Fantasy Hotel California: the new Host

[egghead]

Once the creak of opening doors reached her ears, Rachel swivelled towards its source. Anticipating their long-serving tormentor, she was thrown completely off-balance when her expectations didn’t align with reality. Obsidian was nowhere to be seen. What stood before them was an old friend. It looked exactly like him, except...brand new. His silver hair was fuller and shinier, and his cheeks now had a healthy blush to them. All the dents had been banged out and covered in a fresh coat of paint. He looked a thousand years younger, the way he probably looked before grief and alcoholism made their mark.

Instead of moving closer, Rachel pulled away on reflex. Something wasn’t right, though she couldn’t quite put a finger on the reason. If there was a lesson to be learned from repeatedly having dust thrown in your eyes, it was to question everything you see. For all any of them knew, this could be another trick.

“Wearing the skin of a dead guy?” she sneered at who she presumed to be Obsidian in disguise. “That’s tacky, even for a scumbag like you.”

 

[Axeykins]

"Say what now?" He cocked his head to the side curiously. What an odd greeting from guests...certainly one he'd never before. It almost made him take a step back in hesitation, but nay! He had to prove himself capable! Particularly after all of the begging he had to do to even chose his own beings to drag in to their domain.

Clearing his throat he put on an bright and shining smile. "I'm sorry there must be a mistake. For one, I am the only here. Not wearing some shell like the one before me I can assure ya of that. I'm more real than ever." He stated proudly. "And I appreciate your... whatever...this...is? but I have never met any of you in my life." He chuckled nervously. The one woman's tears were throwing him off greatly. "I don't even know how ya know my name really. I've only just met you." He stepped forward. Surveying them all. They kind of looked familiar. Something bugging him in the very back of somewhere in his mind. It was swiftly cut short by a sharp, painful headache that made him wince.

"Anyhow!! This isn't a proper greeting for my dear guests now is it? Shall I show you to your rooms? Offer food and drinks? Clothes? Though those are an option to no judgin' "

 

[buzz]

What he was saying didn’t make sense to her, the warmth in her expression melting into a dropped jaw and furrowed brows. “Your guests?” She laughed it off with a snort. “Sisceal, is this a prank or something?”

Vincent was more interested in hiding his manhood and disregarded the awkward atmosphere, “Clothes! Nothing too hideous, but uh, I’ll take anything at this point...”

“Vincent, don’t play along!” Katrinne barked at her old sidekick, not wanting a change of topic. The anxiety burning in her stomach churned incessantly while she anticipated an answer, the answer she wanted to hear. Her face was now stained by black mascara-tinted tears and sparse bruises from her earlier catfight, a crazed fight for someone who couldn’t even appreciate it. The thought brought a stinging to her eyes, but she fought to keep herself from looking like a distraught madwoman.

It wasn’t enough for the shuddering man in the background, who had little concern for whatever she was whining about. He rolled his eyes. Despite considering quipping back, Vincent kept his mouth shut aside from bouts of loud sneezing.

 

[egghead]

Having a very short fuse for mind games, Rachel once again let anger take the reins. This time it was directed mostly at her cronies. “Oh, c’mon!” she snapped, her entire body jerking with the outburst. “You idiots aren’t actually buying this bullshit, are you? It’s obviously not him!”

As if to prove her point, Rachel lurched forward. Heavy click-clacks accompanied every step as she rapidly closed the distance between herself and the imposter. When their noses were nearly touching, she, without hesitation, grabbed his cheeks and gave them a hard tug. Instead of slipping off like the cheap rubber mask she was expecting, the skin stretched, similar to the way living flesh did. “What the hell?”

Frustrated, she continued squishing and squeezing his face with the vain hope that it would somehow reveal Obsidian’s underneath. “Is this stupid thing glued on? Why isn’t it coming off?!”

 

[Axeykins]

"Done n' done" With the snap of his fingers a whirl of white and black streams whipped around the man. Fitting him in a sleek, form fitting silken suit. Black with golden, amethyst and emerald embroideries that looked like peacock feathers running up the sides. As well as accents of sapphire on the buttons.

