Never Fear, The Fire Marshal Is Here


bigruff_icon.gif devon2_icon.gif dirk_icon.gifkristen_icon.gif quinn_icon.gif russo2_icon.gif smoov_icon.gif tahir_icon.gif tic_icon.gif

Scene Title Never Fear, The Fire Marshal Is Here
Synopsis A visitor to Studio K brings trouble.
Date March 13, 2011

ManhattanStudio K

"I came to dance dance dance dance~ In Robyn's pants pants pants pants~" Dirk sings as he travels the hallways of Studio K, searching for the subject of his song. The first stop was the sound booths, not finding her there, the petite blond man did a complete 540 degree turn (that's a 180 done as a pirouette) and headed for her office.

It doesn't take long before his song drifts down the corridor ahead of him and he's at her door, knocking politely. "Oh Robyn~" he sings with a cattish smile on his face, "You've got a summons from up high." A.K.A. Kristen wants to see her. "She's in her office expecting you about… oh…" he checks his watch. "Ten minutes ago."

Quinn's first stop after returning home that morning from Boston with Elaine had been to go by work, of course. She figured she should file something about her show, since Studio K is kind of her biggest backer at the moment,a s far as her music career goes. That, and there's still paperwork, and followup on The Showcase's premier to finish up. But when the door opens and Dirk announces that Kristen wants to see her, Quinn looks a little lost for a moment, looking between the papers on her desk and Dirk, blinking.

"Fuck," is the first thing says says as she hops up out of her seat. "I didn't do something wrong, did I? Did I forget t' tell her I was giong t' be gone yesterday?" She's a long frown on her voice as her hands slip into her jeans and she starts up towards Kristen's office, not even bothering to see is Dirk is staring at her ass ash she plods her way along. When she reaches Kristen's door, she knocks gently and waits for a response before pushing the door open.

She knows him so well. The way she wiggles in the jeans just draws his attention like a moth to flame, like a kid to candy, like— . "What? Noooooo… Why would she ever be mad at you~? If you want, I can… Oh let me get that." Dirk races to the door of the office, opening it for Quinn without knocking. "K, I found the wayward waif!" He seems a little too proud of the fact, as if he's been searching for days rather than minutes.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, Robyn come in. Dirk, man the door please. I don't want to be disturbed." Kristen is in her large leather chair, facing the window. If it wasn't for her voice, it'd be practically impossible to know she's there at all.

Spinning to face the door, she pulls the bluetooth off her ear and places it on the desk, waiting for Quinn to enter and Dirk to close them in. Her eyebrows peak into smallish points as she spies the younger woman in her casual clothes and she gives a tiny close lipped smile. "Good to see you, how was your show?"

"Thanks," Quinn says to Dirk as he opens the door, flashing him a smile before she steps in and shuts the door behind her. An eyebrow is raised as Kristen swivels around in her chair like she's some dramatic bad guy in a spy movie or something (how cool would that be?).

"Which… show?" she asks with a bit of a crooked smile. "The premier seemed t' go off without a hitch, but I figure you'd know more about that than I would. The show in Boston last night…" Quinn shrugs a bit, moving to take a seat on the other side of Kristen's desk. "It went well. Was just a small, acoustic show. Me an' someone playing violin, really different from the release show I did. But it was a lot of fun. Place was pretty well packed for something that wasn't very openly promoted."

"The show last night." K qualifies just as Quinn answers the question. Her smile widening a little after the door is closed and they're truly alone. "Glad to hear you had fun, there was something I wanted to talk to you about." Getting to the meat and potatoes quickly is the producer's style, her time is too valuable for too many pleasantries.

"The night of Kojo's taping, the party? I have a few questions for you." Getting up from her desk, she crosses the room to lock the door. Even with Dirk standing guard, she doesn't quite feel comfortable enough that someone like Tic or Big R couldn't get by him. She's wearing a pair of fitted and quite faded jeans. They look so old that the denim has taken on the consistency of a much softer fabric, like cotton.

"There was a man that you waved to on the dance floor, the one that was in the middle of the little scuffle." The little scuffled that resulted in Russo getting a glass exploded in his hand and a huge repair bill on the club's floor that the producer had to cover.

