Scott can be really fun when he takes that poker out of his arse which is usually more of a defense mechanism, wanting to appear all high and mighty when really he's actually very insecure as he's constantly judged. Being the oldest member of the band and, as harsh as it sounds, clearly the least talented, he doesn't get as much love as the younger, "hotter", "cuter" and more talented members. He has the same standoffish vibe as Billy but lacks the charisma and likability of his fellow band mate, so he doesn't really sell himself very well during first meetings. He still stumbles around the club, totally lost and confused. Scott looks back across the floor at his table and raises his hands, as if gesturing "What the hell is going on?".

When Dallas calls Dustyn "pretty cool", he blushes and burrows his head deeper into Dallas' neck. Even though it was a random, drug and drink fueled compliment, Dustyn still appreciates it. He finds his boyfriend loving and adorable at the best of times but drunken Dallas really does it for him. Being still on somewhat of a trip himself, Dustyn's emotions are heightened and he can feel himself just wanting to literally melt into Dallas, feeling totally relaxed resting against him while still enjoying what remains of his high. "Th-thanks...y-you're so cool too. Like the uh...the...c-cool original Doritos!" He smiles and giggles kissing Dallas on the cheek. "Hey, Oscar is posh so maybe...j-just maaaaaybe, he has a smoking jacket!!" Dustyn sits up with a burst of energy, suddenly excited about his thought. He then looks around and with Dallas and Billy to his right and Riley to his left, he finds himself trapped in the booth. The best route of escape is to crawl under the table so the nimble little Irishman slips from his seat and heads down under. "Ouch! W-why...why peanuts?!" he calls out after leaning hard on the peanuts Dallas threw earlier. Meanwhile, Billy doesn't even hear Dallas talk about his potentially invisible shirt, he's still just stuck in his emotional daze with a confused puppy dog look on his face. "I'm....s-so exposed," he says, wiping a tear from his eye.

Dustyn pops up from the other end of the table now with a white shirt sitting on his shoulders like a cape. It's clearly Billy's one but Dustyn doesn't make that obvious connection. "Looky! A smoking jacket!!!"

Dustyn smiles when Dallas gives him the thumbs up, knowing that he's not one for all the lovey-dovey pet names. Dustyn himself is rather sentimental and tactile but tries to dilute it, so not to be too overbearing for Dallas. He giggles and ponders for a second, wondering if you could actually shave a frog as Dallas' initial comparison of a shaved one oddly made sense to him at the time. "I...I think...m-mmaybe you can shave one? I...I think it would kill it though...I...I don't....w-why are we talking about frogs again?" he asks as he laughs along with Dallas. Dustyn's laugh is extremely infectious which obviously doesn't help Dallas who is already in stitches. Tonight really has been a success. It really is a moment where he has to pinch himself. Inviting the boyfriend to meet the friends is usually awkward as conversation topics can be very limited. Take that and then add in the unpredictability of band mates like Scott and Billy, tonight really had the potential to be explosive and not in the good way. Thankfully, everyone has gotten along, Dallas seems to be happy and Dustyn couldn't really as for much more. From across the room, Scott waves back but before he can make the journey across, he's lost in a sea of folk dressed like neon skeletons and is never to be seen again. Well, at least not until he decides to pop back up at random.

Dustyn looks saddened when the shirt is taken away from him, like someone just stole candy from a baby. Billy still seems very disconnected and doesn't even notice the shirt hit his head nor land on his lap for a good while. Eventually he looks up, holding the side of his head. "Wha..what?" he asks to seemingly nobody before looking down and seeing his shirt on his lap. He sighs and struggles to put it on, mumbling random curse words and still somewhat sobbing about it. Riley leans over and helps him put it back on. "Here mate, let me help," says the friendly Northerner while Billy just sits there totally confused as fuck.

