GTAFest Valentine's Day (2025) - monarch-boo
ORIGINALLY WRITTEN: January 2025
NOTES: A gift for Tumblr user monarch-boo as part of gtafest 's GTAFest Valentine's Day Gift Exchange event!
With this new nightclub schtick in Los Santos, Tony figured he had it good. Sure, the person fronting the operation was a complete enigma that frankly confused the shit out of him–half the time it was hard to tell if they were pleased or pissed about a sale–but they were effective with what they did. So much so that it was no surprise when they’d mentioned creating a partnership with the El Rubio. Because of course they would! What could possibly go wrong when offering your services to one of the–if not the–most notorious drug traffickers out there?! Surely nothing important, not when you were casually working behind his back to plan the heist of the century by taking advantage of a very thin alliance.
If he were honest–and he was–Tony despised the idea. It was much too reminiscent of… everything that went wrong in Liberty City. Sure, most of that was his fault, but it was still nerve wracking. And the bubbling anxiety was only made worse when his business partner invited him along to the island getaway.
“Kid, are you sure–”
They simply tilted their head and shrugged their shoulders, turning their palms up as if to ask what was the worst that could happen. Tony’s arms crossed across his chest.
“I’m just saying, getting into bed with these kinda guys–fun as it is–only comes back around. You’re sure you can manage keeping the act up?”
An affirmative nod. Tony’s eyes couldn’t help but roll as he threw up his hands.
“Alright, fine. But I’ve already told you: I’m not good with a gun. If shit hits the fan, don’t expect me to take any shots.”
[...]
And that was how Tony ended up standing on the compound’s veranda, sun setting on the island coast as a few guards stood silently by the door. Tired eyes found the energy to bounce along the courtyard below, watching as his business partner putzed around with the Madrazo kid and his pack of lovely ladies. Patrolling guards seemed to ignore the festivities for the most part, sparing brief glances before continuing their rounds. Partygoers of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds danced to the blaring beats. Just beneath it all, Tony could hear the door to his side open, and out stepped the man of the hour.
“Oh, hey! Surprised you are not down there enjoying the party. Seems more your style.”
“If it were the height of the ‘80s, maybe.” Tony laughed. There was a bitter edge to it, though it was almost sentimental. Still, he played it off as a simple jest. “Not exactly my style now.”
“Ah, I see.” El Rubio stepped forward, waving his guards inside. They gave each other an uncertain glance, but did as told. “Still drink?”
A curious glance; a subdued shiver seeing that they were truly alone now. Well, at least if he died here it wouldn’t be embarrassing on account of there being one sole witness. Maybe two. Surely there had to be snipers somewhere. He squinted over the rims of his sunglasses toward the setting sun, subtly checking the horizon. Nothing… damn, either they were good or this guy was way too confident.
“Course I still drink.” He grinned. It wasn’t confidence; it was business. Selling the visage of confidence to stand on his own feet. And, thankfully, it worked. At least it’d seemed to.
If it didn’t, El Rubio didn’t make it clear from the way he’d simply stepped over toward the corner of the veranda, gesturing for Tony to follow. Leading him ever so casually to the set of patio furniture and bringing his attention to the fancy bottle and glasses that awaited them. Bourgeoix, a relatively popular choice in Los Santos, but this one seemed... richer? At least where cognac was concerned. Upon closer inspection, as the two found themselves seated, it was richer–aged. Sourced directly from the French commune of Châtellerault in Nouvelle-Aquitaine, and not some manufacturing plant that claimed it was 'tous originaux.'
“Fit for a Prince.” The casual repetition of the company slogan created pause. If one listened closely, they could swear there was a lingering sense of… something within El Rubio’s voice. Something much too intimate for Tony to let himself linger on. Especially when accompanied by that sly grin and knowing twinkle in his eyes.
So he simply glanced at his current companion, letting an awkward laugh slip. “I get it, very funny. Well, this ‘prince’ appreciates the gesture. This is an original bottle, no?”
El Rubio nodded as he poured them each a glass, raising his toward the setting sunlight once setting the bottle down to admire the vibrant color. “Of course it is! All the fucking money in the world from the business I do; why would I waste it on cheap shit?”
Another fit of uncertain, though concurrent, laughter. Laughter which was quickly drowned by the other’s chattering. There was an odd pleasantry to their idle chatter once the alcohol carried any lingering anxieties out to the shimmering sea below. It flowed away like the deep amber of the cognac sloshed into their glasses, transferred from bottle to mouth with hardly any care in the world for the luxurious price tag that accompanied it. Tony eased right back into his chipper state of mind, quick to jump into the conversations El Rubio presented. They laughed, they sighed, they found themselves reminiscing on the days of hard drugs and incessant clubbing, as well as those beyond that. About the quaint, relaxing days. Those that El Rubio–who Tony learned was actually named Juan Strickler in this moment–spent idly golfing whilst visiting the Madrazos. Those that Tony spent wishing for something more to come out of his miserable little life; it did come, of course, and chased his happy little ass all the way to Los Santos…
And now, to Cayo Perico, where the irony was suddenly not lost on the cartel head. Hours passed, the sun set, and the party below went on with no signs of stopping anytime soon. Rather, things were just getting started by the sound of it.
“Say,” El Rubio began, leaning on the elbow that rest on the table between them. “You dance?”
Tony peered over the edge of his glass, brow cocking as he’d swore he caught another sign in his companion’s expression. Rather than run away from it, he leaned into it. Mirrored the gesture of resting on the table as he set the glass down. “Of course I dance. Wouldn’t have gotten into the nightclub business if I didn’t appreciate the art of it.”
A grin. “So, let’s dance.” An offered hand, which Tony boldly took.