Chapter Text
Being captured sucked. You know what sucked way more, though? Being turned into a 9-5 employee for the hero committee that does nothing all day as a form of community service to rehabilitate you back into society as a normal person without the public knowing you didn't ACTUALLY go to prison after your trial, and they instead found a better torture method.
Grian's not too fond of his punishment of being a guinea pig for this whole new "rehabilitation" thing the committee is pushing. He'd honestly prefer the forever-torment in a cramped, damp, and dusty cell than this.
The permit office is the least crucial branch of the committee. Despite its name, the permit office has basically no say over hero's weapon and power permits. All those requests get overridden by the higher branch of the Hero Academy. A new batch of heroes graduate and they are just handed over their permits. So what does the permit office do? Nothing. Literally nothing. They are meant to approve and deny new heroes' weapon permit applications when they send over an appeal, or create new protocol based on issues on existing permits, and Grian's sure there is a permit office out there that does that, but not his. They'd never trust a villain with that type of power, too many shenanigans would happen.
So, he does basically nothing and the only thing stopping him from abandoning his job is the tracking chip they so generously implanted under his skin without any anesthesia that would alert the nearest hero in on the plan to drag him back to work with a warning. There aren't even cameras in here! It's the same as the damn cell, he just gets to see the polluted sky and clean up puddles from leaky pipes that really should be looked at; it's a health hazard.
The permit office is incredibly boring.
Except for right now due to the guy that just was thrown through the window.
"You better clean that up," he muttered tiredly, gazing down at the crumpled, but breathing, villain that a hero so helpfully tossed through glass onto his freshly cleaned tiles. The villain, one Grian doesn't care for nor does he even try to recognize, grumbles some apologies before hopping back up onto his feet and dashing behind the counter.
What?
The villain is way too tall to be crouched below the desk beside Grian, not to mention should be smarter than to just hide in a government facility. Sure, it's not run by someone who really cared, but this villain doesn't know that!
"Excuse me, but--"
"Shhh! I'm not here!" The villain stage-whispered to Grian, and with a sigh, Grian goes back to playing League of Legends on the government-given computer provided to him.
A hero, one of the many who were never made aware of Grian's circumstances of working here, but knew the permit office somewhat exists cause they went over it in training exactly twice, swoops in through the window with her orange braid swaying behind her dramatically and scans the area inside for any sign of the villain. She sighs heavily and turns to Grian.
"Did you see what direction he went?" and Grian just pointed in a random direction without looking away from the screen. The hero left and the villain let out a gust of air from holding his breath.
“Well, hello there, kind stranger! Thank you for letting me scurry behind your desk, now I must be on my way, and please don’t alert the police of my presence!” The bodacious villain jumped out from the counter and wiped down his costume to be free of any dust bunnies Grian’s been collecting down there since he neglects the space under his desk. He hopes it catches fire one day with the amount of live wires and dust under there.
He just gives the doofus a thumbs up as he starts to skedaddles out all willy-nilly, but the villain had forgotten one thing.
Grian cleared his throat pointedly, "I thought I told you to clean up your mess?" and the villain had the gall to look confused until Grian pointed to the pile of glass. Grian didn't feel like abandoning his game just yet, so might as well make use of the very capable villain right in front of him.
"There's a brush and dustpan in the closet." He clarified, still not looking away from his computer. The villain, from what Grian could spot in the corner of his eye, was thoroughly confuzzled. Which, fair, he didn't look all that intimidating behind the desk with his brain elsewhere with his favorite game in front of him. But hey! He was still evil! He was way scarier than this pathetic display in front of him. Sadly, he can't hide behind his game for long since the match was now over, and it wasn't even ranked so he can't put too much importance onto it.
