As the Gustav family was being cemented more firmly together, they were unaware that a rival was about to rise up to challenge their control of the city's underworld. Ironically, it was the Don's previously gay self that had put this wheel into motion when Mark Gust had texted his 'sugar daddy' about the Burton and Bling press conference...
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Tristan Barrow had gawked in shock at the press conference. Had the clock been turned back somehow. and such blatant homophobia was acceptable again? With a click of his teeth, he switched off the televison that took up one wall of his apartment in the trendy downtown area of the city and plopped down into his favorite chair.
"My gawd, what assholes those two are. Well, I guess they're off on Mummy and Daddy's guest list now for sure."
Tristan was pretty sure he could finagle such a thing, as he was the only child of Bart and Matilda Barrow, one of the richest families in the whole state and the wealth that gave him meant he could ensure a lot of doors were closed to those two actors.
Of course, his parents hadn't been exactly thrilled when he'd come out in college. But what could they really do about it? They'd considered cutting him off, and might have done so, if he hadn't pointed out the damage to their reputation that such an act would certainly do. So they tolerated his homosexuality, and allowed him to continue to draw from the family coffers.
However, Tristan wasn't a fool and knew that being out of sight might also let them keep him out of mind. So he'd gotten his apartment downtown and settled into a regular routine of dating and activism. That was how he'd met his current beau, Mark Gust. They'd hit off at a charity fashion show held to raise money for a LGBT group they were both members of. From there, it had been something of a whirlwind relationship.
Lately however, it had entered a less fun phase for the wealthy gay man, as he'd become a little bit bored with his fashionista partner. Even Mark's playful nickname for him, 'Sugar Daddy', had become annoying. Still, he wasn't quite ready to end the relationship, but that hadn't stopped him from going out to the gay club down the block called the Rainbow Riot Room and picking up a one-night stand or two.
Even now, he could remember being in the arms of one of them right now and gave him a slight tingle in his crotch. However, that feeling sealed Tristan's fate, as the same curse that turned a certain fashionista into a mob boss via that same press conference was now about to visit a similar fate upon him...
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The change in reality began on a more broad scale, as the curse wanted to maximize the effect this transformation was affording him. With a slight ripple, the building Tristan's apartment was in under new ownership. Written in a cramped hand in black on the deed was the name Tierney Boyle, and his new status as landlord had a decidedly negative effect on the building as a whole.
The once clean exterior grew dirty, as years of neglect seemed to pile on in moment while its current hispter residents were shifted out and replaced by a collection of good Irish families who owed fealty to this Boyle fellow. This influence creeped down into the basement of the building where the storage cages that once held its residents' extra furnishings and assorted junk were replaced by a long wooden bar. Behind this, shelves pushed out from the walls, followed by dozens of bottles of booze. Stool rose up from the concrete floor, bolting themselves in place as rows of glass descended from the ceiling. A pair of TV's wrenched into place at either end of the bar, tuned to sports and other violent programming as outside a newly created door at the bottom of a short staircase leading to the curb pushed into existence. Above this, a neon sign popped into place, declaring this place to be "The Boiler Room Pub" and soon its regular patrons filed in, filling the air with Irish accented voices...
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Back upstairs, a still untransformed Tristan had decided to check on his parakeet, Sweetie. The light green bird was chirping as he approached, and open the cage door to let it hop onto his finger. But as it did so, the hand began to grow larger. The fingers grew thicker, bursting through the rings he wore. The palm roughened itself, as years of working a bar settled into it. Cracking sounds came from the knuckles as they swelled up from the many times they'd busted themselves on the jaws of unruly customers and uncooperative marks. The almost invisible hairs that had graced the top grew thicker and began a trail up his arm.
A shocked Tristan shook his hand, sending the small bird fly off into another room of the apartment. He gripped his changed hand just below the wrist, wondering if this was some sort of allergic reaction when a similar change jumped to his other hand. Staring in horror as his once dainty hands became more suited for fighting, he failed to notice that effect was now creeping up his arms. A trail of dark hairs led the way as the muscles underneath fair skin surged with new strength and corseness.
"What is happening to me?"
His biceps bulged and pulled the sleeves of the baby blue polo shirt he was wearing tight until they ripped to the shoulders. On the now exposed right shoulder, ink began to rise to the surface in the shape of a large fish caught in a hook and fighting to get free. On the other side, the image of a four leaf clover formed, and was wrapped in a thorny vine that extended down to the forearm. Tristan was horrified at these images and turned to run. But something caused him to trip and fall down.
It was a rug on the floor that he swored hadn't been there a moment ago. It was old and stained badly but he could still see it was the logo of a popular ale called McManus. And that seemed to trigger something deep in his mind, as a mighty thirst welled up in him. Using his new arms to push himself back up, the man staggered forward towards his kitchen.
"Aye, gotta git ta da fridge..."