Soon as he was finished he gave a bright prideful smile. Very happy with his work making one of his own first chosen ones look dapper as ever. Iiiiit was very shortly lived though as another decided to assault him.
Sisceal's face scrunched up in reaction to being pulled like taffy in all directions by the mad woman. Sure his body could somewhat change but not to an extreme degree. With a slight snarl he whapped her hands away and took a step back. Looking very much annoyed. "The fuck you on about?" He grumbled. "I don't even know who that is. I've always been the Host of this place! Long as I can remember. None of you are my first guests here but ya sure as hell are the strangest so far. You know my name and keep thinkin I'm somethin else or someone else. I am the HOST of this place and expect to be treated as such!!" He snapped. His teeth growing longer and sharper as his temper was lost. The scalera of his eyes blackening around his hetero-chromatic irises.

 

[buzz]

Katrinne stepped back immediately. If there was anything that was clear in this confusing quagmire, it was the ferocity of the man before them—whatever his true identity may be. The demon wanted to yank Rachel away from the bestial man but backed away instead. “Forgive us,” she quivered, laughing nervously to hide her nerves, “forgive her, we’re grateful for your hospitality!” A crooked smile forced itself onto her face and she glanced at Vincent, who was busy inspecting his new set of clothes. Katrinne tried nudging him to act accordingly, thanking the clearly offended imposter, but it was to no avail.

“Well, this is up to my standards in luxury, for sure,” he grinned and swayed when the fireworks around him died down, admiring the shininess of each detail. “But,” he started, and Katrinne immediately groaned, “emerald is sooo out of style nowadays! I’d look so tacky walking through Manchester wearing glitzy emeralds!”

 

[egghead]

Though he had only smacked her hand, it felt more like a slap across the face. Fresh bruises on her ego meant another hard shove towards the edge. A slight jab was all that was needed to push her over, and Katrinne was the one to give that last poke.

“Like hell we’re grateful!” she shouted at the she-devil. “Grow a spine already! How do you call yourself a demon when you’re such a grovelling little worm?!”

Aiming her rage back towards the delusion calling himself host, Rachel did the unthinkable. She grappled him by the shirt collar, yanking the much taller and larger creature down so that their eyes met. Hers shot daggers into an inhuman stare with such intensity that it might as well have pierced his brain. Despite having no power or authority in this world, she wasn’t about to bow down to the atrocity who did. At least not without a fight.

“Listen, buddy,” she hissed. “I don’t care who you say you are. Unless you want me to bash in your goddamn skull, you’re gonna open up a way outta here and you’re gonna do it NOW!”

 

[Axeykins]

He forced a smile onto his face. "Oh of course. I can't go around just....getting at my new guests now can I? What's the fun in that." His gaze traveled to the man now complaining about what he was given. "And? Emerald compliments your complexion and brings out your eyes. What's the point of style if it doesn't bring the best of your own features to the front hm?" He eyed the man up and down with a smug little grin on his face.

A grin proving extremely hard to keep up with this lot. Sisceal let out a slight gagging noise as he was dragged down to face the more violent of them. Staring down his nose at her near crosseyed and baffled as all Hell. "I don't think I'm the problem here little Miss." His voice grew darker. Without skipping a beat his hand snapped forward to grip her by the neck. Staring her down with the purest ill contempt. "You think I'm some pushover? Some spineless worm eh? You don't know what you're dealing with. I will end you." His grip tightened as he lifted her higher. Black and white tendrils creeping up his neck and arm. "You are not going anywhere. Ever. None of you. And I will make sure of it personally. I rule this fucking place and it'd be well within your best interest ta keep that in mind. Do we understand?" He hissed up at her through a wide, jagged maw.

 

[egghead]

It may have only been the second murder attempt of the day, but this time might actually prove to be fatal. The vice-like grip around Rachel’s throat squeezed tighter and tighter, threatening to snap her spine in half. If speech were possible she would have told her foe to get it over with, because living with the sting of failure was a fate much worse than death.

There was no point in fighting back. All of the redhead’s strength was used to clench onto the arm offering her up to the heavens. Even when slimy little tentacles started slithering over her fingers, she didn’t loose grip. It was the lack of oxygen that eventually did the job.

