The blonde girl sat stiffly in the driver's seat of the car, noting the two men that had been in the parking lot as well. A friend of theirs had gone missing, and thought Lucille wasn't exactly close to them, the fact that other people had gone missing at the same place made her even more interested in figuring out what the hell was going on. So here they were, her friend Karen, and the blonde herself, checking into the hotel. Lucille had chosen to stay in the car, because she pretty much was shy about interacting with people, so it was best for her. But when she noticed the two guys, she cleared her throat to herself, her eyes lingering on the car. It was the only type of car she ever had eyes for. Maybe she could play it cool, nonchalant, just to make sure what car it was. So she opened the window, leaning on it and smirking, yet still feeling uneasy. "Hey! Is that a Chevy Impala?!" The girl called, staring at the guy who remained in the car. "It's a 1967, right?" The blonde continued, shifting a bit. What if people didn't like conversation?

Meanwhile, the other man went inside, shifting from foot to foot as he waited to get the keycard. He just gave a curt nod to the man at the desk, and he couldn't help but send a glance at Karen, before walking out and heading to the car. "Got it!" The younger man called, flashing the keycard, and then grabbing a duffel bag out of one of the seats. There had been a lot of deaths going on around here, and they were of course obligated to figure out what was going on, and get rid of the monster.

At the desk, the wife just smirked a little to herself as the dark-haired girl left. Her eyes moved to the side, glancing at her husband, as if speaking telepathically. Yet nothing was said, but everything was understood.

Lucille's green eyes moved to Karen as she came back, and she took the keycard, a bit flustered. The girl got out of the car and grabbed her bag, forcing a small smile at the two men.