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The first time Jeremy meets the Vagabond, it’s in a dark street. He knew he was being watched by the Fakes and wasn’t sure if he should feel honored or petrified. The Fake AH Crew didn’t recruit - it sort of fell onto its potential victims like a whirlwind, destroying until the crew was ripped apart from bottom to top. Jeremy honestly couldn’t quite decide if he should run and attempt to hide from this courting ritual or attempt to meet it on its own terms.
When he meets the Vagabond, he realizes the choice has been made for him. The man is waiting at the end of the street, a SMG slung over his back, hands in his pockets of his stupid leather jacket. He’s smoking, but not with the effort of someone who’s addicted - just the ease of someone who just smoked every once in a while. And it’s through the damn mask, latex and rubber and in the shape of a skull.
It was too dark to really know which way the Vagabond was looking - the holes in the mask were dark abysses, giving nothing away. Jeremy turns to back away, but the Vagabond’s voice rings out down the street. “Don’t move, Dooley.”
Jeremy stiffened. They shouldn’t know his name. He was Rimmy Tim, or just Tim, to everyone who knew him in this job. He wished he could retort with the Vagabond’s name, just to throw the man on the other foot, but he didn’t know it. But he knew better than to disobey - one didn’t disobey the godforsaken Vagabond and live.
He swallowed. “Look, I’ve got no beef with you. Can I just walk away and we can pretend we never saw each other?”
A faint laugh came from inside of the mask and Jeremy’s bowels nearly turned to water. Good god. He was going to get eaten. This was it. This was how he died, in a shit back street in Los Santos with nothing more than a godforsaken pistol against an SMG. Against the Vagabond.
“You don’t want to hear the proposition, then? Guess all our research was false then. Oh, well. I’ll just go tell Ramsey you don’t want to meet with him.”
No, not water. His bowels turned to ice. “Ramsey wants to see me? The Ramsey?”
“What other Ramsey do you know, Rimmy?” The Vagabond was fucking joking with him now. “Come get in the car and I’ll take you to him.”
Now that Jeremy looked closer, there was a lithe black vehicle parked somewhat near the Vagabond. He didn’t want to go in. Didn’t want anything to do with the crazy-ass motherfucker that the Vagabond was claimed to be. But he had no choice. He never did, really, since the moment he saw the man at the end of the street.
He walked over and squared his shoulders. “I’ll go talk to him.”
Jeremy could have sworn the Vagabond smiled. “Great.”
--
Los Santos - the city of thieves, crooks, and murderers. And Ramsey and his gang ruled the roost. They presided over their Kingdom with an iron fist and woe betide anyone who crossed them.
When Jeremy stepped out of the car - the Vagabond’s car - his knees were weak and he felt a little bit like he was going to pass out. His hand kept drifting to the handle of his pistol, stored under his jacket, but he wasn’t quite sure what he thought it would do. One pistol against the combined force of the Fakes? He seriously doubted he’d even live to draw it.
They strolled to an abandoned warehouse - or at least, what Jeremy had thought was an abandoned warehouse. Apparently he was wrong, or the Fakes all had a real flare for the dramatics, not just the Vagabond. When the man in the mask pushed the door open and gestured for Jeremy to precede him inside, Jeremy hesitated on the doorstep.
“Don’t worry,” the Vagabond said. It was sort of hard not to, with that voice (low and somehow both sultry and intimidating) emanating from behind him. “If we were planning to kill you, I would have done it ages ago. I’m not one for the long play - you would’ve already had a bullet in your brain.”
“…uh huh,” Jeremy squeaked, mouth dry. “Uhm… good to know.”
“Now Mogar, on the other hand - he likes to play with his food.” Now Jeremy was sure the Vagabond was laughing at him as he pushed him (almost gently?) through the door. “Now go on. Ramsey’s waiting and he doesn’t like that. He’s an impatient motherfucker.”
Jeremy slipped into the dark warehouse right as all the lights flickered on. Yeah. Fucking flare for dramatics, the whole fucking lot of them. The warehouse was empty, lights flickering shadows across the empty floor, all except two fold out chairs. One was occupied by a man in an elegant, perfectly tailored suit with an impressive mustache. He was sipping out of a flask with the Fakes’ tag on it and smirked at Jeremy as he took a few steps forward.
Ramsey.
Behind Ramsey stood the most gorgeous man Jeremy had ever laid eyes on - blond hair perfectly styled, gold sunglasses, and a charming grin. He had on a tight fitting blue button down and skinny jeans and was leaning against the chair, almost fawning over Ramsey. It was a submissive position behind his boss, but anyone who knew anything knew that this was the Golden Boy with the golden tongue, whose words dripped crimson blood. Ramsey kept him, but let him have a very long leash.
Next to the Golden Boy was Mogar, just as he was described, a paradoxical man who was somehow extremely aggressive and almost innocent looking at the same time. Glasses, red curly hair, and a smattering of freckles gave him an almost baby-faced appearance while his smirk, the black eye, and the rough leather jacket he was wearing made it obvious he was not a man to be fucked with. That, and the fact that he was carrying a very obnoxious assault rifle.
Great. Another threat against his pistol. Jeremy was starting to wish he had never carried it at all - now it was just a useless threat.
“Sit down, Dooley,” Ramsey said lazily, gesturing to the other seat. “We want to ask you some questions. My darling second in command, JP, is coming with our helicopter, should you be willing to join us.”
“Join you?” Jeremy said with wide eyes, staring at Ramsey - The Ramsey of the Fake AH Crew - as the man smirked back at him. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you understand a recruitment scheme when you see one, you idiot?” Mogar barked out a laugh, but was immediately silenced by Ramsey holding up another (lazy) finger, like he couldn’t even be bothered to wave his hand. Jeremy watched, in awe, as Michael’s jaw clamped shut. He still looked aggressive, but one finger shut the other up - the command he held over his crew was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
“Despite Michael’s -” Mogar is Michael, Jeremy thought - “rather outspoken way of saying so, yes, Dooley, this is a recruitment. We’ve seen you shoot. You’re a rather good pick for the sniper, plus you’re loud and aggressive and we need another one on the team that can go double with Mogar and cause some destruction. We have a heist planned for tomorrow night that we can brief you on if you come with us. It’s a… work evaluation, should we say. If you perform well and work well with us, you can stay. Permanently. What do you say?”
Jeremy didn’t know how to respond and for a moment truly feared he was gaping like a dead fish. “Uh…”
“Geoff…,” the Golden Boy said with a snicker, almost simpering, “I think we’ve broken the poor boi.” He looked up at Jeremy and Jeremy found himself instinctively taking a step closer. Almost entranced. “Come on, Lil J, it’ll be fun!” he said warmly.
Jeremy shook his head foolishly and let out a bit of a laugh. “…why not?” he asked breathlessly. “Lead on, then.”
Ramsey, the Golden Boy, and Mogar Jones exchanged a secret smile.
Checkmate.