Sammie eyed the gargantuan gargoyle behind the receptionist desk with the same naked antipathy with which cats regarded everything not themselves, that she was looking for help did not matter, that over ten feet and a thousand pounds separated their weight classes from one another did not change the lingering sentiment that could attack at any moment. Her tail slapped at the empty air. Her fingers pulled at the outline of what was very clearly a shotgun hidden inside of a duffel bag…

[color=ec008c]“God,”[/color] She reaffirmed without fail. [color=ec008c]“Samantha Ansegisel. I made a reservation—oh thank you.”[/color]

The conversation was short and to the point, doubly so due to her prickly personality, and when it was over Sammie had to remember to turn around and give the receptionist a little curtsy before scurrying into the sprawling courtyard that was—apparently—where they stored their elevators. Massive to the point of requiring a bar just to distract the unlucky masses who had missed their chance to board and would likely spend a small lifetime waiting for the next opportunity. Between the legs of giants she moved like an agile shadow while simultaneously avoiding contact with the many demons unfortunate enough to be even smaller than she was, mice and ants mostly, though nothing smaller than that for microbiological demons were heavily regulated since the Black Plague.

[i]“Going up?”[/i]

A voice like gravel heralded her from above, auspiciously so, Sammie regarded her second gargoyle of the evening with a skeptical look from behind a mask that did not have eye slits wide enough to offer such complex facial expression (or eyes at all) before remembering something that a kindly fortune teller on the street had told her about fated meetings and deciding that she had no time to waste if she was to meet her future [color=1a7b30][b]Prince Charming[/b][/color]. Especially not on a [i]demon[/i]. With the door rapidly closing she dashed through a space so narrow that for a moment it seemed to have sliced her in half before reality remembered that all cats were at least part liquid, reforming wholly on the other side mid-dash up the man’s arm and pulling herself boldly onto his shoulder in the same smooth motion as she kicked a squealing goblin back to unclean carpet below. [color=ec008c]“Thank you, kind sir.”[/color] She spoke before anyone else could. [color=ec008c]“If you could take me to the surface level, I have an important meeting with Mister Vilero, and I’ve nyarry a moment to waste.”[/color]