<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/74/Vincent_Price_man_of_class.jpg)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>Character name:</strong></td><td>Allister Cooper</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Location:</strong> </td><td>Dining Room, 55 Beacon Street</td></tr><tr><td><strong>With:</strong> </td><td>His old friend Frank, his sister MaryAnne and a room full of strangers</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Doing:</strong> </td><td>Dinner</td></tr></tbody></table><br/><hr/><br/>Allister couldn't enjoy Boston as he used to do. In his youth he could relish in the finer aspects of the city, the culture and clubs, the crisp winds coming in from the Massachusetts Bay or just a stroll through town with all its cheerful people. It certainly was better than Long Island and even more so the inner New York City back then. But things changed and they had done so suddenly and jarringly. As such it was with a heavy heart and a sort of anxious dread that the Federal agent had taken his car off the driveway the day before and begun his journey to Boston and his old school friend Frank Walker. It was a long drive even in his trusty Earl Sedan (http://earlyamericanautomobiles.com/images/autos4816.jpg) so he had stopped along the way at a cozy bed & breakfast-style inn for the night. He had slept little though, as strange dreams had kept him along the thin line between the conscious and unconscious. After a steady breakfast he continued on to finally arrive at 55 Beacon Street in Boston.<br/><br/>After a hasty greeting of Frank and MaryAnne he was pulled as by an invisible hand towards the library, out of the way of his hosts. Occasionally engaging in quips with Frank, some a bit more rowdy than a young lady should hear though MaryAnne was far from an ordinary sort, his eyes scan along the backs of the assorted volumes, feeling a bit uneasy at some of the titles. While perfectly innocent for the most, some stuck out. He had no time to produce one of the tomes for closer inspection before more guests arrived and he found himself drawn towards the dining room along with the others. He didn't play at being a socialite, instead being content with watching the others for now, trying to pry something from their persons through what they were saying, as a proper agent would. There was no such thing as being off duty any more, the instincts and habits had no off-switch or valve that could be closed. As MaryAnne proposed her toast to Frank he only raised his glass, giving the siblings a smile before he put the glass down again.<br/><br/>"<strong>I certainly hope you haven't cooked yourself, Frank. I almost didn't make it home the last time I visited.</strong>" Mostly because the day after dinner he had been in a fire fight with strange men and women south of the city, but that wasn't here nor there for a dinner party. The least what they had found beneath the compound that day...