new orleans ♔ so everybody just follow me cuz we need a little controversy

[starfucker]

♬ Rock and Roll Lifestyle - Cake

WHO || Martha, Des, Finnick, Kat, Dumage [closed]
WHAT || The Knights check out NOVA Records to try and find out more information about co-owner Chad Becksworth and his connection to the Brotherhood of the Enlightenment/Jade/the Talisman
WHERE || NOVA Records HQ, New Orleans, LA
WHEN || Tuesday, May 1st, 2012; daytime
HOW || Actionspam

[ The offices of NOVA Records seem to be a hoppin' place.  Fancy dressed execs and stylish people who look important and wear hoity sunglasses stream in and out of the glass doors, and no one seems to pay the group any particular mind when they walk into the large, spacious white lobby.  A large square pool dominates this side of the room, the NOVA label emblazoned on the tiles below the water.   A side staircase leads to an upper balcony, but most traffic seems to be to and from the elevator banks on the right side of the room, and into the hallways back behind the large black front desk.  

At the desk sits a redheaded secretary, with perfectly curled long hair and too-red lipstick.   A security guard stands against the wall behind her, staring straight ahead, a gun visible on his hip.  ] 

Comments

[starfucker]

You severely overestimate my capacity for regret. [ But. ]

Tell you what. [ He nods his head towards Kat, towards the bar. ] Mix us some drinks, sugar, the men have to have some words. [ And he looks past Des to Finnick once more. ] You got a name, kid?

[shootfirst]

Suck my dick. [ Kat: Master of Undercover Diplomacy. ]

[65]

[Wow um ok Kat. Maybe if Finnick is sexy enough Burt won't notice Kat being a femnazi. He'll just take a seat and sit all sprawled out like a whore. And, use his sex kitten voice to say] Finnick.

[starfucker]

[ Burt grins wildly at her comment, nodding towards Finnick. ] Think everybody in this room would rather suck his, if we're getting a choice of phalluses. [ Annnnd he's going to ignore her feminazi life now, yep. Which will probably just piss her off more but w/e. ]

I meant your real name.

[65]

[omg wtf. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH PANEM'S NAMING SYSTEM OKAY. the one where they just name their children based off their profession/whatever is sitting next to them when they give birth. But whatever. He's flexible /insert double entendre.]

I had it changed.

[starfucker]

Stick with me, and it'll not only be changed, but buried in a nuclear disposal unit and launched into space.

Alright, fine Finnick. Let's cut to the chase.

[ He spreads his hands across the glass surface, opening his palms upwards and shrugging. ]

I can light a fire so far up the ass of your star that it'll blow its colon out. And that, my friend, will make you one filthy fucking rich son of a whore.

Here's the thing: this whole money can't buy happiness shit? Goddamn horse manure. Happiness is over-fucking-rated. Big tip: the goal of life has zero to do with happiness. Why? Because man's inherently a greedy piece of shit. Find me a happy man that's got nothing to bitch about, and I'll eat my fucking grammy collection and shit you some gold bars.

What people want, more than anything, is to be entertained. And that's not about them being happy, it's about watching other fuckers live it up in a world that's more glamorous, more important, more sexy, more balls to the wall epicthan this shithole we live in could ever hope to be. Heroes, villains, happy fucking endings, life ruining career wrecking swan dives, and full cycle redemption and rehab: that's the shit dreams are made of.

It's not reality, it's more than that. It's everything we wish reality was, so that every fucking thing we do can mean something. We manufacture that beautiful thing called hope - the American dream. God. Whatever you wanna call it. Meaning to every shitbag's existence. People don't want reality, because reality...fucking bites. So here's the deal: you sign with us, you're not signing up to be a singer. You're signing up to be a goddamn modern day deity, by doing whatever the fuck I tell you to do, going where I point you to go, and selling what I want you to sell. And between the two of us, we can pour a little meaning into this world. But I don't go half ass, and I don't let my boys either. You're in, you're all in.

[65]

[Oh Burt. You. Have. No. Idea. His words resonate, and not in a good way. Because it's true, he knows that it's true, and it's sickening and a little disheartening to have to hear it all over again in a place where he thought it was ~different~. And here he was, in the exact same position he was in at home. The flirty mindgame shit so far was okay, it was nothing, but this felt like the exact same "sell us your soul" situation that Snow put him in. (At least Burt was prettier ... ??)

But, it's just a game. And it's a game he excels at. So even though he's having PTSD inside, he can keep his act together and pretend he no curr.]

Whatever you want. You can be assured I won't disappoint.

