Destiny Falls

Heeeeeeeeeeeeey handsome pants, you haven't been eaten alive yet, have you? If you're feeling sociable, I think I've got something I'd like to show you. Maybe. Or it could just be a clever ruse to get you alone. Perish the thought! Gimme a call, okay? MWAH!

Anastasia sat at a table in the Cuppa Joe Cafe, still dressed semi-casually from her meeting with the head of the art department. Classes were resuming in two weeks, and true to her procrastinating nature, she hadn't made out a lesson plan yet. Oops. She'd managed to bullshit her way rather effectively at the meeting and now the only thing left to do was remember all the bullshit that she'd spilled and attempt to put it on paper.

Niles was standing behind the bar in Purgatory, polishing a glass as he looked out across the crowd. It was dark in there, it always was, but he didn't need x-ray vision to know what was going on. In the corner of his eye a blonde smiled at him and he smiled back, then glanced back out into the crowd. Just another night as usual.

Callan was out in front of his studio in a pair of jeans and beat up old sneakers and nothing else, painting over the sign on the front. He hadn't really gotten around to utilizing the wooden sign space since he'd taken on the studio space and now he figured he'd might as well do something with it. He wasn't any Picasso, but he did okay with a paint brush. However, the more beer he drank the better it looked.

Bea was sitting alone on a bench in the dog park, dressed casually and watching Pippa and Pax play together. Pax was getting bigger and it was easier for him to catch up to Pippa now, and watching them roll around and play fight made her smile. She smiled a lot these days, mostly because aside from Eli's job there was nothing to be sad about. Life was good.

Sterrin was one of the people currently in Purgatory, dressed in a deep pink dress and looking a little disgruntled as she sipped her drink. She'd been stood up tonight by a client, presumably because his wife had thought that her husband spending his evening in the company of a paid escort wasn't too kosher. Usually, she didn't care but this time around it was bothering her. Weird. Then again, who really liked being stood up?

Isobel stood alone in the front of her building, staring out at the people zipping up and down the strip. It was mostly quiet inside and right now she was grateful for that. Too much noise sometimes was a killer and peace and silence was hard to come by. She sighed, absently playing with the diamond locket around her neck as she thought of all the many things she needed to do tonight and none of the gumption she had to do it with.

Madalena was on her way home, dressed comfortably (for her, anyway) with an arm full of bags from the grocery store that she was doing quite a juggling act to maintain. She should've caught a cab or asked Jameson to take her, but she'd wanted to surprise him with a nice dinner. Now that seemed like the most stupid idea ever.

Rhiannon was in her shop with a pretty gay boy between her knees looking at the hem of her leather skirt. "Bossy, you got skills. I can't even see that shit," Lee said with a touch of awe in his voice. Rhiannon smirked and smoothed a hand down over her skirt. "Awesome, right? I should have someone snap a picture of this. I would, if it wouldn't give Tristan the wrong idea."
"What's that?" Lee said, dropping the hem and looking up.
"You in between my legs like that. Gotta be a first. Well, for you."

Sypher was everywhere, anywhere. He moved through the businesses in his island seamlessly, stopping here and there and making sure it was all business as usual. And it was. Everywhere.
Even the low down and the dirty were carried out on his orders. It was a good place to be.

Jason never went anywhere with a lady without dressing up. It didn't matter if she was the brooding, fiftysomething editor he was still trying to tempt here, or a fresh-from-highschool fangirl. They got him at his relative best, hair tamed back as best he could, nice outfit, bit of cologne. Today was no exception.

He wore a nice white linen suit, no tie to choke him, and a pair of those athletic shoes that disguised themselves as dress shoes. He'd picked Bay Rhum as the cologne, and only had his Netbook with him so he could share creative things (and possibly funny things; Anastasia seemed to have a really good sense of humor). No writing for right now.

He had wandered around a bit, getting his bearings as best he could once settled in his room, but the place was enormous, almost deliberately confusing in its opulence, and a bit intimidating. Plus he liked the idea of company. Fun company. Leaning near the lobby entrance, he checked his watch once, then glanced around again. Good, I'm on time.

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.

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.