all_inclusive | (no subject)

"I made it to the rage phase," Sloan says coolly, leaning in nice and close to get a good photo of Scott with her phone. He looks terrible, writhing in pain on the floor with blood streaming out of his nose.

Good. Asshole deserves it.

Spinning on her heels, Sloan exits the board room and crosses the waiting room, where Don (good pal that he is) is waiting. Scott's $400 wing tips stomp across the floor as he follows her, but Sloan doesn't slow down or even look back. Don has her covered.

As she looks down at the photo on her phone (which she is strongly considering making the wallpaper on her work computer), a triumphant smile appears on her face.

The rage phase feels good.

Exhaling slowly, Sloan pushes open the door to the stairwell and steps through, knowing Don will catch up in a minute.

Eyes flicker up from the phone's screen and widen.

"Okay, maybe not," she mutters to herself. The stairwell that she knows is supposed to be there just isn't. There's a bar, but it doesn't look like any bar she's ever been to. Whirling around, incredibly confused, she turns the knob on the door she just came through. When it opens, she sees nothing familiar, not the hall she just came down, no Don waiting for her, nothing.

Stifling back one of those laughs that tend to bubble up when you panic, Sloan swallows heavily and looks around.

It had been a hell of a day and she was in a bar. Maybe a drink wouldn't hurt.

Besides, after the day she's had, Sloan figures she deserves one.

Threaded | Flat

Will and MacKenzie have been back and forth between New York and the hotel a few times since his father's death. Will used to find it creepy, but now that he knows he can come and go at will without losing any time back in New York, he just finds it to be a pleasant escape. Sometimes he comes with Mac, but he often comes alone.

Tonight is one of the nights he comes alone. He goes to the bar and orders a drink and it's only then that he realizes that Sloan is here, too. He hasn't seen anyone else from ACN here. This is a first. "Put her on my tab," he tells the bartender, and takes a seat beside Sloan.

Since it's one of the few places where people hang out during the times he's awake and around, Nick has taken to haunting a stool in the bar and nursing a single beer as the night goes on. After nearing a month in the hotel, he started feeling one thing he never thought he would: he started to miss the damned island.

The snort of laughter has barely left his lips before he feels something that has is other senses perking right the hell up. Whatever's driving this chick, her emotions are strong.

He turned to find the source and took a deep breath then shot the woman a smile. "You look like you need this more than I do," he said, holding his glass up.

Olaf is always going to notice a beautiful woman.

He's ninety-three years old, has had countless children, and has made love to an obscene amount of beautiful women. He has sex and gorgeous women down to an art and so when a new gorgeous vision walks into the bar, Olaf is quick to lean over and pour her a drink, making one for himself at the same time since it's only decent.

He reclines back, his hawaiian shirt open to the breeze and offers out a glass of scotch. "A fine drink for a fine woman?" he offers with an easy smile.