Chapter 6 – Getting Fired From Femboy Hooters
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Upon showing up to work at Carp’s Whiskers, Seni found himself promptly fired for skipping an entire day of work without notifying anyone.

“But it was an emergency!” he protested. “I had some...uh...problems to sort out with my family.”

“That’s fine and all, but you also cursed out Zhenuan Rouyi in an alleyway. It was so loud, the entire block could hear you grilling one of the most influential celebrities in the city.”

“A celebrity - a celebrity!? What does he do, have a harem? Breathe? Does he make art? Music? Or does he just exist and get popular for it?”

“The last one, unfortunately. I hope you understand that having an employee who cussed at a wealthy immortal is...problematic.”

Seni sighed and turned away. “Alright, you make a good point.”

 

He grumpily dragged himself back to the inn, where Ainsworth was still sorting out his luggage. Min had already left to go teach the rookies at the Mercenary Guild’s arena.

“...Did something happen?” Ainsworth asked nervously.

“I got fired.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Does it have something to do with last night’s fight?”

By this point, Elane had more or less gotten used to Ainsworth’s nearly incomprehensible accent after Min had translated for a couple of hours last night, and could make out most of his words. “No, I’m pretty sure I got away with causing immense property damage. It’s because I skipped work and roasted Rouyi the night before.”

“Well, having an employee that offended a rich man is definitely not a good look for your establishment. I mean, what do you plan to do? I can help.”

“Really?”

Ainsworth paused as if he was thinking of something, then shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, I used to be quite a successful merchant. Dealt in arms and armor and such. Then poverty fell upon the land after a horrid famine, and I found myself losing everything I owned.”

Seni knitted his eyebrows together in sympathy. “I see. Well, no need to worry any longer, ‘cause we’ve got you covered. My plan right now is to open up a food stall, since I’m pretty good at cooking. I can’t eat meat - like, physically incapable - so I probably won’t do too well with seasoning skewers and such, but it’s not like I’m entirely ignorant. Steaks are pretty easy.”

“Hm...so you’re in your element when you cook vegetables? What about grains?”

“Grains aren’t meat.”

Ainsworth snapped his fingers. “Right. I’ve got an idea for you. It’s a snack from the south, but I think it’ll catch on. Southerners are generally pretty big on snacks, so I’ve got more ideas if you don’t like this one.”

“I’m listening.”

“We call it bao mihua. Basically, what you do is you dry out some corn kernels and then just add heat once they’re all shriveled up. They’ll puff up into these fluffy corn balls. It never really caught on in my country, but it’s pretty popular in other places. They’re pretty fun and cute, too.”

“Do I need a specific type of corn, or…?”

“No, it works with any type of corn. I think? Yes, I’m quite sure. Unless it’s the magic-saturated type that you find in the mountains that are carnivorous and prey on insects. I mean, we could also make garlic bread, but garlic is incredibly expensive in this country.”

“Sounds interesting. Let’s give it a go.”

The main function of dried corn kernels, as far as Seni knew, was to be mixed into some type of boiled sludge in the winter to be fed to livestock when there weren’t enough scraps to go around, so it should have been quite easy to secure an entire bag without expending any significant amount of cash.

As it turned out, Ainsworth claimed to be a surprisingly competent bargainer despite his terrible accent. 

“So, what are we looking for? What’s our budget?” he questioned as the two of them looked through the harbor market, where most of the river faring traders came at a stop to sell their wares. “There are surprisingly fewer people here than I expected.”

Seni glanced backward at the city. “Most of the time, everyone goes to the market square, and I don’t blame them. The stench of fish around here is obnoxious, to say the least. Don’t you smell it?”

“It doesn’t bother me as much. Running a pub filled with filthy lowlifes sort of does that to your sense of smell.”

Seni shifted behind Ainsworth, who wasn’t as tall as Min but was still fairly large compared to Seni. 

“Wh-wha, whoa!” Ainsworth exclaimed when Seni suddenly hid behind him and clutched on his waist. “Is something happening?”

In response, he simply pouted and pointed at the groups of sailors ogling him. 

They were hardy, muscled men who would spend up to years at sea with no way of releasing their pent-up lust. The only exception to this rule was a small minority that engaged in romantic relationships with their other male crew members (their iconic catchphrase was, “it’s not gay if you’re wearing socks”). It was a general belief among captains that having women on the crew would only result in the men fighting each other over who gets to smash. Or who gets to smash first, if their ship had been compromised by a thot. 