Soon, the world began to blur around its edges. As darkness faded in, she slowly grew limp, her legs now dangling uselessly in the air. Like a candle being snuffed, Rachel’s fire went out with little more than a fizzle.

—

Glen walked into the room. As soon as he saw what was happening, he turned around to leave.

 

[buzz]

Surely he wasn’t gonna kill her, she told herself, until the struggling body stiffened in midair. She was more than peeved by the earlier comments aimed at her, ones that tugged at her greatest insecurities, but was still horrified. Panicking, she ran towards the exit. It creaked open to reveal yet another familiar face, who she promptly shoved to flee into the hallway.

—

He thought too long and too hard about the additions to his clothes to notice anything that was happening, until the squeak of sprinting shoe soles led him to realize how chaotic the ballroom had become. “Holy crap, Sisceal! I thought you were a priest?” He stepped forward for closer inspection. “Did you kill her?!” The man shook his head and caught sight of the scene at the entryway. “Hey, who’s that guy and why does that ragtag lady get to leave?”

 

[Axeykins]

The tendrils creeping up his arm took a sharp detour and dove straight into his wrist. Straight to the bone. Crying out in pain Sisceal immediately let go of the poor woman. Dropping her crudely onto the floor as he gripped his arm and received a firm tongue lashing from the hotel within his mind. "NO but I damn well wish I could." He snapped. Looking up with a sour, spoiled child expression. As if that was the first time he'd ever been told no for something he wanted.

"An they aren't leavin. Nobody can leave this place. You're all trapped forever." His grin returned as he straightened up. Taking long strides towards the knocked down man. "Late to the welcome party a bit aren't we? You....you you you. Hmm. You're the surprise I wasn't expecting now." He picked the sorry beanpole up from the ground by the shoulders of his shirt. Hardly being able to get him off more than his tip toes as he was a bit taller than him or close to the same height. "How'd ya do it? I wasn't aiming for you. Didn't feel you at all. Not like any a them. Felt something with them but not you."

 

[egghead]

There wasn’t a single opportunity to react to what happened next. First, some uncivilized brute knocked Glen to the ground, bowling him over without so much of an “excuse me”. Then, immediately after, a stranger hoisted him back up. Except it wasn’t a stranger. Once the room had stopped spinning, blurred vision focused and it became abundantly clear that the one clasping his shoulders was none other than a man who should’ve been dead.

Glen’s mouth bobbed open and closed, unable to form a coherent sentence or even a single word. All that came out was a shaky breath. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that there was something very, very wrong going on. Not only was this doppelgänger speaking to him as if they had never met, but whoever it was had also nearly killed somebody to death.

Alarms blared in the coward’s mind, but he knew better than to do or say anything that would land him a chokehold. “Ah, um...It’s a...secret?”

—

Nothing felt colder than the marble floor against her knees. Hunched over in a crumpled heap, Rachel’s body convulsed with violent coughs and gasps, Black bruises formed a new necklace around her throat—a semi-permanent mark of shame.

Though there were no mirrors in sight, her mind’s eye could still perceive herself at the lowest she’d ever been. The bravado, the grandiose show of superiority, all of it stripped down to reveal the weak and fragile human hiding underneath. Everyone saw. Everyone knew. She could still feel their judging glares burning holes through her back.

Gritting her teeth, Rachel used her last ounces of strength to clamber onto her feet. With the grace of a drunken ballerina, she scuttled away from the ballroom and as far away as crippled legs could carry her.

 

[buzz]

Just as Katrinne thought she was escaping any and all immediate threat, she was met by a thundering and somewhat prepubescent-sounding “STOP!”

As they wanted, Katrinne sloppily slowed to a stop. Before her was someone or something that confused the eyes. After staring for too long, the shape of a suit made itself clear. At the helm was a face, presumably, that remained obfuscated. She rubbed her eyes to clear what looked like a speck in her vision but the mist did not go away. It was a ghost, she realized finally. Her memory never did leave her, so the demon knew immediately to yelp with joy at another familiar face, but who could actually help her. “Cahill! Why is Sisceal, uh, a murderous tyrant?”

