“So this is an escort type deal then?” Veronica asked no one in particular as she slid on Fritz. “Welp, I'm outta here.”
As the scribe turned to leave, a Hispanic man in a red, First Recon beret bounded over to her, wrapping her into bear hug from behind. “Don't leave yet! You've barely gotten to know us!”
In the same instant she growled “Let. Me. Go!” another, deeper voice calmly said “Manny.”
Before Veronica could ram her weaponized hand into the man's leg she was released. She spun around, hood askew and eyes crazed, ready to punch anybody else stupid enough to put their hands on her. “I swear to God,” she started, eyes darting between each member of the 'Host Club,' “if one more of you freaks lay a hand on me, there isn't going to be enough doctors in the Fort to remove your heads from each others asses.” She glared at them all for a moment longer, making sure her words were crystal, before stomping out of the building.
“Well,” the King said after a beat, “That was... eventful...”
“Uhhh...”
Arcade cleared his throat. “Right, well I should. I should probably go after her. Make sure she doesn't, you know introduce a grabby junkie to Mr. Fritz-”
“Or,” the two men in the plaid suits said together as they sidled up on either side of the doctor, “You could stay here, with us.”
The blush that stained Arcade's skin from his hairline down to his neck was the direct result of the plaid clad men were rubbing his arm while smiling in a way that while it couldn't quite be called lewd, but to call it smirking would also be disingenuous. “Well, I guess I could stay, you know, for awhile...”
“Well alright!” The King finally dropped Roxanna's hand in favor of clapping his together. “Now that that's settled, why don't we let the lady of the hour have the pick of the house,” he said in his odd, yet pleasant accent.
“Uhhh?”
At her confused tone the King chuckled. “Pardon my manner's lovely, they seemed to have escaped me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest before reclaiming her's once more. “I blame you, your beauty drove me to distraction,” he purred before placing another lingering kiss to her knuckles.
“Uhhh,” that one was a bit higher pitched with just a hint of hysteria.
Cass rolled her eyes as she took a pull from her much loved flask. “Can we get this show started, like nowish? I ain't got all night,” she shot.
“Of course, my beautiful blooming Rose. Miss Yearling, if you would be so kind as to choose a host to attend to you for the evening...” She decided to switch it up and go with a confused sounding 'huh?' making the King chuckle again. “Need some help deciding, do we? I can't blame you little mama, this is the finest assortment of gentlemen this side of the Strip. Why don't I help you pick your poison?”
His arm snaked around her waist as he swept her into the center of the room. “Do you prefer the strong, silent type?” he asked as he asked, free hand gesturing towards the sturdily built man who also wore the distinctive red beret and a pair sunglasses (when she retained her wits she was defiantly going to have to find out what was up with all of the people wearing sunglasses not only at night, but indoors). His hands were clasped behind his back as he stood in a loose parade rest. He gave her a tight nod, but no further acknowledgment.
“Or maybe you're one for the sensitive type,” he said as he directed her attention to Manny, the man whom almost became acquainted with Fritz. He gave her a small smile, but still looked shaken by the ordeal.
“The Chairmen seem to already be spoke for,” she looked over at the two men who'd draped themselves all over a very flustered Arcade, “but you don't strike me as the type who'd dig those little mischief makers anyhow.”
“But the cool type,” her eyes instantly shot over to the man with the alluring voice. Mr. Fox didn't bother to look up from the clipboard that he was still writing on, but a smirk that bordered on predatory did pull at his thin lips. “That could work for you...”
“Or maybe,” the King cupped her cheek then, turning her back to face him, “you're into guys like me. The suave, chivalrous type, hmm?”
New Vegas Host Club (1d/?)
As the scribe turned to leave, a Hispanic man in a red, First Recon beret bounded over to her, wrapping her into bear hug from behind. “Don't leave yet! You've barely gotten to know us!”
In the same instant she growled “Let. Me. Go!” another, deeper voice calmly said “Manny.”
Before Veronica could ram her weaponized hand into the man's leg she was released. She spun around, hood askew and eyes crazed, ready to punch anybody else stupid enough to put their hands on her. “I swear to God,” she started, eyes darting between each member of the 'Host Club,' “if one more of you freaks lay a hand on me, there isn't going to be enough doctors in the Fort to remove your heads from each others asses.” She glared at them all for a moment longer, making sure her words were crystal, before stomping out of the building.
“Well,” the King said after a beat, “That was... eventful...”
“Uhhh...”
Arcade cleared his throat. “Right, well I should. I should probably go after her. Make sure she doesn't, you know introduce a grabby junkie to Mr. Fritz-”
“Or,” the two men in the plaid suits said together as they sidled up on either side of the doctor, “You could stay here, with us.”
The blush that stained Arcade's skin from his hairline down to his neck was the direct result of the plaid clad men were rubbing his arm while smiling in a way that while it couldn't quite be called lewd, but to call it smirking would also be disingenuous. “Well, I guess I could stay, you know, for awhile...”
“Well alright!” The King finally dropped Roxanna's hand in favor of clapping his together. “Now that that's settled, why don't we let the lady of the hour have the pick of the house,” he said in his odd, yet pleasant accent.
“Uhhh?”
At her confused tone the King chuckled. “Pardon my manner's lovely, they seemed to have escaped me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest before reclaiming her's once more. “I blame you, your beauty drove me to distraction,” he purred before placing another lingering kiss to her knuckles.
“Uhhh,” that one was a bit higher pitched with just a hint of hysteria.
Cass rolled her eyes as she took a pull from her much loved flask. “Can we get this show started, like nowish? I ain't got all night,” she shot.
“Of course, my beautiful blooming Rose. Miss Yearling, if you would be so kind as to choose a host to attend to you for the evening...” She decided to switch it up and go with a confused sounding 'huh?' making the King chuckle again. “Need some help deciding, do we? I can't blame you little mama, this is the finest assortment of gentlemen this side of the Strip. Why don't I help you pick your poison?”
His arm snaked around her waist as he swept her into the center of the room. “Do you prefer the strong, silent type?” he asked as he asked, free hand gesturing towards the sturdily built man who also wore the distinctive red beret and a pair sunglasses (when she retained her wits she was defiantly going to have to find out what was up with all of the people wearing sunglasses not only at night, but indoors). His hands were clasped behind his back as he stood in a loose parade rest. He gave her a tight nod, but no further acknowledgment.
“Or maybe you're one for the sensitive type,” he said as he directed her attention to Manny, the man whom almost became acquainted with Fritz. He gave her a small smile, but still looked shaken by the ordeal.
“The Chairmen seem to already be spoke for,” she looked over at the two men who'd draped themselves all over a very flustered Arcade, “but you don't strike me as the type who'd dig those little mischief makers anyhow.”
“But the cool type,” her eyes instantly shot over to the man with the alluring voice. Mr. Fox didn't bother to look up from the clipboard that he was still writing on, but a smirk that bordered on predatory did pull at his thin lips. “That could work for you...”
“Or maybe,” the King cupped her cheek then, turning her back to face him, “you're into guys like me. The suave, chivalrous type, hmm?”