Welcome to The Dalton, hope you find what you're looking for Brody Weston here-- Events and Entertainment Manager 32 years old, Native to Elko Hufflepuff, Whiskey Sour, Room 1543
Screw that, I’m bringing in a space heater. Just because everyone else needs to suffer this crap doesn’t mean I need to. Hey, I’m valued - it’s possible to work hard and party hard, you know. I’m just better known for the latter. You say that like I don’t refill my coffee every hour or so. Fuck knows I need something to get through this mind-numbing paperwork.
Yeah? I must’ve blanked that one out. Just because I’m there doesn’t mean I need to be paying attention, Brodes. We’d be in a locked room, asshole. Do you really think my office hasn’t been used for this exact purpose before? As flattered as I am by your concern, you really don’t need to worry about my ass getting fired - I’m too pretty to be let go.
Honestly, the amount of energy this place puts out? I doubt they’d notice if you did. I’m not saying it’s not, but conventionally they’re not done simultaneously. Good point-- then I suppose you’ll need //two// blankets then. Fuck knows, huh? Funny. Are you suggesting some sort of carrot-stick system?
Why am I not surprised. One day I’m going to pull a Clockwork Orange on you and type your eyes open tied into your chair, and force you to actually pay attention to the presentation. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize locking the door made everyone magically deaf and stupid. I’m sure you have, since I can’t imagine you’re holding out on my account, but if I was going to risk having sex during working hours, I’m still probably going to insist you come to //mine// . Well, you are fairly easy on the eyes; more so when you’re sitting and people can’t notice your lack of ass.
Bas: You should know by now, Brodes. I'm never wrong. I don't know about that; you should hear some of the noises that you come out with while I'm rocking your world. They might not be as loud as mine, but they really are quite something. But you know what? Actions speak louder than words. My self-esteem will be perfectly fine as usual - it's /your/ ego that you need to worry about.
Bas: Just because I refuse to fake a smile doesn't mean I'm constantly antagonising people. Don't get me wrong - there are times I have to bite back some snark if the situation doesn't call for it, but it doesn't mean I'm gonna act like I'm everyone's BFF. I just want their money, and I'm damn good at my job, so they'll just have to deal.
Brody: I'm more than aware by now that you never //admit// to being wrong, but that doesn't mean it's true. Oh, I'm not saying you don't have skills-- there's a reason I put up with your puffery. But we both know that between the two of us, I've got the better endurance, which coupled with my experience just puts you to shame. Hey, I'm game for a round or five. But when you're crying from cumming so hard and physically incapable of moving while I'm laughing at your ass while drinking another shot of vodka, well...don't say I didn't tell you so.
Brody: Are you saying you //aren't// constantly antagonizing people? Who are these lucky few that manage to be in your good graces? How did they get there? Everyone's BFF, huh? So not like your relationship with you and your "bestie" Trent, huh? lmfao. Well, I guess the Boss' are grateful that you're on their side then, right? So long as you keep the money in their pocket, I imagine they'll keep it in yours, right?
Bas: Are we talking about giving or receiving? Because I'd say we're about equal on the former. Although I'd be happy to test that one out ;)
Bas: Boring. No amount of money can ever make me want to play nice with people who are clearly tedious to deal with. But I guess that's why I don't have a job that deals with fake niceties.
Brody: You would, but I'd have to argue that you're wrong. I know you don't like to admit being second to anyone, but we both know I've got the edge when it comes to making a guy into a sore, screaming, useless fuckpile of non-existent ass an inconceivable amount times in one night. I mean, of course I have no problem defending my title, but I mean, I just worry about your self-esteem if you focus too hard on it.
Brody: How do you interact with people every day and not have to fake nice? Lawyers can't possibly all enjoy butting heads at every opportunity. But either way, we can't all be button-pushing asshats or nothing would ever get done and we'd have no customers, in which case some of us would have no job and have to move back to Elko. I think I'll just go ahead and stick with the Stepford-smiling.
Eh, details. I don’t care who I’m competing is, I just want to be able to sit in my office comfortably without freezing to death.
It’s a tragedy, I know. Next they’ll be forcing me to actually attend the monthly meetings. What, and you can’t finish up your paperwork with your dick in my mouth? Help me out here, Brodes. You’ll thank me for it.
Poor thing. Especially when you consider who the Higher Ups will choose to keep comfortable when it comes to the guy they’re paying to pretend to push around paperwork versus the people spending their weekly paychecks on a daily basis. I guess you’ll just have to grab a blanket and another cup of coffee.
