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The Lylat Luxury Hotel: Part 3


Guest Julius Quasar

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"Huh?" Patrick noticed someone following them. He wasn't quiet sure what to do, so he said, "Um, hi. What are you doing here?"

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A call was placed to Gearhart's cellphone.  The caller was a familiar mystery man.

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Charles followed silently. He has seen the footage they watched, so he had a blurred idea of what Gearhart and the other one's after. He took a different path.

(I'm out for now, it's raining hard)

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"What now?" He asked in his dark irritated tone while continuing down the floors.

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The call was placed again to Gearhart's phone.

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"What's going on." He stated again, now almost near reaching the base floor.

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Great, Gearhart's freefalling and I have to keep up. Patrick didn't know the benefits of rolling, so he had it a bit harder than Gearhart did. However, after the 6th floor, he rolled on accident, and made sure he did it from then on.

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"Hello....is this GEARHART?", asked the caller.

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"Depends. Who is this?" He responded. He was not in the mood to take crap from anyone.

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"Good......you still are bringing my pizza to room 209, right? Well I want PEPERONI now! And if you don't, YOUR FRIEND gets it!" *phone clicks*

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"Gearhart!" Patrick called, panting. "Wait up!" As he got closer, he noticed Gearhart was on the phone. Patrick instantly grew quite, and approached him to make sure the caller couldn't hear him.

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He closed the phone, and put it back into his pocket. He did know Patrick was behind him; he walked down to the Dining hall. Even though everyone was going a bit mad and crazy from what just happened, He went into the back and took a Pepperoni Pizza that was cooked and placed it into the box. He looked at Patrick with his cold, almost dead expression on his face and continued walking back to the stairs.

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(You might wanna be careful with the "dead" expression around Patrick...he used to fight zombies, remember?  O_o)

This is really getting to him, Patrick thought. Hell, its getting to me too. Patrick followed closely behind, careful to avoid Gearharts glance.

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Yet ANOTHER call came through to Gearhart's cellphone.

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(You know what I mean, Silly head. The so serious face, it is not angry, sad, happy, or even depressed. It just is.)

Holding the pizza with his numb bloody left arm, he used his right hand to get his cell. "What do you want now?" He stated, still making his way back to the stairs to get to the 2nd floor.

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Charles suddenly appeared in front of Gearhart, his hand telling him to slow down.

(alright, maybe the rain isn't so bad after all)

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Still waiting for the mans response, He walked around Charles, paying him no attention.

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"Tell your friend that I don't want to waste his minutes, which is why I'm calling you.  Anyway, once you get to my-er-THE room, slide the pizza under the door.  Don't try to open it or anything, there's nothing on the other side!" *call ends*

(HAY!! CHARLES/GEO IS BACK! :D)

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He closed the phone, and stuffed it back into his right pocket and transitioned the pizza back to the right hand.

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Patrick didn't know the newcomer and decided to sit back and let Gearhart handle it; obviously if things got sour, Patrick would step in and save the day.

(He's just a tad bit cocky right now lol  :lol:)

(You know what I mean, Silly head. The so serious face, it is not angry, sad, happy, or even depressed. It just is.)

(Lol just messin' with ya!  :wink:)

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Charles heard the phone as Gearhart passed him, and he ran alongside Gearhart, then said,

"We can try to surround the room. He might just be deceiving you."

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"Oh goody, I can't wait for my pizza!", a mysterious figure said, from inside room 209.  "Those idiots will NEVER think to check INSIDE the room! MWAHAHAA!!"

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"You do what you want." He said while continuing up the stairs. His head now pounded like no tomorrow, and he felt his left arm starting to lock, but he showed no signs of it. "I have own intentions." He added.

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(Damn, how long does it take to get to the SECOND floor! :lol:)

"Oh, I just...just picture that warm, steamy cheese melting into my mouth!", the figure fantasized aloud.

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