The ghost murmured and groaned. “My plant... The Hotel... it all changed!” It sobbed, silhouette hunched over. “Please, help me, hold my hand...”

Katrinne didn’t understand why this was necessary and harbored some suspicion, but did it anyway. As soon as she made contact the ghost disappeared and, soon after, so did her own consciousness.

Cahill, now masquerading as its brooding demon friend, trudged triumphantly through the halls. “Ah ah ah,” it vocalized, laughing briefly at the sound of its new voice, “its like sitting on a nice sofa after a long day standing on your feet! If you’re listening, I’m sorry, but I don’t care!” It twirled and danced its way through the halls, taking lefts and rights as its heart desired.

—

Vincent nearly dirtied his new panties when the dead carcass jumped up and out of the ballroom. He snickered at the crooked sprint before shifting his attention to another sad soul in the crazy new host‘s claws. It looked like a less menacing grip, but Vincent still tuned in, fluffing his feathery jacket as he did so. “Wish I had a chair and some popcorn...” he mumbled to himself, grinning.

 

[Axeykins]

"Secret? The Hell is that supposed to mean?" He shook the poor man like a rag doll as he raised him higher off of the ground. His biceps and shoulders bulging through the fabric of his suit. "I'm up for games an all but not games like these. This is MY hotel. MY domain. I ain't having no smarmy limp noodle bastards fuck it all up for me." He leered at the man. The gears turning in his head wildly trying to piece it together.

"Ah!" Sisceal immediately released his grip on the sad old sack. "You clever sonuvabitch....My other guests! We can't have a proper greeting like this!" He raised his foot and clacked it back on the ground. Making a gathering motion with his arms to pull the rooms to wrap back around to the ballroom. As well as set up some tables of baked goods and booze. They did have to get their keys after all and a warm, open welcome.

 

[egghead]

When you hit rock bottom, there was only one place left to go: the pub. Hotel California’s lounge might have boasted high arches and fancy chandeliers, but without music or drunken laughter, the place felt more like a stuffy museum than anything else. Except maybe a church, considering the stained-glass windows. Heaven meets hell, virtue versus sin.

But Rachel wasn’t here to admire the architecture. She headed straight for the bar, zeroing in on the nearest bottle of gin. The first drink calmed her down, the second made the pain almost bearable. After that, everything came crashing down. The memories flooding in were even worse than the actual ordeals, because they were proof that what happened was real, and there was no denying reality.

With a roar, Rachel whirled around towards the cabinet and, in a single swing, wiped out an entire shelf. “You’ll pay for this,” she shrieked. “You’ll all pay!”

The clamour of shattering glass and spilling liquid filled dismal silence. Her rampage didn’t stop with a few broken bottles. She threw stools through the windows, flipped tables into the air, smashed every tumbler and beer stein in sight.

By the time her temper tantrum reached its peak, the entire room was in shambles. Exhausted and panting heavily, she once again dropped to the ground. Glass shards sliced her stockings and bare skin, but she was too overwhelmed to care. Nothing worked. Nothing made her feel better, and nothing would.

For what seemed like hours, the redhead sat motionless, staring blankly at the floor. When she finally broke free from the spell and looked up, her surroundings had completely changed. Everything appeared exactly as it did when she arrived, not a single speck of dust out of place. It was like a reset button had been pressed, rendering her small act of rebellion meaningless.

The only remnants of a frenzy were bloody knees and wounded pride. With a sigh, Rachel crawled onto a stool. Slumped over the bar, all she could do was marinate in hatred.

—

An all too familiar fear of death strung like a venomous snake. A feeble whimper escaped from the fully grown man as he was lifted several feet into the air. Hanging by his shirt collar, there was nothing Glen could do besides silently pray to whichever god would listen.

His eyes screwed shut, unable to accept the sight before him. It wasn’t Sisceal. It couldn’t be. There was a monster, speaking in his voice, possessing his body.

When the spineless invertebrate finally mustered enough courage to unseal his eyes, he was back on solid ground. The scenery had also changed, shifting from a barren wasteland to a grandma’s cocktail party, complete with champagne and desserts sweet enough to rot teeth.

