Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 63 - Islanders 1

Will hated going to the mainland. It pulled on fortune and fate, and it was wrong. He belonged to his home and the community on the island. The mainland was too loud, too busy and had too many rules. Mainlanders were annoying when they holidayed on the island, but they were a necessary evil, and the island was exclusive. Getting an invite requires following strict rules. Will would never live nor work anywhere else. 

One night, and he'd be home. He got the needed supplies, loaded up his truck and waited in a sister hotel. The island crossings weren't always reliable, especially as they crept closer and closer to winter. The islanders liked it like that, but visitors needed alternatives.

The hotel worked with the island, so it was safe. It was discreet but fancy. It was the kind of hotel most didn't notice unless they knew what signs to look for.  If he wasn't an islander, he wouldn't get through the front door, but money talked. He was not going to cause a problem. People went to the island for peace and quiet. If they wanted parties, they could stay on the mainland. 

Will took advantage of the high-pressure shower and tried to settle for the night. The sounds of the city were alien and disturbing. Too much sound buzzed around him, even with soundproofing. He should like noise and excitement. He didn't.

Frustrated, Will sat and rolled his shoulders. The concierge - an island-trained but not bound man called [], had put a ticket with his room key for the neighbouring art gallery's show. He'd promised the worst of the noise would be gone by midnight. He had nothing better to do.

He had tickets, slacks, and could go for an hour or two to check out the scene. Maybe the music would be over when he'd finished, and he could sleep. 

The ticket let him into a vibrant world of colour and design. He couldn't comment on the art itself, but the people at the event were as much part of the display as the pieces. Most of the servers were draped in translucent fabrics with enough makeup to disguise what they looked like under the stuff. They were like robots, faceless and there to serve. Will accepted a beer from one and stuck to the crowd, not dressed in costumes or brands for the fake rich. 

The island had him well-trained to disappear into the background of a scene. He served the guests, and while he was not at work the instinct kicked in with the event's vibe. He chatted. Nothing serious or flirty, but causal chats with people curious to meet him. One or two were guests on the island and were surprised that the islanders occasionally stepped on the mainland. He laughed off jokes. A smile and a polite word went a long way to maintaining relations outside the tourist season. 

Thomas stumbled into him, hot and unsteady. A slow blink met his as he took in the photographer, putting an arm around his waist to balance him. 

"Thomas."

"Tom!" Thomas corrected, swaying into Will's side. "My name is Tom."

Will caught him and lifted some of his weight. Thomas was lighter than expected. Will moved him to some seats, signalling one of the clerks to get them some water. "We've had this argument before. It's impolite to call guests by nicknames as adults." 

The island vetoed everyone they allowed out carefully. People like Thomas, who worked during their stay and weren't typical guests, more so. Thomas didn't take drugs unless he'd managed to hide it every summer when submitting his drug test before and on the island. The Islanders watched out for things like that in their cuckoos as well. The last thing they wanted was an actual guest overdosing because of an outside contractor. 

"I'm not a guest. We're not on the island. I'm barely a guest there. Not an islander, but not a rich customer to impress either. A bug? An annoyance," Thomas said, slumping into Will and sounding worse by the word.