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Aember regretted the new hire. He was good and he knew how to play a crowd, but the way he just seemed to shut down after every set and plop down in a corner until the next just wasn't normal. Talking to him was about as exciting as talking to someone with a lobotomy.

His bandmates were much better, but when asked why Nathaniel was such a pill they'd just shrug. He'd replaced a lead who had gone the way of the high you never come back from, and they were happy to have someone who could drive them home and who wouldn't try to sleep with their girlfriends. The bassist described him as an idiot savant. Broken and weird off of the stage, but on stage he was a grand performer and knew exactly how to get an audience to go wild.

The band's job was to make the customers stay and drink her drinks, then burn it all on the show and give them a need to drink more. There was a fine line between frenzy and rioting, and the Razors seemed to have an innate skill at leading people down that line without crossing it.

She just didn't like it. Something was seriously wrong with Nathaniel. His stage presence was so alive, but the moment the lights went off it was like that little piece of him died. Was it all an act? And if it was, why couldn't he act like a normal fucking person instead of Nate the robot.

Aember considered doing something to try and get a rise out of him. To push him and make him snap. But there were harassment laws in this city, and she was still paying off a few fines the last time she'd tried it.

He'd been working for her for two weeks now and revenues went up. He was a moneymaker, so as much as she regretted it she needed to keep him on before some other club snatched him up. If the crowds liked a band well enough they'd be willing to move if the band did. So her best bet was to wait until the thrill faded and she could quietly shuffle them off after they were just background noise to the regulars.

Still, there was a thing or two she could do.

The ermine quietly slipped into her office as the second set began and started making phone calls. She had several trusted investigators on call and Nathaniel's employment contract with all of his personal information in her hand. If he had gotten so much as a parking ticket in this city, she'd know about it soon enough.

Oblivious to the goings on outside, Nate was on stage and in his own little world. He let out a shriek into the microphone that made half of the dancers recoil and the other have shudder and moan. People always reacted just the way he wanted them to and all he had to do was speak their language, the yowl of a cat in heat, the bray of a wolf on the hunt, the angry roar of a lion defending his pack. His songs had few words, but the noises he made could make anyone a wild beast. And the band simply put the noises to music, a steady thrum that made the crowd move as one single living thing, writhing and crashing into itself, and finally slumping and scattering when he finally released them.

Yet they always came back for more. His music was a drug, and they needed it even if they didn't know they needed it.

And when the music was over, Nate would sit in his chair, sip his water, and listen to the thrumming music in his head, as eager for the next set to start as anyone else. When he wasn't playing, he was just waiting to the next chance to play and anything else was just boring background noise.

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Copic marker and gelpen on Canvasboard.