Risotto is dragged like freshly slaughtered game down the hall, his head collecting the grime on the floor as his ankles are tightly bound by a pair of scaly hands. He wants to tell himself that this couldn't get any worse, that things will work out in his favor simply because, but with the way things are going, it just seems as if the universe is stubbornly against him. 

Next thing he knows, he's tossed into a full, warm bathtub, and immediately bombarded with soaps, hair wash, and all things meant to get rid of the mud on his face, and the tangled twigs in his hair. 

His clothes were cut off of him swiftly, with what seemed to be horribly sharp scissors, and left to be tossed into some waste bin behind Melone and the blonde man, who took no care into listening to all his "don't touch me" and "fuck off" banter.

His mood grew particularly sour when the strange, unapologetic man in that stupid fucking lab coat, snatched his ankle; a cry of pain ripping out of Risotto's mouth when he snapped his foot to the side, and dropped it back into the water with a splash.

"It was dislocated." Was all he had said, before reaching over to his hair to starting to carefully pick out all the leaves and earth that found itself jumbled in there.

Say, what if this person was like him? Captured as a lost wanderer in the middle of the woods, unknowing of what fate he'd be given, scared for his life every passing second.. Though, this was probably just Risotto trying to reflect onto another, find a sense of comfort in the agonizing loneliness that's tied to this drab and grey place.

A buckets worth of hot, soapy water stung his skin as it was dumped over his head, rinsing off the suds sticking to his nappy grey hair, and everything below it. Once all was said and done, he was practically dragged out of the ceramic tub and thrown into what he assumed was his nightwear, or if they were feeling especially negligent, the only clothes he'd have to wear at all for the rest of his stay.

Next, he was sat onto a stool and wiped dry, the dark red towel plucked from an untouched shelf rubbed all along his sopping head, then tossed to the side lazily.

"So, I have a question for you--" Melone decided to speak up, helping the poor soul walk to his bed as his foot still ached. "Are you... A human?"

"What are you talking about?" The blonde man, currently fixing the bedding, interjected. "He's a vampire, like you said. He even has the fucked up eyes."

"Well, I was just wondering, 'cause he smells... Off."

"Now, you better fucking hope that this guys a vampire, unless you wanna go ahead and start begging for your life right this second. You know who won't be happy with this."

"The thing is.. I'm pretty sure he already knows?"

The blonde man stopped his meddling with the sheets, and slowly turned to look at the snake settling Risotto into bed, blissfully unaware of the deaths tare he was being given (that, or he didn't care.) "What do you mean by he already knows?"

One could hear the irritation coating his voice, feigned by a forced smile that tried to convince him it was some joke, and that the naga hadn't meant what he just said.

After finding that Melone hadn't bothered to answer, and instead, ignored his question, the blonde promptly pinched the fool by his ear and led him out the room, Melone whining like a child the entire way while the peculiar man yelled incoherent curses at him, briefly saying something along the lines of 'call me if you need me' to Risotto before resuming yelling at the snake again, and shutting the door behind them as they left. 

All of that happened so fast, Risotto hadn't even registered that he was left to his devices until the voices of the bickering freaks trailed down the hall, and faded into the soft knocks of the wind tapping at his window.

Silence engulfed the depressing room in a thick blanket; It was the kind of silence that could force even the most decorated of rooms feel empty, and shrink even the tallest of men down to the insignificant size of a pea. Risotto had been so appalled by how tall the ceiling and doorways were in the manor, that he failed to wonder why they were so high up in the first place. It was certainly a contributing factor to why he felt so out of place, that was for certain.

 It was like he took up a space he didn't belong, and while of course he certainly didn't belong there in the first place, it was as if something was watching him in the empty hum of nothingness, silently advising his leave lest he prefer to be eaten. He ignored the feeling of being watched, and instead focuses on his surroundings to distract himself.

Dying candles sat atop an aged chandelier, melting softly in the warm glow they provided in an angelic hue, even though this place was anything but holy. There was a single, portable candle by his bedside, he notes, this ones flame eating away at red wax, rather than the same off-white the chandelier held so graciously.

