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Antonio Redding

"You're an idiot if you think that I'm a nice guy."

0 · 590 views · located in Budapest, Hungary

a character in “Luna Brilla”, as played by katyisaladybug



"The greatest minds cause the greatest catastrophes."



{ N A M E }
Antonio Sebastian Redding

{ N I C K N A M E }
There's Sexy Sebby (which comes from his middle name, Sebastian), Redding, Doctor Redding, Red, and Red the Receptionist. As for his first name, just Antonio is enough. We all know what happened the last time someone called him "Tony"...

{ N A T I O N A L I T Y }
American. Born and raised in the slums of Elizabeth, New Jersey: considered to be the armpit of the United States.

{ A G E }

{ S E X U A L I T Y }

{ R O L E }
Receptionist for the Luna Brilla Hostel. He's the first person the guests say 'hello' to.

About a year or so.




{ E Y E S }
His irises are an inky black color, while the the whites of his eyes are milky and dry-looking. Sometimes clad with hipster glasses, as he is near-sighted.

{ H A I R }
Dark, slightly curly, and always stuck to the top of his head.

{ H E I G H T }
Quite tall: 6'5''.

{ W E I G H T }
A grown man never reveals his weight to a stranger.

{ V O I C E }
Deep and masculine, Redding has one of those great voices that no matter what he says, he can always make people laugh when he wants them to.

{ S C A R S }
None, which is odd considering the fact that he's brutally harmed himself many times just doing mundane tasks.

{ T A T T O O S }
He's got a large cobra tattoo on his left shoulder, and a black skull on his right wrist. He jokes that he'd be a death eater if the two were combined.

{ S T Y L E }
Always clad in some sort of suit whenever he's working at reception. Some days he'll be wearing a full-blown tux, while other days he'll be wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a blazer. As for his dress once his shift is over, you can always expect to see him in skater shirts with vibrant prints or simple tanks, baggy pants, and the occasional baseball cap over his head. One quirky thing about Antonio is that he's got a collection of really awesome socks. He's got pizza socks, Bob Marley socks, Lord of the Rings socks...he literally has socks for every occasion. On cloudy days, he enjoys stuffing himself into comfy knitted sweaters like a kitten.




A proud Rastafarian with a degree in business from Harvard University, Antonio Redding is a hardworking employee by day and a ferocious party boy by night. He's a perfect mix of lighthearted and down-to-earth, and with his humorous speech, charming style and friendly approach to everything, it's almost impossible not to like him. He's the king of sarcasm, the lord of uncontrollable laughter, and possibly the duke of breakdancing. He takes his liquor like a champ, and never shies away from a challenge, especially if its one that involves eating things. He likes striped sweaters, quoting Shakespeare, long walks on the beach and car commercials featuring sexy women who are forced to recite terribly-written monologues. It's remarkable that even though he favors roughhousing, getting drunk and fooling around with his friends till the wee hours of the morning, he still manages to walk through life with an IQ of 145. He's reliant on luck and high on life, and no one is ever going to bring him down.

He's also probably high on something else. Yes - despite the fact that he graduated college 3rd in his class, Antonio always finds ways to sneak weed into Luna Brilla, and often deals them out to guests and co-workers behind Tati Laurido's back. In fact, he used to be a full-fledged drug dealer until the FBI began sniffing him out, causing him to fake his own death, change his name, and move to Budapest. 'How was he able to do that' you may be asking? Well, Antonio's got connections all over the world. Mob members, CEO's, celebs and politicians; he's like a real-life Bruce Wayne without the bat suit and millionaire status. Ask him for anything, and his 'friends' will go get it for you in less than a week. Selling drugs had its benefits, and being able to shake hands with the rich and powerful was definitely one of them.

Still, he's not a complete scoundrel. He's still got a heart of gold and a kind, polite disposition when it comes to mingling with the opposite sex. He's cynical and calculating, and because he can read people like a book, he's always able to figure out when to charge into a situation and when to lay back. Most of the time, he'll just go with the flow. Although he might arguably be the person at Luna Brilla with the most credit to his name, he's more of a follower than a leader, and doesn't think of himself as anything more than an overworked receptionist with a pearly-white smile always plastered to his face.



Despite the fact that he lived in a crappy city with little money and two brothers to take care of while his parents were at work, Antonio had a relatively happy childhood.

So begins...

Antonio Redding's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Elise Solomon Character Portrait: Tati Laurido Character Portrait: Antonio Redding Character Portrait: Cameron R. Character Portrait: Deacon Beauchene Character Portrait: Max Evans
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ImageMornings were the best part of Tati’s day, the routine was a comfort. She was usually the first to wake, she would make herself a cup of tea, unlock the balcony and sit out for the first cigarette of the day. It was the rare moments of silence she was able to experience, living in a hostel. She would climb up to a cozy flat spot on the roof and look out onto the sunrise, every morning, reminding herself where she was. It was easy to forget her fortune, lost in the endless stream of lost souls who distracted themselves with alcohol and sex. It took one to know one, she would remind herself - Tati just had to live well aware of her own shortcomings.