Too afraid to be impressed by the splendour, Glen recoiled so hard that his back inevitably hit the wall. He wanted nothing more than to escape, to run as far away as possible. But he was paralyzed, frozen in place. He had become a statue, yet another kitschy addition to the ornaments decorating the ballroom.

 

[buzz]

The spirit and its faithful carcass moved swiftly through the halls. Sounds of clattering and shattering grew louder as its newfound nimble legs glided to an entranceway. Just as it moved a foot into the spacious lounge, Cahill felt something jerk inside of him—not Katrinne. After being suspended in the Hotel for so long and now essentially becoming a part of its various vestibules, it could feel when something stirred. The layout had changed, Cahill thought before looking behind, the sight confirming that what it thought was indeed true. The ballroom doors stood uncomfortably close and were a hair from crushing his shiny new ride. It shrugged the occurrence off with a sashay into the lounge, disregarding what the Hotel so clearly wanted. Katrinne’s steps were kept light as Cahill eavesdropped on what looked like another blood-pumping body. It did more than pump blood—the shrieking and thrashing piqued Cahill’s desire to be the owner of such a lively home.



The redhead, familiar but not familiar enough, moved oddly from one place to another. Cahill paused, watching from afar as she sadly mounted one of the countless barstools. Surely, the sporadic emotions meant the soul was unfit. Seeing its opportunity, Cahill made Katrinne’s emaciated figure work itself in the most flattering way possible, slipping onto the barstool as seductively as one could sit on a barstool. Cahill moved his puppet’s hands onto their neighbor’s farthest shoulder. Nearly embracing the ripe human in a single slithering motion, it spoke softly, “I can help you if you let me.” It paused. “Hold my hand, I’m here for you.”



—



Vincent looked on, prematurely wincing at every movement as if he didn’t want to watch the moment Sisceal snapped the man’s neck. He remembered the man, the “conniving little sod.” He couldn’t care less what happened to him, and grew more preoccupied with the beefcake doing the grabbing. This wasn’t how he remembered the priest, but the young dandy was not one to be ashamed. His mind wandered into fantasies and scenarios—including one in a bar that seemed oddly familiar. He closed his mouth that he didn’t know was left open, gulping as he realized the new scene before him. This was the Hotel, he had to constantly remind himself. Who cares, he told himself again.



“Sisceal?” Vincent, bashful, exaggerated his manners and bombast, “May I be shown the seat wherein I may bequeath my voluptuous backside?”

 

[egghead]

When the aroma of freshly-summoned pastries finally reached his nostrils, Glen nearly fainted. Intense stomach cramps made staying focused difficult, if not outright impossible. As much as he didn’t want to swallow something that was most likely poisoned, his body needed sustenance.

Wobbly legs carried the ravenous creature to one of the many buffets like a moth to a bug zapper. A shaky hand hovered over chocolate-stuffed, caramel-coated cakes, as if fighting off temptation. Eventually hunger lost, and instead of wolfing down on the confectionaries, he just stared at them. The longer he gaped, the less they resembled real food. They looked more like plastic replicas, as fake as the host’s hospitality.

He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. Eating would mean accepting his new tormentor’s warm welcome, and Glen decided right then and there that he would rather starve.

With a laboured exhale, he hunkered down on a chair. Drawing the curtains, he tried to envision being someplace else, but only saw the back of his eyelids. There was no escape from the horror, not even in his own imagination.

—

There was an audible snap as Rachel’s head twisted towards the cajoling flatterer. Screwing up her face as if detecting a particularly putrid smell, she growled. Out of all the cockroaches infesting this gutter, why did it have to be the she-devil sitting in the adjacent seat?

Her bad mood wasn’t pacified by the offer; it only flared. “Get those dirty mitts off me!” she snapped, shoving the other woman. “What makes you think you’re allowed to breathe after the shit you pulled?!”

She stood in the most dramatic way possible. A clatter rang throughout the lounge as her stool toppled over. What she did next was smash a wine bottle against the counter before levelling the jagged end at a skinny neck. For anyone else, it might have been an overreaction, but for Rachel, the outburst was pretty much expected.

