Work Night

"Go on inside, you're just fine." The burly djubetos huffed, as the sounds of the club could be heard loud and booming, neon lettering advertising the establishment as a whole. Some scruffy, yet weirdly dressed person had been allowed entry by his will, however if they happened to cause trouble it would be his job to drag them out and toss them to the curb. Dante didn't take kindly to repeat offenders, or any offenders, and understood that on off days like this he worked himself far too hard, but on the brighter side he could also tell you exactly if someone wasn't old enough to enter, if any information on someone's I.D wasn't right, so on- even the district of zoning couldn't be neglected, any mistakes resulted in paycheck cuts or lesser pay. And while this job was pretty good, the pay was only barely worth it as is. Extending a clawed hand, Dante took hold of the next I.D to examine it and paused, glancing from the photo to the patron, oh. OH, another V.I.P, that had to be... the third one this night. A djubetos handler, yes, but one with influence in the world, Alan Weiser. A businessman, next in line for a big promotion, and beloved by anyone who wants to put extra money in their pocket, he usually provided off the grid jobs however for any looking. Personally, Dante didn't partake but... he couldn't say the same for others. Besides that behavior, it was all pretty standard, or average. "You still working here, kicking out drunks and idiots? Carting them off like kids? Still can't believe you said no to me." Alan remarked, adjusting his suit which earned a shrug. "I'm comfortable, and wouldn't like to piss off the government, thanks. Sure humanity sucks, but I'd take mediocre living over mounted on a wall like a trophy." Was the half-hearted response, as the I.D was passed back, a small frown visible on Alan's face. "You know my office is always open... and besides, I'm sure Haro doesn't have to know about any of these exchanges, yes?" "...come right on in sir." A blunt answer, as mute of emotion as could be possibly managed. The gate opened, and he watched him walk inside, inhaling and exhaling sharply, glancing at a crummy watch on his wrist. Just another few hours of this, and he would be able to end his shift and return home, crunch on some glass and drink wine, and relax without being stared at by simping fangirls, fanboys and just fans in general of all types. God, there were so many, he honestly preferred the jobs where he could kick back and guard cargo compared to this junk, but the extra on the side made it so those wine nights were possible, however weird it may seem, but he could care less. Rot if you refuse to enjoy something new, or are incapable of having the pleasure to know how satisfying it is. Who knows, maybe someday he'll finally get his own place and all the wine for a lifetime he could handle. Thats the dream.