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 Posted: Tue Jul 29, 2008 5:53 pm
He wasn't necessarily thrilled with this job - his mother would have said that he was whoring himself out in a classy way for money - but that didn't mean that Zuma - I mean, Emmett - wouldn't take the job. He sighed, having taken everything out of his small yet overpriced apartment and brought everything in a box. A single box. Stuffed in there were his pictures (or the ones he'd bothered to keep), the few nice clothes he had (which included two sets of jeans and three nice t-shirts), a small make-up bag that he'd stolen from his last girlfriend to put his hair accessories in, and the box that he kept his jewelry in (so small he could have fit it into his pocket).
Zuma - or Emmett R. Hayes - walked with his box o' personal belongings tucked under his arm, shaking his head and trying not to think about the fact that he was going to be, essentially, paid to flirt with customers and possibly go further than that. His hair was gelled up, like usual, though it looked hastily done. Probably due to the fact that he had been unduly shoved out of his apartment by the landlord after dropping off a payment for rent that had been due nearly three months ago. Now, with pocket change and the clothes that he'd been given from this Searan guy, the new host made his way to the building that he'd first been directed to when he'd said he'd need a job.
But, a sign caught his eye first. A new bar, huh? Well, he thought, shrugging, might as well blow what money I have left before heading off to Hell, right? He turned down the street, following signs that pointed towards this new establishment. Heading inside, box still under his arm, Zuma sat at the empty bar in the middle of the afternoon and ordered a tequila, spreading the coins he had out on the bar in front of him. He let the box sit on the floor at his feet; nobody would think to take the few items he carried. He counted up to five dollars - enough to cover the drink - and waited.
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Posted: Tue Jul 29, 2008 8:27 pm
Brad hated bars.
Maybe 'hate' was too strong a term, but they were no good, in his opinion. Seedly, full of raunchy people who looked like they'd just as soon start a fight as have a drink, and to top it off, everything always smelled like alcohol. Sure, that last part was a given, but the smell was something he was getting used to in his own work place. He supposed that's how he ended up there in the first place; avoiding all familiarity at work by going to a place somewhat like it. At least here, if there was anyone who would recognize him, they'd likely be too drunk to be a bother.
His fingers rubbed callously over his neck, his expression mostly neutral except for his dark brow. The man had a lot on his mind, from his sister and her news, to his work, to his new room mate. It was likely the latter that was causing him more pause for thought, which was both something of a relief and a shock to the oldest Host. He came to think, maybe to forget, and...
What the hell was this?
Brad turned his indigo eyes over to a young man who sat not too far away, lofting a dark brow. Was he even old enough to be here? And what was with the box? Not that he really cared, but it was quite strange to see such a young kid in a bar. With a box. The Italian seemed to be hung up on the fact that the young man didn't seem old enough to be out of high school, let alone order tequila.
"It'll be more than that in a ritzy joint like this," he said out loud as the bartender moved away, pulling a few bills out of his button up shirt pocket and sliding them over to the young man. "They'll bleed you dry for water." Must be new in this area, he mused quietly, eyeing the other. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either, not making his intention or meaning behind his words known. Strangely enough, he had no drink in front of himself, either.
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Posted: Tue Jul 29, 2008 8:39 pm
Emmett looked up, eyes wary. He'd been hit on enough times to know better in this area. On his way here, he'd had at least five or six people give him catcalls and ask where he was heading, if he couldn't stop and spend a night or two with them. The man seemed a little too dressed up to be in a place like this, but who knew what kind of people turned up at bars nowadays?
"Thanks," he said, adding the bills to his own change. "I owe you one." Or... not. There was no way that Zuma would have enough money to pay the guy back. "I'm Zuma," he said, offering his hand. He'd gotten used to all the kids at school calling him that, so it seemed second nature to introduce himself as his nickname. The box got in the way of him turning in his stool and he kicked it, swearing loudly and sighing. "Sorry, I'm just moving. I got a new job and all."
Maybe I can milk this guy for more money before I go, Zuma thought, but quickly tossed the idea. Whoever this guy was, he seemed alright. Not like some of the guys behind them at tables; Zuma could feel their eyes on his back and almost spun, telling them to mind their own business.
