8:17 AM – Lobby Breakfast Area, Sunrise View Lodge

The smell hit first: burnt coffee, rubbery eggs, and the vague sorrow of powdered orange juice. The complimentary breakfast area looked like a crime scene designed by a cereal mascot—stale pastries under plastic domes, a toaster older than Thane, and one very overwhelmed waffle machine coughing batter.

Thane shuffled in first, fur fluffed and still damp from the world’s most aggressive showerhead. His black Feral Eclipse shirt was only half-tucked into his jeans, and his claws clicked faintly on the linoleum floor as he grabbed a paper cup of coffee with the same reverence as a relic.

He passed Mark, who was already seated in a booth with one half-toasted bagel, staring into space like he was experiencing war flashbacks.

“No coffee yet?” Thane asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Mark didn’t blink. “There was one cup left. The machine screamed. I took it as a warning.”

Thane slid into the booth across from him. “You look like you were mauled by dreams.”

“I was,” Mark said flatly. “You tried to eat my tail in your sleep.”

A moment later, the front door opened with a squeak and in bounded Gabriel—fur neat, tail wagging, coffee in hand, and acting way too chipper for someone who spent the night half-curled on a questionably clean motel bedspread.

“MORNING, LOBBY DWELLERS!” he sang, spinning into the booth next to Thane and almost sloshing coffee on his fur. “Guess who found a box of Fruity Dino-Pebbles in the cereal cabinet?”

Thane raised his mug. “Guess who doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth to guess?”

Gabriel took a huge slurp of coffee, then grinned. “Spoiler: it’s me.”

Behind them, Maya stormed in wearing sunglasses, a hoodie, and murder in her stride. She grabbed a paper plate and tossed three mystery danishes onto it like she was challenging fate.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t breathe my air until I’ve had four cups of coffee and a victory pastry.”

Rico and Jonah stumbled in shortly after—Rico with pillow creases on his face, Jonah carrying a plate of hotel sausage links like they were treasure.

Jonah dropped into the seat next to Mark. “These taste like despair and meat glue. I love them.”

Rico sat beside Maya and muttered, “Someone in the next room was playing polka covers of Kesha until 4 AM.”

“Polka should be illegal after midnight,” Maya said, deadpan.

Gabriel leaned into Thane. “You snored so hard last night the lamp fell off the nightstand.”

Thane nodded solemnly. “Good. That means I’m still alive.”

They sat in silence for a few beats, sipping bad coffee, eating worse breakfast, and watching the single waffle machine sputter like it wanted to be put out of its misery.

Eventually, Mark broke the quiet with a sigh. “So… what time is load-in?”

Thane checked the time and winced. “We need to be rolling out in ten.”

Gabriel stood up, still clutching his coffee. “LET’S GOOOOOO!”

Maya didn’t move. “I dare someone to try to make me leave this booth.”

Rico groaned. “Do they make tour insurance for emotional damage?”

Jonah, still chewing: “I think that’s called tequila.”

As the team slowly rose and shuffled toward the door—bags dragging, breakfast regrets mounting—Gabriel was already halfway to the van, tail high and singing some off-key pop song with alarming confidence.

Mark took one last swig of his lukewarm coffee, sighed, and muttered, “Day two of the chaos parade.”

Thane gave him a sideways grin. “We march with claws.”