrangler aiming to tame his wild beasts. "Please, try to keep it together, both of you! Don't you realize you're bickering over nothing? Come on, who cares about some old washed-up band – are you really gonna let that nonsense come between you?"
He was almost breathless with worry, but his swift response seemed to have de-escalated the situation: Crimson backed off while Clover turned aside; then they resumed scrolling through the jukebox's track list in absolute silence, and Maurice could breathe again.
He'd known from the start this was going to be easier said than done – but just how much easier? He couldn't wait any longer; he needed those drinks, and he needed them right now.
"Uh, will you girls be alright here by yourselves while I, er, take a short bathroom break?" he asked then – suddenly, Clover looked at him with bulging, fearful eyes, very quietly working her lips to beg him not to leave her alone. "Speaking of, where is it?" he asked regardless; through a slew of subtle hand signals, he told his warrior friend he'd be back in no time.
"There's an outhouse outside, at the back. Can't miss it," Crimson grumbled. Maurice left without another word; obviously he wasn't in any need to use the toilet. Rather, he made a beeline straight for the corner of the bar where he thought Julien would be – only his king... was not there. Not on any stool, nor among the assembled masses around it, or the tables nearby. Maurice was about to fly into a panic, when His Majesty's voice called from somewhere.
"Hey, Mo-Mo, over here!"
The aye-aye spun around, his tangerine eyes becoming round as platters as he laid them on the scene before him. Behind the counter itself, stood King Julien, smiling casually as he handed over a mug to a female patron; with a flirtatious wink and a compliment, he sent her away to focus on his newest client.
"Your Majesty?!" The royal advisor nearly tripped on himself as he fought for room in the crowded space. "What in Frank's name do you think you're doing – now's not the time for roleplay! Where'd the other guy go?!"
Julien shrugged like this were a non-issue. "Oh, our pal Dwayne had to go outside for a while for, uh, reasons... so I'm filling in for him till he gets back," he explained.
"But you don't know jack about tending bars or catering to clients!"
"Maybe not, but as a connoisseur of the fine art of drinking, I'd know my way around a mixing setup with my peepers closed! A dude like me doesn't get to spend the better part of his life throwing the most insane parties ever without picking up a few tricks along the way!" Buzzing at the exciting opportunity to commandeer a fully-fledged bar (unlike the more modest-sized one he had in his living room), he began packing up his hands with bottles and bartending trappings, and laying them all across the counter for easy reaching. Then, acting with the same freedom as though he were back home, he unscrewed some of the caps, and started mixing himself a cocktail – much to his right-hand man's dismay. "Hey, don't give me that face; there's no written rule stating I can't drink on the job! And in any case, I'm the king; I practically own this place." Afterwards, he offered him a sip. "Want some?"
Maurice pushed at it. "No way; who knows what you just put in there?"
"Eh, suit yourself." Julien shrugged, then swigged greedily and wiped his lips. "Now listen, it's always nice talking to you and all, but you better get back to the girls before Crimson finds out I'm here. If we're gonna do this thing with the martinis right, she must believe Clo-Clo's the one behind it, not me."
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm here for!" Maurice pressed him, "I won't be able to keep Crimson distracted forever; she and Clover are prone to start arguing again at the drop of a hat – which FYI, they almost did just now! Just where the hell are those martinis?"
Upon hearing the question, Julien turned his back on him and pretended to busy himself digging through the ice cooler. "Ummm... I can't hand them out just yet," he answered elusively.
"Why not?!"
"Technical difficulties – which is why you need to get your chunky ass out of here and keep stalling! I promise I'll have them in five!" Frowning, he shooed Maurice away, and the fretful aye-aye was made to leave with more questions than answers.
When Clover saw him return empty-handed, she dared not ask him out loud why, so Maurice pulled her aside to quietly explain it to her ear.
"He what?!" she nearly hollered out when he told her what Julien was doing. If she stood on her toes and stretched her neck, she could indeed see the one and only monarch sail back and forth along the bar, visibly daunted by the task of having to supply an entire room's worth of clients by himself. Yet he seemed to be managing just fine; his crisp attitude and innate charisma more than made up for his shortcomings, and this was paying off in spades: the sight of His Majesty bungling his way through the unending orders was novel enough that few seemed to mind the inconvenience, and many were actively cheering him on – most of all, Mort, who wouldn't stop bouncing and begging his much-loved king to serve him first. This, unfortunately, was bound to put some unwanted attention on him as well.
