, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel
November 27, 2013 01:21AM
Room #1123 – Christian McQueen
Christian blinked at the futile thud that came from the door and stared dumbly at it before realizing the other man had introduced himself. Christian’s mind had been momentarily occupied by the raging homosexual onslaught he had witnessed and he realized he was being rude. He thrust his hand forward and shook Bobby’s.“Yeah—Bobby Williams—F1 driver. I’ve heard of you, too. Heard you were joining the circuit through the grapevine. I know it’s not Formula One or anything, but on the upside it doesn’t take as much concentration to execute left turns all day.” He paused, before adding, “On the downside…it doesn’t take as much concentration to execute left turns all day. It all sort of balances out in the end, though, because here the girls flash their tits from the stands. ” Hell, most of ’em wanted your name written on their nipples.Christian sighed, fumbling in his breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He didn’t have much to bitch about, he supposed. Being a racecar driver was a pretty sweet gig, and it sure beat the hell out of digging ditches or working under other people’s cars all day—but sometimes he missed the thrill and variety of street racing. Every once in a while he’d get that familiar itch that all the oval tracks in the world couldn’t scratch and he’d go moonlighting downtown. Doubtless his manager would have his ass nailed to the wall if he found out…but he couldn’t help himself. And what his manager didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, either.“Good to meet you though. Look forward to seeing what you can do out on the track.” Christian shook a cigarette out of his crumpled pack of Camels, tucking it away in the corner of his mouth. “Do you mind?” Christian asked, cupping a lighter to the cancerous instrument.

There was more jostling from the otherside of the door, and a different voice called out. This one was male, nasally and annoying. Christian would have recognized the Bostonian accent anywhere.


“Bawby Willyams? Bawby Willyams, you—excuse me lady, I’m tryin’a conduct an intaview heaya! The fuckin noive of some people!” More jostling. Christian could imagine Dan shouldering his way past Bobby’s indignant manager, scribbling furiously on that legal pad of his—-filling it with all manner of bullshit and lies. “Is it true you got dat Christian Mac-Queen in dere wid ya? You two heaya for da gay thing or what? What, yous two guys fuckin’ or somethin’? Hey, you gonna open up or am I gonna be standin’ heaya all day? ”


Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel
November 28, 2013 01:50AM
Outside Room #1123
After taking the fall at the trying to bust her way into Bobby’s apartment, that no good reporter with a shocker of a Bostonian accent shoulder charges past Cynthia and starts an interview through the closed door, whilst scribbling all kinds of sick innuendo for his tabloid bosses. This was the last thing that Bobby needed, on top of the allegations over the Mayor’s daughters. With a wide eyed and mouthed expression, Cynthia heard the insinuations, and this was when her lips then puckered so tight it was like looking at a painted baboon’s ass. Eyes turned into fierce slits, on the mention that Bobby was fucking with Christian McQueen in his apartment. Cynthia knew very well how hetro Bobby was, even after a night on the turps.As the reporter scribbled, Cynthia adjusted her bosom, jostling her tah tahs, and then with lightning like reflexes, she reached out and snatched the reporter’s pencil, as if she was trying to reach past him to knock on the door herself. If the pencil dropped, she’d become dismayed…and then say.“Oops…here let me get that.” The next move was none other than the famous ‘bend and snap”. Cynthia would reach down to pick up the pencil, and on the return, try to knock out the reporter, with the sharp flick of her head, in the breast charging “snap!”.https://i0.wp.com/25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lx80tlPY6k1r5few5o1_400.gif

Room #1123 – Bobby Williams

Inside, Bobby could hear the retarded sound of a man asking lewd questions, then followed closely by that of Cynthia’s voice. He wasn’t sure what was the less of two evils really, but he knew one thing for sure, he preferred taco to sausage any day. Easing against the couch, well more like leaning on it, he listened to his new guest, Christian, talk about how its not that hard to do left turns all day. This had Bobby quirk a brow. “But….I’m used to doing right turns. Woah…this is going to be harder than I thought.” The consolation was that the chicks in the stands flash their breasts as you go around the track. Bobby only thought they did that in New Orleans, and this new development, did make him feel a whole lot better about this Nascar racing gig. Formula one cars go so fast, you would never get to see the tits, they’d be a blur. But if there were a lot of yellow flags, he’d be sure to see plenty. Folding his arms and leaning back, he shot Christian a sideways glance, and then nodded, saying it was cool for him to light up.

