Bizarrchitecture
who: Monica and Justin (with a touch of Kyle) where: around the hotel when: late morning
Monica stumbled ever so slightly when instead of walking out into the dreary land of Ohio, she was simply in a long corridor that was clearly still part of the hotel. She pulled up short, hugging her bag to her stomach as she stared, wide eyes.
Justin almost ran into her as he stepped through the doors. He had been moving faster than her, but he hadn’t thought she would stop so soon. He stepped to the side as he stopped. A corridor. “Oh yeah - you know exactly where the doors are gonna lead.” He paused for a beat, then added. “Gotta say - of all the things I expected, this wasn’t even on the list.” She was quiet for a moment, still staring. Then she drew herself up, straightened her spine, and started walking. “You don't have to make fun of me, you know. It's completely insane to think that you two were even close to telling the truth. I for one am wondering if someone slipped me something. My bodyguard isn't here, and it could have happened!”
Justin followed her. “Yeah, well, it’s completely insane to think that I went to sleep in a hotel in Barbados and woke up in a hotel in Ohio, which is the furthest place from anywhere I would ever want to be.” Somehow, he was less than surprised that this woman had a bodyguard. She screamed ‘entitled’. He had worked for so many people like her. Though, usually, less… colourful. Still, they were in this together. He lengthened his stride until he caught her up. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you,” he said, apologetically. “It was just a reaction to an unexpected situation.”
Monica sighed. “Yes you did. It's fine,” she said, not actually upset about it. “And how would I know that you two aren't playing an elaborate prank? Or everyone's on acid, or something? If someone ran up to you talking about stuff like that, would you buy it if you hadn't experienced it?”
“You mean, like the crazy guy in your bathtub?” Justin suggested. “The one who just appeared in your room from nowhere, after apparently walking out through the same doors we tried to leave through? No - I wouldn’t buy it if I hadn’t experienced it. But I’m starting to think that maybe Adam’s friend isn’t so crazy. And I doubt we’re on acid, given that we’re all tripping the same way. As for an elaborate prank… That really isn’t my style. Which, before you say anything, I know. You don’t know me, or my style. But, trust me. This isn’t it.”
She started to try different doors, but they were room doors and locked. She could feel a little sliver of panic starting to bubble up toward the surface, but she didn't give it a voice. Instead, she did what she'd done earlier – fell back on acting. She'd done episodes like this too. Where everyone woke up someplace different, and they all had to band together to get out of it. “Alright, from here on I will assume this is all real, just unexplained. We're dealing with people from different places, and doors that...I suppose 'teleport' those who go through it elsewhere in the same building. The staff is unhelpful, and calls aren't connecting to outside,” she assessed. “Am I missing anything?” Single episode romantic subplot guy?
Justin started checking doors on the other side of the corridor. It was a decent idea, at least. “Only that you might have decided to check in here, but some of us randomly appeared here in the first place. So increase the range of that ‘teleportation’ theory of yours to, oh, a few thousand miles. Inbound, at the very least.” Yeah, this whole thing sounded crazy.
“Right,” she stated. She stopped as she got to the end of the hall. “Well, I think there's only one true answer here – we need to find our task,” she said with a firm nod.
Justin paused, hand on a doorknob. “Our… task?” he asked, doubtfully.
“Yes. If all I have to draw from is fiction, then fiction tells me that there's got to be some reason we're in the circumstances we are in. And pretty much every scenario ever played out like that has had some stupid task set in front of the protagonists. Whether it's to save the world, figure out some puzzle, or even escape the villain and foil his or her plans, there's always something.”
He moved to try another doorknob. “From my experience, real life is nothing like fiction. Things don’t always make sense. There’s no grand plan. The right guy doesn’t always get the girl - and sometimes the dog actually dies.”
“So you would rather we don't try to find something that gets us out? You want to just assume that there's nothing we can do and the universe is going to 'kick the dog'?” She asked using air quotes, arching a brow. “I understand that real life and fiction are different things, I just don't have anything else to fall back on. For all I know, this is just one hell of a fever dream, or hallucination, or I've finally lost my mind entirely.”
“No. I’m just saying that we can’t assume that there is going to be something we can do to solve all our problems,” Justin countered, his voice even and reasonable. He tried another door, then gave it up as a bad job. “They’re all locked. They’re all going to be locked, because we’re in a hotel and every room needs a key. So, unless one of the rooms is occupied, we’re going to be shit outta luck. And if there is someone in one of the rooms, they’re not going to thank you for walking in unannounced.”
