One

The damned door was stuck.

Weft rattled the handle, nonplussed, in the gathering twilight. The blank inn sign creaked arthritically above him.

This couldn't be the place, surely. Nobody in his right mind would buy such a dump, even to save the area from another Golden Arch Speedy Fried Fish franchise. That was it. They'd told him the wrong address.

He was about to peer through the nearest window when a voice called out to him.

"Hold on - it sticks." Something thumped against the bottom of the door, which did reluctantly swing outwards.

There was a huge wooden beam neatly blocking its diagonal. Blinking, Weft squirmed under and took his first look at the area's newest tavern.

There wasn't much to see. Very heavy-looking tables were stacked against one wall, and chairs likewise. There were no sheets covering them. Dust nestled on every surface, in every nook, although the place was entirely free of cobwebs.

The floorboards were solid wood, but warped in several places, as though the ripple on a pond's surface had been frozen in oak. The walls... were upright, at least. He turned to look at the beam across the doorway. It didn't seem a part of the building's structure, oddly. Perhaps somebody really hadn't wanted the place re-opened.

Completing his survey, Weft tallied up one Suitov looking at charts, and one Baskerville propping up the bar.

"You're impressed, aren't you?" the mage asked.

"It's made an impression all right," the monk snarked. "What possessed the pair of you?"

"The thought that something might try." Suitov grinned. "Local legends have it that the structure was built over an unconsecrated burial ground and is haunted."

Weft was sceptical. "What legends?"

"This, for one." Suitov pointed upwards. Across the top of the door was carved the legend Built over an unconsecrated burial ground. Licensed to serve spirits.

The monk threw up his hands. "You're loopy, both of you!"

"Loopy, dotty, dashy and squiggly," Baskerville grunted, putting down his screwdriver and letting go of the bar. "This'll hold, but we'll be better off ripping the whole thing out."

"You don't have the slightest experience running an inn!" Weft continued.

"Not a jot," Suitov told him, "but I've read up, and we'll be getting a manager in anyway. Once the building's up to safety specs."

"It's unsafe?" Weft looked up.

"Yes, but you have good reaction speeds; you'll be fine."

He looked at them wide-eyed. Suitov was deadpan... but Baskerville was sniggering. To allay further teasing, Weft asked, "What are you naming the place?"

The mage grinned. "Funny you should ask."

Carnil popped by, as he was wont to do, usually by means of a convinient plot-hole. He checked the rickety structure from the outside, switching his glances from building to the polished red gem in his hand. "Light's sakes," he murmured. These co-ordinates that he'd recorded on the memory stone all right. Only it seemed that there was a slight buzzing around the stone, as if all of reality had shifted sideways through space, time, and dimension just to accormodate the inn on this particular spot. Where another inn was supposed to be.

"Light's sakes!" Carnil repeated a bit more vehemently. "Couldn't they just put up a sign at the old inn? Something along the lines of 'Inn closed, location moved to 399 Dolby Street' or something?" He ran a hand through his hair as he pocketed the gem. The elf absently noted that he needed a haircut and made a mental note to get one done.

He looked at the building with some misgivings. "Well, Carnil m'lad," he murmured to himself. "Let's go see what's a cookin'."

"WEFT! DID YOU MISS ME!?"

Unfortunately for Weft, past (usually negative) experiences made a certain dark-haired angel fall completely in love with people and stalk them.

Zade could testify to this, but Zade wasn't here.

Lance, however, appeared practically out of nowhere and glomped onto the monk from behind. It looked suspiciously like there was some chest-groping going on there as well, but one can never be sure if it's groping or friendly hugging when it came to Lance.

~~~

Taking a cue from Lance, whom she had stalked all the way to this run-down horrid looking place (Ooh, maybe it was like a special Rabu Hoteru? Ee! Bishiesex!), Amber took a flying leap through the air, landed on Lance's back with a squeal, and knocked all three of the people involved in the odd group hug to the unstable floor, that cracked and creaked uncertainly.

~~~

Elsewhere, in another plane of existance, FAR away from the newly opened Inn, the bishounen population gave a contented sigh. Amber was gone, at least for now.