Sailors were ferocious wolves of the ocean who braved the great unknown and flew over stormy waves with all the speed of a coursing river. With their muscles like steel coils, they rowed with all the force of a great typhoon. They fought off the sea monsters that infested the water with all the strength of a raging fire. To the common folk, the source of their determination was mysterious as the dark side of the moon.

In reality, what drove the sailors on was their sheer lust that built up over months upon months at sea. And now, they stared at Seni’s ass with absolute concentration, hoping, praying, that they would be blessed with a divine gust of wind that would flip his skirt and allow them to die happy.

“Oh,” Ainsworth realized.

That’s also why people shop in the market square.”

Although these rough men with scabs on their knuckles, scars on their backs, and haphazardly shaven faces knew this beauty was out of their league, it was always worth a shot. Every single one of them had been in a bar fight at least once, and they were confident enough to stare down a kraken before getting devoured in the next second.

“Why don’t ye come over here, lady? We got some good deals!”

“Ignore him, I’ve got a nice package myself!”

“Hey, baby! Do you plan on fighting from that perch?”

“Three inches of quality right here!”

Seni grimaced. “How do they not die of embarrassment from these poorly written pickup lines?”

“Umm...I would imagine it is the brazen energy that sailors exude,” Ainsworth awkwardly mumbled, then turned his head and found a way to change the subject. “Looks like that small-time peddler is selling some sacks of kernels. Let us go buy a bag.”

“He looks a little shabby. Make sure we get a sack that doesn’t have a hole in it, eh?”

The man’s stall looked like it was hastily put together, with nails bent and sticking out, and the wood at an awkward slant. Still, Ainsworth knew better than to judge by appearance and confidently walked up while exuding a noble presence.

He held his chin high - but not too high to seem overly pompous - and stood up straight, casually strolling enigmatically as if it were second nature to him. 

“Good day to you! How much for a sack of these fine corn kernels?” he asked, leaning over the peddler who was sitting on a stool behind his stall.

“Ten coins,” the peddler replied flatly.

Ainsworth gulped and considered the offer carefully. Since he was a southerner, it would be easy to assume that he wasn’t around here, and so the peddler would likely overprice their stock in hopes that he would fall for it. His best bet was to laugh and act as if he knew more than he let on.

“You can’t be serious! Ten coins for a measly sack of this size?” he guffawed.

The peddler widened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Alright, six.”

“Outrageous! Make it four.”

“It’s just six coins, Ainsworth,” Seni commented. “Calm down.”

Ainsworth slammed the stall with his fist. “Damn it, this is my chance to impress the reader! It’s not about the money, it’s a matter of pride!”

The peddler was driven aback by his sudden outburst and rapidly nodded in fright, handing him a sack of kernels. “Okay, okay, okay. Four coins. Here you go.”

Ainsworth took a deep breath and slid four coins across the stall. “Thank you.”

 

The kind innkeeper allowed Seni to borrow the kitchen to test Ainsworth’s idea. It was still a couple of hours before noon, and they had time to spare before the lunchtime rush.

They placed a single kernel on a pan after pumping on the bellow enough to get a proper fire going, and carefully observed the process.

“Are you sure this is supposed to happen?” Seni asked after an uncomfortably long period where nothing happened. 

Abruptly, the kernel was launched into the air with a loud pop, and Seni almost jumped back into the kitchen counter.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped while clutching at his rapidly beating chest. “Why does it jump!? Why in the world does it JUMP!? I’m telling you, I’ve gotten too old for this.”

Ainsworth spared an awkward glance and decided not to mention that the large majority of immortals were probably much older and energetic than Seni.

Soon enough, they began to plot their business tactic after a quick taste test.

“Salt,” said Ainsworth. “I recall that people put salt on these.”

“What about sugar - no wait, sugar’s too expensive. Hold on, isn’t it possible that some rich guy steals our idea?”

Ainsworth cupped his hand over his chin. “Good point. We’re going to need something that only we can provide for the customer.”

“Authenticity?”

“It’s just popped corn kernels with salt on them. I don’t see how we could make it more authentic if our idea gets taken.”

He suddenly blinked a couple of times after coming to a realization, and turned towards Seni, who blinked back and said, “What?”

“I’ve got it. We’ve got you! You’re really, really...uh...p-pretty?” he choked the last part out. 

