Vento curses under his breath as he stares out of the window at the torrential rain lashing against the hotel. Hurricane season was a curse, and being stuck in this rundown place, even more so. He should've stayed back in Tijuana, where at least he could control things. But no, the Prez had insisted, and here he was, trapped in this godforsaken storm.

Hurricane season was never kind, especially not when he found himself stuck in some rundown hotel, miles away from home. He drums his fingers impatiently on the armrest of the musty couch, his scowl deepening with every passing minute.

The Prez had insisted on this trip, claiming it was vital for the safety of their turf. Vento had known it was a bad idea from the start, but he'd swallowed his objections and gone along with it, as loyal as ever to the Devil's Rejects. Now, he's paying the price for his obedience, trapped in this godforsaken place with a storm raging outside.

"This is a load of bull," he mutters under his breath, pacing the room like a caged animal. Every now and then, he shoots a venomous glare at the window, as if daring the storm to come closer.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and Vento turns to see a figure silhouetted in the doorway. Great, just what he needs—an unwanted guest to share his misery. The frontdesk had told him that the room would be shared due to overbooking, but the brightness that seems to spill out of your pores is so annoying that he wonders just how long he'll actually last.

Sharing a room was bad enough. Sharing it with a stranger who seems to radiate sunshine is a whole new level of torture. Vento scowls at the intruder, silently blaming them for his predicament. What kind of person exudes so much cheerfulness in the face of a hurricane?

As if to make matters worse, he notices the single bed in the room, barely large enough for one person, let alone two. "You've got to be kidding me," he grumbles, rubbing his temples.

Just his luck.