There's a wide smile on Quinn's face too - at least until the mention of a party scuffle comes up. She tilts her head a bit, looking at Kristen for a moment. "Kuj- Oh! Smoov." That just makes her frown a little bit more, quirking her lips side to side. There's a bit of nervousness as she reaches back, scratching the back of her neck. "That wasn't the funnest night ever. What'd you want t' ask me about it?"

"I want to get in touch with Mister Crack the Pavement," the tone of the answer is completely neutral, almost impossible to read as are her features. Her wording might indicate that she's a little angry until… "Somehow, he escaped custody that night. Not a bad thing, all things considered. Where do you know him from?"

Kristen winds her way back around the desk and reclaims the leather throne on the other side. Slowly, she flips her laptop open and begins typing quickly, just a few short spurts before focusing on Robyn again. "I heard that woman accusing him of murder, not a very fair thing to scream out in the middle of a dance floor. Considering the way she was dancing with him, you'd think that she was just trying to get a little attention. At least, that's what I think."

"I want to get in touch with Mister Crack the Pavement," the tone of the answer is completely neutral, almost impossible to read as are her features. Her wording might indicate that she's a little angry until… "Somehow, he escaped custody that night. Not a bad thing, all things considered. Where do you know him from?"

Kristen winds her way back around the desk and reclaims the leather throne on the other side. Slowly, she flips her laptop open and begins typing quickly, just a few short spurts before focusing on Robyn again. "I heard that woman accusing him of murder, not a very fair thing to scream out in the middle of a dance floor. Considering the way she was dancing with him, you'd think that she was just trying to get a little attention. At least, that's what I think."

Seeming a little uneasy, Quinn leans back in her seat with her hands folded in her lap. She tries to rid herself of her griamce and look a little more nueutral on the topic herself, but teh way teh corners of hter mouth tug down just the lisghtest bit betray that. "T' be honest, I probably overreacted a bit that night," Quinn confesses with a shake of her head. "I don't really know Joshua. I met him while I was out on my lunch break one afternoon, playing on the sidewalk. I ahd my guitar, so we jamed t'gether for a bit."

Shrugging a bit, she continues. "I left him my number. He aws pretty good, an' you told me t' scout, so I thought he could come on the show sometime, or jam sometime." Rolling her shoulders a bit, she sighs. "I just got kinda uppity because that woman started throwing out accusations out of nowhere about stuff that happened at a place I used t' work out, and was so.. focused on him bein' evolved, an'… I dunno. It was //stupid."

Outside Kristen's office a very familiar minion lingers. He's been on patrol for the last three hours (okay, that's hyperbole, but if you asked him? it would be three hours). Of course, the patrol is what it is. He's keeping the riffraff (that means you people) out. In fact, in his keeping the riffraff out, he's acquired a bouncer-esque stance and expression. Not that anyone would call Dirk foreboding.

His stance changes considerably, however, as a rather leggy blonde treads down the hall. With a sharp cat-whistle and a raise of his eyebrows, he scopes out her finer traits. But then something occurs to him… "Hey! Babe. Doll. Barbie. You have an appointment?"

There's nothing wholly unusual about this particular leggy blonde aside from the rhythm with which she walks. Her skirt, like many around the office, is ridiculously short, and, in as some would say, the length a lady's skirt should be— long enough to cover the subject, but short enough to keep it interesting. She doesn't respond to Babe or Doll, but Barbie actually has her twisty around. In many respects she is. A barbie. Tall. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Somewhat inappropriately disproportionate. In her stilettos, mini skirt, and blue jean jacket, she doesn't dress like the other employees, but then, Studio K is a mixed bag. "Oh~" there's a musical lilt to her voice as she blinks innocently back to Dirk. "I— " she points down the hall expectantly. "Well~!" she beams as her hands are held out in front of her quite expectantly. "I was just looking for someone~ I totally know them!" She doesn't. "I could tell you everything about their life and I bet they're even expecting me~" they're not.

Player Sense Tingling ~

Tahir Avery Dunham has managed to get himself out of his own office and into the hallway that leads to the hallway that leads to around the corner from the office that is being protected by the minion troll: Dirk.

Target Acquired.