“Not so fun when you’re on the other end, huh?” she snarled. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip out your vocal chords right now and use ‘em to pretty up this craphole.”

 

[buzz]

It had been a long time since one of his puppets was threatened with death and to that, Cahill internally snickered. He could care less about this husk. It was his misfortune that he stumbled upon such a problematic one, but he had to adjust to her trenchant tendencies or risk having no home at all.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten all about what you talk of...” A voice, more feminine than what could be attributed to the possessed, cooed each word. A nimble hand was placed on the weapon, a semblance of nonchalance concealing any obvious antipathy. Cahill could surmise it wasn’t following the script but his former friend could use a change of personality.

“Please, I’ve come to make amends. I’m sorry, Rachel.” Slowly but surely, he eased the blade away from its fleshy target, pivoting it to the side where it wouldn’t harm his exterior.

“You look like you need someone and I am someone, please, come into my embrace.” He could feel the eyes narrow and the lips upturn into a conniving smile, masked as honest concern and love.

 

[egghead]

The proposition was shocking enough to stun. What slowly advanced on her was a far cry from a shrinking violet. For a fraction of a second, doubt reflected in her eye, as well as a tiny mirror image of a complete stranger.

As if a devil’s touch had made it scorching hot, the weapon flung from of her grip. The sound of shattering glass cleared the fog clouding Rachel’s mind. Now fully alert, she reeled back, pulling away from the temptress one wobbly step at a time.

“Did you hit your head or something?” she mocked, a smirk cutting her cheek. “You’re more braindead than usual.”

All while dishing out middle school-level insults, she inched closer towards the only exit. “I bet that albino prick put you up to this, huh? Figures you’d be the first one licking his boot. You’re stupid enough to lap up his bullshit.”

 

[Axeykins]

With the flick of his wrist a gold encrusted porcelain throne appeared underneath Vincent. Much as he wished to explore the man's musings. An entirely new event had caught his attention. He snapped his way over to the two still at each others throats. A wide sharp toothed grin grossly making a mockery the face that bore it now.
"Now now. Don't go messin with the festivities now. This is a time of celebration! Of welcome!" He grabbed Rae's wrist roughly and forced her to take aim at her own neck with the busted bottle. Not forgetting to keep the other out of the fun times the tendrils at his command collected the shards from the other half and they took aim at her. Ready to launch at any time. "I am not going to let you make a fool of me or ruin the fun. This. All of this is MY party for YOU and you are going to appreciate it! ALL OF YOU." He belted out aggressively. His hair falling more and more out of place and teeth growing ever sharper. A choking silent filled the room, filling all of the hotel. Sisceal stood frozen, panting heavily for quite some time as he held them hostage.

Then, as if nothing had even happened, he let go. Disposing of any and all of the glass without harming them. Fixing his hair and standing back up straight. "Ahem.....I can guarantee you the food is as real as you imagine. Few of my own recipes to boot. Go ahead and sample them all! And I'll hand out your keys as well so you can get some much needed rest. I know you must all be so exhausted right?"

 

[egghead]

Yet again, in a half-blink of an eye, the scenery changed. Instead of stained-glass windows, there was golden champagne, a massive spread of every sweet treat imaginable, and a very pissed off hotelier. For about the third or fourth time in a row, something deadly was aimed at the redhead’s jugular. Though on this occasion, the threat disappeared as quickly as it emerged.

Being the designated malcontent of the group, Rachel managed to squeeze in a cheap shot. “Yeah, no shit we’re exhausted. We have to watch you throw a tantrum every five minutes.”

Either the woman had a death wish, or it was the booze talking. But no matter the actual reason, her contempt went undisguised. It was as plain to see as the bruises and fresh scratches adorning her throat.

A scarlet-stained mouth opened once more, but before a single venomous syllable could escape, a loud slam interrupted.

Glen had slapped a hand against the table, hard enough to draw attention to himself. He appeared visibly shaken, as if on the verge of a mental breakdown. The slightest amount of stress could make him crumble, and that included witnessing more bloodshed. That was exactly why he decided to butt in.

“Excuse me!” he stammered. “Sisceal, um, sir! I-I would like to have my room key now, if that’s alright.”

