The Renaissance Hotel (2) – No Limits.

Tags

Bobby Williams, Bobby Williams Inside, bribes, CharlotteCarrendar, Christian, Christian McQueen, Comedy, Dan Weatherby, drugs, fun, getting high, hotel, Humor, music, No Limits, reporter, role play., T1Legend

T1Legend

1

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 27, 2013 01:21AM

Room #1123 – Christian McQueen

Christian blinked at the futile thud that came from the door and stared dumbly at it before realizing the other man had introduced himself. Christian’s mind had been momentarily occupied by the raging homosexual onslaught he had witnessed and he realized he was being rude. He thrust his hand forward and shook Bobby’s.“Yeah—Bobby Williams—F1 driver. I’ve heard of you, too. Heard you were joining the circuit through the grapevine. I know it’s not Formula One or anything, but on the upside it doesn’t take as much concentration to execute left turns all day.” He paused, before adding, “On the downside…it doesn’t take as much concentration to execute left turns all day. It all sort of balances out in the end, though, because here the girls flash their tits from the stands. ” Hell, most of ’em wanted your name written on their nipples.Christian sighed, fumbling in his breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He didn’t have much to bitch about, he supposed. Being a racecar driver was a pretty sweet gig, and it sure beat the hell out of digging ditches or working under other people’s cars all day—but sometimes he missed the thrill and variety of street racing. Every once in a while he’d get that familiar itch that all the oval tracks in the world couldn’t scratch and he’d go moonlighting downtown. Doubtless his manager would have his ass nailed to the wall if he found out…but he couldn’t help himself. And what his manager didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, either.“Good to meet you though. Look forward to seeing what you can do out on the track.” Christian shook a cigarette out of his crumpled pack of Camels, tucking it away in the corner of his mouth. “Do you mind?” Christian asked, cupping a lighter to the cancerous instrument.

There was more jostling from the otherside of the door, and a different voice called out. This one was male, nasally and annoying. Christian would have recognized the Bostonian accent anywhere.

“Bawby Willyams? Bawby Willyams, you—excuse me lady, I’m tryin’a conduct an intaview heaya! The fuckin noive of some people!” More jostling. Christian could imagine Dan shouldering his way past Bobby’s indignant manager, scribbling furiously on that legal pad of his—-filling it with all manner of bullshit and lies. “Is it true you got dat Christian Mac-Queen in dere wid ya? You two heaya for da gay thing or what? What, yous two guys fuckin’ or somethin’? Hey, you gonna open up or am I gonna be standin’ heaya all day? ”

Fuck.

CharlotteCarrendar

842

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 28, 2013 01:50AM

Outside Room #1123

After taking the fall at the trying to bust her way into Bobby’s apartment, that no good reporter with a shocker of a Bostonian accent shoulder charges past Cynthia and starts an interview through the closed door, whilst scribbling all kinds of sick innuendo for his tabloid bosses. This was the last thing that Bobby needed, on top of the allegations over the Mayor’s daughters. With a wide eyed and mouthed expression, Cynthia heard the insinuations, and this was when her lips then puckered so tight it was like looking at a painted baboon’s ass. Eyes turned into fierce slits, on the mention that Bobby was fucking with Christian McQueen in his apartment. Cynthia knew very well how hetro Bobby was, even after a night on the turps.As the reporter scribbled, Cynthia adjusted her bosom, jostling her tah tahs, and then with lightning like reflexes, she reached out and snatched the reporter’s pencil, as if she was trying to reach past him to knock on the door herself. If the pencil dropped, she’d become dismayed…and then say.“Oops…here let me get that.” The next move was none other than the famous ‘bend and snap”. Cynthia would reach down to pick up the pencil, and on the return, try to knock out the reporter, with the sharp flick of her head, in the breast charging “snap!”.

Room #1123 – Bobby Williams

Inside, Bobby could hear the retarded sound of a man asking lewd questions, then followed closely by that of Cynthia’s voice. He wasn’t sure what was the less of two evils really, but he knew one thing for sure, he preferred taco to sausage any day. Easing against the couch, well more like leaning on it, he listened to his new guest, Christian, talk about how its not that hard to do left turns all day. This had Bobby quirk a brow. “But….I’m used to doing right turns. Woah…this is going to be harder than I thought.” The consolation was that the chicks in the stands flash their breasts as you go around the track. Bobby only thought they did that in New Orleans, and this new development, did make him feel a whole lot better about this Nascar racing gig. Formula one cars go so fast, you would never get to see the tits, they’d be a blur. But if there were a lot of yellow flags, he’d be sure to see plenty. Folding his arms and leaning back, he shot Christian a sideways glance, and then nodded, saying it was cool for him to light up.

