Destiny Falls

His brother had very, very good Scotch, and Gabe wasn't above helping himself to a glass of it. He lifted it to the firelight, watching the color shift and swirl. He sipped. He raised the glass to his brother.

"Thanks for the donation, by the way. The Ladies Auxiliary were tickled to be able to gussy up some of the bingo supplies."

Fresh Meat.

That was what Jason felt like as he stepped away from the check-in desk with his bags under his arms, chocolate linen suit slightly rumpled from his journey. His empathy was in high gear, drinking up emotions left and right, leaving him light-headed and slightly buzzed--but when he walked in, for a moment, he had felt a ripple of sorts in the crowd. A response to him, as if the lobby itself had somehow noticed the newcomer and was weighing him in some unknown balance. The enormous "watched" feeling was probably a simple response to going from a relatively sedate shipboard environment, after a boring plane ride, straight onto the tram and then--to this. After a few moments of glancing around, he dismissed the feeling entirely as nerves in a new environment.

Setting his bags down in front of the bellhop's stand, he took off his suitcoat and threw it absently over one shoulder. His tie he had stuffed in his bag back in San Francisco. He had hopped on the plane straight after his meeting with his editor, and felt overdressed--watching two girls in thong bikinis wander by, very overdressed. Not normally self-conscious, he laughed at himself a little--and wondered, a little, what was really causing it.

As he waited for someone to come take his bags, he people-watched with eyes, ears and mind, a faint smile on his lips. "Perfect place to finish the book," he commented cheerfully.

Tonight, like most every other Wednesday night, the club was busy. He had done multiple walk throughs, each time finding a new face being pleased. There also seemed to be an influx of women in the club, not employed by him. He smiled as a brunette introduced herself then a blonde. His smile turned into a grin as he saw them kiss eeach other, then the man they most likely were with.

But it was a shipment night, so Tristan made his way around back to the loading dock. He stood and watched as crates came off a truck then different crates got loaded on. When they were finished with the exchange, he signed a reciept for the alcohol and turned, then nearly jumped out of his skin.

Averting his eyes he nodded. "Good evening, Mr. Sypher."

Jameson had gotten everything in order for her to move her things to his apartment. Just little things for now, she'd told him. He slipped into the dressing area at Pandora's Box and put a small blue box on her station. Attached to a key ring was her key to his apartment. The note inside said It's not exactly giving you the world, but it's a good start.

Isobel stood in her apartment in the dark, looking out of her window at her grand view of Vice Alley. Destiny Falls was beautiful and horrible, all at the same time. But weren't all things?

William was coming to her, she'd paged him and he knew better than to ignore her. But what to do once he got here? And why had she called him in anyway? She sighed and took another sip of wine. Sometimes, as much as she hated to admit it, she was achingly lonely.

Potato chips. Beer. Chicken wings that he could nuke in the microwave.

Someday, he'd have to grow a set and become an adult and stop living like he was still in college, but he supposed today wasn't that day as he passed by the produce section in the grocery store without a second glance.

Could he use some tequila? Probably. Vodka too.

Pushing his cart along and paying attention to nothing in particular, he made his way over.

If whiskey was the devil's drink, Father Gabriel Sypher was shaking hands with old split-foot himself. Not, of course, that it mattered. Whiskey was but one of many sins he'd committed over the years, and possibly the least offensive.

Not, of course, that he even believed in sin.

Not exactly.

How could he, after all, being who he was?

Now, though, he let the whiskey rest a moment on his tongue before it burnt a path into his gullet, and he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. It had been a long morning, long day. Would be a long night, too.

"Another," he said to the bartender. "Thanks, very much."

Anastasia wasn't quite feeling herself. Or maybe this was herself and her other self wasn't her at all.
Whatever it was, it was fucking confusing. And either way, she'd been put on boy patrol by Mr. Sypher.
She knocked on the door of the apartment number she'd been given and rested against the door frame as she waited for the kid to show up to let her in. Hopefully he was over eighteen and cute, otherwise this 'providing him excitement' order was going to prove rather difficult.

Tristan had taken his time poking about to find information on Rhiannon's house. He'd unpacked his own place and settled in to his environment. Learning the streets between his place and Rhiannon's house hadn't taken long and now he could probably get there blindfolded. He'd also gone and checked out Harvey's school, since that was something he wanted to make sure was run well.

Now it was Friday, and after returning his father's gruff phone calls, he was checking out his club for the first time. It had been closed up and he expected to see damages, but when he opened the doors and stepped inside, the lights all came on and the bar was stocked. Curiously he poked around a little, opening doors and finding little rooms tucked away in dark corners.

Niles was sitting in the laundry room, spread out across a line of four or so chairs with one earbud from his ipod in his ear and a book on his chest. He was waiting for his whites to spin out and wasn't really interested in doing much of anything. 

Other than just sitting. And staring.

It had been one weird fucking week.

He'd called them home, and now they had to report. Talk to him. Look him in the eye and tell him that they were going to stop fucking up. He loved them, but he wouldn't have raised them to be the - squeamish - creatures that they were, his sons.
They were utterly devoid of the devotion they should feel for him, if for nothing more than the fact that he'd saved both of their lives.
Without his blood pumping through their veins, they would be utterly useles. Unlike Miss Smith...
Smiling to himself, he thought he might make an example.

"Nancy, for God's sake, how many times do I have to tell you, bandages in the left drawer, not the right." Dr. Christopher Byrne scowled at his nurse, who rolled her eyes and showed him the array of bandages, needles, gauze, liquid cleansers and everything else she'd "rearranged." He really should reprimand her, but after a couple of bumps of something special he'd procured from Hugo...well.

Let's just say Dr. Byrne was in a fine mood.

"You have a patient in the second room," Nancy said, pursing her lips. "She's blonde. You'll like her."

"Now, now, Nancy, no need to be negative." Byrne grinned as Nancy huffed. He cleaned his hands thoroughly, then went into the second room to see the patient.

Mr. Sypher stood on the balcony attached to his room, staring out over his island. Somewhere out there someone was crying. Dying. Fucking. Stealing. Killing. Living. Loving. Hating.

He took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of the lives that he was controlling, and smiled.

New ones were coming. He could see the ferry coming in, bringing new life to the island, and that meant one thing. 

"Time to make room, brother," he said softly, sensing his brother standing behind him before he ever spoke.