Post by Siren on May 22, 2023 6:41:06 GMT
| Bayu-bayushki-bayu, Bayu-bayushki-bayu, Ne lozhisya na krayu. Pridyot serenkiy volchok, On ukhvatit za bochok On ukhvatit za bochok I utashchit vo lesok Pod rakitovy kustok. | Baby, baby, rock-a-bye Baby, baby, rock-a-bye On the edge you mustn’t lie Or the little grey wolf will come And will nip you on the tum, And will nip you on the tum Tug you off into the wood Underneath the willow-root. |
The flickering light of the motel sign read Roadside Inn, but dirt, burnt bulbs, and broken plastic left it a few vowels short. It wasn't a pleasant place. The sort of liminal stopping point travelers took on lonely trips, a place to exist for a few sleepless sleeping hours, then be forgotten the moment they were travelling again. It was the perfect sort of place for a man who wanted to be forgotten, too.
Behind the desk was a sleepy-eyed clerk, a boy who looked to be no older than his early twenties, face covered in pockmarked scars of improperly treated acne. He grinned as Domovoy entered giving a slight, stiff wave. His body looked - cold in the extremities. Awkward movements. Thick, slow bloodflow. Easily chalked up to Reynaud's, or some either sort of circulatory problem. Not a major reason for concern, though somewhat unusual for a boy this young.
"Card and ID," he said in a thin, high voice. "Just for the night, sir?"
Taking the ID - no doubt a fake, but a good one - and card, the boy stood up from his stool.
"I just need to run these in the back, and I'll have your key."
Wide, toothy smile. Almost looked fake. Forced. Not exactly uncommon in customer service. Tucking both pieces of plastic in his hand, the boy left through a door behind the desk. And then didn't move. He stood there, waiting, outline of heat almost eerily still - then shifting at an awkward angle, fingers wrapping around something cold enough to blend into the wall. Lifting. Turning. The cold thing forming a long, thin tube that covered the boy's chest - pointing at the door.
