<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mychicagotherapist.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/chris-evans-black-white-shirt.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>Michael ‘Mick’ McIntyre (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=293586.msg14406445#msg14406445)<br/><strong>Time:</strong>20:30, Sunday, June 1st<br/><strong>Where:</strong>The Lanai<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Working<br/><strong>Content Rating:</strong>Light<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>CJ, Chelsea<br/><hr/><br/>“Alright, one more should do it,” Mick McIntyre said, grunting a bit as he pushed down hard on the handle of his ratcheting wrench, snugging the last bolt tight. Satisfied that it would hold, he reached out and gave one light tug on the volleyball net that now stretched over the shallowest part of Serenity’s main pool, and watched as it vibrated lightly. The net was always the last thing to go up on a party night, as Mick preferred to wait until guests had retreated to their rooms and cleared the area before hauling out the posts and stringing up the weathered nylon.<br/><br/>He slipped the socket from the handle and stowed them in the small tool box, then folded the small step stool he was using before tucking it under his arm and picking up the tool box. Reaching to an empty lounger, he used his other hand to scoop up his aluminum water bottle with the faded and scratched Serenity logo, a bit dismayed to find it feeling empty.<br/><br/>At a brisk pace, he strode back toward the bar area, where guests were starting to mill about, the conversation level picking up a bit. Swinging past the bar, he slid the bottle in Chelsea’s direction, calling down to her, “Hey Chels, can you fill me up please? I gotta drop this stuff off,” all without breaking stride on his way to the door marked ‘Maintenance’ behind the stage area and embedded in the main building.<br/><br/>Mick stuck the stool just inside the door, set the tool kit on a shelf to his right, and tugged the door closed. Within a hop, he was back to the bar, wiping a few beads of sweat from his forehead-the coming of summer always announced itself with humidity as its leading edge, and tonight was a commanding introduction it seemed. He approached and dropped both hands flat on the bar top, waiting for his water, spying a group of younger men down at the other end. Clicking on the earpiece hooked around his right lobe (all of the resorts supervisors wore them on event nights), he remarked, “Well, CJ, I think the frat-bros that just came in might be your first test tonight. Maybe we should tell Chels to charge them double instead? Christ, pop enough collars, boys?” The remark was snide and a little judgemental, but Mick had replaced enough pool cues and seen enough broken glass as a result of guys like that to have a skeptical view of college-aged boys traveling alone.<br/>