“I’d join you, but left me bong in the bedroom.”

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T1Legend

1

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 30, 2013 12:23AM

Room 1123 – Christian McQueen

Christian smiled around his cigarette and snapped his lighter open. He took a drag and exhaled a vaporous tendril towards the ceiling, providing the impression of a snake made out of fog.”It was a joke. Just be careful out there—-they play rough with the new guys. Not that you can’t handle yourself. “Outside, Cynthia knocked Dan Weatherby’s pencil out of his hand. Before he could bend over to pick it up, the clumsy broad stooped to scrape it up from the floor. ” Jesus, watch what—” Dan’s jaw was forcibly slammed shut by the top of Cynthia’s skull before he could finish. Dan’s teeth clacked together and he bit his tongue, with the blow snapping his head backwards farther his neck was designed to allow. Dan’s arms flew upward and outward, with his legal pad flying through the air in so many yellow, flapping pages.His body continued moving in the direction of his head and he slammed into the wooden door, cranium first. Cross-eyed and with blood dribbling down the corner of his mouth, Dan slid down the door and slumped to the floor with his head cocked to one side and his cheek pressed against his shoulder. A great flatulent noise escaped Dan—-the sound of a ketchup bottle being squeezed but magnified by a dozen microphones—wet and vulgar, bubbling and greasy. The smell was as intense as it was immediate. It was the scent of something sweet and rotten—-the smell of a dead rat floating in the toilet bowl of an uncleaned outhouse on a summer’s day. A dark stain spread out across the seat of Dan’s pants, and when he fell over and lay sprawled on the carpet it appeared as though he had been sitting in a mud puddle.

Christian looked contemplatively to the door once more, wondering just what on Earth was going on out there and how long he’d be squatting in Bobby’s hotel room. Whatever it was, it sounded….messy.

“I’d join you, but left me bong in the bedroom.” 

“Well….it looks like we’re going to be here a while. Waiting would probably be more fun if we were both stoned. ”

CharlotteCarrendar

842

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 30, 2013 01:19AM

Outside Room 1123

There are many ways a woman can take a man down. From a simple uppercut, to a knee in the groin. However, the infamous ‘Bend and Snap’ is without a doubt a powerful tool to a woman’s defenses, and in this instance it worked….a little too well. Though Cynthia did feel the pain of her head striking underneath Dan Weatherby’s chin, she managed to catch his yellowing note pad as it left his hands, and he careened back into the wooden door of Bobby’s apartment.

At first, Cynthia did a little dance to celebrate knocking out Dan, and taking his notebook, but no sooner had she enjoyed her public relations victory, there was a terrible sound, that came from Dan’s rear. Like the explosion of a condiment bottle, but the following odor was so rank, that Cynthia found herself starting to dry reach, as a brown slick puddle was forming underneath Dan’s cream polyester blend pants. ~Oh no, he’s shit himself!~ Cynthia thought to herself, as the scene was now turning rather nasty. I mean, there are just some things a woman or a man really want to see in public, and this was certainly one of them. Two problems then presented themselves. One; this stinky unconscious man was blocking Bobby’s door, and two; who in their right mind would dare want to clean him and the mess he caused up?A ping from the service elevator had Cynthia turn around and sure enough it looked as though help was at hand. A gorgeous mexican house keeper in a tight blue uniform pushed her trolley out of the elevator, and looked set to start cleaning one of the rooms on that floor. Cynthia, adjusted her dress and tried to walk casually down to where the young housekeeper was taking out a large keyring to open one of the apartment doors. Showing the best smile she could manage, Cynthia asked politely;

“A hotel guest seems to have had a tiny accident outside my client’s door. Could you come and clean him out of the way, please?”

Chewing gum, the red lipped cleaner looked up at the busty racing car manager, and she uttered;

Madame, ¿qué estás hablando? Él no es un invitado. ¿Y por qué me huele mierda?