As though unable to formulate an apt response for what she was looking at, Clover glared back at Maurice. The aye-aye rolled his eyes.
"Look, I haven't got a clue; he just told me to wait a little longer," he whispered, "Now, how much longer? That's what scares me. Could be five minutes, could be fifty."
"We don't have five minutes! What are we supposed to do now, dammit?!" Glancing behind them, she noticed her sister also had her gaze upon the bar, as though she couldn't find Julien, yet suspected he was up to something somewhere. Clover had to divert her attention somehow before she'd start asking questions.
Slowly shuffling toward the jukebox, the bodyguard reached for the track selection panel. She couldn't choose just any song at random, but luckily, she didn't need to – the perfect choice was right there. If this didn't catch Crimson's ear, nothing would. Without as much as a sound she selected her pick, checked again that Crimson wasn't looking – and then she uttered a precipitous cry as she appeared to slip, using the jukebox to steady herself.
"Wow! Almost fell flat on my tail there! He he he...! These hardwood floors can get so slippery, can't they?"
By the time the other twin looked over, the façade had served its purpose; the "PLAY" button had been pressed. Gazes flew upward as the current jam was abruptly switched off, and when Crimson noticed the records were being swapped out, she bitterly pushed Clover out of the way, and pinned her face to the glass pane. She could hardly curb her rage when the new vinyl was slotted in – on its A-side was a stark red label depicting the sharp black streaks of a certain band's logo, with the faces of its four members staring up at her with big punkish grins and rebellious eyes, almost like they were all laughing at her.
And yet, the rest of the cabin couldn't have shared her opinion on the matter any less. As soon as the infamous synth notes began creeping into the air, the loudest of cheers rose from the crowd, lemurs everywhere pointing directly at Julien and friends as they did. As fraudulent as this piece had been, its impact with audiences, even to this day, could not be downplayed.
"Is this some kinda joke...? Are ya actually trying to piss me off?!" Crimson barked; she felt an unimaginable anger flare up inside her, having realized Clover had turned the song on deliberately. She didn't waste a second to lash out for the "STOP" button, but her sister's quick reflexes prevented her from doing so. "Turn it off – now!"
"Hell no; are ya deaf? People adore this song! I'm not gonna kill their enjoyment just 'cause you throw a hissy fit every time it plays!"
"Come on, Crimson; it's just a few short little minutes! It'll be over before you know it!" Maurice jumped in on the purported mockery – although this wasn't what the aye-aye would've chosen as a distraction, he had faith Clover knew what she was doing. To assist in keeping the charade going, he began bobbing his head and clapping his hands to the party beat – and the lyrics that hadn't been sung since the nights he and his bandmates would take the stage before thousands of doting fans returned to his mind like they'd never left at all.
"You can be my summer crush..." he crooned with conviction, a bold smile on his face – he certainly was no troubadour, but he wouldn't let that stop him from putting on a show for the crowd. Soon enough, he was poking Clover with his tail to coax her into doing the same, yet the guardian, shy as ever, froze in place. She'd just intended for Crimson to take the bait for a little while; nobody had said anything about singing! At least in the New Wiper Fluid's concerts, she'd always had Timo's auto-tune to fall back on...
Yet Maurice was in the right here; more voices meant more noise, and more noise meant less chances of Julien being discovered.
"It's gonna be a good night... ye – yeah; we never got to come... down..." she intoned, quite slowly and flatly, barely keeping up with tempo; her awkwardness was rewarded with bits of laughter, all in good fun. "Just hangin' off the strobe lights... and we can do this all year round..." she kept singing, uplifted slightly by Maurice's poise. "Oi, come here!" Suddenly, in the brief lull between verses, she took Crimson by the hands, and led her away from the jukebox – not only to ensure the song played without interference, but to put even more distance between her and the bar.
"Let me go, you...!" a fuming Crimson struggled to liberate herself – why was her sister seemingly trying to ridicule her now? Was this a twisted act of revenge for past misdeeds? Was she looking to rub in her face the success of that diabolical anthem? No matter – whichever the reason, it was seriously causing her to wish she could just sock that goofy smile right off of Clover's face and scream at her to get out of here lest she kick her out herself. However, as per their agreement, she ultimately settled for the angriest, meanest sneer she could muster.
