Pass The Ketchup


bigruff_icon.gif kristen_icon.gif smoov_icon.gif tic_icon.gif

Scene Title Pass the Ketchup
Synopsis LARP
Date February 9, 2011

Dorchester Towers — Kristen's Apartment

"No K, we have to talk now." The nasal and lethargic voice can only come from one man. Even though his voice sounds lazy and borderline whiny, he manages to deliver a sense of urgency in his message.

"I'm off today, Tic. I'm sure it can wait." The reply on the other end of the phone comes.

"No I'm serious, it's an emergency. We're coming up now." Without giving her a moment to respond the phone is hung up. And as soon as it is, an infantile laugh is let out. Tic doubles over against the steering wheel. Meanwhile an unimpressed Smoov and Big R watch from the back seat of the dark interior of the Escalade. "It probably wasn't her." Is Big R's bass reply, fingers idly flipping the Oh Shit! handle back and forth.

Smoov however sits with an intrigued brow arched. "He may be right. When has K said no to meeting me?" It elicits a nod of concession. Though a concerned glance as Smoov seems to be staring at the passenger seat.

He had been a lot. The filming for So Smoov had recently begun and so… Cameramen have started to follow them around. "Listen Koj, I need to make sure this show succeeds." Tic starts, pulling the car into a parking place. The vehicle is thrown into park as the men slowly start to get out. Once the door is flung closed, "And if we catch what I think we're going to catch on camera. Ratings will go bleeeOOOOOP!" A finger pointed straight at the sky.

An amused smirk plants itself on Smoov's lips as he makes his way out. Wearing only a tight white shirt and jeans, and his gold S necklace the man closes his own door behind him. Glancing over his shoulder at the camera. "I hope she doesn't mind the camera." He muses quietly.

"She can't!" Tic retorts. "It was her idea. This is a show about your life. And she's a part of your life right now."

Meanwhile Kristen is giving a panicked look around her Dorchester Towers apartment. It might be a little too late to undo the damage that is done. The suit was already donned, and it is pretty difficult to get all of that stuff off in a hurry. What is that stuff you ask? As Kristen stares at the door her hand goes to rest on her side on her… Hilt. The slender sword attatched to her side is shifted in place. Clad in brown knee-high boots the woman's thighs are otherwise bare save for the draping blue extended loincloth that hangs near her shins. She is also wearing a skirt of.. chainmail. The deep v-neck into her blue and gold battle corset is complimented by sleeves of chainmail. And to complete the outfit, her helmet rests near a dufflebag on the table she was going to stuff it into. The helmet is lined with gold, large wings protruding from its sides. Her long trenchcoat is folded up near the dufflebag. She was just about to leave…

Cursing as she pitches the phone toward the duffel bag, Kristen checks herself out in the oval mirror near the door. Of all the days… ALL the days. Unbuckling the sword as quickly as she can, it gets tossed into the closet along with the duffel bag, helmet, and trenchcoat. The rest? Well they're already on their way up, too late to change now.

Grabbing a remote control, the producer flips on the flat screen and then browses through an extensive collection of movies. A smirk forms on her face as she pulls a case out of the stack and fumbles to insert the disk into her blueray. With a last look in the mirror, she arranges her bodice to give herself as much cleavage as possible, tapping her skin to give it a little bit of a rosy glow. Perfect.

Before the entourage has a chance to knock at the door, the petite woman pulls it open and gives them all a raised brow stare. "Kojo, you wanted to talk to me about something?" She seems… nonchallant about being caught in her current state. As though it's normal every day wear.

When the door flings open, six eyes and one camera immediately go down to about chest level. There is an initial moment of silence. And then another moment of silence. And then a communal intake of breath. And then finally a rapid exhalation, as Tic backpedals. Silent snickering can still be heard as he turns his back.

Smoov peers up over his sunglasses to K's face.. and then back down for a moment. And then finally he reluctantly looks up. At her eyes. A long even look is given to her. With silence.

Big R is also stuffed into silence, the two men standing perfectly still. The cameraman who happens to be an overweight white hairy guy, starts to walk around the group to get a better angle.

"Hm." Smoov lets out. They had not planned on what they were actually going to say. "We ran out of ketchup."

Kristen's dark brown eyes meet Smoov's when he looks up. Angling her chin a fraction of an inch, she gives him something of a tight smile and opens the door a little wider. "Sure, come on in." She turns, purposely allowing the loincloth to shift to the side at the back and struts to the kitchen. Just a normal, every day, run of the mill afternoon at the Reynolds apartment. "Make sure you close the door behind you~" she sings over her shoulder as she makes her way to the kitchen.

The narrow hallway is just large enough for Kristen and Kojo to walk side by side, so she pauses for a moment to allow him to catch up. "I wasn't expecting you today, I thought it was your day off." It's conversational, amicable, and quite smooth in delivery. She turns her head enough to give him a sidelong glance, whisking her hair over one shoulder as she does so. "What do you need ketchup for?"

As they pass by the living room, a small dog on a pillow looks up and growls at them. Interestingly enough, it is also dressed up… in doggy leather armor. Trippy is chewing a rawhide though and aside from the initial mini-rumble of a greeting, she goes back to munch munch munching.