(translation: Madame, what are you talking about? He is not a guest. And why do I smell shit?)

Pursing her lips, Cynthia took out a fifty dollar note and waved it before the cleaning lady, since she was now starting to lose patience.

“This can be yours, IF you clean away that man from the door. He is blocking access to my client.”

Looking at the money being offered, the bribe, the cleaner suddenly had a devious look and she nodded graciously, taking the money and then pocketing it into her red lace bra beneath her blue uniform.

Oh, por supuesto … limpiarlo. Me vuelvo y … hacer lo que pides.

(translation: Oh of course…clean him up. I be right back and…do what you ask)

The cleaner then went right on with opening the room door she was at, and went inside, taking her trolley with her. Little did Cynthia know, the room was occupied, with another guest, that had called for the maid’s extra special services. She even hung a “do not disturb” door tag on the door, and from inside you could hear the chatter of the maid, followed by the laughter of the occupant; a male and then a lot of moaning and bed springs squeaking.

Cynthia had been duped. She stamped her foot indignantly, as luck would have it, another door opened and it was none other than Tim Curry, the famous actor. He instantly wrinkled up his nose at the stench that was now coming from the door of Bobby Williamson, and it was at this moment, he recognized the fallen reporter.

“I say….whoever knocked out that bastard. I want to thank. Just a shame whoever did it, knocked the shit out of him.” Tim guffawed, before clapping eyes on the voluptuous Cynthia. He saw her strained facial expression and then pointed at the fallen and smelly reporter. “Did you do that?” He asked, curious to see if he was right. Cynthia’s shoulders drooped in defeat.
“Yes….it was me. Did the old…’bend and snap’ and he shit his pants. Just tried to bribe some cleaning lady, who turned out to be the hotel maid for hire. Now I am stuck with a stinky unconscious reporter and no way in to see Bobby Williamson, who is my client.” She heaved a massive sigh, as Tim held up his finger. “Don’t worry love…I have an idea. This is going to be payback for that little piece he did on me in Soho. S’cuse me.” Tim went to the nearest fire hose cabinet and opened it, unfurling the fire hose and gleefully grinning at Cynthia.

“Stand back, lovey. I’ve seen this done in the Moooovies. Time to wash away the great stain.” With that, he turned on the nosele and a massive jet of water blastered the unconscious Dan Weatherby. Cynthia couldn’t help but join in with Tim in his maniac like laughter as Dan coped a full on jet of water. It was a miracle the pair didn’t drown the poor sod.

Room #1123 – Bobby Williams

Inside the apartment, the door was coping a blasting from the fire hose outside, and then a foul sludge seemed to seep under the door. Whatever it was, had Bobby move right back. “Cor…what is she doing out there? I heard women her age had water works problems, but this is ridiculous. I’m getting my stash and bong. Come on…let’s blaze up.” Bobby said with chuckle, withdrawing from the lounge and going to his bedroom, bringing out a bag of weed and his bong. If ever there was a day he needed to smoke his cares away today was it.

He took a drag from the bong, and tipped his head back, lying on the big black sofa in his lounge. “Oh…Ohhhhhh yeah. So….so….right, you know this whole…racing thing. Like….I…I am…the bessssssst at Formula one….but, I got busted, man. You know? Sick! I need some…. *he inhales again, holding it in before letting out rings of green smoke. and smirking*…advice..Yeah…advice. How…how….how do you not get bored turning left….again and…again?’

<3>

The Renaissance Hotel (1) – No Limits.

Tags

Beastie boys, CharlotteCarrendar, Christian, gay, hotel, Humor, music, No Limits, racing drivers, Renaissance Hotel, role play., T1Legend, The Renaissance Hotel, Tom Selleck, Village people, Williams Cynthia, writing

CharlotteCarrendar

842

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 23, 2013 08:28AM

Room #1123 – Bobby “Ace” Williams

Cynthia unlocked the door to Bobby’s apartment, then stormed in to the main foyer, taking her purse and slamming it down on the nearest hall dresser before turning around sharply and glaring at a sheepish looking Bobby, who was shuffling in behind her. The press conference was nothing short of a PR disaster, and Cynthia now knew that she had one hell of a battle to get Bobby’s image up and out of the gutter tabloids. The latest scandal, of the mayor’s daughter, was the icing on the cake of a rotten week.