You are such a moron: you //were// at the last monthly meeting. I dragged your lazy ass there myself. But you are aware that those things are mandatory, right? How you have not been written up yet is one of life’s great mysteries. Oh, no: I could totally suck you off and get my own work done. I just know for fact that you a) completely suck at subtlety, and 2) are completely useless when I get through with you. So basically there’d be a screaming pile of post-orgasm peacock by the time I was through. And then you’d get in trouble for lack of efficacy, get fired, kicked out of the hotel, and then I’d have to find someone else to drink with again. Really, a little patience is just such an easier solution-- this is actually all for your benefit, Bas.
Bas: Can't say I haven't been there, but like you said, it rarely ends in limping. Although, uncomfortable isn't the word I'd use either.
Bas: What? That was pretty tame for me. Clearly I need to up my game if that's how low the bar is. Call it what you want, but sometimes people need to be taken down a peg or ten. Making them reevaluate their life decisions is always a bonus.
Brody: I can't imagine there are many situations where you'd be familiar with the word uncomfortable. And I know better than to try to one-up you when it comes to sex. I mean, unless we're talking orgasms, because then I kick your ass.
Brody: Not everyone needs their ass figuratively chewed out, Bas. Sometimes you need to play nice-nice so you can continue having good working relations. I'll make some calls in the future to smooth things over preemptively. There's no reason to automatically put people on the defensive.
Hey, people can step around bodies– cars seem less inclined to do so, and traffic’s congested enough on the Strip as is. Plus, anyone who knows anything takes the Tram, so street urchins are basically gambling on a nightly basis anyways. So what? Like Season 1 Game of Thrones in present day, but with less gore or pretty faces? Sounds boring– how did they manage to keep that show running? Well, far be it for me to tell you what kind of movie to jack off to, Bullboy– god knows it’s probably very important in your world. Blurring out faces? Ugh– this show sounds worse and worse the more you talk. Glad you aren’t their publicist.
Body armor to go to a brothel? Sounds like a hardcore fetishist to me.
Well, good to know that whole belief about sanctity of life is still up and thriving in the world. I’d hate for anyone to inconvenience you by getting hit by a car, after all, San. Plus, the Tram’s really only good if you’re popping from one casino to another-- some people like the sights themselves, especially at night when the weather’s tolerable. I think the risque nature of the thing is the draw, honestly. I mean, prostitution is illegal in almost every state-- hell, it’s illegal in Las Vegas. So a whorehouse that’s still up and running in modern day draws an interest, you have to admit. Wow San-- thanks for permission to masturbate to porn, but I really don’t have the issue of being limited to my own company. Yeah, well, my job isn’t to promote the place, and what can I say? I’m more of a doer-- I put things together so when people come they’re not disappointed. And feel free to take that as double-entendre.
I doubt that’s what //he// had in mind, but who knows? Maybe he’ll start a trend.
Hey - it’s not like turning down the AC is asking for much. Wouldn’t it actually save money?
Sadly, my pants have been up all day - but you’re more than welcome to come and change that if you insist. Nothing heats a person up faster than body heat, after all.
The ACs connected to the whole building, Sebastian, so actually your competition for financials is with the gamblers downstairs and not the electric company.
What? You mean you've actually been forced to be productive during work hours? What kind of world do we live in where the high-rollers have to earn their paycheck? As tempting as the offer is, however, as a meager manager, I've got to finish up this paperwork sooner rather than later or some fat white guys will be complaining that there isn't enough fillet to go around or something.
Bas: Definitely not literally. I can’t say that “straight” sex ever has me limping as much the next day. Not that I’m complaining.
Bas: As somebody who argues for a living, I can’t say that I wouldn’t enjoy ripping them a new one. Did you manage to get the dick to lower his prices at least?
Brody: I was once in a threesome with a girl with a strap-on. Does that count? Not limping though, to be fair-- just uncomfortable.
Brody: You can't see my eyes rolling, but they're putting me in danger of crashing my truck thanks to you. I don't want to argue with people-- the faster I can go through the paces, the better everything flows, the less I have to worry about anything. Eh, I got some bonus supplies. I'll call it a win.
The best thing about living in Paris was that our buildings didn’t carry the risk of us being frozen to death. Seriously, who’s in charge of the AC? Pretty sure my office is colder than Mongolia right now.
[Txt] just old man assholes think they can lowball me. like just because I haven’t been doing //conventions// specifically for three years they think I don’t know when they’re trying to push crap product. I was at a damn stationary shop for over an hour arguing cardstock. I officially hate cardstock right now.
You say “so far” as if you’re waiting for one of them to call you out. I’m sure the Weston clan can get by without you for one weekend without fatally injuring themselves, Brodes. At least 70% sure.
