#for extra giggles: pretend the managerboy beach fic is happening at the same time as this

[zombified-queer]

howner — "Why me?" "Why not you?"

Howner makes me unwell, anon, how dare you pick a ship that makes me go hogwild.

Tonight, the Owner steps out of his office and into the lobby with a reservation card in hand. He almost hands it to the woman at the desk before he pauses.

It’s Her.

“Hi handsome,” The Hotel Herself says with a wink. “The reservation card? Oh, thank you so much. Say, won’t you help me with this little check in? The Lobby Boy is, well…”

She clicks her tongue indicating that the Manager and the Lobby Boy have been put away for tonight. Like a girl’s dolls back in their boxes. She laughs and leans on the desk.

“I mean it would be so fun! A little family operation.” She reaches out and plucks the card from between his fingers. “Just the two of us. What d’you say?”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?” She doesn’t look at him as She reads the card. “I even got myself all cleaned up for this!”

She has, in fact, merely taken one of the many, many skins left over in this establishment. Long, dark hair. Pulled into a braid. A uniform of dark green and stark white. Very professional, considering Her usual tastes.

“Are you certain the Lobby Boy can’t handle the guests tonight.”

“Well, sure.” She taps the card on the desk, pretending to think. “But then I’d miss spending time with you.”

She wants to spend time. With him. The Owner bristles at the thought.

“And, if there’s time, we could watch them die. Together. I know you don’t like that stuff, but that’s what they do.” The Hotel Herself needles him with a hopeful grin.

“I suppose, if the Lobby Boy, is otherwise occupied.” The Owner straightens his tie.

She claps Her hands together. “Now, it’s the Hopkins tonight. Married couple. We should show them out honeymoon suite, don’t you think?”

The Owner nods. “Whatever you think best.”

The honeymoon suite lives up to its name. Waxen cells of a hive spill out bees the size of a man’s fist with stingers to match. Each insect crawling free is large with an iridescently black carapace. And every single one hates to be disturbed by things like screaming.

The Hotel Herself drapes an arm around the back of the Owner’s office chair. “It was pretty cute, though. The whole reciting vows before bed thing.”

“It didn’t save them.”

“It sure didn’t.” She clicks Her tongue. “Shame.”

The Owner notes the wistful tone in Her voice. He turns his head to give Her a look.

“Oh, no. You’re thinking.”

“I don’t believe the policy has anything against employee fraternization.”

She scrunches up Her nose. “Yuck. You’re going to have to be smoother than that, mister man.”

“Perhaps,” and now a note of teasing enters the Owner’s voice as the guests stop screaming, “we should get coffee. And get to know each other.”

“Only if you get me home by eleven,” She teases back.

They share a smile, both of them knowing they won’t be leaving The Hotel at all. Not that they need to.