“ please don’t. ” she laughed, a glimpse of actual joy going through her face. “ though that would be pretty badass. ” alex shook her head, taking in a deep breath and smiling a bit. “ he’s not an asshole. this is like, typical behavior, and i should be used to it by now. ” and then a horrifying thought crossed her head. “ oh god, do you think i should dye my hair? ”
“okay so what i definitely heard was punch the casting director. got it, i’ll do that.” he only doubled down on it because it made her laugh and he was no so subtly hoping that the idea would make her feel better. “never get used to being told you are too much or not enough. don’t fucking let them make you complacent and definitely do not let them change you. fuck’em. if they don’t want you to be in their show, that’s their loss.”
who are your favorites on the job? who are your least favorites?
“you can’t seriously be asking me to pick my favorite coworkers? that’s literally like asking a parent to pick their favorite child. can’t do it, won’t do it, doesn’t matter, i don’t play favorites.”
she dried her tears with the back of her hand, nodding with a small laugh. “ i suppose not. ” alex took in a breath of air, formulating her words so they wouldn’t escape like a tsunami out of her mouth. “ i had this callback for a play today. and i thought i was really good, but the casting director… well he said i was to ginger! what does that even mean? and i know i shouldn’t let other people upset me so much but… god, i just need a job. well, a job besides organizing vinyls. ”
he hardly had to wait long before the words began spilling out, nodding as he listened. “wow, seriously?” he asked, pure disbelief in his voice. “what the fuck?” he huffed at the mere idea. “i think that means the casting director is an asshole and i should go punch him in the face. what was his name?” he was only half joking.
“ i’m not crying. ” she said defensively. alex was able to hold herself for almost five seconds, before feeling the hot tears come out once again. she hated feeling like a child, but her emotions had the annoying habit of getting the best out of her. “ it’s really stupid. ” her words were almost a whine now, and she hid her face with her hand. “ you’re gonna laugh at me. ”
arlo just raised an eyebrow at her protests, clearly not believing her before the dam holding her tears back broke. “hey, come on. have i ever laughed at anyone when they’re upset?” he asked. “your emotions are valid and how you feel is valid. if something makes you upset, then it’s not stupid, you’re entitled to your feelings.”
alex had clearly been crying. as much as the girl was known to be an emotional wreck, sobbing in the break room was something that rarely happened. and no amount of concealer or bright lipstick was able to hide her puffy eyes and messed hair. “ hey. ” she said as soon as someone approached, trying to conjure up her signature bright smile. “ i was about to get something at the café, i’m so hungry. do you want anything, i can grab you… well, anything. ” she laughed weakly, hoping her words didn’t come out too jumbled.
arlo spent majority of his time at the shop. before his shift, on his days off, one could find the mess of curls lingering in the café or just perusing the records. this was one of his days off, loitering in the shop and occasionally writing. he had been watching alex for a minute, trying to figure out what happened before he determined the best approach was to ask. “what happened?” he asked. “why were you crying?”
( TOMMY MARTINEZ / CISMALE/ TWENTY-SIX / HE/HIM ) i always seem to run into ARLO ROSALES at jukebox records. i’ve heard that if the STAFF MEMBER (BARTENDER) had to choose one go-to record, it’d be THE WORKS by QUEEN and that they can be WITTY but also kind of IMPULSIVE. for some reason, they always make me think of a guitar case covered in stickers, getting new tattoos on a whim, and candid pictures covering every surface. — ( asbury, 25, est, they/them )
Basics:
Name: Arlo Rafael Rosales
Age: 26
Career: Jukebox Records (Bartender)
Music Taste: Classic Rock
Personality:
Positive: Witty, charismatic, protective
Negative: Impulsive, aloof, disorganized
Biography:
September 13, 1993. Miami, Florida. Arlo was born to immigrant parents from Venezuela. The first of a new generation, a first generation American, a lot fell to him growing up. In Miami, Spanish was commonly spoken, but the farther north his family went, it became less frequent. As the oldest, and most fluent in both languages, he often played translator between his parents and sales clerks whenever they went out. The oldest of five kids, he was often the one left to wrangle them. With both his parents working to support their family, he took on the role of a third parent to his siblings, making dinner, helping them with their homework, and getting them ready for bed.
The family moved a lot growing up. His dad getting a promise of a new, better job brought them north. His mom’s mom getting sick brought them back down south. When his mom was too afraid of not being allowed back into the country to take care of her, Arlo went instead, having an American passport and the need to escape for a while. He was fifteen years old when he left and returned shortly after his sixteenth birthday, after his grandmother was in better health.
Upon his return, without school to keep him occupied, he started a band. It never really went anywhere and they spent most nights practicing in a friend’s garage after school. Other than that, he worked odd gigs wherever he could; burger joints and retail as a teen, the occasional janitorial gig once he turned eighteen. None of them ever really stuck and he often felt like he was stagnating, just wasting time waiting for his real life to start. Maybe all he needed was a change of pace.
He spent two years saving up money, working three jobs and countless hours a week. He never went out, never spent any money, and had his sights set on California. Eventually he managed to make enough money to fly across the country. The apartment he was renting for an exorbitant amount of money was cramped and infested but he found a job soon enough. It wasn’t a good job but it was better than nothing.
Once he found Jukebox and got a job there, he was twenty-three, far past ready to really be doing something that he loved. He worked as a store clerk while he trained to tend bar and got his license before immediately asking to switch positions. He was nocturnal at the best of times and worked best at night.
Headcanons:
He views anyone on staff younger than him as a little sibling and is ready to fight to protect them. He generally acts as a sibling to anyone who really needs it, which makes things difficult considering he’s very lonely romantically.
Music was one of the few things his parents could really afford for him to do growing up. The guitar he got for his thirteenth birthday was the guitar he carried with him everyday for eight years before the sound became too heavily distorted and he had to lay it to rest.
He’s very used to concealing his emotions and no one ever really knows just what he’s thinking, because his face is usually blank and neutral.
He dropped out of high school to care for his grandmother and only got his GED after his parents told him that they wanted him to make something of himself.
He never went to college.
He used to write the music and lyrics for his band when he was growing up and sometimes wishes he had stuck with it.
He found Jukebox Records while on a walk one day, high out of his mind, and couldn’t get over how excited he was. The second he stepped foot inside, he never wanted to leave.
He’s become a usual fixture at the store. Even when he’s not working, he’s at the bar drinking or he’s in the coffee shop writing.
His guitar goes with him everywhere. He’s never once left it behind.
