Chapter Text
As Tarl had said, there was indeed a river to the side. It wasn't very large or deep, but one could wash one's self in it. Tarl demanded to go first, ordering Chosen to look away while he bathed. He took ages, so by the time it was Chosen's turn, the group was just about ready to leave.
"You're hair's wet," commented David as they headed to the path.
"I am aware of that," muttered Chosen through clenched teeth, giving Tarl the evil eye.
"Well, I'm sorr-ee," replied David, "Just making sure you know."
"How long till Sticktopia?" he asked, "I don't know how much longer I can take this!"
David winced, "About eight hours. . . "
"NO!" roared Chosen, panic curling up his throat at the thought.
"Chill," said David, "There's nothing we can do about it, so you just have to deal with it."
"Chosen, stop messing around and BRING ME A TOWEL!" the snide voice of Tarl cut through their conversation.
"Chill," repeated David, casting a worried look at Chosen's face, "Don't murder him."
"If I must," hissed Chosen, before stomping back to Tarl.
Thankfully, the day passed quickly, with Tarl demanding things of Chosen every half hour or so, and, despite the fact that rest breaks were called slightly more often than usual due to Tarl's insistence, they arrived on the outskirts of Sticktopia slightly ahead of schedule.
Sticktopia, despite its name, was a decrepit looking city, with rubbish lining the streets, and a permanent fog in the air. Chosen wrinkled his nose as the group made their way in.
"We won't be setting up camp tonight, " Boss informed them , "due to rules about the land around the city. We'll be staying at a hotel. We're heading there now." She didn't look too pleased about that, though Tarl did.
"Finally!" he cried, gesturing wildly at the grimy buildings that surrounded them, "Civilisation! Not a patch on Sticktropolis, or even Stick City, but still, much better then that wilderness!"
As Boss had said, they soon arrived at a building on the corner of a small dry square. It was small, but looked cosy enough, and seemed to be in better condition than some of the buildings around it, despite the discoloured walls and grimy windows. A rust sign dangling above the door read "Letoh Inn".
"Are you serious?" sneered Tarl when he caught sight of it, "This is-"
He quickly cut off when Boss shot him a spine-chilling glare.
"Just perfect!" he finished weakly, cowering back a little.
They entered, and were greeted by a friendly-looking purple stick figure, sitting at the reception in the small foyer. The room was dully lit, with some brown sofas in the corner, huddled around a stained coffee table. There were some tattered pamphlets on the table.
"Hi there! How may I help you today?" asked the receptionist cheerily.
"The usual," replied Boss, leaning on the counter, "Six double - twin beds - rooms, for one night."
"Ok!", returned the stick figure, typing something on her computer, "the entirety of the second floor is yours for the night! Do you want to eat Dinner in the restaurant?"
Boss sighed. "Alright then," she muttered grudgingly.
"Excellent! And breakfast?"
Boss pulled a face, but, almost as though she could feel the stares of all the group boring into the back of her head, nodded slowly. "Ye-"
"Hold on a second!" interrupted Tarl, pushing himself to the front of the group. Boss turned to him, irritation evident on her face.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
"For one," started Tarl, wearing a matching expression, "you only ordered six rooms. There are 13 of us! I demand a room of my own! You seriously can't be expecting me to share with those goons behind me!"
At the word 'goons', there was a murmur of anger amongst the stick figures assembled. Boss glanced over the group, who all were glaring at Tarl.
"Well, at this point, you really are in danger of being stabbed in the night," she said. She sighed heavily.
"Should I add a single room then?" asked the receptionist cheerily.
Boss waved her hand. "Sure."
The stick figure tapped on her computer once more, then looked up, smiling.
"All done! Here are your keys!" She reached in a drawer hidden to the side and pulled out a handful of keys, while Boss paid, looking a little unhappy.
The group drifted off in the direction of the stairs, which were to one side of the foyer, handing out the keys amongst themselves.
"Chosen!"
Chosen looked up to see David waving a key at him. "Let's share a room!"
"Eeerrrr... sure, I guess?"
"Great!" David grinned at him. "We're in room 206!"
After a short trip up the stairs, Chosen found himself standing in a small hotel room. To the side was another door, presumably the bathroom, and in front of him were two beds, with sheets yellowed with age. David had already claimed one, and was lying on it, eyes closed. Slowly, Chosen walked over to his bed, dropping the bags on the floor. He sat down, the mattress sagging beneath his weight, and let out a tired breath. With a soft thump, he fell back and closed his eyes too.
Finally, the day was over.