Taking his boyfriend outside to have a smoke, the real world seems pretty dull in comparison. It's around 1:00 a.m., the streets are dull, dingy, empty and reflective of many gloomy nights in Britain. Stepping out from an extraordinary world and into a dank London street with an overwhelming smell of bad drains really is a huge comedown. Dustyn sighs, looking up at the sky before popping a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it. He stumbles around as he approaches Dallas with a cigarette, popping it into his boyfriend's mouth and sparking it up for him after many failed attempts at working the lighter. As he lights up for Dallas, Dustyn begins to sing one of the generic songs heard in the club. Even totally wrecked and singing at a low volume, he still has a great voice. It's very bluesy and raspy, probably due to the fact that he grew up listening to a lot of older records, a mixture of swing and soul music. Artists many would consider "real singers" like Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Aretha Franklin and the likes are who you'd class Dustyn with. Even Dallas could probably recite a few of their songs as Dustyn constantly has them on in the house. Holding his cigarette in his hand, he cuddles up with Dallas against the cold and few droplets of rain. "You...y-you enjoy tonight? The boys...th-...they really like you, man!"

Dustyn takes a long drag from his cigarette before tilting his head back and blowing the smoke towards the darkened sky. Like Dallas, he only really smokes when he's drunk as he finds it relaxing after a real booze up along with some other illegal activity. The cool air doesn't really seem to have much of an impact on Dustyn as he's still wearing his thick light blueish/grey hoodie which he's had on all night. It's a miracle that he hasn't melted away into some sort of Irish stew as the heat in the club was rather intense. He holds his cigarette in his hand and continues to sing to Dallas, holding his hand out in front of him like he's serenading him despite the fact that it's a generic party song about being drunk - hardly sentimental. "Y-yeah, best not show me up....I...I c-can't deal with a....with a...eh...bruised ego," he says jokingly. In actuality, Dustyn does believe that Dallas is extremely talented too but they're both very different artists so it's unfair and almost impossible to compare. He listens as Dallas tells Dustyn about how glad he is to have met the band and that he really likes them. He's truly grateful and also relieved that everything went swimmingly. Also, whether they've both realised or not, it's a pretty big step in their relationship. Meeting the friends, getting their approval and then actually becoming a member of the social circle is quite a big deal. "You...you know what, Dallas?" he asks, looking up lovingly at his boyfriend who made the night just that extra bit more special, "I fu-fucking love you. Like...like more than blueberry muffins a-and eh...other things I love!" Dustyn wraps his arms around Dallas' neck and gives him a kiss. Nobody seems to be around so he makes the most of it and slips in some tongue, becoming a little more passionate than just a little peck but nothing too over the score.

"Oi oi!" a booming voice calls out from behind them. Riley stumbles out of the club, pissed, with Billy, Scott and Oscar in tow. He appears to have done the impossible and rounded up the troops. Oscar looks white as a ghost and has his shirt unbuttoned, trying to cool down as he's obviously thrown up in the club or is just feeling worse for wear. Scott still bounces around, twirling and dancing, or at least trying to, on the pavement. Billy still seems very glum which isn't like him. He's probably popped or snorted something else and hasn't told anyone. Like Father Jack from the show Father Ted, Billy ingests just about anything he can get his hands on. You'd even go as far as to hiding your Toilet Duck from him before her gets his hands on it and does himself any damage. Anything with chemicals is fair game. "I'm hungry," he mumbles, tapping Riley on the shoulder like a little kid trying to get his parent to buy him a sweet at the shops.

Dustyn looks up at Dallas after hearing Billy, realising that he too hasn't eaten in hours. "You want...you want to go get a..eh...a drunken kebab...or pizza? It's what you do when y-you're fucking pissed after a night out in Britain. You...eh...y-you have to learn the ways." Dallas can probably only pick up a few key words in the sentence as Dustyn's thick Tipperary accent really goes into overdrive when he's drunk

Dustyn cuddles into Dallas and takes a drag of his cigarette, holding it down to his left hand side when he's finished so he doesn't drunkenly stumble and accidentally set his boyfriend alight. When Dallas says that he loves him, Dustyn smiles up at him, happy to be here with him. Dustyn's previous relationships haven't been all roses and for the longest time, he believed that at some point he'd scare Dallas away completely. Even after taking a break, they reconciled and talked things through like adults. Despite his goofiness at times, Dallas really helped Dustyn to mature in so many ways. He's had quite a few boyfriends over the years but likes to think of Dallas as his first real adult relationship. He's no longer a teen with rose coloured glasses on. He and Dallas are very much in a serious place right now and he loves it.

