"Okay, okay!" You shout. "I'm opening the door. Just- the situation is not what it looks like. Give me a chance to explain."
The jingling of keys stop, and you walk over to the door. Worries swirl through your head. Was this the right choice? Would any reasonable person believe your story? Or would they cart you away, no questions asked, to some jail cell filled with burly guys who couldn't care less what's beneath the pretty packaging? With trepidation, you open the door.
Two people stood outside. The first was a somewhat petite woman in her early thirties wearing a khaki uniform with what you assume was the hotel's logo. Her brown hair was done up in a high and professional bun. The other person was a much larger woman, big-boned and muscular. Her darker skin contrasted with the light blue of her uniform, which identified her as a more general rent-a-cop. Their serious expressions quickly broke into barely contained mirth and confusion, respectively.
"Well," the larger woman began, "That pink fur coat matches the description alright. But something about who's wearing it tells me there's more to the story. Anyone else in there with ya, kid?"
"No officer." You say, relived that she seems reasonable. "Care to come in? Maybe you could help me sort out this mess."
She was about the object, but the smaller woman interrupted. "Hold up! Aren't you that 'Pretty Pink Poodle Club' guy who's all over the internet right now?"
You sigh. "Apparently so." Though embarrassed that even they know about that, it ignites a spark of hope that they may believe your story. "Look, I'm actually the victim here. Maybe you two officers could kindly help me? I swear, I've done nothing wrong or illegal or anything!"
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