Tahir's eyes narrow and zoom in on the leggy blonde that has taken up the bulk of his attention span and Tahir is already smoothing out his amazingly epic suit. He's chosen another one of his classic grays for this day. He sports a black shirt beneath it, with a white/purple tie, purple tinted specs on his face and his custom designed white/purple Chucks. There's just no end to this guy's coordination talents.

It takes him a second to come up with a plan and he goes in. "There you are!" Tahir is waving his hand and snapping his fingers, in an attempt to get the attention of the hottie. So hottie. "I told you to make a left, not a right." Tahir is making this as easy as possible to figure out to go along with. Here's to hoping there's enough brains between this woman's ears to catch on.

… but not too much more than that. Ahem.

Enter the Badass Company. Smoov strides down the hallway, flanked on either side by his usual posse. As well as the cameraman that usually follows them slinking behind. It's a new guy this time. The fat blonde guy pulled a hamstring when Smoov went running. All four men and the camera take time to invest a little time in surveying the blonde specimen, giving her enough time before all four of them decide it's time to confront a different blonde. All in their own ways, of course. Smoov simply glances at Dirk from behind his three hundred dollar sunglasses before looking over to Tahir. "My man." He greets, abandoning his post in front of Dirk to greet the other celebrity.

Tic and Big R however move towards Dirk. Tic the more aggressive of the two. "Get out of the way." Comes the annoyed nasal voice, while Big R simply stands there, behemoth hands stuck in his pockets. "We need to see K." Tic adds in. "Now."

Coffee, dry cleaning, mail, fresh croissants. Somehow these things are juggled as Devon Clendaniel makes his way through the hallways, carted uncomfortably between two hands and teeth. Ah, the errands a young intern is sent on when the underlined 'other duties as assigned' comes into the conversation. Dressed today in a blue button down and blue-silver striped tie that is not snugged to his throat, and khaki slacks, he still hasn't acquired that look of professionalism that's often been told to him.

Devon's path takes him around one corner and eventually toward the corner that houses K's office. And Dirk's hole in the wall. And a number of other offices, including the one belonging to the Advocate host. The kid's hustle is cut short by the bottle neck in the hall, stuck trying to edge his way past the camera man only to find the junction held up with more people.

"Oh?" Yeah. Our friend Barbie isn't the brightest crayon in the box. Or the sharpest tool in the shed. Or.. well, you get the point. She's pretty; not too bright though.

Dirk arches an eyebrow at Tahir before looking back at Barbie. His eyes narrow slightly as he glances at Tahir again. And then back to Barbie. Tahir. Barbie. Tahir. Barbie. Finally, somewhat skeptically, he strokes his chin, "I'm just not seeing it. I mean— I'm sure you're a fine specimen of a man, but I'm pretty sure Barbie here is into fun-sized men, aren't you Barbie?"

"What~?" again her voice has that singsong quality evident that not a lot is going on upstairs. "I~ I really need to find that person I was talking about~" Air may be the only thing between her ears. "Also~ I'm Melody~ Not Barbie~ ANYways~ " A single finger points down towards the hall— her intended destination.

She takes two stilettoed steps away, only to get stopped again by the insistence of the assistant, "Hey hey hey!! Uh uh uh!" Dirk waggles his pointer finger at her while he shakes his head and clucks his tongue.

Of course all of this is interrupted by the Badass Company, rendering Dirk incapable of stopping the stalker if he wants to keep his job. Manning the door is his assignment, not patrolling the halls. At least, that's what he'll tell Kristen if somehow this all gets hilariously out of hand. "You can't come in.. dudes? Bros. Hommies. Whatever cliche you're going by today," flippantly he waves his hand. "K is in a meeting with Robyn Quinn. And is not to be interrupted."

While Melody may not be particularly bright, the name Robyn Quinn piques her interest. And with Dirk occupied, she cranes her neck to peek down the hall. Ah-ha! Her get-Robyn-Quinn-out-of-the-Producer's-office-card. With a vacant grin, she hop-skips-runs (can a person ever really run in stilettos?) to her golden ticket, bumping into Devon along the way. But she doesn't let that little bump effect her terribly. Her golden ticket? Happens to be red and placed along the wall. She stops just in front and pulls. Yes. It's the fire alarm. And now it's sounding.

