Room service took an hour, but given everything they’d ordered it was understandable: fifteen people in the middle of a three-day-weekend-long Bacchanal develop a respectable hunger, and an equally disrespectable thirst. They let the bellhop come and go unmolested: they let him see human faces, tipped him handsomely, and sent him on his way with a smile. They weren’t ready to quit the hotel yet.
Another ten hours and they would slip quietly away into the night; until then they would up keep the masquerade. When maid service came Monday morning, all they would find would be blood and bones.