Sinners of the Way: The Red Son

--- Mercer ---

He walked into a small clothing store, one that under normal circumstances would be too small to survive for long in a neighborhood like Sinner’s Way, where very few could afford expensive clothes and those that could would rather steal said clothes than pay for them.

Of course once someone realized who was associated with the little boutique, any desire to rob the place would promptly disappear in fear of being burned alive.

Which is why it was such a surprise that he found someone seeming to try and extort the mousy woman behind the counter. (Ooh, that’s deserving of a darwin award right there.)

(Now I’m presented with the odd point of wanting to kick someone’s ass, but being unable to because that would save the person whose ass I wish to kick… Hmm… This is going to take some deep philosophical thinking about my morality…)

It was at this moment that a young man in a tank top with fiery red hair walked in from behind a curtain, bringing everything to a halt.

The young man took the scene before him in and narrowed his eyes behind a pair of small round spectacles mounted on his nose, and hooked over his triple pierced ears. “Pardon me, but might I inquire as to what you two are doing in my establishment of business?”

“Ah, so you’re the owner of this nice store.” The (idiot) clapped, completely unaware of the demon lurking in the room with him. “Now, as I was telling this lovely little thing here, this is a really nice store, and it really would be a shame if something not so nice happened to it.” The (soon to be dead) man explained, as his compatriot stood (not so) menacingly behind him.

“I see…” The young man admitted, looking distinctly unimpressed before turning to the timid young woman. “Emily, if you would be a dear could you head into the back room while my associate, Mercer here deals with these two? I sincerely doubt you wish to be present for this next day.”

Everyone’s heads snapped to him as they finally noticed the Saint of Sinner’s Way in the room with them, and both of the thugs drew guns on him. Something that did absolutely nothing to phase him or damage his amusement at the looks of terror on the two idiots’ faces.

“Yo.” He waved, while idly noting ‘Emily’ making her escape to the back behind them.

The young man watched his employee run to the back and waited a moment longer before turning back to the people trying to rob his store with a look of disgust.

Rojo raised his hand and snapped his fingers, drawing the crooks’ attention (and their guns) back to the young man as something -magic for the more perceptive- rippled through the air.

“Now then…” The young man’s eyes -a fire seemingly burning within them- went over the two men before him. “Given how you two saw fit to attempt to not only rob me in my place of business but to also terrorize the only employee I’ve found in this hellhole who has even an ounce of creative talent that doesn’t revolve around making the skimpiest outfits in a pathetic attempt to seduce a mate, allow me to give you some advice.”

“First, you-” The young man pointed at the less talkative of the two. “Just because you are larger than your compatriot does not mean you are in any way, form, or fashion intimidating. You are a dime a dozen goon in this city and a superior -if still pathetic- product than you can be bought and sold out of any bar in the Way for twenty bucks and a pack of cigarettes. If you want to intimidate someone in this city without an anxiety disorder you are going to need far more than flashing some vanilla little glock you bought from a pawn shop because some idiot shot their own genitals off. A fate you will probably repeat given where I saw you draw that from, so I suppose I should at least thank you for removing yourself from the gene pool. Unfortunately, for you I refuse to thank people for being incompetent idiots since any good they accomplish is completely unintentional. Just like your conception.”

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“As for you.” Rojo’s blazing red eyes snapped to the other crook pointing a gun at him, before swiping said gun in a single motion. “If you’re going to threaten someone with a gun at least take the safety off.” The young crime lord began to dismantle the gun as he continued to rant. “I cannot believe the level of unprofessionalism and unoriginality I am seeing today, simply walking in and attempting to smooth talk the woman at the register. Tell me is this your first crime? Did you bother to case this place, check the police response times, get the floor plans, anything really? Or are you some sad little high school drop out that decided waving a gun around as a replacement for his pathetic excuse of a phallus and forcibly begging money from people was the best option? Did you realize dealing drugs requires a brain bigger than yours? Prostitution superior looks and pimping management skills you clearly lack given the state of your life? No, no. Just looking at you I can tell you actually believe yourself some kind of career criminal, thinking a cheap polo shirt gives you some concept of actual style or fashion when in reality they just underline the fact that I, just like your mother, father, and every woman you’ve ever known, can summarize your entire existence in a single word upon seeing you… mediocre.”

A silence echoed through the shop, seemingly twice as loud given how the young man had never raised his voice beyond a harsh whisper, and only broken by the occasional sob by the two men.

(Definitely would’ve been more merciful to just kick their asses…) He couldn’t help but admit after watching all of that.

Rojo straightened himself out, smoothing his hair and readjusting his glasses before giving the sobbing pair another disgusted look. “Pathetic. Both of you leave this place before your tears stain my carpet and I give you a real reason to cry.”

Both of the thugs ran out of the store, terrified of being further burned by the young man.

“Vicious as ever.” He smirked as he walked up to the counter.

Rojo scoffed, stepping behind the counter. “If you think ‘honesty’ that, then I really should show viciousness at some point.” The red head eyed him for a moment, or more specifically his mundane jacket with a hint of disgust.

“Don’t worry, I’m looking to replace it.” He assured the flaming fashionista. “My apartment was firebombed and I have to replace most of my gear.”

“I heard something about that, but I didn’t believe you were in such dire straits.” Rojo admitted, clearing the countertop and laying a fresh layer of sketching paper. “No wonder I was your first visit once you were back on your feet.”

“Yeah, feel naked with so little protection.” He agreed, not pointing out that his first stop had been for a replacement helmet. Something that while Rojo admitted brought his look together, refused to make on the principle of believing any Mask who wore a mask was reveling in banality.

“Quite.” The fashionista nodded in understanding. “Shamefully, I must inform you that these last month or so the city’s more magical supply lines have been showing some strain. A strain the less magical supply matched and still has yet to recover from since the Vigils stopped that smuggling ring a few weeks ago. So I sadly will be limited to our more stock options until I can… resolve these issues.”

“That’s fine, figured the magical supply would be under fire after the mess Covenants put themselves in.” He admitted.

“And what did those hedonistic simpletons do now?” Rojo asked, gritting his teeth in irritation.

“One of theirs decided to summon a creature from the Mists and let it escape.” He summarized. “I’ve already dealt with the summoner but apparently they’ve had this creature running around for months now.”

“Tch, sloppy.” The young man frowned, whether because of how Covenant handled things or because it took everyone so long to find out about it.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “They’re probably pulling back a bit until the heat dies down, but the creature is in the Way now so I should be able to have this whole thing cleared up in the next couple of weeks.”

“Good, then I’ll clear up things on my end and be able to open a little more stock for you.” Rojo assured him, before putting a pen to the sketch paper. “For the time being though, let’s try to get you something that’s a little less of a combatant’s costume catastrophe.”