 For a while, and quite a long while at that, he watched the little flame dance at the wicks end, flickering and swaying, faltering with each breath directed its way; It reminded him of the lone lantern he had at his old home, how it used to light up as magnificently as a star plucked from the sky, though now only capable of sputtering a weak ember.

The bed he lay in-- it was surprisingly comfortable, much better than what he had waiting for him back at that dinky little house. The mattress didn't feel like it was going to fall apart, the pillows promised a good nights rest, the end of the bed was long enough that his feet didn't dangle off the edge, and the blankets mocked the sandman's alluring embrace. 

Even if it could very well be his last night on earth, at least it was a comfortable one. He found that there was a good few feet till his toes could even his the ledge, just as it should be, and found joy that he wouldn't wake up sore from something that was supposed to help him rest.

Much like a child would, Risotto actually indulged it, kicking his feet around a little with a smile ghosting his face, and stirring the covers into a mess. It was the little things he liked to have control over, the smallest of changes he could manipulate that gave him a sense of independence. Having the freedom to sleep wondrously despite his situation was enough to make him jump for joy. 

But it'd probably only get him killed faster, so he merely opted to swish his legs around a little more, before letting his body go lax.

With his remaining consciousness, he let his mind wander where it pleased, as it may be the last time he could have any thoughts for himself.

'What if this person, the one hiding behind the cover of shadow in that strange room, simply wants their meat top-quality before consumption?' He began to ponder. A well raised cow with the proper treatment tastes better than one harvested from stick and mud, after all.

It's not like it mattered anyway, he had no means to resist for when the stranger in the dark gets hungry. Could he even, if he tried? No, he has no weapons to defend himself with, and as it stands, whoever was in that place with him was many times stronger than he was, so putting up a struggle against them would be a dumb move.

Ah, but to hell with his thoughts for now; sleep finally began to pull at his eyelids like weights, and the coolness of the covers beckoned him to curl into fabrics and rest like he'd never gotten a night of sleep in his life. 

But as one would normally expect, something happened to interrupt that. 

All the candles were blown out at once, the sound of their flames going out in a puff overshadowed by the creaking of his door opening. Pretending to be asleep is the only option for now, eyes snapping shut at once the moment a pair of heavy boots trekked into the room quietly, but not sneakily. 

There was a sense of power in this persons walk, a way of movement that spelt out the dominance they had over any other being in big, bold letters. 

This is it, this is how he dies, isn't it? The footsteps are drawing closer, and Risotto fears that his slight trembling may be noticeable to whomever has entered. 

Rather abruptly, the person stops right at the side of his bed, and from what he can tell based on audio cues alone, they're reaching out to him, and probably about to cut off his neck. Anticipation claws at his throat in a forced back cry, the urge to jolt out of bed becoming overwhelming at this point, and yet he remains frozen stiff. 

Impatiently, he waits to feel those same sharp, strong hands cut him apart like he expects them to, and for a minute, he considers calling that blonde man to come ward off the intruder-- Wait, but he never gave him his name, did he? Goddammit.

Whelp, it's been a grand time here on earth, but his time has come...

...

...Yep, it's coming...

...

...Any second now...

...

...Aaany second......

...

Ok what the hell is taking so long.

He almost wants to just go ahead and say "Can you get it over with already?" but finds that, really, he'd rather that not complain about not dying. So he waits, on the verge of insanity, for this torment to come to an end.

Only a moment later did he realize that his visitor was already up to something, and he hadn't even realized. Sharp nails on nimble fingers grazed along the side of his head, in such a soft and gentle manner, he hadn't even noticed it through his panic. They rubbed, and they pet, and soon he began to wonder if this was some kind of gimmick just to mess with him. 

The hand began to shift, and instead of going for his neck like anticipated, it flicked a few white strands of hair from his forehead, brushing them away from his face. The sheer confusion he felt probably radiated off of him at that point, and growing sick of the games, he finally shot up and turned to look at whoever had been messing with him for the past few minutes.

Immediately, the hand retreated, and the person could be heard taking a few steps back, before swiftly leaving the room in a rush. That was creepy as all hell, but again, he's stuck in this mansion of monsters and men, so naturally things were bound to be off.

But what was really weird was that this person, that had been petting his head in the same manner one would have when trying to coo a child to sleep, was also the one that made him fear for his life not even an hour earlier.