“Sixteen?! How could you not tell, the girl was a minor?” Cynthia asked with a disgusted face. You could see all her worry lines and crows feet were coming to the fore, and that if he kept up this kind of behavior, that she was going to be needing botox by the end of the week, to stop her from aging so rapidly. Bobby shrugged as he walked past his manager, who clearly was at her wits end.

“It’s not like when you bed a girl you say…Oi, love, you got some ID on you, so I am not committing a federal offense. Kinda kills the mood don’t you think?” That said, Cynthia whacked the back of Bobby’s head, just for good measure. “Well don’t do it again. Hopefully, her father will do the right thing and rush her to the nearest family clinic.” Bobby then brightened, as the wheels in his mind started to turn. “Might not even be mine. You know how girls are these days. All you have to do is blow in their ears and their panties drop off. Could have been the town bike. Ack! Oi…she might have given me a disease.” he said with a stricken expression.

“One can only hope.” Cynthia said, rolling her eyes at his inability to grasp the seriousness, of the situation. Finding focus, she then realized they had more pressing matters. The time trials.

“I need you to get a good night’s sleep, so you will be at the track at six am. So…no more parties, no more hookers. No more. Do you understand?” She said, wiggling her finger at him in a threatening manner. Bobby pulled an innocent face and then made the scouts symbol with his fingers. “Scouts honor. I shall have a little Asian take out and go to bed.”

Thinking he meant it, Cynthia snatched up her purse and headed for the door, as Bobby continued to look innocent. “Good, about time you listened.” With that she left the apartment, while Bobby waited, then rubbed his hands together gleefully.

“Now for some Asian…take out.” He picked up the phone, to call the nearest brothel that specialized in pretty Asian girls.

“Hello? Sun Le’s House of Pleasure? Mhm…Bobby Williams, room 1123 at the Renaissance Hotel. I would like you to send over the South Korean special…no, make that two. Yep. Thank you so much.” Hanging up, Bobby did a little dance, and went off to shower in preparation of his ladies arriving.

<3>

T1Legend

1

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 24, 2013 01:08AM

Room #1122 Christian McQueen
Quoth the Whore (Nevermore!)

There came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at his chamber door. A swarm of giggles punctuated the knocking, only to be followed by a female’s voice that was more squeek than speech—–a pitch two octaves shy of a dog whistle.

“Missaru Wiryams! Prease escuse, Missaru Wiryams! ” Christian groaned at the unwelcome disturbance and burried his head beneath the pillow he had been sleeping on. He folded it around the back of his head and held it tightly against his ears to no avail. The girl, whoever she was, had a voice that seemed to have been dialed to glass shattering frequency. It easily bypassed the flimsy walls of his pillow.

“MISSARU WIRYAMS! YOU DERE MISSARU WIRYAMS?” The knocking grew louder and more persistent. Soon, it wasn’t knocking at all, but furious closed-fist hammer blows that rattled the walls of his hotel room with their terrible pounding.

” I’M COMING! STOP BEATING ON MY DOOR, FOR FUCK’S SAKE! ” The furious pounding ceased abruptly and the room was overtaken by a silence that was only broken by the occassional hushed chortle. Christian swung one leg out of the bed, then the other. His toes curled into the carpet, depressing into the textile surface. He looked to the door—-it seemed to have somehow gotten further away from the bed in his sleep—and wiped a hand down the coarse stubble of his cheek. The action produced a sound that was not unlike that of sandpaper sliding against wood.

He stood up with a great, heaving sigh. Christian did not remember ordering room service and he /did/ remember flipping the little laminated cutout that fit around his doorknob so that it read Do Not Disturb in bold, intimidating type. “I haven’t the foggiest fucking clue”, he muttered aloud to the flowers on the wallpaper and nothing else in particular.

Christian slid open the mirrored door that granted access to the closet and snatched a complimentary robe from one of the coat hangers. It was white, fuzzier than he would have liked, and branded on the lapel with the Rennasaince Hotel’s insignia. Christian looped the robe’s cloth belt around his waist and tied it around his waist. So armed, he answered the door.

