Heartbreak Hotel
Apr 27, 2015 10:05:58 GMT -8
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Post by Romio Julian Rosselini on Apr 27, 2015 10:05:58 GMT -8
We join our protagonist, dear readers, on a night following soon after his discovery of a long lost love; someone he thought dead to him.
His head was understandably filled with thoughts of her, as he went about his nightly tasks; he had a lot of moving to do, both personal and professional. Girls had to be booked and reservations had to be created. Stoic men with strong jaws had to be instructed on where to stand and what to say. Interviews conducted on the nature of the employment, as he set up the nervous system of his business.
And his business was the satisfaction of his customers. Whether that satisfaction was derived from white powder that disappeared up the nostrils of club kids in bad shirts; 9mm handguns that sung in the sweaty palms of shady customers, imagining looking down the barrel at their enemies as they drove by and peppered the air with their target's lifeblood; or the exquisite silk of flesh into flesh, the lusty illusion of possession and ownership and control, as the doll-like beauty he rented out to customers was appreciated, used, and sometimes, if the price was right, abused. Satisfaction had many forms, and many buyers. And like the old adage that 'All roads lead to Rome', All desires led to Romio. That was how he wanted it, how he carefully set it up, and how he made sure that he had repeat business. That business model worked everywhere, and it would work here as well.
So where did Romio go when it was he who had desires that needed filled, you may ask? He was nothing if not good at fulfilling his own needs, would be the answer.
And on this particular night, his need was great. He didn't use one of his own girls; one did not shit where one ate, unless you wanted to taste your own feces.
So he had found a girl that matched his needs, sized up the competition that owned her, and decided there wouldn't be an issue.
She was waiting for him in the room, as he'd requested. Her blond looks were pulled back just right; she was sitting in a chair, hands folded, just like she should be. Just like *she* used to do, so very long ago. The shoe color was off, he saw that right away as he entered. He'd told them periwinkle; he'd been VERY specific about that. This wasn't periwinkle at all, it was Navy if anything. But it didn't matter enough to stop him. He let the door swing shut behind him. She smiled at him and said "Hello, Shugah. You had a rough day?" This was also incorrect. He'd very specifically told them that she needed to say " Hey babe, rough day?" Just like *she* had said, so very long ago. But this too, didn't matter enough to stop him.
His hands began to move toward his belt, and she smiled, the smile all wrong, not like *hers* at all.
"You know what I want to call you?" He asked, just the hint of a catch in his throat. He wasn't going to let tears come to his eyes this time.
She simpered and answered with a gooey, oozy, completely wrong "Call me whatever you want, shugah."
And our protaganist removed the belt from his slacks, knuckles tightening around it, as his lips parted with a tight smile, and the words escaped.
"Adalyn. You're going to be Adalyn for a while."
And that, dear reader, is where we will leave you.
Because bad things are about to happen.
His head was understandably filled with thoughts of her, as he went about his nightly tasks; he had a lot of moving to do, both personal and professional. Girls had to be booked and reservations had to be created. Stoic men with strong jaws had to be instructed on where to stand and what to say. Interviews conducted on the nature of the employment, as he set up the nervous system of his business.
And his business was the satisfaction of his customers. Whether that satisfaction was derived from white powder that disappeared up the nostrils of club kids in bad shirts; 9mm handguns that sung in the sweaty palms of shady customers, imagining looking down the barrel at their enemies as they drove by and peppered the air with their target's lifeblood; or the exquisite silk of flesh into flesh, the lusty illusion of possession and ownership and control, as the doll-like beauty he rented out to customers was appreciated, used, and sometimes, if the price was right, abused. Satisfaction had many forms, and many buyers. And like the old adage that 'All roads lead to Rome', All desires led to Romio. That was how he wanted it, how he carefully set it up, and how he made sure that he had repeat business. That business model worked everywhere, and it would work here as well.
So where did Romio go when it was he who had desires that needed filled, you may ask? He was nothing if not good at fulfilling his own needs, would be the answer.
And on this particular night, his need was great. He didn't use one of his own girls; one did not shit where one ate, unless you wanted to taste your own feces.
So he had found a girl that matched his needs, sized up the competition that owned her, and decided there wouldn't be an issue.
She was waiting for him in the room, as he'd requested. Her blond looks were pulled back just right; she was sitting in a chair, hands folded, just like she should be. Just like *she* used to do, so very long ago. The shoe color was off, he saw that right away as he entered. He'd told them periwinkle; he'd been VERY specific about that. This wasn't periwinkle at all, it was Navy if anything. But it didn't matter enough to stop him. He let the door swing shut behind him. She smiled at him and said "Hello, Shugah. You had a rough day?" This was also incorrect. He'd very specifically told them that she needed to say " Hey babe, rough day?" Just like *she* had said, so very long ago. But this too, didn't matter enough to stop him.
His hands began to move toward his belt, and she smiled, the smile all wrong, not like *hers* at all.
"You know what I want to call you?" He asked, just the hint of a catch in his throat. He wasn't going to let tears come to his eyes this time.
She simpered and answered with a gooey, oozy, completely wrong "Call me whatever you want, shugah."
And our protaganist removed the belt from his slacks, knuckles tightening around it, as his lips parted with a tight smile, and the words escaped.
"Adalyn. You're going to be Adalyn for a while."
And that, dear reader, is where we will leave you.
Because bad things are about to happen.