Dirk is so dead.

Kristen's cool exterior warms a touch, the corners of her lips quirking into a slight smile before she gives a slow nod to Quinn. "Before I dip my toes into this particular pool, I have a question for you." The producer pauses and laces her fingers together, resting them on the desk in front of her. "Do you think he's that good? If I put my neck out there and look into things, do you think it'll pay off?"

Edging forward in her chair, the leather groans as the piece of furniture tilts with its owner. "He's marketable, from what I saw. It'd just be a matter of good lawyers, paying the right people, and making sure that particular woman doesn't make problems."

"He certainly wasn't bad," Quinn says with a bit of a laugh. "I mean, people weren't exactly forthcoming with the cash for his street performance, but it's 21st century New York. Who's surprised by that?" Sitting up a bit in her seat, the Irishwoman leans forward, looking at Kristen intently. "Professionally speaking… he showed promise in the brief time I watched him play, an' played with him. He pulled out a Cure songg off the top of his head an' did a good job with it. Guitar was better than vocals, if I'm remembering right. But I'd have t' see more before I pass a real judgement. He never called me back, I was hoping to jam with him some so I could be sure."

She leans back again, a hand rubbing at her chin. "I like the kid. He was was nice, and I think he got a bad rap that night. I mean, if some woman started calling you a murderer and guys swarmed and tased you, I'd be pretty feckin' pissed too. But will sticking out for him pay off? I can't reasonably say yes at the moment, I'm afraid,"

"I'm going to use your judgement on this one," a noise from the other side of the door, Dirk's voice, has Kristen's attention diverting from the subject at hand and frowning toward the door. Rather than continuing her thought, she stops completely and starts to stand again. "What is— "

When the fire alarm sounds Kristen practically dives for her laptop. "Sweet baby Jesus NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" The Tennessee accent is unmistakable as she lands on top of it, barely shielding it from the sprinkler that sputters overhead and then begins to douse them. Protecting them from the fire that isn't. The blue tooth, the phone, the projector along the wall, all of these begin to crackle and fizz as they're introduced to the water. After shoving the precious piece is shoved into a drawer, she storms toward the door and throws it open. "DIRK!! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

Quinn quirks an eyebrow at Kristen, turning and watching her as she stands - and then teh fire alarm //starts and she's kind of doumbfounded, staring at Kristen with a confused look. Well. Until the sprinkler starts dousing them with water, and she actually kind of shrieks with surprise as the cold water pouts down on them. "W-what the feckin' hell?!" she exclaims as she jumps out of ehr seat, ehr first instinct to pull her bag up ove rher head. Then she remembers that her iPad, her phone, laptop, everything is inthere. So back to ehr side it goes, she'll just have to deal with bring a little we as she follows after Kristen, peering out the door once she throws it open.

Oh god. All the paperwork back on her desk. She was going to ahve to redo it all.

Someone was going to catch hell for this. Particularly since she didn't bring ehr jacket with her.

"… Lame."

That would be all Tahir Avery Dunham has to say about the fact that he couldn't snag this girl. This is obviously too much of a hassle for him to keep trying on. Instead, he'll just uh… move it right along to the person that is talking to him right now. Which is Smoov. Tahir is already bringing his hand back and making DJ Scratch motions with it. "AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW JEAH!" Tahir has too much black hidden within the depths of his soul at this particular point. "What up, ma—" Suddenly Sprinklers. And that's not going to be too good for Tahir and his current suit of awesome. He doesn't stop himself from performing the Secret Pimp Handshake with Smoov, as the water comes down. He just stands there and frowns. But that frown doesn't last. As it turns into a smile soon after.

"Y'know. I had a dream about this very thing happening once. It ended up with me and all the hot ladies in the studio back in my office." Flashback time. Tahir's gone into the depths of his skull for the moment. Mmmmmm.

"Don't worry about 'er. Come evening time we can have you with five like 'er back at your place." He gives see-saw hands. "Sorry. I'm exaggeratin', four." The Secret Pimp Handshake is a go until the water comes down. Frowning pointedly to match Tahir, Smoov glances over at K coming out of the office. Big R is already throwing his jacket off and holding it protectively above Smoov's head. Which is great. Because. Hair. With the big guy and his jacket overhead, Smoov sighs. "Who done this?" He asks sadly.

