Me, You, and Mason

19

Ken had been taken away from the scene, leaving Sage to clean up his mess.

It seemed to always end this way.

It was the one downside of keeping Ken close, in all honesty.

As often as he preached about Sage getting out of his feelings, Ken would end up in his, quicker and more often than Sage ever was. Such feelings were often rage or the like, but they were feelings nonetheless.

Such emotion would always either place them in terrible predicaments or exacerbate preexistent ones.

It was thought that Ken had settled down a bit in the wake of Chico's death. What was actually an effect of numbing himself could've been set off at any time. This time just so happened to be the right time.

As Sage labored to de-escalate the scene, he couldn't help but think about how this was the last thing he wanted to do today.

This function was supposed to be fun. A way to unwind. A way to honor Chico. An opportunity for his friends to put a face to the name he raved about.

Speaking of which, he glanced around for Darcy-Ann. She wasn't where he'd left her, but she was right where he needed her.

She abandoned the Spades table to stand near him instead. She was far enough to let him finish his conversation, but close enough to have her concern read.

Her hand was tucked in the crease of the opposite arm. She slid her guitar pick pendant up and down the chain of her necklace pensively. Her shoulders were tense and so was the tiny smile she offered once he'd spotted her.

"I need to get her out of here," he thought, scratching his head as his eyes returned to Dime, who seized this as a teaching moment.

"Aye, I know that's ya' boy, but I know firsthand how hungry you are— how passionate you are about this music shit, mane. I see how bad you fuckin' want it, nigga. And seein' the type of artist you are, the type of musician you are, I know you gon' go far. You heard me?

"But a nigga like that on your team? He's gon' stunt your growth. He gon' keep you from gettin' as far because he gon' let the wrong feelings dictate him— the wrong typa' passion push him.

"I ain't down wit' nunna'dat fightin' rah-rah shit because we don't fight, we lay niggas out, ya'dig? It's enough of that in the city already, mane, and you can't have that typa' shit around you, if you tryna make it out.

"Because that shit gon' put you right back where you came from, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Sage nodded, "Yeah, mane. I—"

Dime continued, "I'm just tellin' you this as somebody that's literally finna be out this bitch— when you step out of Mason, this bubble, that brawlin' over a bitch shit ain't a good look. We business men. This is business. You don't let your feelings get in the way of business...

"And I'ma put it to you plain 'cuz I know what you tryna accomplish... This shit can get real political, my nigga. Relationships and loyalty takes you a long way— and I respect you for stickin' by this nigga— but at the end of the day, you gotta do right by the people doing right by you...

"That nigga could fuck shit up for you on the political tip, for real," he was speaking directly in reference to their own working relationship.

Sage felt as if he were being handed an ultimatum because of it.

"So watch it, mane."

With a firm pat to his shoulder and a knowing eye, Dime dropped the tension and made his way to the opposite side of the pavillon.