The interior of the house is as gaudy as the exterior. Marble staircases with black and white tiles with burgundy curtains falling down the ceiling, with stucco symbols of ancient Roman and medieval Korean symbology, all with a pure-white piano tucked in the corner around velvet ropes, with equally velvet couches to match. It looks something more akin to the Bolshoi ballet than a mansion in bumfuck, middle of nowhere. Still, there's something odd about the whole thing. It looks unused, almost as if everything was specifically made to be seen, but nothing else.

In fact, for as big as this place is, there doesn't seem to be any adjoining room, only the big staircase reaching for the second floor. Peculiar, given that this is the only entrance.

But more peculiar is the heavily tattooed man at the top of the stairs with a tan top stained in something red, which I sure hope is not blood, a pudgy dad bod, and a pompadour that kinda brings the whole vibe down. He's flanked by two of the biggest, fattest, strongest men I've ever seen in my life. I'm talking about the "Kingpin in Spiderverse" type of molemen. I'm kind of expecting their eyes to glow and move with the sound of rocks scrapping, because there's no way those guys aren't golems.

The man spreads his arms, revealing two tattoos under his arms. The right arm said "For Pleasure," and the left one said "Beef." I don't want to even attempt to decipher what that means.

"WELL WELL WELL, IF IT ISN'T MY SON'S CONSIGLIERE," says the man in a totally normal tone, and yet, felt like being punched by a wall of sound all at once. "HAYDEN, MY BOY, WELCOME TO CHATEAU DI MESSINA-PARK. HOW WONDERFUL FOR YOU TO HAVE COME. PLEASE, COME GIVE YOUR OLD UNCLE A HUG."

The man makes no effort in going down the thirty flights of stairs, indicating that Hayden is the one to go up and give him the hug. He looks at me with a puzzled expression, letting go of my hand, and beginning the awkward pilgrimage up the flight of stairs. An excruciating trek, I might add. The room is dead silent, save for Hayden's steps on the marble floor echoing on the vaulted ceiling while the man upstairs continues to keep his arms open and a dumb grin, not wavering, not stopping, as each step keeps being longer and longer. Nobody moves, except for Hayden, whose slouch tells me he wants to disappear into the ether as soon as possible. The ride up the stairs is almost as long as this paragraph, indicating how awkward it is, going on and on and on until the last step, when the man, for lack of a better word, glomps Haydem hoisting him up, even though he is about 100 pounds lighter than Hayden.

"I HEARD YOU'VE TWISTED MY SON'S ARM TO STOP FUCKING AROUND AND GO BACK TO SCHOOL," says/yells the man, letting him down and patting him on the shoulder. "I WANNA THANK YOU FOR DOING WHAT MANY HAVE THOUGHT IMPOSSIBLE. JIMIN, GIVE HIM THE THING."

One of the molemen next to them places something on his hands that I can't quite make up from here, but Hayden is quick to let me know what it is. "A Lambo? Really? You know I can't accept that!"

He thrust the keys back into the moleman's hand.

"I KNEW YOU WOULD SAY THAT," says the man in an impossibly normal, if loud voice. "LIAM, YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO."

The other moleman, Liam, who has a tattoo on his neck that says "Pain," takes out a magazine and gives it to him. That one is easier to spot what it is: An airplane "Skymall" Magazine.

"PICK ANYTHING YOU LIKE, MY TREAT. I PULLED A LOT OF STRINGS TO GET THAT THING," says the man with a smug grin.

"You know you can buy Skymall stuff online, right?" says Hayden.

The man grabs his shoulder - again, what's with bad boys and shoulders? - and pulls him closer. "I KNOW, BUT THERE IS NOTHING BETTER THAN TO HAVE SOMETHING YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE."

Again, Hayden pushes it away. "No, seriously, I'm fine."

The tattooed man, not taking no for an answer, looks from side to side before taking a handful of something from his back pocket and putting it in Hayden's hands. "BANK LOBBY LOLLIPOPS. ONLY CLIENTS GET TO HAVE THESE. C'MON, TAKE 'EM."

This guy just likes to be crooked for crookedness' sake, isn't he? No wonder he was in jail. Probably stole a bunch of free condoms from Planned Parenthood or something petty like that.

"AND WHO MIGHT YOU TWO BE?" asks, or intimidates, the man, looking down on us. "ARE YOU THE LITTLE TWERP'S CAPOS? COME UP HERE TO SEE YOU BETTER!"