When he opened the door, Christian could only stand at the threshold in a bewildered silence. A throng of scantily clad women were lined along the opposing wall, forming a queue that trailed down the hallway and around the corner. One of the women stepped forward and inclined her head to the floor, so that instead of her eyes he could only see the top of her scalp. She had bright red hair and wore what ammounted to a torquoise string bikini—–they were all wearing the same bikini, as a matter of fact. He thought it might have been some sort of uniform, but he didn’t know of any hotel staff that wore /that/ to work.

“Missaru Wiryams! So happy for to take care you. My name is-a White Lotus. ”

“White Lotus? Er, can I help y—” He had been unable to complete the sentence. Before he could, the throng pressed forward. Each girl bowed as the first had as they went past him, uttering a brief “Hai!” in the process. Across the hall, a silver haired woman opened her room door open wide enough to see what all the commotion was about. The elderly woman wrinkled her nose at Christian and narrowed her eyes into a scowl before abruptly slamming her door shut.

“Hey-uh…ladies. I think you’ve got the wrong idea here. See, the thing is—WOAH. WHAT THE FUCK?” He had been so surprised that he hadn’t noticed before—–that, and he had made it a point not to gawk—–but these ‘women’ had an unsightly bulge in a place that, anatomically speaking, they should not. Some of them had facial hair and fur under the pits of their arms as well—-and these women were Asian, not French. One of the broads even had a stiffy!

White Lotus stepped forward, sporting a hard on that was all too visible beneath the thin fabric of her bikini. ” Mr. Wiryams, I hope you not fraid of Godzirra movies….”, she said, thrusting her pelvis forward.

“Oh-Kaaaay.” Christian stumbled back inside and made a bee-line to the phone, suddenly feeling woefully underdressed in his robe. One of the he/she/its gave his rear a slap as he hurried to the bedstand, and the stereotype of female Asian submissiveness disolved into cat calls.

“Hello?! Yeah, listen buddy, you have got——sure…..I’ll hold. ” Christian offered the transexual prostitutes a polite wave as he held the phone to his ear. They did not seem to notice, as they were all presently engaged in a massive pillow fight. Johnsons and testicles flopped freely as feathers drifted throughout the room.

“Yes, this is Christian McQueen….room 1122. No, I do not want to pay $75 dollars extra for wifi access——THE LINEN IS FINE, THANK YOU. BUT THAT IS NOT WHY I AM CALLING YOU. THERE ARE TWO DOZEN TRANNY PROSTITUTES IN MY SUITE AND I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW OR WHY THEY GOT HERE! ”

Christian plugs one finger into the ear not pressed against the phone, the better to drown out the caterwauling cackles of his guests. “What do you mean…you know. What sort of misunderstanding? I see. Uh-huh. Right. Oh. You’re going to comp me a day to make up for it? HOW IN THE FUCK DOES THAT SOLVE THE SITU—–NO, I DO NOT WANT BE TRANSFERRED TO ANOTHER DEPARTMENT!”

Christian slams the phone down and throws open his door. Now it is his turn to pound on someone else’s door—-room 1123 to be exact. “EXCUSE ME. I THINK YOUR PACK OF WHORES WAS DELIVERED TO MY ROOM BY MISTAKE.”

CharlotteCarrendar

842

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 24, 2013 01:59AM

Room #1123 – Bobby “Ace” Williams

It had been sometime since Bobby had ordered his Asian take out, and though he was expecting them to be knocking at his door just twenty minutes after he had called the Sun Le’s House of Pleasure, he lay in his bed waiting eagerly, only to see the illuminated digits on his bedside alarm clock go over an hour. Strange, they were usually a little more prompt than this. Picking up his puppy “Tread”, he gave him a bit of a cuddle, feeling a bit deflated he was not going to be getting any Asian pussy, when all of a sudden there was a mad rapping at his front door.

“EXCUSE ME. I THINK YOUR PACK OF WHORES WAS DELIVERED TO MY ROOM BY MISTAKE.”

Odd, that sounded awfully male, coming from outside his door. Dressed in just a pair of tidy whities, Bobby set down his puppy, and then ambled to the front door, rubbing his right eye with a closed fist. On reaching the door, he peered through the peep hole and on the other side he could see a very angry and flustered looking Christian McQueen, who was wearing a hotel toweling robe. What was he going on about; a pack of whores. Bobby had only ordered two of the south Korean specials.