[Why the fuck were they even here again???]

1/2

[shootfirst]

[ As Burt leans across the table to extend his hand for a shake, Kat darts forward, lowering her hand between them. ]

Not so fast. Why should we sign up with you, instead of your brother? [ At least someone remembers why we're here. ]

[starfucker]

[ His expression immediately alters, darkening with something much more than annoyance. ]

Because he's enough of a douchenozzle to make me look like the fucking Snuggle bear? Chad's a definitive cuntsicle and, I might add, on the fast track to the loony bin lately.

[nothingsodivine]

[Sing-song] I smell hot gossip.

[65]

[ANNNND acting like he did not just fall into some kind of psychotic PTSD-induced haze, he leans back in his chair.]

Yeah, let's hear more.

[starfucker]

You gonna try and tell me you've never picked up a tabloid before you walked through my goddamn door? I sure as shit don't believe that, which means you've already got an idea of just how much I'd like to feed his dick to my theoretical pet hyenas.

[ He leans back again, seeming to take a moment of distance, before looking back at them and rephrasing. ] Chad and I don't exactly like to occupy the same airspace these days, if you get my Tokyo drift. We're like Coke and Pepsi, Jen and Angelina, only Brad Pitt's worth a lot more fucking change. We're far from being one company, under God, indivisible, and the moment's coming where I shove him out that door once and for all, hostile takeover style. And you're gonna wanna be on my side when that day fucking comes.

[nothingsodivine]

[Des leans forward.] We don't like the vast majority of media. If our boy gets big, we're gonna raise an Elvis, not a Lohan. He might be fucking girls in every port, but at least he'll be classy about it, and the only way to do that is to go back to the days before TMZ.

So pretend we don't read them. Because right now? You're just making me curious about your brother.

[...23. Wow, Des. WOW.]

[starfucker]

Well, aside from being threat level: douchebag, the jackass is completely lacking in business sense. All our biggest names in the line up? Me. The PR, the brilliant schemes, me. Anything of any value that's gone down inside these walls? Give you one guess.

What does he even do these days? Sit around with his thumbs up his ass, thinking of what Hot Topic to hit up for his next jacked up wardrobe selection, hiring every freak he can find on the marketplace for his personal bodyguard. He's snapped, sometime in the last coupla years, just all went straight to whatever brain cells he had left.

[65]

[This is all fascinating, but Finnick doesn't want to look too captivated by it. He also wants to nurse his PTSD. So he cranes his neck back to ask] Can I get a drink from Fiji?

[postergirl]

[ Dumage has... slipped over to the mini-bar already during all this, and is actually sitting on the bar, legs crossed, stirring a drink. She shoots Finnick an inviting smile. ] Come on over, darling. The water's fine.

[65]

[He'll be over there now. Peace out Des and Burt. Try not to accidentally bargain him off like cattle or anything.]

[nothingsodivine]

[Meanwhile, Des is super invested in this.] So why not just kick his ass to the curb?

[starfucker]

It's not that easy. Technically, his share of ownership's an equal size with mine, because the shitbag was in on the ground floor with me. And I can't get the guy committed on grounds of his bodyguard needing a serious manicure, and his business sense taking a nose dive down the toilet.

But he's my brother. I know.

[aproperdoctor]

[Martha's joined the group over by the minibar, and she turns to Kat, her voice low.] Is there some way he could have been like...possessed or something? I mean, if his personality suddenly changed like that...

[shootfirst]

[ Kat's watching Burt with a frown, and mutters back: ] Not a bad theory.

I guess it's too much to hope anyone has any exorcism experience on this trip...

[65]

[say whaaaaaaat.]

[aproperdoctor]

Tell you what, we can swing by a bookstore and pick up a bible and a copy of Exorcisms for Dummies and I'll learn how to do it.

[Martha totally starts mixing a drink to cover up some of the sound while she's talking. Clinking bottles, etc.]

Also, sounds to me like he's got some sort of Shadowkind bodyguards.

[postergirl]

[ Burt seems to be completely ignoring all of you over here at the mini-bar, so... that's good at least. Dumage gives a tiny frown, swirling her glass. ]

Strange, don't you think, for someone pouring money into an anti-Shadowkind church to be hiring them on.

Though I imagine where religion's involved, hypocrisy's something of a given.

[nothingsodivine]

[Meanwhile, back at Burt's ranch.] A dick's a dick, whether you're related to him or not.

He hasn't been... [Des mimes doing a line of coke and shrugs.] Tends to make a guy a little loony. They've got rehabs for that.