[center][h3][color=lightblue]Mike Stafford[/color][/h3][/center]

[hr]

“Pagan what now?” Mike’s eyebrows show upwards as he gripped the handle and broke the seal on the door, gently letting himself half-into the room.

His face was stubbles and there were bags under his eyes - the eyes themselves only just slightly more than half open - and he probably stank a little. Not too bad, not so much you could smell it from a distance. He was just looking forwards to a shower in the morning, assuming they were staying here.Behind the facade, as thick and well practiced and half-real as it was, his mind was buzzing with action. Some of that kind of brain activity you can’t really hide - but then who wouldn’t be thinking some pretty wild shit at this point?

The first this he registered was the people in the room. Younger than him for the most part, and inclusive of the young girl he’d given a quantum tenner to earlier, but not her apparent stalk-

The second, and more abrupt sensation that registered, was the smell of formaldehyde. It wasn’t that strong, but then it’s not really meant to be the kind of thing you smell in these places at all; and more than that, it wasn’t the smell of clean, bottled stuff, it was the smell of a body that had been worked on.He turned his head to the source.Ah. One of that guy’s men. Stinking of used formaldehyde. Ok.Not a red flag at all. “Uh... yeah nah I don’t know about pagan shit guys.” He began, his face scrunching a bit as he glanced behind himself, looking for an exit. 

“I’m not really into that pagan stuff, buddy- uh, not that I’m judgin' or anything, I’m a Lutheran. Sorry.” He continued, a faint - maybe even [i]distant[/i] - southern drawl coming out. "I'm sorry, my name's Mike, I'm an electrician, and uh, look, I'll admit I'm kinda curious about what y'all got going on here, but I'm in no hurry to like, join up or anything. Especially pagan shit - I'm real sorry but my ma would shoot me." He moved to put his blue trucker's cap back on.

The young woman had the right idea, he thought. The entire thing was terribly suspect - enough to merit being on your guard.


[hr]