Bobby unlocked his door, only to grin awkwardly at Christian. “You been enjoying some Asian flavour, Bro?” He tried to do a high five and then when he realized he was not going to get one in return, he self high fived and peaked out his door.

“I don’t see no whores? Are they in your room?” Bobby asked inquisitively, before curiosity got the better of him and he snuck down to #1122 and took a gander through the door. What he saw…made him suddenly gag. A group of scantily clad transvestite Asian hookers were dancing about in sapphire blue mankinis with their meat and two vege doing a thigh slapping routine that left him cold. He turned around from seeing the all Asian circus, and his face was like that of a ghost.

“Shit man. That’s not what I ordered. And I don’t think I want any of their deep fried dumplings either.” Bobby cringed and crept up past Christian to escape back into his own apartment. “Gosh, is that the time?. I need my sleep before time trials. Good luck getting rid of those skanks!” He cried, as he tried to slam his door and escape the madness.

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T1Legend

1

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 25, 2013 01:12AM

The Hallway – Christian McQueen

“Gosh, is that the time?. I need my sleep before time trials. Good luck getting rid of those skanks!”

Christian’s foot had wedged itself in Bobby’s door the instant he seemed remotely disinclined to continue the conversation. Bobby slammed the door and in turn the door bludgeoned his foot—-it would swell nicely within the next few minutes, to be sure. This was preferrable to whatever awaited him back in his own suite, however. Christian considered that he would have gladly given the foot up for amputation if it meant escape from that deranged orgy.

He took the opportunity to thrust his hand into the gap between the door and the frame—Bobby struck him as the sort of person who might continue slamming the door even with his foot in it. At that moment, a man dressed much as Christian was walked by. He carried a small container of ice in one hand, gripping it by the rim and swinging it ever so slightly with each step. His robe was pink, however.

And there was more than a skip in his step.

The man in the pink robe was not oblivious to the scene, either. His pace slowed as he had drawn near, and he eventually stopped in front of the door where Christian had literally put his best foot forward. The interloper viewed the pair with an expression of coy amusement. “Oh, my goodness. Lover’s spat? ” The man wagged his brows, and when he did they looked like wriggling caterpillars. Thick, wiry hairs sprouted out of the patch of chest not covered by his robe. He had a handlebar mustache that Tom Selleck would have envied, neatly trimmed to frame his upper lip.

“Listen darling,” the man with the impressive facial hair began. “I’ve been there and done that. If you can’t convince yourparamour to let you back in…..” The man leaned dangerously close, so close that Christian could feel the bristle of Quigley’s chest hairs. He would not be going down under anytime soon either, thank you very much. The prickly sensation made his skin crawl, but with his foot trapped in the door he was ill equipped to escape.

“I’m just down the hall. Room 1118. Stay fabulous, darlings! ” And with that, the Tom Selleck look alike continued on his merry way. Christian shoved at the door with the entirety of his weight rather than explaining it wasn’t what it looked like, hoping Bobby might be surprised enough by the sudden exertion that he could force his way in.

“I didn’t order any hookers. You did. The least you can do is provide me with sanctuary! The hotel must be hosting some kind of gay convention or something! Let me in, Goddamnit!” What the fuck was up with this place? Was RuPaul in town?

CharlotteCarrendar

842

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 25, 2013 01:59AM

Room #1123 – Bobby “Ace” Williams

Bobby was living a true nightmare, the only thing that could have made it worse, was if his manager Cynthia decided to come back up to check on him. Course, she wouldn’t do that, would she? Trying all he could to escape the gaggle of asian trannies that were tearing up Christian’s room, he sought to get back into his own apartment as quickly as possible. Little did he realize that Christian wanted to escape as well, going as far to wedge his foot in Bobby’s door to stop him from locking him out.

“Every man for himself!” Bobby squealed, with an unusually high pitch voice. Right on cue, one of Christian and Bobby’s neighbour’s came strolling past. A rather flamboyant gent in a very pink robe. With extra bushy brows, and bush in many other places that were plainly visible, he appeared to think that Christian and Bobby were having some sort of lover’s spat.

