Casino Comic Con

NOTE:

I generally don't do requests, mostly because if I'm not excited for a project, it's hard for me to commit the time and efforts.

BUT... this was an idea that popped into my head that really made me laugh, but it could also be work-shopped to fit a suggestion from a fan.

And if I could both fulfill this twisted fantasy AND entertain a loyal reader who feeds my ego with kind words (and an attraction to

Galloway

), then all the better.

That being said... enjoy!

(Also, you're going to have to forgive a few errors, since many of these pop culture references in this story did not exist in the time period when Galloway and I... er I mean *Quinn*... were casino security.)

So... there's this horror video game (that I won't name) that made it big recently. The general premise is you're the overnight security guard at a dingy old Chuck-E-Cheese venue. And each night, the creepy 1980's animatronic characters come to life, climb off their stage, and attempt to kill you.

A bit cheesy, yes, but you have to admire the fact that it made the creator— an independent programmer— a millionaire overnight. It was wildly successful, giving way to dozens of sequels, spin offs, merchandise, cartoons, comics, and... well... costumes.

By now, you're asking yourselves "What the fuck does that have to do with casino security?" Or, more importantly, "What the fuck does that have to do with security officers Scott Quinn and Kate Galloway?"

Well, once the hotel officially opened to the public, there was also a convention hall within that would occasionally sell out to companies on team building retreats, wedding receptions, and yes... nerdy comic cons.

A video game where you play as a security guard, a comic convention in our casino, and weirdos in costume... are you starting to see where I'm going with this?

This was certainly a new one for me. And I'm not talking about weird fetish-related group sex.

I've never been to a comic convention, nor have I really had the interest. Don't get me wrong, I can enjoy and appreciate Batman, or Star Wars, or any other movie that appeals to the kid in us. But I also don't make it a lifestyle.

My partner, Kate Galloway, is much the same way. She can nerd out and watch most movies— her favorites surprisingly were military-based. Rambo and Platoon (to name a few). I'll never forget the first time I had her over to my place for a beer and movie night. She browsed my DVD collection and gasped when she saw I had the Rambo collection— particularly the 4th one. "I have so much more respect for you, now that I know you have this." Ever the smart ass, but she was being serious.

But like me, even her favorite movies and video games never appealed to her enough to dress up for them.

On this particular night, I think Officer Kate Galloway appealed to the virginal nerds at the convention much more than their movies did. Galloway was a hottie. Definitely the envy of any horny casino guest or employee with a wandering eye.

Picture a 23 year old Neve Campbell (circa about 1998 or so)— with dark features, eyes that squint cutely and naturally, add Lauren Graham's wild curly hair, dye it to an exaggerated shade of raspberry red, and you have her face. Her face alone was enough to make this girl my biggest crush the instant that we met and became buddies. But her body was rocking. She was tall, about 5'9" and in pretty damn good shape. A great frame with a bigger than average ass, solid thighs with heavy muscle and the hints of definition. A pair of C-cup breasts, with pink puffy nipples (and yes, I've seen them many times at this point). She had a few tattoos scattered about— ankle, shoulder blade, hip, and bicep, as well as a few choice piercings.

Drape that body in a bright blue (and somewhat ugly) "Police" looking uniform with flashy security badge, radio, duty belt, and casino insignia. And tack on the demeanor of a lady cop. When she spoke, her voice was dry, with periodic hints of sarcasm, and the ability to curse like a sailor. Her facial mannerisms were carefully controlled. She had a good poker face, and her ice blue eyes revealed nothing about what went on in her head.

When we first met, I commented that (except for her choice in hair color), she looked, spoke, and carried herself like a female cop. "Thank you," she said, with a half smirk and an amused squint to her eyes as she assessed me. "I went to school to be a cop. So that's what I was going for."

"Yet you ended up here," I said, sitting beside her in the same orientation classroom on the day we were both hired.

"So?" She arched her eyebrow. She wasn't offended. She was testing to see where I was going with this.

"So, it looks like we both make shitty choices."

I think most strangers would find a comment like that offensive. Instead, she snickered.

"We're two peas in a pod then," she replied.

