The Lukewarm Loser

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When Sally told her there was an applicant for the job she’d posted, King didn’t think it would be someone she knew. Let alone this guy of all people. The leather-clad (usually, but today seemed to be a t-shirt and jeans day) hothead was the last person she would ever expect to see in her bar. Let alone apply for a job at it. Judging by the look on his face when Sally brought him over, he wasn’t expecting her to be the owner either.

Already knowing the sort of person he was, King scowled and shoved aside the bottles of monin syrup she’d been taking stock of. “If you’re here to cause a scene, then get out. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with fire hazards.”

The scowl was returned. K’ crossed his arms over his chest for added displeasure at the accusation. “Don’t go making assumptions. I need money so I can live, okay? I’m here about the job in the window.”

“Riiiight. But aren’t you a criminal?”

She distinctly remembered Kim Kaphwan calling him a straight up terrorist at one tournament. Now, she wasn’t inclined to believe Kim’s word since he wasn’t always the best judge of character, mind you. But she couldn’t deny that there had been a lot of strangeness K’ been tied up in in the first three tournaments he’d appeared in.

“No. I’m not,” K’ bit out. Not of his volition, anyhow. It was just difficult to stay on the correct side of the law when you were ex-NESTS and struggling to carve out and live a normal life for yourself. “Although from what I’ve heard, you don’t have the cleanest track record either. So I’m not sure why that’s an issue.”

That right there elicited a jolt from King. “How the hell–? ... Mister Roboto looked into me, didn’t he?”

Figures she shouldn’t have trusted the big guy and his friendly charm. Damn backstabber, lulling her into a false sense of security with his home cooked delights and kindly uncle demeanour so he could gather dirt on her... She really hoped he hadn’t pried too deeply into certain aspects of her past. Otherwise, the next time she saw him, she might have to dismantle him on the spot.

K’ neither confirmed nor denied her guess. Instead, he shifted impatiently in place.

“So can I have the job or not?”

King made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. She should just tell the kid to beat it. He had the affability and charm of a mule with cactus prickles in its rump; an undesirable personality for the hospitality industry. Although truth be told, she was curious; his living situation really must not be the greatest if he was coming to her and not backing down. And much as she hated to admit it, she was also in serious need of a few extra hands at the moment.

“I’ll give you an interview. If you can pass that, you might get the job,” she conceded. Slipping out from the bar, she waved Sally over to take over operating it in her stead. She then gestured for K’ to follow. “Come on then, Spitfire.“

King led him away from the moody lighting and low jazz music and through a staff door. The pair trekked silently down the short hall beyond and into her office. Upon entering, King shrugged off her tuxedo jacket and draped it over the back of her chair. She sat, gesturing for him to do the same in the seat across from her. Once he had settled, she was brusque and straight to business.

“Alright. First thing’s first, how old even are you, anyhow?” Because this was a bar, all things said and done. She didn’t want a minor anywhere near the liquor.

“Eighteen.” A pause. Under her distrustful hawk-eyed scrutiny, he eventually winced and tacked on under his breath, “... I think.”

King was flabbergasted. “The hell do you mean you think?!”

“I didn’t have a normal childhood, okay. Can we just leave it at that?”

He was almost tempted to tack on a “please” to the end so she knew how badly he didn’t want to touch on that particularly tender subject with her; a relative stranger. Almost. He was too prideful to beg just yet.

“Fine. I’ll drop it; for now.” But only because he was about as open about his life as a clam, and she didn’t feel like wasting time dealing with avoidant nonsense. She had a business she needed to get back to running. “Alright, next question. Have you ever worked before? And if so, have you got any relevant industry experience?”

“Worked in a cafe for a couple of weeks once.” He would have stayed employed there longer but some nutjobs hunting for NESTS-related things had found the team’s temporary dwelling, forcing them to relocate in a hurry. A shame, really; aside from dealing with droves of customers, he actually hadn’t minded brewing coffees. “Mostly I’ve just taken construction jobs.”

Kept him fit. And the gloves and helmets he’d had to wear were good for hiding his most distinguishing features: his shock of white hair and bright red gauntlet. There were other, shadier, things he’d taken up, but he’d never even felt comfortable divulging those to Maxima, his closest friend/guardian, so there was no way he’d tell her of all people.

King hummed, lacing her fingers together.

“Not an ideal amount of experience, but ok. Do you have your license or some other, reliable, form of transport?”

“I know how to drive.”

King gave him a withering look. “That wasn’t what I was asking.”

Smartass, she wanted to bite out, but refrained. Just.

“I know. But I can’t answer in a way that’ll satisfy you and your need for legalities.”

King sighed and rubbed her temples. “Yeah, that’s a pattern I’ve already noticed.”

K’ shrugged, slouching further into his seat. Idly, he scratched at an old gouge mark in the scuffed red plating encasing his right hand. “Like I said... I didn’t have a normal childhood.”

Or one that he could even recall, for that matter.

King grunted. As predicted, he seemed like an utterly poor fit for the position. And thinking about the things between the lines left unsaid was concerning. She had to wonder what the hell Maxima was doing. He was supposed to be the most responsible member of K’ Team, yet they were still struggling, even with his guidance.

“Okay then. Do you have any other noteworthy talents you can bring to the table?”

“I’m fluent in Japanese.” He could also swear and ask if people spoke English in a tiny smattering of other languages. But that wasn’t nearly as useful. “I’m also a walking blowtorch and know how to break people’s teeth and bones if they cause trouble. But you already knew about all of those facts from tournaments.”

There was his proficiency in assassination... but that was, sensibly, omitted.

“I did know, yes.” She even had some firsthand experience with those bone-breaking blows and flames. “But I’m going to be honest; not a lot of what you’re offering is going to be of much help for this particular position. Then there’s the matter of your sour personality...”

“I can fake being enthusiastic and polite. It’s annoying and tiring, but I can do it.” Maxima had taught him the basics; playing pretend in order to help them secure temporary lodgings and jobs. And then there was Benimaru... That flamboyant asshole had helped him to drastically refine the art of faking it to make it during a brief modelling stint he’d undertaken. “And I’m adaptable; I learn quickly.”

Except when it came to cooking. He hadn’t yet mastered the art of not burning things.

“Sure,” King drawled. She didn’t believe for a second that he was capable of talking to people in a manner that wasn’t blunt and rude. Especially considering that was how he responded to even his metal babysitter. Who was supposed to be the closest person to him. “There’s also the matter of that gauntlet. Doesn’t exactly fit the classy dress code.”