Topic: Tha' Fing Politicians Do..

Mischief

Date: 2007-12-19 17:27 EST
All right, all right... So he was a little bit on the slacker side.

Or a lot on the slacker side. It had been over a week since he'd spoken with the musician that he sought and it wasn't until today that he finally made his way over to the studio. So, cigarette in mouth, he approached the building.

The door was shouldered open since his hands were stuffed into the pockets of torn up jeans. He hardly looked the part of someone running for office, but.. that was the beauty of it, no?

"Shi'," a pause. He wasn't sure on the smoking etiquette here, so as the door fell shut, he caught it with his toes. Handy things, those dragony feet. The stick was pinched and sent hurdling into the glistening white of the outside before pivoting to face his original destination: The desk.

The long sleeves of his jersey-style shirt were pushed up furry gray forearms as he neared the brute with hair reminiscent of his own. The jackal smirked, dipped his snout even. There was something comforting about the place. Familiar...not that he'd ever been here.

"Oy ma'e.. Kea'on aroun'?"

Keaton

Date: 2007-12-19 17:54 EST
As per habit, Taylor stares like a deer in headlight at the stranger, even more bugged out because he's a jackal. The mohawk, though, acts like a peace pipe. "Nice 'do, bro," he says, and then hollers over his shoulder, "OI!"

"Shut the **** up, Taylor!" a voice replies, once more with heavy emphasis on the four-letter-word of four-letter-words. "Christ, man..." Soon, Keaton emerges, and grins when he sees Stitch. He skips the handshake and goes for the pound. " 'Sup, man. How's the campaign trail treatin' ya?" His eyes are... hmm... a little red.

Mischief

Date: 2007-12-20 19:20 EST
"An' yours as well," he replied before the jackal's ears swivelled back to lay flat at the exchanged shouting.

Eyes lifted from the desk man to his requested company. The greeting was welcomed and returned, a wide grin spreading across his maw as he noted the red-eyed, super-smiley expression. "No' bad, ma'e. Bunch o' people promisin' this n' tha'--i's all bullshi' really. M'finkin' o' graffi'i'in up th' ci'y in place o' posters. An'way, came t' harass ye abou' tha' advertisin' fing.. Oh, n' the back door t' England ye were babblin' abou'." He paused and looked between Taylor and Keaton. "Cin I smoke in 'ere?"

Keaton

Date: 2007-12-22 17:48 EST
Taylor shrugs, and Keaton says, "Sure, in the lobby and my office. C'mon," he says, waving him on as he moves down the hallway.

"The back door is in a dingy seaside bar called the Jumping Bass. Open the supply closet on the third quarter 'a the hour - but you can return through it anytime."

He opens the door into his office and moves to his desk to clean up some of the 'tools of the trade' still laid out. "How much advertisin' were you thinkin' of doin'?"

Mischief

Date: 2007-12-29 18:47 EST
He followed down the hallway, lighting up as soon as he dug the pack out of his pocket. Ears perked to the closet's directions, then the jackal chuckled inwardly.

He flopped onto a chair upon entering the office as smoke was shot off to the side in a thin stream. "I dinnae abou' this stuff. I figger.. 'Nuff t' be 'eard wiffou' bein' annoyin' abou' i'. Wha'e'er tha' means." Slender brows lifted and he leaned forward to ash into the nearest tray.

Keaton

Date: 2008-01-06 22:41 EST
He nudges the ashtray over towards Stitch, and tugs at one of his bangs while he thinks the whole thing over. Which doesn't take very long.

"You want a message several times a week? I can put it on 'round the pug match coverage on Saturdays, an' whenever else our sports guy, Madssen, goes on the air." He grins. "Get the feelin' a lotta RhyDin's anarchists are gonna be pug fans, too - helluva sport."