Indeed, she was right. We were instant friends, and thankfully the managers had kept us together— assigning us as partners to almost every posting. We got to know each other, and we grew tight. On our days off, we'd go out for beers, or get take out.

Despite her best efforts to hide her emotions, Galloway wasn't hard to read once you got a feel for her. A tiny smirk when she was amused, or a twitch at the corner of her mouth if she was pissed, or a glazed expression to her eye if she was turned on— which I've had the privilege of seeing more times than I ever thought I would.

We didn't start out as an item. We both dated around, hooking up with other people. For the longest time, Galloway was simply my crush. Maybe it was inevitable, but through a series of events, we started fucking each other— especially on the job. God knows there was ample opportunities at this place. The shifts were long and especially boring— there was a lot of down time as we waited for serious incidents to happen. So to make the time go faster, we'd often find a discreet place to slip off to and fuck each other's brains out.

In bed, her abilities matched her hair. She was certainly a wild one.

To be honest, we never actually classified what we were. We weren't an exclusive "couple". We fucked other people... but yet even if we weren't involved in each other's flings, we always came back to each other— often to fool around while trading wild stories. I think it was our connection that prioritized each other over anyone else. I didn't worry that some hunky stud would steal her from me, and she didn't worry I'd fall for some other girl. We might fuck them, yes, but whatever I had with Galloway wouldn't be broken by someone else. I guess that's what our partnership meant to us.

Either that, or me and Galloway were just too damn easy-going for exclusive relationships. It's hard to be jealous when we're musing and trading stories about slutting around over beers after work.

***

Anyway, now that I've thoroughly bored you readers by repeating my description and back history of my partner (for what is probably the sixth time since I started chronicling our debauchery), back to the story...

"Oh my god," Kate Galloway muttered beside me. "It's like a freakin' cabaret in here."

We both stood frozen in the doorway to the main conference hall. Neither of us had actually seen it finished. The room was huge, adorned in shades of light grays and blues. But that's not what drew our attention.

The room was filled with tables and booths— like an over-sized cubicle maze in any office setting. Only, these cubicles were filled with anything comic, movie, or video game related. There were toys by the boat load, libraries of comic books, a few tables with B-grade actors (that I've never heard of) signing autographs. There were also people by the volumes. And of all of the people who came and went, almost all of them were in some sort of costume, face paint, or goofy outfit.

Superheroes were the most prevalent. But there were also Sci-fi characters from popular fiction, a few characters from TV (I recognized a couple from a zombie show that I absolutely despised), and many more dressed like big fuzzy mascots.

"I never thought I'd say this, but for once, we're not the most absurdly dressed ones in a room," Galloway commented, staring around with a bewildered expression at all of the people coming and going. Indeed, our uniforms often looked (and felt) silly, and Galloway made her distain for them no secret. They were light blue, and made us look like cops in a porno movie with a shitty budget.

"If you want, we can blend in. We'll just have find you a metal bikini to wear," I said distantly. I was equally caught off guard by the sights and sounds around us.

"I've got the hair for it, tonight," Galloway commented. Although Galloway usually threw her maroon hair into a loose ponytail while on duty, tonight she'd branched out by complete coincidence. She was sporting a pair of tight braided pigtails— but not like Pippie Longstocking, as most people would picture. Instead they actually looked kind of tough and military-like.

"Princess Leia never braided her hair into pigtails, moron," I responded. "You look more like Cammy from that Street Fighter movie... if Cammy ever dyed her hair that ridiculous shade of purple."

"It's raspberry, moron. And it really troubles me that you know that, Quinn," She responded.

"Oh, c'mon. Everyone knows how Princess Leia looked in every movie."

"That's not what I meant, ass hat. What disturbs me is that you know that god-awful video game movie."

"Obviously you do too," I smirked. "Otherwise, how would you know it was bad?"

Her cheeks reddened slightly. "Shut up," she said and rested her shoulder against mine, giving me a little shove to throw me off my balance.

The truth was, we weren't really here to enjoy the sights. And we also weren't here to keep the peace. I was pretty sure it wasn't necessary. I couldn't see a bunch of Star Wars geeks being a threat to anyone, really.

