Dementophobia || Sanders Sides

13. Hotel

Hello again

TW: swearing, the usual stuff, implied sex,

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"Okay, so this one is really cheap, and appears to be about the shittiest hotel on this side of hell," Roman stated. "We aren't that far from it now. If you take the next exit it'll be somewhere along that road. Looks like there's a small town."

"How cheap are we talking?" Virgil asked.

"Only like $180 for a double bed, so not too bad."

"Who said we're getting a double bed?" Virgil laughed.

"Christ, take me to dinner first," Roman mumbled.

"Relax, Roman," Virgil teased. "We aren't going to do anything like that. It's all part of the plan, remember? Trust the plan."

~

The hotel was just about as dingy as it sounded. Two floors with a shaky foundation, the thing looked about ready to be condemned. It was clear that the building hadn't been updated since before the dinosaurs went extinct. How it was even still in business was quite questionable, but then again, it was awful enough that criminals wouldn't have to be afraid of being caught by security cameras.

"Well, this looks like a classy joint," Roman muttered, glancing around the lobby. It was just as bad as the outside, if not worse. The sparsely decorated room reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap booze, revealing just what kind of clientele this place got.

"Oh, cheer up. We're only going to be here for the night." Virgil made his way over the the thin plywood front desk, looking around for any kind of receptionist. A rusted bell sat on the desk with a small, coffee stained sign saying, 'ring for assistance.' It gave out a pitiful chime when rung.

The two stood there in the deserted lobby for a few minutes, complete silence between them. Sounds could be heard coming from other parts of the hotel, but the lobby remained empty of any kind of worker.

Roman opened his mouth to speak, probably to suggest they just find a different hotel, when the door to the hotel opened, and two people came inside. One of them was wearing aviator sunglasses and a black leather jacket, his hair the color of a cup of caffè mocha. He looked mildly surprised to see them still waiting in the lobby, but any concern he may have had was missing from his features.

The other man was wearing a dark gray trench coat, which was open to reveal a My Chemical Romance shirt. His hair was buzzed short on the sides and fluffed up in the middle. If the haircut itself didn't give away that he was well paid, the bright streaks of turquoise dye in his raven black hair certainly did. It was definitely a professionally done color job.

This man, unlike the first, was clearly unnerved that the two were still in the lobby. Perhaps he had expected them to already have gotten a room. It didn't matter much anyway. The result was still the same.

"Uh... how safe do you think sitting in one of those chairs will be?" the first man asked with an awkward smile, gesturing to the wooden folding chairs that sat along the wall.

"You're going to fall flat on your ass if you try to sit in one of those," Virgil deadpanned.

"You're probably correct there..." The man gave Roman and Virgil a once over. "The name is Remy."

"Didn't ask." Remy shrugged a little bit, his smile widening.

"We know your names, it's only fair that you know ours." Virgil scoffed.

"This isn't exactly a fair scenario. Last time I checked you were chasing us down."

"Potato, potato."

"Remy this wasn't a part of the plan-" the other man tried to interject.

"Plans change," Remy drawled. He gestured to the turquoise haired man. "This is the stick up everyone's ass, Lucas."

"The boss said-" Remy interrupted him again.

"I don't care what the boss said. The boss isn't here right now. As long as we do our job eventually we'll be fine. A little break never killed anyone."

"So you guys work for Logic?" Roman asked warily. He was holding onto Virgil's arm without even realizing it, ready to make a run for it if necessary.

"Yep." He popped the p at the end, his smile falling into one more subdued. "He's a little... touchy, right now. None of us are quite sure why, but who are we to judge? Last week I stabbed someone just for drinking my coffee."

"I've stabbed someone for less," Virgil huffed. Remy raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really? You don't seem like much of a killer. What do you even kill people for? The records said you aren't a part of any gang."

"I just kill." Virgil smirked. "Think of me like an assassin, but I'm assassinating anyone who I want to at that particular moment."

"So just a murderer?"

"Took you long enough to figure that one out."

"Look-"

Before Remy could say anything else, a gruff looking man walked into the room from a side door. He looked around at the four people before huffing and walking behind the desk.

"What the hell can I do for you folks today?"

867 words.