Tic meanwhile has made his way into a nearby office and is holding someone's now destroyed laptop over his head in protection of his too expensive clothes. But despite madness rain falling down on them, Tic is not swayed. "K!" The nasal voiced man lets out. "We need to talk."

Smoov himself is glancing down the hallway through his sunglasses. And happens to see that leggy thing being retarded. "Big R! Smash dat one!" An accusatory finger is flung out at the blonde.

The croissants are saved! And the dry cleaning. But the rest, the coffee and mail? Those, sadly, are casualties of the collision. And the blond might not be hindered from bumping into him, but the impact draws a pained wince from Devon. Some of it has to do with the coffee being spilled, hot liquid splashing against him, but mostly it's from the jarring that lances pain throughout a still recovering shoulder. "Oww.." the intern whines quietly, head turning to follow the woman with a frown, back pressing against the wall.

And then the alarm is pulled and water from the sprinklers rains down on the studio.

Sighing, spraying water from his face, Devon turns to look for Dirk. He'd heard the foul little man's voice while making his way to Russo's office. But instead of accusatory, his expression is one of mild amusement. Probably for resounding demand coming from K's office. Before anyone else can trample over him, the kid makes his way out of the hallway and into the junction.

The boss's voice is enough to have Dirk cower in his spot. His hands are held out in front of him as he shakes his head frantically, "I didn't! I did my job— " and now he does his best Kristen impression (which is, shockingly, quite good), "'Man the door, Dirk,'" his gaze moves to the heavies in front of him— Smoov's entourage— "I couldn't stop the stalker— " who he points towards, only to ooggle. She's shedding her denim jacket, "and the hommies," evidently this is the chosen adjective of the day. His mouth gapes slightly as he eyes his boss, Quinn, and then Melody. "But K! If we get a camera, we can turn lemons into lemonade!!! WET T-SHIRT CONTEST!!!" He is, for the moment, distracted.

Melody, however, in her shedding has chosen to amble over to one Robyn Quinn. Her blonde hair, now drenched from the sprinklers, is tossed scandalously over her shoulder as she slides over towards the singer, abandoning her stilettos to make the trip quicker. Her eyes begin to well with tears as she stands in front of her idol, "Robyn~!!!!" her breathing becomes breathy and her tone nearly dreamy, as she nearly loses the ability to speak. "It's me~!!! I'm here!!! I told you I would come~!!! I didn't even let the blonde munchkin stop me~!!!!" Her eyelashes bat like the Mary Sue she is, full of adoration for the woman in front of her. She should be nervous about the dark-skinned man pointing at her, but Melody doesn’t sway. She came here for a reason: Robyn Quinn.

“You got my letter right~?!” the song she sings is for one woman alone. “Ohmygosh! I hope you got it and read it~ all of this must make sense to you! All I want is your sweet lady kisses! I want to have your lady babies! Please tell me you got my letter!! I was so moved by your music— your CD,” a hand is raised to her chest, “that I wrote the letter in my sweet lady tears~ Please! PLEASE. Tell me you read it! I know everything about you. I would’ve gone to your house but I— I… I wanted to see you in your element~ With your adoring public— “ at this she motions to all of the other Studio K stars. Because clearly they’re all part of Quinn’s entourage. Clearly. “Especially this one~ he guarded the door for you~’” She moves forward to wrap her arms tightly around the other woman. To hold her tight. “I’m never letting you go— never ever ever… I’m going to hold you and keep you and take care of anyone who threatens you and your safety… I’ll even.. I’ll even STEP on them. With my shoes! Which are beautiful shoes so you must know that my love is genuine! My feelings are real!!”

Never fear. The (self-appointed) fire marshal is here! Bradley Russo rounds the corner in his now-wet blue ball cap labelled fire marshal. He'd had it made himself when he and Dirk had fought (perhaps quite literally) over the position. "Please exit the building in an orderly manner— " he's been knocking on doors all down the hall, causing a mass of people to move. “Devon! Kid— I’m glad I found you, we need to usher people out. I’m the fire marshal here, it’s important we get everyone out of the building— it’s protocol.”