That was more than Clover needed to get the hint; it was not like she wasn't aware already how counterproductive provoking Crimson could be. She just prayed to the spirits and every other empyreal entity out there that a timely arrival from Julien would spare her from any more embarrassment.
"C'mon, have some fun for once and sing with us! In fact – let's all sing together! Y'all know this next part, don't ya?" she rallied the surrounding patrons, who merrily signified their acceptance by heaving their mugs to the ceiling and adding their voices to the ensemble – pretty much instantly, the whole cabin was rocking together, the loudness of their united sounds almost drowning out the night itself.
"Ohhhh! This party never stops!" Clover and Maurice harmonized each line just like they used to – imperfections be darned, "Ohhhh! We gonna tear right to the top! Ohhhh! 'Cause summertime is goin' fast; make it last, make it last!" And the bodyguard shuffled her feet as she kept dragging Crimson farther and farther away, as though she wanted her to follow her lead. The livid twin tried to hold her ground, but there was little she could do against her sister's prodigious strength – and when the lemurs collectively segued into the chorus, she nearly lost it.
"Hey, hey, we gonna start it up, and go non-stop; let's do it just like we should till the sun comes up! Let's set it off like it's our last shot! Yeah! We do it all night, until the sun comes up! Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-uh-oh! Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-uh-oh! We do it all night, until the sun comes up!"
Women dancing, men clapping, winos swaying, beverages flying – everything had turned into a riot. The floor quaked beneath Crimson's feet, there were people screaming in her ear and jostling her around like a ragdoll, and she wanted a way out but couldn't find any; the room had become a spinning whirlpool of noise and light that she couldn't seem to be able to escape from. And it was all because of her. The spitting image of herself frolicking giddily as she held her prisoner, subjecting her to this terrible torture. How she hated it... How she hated it all!
"They can't change how we are, 'cause we go where the moment takes us! I wanna be your rockstar, and you can be my summer crush!"
Now, Clover wasn't so much singing as she was letting everybody else take the lead; instead, she focused on keeping Crimson on her toes. Though she smiled from ear to ear, she was terrified on the inside – moment to moment, she could tell she was eroding every shred of goodwill she had left. "Hey, isn't this fun?" she yelled out, "Look at us, actually doing things together! Much better than sitting all bored by yourself all night, ain't it? Ohhhh! This party never ends! Ohhhh! Tomorrow let's do-
However, enough was enough. Clover couldn't even get another word out, for out of nowhere, she felt a sharp, searing sensation on the palms of her hands which made her jump – yowling out in pain, she let go of Crimson to check on the damage: in the middle of each palm there was a small, curved gouge in the shape of a fingernail. Even though the skin hadn't been broken and thus no blood had been drawn, it hurt quite a lot.
When she lifted her baffled eyes back to her sister, all she saw was her hiding her thumbs into her fists. The contrite, agitated look on her face was proof of the unwillingness with which she'd just reacted.
"Look, I did not want to do that, okay – you bloody forced my hand!" she exclaimed loudly. The rapid shift in tone between them put an acrimonious end to the happy gathering; sensing imminent hostilities, people gradually started winding down and returning to their seats, till not one voice remained to accompany the still-playing song. "Just what are you trying to pull here, huh?! Did ya even hear anything I said?!"
Clover didn't take much offense in such a benign injury (after all, she might as well have asked for it), so she would let it slide.
"It – it's a great song to party to... I thought you'd like it if we did something fun together 'cause... well, you love dancing, and that's pretty much the most danceable tune there is," she muttered, innerly chiding herself – couldn't have she come up with something better?
"Right, as if ya knew a single thing 'bout that. Just admit it – you're doing this to get back at me for having the sheer audacity to dislike that crappy song of yours or whatever," her twin contradicted.
"Don't be ridiculous; everyone's entitled to an opinion! Including you."
