An abrupt, palpable, undeniable, whistling gust came from the room of one inne guest in particular. And, as the gust abated, a transparent haze could be felt from around the vicinity. From what seemed to be a long slumber, one long-haired, fair-featured young man awoke abruptly, jolting up from the bed, the sheets disheaveled about him. "What the bloody hell?..." Russel asked groggily, not finishing his thought, his eyes blinking, as if bemused by the incoming light from the window. He soon realised that such was the light of the moon, evening having already peaked. "....th-the bloody hell was that?.....Where was that, for that matter?.......ugh, I feel as if I just woke up from too long of a nightmare...." He thus sat up, his unkempt dirty blonde locks having fallen in disrepaire from lack of care. Slowly, and begrudgingly, he pulled himself up from the bed, throwing his (somewhat smelly) shirt on the floor before plying some deodorant and throwing on a new shirt, a worn-looking Slayer bandshirt. What's more, he changed into a pair of shorts, not bothering with shoes, before deciding that he might check out what was going on at the bar.