“Eh? No, this isn’t what it looks like.” Bobby lamented, still trying to shut his door. Only he saw the way that the Tom Sellek lookalike was leering all over Christian, and he had to admit for a moment, he actually felt sorry for him.

“I’m just down the hall. Room 1118. Stay fabulous, darlings! “ ‘Tom” chirped as he swanned his way back down the hall with fluid strut. Bobby shuddered seeing him finally leave, and was about to close the door on Chrisitan’s hand as well, when he heard that familiar screech.

“HOLD ON!”

~GASP!~ It was Cynthia. Suddenly, Bobby yanked the door open and went to grip Christian’s hand, to yank him into his room. It was one thing to escape the tranny hookers, it was another to escape Cynthia’s wrath. If Christian got pulled in, Bobby would try madly to lock the door, while down the hall, another door opened, and low and behold an aging 70’s pop group sensation came out. It was none other than the Village People.

The trannies heard the deep voices of the 80’s icons and all ran out of Christian’s room, squealing on the tops of their lungs.

“It’s da Viwwage People!!!” Turns out the hotel was having a gay convention, and the aging gay sensation was one of the main acts in the convention room down on the first floor.

Fighting her way through the gaggle of scantily clad girl boys, she barrelled up to Bobby’s door and hammered on it with her fist.

“I’m going to count to three….or so help me!”

<3>

T1Legend

1

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 25, 2013 02:36AM

Room #1123 – Christian McQueen 

Christian had lowered his shoulder into the door just as Bobby opened the door to pull him inside—–The Marlboro Man charged forward…..and kept right on charging. Fortunately, his progress was brought to a halt by room 1123’s Southerly wall. Christian slammed into it as though performing an upright (and dry) belly flop—-or a chest bump. He bounced off the wall and fell backward, landing on the floor with a resounding thud.

Someone was yelling, a puppy was licking his face, he could hear high-pitched screams in the hall, the lyrics to YMCA

(It’s fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A! It’s fun to staaaay at the Y-M-C-A!)

thundered against the walls, and there was only one rational recourse available to the two gentleman in room #1123.

” BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES! “

Either of Christian’s arms stretched backward behind his head, palms pressing into the ground while his legs lifted off the ground and his hips raised——launching him forward onto his feet, where he immediately shoved his hands against the end of the couch he had tripped over. Legs churning, he shoved the couch toward the door like a battering ram.”BRACE FOR IMPACT! ” It would serve as a decent barricade in the event of a homosexual invasion.

What to do now? He felt like one of the survivors in a zombie apocalypse movie. For now, it seemed as if the perimeter was secured…….

CharlotteCarrendar

842

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 25, 2013 02:56AM

Room #1123 – Bobby “Ace” Williams

“BOBBY WILLIAMS…YOU OPEN THIS DOOR!” Cynthia screeched, her knuckles turning white as she hammered away at the glossy oak door. Bobby looked like a possum that had been caught in the headlights of a Mack truck. He didn’t want to open the door, and he certainly didn’t want to embrace the cavalcade of Asian he she’s, Tom Selleck and an aging gay band.

Out in the hall you could hear squeals and a rough rendition of YMCA. What had happened to the world? Was there a memo that the whole world had turned gay overnight? This was a truly frightening prospect, and not only that, Bobby was standing there in just his Y front white jocks. He really did feel very vulnerable.

He turned his head sharply, to catch sight of Christian, who had landed rather awkwardly after his charge into the room at top speed. Tread, Bobby’s puppy was doing the usual welcoming, save the leg humping, and Bobby knew it was just the two of them against a furious manager and a madhouse hotel. The English ex Formula one racer looked set to burst into tears, as he kept his weight against the door, to try and stop Cynthia.

Fast as lightning, Christian bounded off the floor in an epic flip movement that even had Bobby startled. It was then when he shoved hard against the couch, like some line backer and it was barreling right for the door, Bobby jumped out of the way, and nodded furiously at Christian’s call to “BRACE FOR IMPACT!”

Now joining Christian in leaning hard up against the couch, Bobby suddenly realized who Christian was. “Cor…I know you, eh. You’re Christian McQueen.” He then stuck his hand out to shake. “Rotten way to meet….but I’m Bobby, Bobby Williams. Driver for Satan Records. And for the record…I’m not gay. Not like everyone out there!”

