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As his children filed in, Reginald stood center in the massive airbus' entrance, between the first two bathrooms. Divided into two sections, the first corridor held the bar, a smallish thing shoved into the corner to accommodate room for more seats—left of where Reginald stood at the entrance. Its mahogany counter, dark red, almost cherry, fit well with the wooden trimming coating the plane, standing stark against the clean off-white that clung to the seats and the walls. The bar held three seats at its counter with a professional already mixing cocktails flashing her white teeth behind. Just across from the bar two sets of booths settled into the wall, large enough to seat four in a section (with seat belts for safety) and the same mahogany tables dividing the white seats. Just behind it, exactly right of where Reginald stood, sat a couch facing the embedded TV, with a coffee table just in front. Across from that and just beside the bar, to Reginald's left was a small lounging area, with enough room to seat five people in an odd square fashion, with another coffee table settled in the midst of the chairs and sofa.

Walking from one end of the section to the other, another pair of bathrooms were built to divide the area. A more living room area nestled itself in the near back of the plane, with an arrangement of seats built in to the wall, coffee tables, embedded TVs, and sofas. In the midst of the room sat the two main couches with a long, low coffee table between them and behind it a pair of seats across from each other. Closest to the entrance of the room sat a L-shaped booth that fit snug in the corner of the section, with a small cabinet that held a numerous amount of books, kept locked until the flight hit a steady altitude. Across from the couch-booth a more dynamic seating arrangement for TV viewing, with a couch and a seat nestled in the corner, with two more traditional plane seating arrangements lining the area behind it until the chairs hit the wall of the section.

In the very, very far back of the plane, where the Carringtons had kept a small bedroom, the room itself had been refurbished to adjust to a larger crowd. The entirety of the room held seemed made for long-flight naps with its stretched out sofa that had enough room to lean back each individual seat with its own leg rest. Across from it laid two chaise like sofas with their arms on the side closest the door and nice, wool blankets draped over them. The room itself holds no windows, it's personal sliding door and light fixture for near complete darkness. The room separated itself from the previous one with the last pair of bathrooms, and a personal section for the attendants to serve more traditional drinks, and provide the passengers with whatever they needed. The front of the plane, nestled between the cockpit and the entrance, was where the food was held and cooked to be served at the passenger's convenience.

After their initial introductions, Reginald moved on to greet his children more formally. He let Cassiopeia take a breather after introducing their children to the plane and allowing them to board. They wouldn't like what they said to their children, but they had to know for certain their reasons for being here—to see them was quickly marked off. Hopefully, it was their siblings they wished to rekindle old ties to and not potential greed clouding their minds. For all they knew, they were here to be forcefully put into position as head of Tri-V, though, Reginald knew, just from small greetings, that the weight of an entire business empire would overwhelm each and every one of them.

Samantha the most, as he rounded the corner and passed the threshold into the first room. He wasn't surprised that she found herself closest to the drinks. Reginald was this close to downing one himself, or a few dozen.

Reginald quickly made his way to where his daughter and her girlfriend sat, putting a hand on Samantha's shaking frame. "Samantha," he mumbled. It was all he good say at seeing her, his first daughter, his baby girl. He'd spoiled his princess rotten and what had he gotten for it? A beautiful young lady that hated his guts more than the world.

Bending low, he met her eyes with the sternness and frost in his. It was hard taking that part out of him, making his face look more than just cold stone. "I hope you liked our gift to you," he started, "It'd been hanging in my office for years; I almost didn't want to let it go." And then, just like that he started moving away, "I've been... dabbling in a bit of art, but I can't seem to find anything I like that matched yours. So, that's all I have in our home."

After nodding to Jesse, he started moving a way, breathing deeply, "Take good care of her. And make sure she doesn't bleed her liver out."

With that heart wrench out of the way, Reginald moved on to more neutral ground. A place he could rely on not to get him on his knees crying or screaming out the window in frustration. Gabriel Carrington. Of course, that meant he skimmed over his second eldest child in favor of paying attention to the problem cases or the most successful children. That didn't mean he loved the boy less.

"Don't actually take shotgun wedding seriously, Gabe," Reginald said, slapping Eric on the shoulder as he looked down at the man, "And you better be ready to live in a castle of toys. I'm still waiting for the day he grows up." A small chuckle left his lips and then his eyes landed on Charlie sitting beside the two. His face grew stern and he turned his full attention on the boy.

"Charlie, let's not pester your brother," he said, motioning for the TV near the front, "might as well rot your brain, seeing as you aren't using it."

"Dad, it's.. it's okay, he's not a bother," Gabriel chimed in, looking from Reginald to Charlie.

"I'd rather not have two kids trying to give their mother a heart attack. Don't influence him," and with that Reginald wandered off, not ignorant of the typical eye-roll Gabriel gave and the middle man routine of placating at least one side.

He could hear the cusp of a, "Don't mind him," upon entering the more spacious area of the plane and setting his eye on Liv with her plus one and a baby bump that knocked it out of the park.

