Murder And Mayhem
“It wasn’t bad singing, just… odd. Especially since Rook didn’t know anyone who liked ’80s pop classics, much less knew about being like a virgin. Whoever was singing decided the song needed less bubble gum and more heat, because the lyrics snaked in and out of the singer’s lower register, adding a growling camp to its melody.
He wasn’t home. That much was certain. The light was very wrong, too little of it, and the wall he could make out was painted a soothing light green some asshole with ...a design degree would call celery. The bed wasn’t as comfortable, but the pillows were nice and soft. He was wearing a much too large T-shirt and sweatpants, definitely not something he’d had on before he’d drugged himself to unconsciousness. They were freshly washed and a soft cotton purr over his traumatized skin.
Hotel—Rook remembered. A much more familiar smell to him than his own home, but there he was, confused by the strangeness of the light and walls.MoreLess
He wasn’t home. That much was certain. The light was very wrong, too little of it, and the wall he could make out was painted a soothing light green some asshole with ...a design degree would call celery. The bed wasn’t as comfortable, but the pillows were nice and soft. He was wearing a much too large T-shirt and sweatpants, definitely not something he’d had on before he’d drugged himself to unconsciousness. They were freshly washed and a soft cotton purr over his traumatized skin.
Hotel—Rook remembered. A much more familiar smell to him than his own home, but there he was, confused by the strangeness of the light and walls.MoreLess
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