“OH my god! You don't say!” Monica cried. “The doors are all locked because it's a hotel? Seriously? And people don't like it when others crash into their rooms?? Thank you for that brilliant bit of information, I appreciate it. My poor, idiot self certainly couldn't handle thought that complicated on it's own.” She turned to try the door marked 'stairs', and it opened, though the stairwell inside looked like it belonged in a horror film. She stared down the steps, seeing they were quite a ways up, then looked up as well, noting they were near the top. That had her thinking, and she started up the stairs, unsure if he was going to follow or not.
Justin didn’t follow her straight away. He leaned back against an empty patch of wall and massaged his temples, trying to rid himself of the headache which was forming. This woman was starting to really wind him up. He needed to keep his cool. He almost always kept his cool. He had always been good with people, especially in situations where just walking away wasn’t an option. After a moment or two, he followed after her, figuring being quiet was the best way to go right now.
She wasn't sure if she was irritated or not that he followed, but in the end she was glad because the stairwell was creepy, and their footfalls echoed. Eventually, they got to the top, and she looked out the window at the landing as best she could. Frowning, she said nothing, even if her eyes wouldn't leave a palm tree visible on the ground far below.
Justin walked up to stand behind her, a little to the left. He wasn’t in her personal space - once again, his distance was strictly professional and measured. He was used to being in close quarters with others without crowding them. “Doesn’t much look like Ohio,” he commented, mildly.
“...it isn't,” she said softly. “It's California, I think.” Monica turned and sat on the window sill, staring at the floor for a moment. She couldn't be in California, because she'd left there two days ago. She hated California. It was full of people who recognized her all the time, and to her, it was one big, long parade of facade after facade.
“Yeah. Definitely something fucking weird going on if this is California. No way that I could get there from where I was unless this is, like, days after when I went to sleep.” The thought made Justin realise that he had only assumed that he had woken up the morning after he had gone to sleep. Still, he had just walked out of the exit of the hotel and ended up on one of the middle floors, so apparently the laws of physics were no longer holding sway.
It was starting to properly sink in for her that she'd been sucked into some alternate reality, or something. Though in the back of her mind, what she was really thinking was she'd finally lost it. Reality had slipped her grasp entirely, and she was officially living in La La Land. The question was what did she do about that? What he said did spark some kind of response from her, though. “Did you feel sore or stiff when you woke up?” she asked. She had, but she'd assumed it was because she'd opted to stay in bed far after she should have gotten up.
“Not really, no,” Justin confirmed. “At least, not that I noticed. I had a bit of a hangover - which I guess would fit in with the fact that what I have been considering to be last night was kind of a party night.”
She nodded. “Then I don't think that you've been out for more than a day,” she provided, half waiting for him to tell her he'd already thought of that thank-you-very-much. “If you were really unconscious for more than a day, your body would let you know.”
Justin was aware of that, though he held his tongue and didn’t say anything about that fact. “That makes sense,” he said, instead. “So, we’re going with ‘creepy weird’ as an explanation then?”
Monica shrugged. She didn't share a theory because last time she'd done so, he'd shot it down. She was feeling a little fragile now with uncertainty, so she was going to keep her mouth shut. Or, she was going to at least until she decided to start acting again, and fall into character better. “I'm sure whatever theory you have is better than mine,” she said, without any trace of acidity to her tone.
Justin chuckled a little, but cut himself off. “That would be difficult, Miss.” He paused then, looking across at her. “Sorry - I think maybe I missed your name.” Actually, that was bullshit. He was pretty sure she’d never offered it. Still, a fact was a fact - he didn’t know her name and he wasn’t going to keep calling her ‘Miss’.
“Monica,” she answered. “Or 'Noc', I answer to either one. Whatever's easiest,” she said. “And you were...Justin?” she asked, to be sure she did remember his name right. She tried hard to remember names well, but didn't always do it perfectly. Sometimes, people just wound up part of the blur.
“That’s right, Justin,” he confirmed. “Anyway - as I was saying. I doubt that my theory is better than yours. Given that I don’t have a theory.” He paused. “Well, I guess I did have one. I’d surmised that we’d been kidnapped, and that they were guarding the exterior of this hotel. Which was the reason we were allowed to wander so freely inside. That, however, was before the creepy weird of the ‘being moved thousands of miles in very little time’ and ‘walking out of the front doors and ending up in the middle of the hotel’ aspects started coming out. Now - I got nothing.”
“And all I have to go off of is television,” she said. “But you've made your position on fictional scenarios well known, so I won't go into that again,” she added, looking out the window again. “So, it appears neither of us has anything productive to add.”
“You know television. I know real life with the threat of pirates,” Justin offered. “Guess we just bring what we know to the table.”
