I know... I shouldn't be starting a 7th one shot, but I just left my job at a hotel, and it inspired me so much.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments.

Clary marked time on the curb of the balcony, peering down over the rustic town she grew up in. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to give in. I will not cry. I will not cry. She chanted the command in her head like a patriotic anthem.

"Are you alright?" Isabelle nudged her using her sharp elbow. Clary pretended it didn't hurt.

"Peachy," Clary babbled satirically, "Up until a few days ago, I loved this job," she admit. It was true. She'd only worked in the hotel for a short time, but Clary loved it. She looked forward to going to work, until everything went down the drain a few days earlier.

She squinted her eyes, scouring across town. She could see everything from the balcony on the hotel. The park she and Jonathan played in as children, the grocery store where Jace worked far too many hours. She worried about Jace the most. She needed a job to pull her own weight. Clary never wanted to make Jace support her, even though he insisted that he didn't mind. How would she tell him that she was quitting? He'd been so proud of her when she was offered a job as a waitress at that dingy hotel. It was better than working for minimum wage in a fast food restaurant.

"It's a pretty shitty establishment," Isabelle pointed out. "They haven't even paid you, and it's been a month. Plus, the boss is constantly changing the schedule at the last minute."

Clary's shoulders slumped. "I know, but I really liked the job."

"So, what changed?"

Clary thought about the question. What had changed? Apart from the obvious fact that no one knew how to run a business and they were all assholes, not a lot had changed at all. She'd been switched to housekeeping with no training at all, and yelled at for not knowing what to do. "I became more aware of my coworkers," she returned.

Sebastian was the head chef. The first time Clary saw him, she thought he was chaotically attractive. She'd always had a soft spot for dark hair and tattoos. She'd probably still think he was sexy if his personality didn't ruin it for her. His personality was a shipwreck, and it did not match his face. Nothing was ever his fault. If he messed up, everyone else took the blame for it, or he would throw a child's fit. Clary really tried to like him, but Sebastian was incredibly rude and it put her off.

"They're not all bad," Isabelle defended. "What about Maia? You liked her."

Clary shook her head and bit down on her lip in order to hold back the smile that played on her lips. Maia was a 42 year old woman with post-traumatic stress disorder and a love for Twilight. "I just liked when she ran out of the building during the earthquake."

Isabelle smirked. "You kind of liked fangirling with her about Matt Lanter."

"Matt Lanter's body inspires me," Clary announced.

"Me too," Isabelle admit. She shook her head, leaning against the railing. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to quit," she answered automatically. "Hodge has no idea how to run a business, and I know for a fact that he only hired me because he wants to sleep with me." Clary's hand formed a fist, thinking back to all of the mistreatment she endured.

Somehow, the one that made her angriest was being cursed at by Raphael when she didn't make a bed correctly. Clary wasn't aware that there was an incorrect way to make a bed, but apparently it was very important to Raphael. She didn't know why Raphael was following her around the rooms anyways, since his job was maintenance, and nothing seemed to be broken. When he called her a bitch for using the wrong comforter, Clary knew she couldn't sit back and take it.

On the balcony, Clary was unaware of her nails digging into the palm of her hand. All she could see was the look on Raphael's face when she pointed out his drug problem and left him alone in room 205.

"I thought I hated jobs in the past," Clary said clearly. "But I was wrong. This is what hatred feels like. The feeling is a lot less enraged than I thought it would be. It's like I'm caught somewhere between not caring and this overbearing desire to make them feel like I did."

"Revenge leaves a sweet taste in my mouth," Isabelle inquired. "We should burn down the hotel."

Surprisingly, Clary didn't want to say no to the idea. She wanted to watch it burn to the ground, so she could dance in the ashes. She could imagine herself looking around when the real and sobriety clashed. "I've got half a mind to just say yes. Why is that?"

"Because," Izzy started, "they deserve it. Remember when Sebastian and Aline got in that huge fight in the kitchen, then Sebastian acted like a total cock for the rest of the day?" Clary nodded. "Do you remember how he threw a pan at Jordan's head?"

"Jordan is the only likeable person here," she muttered.

"He makes good breakfast," Isabelle agreed. "Plus, he's really sweet and cute. Let's get him out before we burn the place down." Clary loved Isabelle because she was some kind of sadist who lived in a blissful reality of hurting and killing other human beings. She spoke so cheerfully when talking about violence. It was her favorite pass time, after all. Plus, she liked lounge music which is classy as fuck. Isabelle wasn't the kind of bitch that you would find arguing in YouTube comments, like Maia did.

Once, Clary came into work to find Maia in a heated YouTube argument about which character in Vampire Diaries was the cutest. Clary and Jordan laughed it off, while Aline threw a fit about Maia being on her phone. Clary wanted to tell her to take the twist out of her panties and get a sense of humor.

"Alright," Clary grinned. "Do you have any gasoline?"

Isabelle smiled sadistically. "I can get some."

The beautiful thing about arson was the Clary's town had a really shitty fire department. By the time they got their lazy asses out the door, the hotel would be half gone and everyone inside would know how it feels to have someone burn their life in any way they can think of. Quite literally.

