LogFAQs > #930763522

"Why not?" you are becoming more terrified by the moment.
Th wardrobe manager swings forward and plants his hands on his knees, a gigantic grin strewn about his face. "You know how eating ass became more mainstream a few years ago? Florida skipped that step altogether and instead pivoted to drinking blood!"
"What?!"
"That's the entire state's new fetish. Drinking blood," he stares you straight in the eyes.
"Oh my gosh, that's so unsafe, Florida," you scold the entire population.
"In a way, it's kind of beautiful," he surmises. "The thing that's giving them such a sexual thrill isn't sexual in nature. So homophobia and transphobia has fallen by the wayside. Racism too. Because at the end of the day... Everybody bleeds. And all anyone in Florida wants to do is drink a shot of someone else's blood while they no hands cum."
You push your tongue uncomfortably hard into your cheek. "That's a really glass half-full way of looking at the least beautiful thing anyone has ever described to me."
"Yeah," he nods in agreement. "Ready to go?"
"I need a moment." You try to run your hands through your hair, but forget you're wearing a bandanna. "How do I look?"
"Eh," the wardrobe manager shrugs.
"It'll look better when I'm 6'4," you reassure yourself.
"Probably not," he disagrees.

The wardrobe manager walks you down past the racks upon racks of clothing. Eventually the room ends with an obsidian wall with an inelegant wooden door in the center of it. There are places where the wood has cracked over time and a thin layer of rust across a portion of the doorknob. "I picked a spot for you to start at," he tells you as he hands you a plastic shopping bag full of a stack of papers. "Here's all the prayers for Pensacola. You know you can just bring up the prayer database on your phone, right?"
You ignore his comments and press your hand against the obsidian. "I gotta say, the jet black wall paired with an old crumbling door kinda seems like this is a gateway to the underworld."
The portly man shrugs. "There are alligators everywhere, it's always 100 degrees, and everyone's started drinking blood. It's basically Hell on training wheels."
"Fair enough," you concede.
"Although, I do have to confess something before you go. I was fucking with you," he admits.
"Oh thank God," you slouch over and catch your breath. "Whew, that was... I was not in a good headspace."
"Just about one of the things I told you though!" he clarifies.
"Well, clearly it was the drinking blood thing," you determine.
"Yeah, it was the blood thing," he laughs.
"Because the other ones were a little weird, but the drinking blood thing was so over the top, I was thinking there was no way it was real," you chuckle.
"Yeah, it was the blood thing," he repeats.
The two of you laugh together as waves of relief pulse through your body. Eventually you stop laughing but notice the wardrobe manager is still giggling.
"Wait, is it not the blood thing?!" you shout.

The wardrobe manager promptly reaches forward, swings open the door, and drives you through the opening. All you see is darkness as you hear the door slam behind you. "Oh ha-ha, very funny. You locked me in a closet," you say as you turn around and feel the bright Florida sun stinging your eyes. You squint as you bring your left hand to your forehead to shield yourself from the brightness to try to get a sense of your surroundings.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.