all hail me

Another round of questions await you, dear tenants. I’m hoping we can boost dash activity a little bit this week now that people are really settling back into school and all that jazz. I’m sort of mentally planning an event, and it’d be great if we could actually get that rolling. But I digress; questions below as always.

If you wish to participate, reblog this post and make sure your ask box is open. You may complete these in or out of character as you please. Finally, here’s a quick friendly reminder to ask some questions if you want to receive them yourself. Have fun, tenants! 

“What kind of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy bullshit is that?” Emerson asked, snickering. He took another puff of the joint, before passing it back.

“Dammit, I wish we had better food. I could eat an entire bakery right now. Pass the Skittles.”

“What?” she asked genuinely, brows furrowed as she looked at him. Brighton wasn’t exactly a big sci-fi reader, or reader in general, and probably never would be. “You’re weird.”

Emerson nipped at her fingers as she tapped his nose, though he only bit the air. The gesture would’ve seemed playful if it wasn’t Emerson.

“Don’t get cocky,” he said, smirking. “I follow the money and the disasters. You seem to have an excess of both.”

“I’m always cocky,” she said, sending an even more powerful smirk back at him. “And I don’t think that was a compliment, but I’ll take it as one anyway.”

“Ah, you must be the big boss.“ A bemused smile tugged at the corner of her lips, grey hues averting their attention away from the bar and towards the tall brunette that had clearly made her presence known. Willa had been warned that Brighton was called down to smack talk some sense into her. Problem was, it didn’t exactly have her quaking in her stylish yet comfortable boots. “I am. If you have drink with me I might even tell you why.”

On some level, Willa knew she shouldn’t be testing her new boss. Especially not one whose daddy probably only bought her this club to keep her occupied. But it wasn’t like she really needed the money to get around, plus judging by Brighton’s entire appearance     the woman sure liked her brands, she would soon agree. “How about I give you a little hint as to why I send him away?,” she mused, hoping to tickling the other’s interest. “You might wanna fire your bouncer for letting that guy in, in the first place.”

Brighton surrendered and let an actual smile take over her face at the title she’d received. “Big Boss... loving it. Keep calling me that, maybe even make it spread, and you’ll be out of trouble in no time,” she said with a wink. “And I won’t turn that offer down, it’s only fair that you get to prove yourself as a bartender.” It honestly wasn’t a bad deal for either woman: Brighton was sure the bartender wanted to keep her job, and she sure as hell didn’t want to go through the hassle of firing someone unless she had to. Or unless that person wasn’t attractive, but of course being cute was a requirement to work at Antenora in the first place. She had standards to maintain, after all.

Emerson stared at her, gaze unwavering but betraying no expression. His emotions rarely showed on his face.

“Rest assured, Brighton, I really am this antisocial and arseholeish,” he said, deadpan. “It’s all-natural.”

Brighton wrinkled her nose at his words, "Alright, Kurt Cobain. You’re the pinnacle of stoic hatefulness. But it suits you, I guess.” She didn’t doubt for a second that he was horribly unfriendly, but she still felt like that wasn’t his entire being. But whatever, it wasn’t like she never acted like an asshole, so she felt like she understood. Being an ass was part of her charm, and it was part of his.

After last week’s not very successful TMI Thursday, I’ve decided to give it one more go. Because I feel this topic is too good to be wasted, it’s once again all about the money. And honestly who doesn’t like a good re-run? You know the drill, any question goes as long as it has some relation to the topic.

To participate, just reblog this post and make sure your askbox is open. And as always, please ask some questions if you wish to receive them yourself.

Emerson nodded as she spoke. Even he knew who Brighton’s family was – he’d seen pictures of Brighton long before he’d ever met her in person, though he couldn’t quite place his finger on what, exactly, she did. Emerson’s family – the one from before – relished in obscurity. His parents were quiet, private folks who didn’t care for attention of any kind.

Emerson himself was an antisocial creature by nature. He had to be. Attention led to questions, which could lead to exposure.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, passing the joint back over to her, “I don’t care much for The Brighton Show. I like this better. It feels like I’m talking to an actual person, not a product. …No offense.”

“Oh, none taken,” she said, lazily waving her free hand in front of her before taking another drag on their shared joint. “I’m still beating you in the ratings.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this mellow, but apparently it suited her. In Goat Man’s opinion, anyway, but she happened to care a lot about what he thought of her right now. He’d somehow become one of her best friends, after all. And he’d gotten her a goat, which was very important.