Clary and Isabelle had woken Jordan up and he thought their plan was glorious. He planned to move away soon to open a tattoo parlor anyways, so he didn't really need this job. The three of them decided to start on the third floor, each of them holding big red gas cans, filled to the brim.

Jordan sloshed the contents of his tank along the long, undeviating hallway. Clary hated the smell of gasoline. It gave her a headache, but she could suck it up just this once. She had an important task at hand.

Clary began dumping gasoline on the staircase that lead down to the second floor. Once they reached the second floor, Isabelle drenched the path to the fire escape. If Izzy could help it, no one would make it out alive. Isabelle was the best, most glorious kind of sociopath.

Clary stalked down the hallway, letting gasoline spill out behind her. She splashed extra fuel onto Imogen's door. Clary hated Imogen so much that she'd fantasized about stomping her face repeatedly into the pavement. She didn't know what it was about Imogen that bothered her so much, but she wanted her to burn brighter than the others. Clary wanted to hear the sound of her screaming, and she wanted to let a sinister smirk cross her face as the noises fell silent.

The three of them circled around the second floor, drenching the ugly green carpet in the putrid liquid. Their footfalls were quiet and deliberate, so they didn't wake the others. Isabelle grinned at Clary as she covered Kaelie's door. Even when Isabelle smiled, Clary could see the demons in her eyes.

Kaelie was a spoiled 14 year old girl that the two of them often considered decapitating. She was Imogen's daughter and she thought she could do whatever she wanted. Clary told her, on more than one occasion, to go home because who the hell wants to hang out at a hotel all day? The girl annoyed her to no end. More than that, however, Clary hated all of her teeny-bopper friends. Clary never liked teenagers, but these ones were especially bad.

Jordan nudged Clary, carelessly. "I've worked here for three years, and not a day goes by when I don't want to incinerate that little bitch." Then he poked her side, the way he knew she hated. She had never cringed harder, before reaching up to harshly twist his nipple.

He cried out in pain, and Izzy turned away from the staircase. "Izzy!" Jordan protested. "Clary twisted my nipple!"

Isabelle deadpanned. "Responsible people do not go around having their nipples twisted." Without another word she began covering the last staircase in gasoline.

Jordan made a sound of disapproval and stuck his tongue at Clary before picking up his gas can and the two of them followed Izzy down to the front desk. Clary splattered the ugly, green armchairs she had always hated.

"Izzy, I'm almost out," Jordan complained.

She smirked deviously and disappeared into the office for a moment before coming out with two full cans in hand. She handed one to Jordan and the other to Clary, before returning to grab a full can for herself. "Let's blaze this bitch," she said with a sweet smile.

Clary typed 1987 into the code-box on the door, entering behind the counter to get Hodge's desk and the filing cabinet. She soaked the computers and drenches the carpet, before following Izzy and Jordan into the restaurant. Everything smelled terrible and her head ached from breathing in the scent of gas for too long. She quickened her pace; splashing the contents of her large red gas can onto each individual booth, making sure there was a trail of gasoline on the linoleum between each table.

Jordan laughed maniacally as he prepared the kitchen for its fate. "I hate this job!" He announced, yelling through the chefs window. "I can't wait to watch it go up in smoke."

Clary nodded in agreement. "I won't miss it," she spoke clearly. "Are we ready to light it up?"

Isabelle giggled joyfully. "We just need to get the hallway, and we're good." Jordan trailed out the door to the restaurant, Clary went for the front entrance and Isabelle saturated the hallway that lead out the back door. The three of them met up in the back parking lot. "Are you ready?" Isabelle grinned, excitement evident in her tone.

Jordan grunted in approval while nodding his head.

"Absolutely," Clary confirmed before leaning down, lighter in hand, and she watched the fire spread along a path of fuel into the building. It took several moments before the screaming started, and they could see an inferno in the open windows.

Everything you think you see wasn't everything there was to me.

The fire burned away the harsh feelings, leaving Clary feeling brand new. There was something about fire that always reminded Clary of forgiveness. This didn't feel like forgiveness. It felt like revenge, and there was never a better sensation. She could see the conflagration blaze a constellation in her best friend's obsidian eyes.

The screaming got louder as the flames reached the third floor, only to fall silent as the life was burned out of them. Clary wrinkled her nose at the smell.

Clary recalled the repeat occurrence of being immersed in sensations of imperfection as well as intimidation— it abided a covering that cast a dim shadow upon her— it depleted over and above with the rising smoke, yet at the same time couldn't be relinquished. Burning down the building, murdering those who had done her wrong may have chipped away at the sadness, but she was being expended by that which sheathed her with terror.

The sound of feet on gravel caused Clary to turn away from what they'd done, and she found Isabelle walking away. "Izzy!" She called. "Where are you going?"

"Church," Isabelle announced. "No matter how many buildings I mercilessly burn, I never miss church."

Huge thanks to DeathCabForMari for all the inspiration and for listening to me complain about work. I sure do appreciate you. You are the Izzy to my Clary. The Jace to my Alec. The Magnus to my Chairman Meow.

-IWriteNaked