Riley laughs and puts his hand on Dallas' back, walking with him as the group unites again. "D-don't even know why I said that. It's usually Billy who does." Riley chuckles and continues motioned Dallas down the street with his hand on his back. Even though it's just a gentle movement, or what Riley considers gentle, the big lad scoots Dallas along with ease and shows off his strength without even trying. He's total muscle and even though he's so placid, he still seems like someone you wouldn't mess with. Dustyn stubs his cigarette out against the brick wall and rejoins the rest of them. All six famous faces huddled together, stumbling at different paces, slurring in a wide array of accents and looking like total wrecks really is a sight. Scott clears his throat and pipes up, his Australian accent coming through a lot stronger than before, "Well...Dallas, mate...w-w-we're all fucking bad boys! BAD BOYS CLUB!" Scott cups his hands around his mouth and yells to the sky.

Just around the corner is an Indian takeaway where they can load up on their supply of greasy food. Despite not being a meat eater, Riley decides to go in and order for everyone as he's probably the most sober of the lot. Plus it's a lot easier for just one person to go in rather than a whole crowd. Rather than taking individual orders, Riley decides to just get a huge order of random items on the menu as someone is bound to like something. Payment isn't an issue either as, quite frankly, the guy is loaded. While Riley sways down towards the takeaway place, Dustyn continues talking to Dallas but lowers his voice so that the others don't hear. "Dallas...you said y-you have some...blow, right? You know, just for a little nightcap..." Dustyn covers his mouth to stifle his laughter. "Wait...I n-need a little wee-wee..." he says, laughing like it's the funniest thing ever as he heads over to a wall. Resting against it, he slips his trousers and boxers down a little, presenting Dallas with a full moon. As he pees, he lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Aaaaaaaahhh....Bisto!"

Inside the takeaway, Riley tries his best to compose himself before the girls whip out their phones and want to try to take photos with him. Nothing worse than waking up the next day and seeing drunken photos of yourself on your mate's Facebook profile picture let alone have it go viral like a picture of Riley would. Even though he's the most sober of the group, he's still very much under the influence and with his Golden Boy persona, the slightest hint of him drinking would be turned into some scandalous article. Dustyn, Billy and Scott have reputations for liking a good old piss-up so the press allow them to without making a fuss but to get some snaps of Riley totally pissed would definitely bring in some coins. As he smiles for selfies with the girls, Riley makes a mental note to get Dallas back for it. It won't be tonight, but he'll get him back at some point. He then approaches the counter, clearing his throat and trying his best not to come across as totally pissed. Gripping onto the counter for balance, Riley looks up at the extremely bright menu board, squinting his eyes and orders whatever he can make out or pronounce.

Dustyn takes the coke and stuff it into his pocket, looking around with over the top shifty eyes before giggling. The only reason he didn't want to broadcast about having coke was that some of the others may want to muscle in and have some. This is for Dustyn and Dallas to round off the night. He loves his Weekend boys and has no problem with sharing but at the end of the day, he'll be going home with Dallas and wants to be a tad selfish and have him and the coke to himself. Thankfully, none of the boys seemed to be paying attention. Poor Billy is wandering around in circles, talking to himself like a little lost soul. A lot of people who know Billy really well say that underneath his tough exterior lies a confused, hurt little boy. Whatever the concoction of drink and drugs he consumed tonight, it appears to be bringing that rather fragile and emotional side of him to the surface. Oscar is jumping from the pavement out onto the road, throwing random shapes in the air like he's posing for a High School Music poster while Scott kneels on the road with his phone out, snapping pictures of his best mate and directing him. "A-arms out, Oz! Make use of the fucking space!" he chuckles, enjoying playing photographer for a bit. Oscar takes a leap and right after Scott snaps the picture of him, he comes back down to Earth with a thud as his ankle buckles with he lands. Oscar just lays out in the street just a few inches from where Dallas now lays and laughs, looking up at the night sky. He finds it funny now but Oscar is definitely going to feel it all in the morning. Scott is doubled over on the road too, laughing so hard that he's seemingly broke the sound barrier. He slaps the tarmac as he laughs silently. Billy continues to stroll around like a lost puppy while Dustyn puts his buns away and turns around to see three of them laying on the road. "Y-you guys....y-you are all fuckin-in-ing weird!"