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Posted: Tue Jul 29, 2008 9:00 pm
He might be young, but at least he had the sense to accept help without being a cherub about it. The older man stuck out his hand, grasping the other's firmly but with kindness. "Brad. Nice to meet you, Zuma." And what a name. He supposed it fit, with the overall strangeness of the situation. Really, he was sure it was just him that was feeling strange, and so everything else became--
Wait. Did he say...a new job?
There was a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach. If he'd been drinking, he could have blamed it on that, but he'd been liquor-free for 8 years; he was about to break that, even if he sorely wanted to. "New digs, new job, huh." He kept the dread out of his voice, but it was strong on his eyes. It couldn't be. There were tons of new places, and he could be applying anywhere and been hired, and...
Damn, but he looked like Searan's speed.
"No kidding. Where at?" he asked conversationally, trying to ignore the premonition of impending doom that loomed over him. It seemed everytime he met someone, they were somehow tied to him immediately. This guy...no, he was just a kid!
Keeping his inner struggle to himself, he leaned over a bit, allowing the edges of his lips to tug into a barely-there smile. "And not too loudly. 'round here, folk will end up at your workplace if they catch wind." Brad had never felt quite so lecherous as he did then, but he didn't mean it in a bad way...at least, not concerning him. It was the rest of the leering loons in the bar that made him worry. He was a big man, he could take care of himself, but a young thing like this? Meat.
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Posted: Tue Jul 29, 2008 9:15 pm
Zuma nodded, sighing and taking a long sip of the tequila placed in front of him. He had a fake ID if the bartender wanted to ask how old he was. Really, he was almost 20. And that was close enough, right? He couldn't be over 17, could he? On the contrary, he was much older than that; at least, Zuma felt like it.
He glanced around nervously at the men around the bar who'd suddenly went loudly back to their conversations. "Ahh, I met this guy and he offered to, erm... "host" me, if you get what I mean." Emmett, Zuma, whatever he was calling himself, didn't seem to catch the unease in the other's glance, so he kept talking. "I had this stupid job waiting tables on the other side of town before this guy -- " He caught himself, stopping before he gave away the place. "You know, he kinda picked me up off the streets and offered me a place to sleep and some new clothes and a job."
Zuma kicked the box beside his feet. "So now I've got everything I've ever owned packed up in my box and I'm seein' if I can maybe get some money from this job." The new host shrugged. "Maybe I could pay you back soon if you're sticking around this area."
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Posted: Wed Jul 30, 2008 10:49 am
For a moment, he was able to pretend that this Zuma character had just called himself a gigolo of sorts. It was only for a moment, as the young man added the part of being picked up off the streets and having a place to sleep, clothes...a job...all the things he himself had been promised, although none of it had been necessary. Why did he think being a gigolo was better than a Host? He was getting old. Inwardly, Brad wondered if he should be retiring already with all these new, young bloods; outwardly, he did little more than nod.
"No need to pay me back. If you do good in your job, you wont have to worry much about money." He was sure that Zuma would do well, if not because he was different from the current Hosts. Brad couldn't help but feel a bit withdrawn that the economy was so bad that promising lads like Zuma had to take up such a mantle just to make a living. It made him feel a bit guilty about his own situation.
As for seeing him around the area...that was a granted, and Zuma didn't even know. Maybe it was best to keep it that way until they were working. "So do you know what you'll be doing as a, ah...'Host,' you say?" he inquired politely. Brad knew what was going on, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. He felt a twinge of amusement; Ferdinand would surely be shocked to know he did not, in fact, assume the worst of everything.
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Posted: Wed Jul 30, 2008 11:02 am
Zuma sighed, shrugging and taking another long draught of his drink. If he was going to turn 21 in two days, he might as well celebrate a little, right? He'd gotten a new job, gotten himself off the streets and probably had a stable job until he was in a terrible accident which deformed his physical features so much, nobody would look at him without cringing. Then, he'd have to spend the rest of his life in some corner of the world, isolated, and bitter towards the rest of humanity.