We were on door-duty tonight. A pair of double doors led from the convention hall out onto the main gambling floor. And, even though the casino had agreed to allow a comic con on its property, the executives were super up-tight about the costumed characters— particularly people wearing masks and face paint. They weren't so much worried that these goof balls would conceal their faces in order to rob us. The worry was that people under the legal gambling and drinking age would conceal their age with a mask, in order to get out onto the gaming floor and indulge. The legal age to gamble and drink (in our state, anyway) was 21. If you were 18 to 20, you were shit out of luck— even though you were old enough to vote and die for your country.

(Counter intuitive, huh? If "Hell is the impossibility of reason" then truly this casino WAS hell... because nothing ever made sense.)

But if anyone under 21 got out onto the gaming floor, the casino would get hit with an automatic fine (usually something in the neighborhood of 50K). So for that reason, they needed a pair of guards at the door to the convention. If one of the comic book nerds wanted to come out onto the gambling floor, we'd have to ask them to remove their mask or face paint.

I'm not making this shit up either, for the story. It was the same song and dance at Halloween, too.

Tonight, Vic put me and Galloway on door duty.

Not that we had to be super vigilant. I think most of these people were too timid to even approach the door with us there. Even though I was generally filled with dark cynical humor, my face often told the story of a man who wanted a drink and to be anywhere else. And Galloway... well any smokin' hot girl who carries herself with as much confidence as my partner does, is bound to keep the introverts at bay.

Although she did earn a few glances. Quite a few.

It seemed that every other passerby couldn't resist casting a tentative glance at Galloway. She knew it was happening too, and whenever she caught one, she'd offer a polite smile. In my opinion, they should have taken it as a victory, since Galloway isn't nearly as welcoming towards people. But she always did have a soft spot for nervous kids with no confidence.

(I say "kid" loosely— these were all adults mostly in their late teens, or early twenties. But between their meek statures, small physiques, and the way they carried themselves with a complete lack of confidence, it's easy to see why I reflexively call them that.)

At one point, a kid in a pilot's jumpsuit (I'm guessing from Star Wars) walked past and made the mistake of making eye contact with Galloway. She offered him a smile. "Hi," she said.

He immediately blushed. "Hi," he stammered, before darting away.

"Wow," Galloway remarked to me. "Am I really that scary?"

"Totally," I grinned. "A real ball buster."

"That's me," she beamed. "I actually feel kind of bad... but kind of flattered. These guys look at me like some sort of goddess."

"Oh crap. That's all you need is an ego trip," I rolled my eyes.

"Would it kill you to look at me that way?" she smirked.

"Pay better attention, moron. I used to look at you like that all the time."

She was shocked. "When?"

"Back before I saw you naked."

She punched me in the shoulder... hard.

I resisted the urge to rub the bruise. "No, I just mean I was crushing on you pretty hard. Now that I can admit it to you, it's way less awkward for me."

"Good save, asshole. Maybe I'll go chase down that Star Wars nerd and make you jealous. ...Assuming he doesn't run away from me."

"I don't think it'll go well. You're an attractive woman who's being nice to him. He's probably wondering where the punch-line is."

"That is so cruel, Quinn."

"I'm being serious," I responded. "I was a total nerd in my younger years. Believe me, I know."

"You're still a nerd."

"No, I'm mean literally. From 5th grade through 9th, I was the fat kid in class. I had braces, and I had these huge coke-bottle glasses," I explained.

"No fuckin' way."

"Next time you come over, I'll pull out my old photo albums," I was being serious. "My point is, even at that age, I knew I was a big fat dork that pretty girls didn't want to be seen with. So when one would approach me and start talking, it was because there was some cruel joke about to be made."

"But I'm not going to do that," Galloway said.

"They don't know that."

"So what changed for you?" Galloway cocked her eyebrow.

"Lasik cured the big glasses, weight loss made me skinny, and some time with the Army gave me confidence."

"The Army?" Galloway was surprised. "You never told me about that."

"I never told you I was fat either, until just now."

"Touche."

