Chapter 1: Before the count
"Man, I can't find anything" Ron said, slumped over from the constant job hunting. He heard that the new city Startyor was brimming with new opportunities, but he couldn't seem to get anyone to hire him.
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Ron sighed, rubbing his temples as he sat on the curb outside Moray's, the city's most notorious dive bar. The neon sign above flickered, casting an eerie glow on the cracked pavement. The air was thick with the scent of exhaust and the faint hum of distant traffic. Ron's eyes scanned the crumpled resume in his hands, the ink smudged from the heat and humidity of the city.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door of Moray's swung open, and out stumbled a whirlwind of green hair, piercings, and leather.
Ron barely had time to shield his face before the force of the exit sent a cloud of dust and debris his way. He coughed, squinting up at the figure looming over him.
"What the fuck are you sitting on the ground for," the figure sneered, hands on hips. Ron could see now that it was a woman, or at least he thought it was. Her hair was a shock of dark green, shaved on the sides and spiked on top, and her ears were adorned with enough metal to make a blacksmith proud.
But what really made her stand out was what she was wearing. The leather she was spouting didn't come from a mammal, rather, it was reptile. Scales of varying shades of green and black covered her jacket, pants, and even her boots. A belt adorned with what looked like tiny reptilian skulls hung loosely around her waist. Ron had never seen anything like it, and he found himself at a loss for words.
"I, uh, I didn't mean to... I was just... job hunting," Ron stammered, staying put " I was just resting here for a moment." He looked up at the woman, his eyes meeting hers. They were a striking shade of gold, piercing and intense. Ron felt a strange sensation in his stomach, a mix of intimidation and intrigue.
Zilla scoffed, "Job hunting? In this shithole?" She gestured to the dilapidated buildings behind her. "You look normal enough, though. Don't waste it on this goddam dump of a city." She extended a hand, "I'm Zilla."
Ron hesitated for a moment before taking her hand. It was rough and calloused, a testament to years of guitar playing. "Ron," he said, his voice steadying. "And yeah, I guess I am. Or at least, I was trying to be."
Zilla 's eyes narrowed, and she snatched her hand back. "Fuck that shit," she spat, kicking at the curb. "You're not cut out for this place, Ron. Look at you, all prim and proper in your little button-down shirt and khakis. You'd be better off back in whatever podunk town you came from."
Ron felt a spark of anger ignite within him. He stood up, brushing off his pants, and met Zilla's gaze. "You don't know anything about me, Zilla. I've been trying to find work for weeks, and I'm not about to give up just because some lizard tells me to."
"What the fuck did you just called me?" Zilla's eyes flared, her hands clenching into fists. Ron realized he'd crossed a line, but he stood his ground. "A lizard. I mean look at yourself ," Ron gestured to her attire, "You're dressed like one, might as well embrace it." Despite the harsh words, Ron kept his tone light, attempting to diffuse the tension. He had a feeling that if he backed down now, Zilla would never let him hear the end of it.
Zilla's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed again, but this time there was a hint of amusement in them. "Alright, Ron," she said, her voice still gruff, but the edge taken off. "I'll give you that one. But only because you've got some balls. Not many people stand up to me like that," Zilla said, her gaze softening slightly. She looked Ron up and down, her eyes lingering on the way his hair was neatly combed to the side. "You're not like anyone I've met in a long time. You've got this... wholesome thing going on. It's refreshing."
Ron raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the compliment. "Uh, thanks. I think," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "So, what do you do, Zilla? Besides look like a reject from a reptile exhibit, that is," Ron asked, his curiosity piqued. He found himself drawn to her, despite her rough exterior. There was something about her that intrigued him, a challenge perhaps.
Zilla smirked, "I play the fucking guitar, that's what I do. Play with the best damn band in this pit of a city, if I do say so myself." She puffed out her chest, pride evident in her voice.
Ron raised an eyebrow, "Oh yeah? What's your band called?" He had a faint memory of seeing a flyer for a local punk band around town, but he couldn't recall the name.
Zilla's smirk widened into a full-blown grin, "Rouge's Harlots. Ever heard of us?"
Ron shook his head, "Can't say I have. But then again, I've only been in Startyor for a few weeks."
Zilla rolled her eyes, "Figures. You're missing out, dude. We're fucking amazing." She paused, then looked Ron up and down again, her gaze lingering on his face.
"You know, we're in need of a manager. Someone to handle the bullshit we don't want to deal with. You look like you could handle it."
Ron blinked, surprised. "Me? A manager? I don't know anything about managing a band, Zilla. I'm more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy."
Zilla waved a dismissive hand, "Pfft, who gives a shit? You're smart, you're organized, and you've can keep me in line. That's all I care about," Zilla said, her gaze intense. "Plus, you contrast well with our image. People will trust you. They'll listen to you."
Ron chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know about all that, but I appreciate the confidence. I'll think about it, okay?"
Zilla nodded, then looked at her watch. "Shit, I gotta go. Band practice starts in an hour, and Rogue will have my balls if I'm late." She turned to leave, then paused. "Hey, why don't you see us play, then we can talk more about the manager thing? We're playing tomorrow night. It's a shithole, but it's our shithole." She grinned, her gold eyes gleaming. "Come by, and I'll buy you a drink. If you can handle my mouth and my music, you can handle anything."
Ron laughed, "Alright, Zilla. I'll be there. But I should warn you, I'm not much of a drinker."
Zilla shrugged, "Suit yourself. Just don't be late. And don't forget to bring your ears. Our music is fucking loud."
Ron watched as Zilla sauntered away, her reptile-skin boots clomping on the cracked pavement. "She is the weirdest thing I have ever seen," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. But, despite her peculiar appearance and brash demeanor, there was something captivating about her. Her confidence was infectious, and her offer to manage the band was tempting. Ron had always been more comfortable behind the scenes, pulling strings and making things happen. Maybe this was his chance to break out of his shell and do something different.
He picked up his crumpled resume from the ground and smoothed it out, a small smile playing on his lips. "Rouge's Harlots, huh?" he said to himself, committing the name to memory. As he look over a poster to wall, The band's logo sprawled across the top in bold, red letters. Below it, a date for next performance. Ron read the date and realized what happen.
"Uh oh, it looks like she was wrong. It's not tomorrow, it's tonight," he whispered to himself, a mix of excitement and apprehension churning in his stomach. He quickly folded the resume and tucked it into his pocket, his mind racing. A punk band, a bar, and Zilla - he wasn't sure what he was getting himself into, but he was determined to find out.
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