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chapter eight glen capri motel
the bus pulled up to a motel and this placed looked creepy as fuck. everyone piled out, holding the bags that they had.
"i've seen worse," scott said to stiles as they stand in a group, looking up at the old building.
"where have you seen worse?" stiles questioned, eyes widening.
coach suddenly blew his whistle, "listen up. the meets been pushed till tomorrow. this is the closest motel with the most vacancies and least amount of good judgment when it comes to accepting a bung of degenerates like yourselves," he held up some keys, "you'll be pairing up. choose wisely."
dylan grabbed a key, walking back over to her cousin and lydia as she watched everyone else go to their rooms, "and i'll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants," coach loudly added, "got that? keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!"
"all aboard," dylan joked, swinging the key in her hand but she stopped when she saw allison noticed lydia wasn't following, "lydia?"
"i don't like this place," she told them, her eyes scanning her the motel.
"i don't think the people who own this place like this place," allison chuckled," it's just for a night."
"a lot can happen in one night."
♡
"snack break?" ever since dylan stepped foot in this place, she's felt weird. she's with lydia now, holding onto some towels allison had asked them to get since the ones in their room smelled like cigarettes.
lydia shrugged, "sure."
the girls walked over to the vending machine, stopping when they saw glass all over the place, "the hell?" lydia's eyes grazed over it.
dylan passed her friend and grabbed some M&M's and some clips, "you're seriously stealing? from a vending machine?"
"borrowing," was all she said.
lydia let out a scoff as they continued their walk to the front desk, "excuse me?" she smiled happily at the woman, "the card on the dresser says we have a non-smoking room, but somehow all of our towels reek of nicotine. i was wondering if we could replace them?"
lydia placed the three towels on the desk and the lady turned around, "sorry about that, sweetheart," her voice was scratchy and dylan noticed a tube coming out of her neck.
"what's that? that number?" she asked, her eyes over to the three numbers on the board.
"it's kind of a inside thing for the motel," the lady said, "my husband insists on keeping it up."