I was dismissive about my time in the military. I didn't like to talk about it for many reasons. But my top reason was— it was none of anyone's business. Unlike the other guys in security who would embellish every little reservist stint like it was Special Forces. They did it to pick up women and score free respect points from their peers. I didn't need either. And usually if I was asked, it was easier to tell them that I was never military, than to answer the slew of questions that followed.

Thankfully, Galloway knew enough about me to not pry.

But she was a little looser in this environment now that I gave her the explanation about the nerds around us. I wasn't blowing smoke. It had come from a place of personal insight.

As the night went on, I came to realize that this was actually one of the more enjoyable postings that I'd had in a long time. Galloway and I stood beside the main doors. We didn't feel like we were under the watchful eyes of the cameras or the uppity patrons. People paid us no mind, so we were pretty free. We were subtle about it, but we sang along to the overhead songs that we knew.

We listened to "Sympathy For the Devil" and chimed in with the chorus of "Woo hoo"s. We bumped asses together, dancing to Ace of Base. When Breaking Benjamin played overhead, Galloway swooned.

"I would have Benjamin's Babies," she told me.

Galloway let herself be a little more approachable to the folks at the convention. Not that they approached her. But she tried.

A few times, she walked up to clusters of guests. "Hey guys, do you want me to take a group picture of you all?" She would ask. If they were guys, they would blush, but they would oblige.

Even though the crowd was predominately male, periodically there were women at the convention too— enjoying the excuse to dawn a costume as well. Most were with guys— probably just friends.

Once in a while, Galloway would try to grow bold. "I think she likes you," she would whisper and wink to one of the guys in the company of a girl.

I shook my head at her in those circumstances. "Probably best if you don't. It could ruin the friendship."

She sighed. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink."

"Galloway, you have a big heart, I'll give you that." I said.

She flinched. "What? No I don't"

"Oh c'mon. Yes you do. Somewhere beneath that stoic ice-bitch personality is a big marshmallow. I appreciate what you're trying to do for these guys. It's very sweet. But the best thing is for them to learn to fly, all on their own."

She shrugged. "I guess I'm like a mamma bird."

"I remember you taught Officer Wade to fly," I grinned.

Galloway drifted off at the memory. "That a was fun night," she admitted. I could see the gears turning behind those icy eyes. That night we had helped out a friend who was down in the dumps about a girl who was playing head games. Rather... *Galloway* had helped. Wade wasn't exactly virginal, and he was a good looking guy. He was just too nice for his own good. Galloway had fucked his brains out. Well... both of our brains out. It was her first time experiencing double penetration, and she had taken it like a champ.

I watched her for a minute. Again, she wasn't hard to read, once you knew the subtleties of Kate Galloway's mannerisms. She was replaying that night in her head. And I could tell by the very discreet way that she nibbled the corner of her pouty lips... she was getting a little turned on by thinking about it.

"I know that look," I said to her.

She tore herself away from her memories, snapping back to reality. "Shut up. No you don't." She reddened.

I inched closer and lowered my voice. "So you're

not

thinking about the way you straddled Wade's lap and rode him, while I slipped in behind you, took you by the hips, and the two of us made a Kate sandwich?"

The shade of red on her cheeks deepened. "That was fun," she giggled a little, but shoved me away. "I know what you're trying to do, asshole."

"What am I trying to do?" I played coy.

"You're trying to get me all hot and bothered, so I put out for you later."

"Maybe I am. Is it working?" I grinned.

"Maybe if you throw on a metal bikini..." Galloway grinned wide enough to reveal her teeth.

"I'm not amused," I remarked. We were both content to let it rest.

***

We stood for a while, people watching and assessing their outfits and costumes. Most of the movie references we (shamefully) got.

The few women who dressed up for the convention that were good looking, often were displaying copious amounts of cleavage. Galloway snickered each time she caught me looking.

"I'm not sure I understand those costumes," Galloway said as a group walked past us. They were dressed like various animals— head to tow, in big fluffy Disney like costumes. They looked like they should be jumping around at a football game.

"Furries," I responded with an amused half-smirk.

"What the hell is that?"

"You don't want to know."

Galloway rolled her eyes and sighed. "Oh god. That means it's like a sex thing, doesn't it?" That was my usual reply whenever Galloway was asking me about a sexual term that could be found on urban dictionary.