Seni grit his teeth and smiled, placing a hand on his chest. “Gee, I really couldn’t tell. You’re telling me - little ol’ me - that I’m pretty? Wow, what a surprise. I haven’t looked into the mirror for 70 years.”

Ainsworth cringed and distanced himself.

“Okay, sorry. That was mean,” said Seni. “So what this amounts to is selling my face, right? I can do that. Basically, the same thing when I was still working at Carp’s Whiskers. It can’t be that hard to do it again.”

“W-well, yes? That’s about it, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry. I consider myself to be a master seductress - I mean, seducer. Just follow Shakira Law and I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Shakira Law is the universal constant that these hips don’t lie,” Seni declared while slightly wiggling his curvy body.

“...Alright. Our next order of business is to set up a stall for a test run in the central marketplace, I believe. I mean, I don’t really know where it is since I’ve never been to this district before, but I’d assume you would know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan coming up in my head already.”

 

The large majority of people with common sense believed that the East District was what gave their city a bad reputation. Mo Huan was no different. Everything was a mess. Most of the people hanging in the streets were either too high or too depressed to form any coherent responses to his questions.

Rather than disgust, he felt more sympathetic. He tossed a coin to a cooperative beggar who, surprisingly, was completely sober.

It wasn’t as if there was nothing he could use to his advantage, however. Several gangs constantly fought over territory outside of the great stone towers.

A squad of half a dozen elite Syndicate warriors followed behind in an orderly fashion. When the city guards were unavailable, it was Huan’s security department doing the work. His personal guard toted spears and blades on their hips and backs, fitted in a blue-tinged scale armor that was clearly superior to the average guard’s leather and rusty chainmail.

They were tall, musclebound, and intimidating, faceless when their helmet’s visors came down. Huan himself stood larger than the rest of them in his casual fur vest and boots. The only weapon he had was a dagger tucked away into his vest that would look like a butter knife in his enormous hands.

He silently nodded to his bodyguards after coming to a broken-down warehouse suffering in disrepair. 

Two of them walked up to the double door and kicked it open. The splinters hadn’t even settled to the ground before the rest of the squad moved in, spears at the ready.

Every gangster inside was wearing a blue piece of cloth tied over their arms, and they hesitated for a moment before pulling out whatever weapons they had in response - knives, wooden planks, rusty swords, and even clubs fashioned out of bones.

The threat of the guards’ spears kept them at bay for a while. Calmly, Huan reached into his vest and pulled out a card with the Syndicate’s insignia on it.

All it took was for one person to notice what was in between his fingers before a flood of whispers ran through the mob, causing them to back off immediately.

One man with a blue bandana around his neck nervously walked up, keeping a sharp eye on the bodyguards. “H-hello, sir. Whatever could ya want with us?”

This man certainly looked to have strength, but was nowhere as tall as Huan, nor was he as muscular due to a lack of nutrition. 

Huan looked down and flashed a friendly smile - or at least what he thought was a friendly smile. He’d always have an intimidating look about him, so his expression usually came off to be a threatening smirk instead. 

The gang leader visibly gulped and took a step back.

“So,” Huan began, taking a good look around to accurately judge their living conditions. “Congratulations. You’re in luck today. The Syndicate’s looking to investigate the...disturbance, let’s say, that happened here last night. Cooperate, and you’ll receive an adequate award. Sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

He noticed the man rapidly nodding his head, then continued on.

“Good. Make sure you scour those towers. Find out what happened. I want answers by tomorrow.”

Without waiting to see the gang leader’s reaction, Huan turned around to leave, then paused.

“Hold on. Here’s your advance payment,” he said, tossing a small sack of coins onto the ground.

Five silver coins worth a hundred units each were placed inside. A couple more, and it would be enough for someone to buy their way out of this district.

Just before he left, he noticed the gang leader take a quick peek inside, then break out into a crazed smile.

 

AN: This one’s shorter than the other chapters, but I think I’ve finally found my pacing with this story. Now, if I ever come back to this story after writing my sci-fi novel, I’ll know what to revise and edit. In case you’re wondering why this one took longer, it’s not because I was incredibly unsatisfied with something like the last couple of chapters. I’ve just been playing a lot of Monster Hunter World lately because I finally caved and got the Iceborne expansion. 

 

By the way, Serious Handler should have permanently replaced the regular Handler.

 

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