<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Original</div><div class="spoiler_body">"heads up" read the text from Alyson. While the message was short enough, Tyson barely had enough time to read it before the phone started ringing. This time it was Mike's cell. "Ty-Dy! There's some shit going on over at Candy Bar in the U-District. Jasper isn't in, nobody can reach him, and his assistant is up in Eugene visiting family or something. Linds called me, one of the strippers is upset about something, I can't get this figured out right now, Alyson and me are over here at Beacon tryin'a get some stuff sorted with these guys, so she can't even go talk to her. Can you get over there, sort this out right now? It's fuckin' Tuesday, so strippers and door charges are all we're makin' for the day."<br/><br/>He didn't sound angry, but he did sound a little irritated about this. And Tuesday and Thursday were 18+ instead of 21+ at the Candy Bar in the U-District, so as to not exclude half the college students from giving Magic Productions their money in some manner.<br/></div></div><br/>Tuesday 5:04, usually Tyson’s day off. With the club jobs’ various pays, he was able to quit his day job and pay rent, maybe later save some for the community college. Tyson had just walked in from the metro, a couple days worth of groceries (and tequila) in tow. After freeing up his arms, placing the bags on and around the kitchen counter, he pulled out his Kyocera, read the massage and texted back.<br/><br/>“{Jasper is a dickhead. Told u so. OMW. Is this “speed here ASAP” probz or can I take the metro? (15mins) Is this a “Keep da peace” or a “Go Ironman?}” Sent.<br/><br/>…<br/><br/>“{PS: Im sure Jasper IS in… 1 of your strippers… Hes a dickhead.}” Sent.<br/><br/>He placed his phone on the counter as well, as he grabbed one of his stripped button ups for the event and placed it atop a chair. He tossed his ratty “Childish Gambino” T-Shirt from around his head, tossing it onto the couch.<em>I’ll get it later…</em>He probably wont get it until wash day…<br/><br/>He looked around for a few items that he kept on hand: His flashlight-baton was strapped to his side via a bicycle clip, folded in on itself. It has a mechanism where you can fling it forward to lock it in place. In his back pocket was his multitool, because no stage-hand leaves without it. Earplugs and glowsticks were always on him somewhere, so no worries about that.<br/><br/>He grabbed his phone again, this time texting Alyson, “{Keep me posted. Which of your girls are probz? Also which ones are DL thots? Gotta watch 4 them…}”<br/><br/>He looked down near his sofa, making sure he had Ironman in the house instead of the car. “Ironman” was what he dubbed his kevlar vest that he wears somewhat often to various places, especially if Magic told him to go. Sometimes the occasion calls for you to "suit up." Makes him look bigger anyway.<br/><br/>He tossed his beater off towards the t-shirt. He then grabbed his phone, waiting for a reply while putting away anything spoilable that he just bought from the store. He looked at the bottle of 1800 Gold, saying “There’s always tomorrow night…”<br/><br/>Since he was shirtless anyway Tyson, he snapped a shirtless pic of himself from his entrance mirror to Alyson with the caption underneath, “{I could be working 4 u, you kno…}” Not really, his thin but somehow present muscles and his bird chest with no tone wouldn’t get anybody’s juices flowing. If he doesn’t have a chance to talk them out of their panties, odds are it’s not happening. Oh well, maybe for Geek Week…<br/><br/>...Sent...