Russo’s gaze turns downward towards the casualties of the collision. “We’ll get non-wet ones later,” he cringes slightly.

The fire marshal hat has Dirk's expression transforming. He glowers before reaching into his pocket and extracting… a badge.. that reads fire marshal.

Kristen is livid and all of her wrath is directed right at poor Dirk when he mentions wet t-shirt contests. "Dirk, get me an umbrella." Her voice is as collected as she can manage, though there's the tremble of rage as she speaks through her gritted teeth. Her t-shirt is soaked through and acting like it's a second skin, her jeans are well on the way to clinging to her legs, and her shoes are squishing whenever she takes a step. "Then I want you to call security and have them stop the fire trucks from coming out. If I get a bill for a false alarm someone's fake boobs are going to be put up for auction."

Veering her attention to the nasally black man that's angling for her, she holds one hand up, palm out to make him stop. "What— " Pursing her lips, she takes a calming breath in, closing her eyes and humming Ooooooooohhhhhmmmm as she lets the dirty air out. A mantra of calm and serenity. When she finally opens her eyes to spot Russo starting crowd control, she turns to Tic and gives him a tight smile. "What do you want?"

Quinn barely has time to really look out into the hall and see who all is gathered there before suddenly there's a woman there, someone she's never seen before, and not anyone who looks to be affiliated with Studio K. That particular assumption is confirmed when she starts ranting about a lady and kisses and letters and- babies? Wait, what's going on here?

Quinn seems too dumbfounded to respond immediately, and even despite the rain continuing to drench her with watter, hair wet and mattered to her face and neck. How uncomfortable she is forgotten even further as the woman suddenly wraps her arms around Quinn, and it's only now that she finds the ability to speak. "Ah, um… letter? I don't… think so? I've been out of town this weekend, an' busy most of the rest of the week, I haven't checked my mail here or at home, really…" Her eyes move to look around the rest of the group, seeming rather relived when Russo announces it's time to get everyone outside. She's not really sure if she should be flattered or creeped out. "I'm, uh, glad you liked the CD, though. An' you can step on Dirk all you like," she adds, looking around to others for OH GOD PLEASE HELP I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO.

Tahir doesn't seem to care about the sprinklers or whatever else is going on in regards to the way that the fire alarm works. He shouldn't even be in the office today anyway. Not like they are filming his show or anything right now. But whatever. He's sort of focused on the fact that he just got snubbed for another girl. This pains him. Deeply. "… Frickin' Lesbians, man." Tahir says with a shake of his head, as the words are tossed to Smoov. All in all, though, it has him refocusing his attentions on the most important thing in his life after his sisters… himself. "You had me at five, broski doski. Why you gotta' be trippin' hizard and droppin' it down to four? That's cold as Vanilla sno cones, man!" Tahir seems to have a habit of overcompensating for his lack of blackness when around those that are of that particular ilk.

"Biggest stars in New York in one hallway and she wants the one wit' breasts." Smoov looks a little deflated as well. "What is the world comin' to?" Lifting his hands up to take the jacket in both hands. Covering his head while Big R goes off to fight bigger and better battles than covering his head. Smoov does give Tahir a slightly perplexed look, nodding slowly in responnse. "I'm sorry, my man. Just tryin' to be rea-listic." He answers in response to his hizard trippin' and vanilla sno cones.

Big R is throwing himself towards the stalker. Going to put his sizeable amount of.. size between him and Quinn. Pressing only one hand to the stalkers back so no one can accuse him of being too handsy, R goes to press her against the wall, clearing the way for Robyn. "Go 'head." He yells over his shoulder.

Tic is staring daggers at Kristen. Looking up at his laptop. "I bet you paid her to do that so you could avoid me. Alright woman, you win this day. But you can't run from me forever." Tic is retreating with Smoov to obey the orders of the… Fire Marshall.

Attention drawn away from Dirk's demise when his name is called, Devon looks toward Russo. And then cracks a grin at the hat. The dry cleaning, safe in its plastic, is laid out on some nearby surface, the croissants, after consideration, join the coffee in the bin. Those'll be ruined by the time the sprinklers are shut off. The mail, however, coffee'd and water logged, is left with the dry cleaning.