“Pirates?”
“I crew yachts,” he explained. “The threat of pirates is an occupational hazard. Though one we all go out of our way to avoid. Thankfully, I’ve never met any, but I know people who have. And certain parts of the world, you go very carefully. So - do you just watch a whole lot of TV, or…?” he asked her in return.
“That's interesting,” she told him, an honest assessment. “How did you get into that?” she asked. “...I'm also assuming that's why you talk to me like you work here,” she added. “And I don't watch a whole lot of tv. I'm on a whole lot of tv.”
“I grew up around boats. Got into sailing as a kid. Then got into racing. Left home at eighteen and decided to try my hand at a career in it. Managed to make that work,” he explained, giving her the incredibly abridged version. He smiled at her comment. “Yeah, I guess that’s why I talk to you like I work here. You seemed kinda stressed downstairs. Figured you needed a bit of polite, and it doesn’t cost me anything. You also kinda seem like some of my clients, which… You being on TV, well, that would be some of them.”
So in other words, I'm nothing special, went through her mind. “That sounds like an interesting life,” she offered. “Do you eventually plan to have your own ship?” She would guess that would be the eventual end game. She didn't know why else someone would do that. “I'm still stressed. Though now I think Kyle isn't insane, which...I should probably go tell him where Adam is,” she decided, getting up. She started down the steps. “I seem like some of your clients...is that a bad thing?”
Justin laughed as they headed down the steps. “Me? Own my own boat. Sure - but not the kind of thing I work on. No way I could ever afford something like that. They are… People spend more on their boats than they spend on their houses, and that’s before you start on the running costs. No. I always figured that when I got out this game, I’d buy myself something smaller. Everyone has their dream boat, but at most, I’d be looking at trying to get my hands on maybe a 35, 40 footer. Something I could handle myself. Something I could race with locally, but that had more comfort to it than a real, hard core racer.” He caught himself, realising that she probably wasn’t after a shopping list of boat requirements from some guy she’d just met. “Sorry. And about you being like some of my clients - it’s not a good thing, or a bad thing. Just that the kind of people I’ve dealt with? They’re the rich - and that sometimes comes with the ‘famous’ tag as well.”
She listened, something she was good at when she wanted to be. It was a skill you picked up, sometimes a vital one, depending on the company. “Sounds like a nice dream to have, though. I hope you get what you're looking for,” she answered. At the end, she made a face at the floor. “Well, I know that there's a cross section of 'rich and famous' that also deserve the title of 'douchebag'.”
“That’s true,” he agreed, diplomatically. “But there’s also a cross section of them that are perfectly nice people. In my experience, douchebags can be found in all walks of life.”
She still didn't know where he was going to put her on that sliding scale, but didn't ask, either. She didn't want to hear a bad answer. Or, if she was guessing right, a perfectly polite lie. And she'd learned a long time ago never to ask a question she didn't want to know a possibly bad answer to. That and have a list of questions interviewers weren't allowed to ask.
“So, how did you get into television?” he asked, when she didn’t reply to his comment.
“I was in a band, 'The Promise Theory'. We had a little bit of a following. It was a cross promotional thing. It was initially just a guest starring role on 'Starscape'. I was popular with fans, however, so I got brought back a lot, then was on it full time,” she explained.
Justin eyed her. “You sound… super excited about that,” he said, cautiously. Sure, he had only given her the really potted version of his own history, but that was because, well, she had had a taste of how he could get when he let loose on his passion. Nobody wanted to be subjected to something they didn’t really give a damn about. She, on the other hand, seemed more just straight up disinterested in her past.
Monica shrugged, winding around another landing to get down another fight of stairs. “I did it for nine years. I started when I was a teenager. I'm not saying it wasn't ever fun, or that I dislike it or anything, just...” she trailed off. “I'm probably just tired,” she added, realizing she really probably should be acting excited about it, what with the movies being put into production.
“I always said that I’d crew until the day I’d had enough of it,” Justin told her. “It’s a great life, for what it is. But I know that one day, all the traveling. All the being away from my friends and family. Never being in one place for any length of time. Never really knowing from one day to the next whether you have a job, or what the future holds. It’ll start to really bug. That’s the day that I’m gonna find myself a patch, buy myself a weekender, and stay there. Who the hell knows what I’ll do, but all I know is that I can’t keep doing what I’m doing for the rest of my life. And I’m okay with that.”
She realized after she spoke that she probably sounded like she meant she was tired of acting. Which, sadly, felt truer in that moment than she ever would normally have admitted. What she'd meant was she was tired as in she needed to lie down. But she didn't correct anything, since really it wasn't incorrect to start with. “Well, it sounds like you have it all figured out pretty well,” she commented, giving him a smile. “Must be nice.”
