"Hey, Viserys, move that lanky ass of yours and go serve the clients!"

Viserys nods annoyed while he tries to put his hair up in a low ponytail with the hair ribbon that one of his workmates lent him after he realised  that he had forgotten his brooch at home. He gives up after the fourth attempt results fruitless, and decides let it down; his hair, long, thin and too straight, refuses to be tamed at all moment and any scrunchie or rubber band cannot hold it for more than a couple of minutes. His little sister used to braid it, but she stopped as soon as she knew that other boys were mocking Viserys "girly" looks. In his last birthday, she bought him a black hair brooch with the tips she got cutting the grass of some houses of a middle class neighbourhood.

As he leaves the employees room, the penetrating and flickering light of the spotlights blinds him for a few moments. He has  recently started working at Mopatis', so he must get used to it. Si he straightens his shoulders and tries to show that expression between disinterested and disgustingly meek that he has seen many of the waiters wear and begins to work. 

Throughout the night, he is dedicated to taking and bringing orders from various customers. He walks nimbly between tables, walks through couples dancing frantically on the floor, and serves shots of an exotic rum imported from the Summer Isles, low glasses of a qartheen spiced liquor and others of honeyed wine produced locally. The ice clinks, captive in its prison of glass and alcohol, every time he sets a glass down on a table.

After hours of work, he goes to rest for a few moments in the employee room, far from the loud music and the sickly smell of shots and the many perfumes floating like a moan in the dense air. Between grape-colored tiles and soft mustard carpets, Viserys moistens with cold water the back of his neck, where the heat of the confinement has made sweat break out, and his face, which is slightly flushed from so much walking around the place. He looks up at the clock, a black dial whose numbers are painted in fluorescent paint. The hands point to twelve. He hates so fucking much working so late, especially when his sister is home alone. When he worked the night shift at her old job she sent Daenerys to Serra; Ever since they tried to kill them at Mr. Darry's house, when they were just kids, she can't stand the idea of her being alone, unprotected from the dogs that were —and probably still are— looking for them.

He hears someone enter the room. "Viserys", one of his coworkers says in a low voice, "someone wants you to attend his table".

He doesn't get really surprised: some people are fascinated with his Valyrian appearance, something infrequent in Pentos. He goes to the place to whom he has been called. Four men sit together in the booth, all of them strong, serious and dark. But one of them, the one who sits in the center, is the one who catches your attention.

Until that day, Viserys had thought that there were no eyes more impressive than the ones he and his sister had. Purple, like amethysts, like the heart of a lilac or one of those spring sunsets in the city of Pentos, in which yellow, orange, red and purple merge in the sky. Or perhaps the eyes of the indigenous naathis, shinning like liquid gold against the dark ebony tone of their skin. But none of those eyes are as disturbing and painfully beautiful as those who look at him. Black as onyx, and as cold and sharp as it. They combine with the coppery tan of his face and the strong dark hair that he wears tied up in a thick long braid. His is an attractive face, but touched by a deadly air, like the nightshade plant.   

"May I take your order, sir?" he ask in a pleasant, artificial voice, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Yes...", the man says slowly. His voice is deep and embedded in a harsh and guttural accent, "Four coups of fermented mare's milk... And your number".

Viserys almost chokes on his own saliva.

"I don't have a phone", he lies, "But I will surely get you your drinks"

He runs more than walk to the bartender. "Four of fermented mare's milk, Dymos"

The man serves it with a weird glare: "I would swear the only people that drink this are..."

He stops, and looks at him with a serious expression that he had never seen before in him.

"Here you have it," he says quietly. Before Viserys leaves, he whispers something.

"Be careful, taoba"

Author's note:

Short but surprising, hey.

Welcome to the second feverish drunken worryingly specific dream I had about this two... again xd

As you have noticed, this is a Modern!AU, and a Mafia!AU too. Everything is canonically cannon —even the drinks—, except that Viserys is a better human being than the original —because kindness can make you pave your way to a better life and, also, after all the poverty and wandering and humiliation she had to endure in her "childhood", Dany deserved much more than an abusive brother who mistreated and harassed her and was more than willing to marry her off to a dangerous man more than twice her age in exchange for an army when she was a minor even for the westerosi standards.