Behind him, the wallpaper in the living room had aged with water stains as his favorite chair exploded from wicker and pillows into a dark green leather-covered recliner. A matching couch wrenched up out of the now hard wood floors while his flat screen TV fell off the wall, crunching down into one of those ancient cathode ray units from the 1950's with an all wood exterior. The floor strained under the sudden weight on the old TV, which clicked on and tuned to a channel showing soccer in black and white.
In the meantime, Tristan stumbled into his kitchen, his khaki pants beginning to pull tight around legs that were growing thicker with fat and muscle. A loud rip was heard as the seams burst, revealing that his once tight grey briefs had transformed into a pair of well-worn white boxers. But he didn't notice that, his attention focused on his fridge which he pulled open roughly to reveal that all of the once healthy food inside was gone now. In their place was an assortment of beers, lagers and ales. His hand reached for a bottle of McManus and instinctively he opened with a bottle opener set into the front of the fridge.
Necking down the whole thing in a few gulps, the transforming gay man let out a loud burp. He felt better now, as the buzz of the beer hit him full force, adding to growing jumble his mind was in. His memories of being the scion of the Barrow family was drowning in a haze of alcohol out of which bubbled a new life. One filled with sudden violence and sneaky con-jobs, which brought a smile to his face, revealing that his previously white teeth had turned yellow and crooked.
"Dat was a good 'un. Mebbe ah'll have meself 'nother one."
His previously hairless chin was now awash with stubble, salt and peppered in contrast to his still brown hair. As he opened another bottle and drank, his jaw widened with a few cracks and pops. Likewise, his nose was flattened a bit, as it had been broken many times over the years. He'd been quite the brawler in his youth after all. Another swig and his hair had begun to thin at the top of his head, even as it shifted from brown to red streaked with grey. Of course, that missing hair found a new home as it grew into a moustache above thickened lips. He turned his head, as the volume of the soccer match on the TV in the other room caught his attention.
"Oy, da' match is on!"
The man who may have once been called Tristan Barrow lumbered towards the TV, now seeing that his polo was starting to strain against his belly which had bloated up considerably with each drink of beer he'd had. It gave up the ghost as the belly thick with fat and muscle burst free, revealing a thick trail of hair coming up out from his boxers where it spread across his now somewhat jiggly pecs. He also failed to notice that his stride had shortened a bit, as he lost height settling to a point somewhere between five and six feet.
He had almost reached the recliner as the remains of the polo turned first white and yellowed as they reformed into a wifebeater undershirt that looseluy tucked itself into his boxers. He slide into the chair, his butt swelling up to fit the well-worn groove in the green leather. There was a loud crunch of gears as the chair leaned back and he settled in to watch the telly.
"C'mon ye basterds! I got a lotta money on dis game!"
As he yelled at the screen, there was a shadow flying overhead. It seemed to be growing with each pass over head, as blue feathers overwhelmed green. Its once sweet chirping became loud squawks, as its wings flapped larger now and its beak curled downwards. Finally, it swooped down to land on a stand that rose out the floor next to the recliner. The now blue and yellow parrot squawked loudly.
" 'Ey! Shoot up dak fook up, Sweeney. I'mma tryin' ta watch da' match!"
Inside his mind, Tristan was fight a losing battle against this...man he'd become. He could no longer remember his own name, only sure that his initals were T. B. Still, he clung onto the one thing he knew was his for sure. That being his homosexuality, which made him feel sick but he clung to it like a life preserver. However, then the soccer game was replaced by an ad for....
"~My name is Jessica Bling and I'm a McManus Girl!~"
The sight of that famous actress lassie from the Burton movies got his attention. She was dressed in a skimpy green bikini that left very little to the imagination. This brought something to attention underneath his boxers. And just like that, the last bit of Tristan was washed away and the gaps in his memory began to fill themselves.
He was Tierney Boyle, and he was the toughest sonuvabitch on the east side of town. He also ran the largest of the Irish crime families in the city for almost thirty years now. A wave of wrinkles and liver spots appeared over his body with that knowledge, along a few streaks of grey in his hair. But even being in his early sixties, he could still get it up.
"~Oooooooooooooh, McManus!~"
The famous Bling moan did the trick as his cock rose to its full length, tenting up his boxers. The old Irish mobster grinned as he gripped his stick and imagined it inside that moaning beauty. But just then an alarm went off in his kitchen, reminding him that it was time to do some business.
He got up, made his way off to the bedroom to change into some clean clothes. Behind him the parrot called Sweeney squawked....
"NO HOMO! NO HOMO!"
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The transformation of Tristan Barrow into Tierney Boyle left a gap in his former family. However, the curse filled that gap in a short while later when it turned two others into the new children of Bart and Matilda Barrow, Lester and Annise.
And now the Gustavs had gained a gang to rival their influence over the city....