MR. BORN TO LOSE

11 - Endeavors of an Oyster

After what seems like a few hours, though it lasts only a few minutes, everyone is stable and settled into their own bodies again. Whatever happened there was definitely strange, even more so considering all the strange things Sam also has been seeing for the last night. The violins settle down and guests begin pouring out of the hall, like a concoction of fish shoals driving aimlessly until they either die or they find a safe place. The pale red layer painted all over their faces makes it clear of the situation in the ballroom after they left. Sam watches the crowd move into their own little corners of conversation, though how much he searches, Donnie is nowhere to be found.

"...Where's your brother?" Sam and Dante begin walking into the hallway littered with human flesh and expensive fabrics. "Shouldn't he be out by now?" He glances over at Dante. He walks beside him with his pupils dilated. "...Dante?"

"Oh-, yes?" The little pools of black tar in his irises shrink back when he looks back at Sam. He eerily looks similar to that man. "...What did you ask?" He looks for his surroundings.

"Donnie, your brother." He sighs, "Where is he?"

"How should I know? I've been with you this whole time..." Dante connects his gaze with Sam's. Something about his voice doesn't sound right. "...Right?" He continues.

"...Is something the matter...?" The blonde asks back. He examines the latter's appearance. His eyes, his nose, his hair, even the x shaped scar on his cheek, the way he talks, the heavy italian accent. Sam can't help but put down the brush to brush it off, Dante really looks alike to that damn man.

"What do you mean?" His pupils shrink even further like a feline marking its prey. "Everything's... It's fine. I'm fine." Instead of Sam, he's the one now brushing it off easily. His gaze moves through Sam's face, before facing away.

What the hell is going on today? The stolen book, the shadowy figures present at the ball, that man that looked way too similar to the one sulking beside him, was the weariness from this whole plan finally catching up to him? He could only convince himself it is, if not for the other's testimonies. Surely, there can't be anything he wants to do more than falling asleep right now.

"Wait, what time is it?"

Dante glances at his watch, "Almost 12 o'clock, why?"

"...Oh fuck." He totally forgot about the appointment he had with the Sylas'.

< >

After showering, he quickly picked out his clothes for the day. He didn't bring any of his from the hotel, and the staff here already prepared new clothes, so who can say no? Clearly not Sam, as he immediately tries on clothes, mixing and matching as he goes through them one by one.

He lands on a brown sweater vest, paired with another jacket to cover up the excess professionalism, and a pair of black jeans to finish it off. He shows himself off to the mirror, smiling at his work.

"...Why are you wearing my clothes?" Donnie barges into the room, freezing the Sam currently living his fashion model life.

"Wait, what?"

"These are my clothes. They were sent by the staff to me." He grabs one sheet from the pile of clothes stacked on the bed. "I mean, you can have them if you want, but..."

"...Can I have them, then? I don't have clean clothes here." Sam goes back to fixing his hair in the mirror.

"Yeah, sure, I guess..." Donnie exhales, before the plump lips on his face that could make flat-earthers ditch their morals, turn into a smirk.

Suddenly, a pair of hands slither through Sam's shoulders, locking him in place. "I didn't know you could dance." Donnie reflects a smirk at him through the mirror. "I'm quite impressed..."