Now with his full attention, the villain seemed vaguely familiar. He might have seen him on a tiny blurry screen at the bar he frequents. He has a facemask--gasmask?-- covering the bottom half of his face with flashy lights and a pair of emerald green eyes adorning the upper half. His chestnut hair was tied back loosely in a short ponytail. The skin Grian can see is absolutely littered in light blue scars, and the sheer amount of skin he was showing makes the forcibly retired villain debate if this dude's crimes were something along the lines of public indecency. It was skintight, first of all, the entire costume that was. Though it wasn't a bodysuit, and looked more like it was just tailored to be tight. It resembled some sort of carnival carney, with the pinstripe teal vest that was heavily unbuttoned with an equally tight and very sheer black button down open to show off the nastiest scars merging together onto a, admittedly, pretty nice looking chest. He dared not to look down further on the basis of he might provide the wrong message to this rookie.
The villain was on the verge of saying some sort of snarky remark from what his instincts told him but he interrupted a sigh, and Grian grabbed the broom and dustpan himself from deep in the closet before shoving it into the villain's arms.
"What? Are you telling me you don't know how to clean up glass? Go on," Grian stares directly into his eyes with a tad bit of disdain. He interrupted his very much needed alone time to rot away and play too many matches on League of Legends!
With a stumble and wide eyes that Grian took as surprise, the villain hastily swept up the glass as Grian returned to the backside of his desk and practically launched himself into his leather chair with a squeak. He half expected a villain with such a bodacious costume to be more talkative, but hey, looks can be deceiving. The sun was setting in a blazing orange, which highlighted sharply against the dull countertops. He wonders if Mumbo will be the one running the bar tonight or if it's Skizz. He could really go for a vodka soda right now, or if he was feeling fancy maybe even a mojito. The permit office closes in exactly 3 minutes, and the fool in front of him finally cleaned up all the glass.
Wait. Will someone even come to fix the window or will he have to bring cardboard and duct tape to cover it up from the elements? He doesn't even get paid minimum wage for this job. Something something prison wages or whatever. The villain dumps the glass into the semi-full trashcan that Grian will take out tomorrow, he really doesn't feel like it tonight.
"Alright," Grian stretches up from his chair with a yawn as the villain waits for him to continue speaking, and it's honestly unnerving being stared at but this guy is practically harmless to someone like Grian, "go on, shoo!" He waved the villain off as he grabbed his navy messenger bag from behind the counter.
"I'm sorry?" The villain's voice, while muffled by the modulator attached to his mask-- which is typical of villains with something to lose-- comes off as confused, maybe even shocked. But Grian doesn't have time for this, the sun is setting soon and he doesn't feel staying here after close.
"You heard me, get out of here, I'm not working after hours at all because of you, mate," Grian grumbles, moving out from behind the desk and making sure to turn off the lights behind him. The place is eerily shadowed without any lights, save for the bits of setting sun peaking through the front window, and the villain finally catches some common sense and steps out of Grian's way toward the front glass door. The rapscallion gives a little huff from behind the modulator, bows dramatically, while a bit stiffly-- almost definitely from Grian's lack of reaction, which he's guessing this villain hasn't been met with before-- and scurries away through the door and to a dingy alleyway. Great. Hopefully the villain ego isn't too bruised for him to come bother him again.
But hey! Grian has just enough time to walk to the bar before all the other regulars get there! Maybe he'll see Mumbo's fancily handsome mustached face! Skizz is fine too, he guesses.
The walk is relatively peaceful, people walking their dogs right when they get home from work, like Grian, who is a normal person working a normal 9-5 like many others under normal circumstances. He passes by a rusty playground with children on the swings, and one tired mother gathering her kids to go home, and the wind is a tad bit biting. Maybe he should swing by his flat to grab a cardigan or even his favorite sweater, but then again a nice drink will warm him right up. That and Mumbo and Skizz's warm friendliness.
The bar is on a corner of a road, cramped and sticky, yet still feels homely with the company that is kept there-- mostly just Mumbo. The name plastered in a grimy old navy blue and white sign above the door and in the window is Spanners, something about building bridges between people that both bartenders/owners explained to him when he was way too drunk to absorb. As he opens the door, the knob is jarringly cold compared to the nice warmth from the inside of the bar when he steps in. Grian shuffles to a squishy stool in the center of the bar, and thankfully it's Mumbo's splendid face gracing his evening. Skizz is wonderful, don't get him wrong, but sometimes he doesn't want to listen to the man kiss up to heroes interviewing the press on the current channel that plays on an aging tv hooked on one of the walls of the bar. Which is currently pushing a breaking news case that Grian couldn't really care less about.