“I’d join you, but left me bong in the bedroom.”



Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel
November 30, 2013 12:23AM
Room 1123 – Christian McQueen
Christian smiled around his cigarette and snapped his lighter open. He took a drag and exhaled a vaporous tendril towards the ceiling, providing the impression of a snake made out of fog.”It was a joke. Just be careful out there—-they play rough with the new guys. Not that you can’t handle yourself. “Outside, Cynthia knocked Dan Weatherby’s pencil out of his hand. Before he could bend over to pick it up, the clumsy broad stooped to scrape it up from the floor. ” Jesus, watch what—” Dan’s jaw was forcibly slammed shut by the top of Cynthia’s skull before he could finish. Dan’s teeth clacked together and he bit his tongue, with the blow snapping his head backwards farther his neck was designed to allow. Dan’s arms flew upward and outward, with his legal pad flying through the air in so many yellow, flapping pages.His body continued moving in the direction of his head and he slammed into the wooden door, cranium first. Cross-eyed and with blood dribbling down the corner of his mouth, Dan slid down the door and slumped to the floor with his head cocked to one side and his cheek pressed against his shoulder. A great flatulent noise escaped Dan—-the sound of a ketchup bottle being squeezed but magnified by a dozen microphones—wet and vulgar, bubbling and greasy. The smell was as intense as it was immediate. It was the scent of something sweet and rotten—-the smell of a dead rat floating in the toilet bowl of an uncleaned outhouse on a summer’s day. A dark stain spread out across the seat of Dan’s pants, and when he fell over and lay sprawled on the carpet it appeared as though he had been sitting in a mud puddle.

Christian looked contemplatively to the door once more, wondering just what on Earth was going on out there and how long he’d be squatting in Bobby’s hotel room. Whatever it was, it sounded….messy.


“I’d join you, but left me bong in the bedroom.” 

“Well….it looks like we’re going to be here a while. Waiting would probably be more fun if we were both stoned. ”

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel
November 30, 2013 01:19AM
Outside Room 1123
There are many ways a woman can take a man down. From a simple uppercut, to a knee in the groin. However, the infamous ‘Bend and Snap’ is without a doubt a powerful tool to a woman’s defenses, and in this instance it worked….a little too well. Though Cynthia did feel the pain of her head striking underneath Dan Weatherby’s chin, she managed to catch his yellowing note pad as it left his hands, and he careened back into the wooden door of Bobby’s apartment.
At first, Cynthia did a little dance to celebrate knocking out Dan, and taking his notebook, but no sooner had she enjoyed her public relations victory, there was a terrible sound, that came from Dan’s rear. Like the explosion of a condiment bottle, but the following odor was so rank, that Cynthia found herself starting to dry reach, as a brown slick puddle was forming underneath Dan’s cream polyester blend pants. ~Oh no, he’s shit himself!~ Cynthia thought to herself, as the scene was now turning rather nasty. I mean, there are just some things a woman or a man really want to see in public, and this was certainly one of them. Two problems then presented themselves. One; this stinky unconscious man was blocking Bobby’s door, and two; who in their right mind would dare want to clean him and the mess he caused up?A ping from the service elevator had Cynthia turn around and sure enough it looked as though help was at hand. A gorgeous mexican house keeper in a tight blue uniform pushed her trolley out of the elevator, and looked set to start cleaning one of the rooms on that floor. Cynthia, adjusted her dress and tried to walk casually down to where the young housekeeper was taking out a large keyring to open one of the apartment doors. Showing the best smile she could manage, Cynthia asked politely;

“A hotel guest seems to have had a tiny accident outside my client’s door. Could you come and clean him out of the way, please?”

