SS(S)S - A proper guest

CGH House is a little busier now. Some of the girls are out on a Saturday night, but plenty of them are in, and back from whatever they were doing during the day. One of them lets you in without giving you any trouble, and you see several of them in the kitchen, one in her underwear, standing around drinking wine and eating Doritos. Another one is in the TV room, watching a Marvel movie. Someone’s playing music upstairs.

“Sal’s upstairs, all the way down,” the girl who let you in says, pointing. She doesn’t know that you’ve been in Sal’s room before.

The energy is not different from CCL House when everyone’s home. It’s exactly the same.

You’re surprised by that. A girl in the kitchen laughs loudly. You head upstairs and down the hall to Sal’s room, where you knock.

She opens the door, revealing a crowd of CGH girls waiting to ambush you.

The vision is there and gone in a second. It’s just Sal in the dim room, lit only by a lamp. You aren’t sure what that was just now.

“Oh man,” she says, staring at you. “I am underdressed. Shit. If I knew we were being fancy I’d have worn pants.”

She’s wearing cute boyshorts and a CGH tank top. It’s not fancy, but it’s still stunning.

“It’s OK,” you say, holding up your backpack. “I brought jammies.”

“Oh, good. Put those on. I assumed we were informal. I mean, look at this place,” she says, gesturing at her room. True, it’s not as cool and big as Athena’s room, but there’s nothing wrong with it. Something smells amazing. It’s Sal’s lotion.

“Maybe there’s a creepy little motel where we can have our shameful, forbidden affair and some guy watches through a hole in the wall or whatever,” you say as you take off your dress and put on your pajamas.

“That sounds super romantic,” Sal says.

“Right?” You join her on the bed, where she has the remote in her hand. There’s a little charcuterie board and a bottle of wine. It’s obviously just from the local grocery store, but it couldn’t be more perfect. If your heart flutters any harder it’ll leave Earth’s orbit. “Oh my gosh.”

“Yeah. We’re very fancy here. I nobody left their sweaty underwear on the rug downstairs.”

“Shut up. It’s perfect,” you say, accepting a cup of wine. “I might be underage.”

“You look forty.”

“Thank you. So do you. Oh,” you say as she pulls up Netflix. It shows Sal’s recently watched stuff: it’s all **** documentaries.

“Whoops.” Sal quickly gets out of Netflix. “I guess that stuff hits different for CCL, huh?”

“Little bit,” you say with a laugh.