Cursing himself for being ambushed (and he called himself an assassin!), Weft found himself at the bottom of a hugpile.

Weft hated hugs almost as much as he hated puppies. "Gerff," he squeaked in a muffled fashion.

Suitov took one look at the fangirl and quietly cast Dorkus malorkus v1.0 with all haste. Then and there, his appearance changed into that of a lanky geek, complete with acne scars, greasy limp hair and a C:\DOS\RUN t-shirt. He turned back to the inn's blueprints, safely disguised as an Accountants: the Reckoning manual.

Baskerville, who was already modelling an I Killed Schroedinger's Cat shirt visible under his leather jacket, took out a hide chew and watched the show while cleaning his teeth. He liked his human form fine as it was: compact, muscular and all-around badass. Why spoil perfection?

And then he head a noise outside the window. Skerv prised off one of the boards and peeked out. A chink of light skipped across the rapidly-darkening scenery. He sniffed.

Amber sat on top of the bishie pile with glee.

"EEEEEE. I'M REALLY SORRY LANCE OH MY GOSH WERE YOU TRYING TO FEEL HIM UP!? DID I RUIN BISHIESEX!? AAAAH! I'M SO SORRY!!!"

"Mrrrph!" Lance replied, somewhat muffled by a mouthful of Weft's hair. Ick.

"KIYAAAA!" Amber continued squealing, acting like she was sitting on a pot of gold instead of a couple of grown men.

The monk was squeaking pathetically. Suitov looked up and wondered if he wanted anything. He mentally tuned into Channel Weft -

helpmehelpmehelpmehelpme!

Nope, he couldn't hear anything. Geek-Suitov's mouth twitched and he turned back to his paperwork.

Lance managed to get rid of the hair in his mouth.

"Amber, could you please--OOF--stop bouncing and--OW--get off?"

Amber helpfully hopped off Lance and Weft, and then she prodded Weft in the forehead.

"Who're you?" She asked, sparkling. New bishie to stalk, squee!

"Run," Lance mouthed in Weft's direction.

Weft ran a hand over his hair, damp from angel-spit (oh perfect, now he'd need purification as well!) and shakily said "I'm, I'm just leaving."

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE!" Amber squealed, grabbing Weft's shirt and yanking him down to her level. "I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE YET! I NEED TO KNOW YOUR NAME SO THAT I CAN WRITE FANFICTION ABOUT YOU AND LANCE!!!"

"Fan...fiction...?" Lance went even more pale than his angelic complexion usually was, and that was pretty damn pale.

"You and Lance have THAT kind of relationship, right!?" Amber was giggling in Weft's face.

Lance blinked. "Er, no, Amber--" he started, but was cut off.

"YOU AND LANCE ARE HAVING HOT BISHIE SEX, AREN'T YOU!?" Amber squealed.

Lance twitched and went a little pink.

"Height rule says you'd be bottom," Amber said thoughtfully, eyeing Weft. "I BET LANCE TURNS YOU OVER HIS KNEE AND SPANKS YOU BEFORE HE RAMS INTO YOUR TIGHT LITTLE BODY EVERY NIGHT, DOESN'T HE!?"

Lance fell over with a screech and a thud.

"Not quite," Weft said, turning very very pink. "In fact, er, in fact I'm on top. Yes." In the ensuing stunned silence he squirmed in a manner not quite human, escaping her grip and making for the window Baskerville had just been unboarding.

It happened very, very fast. Before even the human-form hellhound could react, Weft was haring off across the grass.

"Oh... you scared him off," Baskerville whined. "It's getting harder and harder to persuade him to visit." Just because I call him a kitty a lot and torment him. Isn't that how you're meant to treat friends?

Amber paused and blinked a bit.

"Oh....he ran away," she said, in almost exact timing as Baskerville pointed out she'd scared him off.

Lance, meanwhile, was twitching and looking about ready to explode.

"HIM!? ON TOP!? OF ME!? WHAT. THE. HELL!?"

Amber blinked cutely as Lance stormed out of the Inn after Weft.