Fish Tank sounds like a far better alternative, in any case.
Well, there’s five of them hanging around-- seven if Dad and Junior come home for the holiday. Plus five nieces and nephews. And none of them really have your independent streak, Bas-- they’ll call long before “fatally” becomes a possibility. But I like those odds, so I’ll claim ignorance and hope for the best.
I certainly think so-- you never know when you’ll catch a shark in your net. And even if you come up empty-handed, the drinks are a decent price and the view is always worthwhile.
Hell yeah, Rodeo Clown. I believe everyone has the right to be run over by crazy-ass people, so long as it’s on the sidewalk where they won’t be in the way. Yeah, didn’t it get featured on CineMax or something? I feel like I’ve heard of it on TV somewhere. Although I feel like if you do live porn, you kind of lose something, since the clients are probably fugly as hell. Maybe this guy was asked to leave during filming.
The sidewalk is where they //won’t// be in the way? I’m curious where you think people normally are in this city? I think it was HBO or Starz, actually. Pretty sure there was some sort of actual plot, and not just live-streaming porn, not that I know for sure. If I’m going to watch people going at it, I like to have a cliche plot to mock, myself. Plus if they were going to use non-actors (or at least not cast ones), I think they’re obligated to blur out the faces, which makes it kind of lackluster. Might as well just have the girls going at it with each other.
The guy was in a mask and body armor-- I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a frequenter of the business, San.
That both my Granddad and Brayden are //not// being celebrated this weekend.
That I have Monday off
And so far I am //not// going to have to trek 6 hours north to visit family. Not that I don’t love them, but I could use a break from wrangling Westons
Who knows? Maybe I’ll head out to the Fish Tank and see what I can hook...
Wow, great day not to be a prostitute. You wonder what kind of loser gets so jaded at the Bunny Ranch that he drives an 18-wheeler into it? Or did he just think he was making his own walk-on party bus?
Whatever– glad to be in the city where our whores get run over individually like normal people.
Well, I suppose at least you’re an equalist, Santana. Bunny Ranch is definitely more publicized than some of the other brothels in Nevada-- I imagine if he held a grudge, that would be the place to to demonstrate your displeasure at the legalization of sex work.
That said, I’m just glad that it was only property that was damaged and no employees or clients.
Was I about ready to strangle him this weekend when his apartment’s external smoke alarm wouldn’t stop going off at one in the morning-- with no fire-- after wrangling our sister and brother’s kids all afternoon and I promised to go to the arena with Brett in the morning? I was seriously considering it.
There are things about living in a hotel that you forget to appreciate. Never again.
Summary: Brody’s still making ends meet with amateur bronc-riding between shifts at The Dalton. Santana Lopez is an emerging publicist on The Strip trying to recruit him.
Well, the guy had balls: she couldn’t begin to count how many starry-eyed little punks she’d interviewed in her tiny office, dying for a chance to be discovered. And generally, he wasn’t wrong: there were dozens of “agents” scrounging the city streets looking to con someone into representation, and Vegas wasn’t any different. But her? She waved her hand, flicking up her fingers to count off points. “First, you’re getting paid crap, I’m guessing, and working harder than you should be, so who the fuck cares what your ‘official title’ is? You might as well be a bellboy. And two, yeah: I’ve noticed. It’s pathetic, because I’ve seen your talent–” she let her dark eyes flicker along the solid frame she could see through his cowboy gear “-and it’s wasted in a song-and-dance hotel. You’re an amazing dancer, and not a half-bad singer. And people would probably pay to eat off of your stomach, let’s not kid ourselves, Sundance. But instead of putting that talent to good use, you’re letting yourself get thrown around on two bulls. I mean, I can tell you’re not stupid– you must have heard that the Dalton’s going down.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Everyone knows that with McKinley on the rise, that hotel is a sinking ship. I imagine pink slips are being written as we speak. So basically you’ll either be down to riding your one-trick poney ass out here alone, or this on top of twice the work with the same pay. Either way you’re getting screwed.” The Latina glanced down at her perfectly manicured nails for effect.
“What I’m offering is a fair shot to be seen. With what I’m guessing your background was to get into that place, I can use my connections to get you up on stage and being appreciated for your true talents.” She shrugged. “I mean, really– where are you from? You look like a Texas boy,” she guessed.
