Butch follows gamely, stumbling as the King pulls him over broken pavement and uneven curbs. The kid's looking around, eyes wide, and the King has no idea how much he remembers from the night before. Freeside looks different by daylight, and the King isn't sure if it's the squalor or the neons drawing his attention. They're attracting stares, and the King does his best to ignore them, but he's getting nervous. He doesn't leave the School of Impersonation too often any more, prefers to maintain the air of mystery that isolation affords him. Truth is, he's past middle age and he doesn't have the energy to make the rounds any more. He trusts Pacer with the day-to-day business of running Freeside, his lieutenants with keeping the peace. The King figures that he's old enough now to enjoy his semi-retirement, spend his days boozing with his gals.
Any more, it's news whenever he leaves the School. People are going to talk. They're going to hear about this on the other side of the wall, in the NCR embassy, going to spend days or even weeks dissecting this move. Why was he out? Who was it, with him? Another King, or a stranger, a drifter? What did it all mean?
It was irritating and embarrassing, and all it meant was that Julie had called him over because of a mix-up with a handsome young stranger. His bruises were starting to fade, though his face was still plenty swollen, and the King's earlier assessment had been right: Butch was young, strong jaw and dark brows. He was handsome, and it had the King all twisted up inside. He'd had plenty of male lovers over the years (hell, he and Pacer had been an item for a couple years until they realized that they were better friends than lovers), but it had been a while since he'd been with a man, longer since he'd met anyone who had this kind of effect on him. The King's only real weakness was a pretty face, and Pacer swore up and down that one of these days, some sweet young thing was going to be his downfall.
Pacer was maybe a little bit bitter (their breakup, while not acrimonious, had been less than mutual), but his words rang true. He was a romantic at heart, and Butch had him all shook up. The King felt himself flushing, was certain that everyone could see it on his face, in his body language. He had a crush on Butch, like he was some schoolgirl and not a grown man. It was unseemly.
They reached the King's School of Impersonation, and not a moment too soon. The King could practically feel the eyes of Freeside on him, could hear the rumors swirling in their wake. He was eager to get inside and out of the public eye, but he was gratified when Butch let out a low whistle at the sight of the building.
"Ol' What's-her-face wasn't kidding, huh?" he said, a note of awe in his voice. "What's a guy gotta do to get a fan club like that?"
The King laughed, perhaps a little harder than the situation warranted. "It wasn't easy," he said, grinning lazily as the door snapped shut behind them "Only had to form the greatest gang the Mojave's ever seen."
Butch shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Did you not hear me? Tunnel Snakes; we rule. Get with the program old man."
Butch/The King, "Jailhouse Rock," 3a/?
Any more, it's news whenever he leaves the School. People are going to talk. They're going to hear about this on the other side of the wall, in the NCR embassy, going to spend days or even weeks dissecting this move. Why was he out? Who was it, with him? Another King, or a stranger, a drifter? What did it all mean?
It was irritating and embarrassing, and all it meant was that Julie had called him over because of a mix-up with a handsome young stranger. His bruises were starting to fade, though his face was still plenty swollen, and the King's earlier assessment had been right: Butch was young, strong jaw and dark brows. He was handsome, and it had the King all twisted up inside. He'd had plenty of male lovers over the years (hell, he and Pacer had been an item for a couple years until they realized that they were better friends than lovers), but it had been a while since he'd been with a man, longer since he'd met anyone who had this kind of effect on him. The King's only real weakness was a pretty face, and Pacer swore up and down that one of these days, some sweet young thing was going to be his downfall.
Pacer was maybe a little bit bitter (their breakup, while not acrimonious, had been less than mutual), but his words rang true. He was a romantic at heart, and Butch had him all shook up. The King felt himself flushing, was certain that everyone could see it on his face, in his body language. He had a crush on Butch, like he was some schoolgirl and not a grown man. It was unseemly.
They reached the King's School of Impersonation, and not a moment too soon. The King could practically feel the eyes of Freeside on him, could hear the rumors swirling in their wake. He was eager to get inside and out of the public eye, but he was gratified when Butch let out a low whistle at the sight of the building.
"Ol' What's-her-face wasn't kidding, huh?" he said, a note of awe in his voice. "What's a guy gotta do to get a fan club like that?"
The King laughed, perhaps a little harder than the situation warranted. "It wasn't easy," he said, grinning lazily as the door snapped shut behind them "Only had to form the greatest gang the Mojave's ever seen."
Butch shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Did you not hear me? Tunnel Snakes; we rule. Get with the program old man."