"Oh my gosh, do you think he's going to confess love? Or maybe punish him?" She said in Baskerville's general direction.

~~~

"WEFT! Dammit, what the hell did you say that for!?" Lance was stalking directly in Weft's footsteps, yelling at the back of the monk's head.

"Do you realize what she's thinking now? You can't give her even THAT much to work with! Hell, we'll NEVER convince her we're not sleeping together now!"

Weft skidded to a halt in the leaf-litter. A twinstar dagger materialised in his hand.

"I can't say I care," he said in low tones. "It's all fantasy and fabrication, and it seems to bother you more than it does me. Did you stop to consider that perhaps if you hadn't grabbed me, she wouldn't have got the wrong idea in the first place?"

---

"Conspiratorially," Baskerville was saying, "their love is a dark and forbidden one. You see, as a monk, Weft isn't meant to associate with celestial creatures. If they were found out, well, all sorts of bad stuff would happen, you know."

"We need some more joists," Suitov said to general apathy.

Carnil eyed the pair that scrambled from the castle/inn warily. They reeked of Unresolved Issues and Sexual Tension. They also reeked of Couple in Process of Fight so Carnil made sure to skirt widely off them.

He poked his head through the front doorway. He smelt creatures both strange and terrifying. A gut feeeling said that the female scent was the greatest threat.

Danger beckoned.

Carnil went in.

Someone else was squeezing under the huge wooden beam that still blocked the door.

"Hullo," called the very uninteresting-looking geek in the C:\DOS\RUN shirt. "We're not really open for business yet," he continued, going largely unheeded (he preened inwardly at his spellwriting, and thought about rawlplugs and lavastone tiles).

"Arro," added the leather-jacketed Baskerville with a grin both charming and cheeky.

Lance twitched.

"Weft, all I would have had to have done was glance in your direction and she would have went off on the same spiel. But you didn't need to give her anything solid enough for her to call it 'proof'!!"

~~~

Carnil entered.

Amber spotted Carnil.

Amber blinked.

Amber squealed.

Amber glomped Carnil and knocked them both to the floor.

Amber held on like koala to a tree.

Amber had temporarily forgotten the angel and the monk.

"Arro," Carnil replied in turn, when in Rome and all that jazz.

Then it appeared that the greeting was diversionary tactic as he was immediately attacked soon after.

Coderedcoderedcoderedcoderedcodered

With a soft snarl, Carnil twisted, and shifted.

Moments later a red wolf shot out and hid in a corner.

"OH MY GOSH, A PUPPY!"

Yes, Amber did just say puppy.

Amber likes puppies.

"OHMYGOSHYOU'RESOCUTEWHO'SAGORGEOUSWIDDLEPUPPYTHENAWW!!"

Amber was the kind of person that was completely oblivious when people didn't want anything to do with her. She assumed they were just shy.

So she followed the 'cute little red puppy' and tried to give it lots of pats.

Despite being backed into a corner, Carnil couldn't bring himself to bite the hand that tried to pat him. It went against his entire nature. Wolves don't let themselves be patted. There was a name for wolves who did that, and he wasn't one of them.

He snarled once at the girl before jumping over her and racing into the kitchen. He looked around and Carnil cursed in wolf.

Trapped.

"Maybe," Weft observed in clipped tones, "now you've an inkling of how I normally feel. Glad to be of service."

Then he doubled back as he'd been planning to do anyway, diving past what he judged to be Lance's blind spot. The monk eyed up the building's roof. It looked unsound. So he was very careful in his lightning-fast leap-scramble to the top of it.

He prepared himself for a wait.

"Wef--Dammit," Lance muttered as the monk disappeared up into the roof.

"You're a class act as always, Lance," a smooth tenor said lightly, the tone amused.

Lance blinked and turned to the side to see a familiar bob of tidy white hair, a black outfit from the victorian era, and a pair of white gloves resting lightly on a pricey-looking cane.

"Lucifer," he murmured, somewhat shocked.

~~~

"PUPPIEEEEE!" Amber squealed, racing after Carnil. "Come back, puppy! You're so cute! I just wanna huggle you! EEEEE!"