Overheat [kinnporsche & vegaspete]

the long, black, flared skirt

___

Hot and sunny as the day was, they made it through city traffic, riding down the busy street that led into the Graham Blitz Hotel front parking lot. With lots of fans present, flags and pictures of multiple celebrities lined the sides of the road. A stream of barriers was put up by the hotel, with security helping to keep people on the pavement and out of the way. But also, out of the parking lot because it would be too easy to block guests trying to get into the hotel.

Vegas hummed and nodded, watching a particular part of the crowd in front of the building as it grew, and grew some more. He wasn't really listening to the conversation in the car because it was a useless conversation. Porsche got mouthy when he was being a coward and Vegas wasn't in the mood to engage his faculties to indulge Porsche's bullshit.

He was more worried about the angry men and women who were definitely not fans. The group of people who'd been quiet and few, in the beginning, but had been growing in number, placards in their hand filled with offensive words and phrases. A display of human hate.

They had chosen to mount their protest that day, in front of the Graham Blitz hotel because the cast and crew for a controversial stage play were starting their six-month long camp. As if they thought that a drama that portrayed a positive, happy ending between two omegas would somehow destroy traditional family values. As if they thought that everyone who participated in such an endeavour was an abomination for viewing same-presenting adult relationships as valid.

They didn't spend as much time on adulterers and rapists and pedophiles, as they spent on a fictional play about two omegas. Just because they believed that traditional pairs were supposed to be between people of different presentations, they coated thier ignorance and hate in righteous protest, flinging insults at the cast and crew as they made their way into the hotel.

Unfortunately, freedom of speech was still a thing. The bigots with the placards could write and say whatever the fuck they wanted. Sure as Porsche could say whatever useless thing he wanted to say to stall going into the hotel.

"You know," Vegas said, cutting into what Porsche was going to say next. "That you could just go in through the back."

"No," Porsche said, tapping his hands on the dashboard. "Everyone knows I'm in this play. If I don't enter through the front..." He licked his lips, pressed together and shook his head. "I'm going in through the front. Make sure you take good pictures."

"For the last time," Vegas said. "I'm not managing you. I'm not even camping with you. Toss is staying."

"Yes, Phi," Toss, the smiling boy in the backseat said, leaning between the two of them in the front. "I'm here for you, Phi-Porsche."

"Well Toss, take good pictures." Porsche clapped his hands. "Okay then, let's go."

Vegas restarted the car.

He had things to do. Businesses to run. Assholes to frighten. The fact that he'd taken the day to drive Porsche down here should have been enough to tell this ingrate in the passenger seat that Vegas couldn't afford him any more favors. But this was just like Porsche to assume and expect and take up every ounce of Vegas' time.

Really, Vegas didn't spoil any of his other artists like this.

Porsche took out his jar of suppressants from his bag, unscrewed the cover as he popped two tablets into his mouth.

"Tell me I want to do this."

"You want to do this," Vegas said, going through his own schedule in his head.

"Tell me I'll be great."

"You'll be great."

"Do you think so?" Porsche asked.