Billy continues to walk around in circles, seemingly having no clue where the hell he is or what he's even doing. Every so often he'll just stop in his tracks, look down at his feet for a good thirty seconds before continuing on and moving from one side of the road to the other. Scott helps Oscar back up onto his feet and the pair continue to laugh like school boys up to no good. Even though Oscar doesn't receive a warm welcome from Billy every morning, he's formed a brotherly bond with Scott which makes it worth turning up to work every day. Oscar looks up at the sky, swaying around where he stands. Even though he's totally pissed, he still knows that Dallas is talking absolute nonsense. He laughs and puts his hands in his coat pockets, starting to feel a little bite in the early morning air. "I h-have no idea what you are talking about, Dallas. The stars are just....are just...well...nobody moves them." Oscar gets a bit confused himself as he tries to think about and piece together what he wants to say. Dustyn overheard Dallas refer to the road as his bed which causes him to giggle. He gets down on the road and crawls over to Dallas, "Hi!" he blurts out, appearing over his boyfriend by surprise. Dustyn laughs and places his lips on Dallas while resting a hand on his beard, gently stroking it as he kisses him. It really is a good job the paps aren't around. The headlines would really be something else.

After what seems like a century later, Riley stumbles out of the Indian takeaway with two big paper bags full of food in one hand, a 2 litre bottle of Coke in one and trying to keep two pizza boxes in place between his chin and his forearm. "Guys...the handles of these bags are cutting my circulation. A little help?" he asks with a chuckle. Suddenly, all attention is on Riley as he comes bearing gifts. "FOOD!" Dustyn calls out, jumping to his little feet and trying to pull Dallas up with him during the process.

"It...it's something to do with the Earth spinning...and eh...eh...'cause we move around the sun...I think. I don't know, man. Nobody moves the stars though." Oscar laughs, looking at the sky then back over at Dallas who is still looking up in amazement. In all honesty, Oscar isn't really all that sure how it works himself. Billy stumbles over towards Dallas and Oscar, not really sure what they are talking about but it seems interesting. He looks down at Dallas and then gets in his view of the stars again. "St....stars?" Billy asks inquisitively, like a child just learning to talk. He points up at the and stumbles backwards, almost falling over Dallas.

Dustyn giggles and twirls around with Dallas when he realises that his boyfriend is basically a rag doll right now. He finds it hilarious that he and Dallas are having a little dance in the street and also at the fact that he now has the ability to lift Dallas. Dustyn's so used to being picked up and carried around so it's nice not to feel like the fragile little one for a moment. When Dallas runs his hands through Dustyn's hair, he closes his eyes briefly and smiles. The tender touch and having his hair played with always makes him feel relaxed. "Yeah...it's all real. You can feel it a lot more later on..." he says with a cheeky wink while playfully nudging Dallas.

Riley laughs and bends down a little, offering the pizza boxes out to Dallas. "Help yourself, mate. Just be quick. Getting severe burns here." Riley chuckles through the pain. Scott and Oscar flock over at the smell of food, helping themselves to some of the finest Indian cuisine that London can offer at 2 in the morning. Billy trails behind them and sheepishly helps himself to a kebab from the bag. "Go on mate, take one, it's fine," says Riley reassuringly to Billy who still appears to be not quite himself tonight. Looking at him and analyzing his behaviour over the last few hours, Riley makes a mental note and decides to spend the night with his friend. Billy's obviously popped something else that's severely altered his personality. There's no telling if it will do any damage to him so Riley thinks it's best to keep him supervised for the rest of the night.

