Chapter Text
The black hedgehog could only hope the light of the club didn’t give away the slight sheen of sweat covering his brow. It was another long night of noon to midnight shifts. And, unlike the singers that filled the room with their salutary sound, or the revered trumpeters with their names blown up on the marquee, he didn’t get a break.
Shadow Robotnik never had a charmed life from the very beginning of his existence. His origin story, as told to him by his adoptive family was that he was abandoned on the doorstep in 1898 with a letter proclaiming that his family simply did not have the funds to house another child and, knowing of the affluent Robotnik’s humanitarian beliefs, they decided he would have a much more fortunate life with them.
The old joke around the house was, “Oh, Isn’t it a wonder we haven’t had more stray infants left abandoned on our stoop?” At least that’s what Gerald would say. And, all in good nature, Maria and Shadow would laugh along to the tune of the joke, filling the air with mirth. Those were the golden days that only resided alongside the rare folds of his mind that could remain idealistic.
These moments tended to be few and far between, between Maria’s poor health and Gerlad’s stressing, however, they never failed to leave a lasting impression on the young hedgehog. He remembers fondly playing the piano for her whilst she had fallen ill with scarlet fever. She always had the worst luck with illness, it was a rarity to see her in good health which was ironic considering Shadow never seemed to succumb to such illnesses.
But whenever his finger seemed to grace the keys of the old Steinway and sons upright piano the life returned to her sunken features the moment the music introduced itself to her ears. It was always the funniest thing to see her flaxen tendrils whip behind her head as she would turn to the piano. Even as they started to lose their possessions, either to the flames that often confused Maria’s dear belongings in the name of infection or in a vain attempt to cover medical bills they always kept the good old upright piano.
They were gone now to whims of typhoid, taking all the light and joy out of the instrument and out of his life. He now only played for the belligerent party-goers that populated the speakeasy that provided him his pittance. It was a shameful display of overindulgence with shrimp cocktail galore for the lucky as they whispered amongst themselves, gazing over at the feathered girls in scantily clad clothing as they moved erratically across the floor. He found it all to be exhausting, but it was worth it as long as he could come home to his up-right piano, the Robotnik's final home, his measly little apartment in the upper west side of manhattan.
Though he bides his time performing thankless work, he couldn’t complain. He had his radio and his old phonograph and whatever was left of his ‘parting gift’ after serving in the great war.
He glanced up at the clock from the piano bench, seeing that he only had about one song left. He took the spare rag he kept next to him, it got awfully hot on stage, and finally whipped just above his eye-ridge. He was a firm believer in maintaining one’s own appearance. It was Down Hearted Blues, one he knew by heart at this point. No dancers filled the floors at this one, he was sure the bat was thankful.
He could afford to look away from the keys every once in a while, just to see who was in the crowd. It was the usual set of tweed Irish flat caps and behind suits for the gentlemen, but someone in particular seemed to catch his eye as they begged at one of the servers.
He was a wonderful cerulean with quaffed quills, not to mention the particular way his suit fit his lithe body almost perfectly. He must have been some sort of heir to a broker, maybe a gangster, because his stunning appearance only served to compliment his apparent wealth.
But, Shadow had a job to do. It may have been a curious case to see such a put-together man in a place like this, but he couldn’t afford to dwell. He played in tune, waiting for the singer to exhaust herself so that he could be done for the night. He merrily excited the stage, thinking of getting a drink and calling it a night. But before he could fight his way down to the basement where the real fun happened, the speakeasy, he was confronted by his old friend. Rouge the bat.
He could see the concern in her gaze and he was already well aware of what caused it. Often he was looked down upon for his simple ways, receiving snide comments when they assumed he couldn’t hear. They didn’t bother him, life had made his tough exterior impervious to such silly opinions. The only thing that did bother him was the sympathetic, pitiful look, the only coworker he could stand, Rouge, gave him.
“Oh darling,” she cooed, sprucing him up some. “How hasn’t a handsome man such as yourself find some pretty dame to settle down with. Or- or some chippy girl would find you just fine and then some.” She was a dancer, quite extraordinary to watch moving to ragtime. She was a looker herself too, but Shadow had no interest in her, she had been like a big sister to him ever since he joined the club.
“Now you know me, I’m fine just the way that I am.” Really, he had no interest in women. The idea of a girl at his side, linked around his armor at his home when he got off work never appeased him much.
“Don’t you just feel your heart sink a little when you come home and there are no children at your ankle?” Shadow could only roll his eyes at that, if anything, he was more pleased to have his solitude as the pressures of giving those poor bastards a good life seemed insurmountable. Not to mention, he was sure he couldn’t withstand the pain if one of them was to meet a similar fate to Maria.
He blew her off with a flick of a hand. “I don’t want to think about children, even in kidding.” But he could see by her unwavering face that she wasn’t willing to let up. Apparently, by 25 you are well past your prime in her eyes. She still clung to him, pleading that he go and try to enjoy life more.
“You really ought to let me! Didn’t you know I’m a star on the silver screen?”
A whining tenor pleaded to the man behind the whole in the door that gave access to the speakeasy. His voice was enough to command his attention but it was his looks that captured it, holding it ever so fondly as the man reduced himself to a petulant child as he cried to the man behind the door. He found his out escaping Rouge in the ever consuming crowd as he moved to the door with the ironic sign stating ‘In compliance with the 18th amendment no intoxicating liquor allowed on the premise’ resting above it.
“Carefree” Shadow stated to the man behind the whole, letting the heavy door open to him. The unnamed man looked to him with astonishment and thanks, not expecting this handsome character to swoop in and do him this service. “After you.”
“Thank you!” The mysterious actor responded with his smile blown wide as he slipped past the door. His eyes lingered on his ‘hero’ only to see him turning away back into the crowd. “Wait? You aren't getting a drink?”
Shadow was cursed to hear this sudden inquisition. Despite himself and the voice gnawing at him to stop thinking such thoughts, he found this man rather interesting in his own arrogant demeanor. Who demanded entry like this? And what was so captivating about that face?
He had traveled down this road many times before with the mysterious creature known as the man. He found men interesting in a way women never bemused him. They seemed to have an insidious charm that snuck it’s way into his thoughts, consuming his mind. He had it worst while he was off at war, thinking of his platoon mates and the way they stood and the way they talked rather than whatever the lieutenant demanded of him.
His superfluous thoughts of what they were like at home, before the war, infatuated him to the extent that he almost got himself killed. It was the combination of that particular instance and the trouble at home that influenced his nuanced plan to swear off closer relationships.
And up until this point, he was successful with the singular exception of Rouge. “It’s best that I don’t.” He stated flatly as he turned the other way only to have a hand in his, effectively stopping him in his path to the front door.
The man flashed a sneaky smile, cocking his eye-ridge in jest. “What got the gal at home? Why don’t you nibble one? Never hurt anybody.”
The fact of the matter was, Shadow wasn’t resisting much. His hand remained in the others as his feet felt glued to the floor. And the pianist knew better than anybody else. No one was waiting for him at home and a few drinks couldn’t do him much harm. It was the issue of his shameful little fascination that he could feel bubbling within him about this stranger with the nice smile and the pretty eyes.
“Oh, what the hell, why not.” It had been a rather long day… and he was planning to grab a drink regardless. And as with most conversations, he was sure this wouldn’t lead to much of anything.
Just as Rouge had managed to busybody her way to the door to offer Shadow the prospect of a day out in the hopes he would manage to see the sun at some point this week, only to see him slip into the basement. She internally groaned, assuming he was off to drink his sorrows away. But she had been blissfully unaware of the man in his company.