Prologue.
"People are literally dying on your land."
Garrick sneered at Gaston from across the table. He knew he'd lost the battle. "You'll be out of here eventually," Gaston continued conversationally, shaking his head slowly as if to say 'what a shame'. Garrick tightened his grip on the table until his knuckles turned white. "Listen, all I'm trying to say is that you are running a faulty organization here. If I were you, I'd get out of here as quickly as possible and go find another commune to stay with before the cops get you."
"We've been fine here for three years," Garrick snapped, finally letting go of the table. "We've only had two deaths, and they were completely accidental."
Gaston smirked again, placing his hands in his pockets. Garrick twitched keeping an eye on Gaston's hands the entire time. Absentmindedly, he rested his hand on the handle of the drawer in front of him. If this was going to turn into a fight, he wanted to get to his weapon as quickly as possible.
"Tell you what," Gaston said, turning, much to Garrick's surprise, and walking back to the door. I'll give you until your twenty-first birthday to fix up a place for these kids and get the under control. If you can't get it together by then, I'm gonna send Lefou in here with some guys to take the place." Garrick froze. He'd hoped Desmonds wouldn't say anything like that. He knew he had no chance if Gaston had decided to send his cronies in.
"And when is your birthday, Gar?" Garrick glared at him with every nasty bone in his body.
"February twenty sixth," he muttered through clenched teeth. Gaston's smirk quickly turned into a full-fledged smile.
"I'll see you at the end of the month then," he said before promptly turning on his heel and heading out the door without as much as a glance over his shoulder.