Mack, as was predictable for one of his age, responded with an eloquent, "Haaah?" which was met with a trainee-less-lot, and the sound of a shutting door in reply. Though doubtlessly he knew that he alone comprised his audience, the aged fowl immediately launched into a disgruntled tirade about taking things seriously, and how badly Rock's organs would be rearranged should he fail to do so.

Jam rolled her eyes and made to follow, holding the door open with her foot as if to say to the unsuspecting serval, "Trust me, you really don't wanna stay behind."

Throughout their discussion of the group's sole viable lead, she'd remained deliberately silent. When Rock took his leave, however, his redder counterpart visibly deflated as though she'd been holding her breath.

"Yeah, the more th'merrier," complained the primate at a mumble, scratching indelicately at her arm, an acidic scowl on her face. "This one just loves any chance to flaunt 'er fake rack and feminine wiles."

The door closed behind her with a heavy clack of slightly rusted metal, and, anticipating their rendezvous with Rouge later that evening, she missed her ring for the umpteenth time that day.

***

The sun had almost completely set by the time the group arrived at the selected rendezvous point.

Around a bunch of brightly-lit storefronts of shops, restaurants and bars, down a flight of stairs and into an alley-like corridor was a nearly stereotypical red-velvet rope line with a bouncer at the end. The group got through with some mumbled conversation and a dropped name from the group's de-facto leader, who then led the way in the door, down an empty hall to a private elevator. It had nothing but the trendy nonsense-name "3 Blu" above its doors.

When the doors opened on the club itself, Rock strode out slowly. There was a certain heaviness to the falls of his boots, like he didn't want to be there. Really, he looked about as unfascinated and indifferent as his name suggested he would.

The place was a dim-lit and mostly open-air club, glowing darkly with blue neon and gleaming stainless steel. Palm trees, some lighted, were all around, reaching up to the starry sky above. There was a glowing bar-top not far away, restaurant, a lot of tables scattered around, a stage with some musicians... It could have been cold, but glowing sail-like banners and other structural elements were placed to break the wind because of a pool and some hot tubs on one end of the roof, the bathers of which needed to not freeze to death. People swayed around pretentiously, spoke meaninglessly, drank their trendy little mixed drinks, and risked drowning in the haze of those trendy little mixed drinks.

Or that's how Rock viewed it, anyway. He spent quite a while just outside the elevator doors, staring in an intent search purely for the person they were there to meet. It was only failing that goal that he finally, begrudgingly started forward into the din of the swanky den.

After a few moments, one of the waiters—who largely seemed to spend their time orbiting gently between the pool and the bar—broke off from the barro-aqueous route and walked their way with a tray.

The waiter arrived and deposited on the table, from a tray, a solitary drink. It was in a very tall, very thin glass, and seemed to be comprised of quite a lot of thin, pale liquid which stretched up the length of the glass—bubbling slightly—until it reached the top, where it crested with an assortment of tropical fruits so diverse as to give the impression someone had diced up the contents of a small island for the preparation of the cocktail. A extremely long-handled plastic umbrella graced the whole drink, held in place by a small slice of orange that had been hooked over the rim of the glass. The whole drink seemed to be ice-cold and was gently condensing a thin layer of fog out of the air.

Contrary to anyone's expectations. The waiter was not a bat, it was a tall, thin, starling who—apart from being outfitted in a powder-blue jacket, was not anything especially out of the ordinary.

The waiter looked down at the irate monkeys. He blinked.

"There was an order placed for this table by a member of your party," he said after a few moments—politely, and with only the slightest hint of apprehension.