[ The door opens. Weight shifts in the doorway, and it isn't the click of bones. It's the party's black-eyed host, the nameless man who commands the dead, and he stops in silence at the threshold.
(He bites his lip against a laugh. Under the bed, mate? Really?)
He weighs the cruelty of fucking with this kid against how funny it would be, and of course the bit wins out. It'd be a waste to pass up, right? Steal into God's own private quarters and there will be consequences, even if the consequences feel like something out of a corny old horror film.
He walks... slowly... past the bed, to inspect something on the dresser against the wall. His worn black leather shoes pass inches from Falco's hiding spot, egg and all. ]
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(He bites his lip against a laugh. Under the bed, mate? Really?)
He weighs the cruelty of fucking with this kid against how funny it would be, and of course the bit wins out. It'd be a waste to pass up, right? Steal into God's own private quarters and there will be consequences, even if the consequences feel like something out of a corny old horror film.
He walks... slowly... past the bed, to inspect something on the dresser against the wall. His worn black leather shoes pass inches from Falco's hiding spot, egg and all. ]