They were led into the grand dining hall of the hotel, and for a moment, the sheer gaudiness of it was blinding. It was overly decorated in the way an old funeral parlor tries to look like a ballroom_ gold leaf peeling at the edges, heavy velvet drapes that probably housed a decade's worth of dust, and chandeliers that dropped so low that they were almost brushing people's heads. The marble floor had probably been white, once upon a time but now, it was brown.
"We spared no expense," Mark Walden chirped, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. He gestured broadly, his chest puffed out like a peacock. "I made sure my team knew that this wasn't just a dinner. This was a welcome home. This hall was decorated specifically for you, our soon to be leaders."
Mark was still mid-sentence, waxing poetic about the vintage of the wine and the craftsmanship of the table, when Sunshine decided she'd heard enough.
