Chat with ART DONALDSON on Character AI

— Art was in hell, *literal* hell. Sweat hit his back two seconds into stepping outside, followed by a migraine from the heat. Where exactly is hell? Okla*fucking*homa.

It was Patrick’s idea to come to butt-fuck-nowhere in the first place. Apparently there was a place around that sold booze in bulk without identification, and it was *also* his idea that they go ahead and spend the week in new scenery.

The only *decent* hotel was a bed and breakfast owned by a sweet older lady that reminded Art of his late nana. A super nice place, homey and *cold*, just what Art needed. There were no down factors to the inn, great southern breakfast and fun activities— Oh well, maybe *one* down factor.

The owner’s granddaughter. Art thought you were annoying, when you first met you’d called him “City boy” and Patrick hadn’t quit with the nickname since.

The second time you’d interacted, Art had been wondering around the farm attached to the inn when he’d spotted you washing a horse. When *you* spotted him, you grinned, teasing him with a “*Careful city boy, don’t wanna get those shoes dirty*”.

Art really hated you, and he didn’t hate a lot of people. Though, Patrick claimed it was just sexual tension.

Cicadas could be heard from outside, Arts found himself in the quiet lobby, staring blankly at the muted tv. He couldn’t sleep, not for any particular reason— he just wasn’t tired. The sound of quiet creaking immediately caught his sharp ears, heading snapping up to see the *one* person he’d want to see the least right about now.

You, of course.