Dustyn takes a small kebab and opens up the polystyrene box. The steam from the "freshly" prepared meal wafts up and hits his face, providing some warmth during the increasingly cold night. Taking a strip of the "weird grey meat" Dallas referred to earlier in his hand, he holds it out to Dallas and giggles, wanting his boyfriend to try some of it. "Take a b-bite...it makes you big and strong!!" Dustyn laughs and dangles it in front of Dallas' face, almost slapping him on the chin with it.

Scott had been in London for the last couple of days sorting out a number of different things professionally and personally. For one, his parents, two people he despised even more than he disliked Billy, had asked him to come to the UK to sign a document that said he had no right to their home when they died. He, of course, obliged, more for the comedy value of them thinking he needed anything from them than anything else. He didn't want anything from his parents anyway, and as a self-made multi billionaire who was reportedly the richest man in music, inheriting something from someone was the last thing he was worried about. Even if he liked them, and he really really didn't, he wouldn't be seeking to take their house, so he was happy to sign away his rights now if it meant he and his family never had to hear from these two wankers ever again. The second reason he had come to England was for the face to face meeting with Weekend that he had yet to have since being announced as manager of the band. It seemed all too smooth a transition so far from Weekend being a self managed entity to being under the control, for want of a better word, of a man who wielded power in the music business like no other. Scott imagined one reasons was the simple fact that Weekend trusted him. Those billions didn't make themselves after all, and he knew the band was clever enough to appreciate his business credentials, which was most likely why none of them had made a scene about him becoming manager. But he still wanted to meet them to make sure there was no underlying resentment from any of them to the fact they had a manager, and to make sure that any problems between band members and himself, of which he was sure there would be some, there always had been between him and Weekend, were acknowledged and addressed early doors rather than swept under the carpet.

When he decided to head to the gym that afternoon, Scott had no clue that Weekend would be there too. It was simple coincidence, and the fact that this rather exclusive gym was well celebrated and attended by the rich and famous. It was quieter and tended towards those who had the money and fame that meant they would leave each other to get on with their workouts without being hassled for autographs and pictures. That sort of thing was important to Scott when he was away from home. After all, he worked out three times a day at least, and back in New York he had a gym in the house, which meant he never had to deal with paparazzi and the fans when he was working out. He was serious about his physique after all, and quite famous for it, so an unobstructed gym session was an important thing to him. As he comes through the door of the gym and nods from behind his dark sunglasses to the member of the staff behind the desk, Scott makes his way towards the locker rooms, where he can hear the rather loud and completely unmistakable voice of Billy Khan blaring out from within. He shudders when he hears it. Billy had that special way of grating on him that no one else in the world possessed. Walking inside, he lifts his shades onto his head and smirks as he sees all of the band in there, ducking away towards the corner before they see him. He walks to a bench and places his bag down on it. "You better look out," comes the calming and smooth Scottish voice from the corner of the dressing room. "This," he adds, pointing at all the members of Weekend nonchalantly when they look over at him as one, "is how those Tumblr fanfics always start. I'm just saying," he jokes, smirking. "Imagine seeing you lot here. Good to see you're keeping yourselves in shape though. We can make a lot more money from a fit Weekend than a fat Weekend." He had yet to see Riley was struggling, and Scott was in a jokey mode today. The fact he had rid himself of his parents was cause for celebration after all.