Alright, so that wasn't likely to happen any time soon. Still, he couldn't help but think that this was much too good to be true. He smiled, bright and grateful to the other man for him not needing to be paid back. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it a lot." But, as for the other question... "Ahhmm... I think I'm going to be paid to flirt with people." Gigolo. Definitely a gigolo. "I know it sounds kinda weird, but... it's not. At least, I don't think."
Zuma paused a moment, kicking his box unconsciously. "All I know is that I've got to make people enjoy themselves, get them to relax and have fun so that I can get my money to eat. Other than that, it doesn't really matter, does it?"
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Posted: Sat Aug 02, 2008 10:54 pm
A long sigh escaped between his teeth, but that was the only sound of his inward cursing of Searan. "Ah, the new Host Club down the way. It's a bit crazy there, but I'm sure you'll do great. Just smile a lot, and you'll do fine." Brad offered his own smile, a little weary; heavens but he felt old. Rubbing the side of his jaw, he quirked his lips to the side, dispelling his smile. "It's more than just a paycheck there, you know." He paused. How much should he say? Not much, he decided; it was up to Searan to fill the youth in on what was going on. He hired him, after all.
As the bartender walked by, Brad shook his head again, murmuring, "Same ol', if you don't mind." The 'tender gave a nod, filling a glass of water and putting it in front of the Italian before meandering off. Taking a sip, he felt a little better, dark eyes trained on his glass as he swirled the clear liquid within. Having water at a bar wasn't usually the normal, but the Host and the bartender had an understanding; Brad brought clients, the bar received business, and all was well with the world. They could afford him a few glasses of water in thanks.
"Forgive me for sounding like an old clout," he said after a moment, "but you should do what you enjoy, when you can." He smiled again, but this time it was a touch more genuine. "If you like making people happy, hey, you're in the right field."
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Posted: Sun Aug 03, 2008 5:57 pm
More than a paycheck? There were more responsibilities to this thing than just pretending to like people? Zuma sighed, shaking his head and thinking to himself, If only I could just be a wall decoration or something. Then, I can spend my time not interacting with people, but still getting money for food and stuff. Zuma thought that would be the best scenario. The worst case scenario: him having to work his butt off in the backroom without getting any credit and then being under-paid for not working hard enough. Or showing up and realizing that this place was like a whore-house. Or a strip-joint.
The man finished off his drink, pushing the glass further back on the bar and leaned back in the chair. He didn't comment on the water, having clearly seen the bartender handing over the water. And, if that was the "same ol'," then this guy Brad must have been a regular in the area. A bit curious now, Zuma leaned back even further, tipping the chair back onto two legs and balancing like that. "So, what do you do around here exactly? You seem to know a bit about the new -- " He hesitated over the words. " -- ... Host Club. Been there before? Got any tips on who to avoid?"
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Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 10:43 am
He watched the younger man with a touch of amusement at his balancing act, earning a faint smile. The question elicited a bit wider smile, rolling his broad shoulders in a shrug. "You could say that," he remarked off-handedly. "Honestly, the best advice I could give you about that place is to make your own decisions about people. You'll hear a lot of rumors, but you can't take everything for face value or you'll be a nervous wreck." Brad chuckled quietly, thinking he might be being a bit cruel now; since most of the rumors seemed to involve him in some form or another, he really was setting himself up.
"The Hosts are all very nice. The oldest one is a bit of a thorn in the side," he smiled crookedly, deeply amused talking about himself in the third person, "but they're all good people. The staff is supportive, but being all males, you can rest assured that there is plenty of drama behind the scenes. That, however, I can't tell you much about because I don't know anything about it." And that was the truth. He didn't embroil himself in the tedious affairs of gossip and heresay. He rather prefered to keep to himself, and the few that he counted as friends.
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Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 10:54 am
Great... Guy drama. Almost up there with Girl Drama without the cat fights and bickering. The rumors in general, Zuma was sure, wouldn't get to him as much as having rumors about him specifically. That'd be hard to cope with if people thought he was some sort of young kid who didn't know what he was doing, even if that was the complete truth. And being the new kid in town, he would probably have his fair share of rumors before things started to settle down.