"Oh, so now ya care 'bout my opinion. That's why it just went in one ear and out the other, right? So much for being a 'good listener'... Bah!" Crimson shook her head before strutting back to the jukebox. "I'm sorry, folks, but you'll have to warm your pipes to something else. This music's just not good for y'all's ears," she said as she unceremoniously stopped the song, and switched it in favor of something more palatable. Most patrons didn't object out of respect for the royal protector, yet the moment those techno strains vanished from the air, Crimson's actions were met with pushback from a few parties of less-than-polite men who did not appreciate her hijacking the device like it were only hers. With as much chivalry as one would grant a pile of dirt, they booed and bemoaned and called her the cruelest of names, demanding the song be turned back on – until they were stilled by Clover's powerful roar.
"QUIET! One more word from any of ya pissants and I'll cut your tongues out and feed you to the fishes!"
Then she pulled her sister into a quiet corner, far from those undesirables. A downcast Maurice stayed behind to give them some privacy.
"Why'd you say anything to those guys?" Crimson asked her; she appeared to be bothered rather than grateful. "I don't need ya defending me like you're my personal guard dog, y'know?"
"I did it 'cause, believe it or not, it does upset me when stuff like that happens. I ain't gonna stand idle as a bunch of high-on-rum retrogrades who couldn't even spell out their own names walk all over my sister – even if what you did was totally in the wrong."
Crimson crossed her arms in defiance. "Well, maybe if a certain someone had a smidgen of logic upstairs, I wouldn't have had to do it."
Clover flinched. There was little counterpoint to make there. "...I know. I'm just... I'm just trying, okay? I'd never realized you hated our songs so much; we – we talk so little that-
"Well, I do! Now go cry me a river!"
Flopping against the wall, the bad twin redirected her gaze to the floor and wouldn't speak anymore. They stayed this way for a while, when Clover hesitantly brushed a hand over her shoulder. She knew what Crimson was really waiting for, even if she wasn't saying so directly.
"Look, I'm sorry. I really am. I messed up big time – but I'll make it up to you. That, I promise."
"Oh yeah?" A cursory glance was the bodyguard's only prize. "How?"
"You'll see. I'm better-prepared for this than you think. Just do us both a favor, and stay clear of anyone who isn't me or my mates as long as we're here. Those types ya keep hanging out with are not good for you."
"The hell d'you know what's good for me?" Crimson looked up again and held her gaze, this time quite firmly.
"Well, I see the way they treat you when they're not piling over themselves hitting on you. One of these days, someone's gonna get a lil' too careless with their hook-up choice, and we're all gonna end up in real dire straits."
"Oh, relax. What happened there was the exception, not the rule. People 'round here tend to be more laid-back than inner-jungle folk; all they think about is lying in the sun and riding waves and getting their next fix of cheapo firewater or whatever. 'Course, there's always the rare dirtbag with less manners than a fossa with a toothache, but most aren't too bad. As long as they're hot and can show me a fun time, they're alright with me."
Clover's eyes fell with demurral. "That's not something I'd be proud of."
Chin jutted out, Crimson shrugged. "I get my share and they get theirs, and that's all I need. Nothing wrong with that."
"Don't you ever think how nice it'd be to have at least one lady friend, though? Someone you can sit down with and just talk to? I know it's never been easy for ya to connect, and for damn good reason, but maybe if you tried hard enough... well, you might realize there's a lot more to life than boyfriends, parties, and looking pretty."
These words seemed to resonate within Crimson, if only for a moment. "...Maybe."
However, she did not say anything else on the matter; right then, she unfolded her arms, and strolled away, mildly upset. "Alrighty then; good talk. I'm gonna nab something from the bar – this is getting boring."
"No, no – wait!" Clover rushed after her in an effort to hold her back – but she, tired of her sister's insipid antics, refused to be stalled. She swatted at the invading digits as the bodyguard began to panic, stubbornly pushing onward.
"Would ya quit it already?! What d'you think I'm gonna do – run off with someone while you aren't looking? I just want a drink, ya loon!"
"But – but...!"
And the king's guardian was promptly left in the dust. She was majorly out of ideas. Oh gods, this is it! she thought, She's gonna find out what King Julien's up to and our plan's gonna fail! She'll never accept anything made by him; then she's gonna be even madder at me for roping him into this!
Cursing herself for not thinking things through better, she ran off to fetch Maurice, after which both followed her. Perhaps with some explaining (and some careful whitewashing of the truth), they'd be able to convince Crimson that all this wasn't one big, elaborate joke created at her expense.