"What can I get started for you, mate?" Mumbo greets with a cheery tone, which adds up since Grian's quite aware the bloke further down the bar isn't the friendliest. Which, Grian can't do anything about, cause somehow the feds would find out he was involved in the guy getting beaten to a pulp and then he'd actually be put on death row, even if they know it won't do anything to him they must get some sick gratification knowing it'll annoy him.
"How about the cheapest drink you could offer me?" And Mumbo nods, and they both know Grian's tab is already covered and Mumbo wouldn't torment him with cheap liquor. Yet Grian still asks, cause once he does he know his time is up here and they're sick of him coming here every night for companionship.
But tonight, he's just the spanner's regular that's they're overly close with-- and even if Grian did try to go somewhere else, both of them have threatened that they will tie him to his usual stool just so he wouldn't go to a different establishment, which is rather amusing innit?
Mumbo returns with a rather fruity concoction, and when Grian cocks his eyebrow the lanky bartender answers with the explanation of he's "looked like you've had a rough one."
Whatever that means, his shift was, at best, mildly annoying. Mumbo has that look in those dark eyes of his, Grian can never pinpoint if the slight tint to them is a natural brown or an unnerving crimson but that might just be from the lights in here being so dim, and he's obviously waiting for Grian to try the drink. He takes the glass in all its fancy glory and with one whiff it's overwhelmingly portioned with rum.
"Mumbo, what in the world have you made for me?" Grian chuckles before picking the cherry off from the top of the drink and popping it in his mouth. There's a tang of the alcohol as well as a clear passionfruit aftertaste, and of course the actual cherry itself.
"You know, just something fun to brighten your mood up, you're lookin' rather down there, someone make a real riot in the office today?" Mumbo questions, and all he can do is give a shrug before sipping at his drink.
"Something like that," Grian finally says, and the rum isn't the only thing burning at the back of his throat, since he still has to take out that trash with the glass in it, and eyes above if that villain makes his way back to threaten him if he goes to the feds or something stupid like that.
"It's called a hurricane, by the way, if you want another one, " Mumbo finishes before making his way back to the other patron, the unpleasant one who is now complaining that he took to long chatting and hasn't grabbed the beer he swears he ordered so long ago. Not his issue, for now, but at the moment his eye (both are itchy at the moment, and he knows it's not seasonal allergies) is caught by the television. Of course in this city crime is everlasting, this night is no outlier, yet he recognizes the current culprit the news is covering.
Something about multiple bank robberies and two heroes losing track of a group of villains, and one of the suspects blurry photo is terribly similar to the arrogant and hasty villain who interrupted his shift today. The tv is muted, all he can do is read the lips of the news reporter and pretend he can understand what she's saying. Out of the other two villains in this group only one other seems familiar, yet he can't figure out why.
"He's quite an allusive chap, isn't he?" Mumbo suddenly appeared in front of him, also staring at the tv and Grian swears he spots stars in his eyes when the photo of the villain pops up again, this time being chased by the red-headed hero who also flung into the permit office today. He feels a little sick to his stomach. It's the hurricane, that's all.
Grian hums in question, and Mumbo continues.
"Scoundrel, they've been calling him, or if we're talking full legal then it's scarred Scoundrel. He's the main bad guy in the Bamboozlers, I'm sure you're familiar, G, but I'm assuming the drink is starting to hit right? You've nearly chugged it mate." Grian hadn't noticed, maybe he should've eaten something before this. Whatever, not like he has to worry about his liver.
Ah. Those Bamboozlers, the ones that the press keep saying replaced him in terms of the crime rate. What a hit to the good old ego! The sickness hasn't left his stomach.
He's almost definitely getting a visit from the villain again after he humiliated him. Well, being tortured as revenge might not be as bad as working a boring 9-5, yet he doesn't see the appeal just yet. Hopefully his flat is just as lonely as he left it. Aside from his cats that his neighbor has checked up on around 4 P.M.
Whoops.
~~~~
(full image description in end notes)
