Choice: Deal with Grant? Deal with Eynhallow? Pick vodka. 

characters: Xander

Xander, left alone in his cavernous 80x80 bedroom is brooding over Grant’s declaration of meanness.  He’s in denial, but agitated enough to exert some supernatural wrath upon the innocent couch.  Probably cut up its cushions with a knife out of spite.  He runs across the room to the suspiciously well-stocked drinks cabinet (remember the first step to recovery is recognizing that you have a problem) and after contemplation of the contents of a drawer pours himself a glass of something.  Probably orange juice.  Although he directly implies that he’s drinking gasoline.  I dunno, telepaths.  He wanders to the balcony to be morose and pretend that he’s not really drunk.  The island is top of his worry list at this point rather than grant.  Apparently the natives are getting restless.