On the wall, the flatscreen is flashing images of women in armor. Busty women in armor… and some guy with a big chin. Xena~

The cameraman bursts in through the door, in order to get Smoov and Big R's entry. Tic stays outside. But then after a moment, Smoov motions with his chin. "Y'boys can go wait in th'car." His Jamaican accent growing somewhat stronger. The giant of a man looks down skeptically at Smoov before giving a shrug. Turning the door is closed as Smoov gives another look to the camera.

And then he's entering the kitchen. "Tomorrow." Smoov points out. "We were gonna go to Miami for the weekend. Can't be takin' all this winter weather for so long." Smoov takes a few steps towards K before pausing. Placing his hands in his pockets, he pivots some glancing at the screen. Then back to Kristen. "Sandwiches."

A beat. "What do you wear when watching Batman?"

"You'll have to find out next episode."

Kristen remains somewhat quiet until she's certain the cameraman isn't lurking around a corner or hiding somewhere in her apartment. Then she calmly pulls the bottle of ketchup from the fridge and flips open the top, pointing it menacingly at him. "Did Dirk put you up to this? Russo? Dunham?" The producer's eyes are practically molten as she threatens the star's designer clothing with the crimson condiment. "Because this… this… ugh!"

The bottle gets slammed on the counter with a frustrated grunt and she turns toward the open entry of the kitchen. Folding her arms over her chest, one hand comes up to rub at her forehead and hide most of her face. "Miami." She pauses to collect herself, picking the neutral topic of the man's reality show to focus on. "That sounds good, remember receipts for expenses… or did you want to take Dirk along for the little things?"

Smoov looks her up and down. "You said what I saw was what I got. I did not see.." A little finger gesture to her. "This." An amused smirk twirking up his features. Pulling off his stunna shades, his eyes practically sparkle at her. Looking down at the ketchup. "You wouldn't do that, love." Smoov says stoically. As she points the ketchup at him. "You wouldn't want to start a war." His voice has a sort of edge to it, he sounds somewhat dangerous… while talking about ketchup.

When the aforementioned crimson condiment crashes on the counter, Smoov lets out a light sound of relieff. "Miami." Smoov shakes his head a little. "Tic can take care of all that. And I don't think he likes your boy." He gives a light 'what you gonna do shrug'. The phrase actually translates to: I don't like him, but Tic is my scapegoat because I'm the nice guy. "Though I wouldn't mind if you came down." He grins a little broader. "You could bring your.. armor."

"Down… to Miami… For the weekend?" The thin woman's hand comes down from her forehead to give Smoov a skeptical glance, her brow raised in something resembling disbelief. A long breath is let loose through her nose as she slides her hand down to her opposite bicep, gripping it lightly. "I can't exactly leave the city right now, not with the dome and… Brad's manifesting… and…"

Lifting a weary eye to the reality star, she quirks her lips up on one side and shrugs her shoulders. "It sounds really fun though. But your leaving tomorrow." Wrestling with the decision out loud, she turns her head to look down at the dog on the pillow and puckers her lips lightly. "Trippy could use a vacation… But— Tomorrow."

Reaching over to the ketchup, it's picked up. Turning the nozzle on her now. A threatening gesture is made. "You know you want to. The beach." He leans on heavily, tilting his head with a light smile. "The City can 'andle itself without Kristen Reynolds ffor a few days." Smoov presses, still waving the ketchup there.

"Trippy could use a vay-cation." He waggles a brow, taking a step back to lean against the counter. "But you know. I'm sure I could find a different armored princess to go with me…"

"The armor would rust, salt is bad for metal.. Don't you have a dozen cars? You should know that." The haughty response from the producer is coupled with a smug smirk, a challenge to the Jamaican. He wouldn't dare. "Anyway, I work all day Sunday… I would have to be back Saturday night, which sort of put a crimp in the weekend thing, doesn't it?"

A high pitched bark precedes the three legged dog's patter into the kitchen. As Trippy raises her head to eye Smoov, she sneezes twice. A little ruff follows it and she's off again, back to her pillow. Trippy's vote has been cast.

Kristen stares after the dog and rolls her eyes before catching Smoov's again. Her arms are hugged tightly against her body, the woman just a little self-conscious about her choice of clothing right now. "We never mention this again?"

"No idea what you are talking about." Smoov says easily. Squirt. Fluidly ejaculating from the bottle in a strong stream of ketchup aimed at Kristen's face. The bottle then tips down somewhat to puncuate Kristen's purposefully pronounced cleavage. The cap is clapped back on as Smoov smiles… Smoothly. Leaning forward a light kiss is planted on K's now ketchup laden cheek. Smacking his lips at the taste he takes a step back. "I'll have Big R pick you up tomorrow."

And then he's rapidly dancing towards the door, away from the probably pissed producer.

Outrage and righteous indignation is what Smoov gets, but Kristen is just too slow to raise a hand to slap him across the face. Not that she actually thought about it until a few minutes after his departure. The patter of tiny feet announces Trippy's arrival again and Kristen looks down at the dog as she grabs some paper towel to begin wiping the mess from her face and chest.

"You, dog, are going to stay with Dirk. Only because you didn't bite him on the way out."

The brunette is still wiping the sticky red goo off her skin when she gets to the front door to flip the lock. No more answering the phone, no more dress up, no more company… just to be sure, she checks the closet. It's only when she knows she's alone that she begins stripping off the armor, letting it drop unceremoniously on the floor in scattered piles. It's shower time.

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