They Claimed to be Kings

Maybe half of the gathered people shuffled out of the room, some with heads ducked as if to avoid notice and others shaking their heads, murmuring something about a damned waste of time. Those remaining looked covertly at their neighbors to see who was left, some with self-satisfied smirks plastered on their faces and others with a hint of apprehension about them.

The woman at the front of the room watched the door swing shut with a knowing smile. "So what now?" she asked her companion, just quietly enough to be unheard by the rest of the room. "I wasn't expecting this many to stick around."

"You weren't expecting anyone to stick around," he corrected her, just as quietly. "I win. I suppose we ought to introduce ourselves before we go any further?" He rose is voice when he asked the question and returned his attention to the group of people who had won him his bet. They didn't look particularly competent in his opinion, but that didn't concern him. He had far more trust in human capabilities than Magnolia. She'd have gone after the targets on her own if he hadn't advised her against it.

"Right," he said, cracking his knuckles. "My name is Aristide, and I would appreciate if you recognized me as a leader."

"Don't be so submissive," Magnolia scoffed at him. "You all. Listen to us and we'll try our best to keep things from turning to shit right under your feet. I'm Magnolia--call me Mags, though; it's easier. Before we go any further, how about you all introduce yourselves and ask any questions that you may have. Aristide and I will do our best to answer."

There was a moment's silence, then a twitchy fellow who looked like he belonged out behind a Starbucks sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat. "Arshile Bonheur. When will we be paid, and what exactly are we doing to earn it?"

Aristide smiled at him. "You'll all be paid upon the capture of each individual. You'll get a little more for each one. We need help finding them, we need help apprehending them, and we need help detaining them somewhere. Those three things all require a lot of different skills that I hope some of you may possess. Next? Unless you have anything more to ask, Arshile."

The young man shrugged and slouched back in his chair again, either deep in thought or about to fall asleep. Mas and Aristide stood by, waiting for somebody else to speak up.

Sonny Khotes lived off of weekly odd jobs; his career was a nonsensical collage of impulse decisions. On Mondays he raked leaves, on Tuesdays he cleaned cages, on Wednesdays through Fridays he made cabbage soup with lentils, and on the weekends he mowed lawns with one hand and served ice cream with another.

He raised these wide eyes now as the woman called Mags spoke. Brushing aside a maple-bark hair - curling bravely out from under his woolen hat - he began to frown. Had he misheard? This sounded more like the opening of an old Bond movie than a job offer. Suddenly quite shaky, he lowered his head to the crumpled flyer in his hands, hoping to ensure that this was the right place and he had not stumbled in to a gathering of mercenaries.

But no one else seemed much like a mercenary either - in fact, the majority seemed almost as perplexed as Sonny himself was. Mustering his confidence, he raised his head again and stuck up a tentative hand, coughing quietly before speaking.

"Sorry, could - my name, uh, Sonny Khotes is my name - could you repeat that bit? It doesn't... I mean, is this legal?" Sonny, still hunched over in his chair, bit his lip. Why had he asked such a silly thing? It was all probably just a big misunderstanding, or maybe they were playing a joke. He began to grin.