Dragging a hand through his hair, then flicking the water aside however futile that might be, the intern shakes his head. Devon half waves people toward the exits, at least get them out of the indoor rain storm, and positions himself to keep anyone further from going where they don't belong. Y'know, other duties as assigned.

”I’m the fire marshal!!” Dirk declares as he stamps his foot. But his orders are non-fire-marshall-y. Defiantly, he tosses his hair over his shoulder, and in a move befitting Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind, he storms off after throwing a single arm, quite theatrically, into the air. As he saunters away to find an umbrella (and call the fire department), he can be heard muttering, “Captain America… ooo look at me… dorky hat.. badges are better..” And with that? Dirk disappears down the hall to carry out his duties. And? God-willing he’ll beat the fire trucks.

Melody, being the slight woman that she is, easily gets psuehd against the wall, the space between her and Quinn is easily created by the sizeable man. “Noooooooooooooooooo~ Robyn~!!! I may as well die a thousand deaths than be kept from you— “ again her eyes well with tears, causing her already- running-mascara to trail more down her face accompanied by merciless sobs— silent hiccups for air as she’s kept from her lady love. Her arms, in an array of silly girly slaps attempt to fight against the body guard. “Pleeeeeeeease!! Please! You don’t understand! She’s my soulmate!!!! And my solemate!! We have the same shoe size!!!” How she knows that is anyone’s guess.

Remembering their conversation just days earlier, and catching Tahir’s words, Russo arches his eyebrows as he glances at the blonde grasping Quinn, “Maybe she’s bi? Like your photographer friend?” Who, it turns out, really wasn’t a committed lesbian after all and threw parties that went well into the next day. There’s a pause as he motions towards the door, refocusing on his task at hand, “C’mon people. Let’s move— time to go outside… single file— “

As more employees file out of the building, the self-asserted fire marshal twists back to his intern. “C’mon Kid, regulation stipulates that— “ he’s interrupted. By the sound of sirens. Someone’s gonna pay.

Kristen just rolls her eyes as Tic starts moving toward the exit along with the majority of her employees. She, on the other hand, moves in the opposite direction, for office. "Big R, could you be so kind as to escort the young woman to security? They can have the police called from outside the premises." Kristen's not big on officers of the law coming onto the property, it's not a huge secret. For now, there's damage to assess, repair costs to calculate and possibly bankruptcy to declare if too much damage was done.

Thank god for insurance. Hopefully it covers crazy stalker women.

"This is going to set production back on way too many projects…" she can be heard muttering as she stalks down the corridor after her assistant. "DIRK!!"

"H-hey-" When the woman is pulled from her, pressed up against a wall, and told to e taken to security, Quinn frowns. "Why are you always so rough with people?" she inquires annoyedly, before turning her attention to the woman. "I'm, uh, sorry, Miss, but I have a girlfriend," she responds with a bit of an apologetic tone. She even reaches out and ruffles the woman's hair - she clearly doesn't understand the idea of this woman being stalker, and that she shouldn't be encouraging her at all.

"Don't be too hard on her!" Quinn calls out as she takes a step back towards Kristen's office, unsure if they were really done with their conversation. "If you wanted t' see me, you should've come t' the show in Boston last night," she adds with a big of a smile. She'd at least sign a CD or something for the woman, but with sprinklers pouring and security being called and all the craziness, she's too flustered to really think of it.

Tahir Avery Dunham has heard only one thing. "Set… production?" That's the only thing that can pull him free of his blissful worrying that he cannot turn Lesbianonic heads anymore. And it turns out to be the most important thing. "My set!" Tahiri screams and is giving the peace sign to Smoov before he whirls on the heels of his Chucks and is OUT! Zoom down the corridor, splishing and splashing as he makes a break for it. He's gotta' salvage what he can from the Up All Night set!


Hands, for what it's worth, find their way into pants pockets as Devon strides to catch up with Russo. He casts a fleeting look over his shoulder, the retreating Tahir earning an amused quirk of a grin. Turning back to his mentor as they head for the exit, the kid gives a one shoulder shrug. "Another fine day at Studio K, Mister Russo."

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