Nothing stays the same

Chapter fourteen

Vacation is a whole new entertainment experience, bullocks to that, ever seen the people around you—likely with their skinny shorts and thinner socks they're going to catch an illness and up dying like a pissed-on frozen pop in the rocks.
Especially up the bloody freezing mountains dragged along with your mate's family, can't be any worse than that...expect a classic murder case, here the deep sarcasm in the tone of voice....
"This sounds utterly stupid, stupid is now a rather deranged understatement as well." Zheng Peng commented, "Reminds me of the winter hunts."
"Peng Peng, it can't be that bad." Ling Sung Jiao replied, "Mama's making some yummy food, cheer up."
Ah, cheering up. What a sinister phrase indeed. Its regale tone can be sounding rather happily endearing like they desire to aid you, but in this case, it worsens the wallows and inner fear to a decent, a proper decent.
"Perhaps." Zheng Peng spoke, "But something seems off."
Glaring at the small camera hidden in the deep corner, before sipping more of the bitter, wallowing coffee. There's always one, anywhere—tailing would've been the proper words to deceive it.
The glimpse of the camera, reminded a laboratory, with people in white coats, and thick sturdy glasses, "Did he notice the camera?"
"Impossible." The other replied, "Don't think too much about it."
Zheng Peng was sipping his coffee. Hearing the trampling of the clacking of high-end snow boots, someone richer came upon the cabin, likely seeking shelter—lost along the way, a group of four more likely than anything else.
"Oh, that's so nice. We have guests." Ling Mama smiled, "Means these other dishes wouldn't go to waste."
"There likely overwhelmed." Zheng Peng muttered, "I would be too if I had pushed a person off a cliff—without no exceptions of them reviving from the dead."
Shivers narrowed, as the slipped words sank in, as their footsteps faltered, before placing their coats upon the rack, sturdy wooden rack.
"Peng Peng, what are you reading about?" Ling Sung Jiao inquired.
"Ice picker murderer." Zheng Peng replied, "He's rather sloppy. Seriously, leaving a piss sample in the snow, like that."
Looking closely at the young man's arms, a small Min isle of numbers seemed to be barcoded upon himself. He was lean, with Duffy's hair, and one other thing, didn't seem to be speaking, but looking closer—the tongue was cut off. He couldn't speak, it wasn't like he allowed it, no not with the smudges of blood and skin cells underneath the fingernails—forced would've been more likely put it upon itself.
"He can't speak." Zheng Peng remarked, "Like the dead soldiers, in war."
That set off a motion, cursorily to wonder if the bottom line is placed so lowly or...to lure a cat to become withering away, because of said presumption.
"Ah, I didn't notice that, what about the other three?" Ling Sung Jiao inquired, "Peng Peng, did you notice something about them?"
The tallest of the other three, has a slightly sloppy way of walking, a heavy foot on his right foot, and normal pacing on the left foot. The rubbing and popping of highly suffer pain meds, suspected of phantom pain, addiction, or recent wound.
"Right foot and leg wounded." Zheng Peng muttered, "Jagged wound, no proper first aid."
The second one, was female...blond hair, dyed, naturally brown hair at the edges, thought to be highlighted. With ruddy shoes, not even proper boots, high skirts with thin layers, and a highly drenched sweater, sitting dependently near the fireplace trying to gain some proper warmth like a muck.
"Never been anywhere colder than eighty-five degrees." Zheng Peng commented, "Marshmallows."
The shortest of them all was wearing a chest wrap, protecting their identity as female, cut, chopped hair, Muck of dirt, tree branches, and heavy chewing gum—likely the cause of the hair chopping. Worn out sneakers, standoffish and eyeliner to hide the deep sleepy bags under the eyes, heavy addiction to caffeine.
"Poor." Zheng Peng spoke, "Mother's likely an addict, father a deadbeat, homophonic grandmother."
The mute sat down, trying to sit near the fire, holding their middle length hands out, as the bumbling bloke, took gloves, placing or rather slipping it on the mutes hands.
The mute softly smiled, while hugging the bumbling bloke. The tall one clearly hasn't liked it, as a growl furred put.