"...I...should be trying to get home, but...since that day, my drive to do anything much at all has been...lessening."
The chair is taken away from the door after a while. The tarts, tucked neatly away in the drawer, are going a bit stale, but they're good just the same. Outside, the corridor is the same as it was before, but a clean check for any remaining glass shards never hurt anyone. Through the hallway, noting each lamp and door, listening for any indication of another guest. There are none.
There. At the bottom of the hall, the outline of another mouse stands, cigarette in hand, tall ears blocking out the wall light. The mouse turns eyelash-flanked eyes to the dishevelled figure a few meters away from them, exhales smoke through their lips, and moves away.
There's no following this time. Footsteps ring through the hall to the right, not the left, the way the female mouse had gone. The reception again. The first mouse, the old one – Gregory is sitting quietly at the desk, glasses poised on a lank nose and humming absently to himself.
He glances up. "Oh, hello there...I apologise for last night. How's your foot?"
The question isn't answered. Then, the mouse is surprised by the inquiry that comes to him. "Hmm? What am I reading? Oh..." He seems taken back, but elaborates all the same, "Well, just some drama nonsense, a guilty pleasure if you will. Like one of those soap operas, really – a man's life not going too well, running from problems. Something tells me you would like to read it..."
He's smirking, eyes narrowed, that clever chortle ready to rumble in his decrepit chest. But then his posture changes. Purple eyes blink. "H-huh...you would like to read it? W-well, I'll be sure to hand it to you when I'm done. Seems we have a lot in common, my friend."
Head turns, body pivots, back to the room. The bed covers aren't welcomed, neither is the patron. Ear muffled against pillow, mind blank. Staring at the desk, the tightly sealed shutters.
The urge to escape is a fickle thing. By now it's obvious that this world is no ordinary dream, for it has been going on too long and there's only so much a person can say to reason it away. The bed crackles as the body turns to face the wall.
The door wasn't closed properly. Then, a voice drifts by.
"Do you know...?"
The bed creaks.
"Who I am...?"
The door opens a tad more, nose poking out, attentive. All the lamps dotting the hallway – all of them were out. The scent of snuffed out candlewicks still linger in the air. A new glow is brimming in the far corridor, drawing nearer, steadily, like quiet train lights...
A being slides by, grating the ceiling like a crane on a rail. Two cages hanging on arms like scales; weighing a heart, and a money sign. Bright colours, black outlines around dot eyes. Sharp teeth flashing as the lipless mouth moves, repeating the words that a more of a chant than an actual tune –
"Do you know, who I am, they call me Judgement Boy..."
And he goes by. A he, judging by that voice. Vanishing into the hall opposite, into the darkness. Again, the lights do nothing to light the way ahead. It swallows him up.
"It isn't polite to stare." Slimy voice.
There's Gregory, book tucked under one arm, candle holder poised in the other. He's smiling that seedy grin again, moving closer. The door creaks again, the gap between the frame shrinking. The mouse chuckles again, "Oh? Don't be afraid, friend. Here..." He holds out the book.
A clammy hand reaches, and takes it. It smell of dust and it's worn like the books in many a second hand library.
"I hope you enjoy it, my friend. You look like you need a distraction..hmhmhm."
And he ambles off, rickety laughter ringing in smaller ears.