When her watch would beep her second alarm, that meant it was time to wake the others. Some of the hostel workers shared rooms, only those who had been around for years were privy to their own private suite. The rooms were decorated with flags of their own countries or sport teams, photos of their travels or their time here. Most of them had fashioned curtains to hide behind, occasionally some of them had an extra limb or two of the lucky guest of the night. It wasn’t Tati’s business, it was her business to get them to work.

Placing her cup on a desk in the reception room, she grabbed the task clipboards to start her rounds. Reception had the responsibility to start the free breakfast of boiled eggs, cereal, toast and marmalade - a standard cheap European meal. Tea and coffee were a given, but the guests had access to that 24/7, more or less. She double checked which beds had to be redressed, which beds had to be empty by check out and which should be left alone. It was details like these that often went overlooked, but without them the hostel would crumble. She hadn’t appreciated the assistant director before her enough before he left, now living a cushy life in Australia nursing his foot back to health.

Now Tati had to be the one to run operations, as much as she wanted to be the one still passed out in her bed. She threw open the doors of each room and turned on the light, she found her workers only responded to a rude awakening. β€œGet up bitches, time to work.” Her accent was thick, making bitches sound more like beaches, something most people got a kick out of. Despite having studied English all of her life, Tati had never shook her heavy Argentine accent - nor would she want to. As Tati would say, ”I am Argentine, why would I want to sound like anything else.

She hung the clipboard by the door for staff to begin their daily chores. β€œOh Max, by the way you have laundry duty today.” She left on that note, then went on to do the same process to awake the occupants of the other staff rooms.

Tati had to appreciate her staff, despite their own faults, they were good workers, good people. Each of them came from different points of the globe, unique and essential. They had grown to be a family of sorts, she would even venture as far to say her children. She felt confident leaving the hostel in their hands if needed be.

Some guests had began to loiter in the common area, the look of misery on their face only proved the night before as a success. It had been open mic at the bar below, staff and guests alike were open to work the instruments and strut their stuff. It usually lead to belligerent behavior, as did every night in Budapest. When Tati had spent her time here as a guest she was able to enjoy such nights more. Now she had to babysit the lot, make sure they didn’t break anything or make babies on hallowed ground (which just meant her passing out condoms).

”Hey Tati, where’s breakfast?” slurred a guest, obviously desperate for some toast to soak up the remaining alcohol from the night before.

She grinned, ”9 o’clock, like every day. Drink some coffee, meena.” She teased, disappearing into the reception room to enjoy the last minutes she had alone with her tea.

Work days in the hostel went quickly, filled with answering the same questions day after day, giving recommendations and directions. When Tati wasn’t showing guests how to arrive to the Citadel or Sirius Tea House, she was behind her computer, tea in hand - mostly corresponding with administration. It wasn’t the most exciting part of the day, but it was a means to an end, and someone had to balance the books.

Five o’clock came like a much anticipated guest, Tati had an alarm in case anyone hadn’t been watching the clock - which they all had. Guests had began their pre drinking for the night, either playing drinking games in the common area or with a pint down below at the bar where romantic lights twinkled from above. Staff had to play catch up. Grabbing a handful of tall boys from staff fridge, Tati made her rounds to her busy bees. The beer meant the day was done for them, they deserved it. The festival was possibly the busiest time for them. ”Well done, beer time.” She said to each of them, cracking her own at the last distribution. ”You can find me at the bar!” she announced, ”BOAT PARTY IN SIX HOURS, WE LEAVE AT HALF PAST TEN.” She added, shouting across the hostel, her voice carried to down below.

Navigating down the stairs was like an obstacle course, she already could spot which couples would be causing noise in their dorm by the end of the night. As the professional she was, Tati finished her beer by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. After spending all day trapped in the reception room, Tati needed a breather, preferably with copious beer and palinka shots. The bar stools were mostly empty, most people had gathered around tables, conversing. She took a seat at the end, beaming at the bartenders poised in their spots. β€œAmores, como va?” She leaned across the bar to give them a warm kiss on the cheek, ”Beer please, babes. She didn’t even know why she bothered asking, they knew Tati refused to be seen without a drink after 5, it was the only way she would be able to make it through a night in Luna Brilla.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Bastiaan Vos Character Portrait: Tati Laurido Character Portrait: Antonio Redding Character Portrait: Cameron R. Character Portrait: Deacon Beauchene Character Portrait: Max Evans
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Image"I was just worried my time was up, and I
didn’t want to live in fear of my throw of the dice being dictated anymore."