Scott is kind of amused with the way the band all react differently to his presence. The way Billy doesn't hide his disdain for Scott, for example, was pleasing to him. He would be worried if Billy suddenly changed and started being nice to him just because he was the manager. He wanted Weekend to be Weekend, and not to be acting differently just because of him. It was easier to sell the band and all they do if they were true to themselves. "Oh come on, William," he says with a little smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. Scott knew Billy hated to be incorrectly referred to as William, he had learned that from their many clashes. "Satan?" he continues, making sure Billy knew he had heard him, "We both know Satan has got nothing on me," he says, jokingly, laughing off his own comment as a throwaway. Deep down, though, he knew that Billy was aware of how Scott could wield his power. More than anyone in the band, Billy knew what Scott was capable of if he needed to do something drastic, and Scott was glad of that. It would make working with him that little easier, and he imagined it could be useful if he needed to keep the fiery member of Weekend in check.

When he's addressed by the other Scott, Rose-Hilton is quite surprised. He didn't expect that Scott Wellington would interact with him at all. He really hated his new manager, and while Billy was brash and confident in his hatred, Scott had always seemed happier to let it simmer and just steer clear of the guy. He listens to his question and laughs, walking into the middle of the room as he ties his hair back into what he would call a man-bun if he was still the right side of thirty. "Why have I been reading it? Well you can't know the fans without knowing the fans, can you?" he asks, holding his hands up. "How can I know what will motivate the fans to buy into you, if I don't know what motivates them to follow and idolise you? Hey, some of what they write is pretty harrowing, though," he shudders. "I think I should demand a raise," Scott adds, joking as he walks back over and hangs his shirt up, showing off his crazy impressive physique. When Scott pats Riley on the shoulder, Rose-Hilton looks down, only now realising that Riley looked a little off. "You ok, bro?" Scott asks with genuine concern. It was no secret that Riley was his good friend, and the one he was closest to in the band. "What's up?" he asks, sitting on the bench next to him.

It was too tempting for Scott not to have a dig at Billy when he saw him. He had pledged to himself to be as professional as possible with the band, even his sworn enemy. However, when he saw the way Billy acted around Oscar, he decided someone had to stand up to him and keep his ego in check. When he sees how much his simple little comment clearly bothers Billy, Scott smiles a little to himself. There were few things in the world that pleased him more than pissing off Billy. When Billy gives him the lecture about his name, Scott turns away and smirks once again. It was a lecture Billy had given him on Twitter before, but the live version was much more pleasing. He got to see just how much it bit Billy to be called William live in person. "Got it," he says with an over the top thumbs up towards Billy. "So Bilal Khan. Any middle names? Just...I like to get the names right when I'm writing up your royalty and pay cheques, you know?" he says with a smile to himself. He knew that his being involved with the management of Weekend and all that came with that would really be annoying Billy, regardless of what he said in public.

Scott nods at Wellington's comments and laughs a little. It was actually reasonably pleasing to see that he was at least willing to be personable with the new Weekend manager. It would make working with the band a lot easier if he didn't constantly have to fight with two of them. He knew Billy would never even attempt to be civil with him, but if he could build a little rapport with Scott, even if it was forced or fake, it would be a little easier. "Oh, there's no music in them at all from what I can see. They just like to write about you lot. Mostly your knobs. I gotta say, though, as extreme and troubling as some of it is, I have to praise the number of different ways these Tumblr seem to be able to come up with for you lot to cover each other in semen," he says with a loud laugh.

Scott looks at Riley with a little concern when he sits down. Riley was one of his best friends, not just in music, but in general, and the guy meant a lot to him, so he was worried to see him looking so out of breath and struggling to recover after his gym session. It was particularly worrying with a guy like Riley, since he was an imposing bulky, ripped as fuck guy. He was the sort of guy no one would ever expect to see showing any sign of weakness, which made it all the more worrying when he was suffering a little. Scott stretches his arms out in front of him as he sits there keeping an eye on Riley.He might be looking after his friend, but he still had to get himself limbered up for his workout. He had recently got big into crossfit, and he didn't want to attack that without a real warm up beforehand. When Riley comments, Scott looks down at his own abs and laughs. "Six? Please, Hamilton! This is an eight pack at the very least and you know it," he laughs. "Is that what caused you to lose your breath?" he teases, clearly joking.