Okayden and I look at each other in equal confusion and awkwardness as we make the trek upward. Man, I hate marble stairs. And stairs in general. We as a society should be past the need for stairs. One slip in this bad boy and my neck is gone.

Hmm... that gives me an idea of how to finish this story earlier. No, bad Aiden! You're not the protagonist of a 3edgy5me story! Just keep moving up, slowly making the trek. God, they're rich, they should buy an elevator. Why are they called elevators when they go both up and down? Seems like a missed opportunity to call it an upsies-downsie, or an electric see-saw. No, I haven't reached the top yet. This place is a nightmare.

Again, just as I'm about to reach the top, I'm hugged by the tattooed man. Hugged hard, as if squeezing the skeleton out of me, followed by some very frisky hands touching near my no-no square.

He thankfully puts me down before I can say my protests, as he quickly does the same with Okayden. But he stays a little bit more with him, hugging, patting, even fondling. He doesn't get the same gentle put down as he basically hands him to one of the bulldogs, Liam, who proceeds to grab Okayden by the ankle and shake him down like a dusty bedcover. I try to step in, but Hayden puts his hand on my chest to stop me while giving me a reassuring nod.

As for Okayden, he looks more like a pinata, tossing rocks, pebbles, cool-looking sticks, a frisbee, a tennis ball, a pig ear, a leash, a rabbit's foot, a polaroid of a pair of feet with a date underneath, the $20 bucks I gave him earlier, and a pair of used fishnets. What.

"He's clean," says Liam, putting Okayden gently down, who proceeds to grab everything in a flash while muttering "my precious."

"SORRY, CAN'T BE TOO CAREFUL THESE DAYS," says the tattooed man.

It now dawns on me that he wasn't hugging me, but frisking me for weapons. That he is on top of the stairs is a tactical move, since he has the high ground in front of the only front entrance. This man looks like an idiot, but he's a tactical genius.

"You're Brayden's father, aren't you?" I ask, which is kinda obvious at this point.

"THE RESEMBLANCE IS UNCANNY, ISN'T IT?" he strongly says. "SUGA MESSINA-PARK, AT YOUR SERVICE."

"Suga? Like the singer?" I say.

For some reason, Hayden gives me an awkward look, greatly contrasting the broad smile of the tattooed man.

"SUGAN DEEZ NUTS!" he yells, followed by a hollow laughter that bounces all over the room before punching me straight in the pride. "SORRY, I HEARD THAT ONE FROM MY SON. DAMN, THAT IDIOT IS HILARIOUS. I'M NOT GONNA TELL YOU MY NAME. THEY DON'T CALL ME GORO 'TIGHT LIPS' FOR NOTHING."

I take it back, he's a dick and an idiot, just like his son.

"I hope you're very proud of him, getting married and all," I comment.

"WELL, I WAS VERY SURPRISED WHEN I GOT THE NEWS," impacts the man, which I suppose his name is Goro. "TO BE HONEST, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE LIKED WOMEN. ALL HE TALKED ABOUT WAS SOME GUY NAMED TIMOTY CHARLEMAGNE, EATING ASS, SAYS CLOCK IN A STUPID WAY, AND TAKING PICTURES. WHY ARE YOU CRINGING?"

"Sorry," I whisper. "Your upper case is jarring my mind voice."

"WHAT?"

"What?"

"Okay, that's enough," says Hayden, stepping in between. "Uncle Goro, where is the man of the hour? It's odd he's not here to greet us."

"OH, EVERYONE IS OUT IN THE GARDEN HAVING LUNCH, PLEASE FOLLOW ME, MR..."

"Ayden, Gomez, sir," I say.

Hayden jumps in once again, being not particularly prompted, "He's my boy... uh, my part... uh. My partfriend?"

"I SEE," says Goro, shaking his head, facing Okayden. "AND I SUPPOSE YOU'RE THE OTHER PART. IS THIS A PLOT TO GET TWO PEOPLE AS A PLUS ONE? CUZ I APPRECIATE THE HUSSLE."

"I'm a damn nightmare,

A child of the night and dark,

Also, a high school friend."

"BUSSIN," says Goro. "WELL, CAN WE MOVE TO THE GARDEN ALREADY? THE COLD FOOD IS GETTING HOT AND THE HOT FOOD IS GETTING COLD. TEMPERATURE HOMEOSTASIS IS NOT MY FAVORITE THING. NOTHING WRONG WITH THE HOMO PART, BUT THE STASIS? THATS THE GERMAN SECRET POLICE THING, AND I DON'T FUCK AROUND WITH POLICE."