Outside the door, Cynthia was getting really pissed. “I’m going to charge the door!…1..2..3!” She ran at the door and hit it full on, only to fall straight back, since the door was weighted and nearly impossible to ram open from the outside.

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The Renaissance Hotel – No Limits.

Tags

Bobby Williams, CharlotteCarrendar, Comedy, Cynthia, driver, Humor, music, No Limits, party, press conference, Racing., Renaissance Hotel, Robbie Williams, role play., The Renaissance Hotel

LadyBelz

(RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 07, 2013 09:13PM

Located a few miles from the race tracks, The Renaissance Hotel houses national and international superstars to the racing circuit.

RESIDENTS:

Room #1123 – Bobby “Ace” Williams

CharlotteCarrendar

842

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 08, 2013 07:11AM

Room #1123 – Bobby “Ace” Williams

~Knock…knock…knock~ “Bobby?…Bobby, open the door, its Cynthia.”

Inside on the massive king sized bed was Bobby….and three race track groupies, all naked of course. Under the pile, was a disheveled looking Bobby, who groggily held his head up out of the melee, and had one eye open. ~Shit..its Cynthia~ he thought, then slammed his right hand to his temple. Oh….the pain of a hangover. It had been one hell of a party…least what he remembers. He remembers kissing a girl, not..having sex with all three. Some must have crawled in a bit later. Yeah, that’s a good story. Gently drawing back the arms of the trackside lovelies, who each moaned softly as he crawled out of bed, he looked back and sighed. Going to be fun when they wake up.

~SLAM SLAM SLAM~ “BOBBY..you have a press conference in….30 minutes. Answer the door, or I call security.”Cynthia sung out, now getting really annoyed. Starkers, he wandered through the broken glass, streamers, cake, and other bodies, till he got to the door and opened it partially.

“Shit…you woke me up. What press conference?”“Bobby said irritably, giving his nuts a scratch in plain sight of her. Cynthia pushed the door open and then gaped wide eyed at the state of his penthouse.

“The….press conference about you giving up the BOOZE AND DRUG LIFESTYLE…oh fuck me life.” Cynthia said, bringing up her hands to her face, as Bobby looked sheepish.

“Want some cornflakes first?”

CharlotteCarrendar

842

Re: (RP) The Renaissance Hotel

November 08, 2013 08:57AM

The Conference Room

The lightbulbs were flashing madly, as Cynthia led a sunglass wearing Bobby into the conference room, and up to the front table, where other sponsers were already seated, in anticipation of Bobby Williams first press conference since being in the US and part of the national racing touring car championships. Bobby did the V for victory signal with his right hand, while Cynthia smiled brightly, though she squinted through it all. This was going to be torture, and not just for her.

Once seated, Bobby picked up the mic and pointed to the first reporter.

“You have a question, Miss?”

“Joanne Anderson, Burnout Weekly…is it true that since arriving on American soil, that you have already been arrested for possession of narcotics, after your trip to Vegas?”

Bobby was about to answer, with a dumb expression, when Cynthia grabbed the mic and growled at Bobby to sit, through gritted teeth. “Ahaha…that was a look a like, yes Bobby has some crazed fans that look..just like him and the whole thing was a stunt by a certain television network, who we are currently suing so we can’t comment. Next question, please? Yes, man in black at the back.”

“Bobby…how does it feel to now be downgraded from formula one to nascar…you must be pretty dissapointed.”

Bobby’s face fell, as the mention of him being thrown off the Formula 1 circuit, hit him hard.

“Well….Mother always said, when life throws lemons at you…to suck harder. So…here I am, ready to suck it up, and show all you yanks how it’s done. If only you could drive on the right side of the road. Man…I have written off five hire cars in a week.”

Cynthia face palmed, as Bobby grinned at a small female reporter, who was struggling to be seen, her hand in the air.

“Go ahead short stuff, what’s buttering your muffin?”

“Errr…Sally Winters, Muscle Cars Monthly. Is it true you knocked up the Mayor’s sixteen year old daughter?”

At this, the conference went into meltdown, as Bobby asked.

“She said she was 18…ENTRAPMENT…EN-BLOODY-TRAPMENT!”

Cynthia was madly trying to get the mic back, as security had to be called to deal with the out of control crowd of reporters.

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