He slipped out the door with a devious grin plastered across his face, the strings of his bathrobe knotted around his belly as if it were some kind of badge of honor. His footsteps were light, yet reckless, as he darted down the hall, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably like that of a maniac on a mission. Each giggle seemed to fuel his sense of mischief even more.

Reaching the spiral staircase, he hobbled down the steps, his movement awkward but purposeful, as if the chaos of the moment was the only thing keeping him grounded. At the bottom, his eyes locked onto the mini fridge in the corner of the room. Without a second thought, he swung the door open with dramatic flair, and there it was—a lone beer, waiting to be claimed. He popped it open with a satisfying hiss, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking an unflattering gulp, sloshing it down with a breathy "ahh" that seemed louder than necessary.

Feeling the alcohol settle in, Dieter swaggered back up the stairs, a grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t done yet. Reaching the hall of rooms, he knocked on a door or two—just enough to mess with his costars and send them into fits of confusion or irritation. It wasn’t malicious; it was just Dieter being Dieter.

In his defense, he had been left unsupervised.