He uses big boy words, even though he doesn't know the meaning of them. Like father, like son, I suppose. We all move towards an open archway, which leads to a huge hallway that circles the house from the inside. This place is like a siege fortress. A very fancy, and snobbish, siege fortress. Each room has a plaque outside to say the purpose of the room. There is the "Game room," which, by the sound coming from it, it's some kind of gambling den, followed by the interestingly named "Cheese" room, and rounding it up with the "Wacking" room, which is either where they masturbate or kill people. No matter which one, it must be a pain to clean.

The corridor is long enough for me to take a few jabs at Hayden while we walk.

"So, I'm your part-friend now?" I say, knocking against his shoulders.

He goes beet red, followed by an even more impressive purple onion. "We haven't spoken about us yet, and I didn't want to put my foot in my mouth."

"I would totally,

Love a foot in my mouth right now,

Stinky mozzarella," whispers Okayden, which I will totally ignore.

"Well, we are nothing yet," I say. "But we are not-nothing still. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this in the Drugpin mansion. There's a time and a place for everything."

Goro must have heard us, for he stops dead in his tracks. It takes him two steps to get right up on my business. It is important to note that he's even smaller than Brayden. "WHAT IS THIS ABOUT DRUGS? THERE ARE NO DRUGS HERE. WHO TOLD YOU THERE WERE DRUGS? THE FEDS? ARE YOU TALKING TO THE FUCKING FEDS? ARE YOU SNITCH? CUZ SNITCHES GET COFFINS. BIODEGRADABLE COFFINS, AND VERY FLAMMABLE. WE BURN THEM, IS WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY."

This man smells like sour cream and garlic. Where have I smelled that very same thing before? Oh, I should probably say something.

"No, no, no drugs here," I say, stepping backwards. "Just saying that... uh..." My eyes begin to wander left to right, trying to find an out. Of course, there is bound to be something. "Hu, I'm talking about the powder room! You know, cocaine. Just making a little joke."

"OH, I GET IT," he says, but his blank expression tells me that he barely knows where he's standing. "THAT'S WHERE MY LATE WIFE USED TO POWDER HER NOSE, AS IN MAKE-UP. I HAVE LEFT IT AS IT IS IN MEMORY OF HER."

Both of the molemen turn their heads down solemnly. "May Madame Marisol rest in peace."

Did I fuck up? I feel like I fucked up. But hey, at least I covered a faux pax with another. That's what I call being efficient. And of course, Brayden's mom is dead, he's a bad boy!

"YES, WHO KNEW THAT COOKING BRUNCH IN THE HUT TUB WOULD BRING ABOUT SO MANY HORRIBLE CONSEQUENCES," he says, suspiciously. "BUT ANYHOW, NO. FOR THAT, WE HAVE A COCAINE ROOM." And sure enough, he points at a room that says very clearly "Cocaine Room." "WANT SOME?"

"No, thank you," I say.

"HAYDEN? DAMN NIGHTMARE? SOME NOSE CANDY?"

"I pass," says Hayden.

"What kind of candy?

Sweet, sour, or maybe salty?

So many to choose from!"

Okayden, you sweet bean. Don't let yourself be corrupted by this world... more than you already are, at least.

Whatever the case might be, we arrive at the dining room. Instead of a normal room, where people dine, hence the name, we find it empty, except for the table, which is mostly, but not completely, through a door that leads to the yard. I would say that the table is 95% in the garden patio, but like a huge dump that refuses to leave the asshole, there is a bit of the table still inside the house.

I have no time to question the why of this, for the man of the hour, Brayden himself, dressed in beige pants, white shirt, and tweed hat, like a Miami Cuban trumpeter who is too old to try and teach the young but brash trumpeter the tumbao of his band, followed close behind by... uh... well, this has never happened before. I can't really explain the girl behind Brayden. She is a tallish small girl, with petit tall stature, longish short hair, with red blue auburn blonde hair, and eyes, which are definitely eyes. It's as if she has no physical form and personality, at all, like a blank slate.

"hayden, ayden, and even teen wolf! i'm glad you all made it. welcome, my friendos!' says Brayden, grabbing each and every one of us by the shoulders and gently shaking us. "may i have the pleasure of introducing my future bride to be, y/n?"

"Excuse me, I seemed to have a mini-stroke for a second. Could you repeat that?"

"sure, everyone, meet y/n. y/n, meet everyone!"

Holy big mommy milkers of Mads Mikkelsen, this is a fanfic story arc!