Brody’s eyes narrowed as she talked down to him, but he bit his lip. He was loyal to The Dalton-- he got a lot more perks there than most jobs offered their employees-- but that didn’t mean the woman was wrong. A lot was expected of him that the job description never mentioned, and every time he managed to get his head above water his superiors just seemed to throw more crap on top of him. He was getting paid a fraction of what his boss was, and he wasn’t even sure what the man did anymore. Brody handled the client contacts, the merchandisers, the inventory-- not to mention the “random breaking out into song” that was required of hotel workers. Not that he minded that last part exactly-- the Manager of Events was hitting his fifties and his taste in music was awful and he seemed to have grown a second left foot between when he was hired and now.
But the point was, as much as he glared at the “agent’s” summation, he couldn’t really refute it. Brody was grateful, however, that he’d have more luck as her fingers kept flicking. “Well, one-- if you know Dalton, you know they don’t just hire any idiot off the street. I worked hard to get this good, sure, but I have more talent than my figure and my footwork, and a job in an office will pay out a lot longer than the one where I stand around in a hallway for an audition. Trust me-- been there, done that. Second, I’ve been riding longer than I’ve been dancing, lady-- how do you know that I’m not working the hotel until my break comes on the broncs? I didn’t do half-bad out there today.” His mind thought to the wad of cash in his pockets that was investing into his future residency. “Being in your twenties you’re basically destined to be screwed throughout,” he added with a shrug. “Luckily I’m giving as good as I’m getting.” He smirked smugly-- not as a come on, because this chick bugged him, but flirting sometimes got people to get off their high horse.
The older man huffed slightly, crossing his arms and shifting his feet. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I already did the Big Star thing-- it wasn’t my style.” He couldn’t help the quirk in his lips at her question though-- he was proud of his education. “Here, actually, but I trained in New York-- NYADA,” he revealed, cocking an eyebrow in challenge. “And yourself?”
Summary: Brody's still making ends meet with amateur bronc-riding between shifts at The Dalton. Santana Lopez is an emerging publicist on The Strip trying to recruit him.
daltonpr-lopez
Santana glanced down at her new, expensive heels and made a face. They were dusty and gross, and she couldn’t believe she’d come out here. Hottie or not, no guy was worth this nonsense. Not that watching a bunch of sweaty guys in chaps getting thrown off thrashing animals wasn’t kind of amusing, and he’d paid for a good dinner, and she was guaranteed to get laid tonight– all good things. But this whole dirty, manure-stench thing? Not her style at all. If she thought she’d ever see the guy again, she would make a point on explaining to him that this was a horrible first date.
It wasn’t a complete loss, however, when Santana noticed a name pop up on the screen announcing one of the riders. Santana hadn’t been working in Vegas long, but she was quickly becoming a force to be reckoned with because she had a good memory and an eye for details. When the category ended, the up-and-coming publicist excused herself from her date and strode up and out toward the back.
A very handsome gentleman or two, after some crude come-ons and leering, pointed her in the right direction, and San finally found the brunette man laying spread eagle in the back, flopped on a pile of hay and looking exhausted. “Long day?" she asked with a smirk, more amused when he looked up in surprise.
She didn’t bother repeating herself, instead arching an eyebrow to give him a more appraising look, reaffirming her prior guess. "Brody Weston, right?” she asked. “You’re one of those singing staffers from the Dalton? A Warbler?" she worked hard to keep from snickering at the title. For the moment, anyways. "Santana Lopez. I’m a publicist for a private talent agency and wanted to see if you wanted to talk about getting some decent representation for yourself? I mean, assuming you don’t want to be a bell boy all your life,” she added with a scoff.
Brody didn't recognize the tanned woman, but she definitely looked out of place out here at the arena. His eyebrow quirked quizzically as she identified him through his other occupation. "Good guess." He wasn't one of the main performers at the Dalton, so the fact that she'd noticed him at all was kind of unbelievable in and of itself. Not that he didn't have his own set of followers for his dance moves-- he was never lacking for volunteers for partners, he was proud to say-- but he couldn't imagine any of those people making their way out to Henderson, much less recognizing him in dusty leather, grime, and sweat.
When she introduced herself, however, the pieces quickly fell into place for him. His scoff reflected her own as he stretched out his sore limbs and moved to get on his feet. "First off-- I'm not a bell boy. I'm a Managerial Assistant for Non-Profit Events," he corrected her. He would admit to himself the pay wasn't that much better, but Brody had worked six years to get where he was, and he wasn't going to be demeaned by some scam artist. "Secondly, in case you haven't noticed, ma'am, I'm working two jobs as it is-- I don't have the money to invest in some snake oil salesman scamming kids into thinking they're the next big thing. Which, in case you were curious, isn't actually my big dream. So why don't you go stalk McKinley's and try to reel in one of their kids?"
