Chapter Text
The dictator was due to stay at a hotel for a week. To be specific, a quiet but respectable hotel, buried in the less populated parts of DRAAG. Flanked by plenty of security persons, someone to carry his belongings and his dog. His beloved Doberman. Around late afternoon was when him and his staff had arrived, them buzzing with excitement, him, calm. The fact was most who weren’t considered rich or nobles in DRAAG were the poor, the desperate. And he only had the best, most desperate people in need of any work at all. That was partly so they didn’t question it, never said a word against him or the higher ups. Tired and a little irritable from his travels, all he could do was flash that scowl at everyone, that scowl he always wore, like a uniform. Like a code, which he’d follow strictly. Nobody knew him personally. Nobody except his dog, who’d seen all the sides of him. It seemed silly, that some mutt was the only being in the whole of DRAAG to see some old man’s real colours, and it certainly seemed silly to a girl named Illi. Illi McMillin. She worked in the kitchens. No, not just the kitchens. Illi was everywhere, cleaning rooms, going out and taking orders in the hotel’s restaurants, and so, so much more. A peculiar girl, Illi McMillin. And of course, every idiot needs their friend. In Illi’s case, that was Frank Iero, and he was her everything, no matter how stupid he seemed.
It was extremely obvious when the Grand Immortal Dictator had arrived, since the excited him of chatter amongst the staff had ceased completely. Nobody allowed themselves even a whisper, like they might when a particularly wealthy guest had come. Illi and Frank were an exception, hiding in a linen cupboard on some upper floor. Now, Illi had no work to be doing, so in her defense, it was fine to drag Frank around with her. Listening in and eavesdropping (but they disliked calling it that) was a hobby of theirs, and today’s session would be their most interesting. They’d been sat in that dark, slightly damp (for some unexplainable reason) cupboard for around twenty minutes, cramped and sore from the positions they’d decided would be comfortable, which were now not at all.
“They’re back.”
Was what startled the two.
“East wing. The rats are back.”
“You report them?”
The second voice belonged to a man, and that was obvious. Frank sat up, his head colliding with the top of the cupboard, making Illi hiss at him.
“Quiet, moron! I want to hear what they’re saying.”
And with a little jab to get her point across, she glared at him, leaning towards the door. The talking hadn’t stopped at their little slip up, rather paused to think about what they were saying and who their audience could be. What the two workers didn’t suspect was two little teenagers listening in, that was for sure.
“Are you mad? If he, if anyone finds out about the rats he’ll lose it. Properly. He hates vermin more than…”
The female of the two’s voice trailed off, and neither of the teens, nor her male companion needed to guess what she meant.
“Get rid of them, then.”
“Poison? Where’s the last of that? We don’t want to risk using traps while he’s here?”
Poison. It seemed cruel to Illi, killing small creatures because you didn’t like them. It was almost like what people were like to her, turning their backs on her as soon as they found out that ‘she was a man’. Sure, you wouldn’t expect everyone to love people like her, the odd and the strange, but it’s not fair to hate them, to persecute them. The people like that disgusted Illi (and Frank. Frank too, of course) more than any rodents could.
“Floor three. You know that little storage room to the left as soon as you get out the elevator? The one with all the mops and stuff? Might have a sink, I don’t know..”
There was no response, but she must’ve nodded, since the man continued.
“There. It’s that green bottle. No, in fact, it might be a tub. You just take it, and get them out of here.”