books for you to sign and shears to cut your phone line

[REDACTED] sits in a chair far too small for someone of his stature, hands on his knees, staring at the hotel bed in front of him with rapt attention. Or, rather, he's staring at the figure so lovingly tucked into the bed, waiting for him to stir awake.

He feels kinda bad about the whole chloroforming-and-stuffing-in-a-van thing, but as far as kidnapping techniques go, it's probably the least messy. He really didn't want to inconvenience the host of one of his favorite Jackbox games that much, he's brought him here out of an admiration for him!

The man in bed shifts, and [REDACTED]'s head shoots up.

"...nneughh, where the hell am I?"

"Mr. Schmitstinstein! Hello! It is such an honor to meet you, I apologize about all this, really. I just wanted a little help from you, and well, this was the easiest way to go about it. Or at least the most me, y'know? Getting in touch with my criminal tendencies instead of suppressing them because I didn't want to wind up like my parents has just been so good for me and-"

"who ARE you? Where am I right now?"

Schmitty sits up in the bed, peeling the comforter off of him in what appears to be confusion or disgust. Now that isn't what [REDACTED] was going for at all; he tucked him in 'cause he's nice!

He clasps his red-stained hands together. "Okay, okay, don't freak out or anything. I like you! I think you're cool! So, you're in my family-owned murder hotel, and, well, I'm the murderer. Makes sense, right? But you're not gonna die or anything, pinky swear." Under his breath, he adds, "as long as you listen to me, of course" but his voice filter probably hopefully made it too distorted to make out.

The beloved Quiplash host brings a hand to his head, looking like he's lost, struggling to understand. "Murder Hotel? I- what are you going on about? What happened, why am I here?"

[REDACTED] bounces up from his chair, pacing around Schmitty's bed in long strides with his hands behind his back. "Wellllll, I kinda sorta kidnapped you, but don't worry about it too much. I would have invited you properly, the 'legal' way and all, but that's just not how I do things. You get it, right? Right." Schmitty makes a noise like he's starting a response, but [REDACTED] continues, "I brought you here for a reason, though."

"A reason? Listen, I have no idea who you are or what you want from me-"

"See, I host a game here," [REDACTED] goes on. "It's sort of, like, a party, with fun trivia questions, and I kill people. So I call it Trivia Murder Party!! Do you think it's a clever name? I've been looking for honest feedback, but most of the people I ask just say things like 'aahhh don't kill me' or 'please don't make me cut another finger off this is the worst pain I've ever felt' which is not at ALL helpful." Schmitty's face pales a few shades, which [REDACTED] decides to disregard for the time being. "Off-topic! Sorry, sorry. To get to the point, I'm running low on ideas for little life-or-death games to play when people get questions wrong. So I decided to borrow yours! Teamwork! But I couldn't just steal Quiplash from you. I'm a murderer, not, like, a thief. Completely different crimes. So you're gonna be hosting the minigame! It's just like your Quiplash, except the loser dies. Simple, right?"

"There is no way I'm gonna participate in that!" Schmitty exclaims, equal amounts of nervous and angry edge in his voice. "You have to be kidding!"

"Nope, not kidding," [REDACTED] says. "I actually really admire you and your work, so I would really appreciate it if you didn't force me to kill you or anything. Sometimes a little show of force is necessary to get people to listen to me, but I don't want to do anything icky. So if you just listen to me and help me run the minigame, we'll be smooth sailing! Best of buddies. Just two guys against the world."

"Seriously, I— this can't be real. This isn't real. Nope, I'm outta here." Schmitty stands up from the bed [REDACTED] prepared specifically for him, eyes sunken like he's exhausted even though he just woke up. [REDACTED] grabs Schmitty by the wrist before he can even get close to the door.

"All the doors," he says simply, a lilt of... condescension, maybe, creeping into his voice, "are locked."

Schmitty looks scared now. Maybe there's something a little bothersome about an ice-cold bloody hand gripping your wrist so hard it almost breaks, who would have guessed?

"It's really not so bad," [REDACTED] says, cheery once again, yanking Schmitty a little closer to him. "You get your own room, a mint on your pillow, room service that comes at least half the time you call for it, free breakfast, and you still get to host some of your game! What's not to like? Don't answer that."

He tentatively lets go. Schmitty laments an already-showing bruise, holding the wrist to his chest and rubbing it with his other hand. Poor guy.

[REDACTED] digs into his pocket and pulls out a messy stack of index cards. "Okay, okay, okay," he starts, "I have my own ideas for prompts. Don't judge 'em too hard, it was a major struggle to come up with something that suited my game and still made sense for yours."

He extends the stack of cards to Schmitty, who just glares at him. He's still tending to his wrist, but, still, it seems kind of rude.

"I don't know how many times I have to say this before you take me seriously, Mr. Schmitstinstein, but I'm not joking when I say I can and will kill you. I didn't get bloodstains on this vintage bellboy outfit that's really too tight for me just to be not taken seriously as a murderer, you know. And I really don't want to kill you, I don't! I think you're neat! But, like... ya gotta listen to me. A relationship requires effort from both parties, and if you make the effort to do as I command, I'll make the effort to not murder you." He flips through his index cards. "It's totally fine if you can't hold the cards because you're in pain that I caused, though. Don't worry about it. Hey, how about I read them to you?"

"Ugh, fine, do whatever. I think you broke something." The guy still seems really hung up on his wrist? Schmitty plops down back on the bed, sitting on one side of it and looking just, sorta defeated.

"Yay!" [REDACTED] cheers. In a warm, conversational tone, he goes on, "I still haven't decided if I'm gonna keep you here indefinitely and grab you whenever the need for Quiplash arises, or do a little recording session and then let you go. Actually? Now that I say it out loud? Never mind. Yep, I've decided I'm gonna hold onto you indefinitely. Lucky you!" Those last couple of words come out, like, super high; no denying how genuinely [REDACTED] meant it.

"I..." Schmitty buries his head in his good hand. "Ohhhh my god. I'm stuck here. I. I'm. Oh god."

"But don't worry," [REDACTED] says, "when I say 'indefinitely' I don't mean forever. Just until the next party pack comes out, probably, so you can be free to run your own murder-free Quiplash again." Schmitty looks beyond confused. "Sorry, sorry. Meta humor."

[REDACTED] leafs through the cards. "So can I run these by you, orrrrrrr..."

"Do whatever," Schmitty replies, sounding just a little bit crushed on the inside. Not at all an unusual thing for [REDACTED] to hear; breaking spirits (and windpipes, and bones, and, just... people in general) is just what he does, but it's admittedly a little weird to see someone he looks up to... so small. Because of him. Not bad weird. Good weird, actually. This is the kind of thing that would have made [REDACTED]'s father finally proud of him for once, surely!

Schmitty looks disturbed, and [REDACTED] realized he mumbled "take that, dad, I can go after my idols with zero remorse just like you" out loud.

"Sorry! Repressed family issues. You know how it is." Schmitty doesn't respond. "Aaaaanyway," [REDACTED] says, "my Quiplash ideas! That's what we were talking about. Yes."

With a dramatic ahem-hem-hem, he begins reading off his macabre Quiplash prompts. He has a lot of fun with it, occasionally giggling at his own comedic genius (though Schmitty never seems to get it). He can't wait for when his next group of contestants shows up, and he can actually showcase the Josh "Schmitty" Schmitstinstein in his lil ol' murder hotel. He wonders if Schmitty will appreciate his extensive trivia knowledge. Yeah, he probably will.