It was remarkable how much a hot shower could make a person feel human again after a night in the rain. The steaming water washed away the aches of the flight and the bone-chilling cold of the storm with ease, and it was with a smile that the preacher settled on relaxing under the modest pressure of the shower head, despite the fact that the pipe rumbled grumpily as the relatively clear liquid.
...At least, until the water started to turn much colder very quickly. Shutting off the stream abruptly, the dark-haired man mumbled incoherently about old pipes, wringing the water from the long strands viciously before toweling off and changing into less drenched-and-mud-spattered clothes. Fortunately, he'd packed an extra set; worn blue jeans, ancient work boots that badly needed new laces, and a long sleeved black shirt. His still damp hair hung around his face as he unpacked - no sense in tying it up and keeping it wet longer. It would dry soon. In the meantime...
The wall came alive with a sudden and very loud clunking sound, startling the Californian as he wrapped his rosary around his forearm. He stared at the wall for a moment without comprehension, then when the noise came again he realized that someone must be using the ice machine. Shrugging to himself, Charles finished unpacking. As the noise stopped and started again, his stomach (which had last been fed nine hours ago in a late lunch in Manhattan) made an accompaniment out of grumbles of its own.
Perhaps I should find something to eat, he mused, looking about the room once again. There didn't appear to any additional information about the hotel in the room. The kitchen could still be open. He debated about phoning down to the lobby with a request but shook his head. He could make the walk himself. It wasn't as if him walking down a hall would disturb anyone more than that noisy machine (which, right on cue, began growling again).
Oddly enough, when Charles left the room, there was no one there. He glanced both ways down the hall, shrugged to himself, and continued down to the lobby and then followed the smell of butter and well roasted beef through a door into a mostly empty room that appeared to be a bar. Looking around inquisitively, the young preacher decided to sit at the bar proper though on the far side so the he wouldn't bother any patrons already sitting there. He took a stool and settled in, rolling up his sleeves as he waited for the bartender to return from what he assumed was the kitchen. The action was not really intentional - it was a force of habit whenever in warm weather or rooms, and the bar was certainly one of the latter. Honestly, he wondered how they kept such a deserted room so warm when the bedrooms were so cold.
Glancing around, Charles noticed a young man sitting behind him, most of the way through his meal. This didn't catch his attention overmuch - he'd seen at least three other people in the room as well, and he replied the same to all of them that caught his eye; a genuine smile and a nod of the head before his dark eyes wandered elsewhere.
When the barman returned, Charles caught his attention with a raised hand. "Excuse me," he began, "do you have any soup ready?"
The bartender nodded. "Beef stew," he grunted. "House favorite."
"That sounds perfect. May I order a bowl please?" With a nod, the older man departed once again, leaving the polite pastor smiling as he fiddled with his tarnished rosary.