No Tell Motel

Cloud had fallen asleep poolside on a very comfotrable lounge chair, basking in the sun and more than a little buzzed off of the booze and sex. A nagging sense of hunger and bladder finally woke him.

Ah well, a little au natural sunbathing was nice, but he didn't want to stay conked out forever whan there was a place as nice as this to explore. He slung his legs off to the side and paused, looking at where he'd stashed his bag.

There was a set of clothes clearly *not* his lying neatly atop his bag. He knew the weren't his because patterned silk *wasn't* an option to buy anymore. He shook it out and studied it. Blue and silver and it fell away in a sweep of soft, shimmery fabric to the floor. It was a hell of a nice dress. Two minutes perusal had him come to some odd conclusions.

One, all the rest of his clothes were missing.

Two, this wasn't a woman's dress. Sure it *looked* like one, but the stitching and design practially shouted out to the old grifter instincts in him. This was cut and sewn for a man. One that wanted to *look* feminine, but still, it was designed for a man's frame. And it fit like one of his old custom jobs that had cost him thousands back before the End Days happened. It even came with garters, stockings and a pair of shoes that *fit*.

No panties though. It seemed to be that sort of place anyways.

Inside of three steps he had his old sashay back, hips giving a little swing as he headed inside to find some food and possibly company.

He needed a break. No, he needed a fucking vacation. A whole week with no demons trying to tear off his hide or angels riding him to save the world and no Sam. No fucking Sammy heading to the dark side at top speed with the top down and the radio playing punk ass Everclear.

He pulled into the parking lot, letting his baby idle a few minutes. She was purring, all cylinders firing clean. They could just go. Take the road to nowhere and never look back.

But it would catch up to them. It always did. Sammy would find him, or the demons, or the fucking angels of the fucking apocalypse. Well if they wanted him, they could drag his ass out of bed, he was gonna get laid before the world fucking ended and he went right back up on the rack.

He grabbed his keys, his duffle, and gave the lady at the desk his best heartbreak smile. One room, one bed, no check out date. Hell, he even used his real name. If the Feds still wanted him, let 'em come. He had ammo to spare and he didn't fucking care anymore.

The first thing he did was check his room, line the entryways with salt and grab his silver letter opener/totally conspicious knife. Then he went in search of the booze.

As bars went, it was stocked. And Dean had no reason not to jump over the bar and start rifling for the hard stuff. Tequila. It was a tequila moment.

It was one of the things about running new caravans, sometimes you ran into the craziest of things. And not just demon-spawn nests either.

Cloud pushed his goggles up and idled his bike as he stared at the hotel. With lights. Power, they had *power*. Which argued that they had things like hot water, maybe even barterable things. This could be a very profitable run for everyone. Especially since Yuffie had the kidlet on the way. He gave a wave for the trucks still in the distance and accelerated down the side road to the hotel.

He grabbed his saddlebag as he parked and walked into the front door.

"Hello?"

Wow, the place even *smelled* good.