Peeling his eyes open he will roll onto his back, a streamer of drool stretching from pillow to face like a gossamer tether of mucus and odd proteins. Reacting more out of instinct than any real knowledge he reaches to the night stand and attempts to find his glasses while he begins his mental checklist: -All limbs still attached and functioning? -Any strange wounds?
As these two pass, he gets up and attempts to find his clothing, as well as any other occupants of the room.
No occupants. No clothing.
Hands on his hips, Thompson pauses. "Okay. I'm in a strange country, with none of my possesions, naked in a hotel room. I have no friends here and no identifacation. Most importantly I have no cigarettes. Fuck."
He looks around and finally picks up the phone. "Hello? Yes? Yes... Look I'm sure you're very busy, can you please connect me to an operator?" (click, bzzzzz) "Yes operator... Please put me through to one Sir Arthur Compton."
The phone rings for a long time. Sixteen rings to be exact. Thompson counts every last one of them, continuing to examine himself and his surroundings while counting. Just after the 16th ring, the receiver picks up. "Hello? Sir Arthur Compton's residence," says a mumbled, somewhat indistinct voice from the other end.
"This is... Mr. Thompson. I'd like to speak with Sir Arthur... regarding a book."
There is a pause at the other end, then some hushed whispering. "Sir Arthur isn't here right now," the voice says after a moment.
"I see.... Well do let him know that Mr. Thompson would like to speak with him. I feel fairly certain he can find me." *click*
Thompson sits on the bed for a moment, mentally bemoaning his fate (that being that he lacks cigarettes), then goes take a shower. The shower is EXACTLY what one would expect from a seedy, broken down hotel. The soap is over perfumed and harsh, the shampoo makes Thompson's hair feel like a field of kelp, and the water goes cold just at the "rinse" phase. He curses under his breath.
When Thompson finishes, he turns off the water and reaches for a towl. Just on the edge of his somewhat muzzy hearing, there is a faint "click". It's the sound of the door to his hotel room closing.
Thompson takes a moment to dry off his hair and look around the bathroom for something that could be wrapped in the towel as a makeshift weapon. The only obvious thing that would work would be the towel bar, which could easily be ripped out of the wall. The toilet paper hanger would also work to a lesser extent. The top of the toilet tank would make an effective, if somewhat heavy and cumbersome bludgeon. The toilet seat would also do, or might make a shield (it looks like a shield after all). One could also smash the mirror or the small window and use the broken glass. Come to that, one could smash the glass door of the shower too.
The pile of small soaps that are opened and wraped up in the towel which Thompson casually slings over his shoulder (the don't leave any good marks don't 'cha know) and then steps out into the room naked, hoping to at least surprise whoever has just walked in.
There are three people in the room. One of them, a woman, is carrying something that looks like an oversized poster tube made of silvery metal. The other two are large, thickly thewed, unsympathetic looking, no-neck, low brow, thugs. These two lunge at Thompson as soon as he steps into the room.
Thompson tries to turn and make it back into the bathroom, but the big thugs are on him practically before he can turn around. He manages to dodge the first attacker, but the second snags him by the arm and wrenches him brutally out of the bathroom doorway, flinging him into the hotel room proper (most particularly into the far wall of the hotel room proper, which he hits with a resounding *THUD*).
"Pin him down!" the woman yells at the thugs, trying to get out of the way of the melee at the same time.
Being outgunned, outnumbered and stunned....and naked.... Thompson tries to apraise the situation. The woman is holding what appears to be a large tube (perhaps 4 feet long and 8" in diameter) of aluminum or stainless steel, capped with rubber at both ends. It does not appear to be a purpose built weapon. OTOH, if she walloped someone upside the head with it, it would likely be quite effective. Thompson allows himself to be held...
The two large thug-like individuals grab Thompson, one on each arm, and haul him over to the bed, pinning him face down. From this position Thompson can't see much, but he hears the sound of someone, presumably the woman, taking the rubber end off the tube.
There is a sliding sound, and something weighing as much as a small dog lands on Thompson's back. In the reflection from the window, and from his own feverishly craning head, he can just make out that it is about three feet long, with a segmented body and hundreds of legs, and a set of mandibles on its head about a foot in diameter. It looks like a centipede grown horribly large.
It's crawling up Thompson's back.
As he feels the large, multilegged creature begin crawling up his back, Thompson screams and begins to thrash - or tries to anyway. The two thugs holding him appear to be skilled at this sort of thing, and keep him pinned as securely as if he were encased in cement. Thompson can scream just fine, though, and does so with gusto. The screams get even longer when he feels the creature lock its mandibles around the base of his neck.
The screaming and struggling continue until he passes out...
UGH!
Then he wakes up for real and realizes that he seems to be buried under a bunch of garbage at the bottom of a dumpster. (Ick!) Not without some small amount of panic, he begins clawing his way 'up'.
Thompson struggles his way to the surface of the garbage pile. The reek of rotten garbage is not quite as bad as it might be - most of what is in here has been here for some time apparently - and makes it into a higher strata that consists mostly of sawdust, broken furniture, and an occasional food wrapper. Eventually, he gets into the clean, crisp air of an Al Amarjan morning, and notes that he seems to be in an alley inside of a large dumpster. One end of the alley is sealed off by a building, but he can see an exit down the other one. There seems to be a large asphault parking lot there, and a sign across the street announces the existance of a place called "Kanga-Burger".
Pulling himself out of the drumpster Thompson unceremoniously drops himself on the groud with a *thud*. He picks himself up and dust himself off... Pausing to take note of his current state of dress... Same as the last time he can remember, but without the towel.
Thompson's hands reach to brush off his pants and hit skin. A loud, in ordinately high yelp is issued from his throat as he squrims behind the dumpser and peers into trying to find clothing.
Thompson struggles his way to the surface of the garbage pile.
The reek of rotten garbage is not quite as bad as it might be - most of
what is in here has been here for some time apparently - and makes it into
a higher strata that consists mostly of sawdust, broken furniture, and
an occasional food wrapper. Eventually, he gets into the clean, crisp
air of an Al Amarjan morning, and notes that he seems to be in an alley
inside of a large dumpster. One end of the alley is sealed off by
a building, but he can see an exit down the other one. There seems
to be a large asphault parking lot there, and a sign across the street
announces the existance of a place called "Kanga-Burger".
To Be Continued...