The moment he found himself in front of the two, he could barely stop himself from digging his nails into his hands. Richard Davis, a man a little too like Reginald for the old Carrington to like and enough unlike himself for him to mistrust. It was a raging conflict upon seeing him in the flesh, arm around Olivia like he mattered. And damn did he. Though his field of business drove him far away from the likes of Reginald, he saw the boy too often making headliners in the magazines that truly mattered, articles dedicated to his brilliance and his fit for running his father's company.

Despite the animosity in his mind, Reginald smiled from his spot looking down at Richard. Best to assert dominance now, make it crystal clear that, should he abandon both his daughter and his child, there'd be [i]Hell[/i] to pay and Heaven to rain down on his insignificant, bastard little, ego-inflated—Reginald took a deep breath and smiled wider. "I see my daughter's standards are high," Reginald stated, looking Richard over, "she always did have a thing for fairy tale princes. Only the best for my princess."

He gave Richard one last look, "I hope you find your stay to suit your eccentric [i]tastes[/i]." And he almost sneered, almost let his expression fall into a scowl, but Reginald tightened the smile before softening the look to make his statement more believable.

Then he disappeared, leaving him with a vague, "I hope you can keep up," before moving on to another of his children.

Seeing Marisol and Tatiana together, Reginald nearly descended into the seat next to them. He loved these two as much as the next child because they were his children. Years of putting so much work and thought into what they'd become after school, after college, should have been evidence enough. Of course, knowing you were adopted tended to put a damper on thoughts of actually belonging to a family. But, he'd remind anyone who thought other wise with ever inch of his knuckles.

"I see you didn't think highly of my language suggestions, Marisol," Reginald greeted with a hand on the back of her seat, "I suppose that's par for the course. You never did take direction and guidance well. Always so stubborn, yet determined. You're just like your mother." And then he found himself looking down at Peter, and just about snap judging him like he did Richard. Of course, he knew Richard's type, or at least the type he looked like. Love 'em and leave 'em. Peter, however, didn't meet that criteria. He didn't seem the type to have a backbone. Of course, what was worse, no backbone, or too much ego? The sneer that left him was purely accidental, then again, the tiny part in the back of his head really wanted Peter to know he didn't deserve what his daughter gave him.

"Your boyfriend," he'd caught the looks they gave each other, "looks like a farmer's boy. I suggest finding him new clothes." Though, he did bend down to lay a kiss to the side of her head and whispered, "despite that, I couldn't be happier. But if he leaves you, make sure he knows just how much money I'm willing to spend." Reginald ended the note on a narrowed glare directly in line with Tatiana's plus one.

"I loved my mother dearly," Reginald started, "but I never let her dress me," before he turned toward Tatiana, "And, darling, you have it hard enough, the accent just makes you look like a target to be taken advantage of. I'd suggest losing it, but you were always so... free spirited."

Before he made to leave, however, Reginald paused in his first step. His brow creased over, and he nearly hesitated before looking up at Tatiana, "Hard work. It's evident in the set of your shoulders. I... like what you've become. I'm eager to see what you'll make of yourself."

Of course, that had to segue into seeing little, curly haired Rowan. The boy who wanted too hard to be his father. Though he'd not gotten much else in his life, Reginald couldn't be happier with the mistakes that shaped Rowan. There was a difference between wanting a father's approval and wanting to be your father—Rowan got caught in the in between and he suffered for it. Reginald couldn't be more disappointed in himself than at this very moment.

Setting a hand on the back of Natalie's chair, he smiled down at the girl. "I can't believe my son caught such a lively girl," he said, "he'd been such a stick in the mud as a kid. But, I suppose he did his brother's good keeping them in line. Gabriel found himself teetering on the edges of his mother's nerves. Rowan, there, was always her favorite." And then he moved on to pat his son on the shoulder, sinking into the next part of the plane while leaving his son with a, "so call it, since nor the exterior nor the inward man resembles that it was."

And then came Daniel, with his... girlfriend? Reginald squinted his eyes, but thought nothing more of it. Daniel had the looks, in a unique way. He had a look and he supposed it depended on the perspective. Of course, Reginald had always been biased and considered all of his children to be top tier in the attractiveness category—Marisol was a model, for god's sake.

"Ah, it's nice to see my angst ridden children have significant others that can tote around their rain clouds with a happy smile," Reginald nodded to Katelyn before looking at Daniel, "You've made a significant change. I wonder what else you have to offer."

Speaking of girlfriends, Reginald's eyes settled on Emmaline beside one of his younger sons. He approached with his hand outstretched, "It's nice to meet the girl that finally urged my son out of his shell. He's quite, [i]lucky[/i] in that way, isn't he?"

[aaand place holder; wow such unprofessional; how dare]

With greeting all of his children out of the way, Reginald could finally take his place at the helm of the plane with his wife's hand squeezed tightly in his. "Just focus on what we've planned out," he said, "they'll be preoccupied with unpacking, and then the day after with the interviews. We'll take their guests out, have a nice day, relax. Just. Relax." The plane chose that moment to disembark, settling for an leisurely acceleration through the airport strip.