<div class="floatleft">(http://images.fashionnstyle.com/data/images/full/91629/charlie-hunnam-19-jpg.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Stephen Landry<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Guest<br/><strong>Date | Time:</strong>August 1st, 11:30ish<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Room 5<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>White dress shirt, left open, tank top underneath, jeans,<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Stephanie Landry<strong>Mentioned:</strong>N/A<br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong>Not Yet<hr/><br/>He didn't stick around the lobby with his sister. The big shoes that had hosted this whole thing was going to make a speech, but he didn't quite feel comfortable. He was a guest, a ride-along in this whole thing, and if the man wanted to make him feel like a big part of the family... it wasn't going to work. His sister had invited him along, and he appreciated that. A change of scenery after the divorce was exactly what the doctor ordered, and this seemed like the nicest place he had ever been in. And if the kind of cuts that alimony payments were going to make to his salary were anything like he'd been hearing from their lawyer, it didn't feel like he was going to be getting to come to a place like this anytime in the near future either.<br/><br/>Best to make the most of it then.<br/><br/>He'd accompanied the porter to his and Steph's room, struggling in his mind the whole way over what kind of tip to give the man that was helping him with her bags. Like... seriously. Was she moving here? No, bad question. She might just be, he thought with a wry smile, coming to the conclusion of a medium tip after the gent helped him shift the luggage into their room. A pair of Queen-sized beds greeted him. The floor was tiled, and pristine. There was a small painting of a house in a meadow with a river running through on the wall between the beds. A door led off to the bathroom, and another to the small porch that gave their room a nice view of the beach. Sound-proofed too, though with the kind of distance that this island held from fuck-shit everything, he wondered why it was needed. Was the whole room sound-proofed?<br/><br/>He was a quick and light packer, and was finished unpacking into the room's closet in a matter of minutes after the porter had left. He didn't dare touch his sister's bags, knowing the kind of fit that she would throw if her... fuck, arranged her panties in the wrong order or something. No, that particular mountain would be hers to climb, and hers alone.<br/><br/>Stephen stripped his shirt and tank top off, tossing the pair onto the bed nearest the window, 'dibs'ing it as his as he moved towards the bathroom, watching his lithe, lean frame in the mirror as he came closer, switching the water on. He looked tired. Almost exhausted. It wasn't just the job which, while being a regular 7-to-3 gig, was tiring enough as it was. It was everything. He needed a rest. He owed Steph for having noticed it and offering a spot that he was sure would have gone to someone else. He wasn't going to forget it either.<br/><br/>He switched on the water, letting the warm, steamy liquid fill up a cup made from his thick, calloused mechanic's hands and he splashed his face once it was full. He should be out there, enjoying himself, meeting new people, getting to know all the folks, but first things first, he needed to check his Facebook. It had been the medium that Dylan, his kid, had chosen as a way for them to stay in touch as him and his mother had skipped over to a town about 3 hours away from where he was living.<br/><br/>They'd confiscated his phone upon boarding the cruise headed here, but they hadn't taken Steph's tablet, for some reason. He didn't know, he wasn't that tech savvy when it came to this shit. Fuck, where was Steph? Was she still mingling? He scowled at the prospect of having to hunt her down.