As Brad went on about specific Hosts and who to maneuver around, Zuma had the distinct impression that he was being left out of some joke. Instead of simply asking more about the what to expect - because it was clear Brad had been there before - Zuma sighed and pushed back a bit more, with one of his feet hooked into the box beneath his chair. "So, how much do you think the gig is? I'm just trying to estimate how much I'll be paid by how much you shell out, if you don't mind my askin'." So, Zuma thought that Brad was a customer. This might be a bit of a... surprise later on.
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Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 11:25 am
Brad arched a dark brow, his smile still lingering. Did Zuma think he was a Customer? Oh, this would be a shock. The kid would probably hate him...and rightfully so. "That differs from Host to Host," he explained, turning in his seat to face the young man. Propping his elbow on the bar and resting his temple on his knuckles, he gave a slight shrug. "Some dates are in the thousands, some at a standard fare, although that'd be up to the owner more than the Host. It mostly does depend on the Customer and how badly they want that date. Fees apply when scheduling if time is limited, and more so if the Host has to go out of their way. Really, it's up to you and your performance that will determine the supply and demand."
There, that was enough of a lecture. He thought of Hae-min, making a mental note to make sure her fees were waived when concerning himself; he wondered how Remi would feel about that, too. Blinking languidly, he tried to look as neutral as possible, even if he was being something of a secretive jerk. Ah well, it would initiate him well into the Club, and no doubt earn Zuma friends immediately in those who liked to pick on Brad. No harm done, in the end.
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Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 11:33 am
It seemed like a lot to take in. Zuma groaned and nearly fell back in his chair before grabbing onto the bar. "Geez! Ahh, sorry. You mean to tell me that I have to actually be good at this in order to get a raise and stuff?" Well, saying it aloud put it into some perspective; of course he'd have to be good at his job to get more money. But... thousands?! Wow... that was a lot of money. Zuma put his head on the bar, crushing the box with his feet placed along the top of it. "I don't think I can do this thing. I'm just nervous that it's gonna be a strip-joint or something like that; you know, guys walking around more naked than clothed. I ain't up for something like that."
The man seemed to think that he had been bought into some kind of chain of illegal workings, though Searan had been dressed impeccably when he had explained the vague outline of this. Maybe... it was just a show? Zuma groaned again at the thought of being ripped off like that. "Can you introduce me to some of the nicer Hosts around?" Just in case it was a strip-joint and he had to work there; Brad knew people, so it might work out. At least, until Zuma found out the other man's secret...
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Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 11:47 am
He had to really restrain himself from laughing. His lips tugged into a more earnest smile as he shook his head, extending a hand to help steady the younger man. "No, it's definitely not a strip joint," he assured Zuma, having momentary flashbacks of when they did go to a strip club. "You have my word. In fact, you'll be more dressed than you are now. It's a very classy affair, where only those who can pay are afforded the time of the Host." Brad hoped that put the other's mind at ease if even just a little. "All you have to do is be kind and make sure the Customer has fun. Can you do that?"
Withdrawing his hand, he 'hmm'd thoughtfully. "It depends if Xan and Gunnar - the Hosts - are busy or not, but I can certainly try," he replied honestly. Having not met Cada or Rose, he couldn't very well introduce them yet. "I'll introduce you to the staff members who will be assisting you as well, if you choose to stay in the Club." There were Strays and behind-the-scenes and bar staff to take into consideration... "You wont be alone," Brad promised Zuma, "not if you don't want to be. The Club, when open, is always alive with nightlife." He also neglected to mention that the highest date price had gone in his own favor; no need to dig that hole any deeper just yet.
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Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 1:03 pm
Zuma didn't move from where he sat, dejected, at the bar. He sighed into his arms and tried to believe Brad. I mean, the guy is a regular there, right? He knows some Hosts and who to avoid. The man shrugged at the question. "I can do what I can, but I don't know if any of the customers will even want me. I'll admit, I look like a kid, so it doesn't help." If this was all upper-class and spiffy, then he had no place in it; Zuma would just be an impostor in the whole affair.
Even if Brad didn't want to talk about prices and money, Zuma did; that was his main goal in taking the job. He wanted money. Lots and lots of money. "You said that prices went up into the... thousands," he said, carefully. "How much is a small-fry like me worth over there?"
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