 

[buzz]

He didn’t panic at the chance of his charade being revealed, but instead advanced towards the bellicose source of shouted insults. A hand raised, about to graze a thread of fiery hair, when his entire world fell backwards. The pain shot through his new head, lessened by an abundance of black hair. It was too late for him to do much else.

His vision fizzed and the fluid grasp he had on every limb disappeared. In an instant, he found himself looking down at a sprawled Katrinne, surrounded by the gorgeous ballroom, and the scary man he was in pursuit of. Cahill rushed his being through the walls, retreating to the Hotel’s innards that he now grew accustomed to and felt most comfortable in.

The demon’s half-open gaze still dizzyingly spun, leaving her to lay babbling on the floor for some while.

Vincent was not content with the limited attention he was given, and huffed into his seat. He cut into an adorned pastry, the filling an iridescent red, but the atmosphere ruptured with the introduction of a duo he was sick of seeing. He caught sight of his devil friend hitting the woodwork like a basketball and spat whatever drink he sipped in instantaneous laughter.

“Oh, geez, its never boring around these parts!” He got up from his seat to inspect closer but couldn’t keep himself from hovering over the incapacitated’s face. “Hello?! Anyone in there?” He waved a hand over the odd-looking countenance, periodically snickering. The loud bang of hands hitting the table both sent a jolt through Vincent and brought life back into the lifeless. Katrinne sluggishly got to her feet, tipping over sometimes but using the lanky man to her right to prop herself up again. He begrudgingly acted as her crutch, soon complaining to Sisceal, “Yeah, I have to agree, sorry. Looks like some of us need some major touch-ups, if you know what I mean.” He grabbed his nose. “And a good shower.”

 

[Axeykins]

Sisceal went quiet. Very quiet. Glancing around the room at the lot of them. A burning anger behind his calm facade. "So....you're all really that tired eh?" He shrugged. Making a swiping motion away from himself and turning the room bare. Not a single glimmer or glint of anything fancy. Bare ramshackle concrete and rebar. Peeling white paint off of the walls. Every last bit of furniture was erased from existence with the snap of his wrist. The only thing remotely colorful being a lone busted stained glass window perched above the door to an outer gardens area. "ungrateful fucks-" He hissed under his breath. "FINE!!! ahem....fine. Fine by me. If that is what you wish. Then you will go to your rooms. And not a single. One. Will be let out until you beg for it. You won't see an ounce of food or drink. How does that sound you swines?" He snapped. His face growing red with fury.
How dare they shun his gifts to them?!? Ingrates!

 

[egghead]

Glen let out a wheeze identical to the sound of a deflating balloon. Regret came like a shot to the stomach, knocking the air out of the man in one swift blow. In that moment, there was nothing he wished for more than to travel back in time and stop himself from making the worst mistake of his after-afterlife.

Cold, hard concrete beneath him, the sad sack couldn’t do much besides soak in neck-deep shame.

On the flip side, a certain hellion’s opinion was made explicit. “What?! Putting us on time-out? That’s seriously the best you can come up with?”

Although starving to death in a dusty hotel room seemed a much better alternative to playing tea party, Rachel wasn’t a big fan of being told what to do. This was especially true if the one giving orders was somebody standing at the very top of her personal shitlist.

With a dismissive wave, she made a beeline for the exit. “Screw this,” she snorted. “I’m outta here. Have fun running your little daycare.”

 

[buzz]

The thought of no refreshments brought tremors to Vincent’s eyes and extremities. In utter rage and protest, he pushed the crippled Katrinne of his arm and pointed at the white-haired tyrant. “You can’t do that! I’ll die!” He shouted, fierce stance wavering when he realized the obsolescence of his words. “Look, no water does horrible things to my skin and a man has to eat to keep things plump.” He fluttered closer to the Host. “You can send these suckers off, but I know you’d be lonely without a companion up in your quarters...am i right? I am!”

The teetering devil was still collecting her senses and the shove from her so-called friend nearly sent her flying to the floor again. “What... Vincent?...” She slurred and raised a hand to her throbbing forehead, “Vincent...get back here, you idiot...”