Warm daybreak put her silhouette on the map of the living by curves wrapped in traditional art and titian luster. It matched her hair. Thanks mama. From her cot she seemingly sat on an arched acclivity of the world. A secret space, though known to dozens or hundreds before her. She remained under a wing she’d preferred for the past two years of her life. It was better this way, the dangling charms of sacrificed high tops swaying from clipped lines rather than stark city scapes. The same ones that reminded her that her husband was no longer her husband. Peering out a window and waiting for something to carry his body home, whole, for once. But no. Just a shell lost among the inches he crawled between the home and heart’s desire. Cameron had stopped being the latter shortly after the honeymoon. How the hell could one person expect another to compete with what was already in their blood?

That war was lost before it even started. Cam went down swinging, that much is true. You can take the dog out of the fight, but you can’t take the fight out of the dog. When nomadic mania had her in and out of regions, she lodged herself in Europe for a time. Spent one too many nights getting over somebody by getting under another. Then came Luna. One night there, and you knew you’d never get over her.

But feel free to stack your body count here, mis amores, el mejor lugar en el mundo.

What was Hotel California to Americans, was LB to Cam. The bewitching allure of something unknown yet familiar all at once. It was still working on saving her, even in the utmost intoxicating way. Almost 13,000 kilometers apart from the ghosts of her past and somehow still dreaming them up in a nightly fever, Cameron found herself at the edge of a bed, bare bodied and illuminated generously by foliage-filtered sunlight. This was how 5AM felt alone or at the pace of a stranger’s body heat and their rising and falling chest. She’d given up on needing to meet someone in the morning, it was never the same. Between her and the next living space was a washed out sheet, unintentionally tie-dyed by housekeeping mistakes. It instilled little privacy. But even if it wasn’t there, she was gonna’ sleep naked, because really - who hadn’t seen naked people in the hostel before? It was almost Luna’s MO by now.

Tati’s voice was a welcome notion to the daily disruption of Cameron’s workflow span. It shook her from her slant and allowed her to dip into reality, eyes over a tattooed shoulder, dermals beneath glittering weakly against dawn. It was time to work. A slow blink and smile only seen in amber observation, she murmured, β€œYa voy, Tati. Gracias mamita.” Unlike the maternal symbol of LB, Cameron was much less versed in speaking English. She’d gathered enough knowledge to run a bar where Americans could communicate with her easily enough, but rarely did she speak anything but Spanish outside of work. Or at all. Those close to her, which were few and far between, had picked up on her mother tongue in order to keep up.

ImageMorning routines would have her bouncing amid the walls of Luna in a sort of cleaning and chore hysteria where she sidled up to Antonio for a brief rundown of hourly tasks, then trickled her way down alongside Max in her silent state of AM obstinacy. These parts of her day were typically the ones less likely to just glide by. Swinging trash bags over her shoulders, trying not to get decorated in used rubbers in the process and collecting emptied bottles of cheap foreign liquor. It varied, really. Didn’t it all feel the same, though? Dishes. Sweeping. Condom wrappers. Alcohol, lots of alcohol. And guests. What made this place so much better than any sleazy American quality branch? Ask Cameron and she’d purse her lips, suck her teeth for a second just to explain in thick patois, β€œIt is easy to get lost here.” She’d roll her tongue against the ceiling of her mouth, doe eyes glancing toward the waterway, β€œLike a dream. Si, esa es la palabra. Dream. The days bleed into each other and how you say... Festivities...? The festivities are almost as beautiful as this place. It sings me to sleep, I stayed once. I never left. Tati makes it home. Everything feels the same, but it is always different. No silly tourist tricks.” Or maybe she just liked the way that the perpetual setting, rising of stars and moon always seemed to be coral colored to her. Just like the wavy locks that encircled her somehow pale countenance.

Cameron was known for the tendency to only come truly alive once the skies had turned to purple obscurity. It’s what made her good at her job, more than likely. Night life was far more stimulating than the mundane grind. She became a symbol of LB mostly because of her chittering in vernacular while dancing behind the bar with bottle necks only grasped by two of her tiny fingers [one of which still wore a wedding band]. Grin plastered on her painted lips, hands always in short order of a shot request. In the space separating sporadic hip swinging, Max would hang from her side on occasion, to which she’d plant kisses all over his head and mockingly chide, β€œVete! Do some work.”

When a kiss was returned warmly on one of her cheeks, it was from Tati, not Max. Cameron wriggled in approval, popped the top off another beer for when she was finished with the one delivered by sweet lil’ Max and tied her black tee in a knot above her belly button for a moment of fresh air. β€œHace mucha calor hoy,” she breathed as she polished crystal ware, faint muscular lines in her abdomen collecting just enough sweat to glimmer, β€œSΓ³lo soy yo...? No? Hot.” She scanned her audience for reassurance and found no potential, not even in the suit with his hollow cheeks and thoughtful gaze. Shouldn't a writer be more curious? Casting a mirthful look at Deacon, she nudged his ribs with hers and threatened to dampen his ensemble with her precipitation. Not that he hadn’t experienced it before tenfold, her leg wrapped around his hip in a slow grind that blatantly was not wanted. He tolerated her for reasons unknown, but she adored him for it. Now if only he’d let her put his hair into pig tails...