Chewing gum, the red lipped cleaner looked up at the busty racing car manager, and she uttered;

Madame, ¿qué estás hablando? Él no es un invitado. ¿Y por qué me huele mierda?

(translation: Madame, what are you talking about? He is not a guest. And why do I smell shit?)

Pursing her lips, Cynthia took out a fifty dollar note and waved it before the cleaning lady, since she was now starting to lose patience.

“This can be yours, IF you clean away that man from the door. He is blocking access to my client.”

Looking at the money being offered, the bribe, the cleaner suddenly had a devious look and she nodded graciously, taking the money and then pocketing it into her red lace bra beneath her blue uniform.


Oh, por supuesto … limpiarlo. Me vuelvo y … hacer lo que pides.

(translation: Oh of course…clean him up. I be right back and…do what you ask)

The cleaner then went right on with opening the room door she was at, and went inside, taking her trolley with her. Little did Cynthia know, the room was occupied, with another guest, that had called for the maid’s extra special services. She even hung a “do not disturb” door tag on the door, and from inside you could hear the chatter of the maid, followed by the laughter of the occupant; a male and then a lot of moaning and bed springs squeaking.

Cynthia had been duped. She stamped her foot indignantly, as luck would have it, another door opened and it was none other than Tim Curry, the famous actor. He instantly wrinkled up his nose at the stench that was now coming from the door of Bobby Williamson, and it was at this moment, he recognized the fallen reporter.

“I say….whoever knocked out that bastard. I want to thank. Just a shame whoever did it, knocked the shit out of him.” Tim guffawed, before clapping eyes on the voluptuous Cynthia. He saw her strained facial expression and then pointed at the fallen and smelly reporter. “Did you do that?” He asked, curious to see if he was right. Cynthia’s shoulders drooped in defeat.
“Yes….it was me. Did the old…’bend and snap’ and he shit his pants. Just tried to bribe some cleaning lady, who turned out to be the hotel maid for hire. Now I am stuck with a stinky unconscious reporter and no way in to see Bobby Williamson, who is my client.” She heaved a massive sigh, as Tim held up his finger. “Don’t worry love…I have an idea. This is going to be payback for that little piece he did on me in Soho. S’cuse me.” Tim went to the nearest fire hose cabinet and opened it, unfurling the fire hose and gleefully grinning at Cynthia.

“Stand back, lovey. I’ve seen this done in the Moooovies. Time to wash away the great stain.” With that, he turned on the nosele and a massive jet of water blastered the unconscious Dan Weatherby. Cynthia couldn’t help but join in with Tim in his maniac like laughter as Dan coped a full on jet of water. It was a miracle the pair didn’t drown the poor sod.

Room #1123 – Bobby Williams

Inside the apartment, the door was coping a blasting from the fire hose outside, and then a foul sludge seemed to seep under the door. Whatever it was, had Bobby move right back. “Cor…what is she doing out there? I heard women her age had water works problems, but this is ridiculous. I’m getting my stash and bong. Come on…let’s blaze up.” Bobby said with chuckle, withdrawing from the lounge and going to his bedroom, bringing out a bag of weed and his bong. If ever there was a day he needed to smoke his cares away today was it.

He took a drag from the bong, and tipped his head back, lying on the big black sofa in his lounge. “Oh…Ohhhhhh yeah. So….so….right, you know this whole…racing thing. Like….I…I am…the bessssssst at Formula one….but, I got busted, man. You know? Sick! I need some…. *he inhales again, holding it in before letting out rings of green smoke. and smirking*…advice..Yeah…advice. How…how….how do you not get bored turning left….again and…again?’