He side-eyed her. “Sounds that way, doesn’t it?” he agreed with a wry smile. “Truth? I have nothing figured out. Doesn’t take much to get that crewing is a physical activity. Which makes it a young man’s game. That means there’s a limit on how long you can reasonably do it. Unless you can score like a captain or master’s position that’s long term - and those are few and far between. Most owners don’t have their boats in the water full time, and charters are even worse. What I do, it’s insecure and seasonal. You can’t plan for the future on that. So, all I have figured out is that, one day, I’m gonna need a different future.”
Monica paused for effect to eye him. “You're going to be able to pull off the young man's game for a long time, Justin,” she told him. The guy was built. She could see that. He had arms that were pretty delicious looking. “Well if you decide to go into acting, let me know. I'll point you in the right directions.”
He laughed loudly at that. “Acting? Me? Yeah, no. I don’t think so.” The idea in itself was so ridiculous that he had no idea where she’d dragged it up from. He doubted he would be able to act his way out of a paper bag.
“No?” she posed. “You seem to do a fine job as it is. If you're dealing with the super rich and actors, I'm sure you on a daily basis practice the delicate art of telling people what they want to hear in a believable tone. If you can pull that off, the rest is cake.” It was hard to tell from her tone if she was serious or not.
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her, trying to assess whether she was serious. He really couldn’t tell. “O-kay. I’ll… bear that in mind,” he said, slowly. “Let’s deal with things in turn though, hey? Like, getting out of here. Or, before that - how about I walk you back to your room and we can give your unwelcome tenant somewhere else to go.”
“Sounds good. I'm sure he'll at least be feeling slightly better. Especially if he used my bubble bath,” she said, giving a wry smile. Things had certainly taken a weird turn. Figuring it out from here was the trick.
“Your bubble bath had some kind of magical healing properties?” he asked her, giving her a teasing grin.
She laughed, the first time that day, she thought. Maybe that week. “Yes! Or it better have, for what I paid for it. It's nice, though, let's put it that way,” she told him.
“I cannot remember the last time I took a bubble bath,” he admitted. “Or, in fact, any kind of bath.” Which was a weird thought, when it actually occurred to him. There was a perfectly good reason, of course, yet still. Something so perfectly usual to other people was just something entirely missing from his life.
“Well, I highly recommend it, especially with all this going on,” she said, spotting the door to her floor as they got to the landing, and she opened it up. “It can't hurt, right?” she asked, thinking she might head straight for the tub too, reset her day. Hopefully that would work, and she could leave later.
“I guess not,” he agreed. “So, maybe, if we’re stuck here, I could borrow some of your magical, healing, hideously expensive bubble bath?” he asked her.
Monica glanced at him over her shoulder, and made a show of looking him up and down. “Absolutely,” she told him, before turning her back on him, not waiting for a reaction there.
There was that once over again. He knew that once over. He was being judged on his appearance. Which just made him smile, because he had never once been found wanting. He had long ago learned to be very careful how he responded to it though. Especially with people who would still be around tomorrow. You could get yourself into all kinds of trouble by giving signals you weren’t entirely sure of the consequences of. Especially with the client types. So, he fell back on his usual game: friendly, borderline flirty, but just stopping shy of too much. Enough that he could be liked, but not enough that he would be pursued. “Good to know,” he said, with that smile in his voice.
She said nothing else as they got back to her room, and she opened it up, getting back inside with a knock. Justin headed off after she assured him she didn't need help. “Kyle?” she called.
Kyle had been half asleep, relaxing deep in a mound of bubbles. The familiar looking girl had been right. They were nice. They smelled nice. He worried less. He had drifted for he didn’t know how long when he heard the call from the other room. “Hi! I’m in here - your bubbles are fabulous!” he called out to her, picking up a pile in his hand and blowing them across the room.
Monica smiled at that, and peeked into the bathroom. “Hey,” she said. “Glad you like them,” she added. “So...I have news,” she said, figuring jumping right in would work best in this circumstance. “You aren't dreaming.” Her tone was light, as gentle as possible. “And your friend Adam is fairly frantic to see you, if you two are indeed friends and all.”
At Adam’s name, Kyle sat up in the bath, sending water sloshing over the edge of the tub and bubbles flying. “Adam? You saw Adam. And… I’m not dreaming?” He dropped his head into his hands. “Oh god, oh god - that means I’m crazy.”
“Actually...I don't think you are,” Monica said with a faint wince. “I was thinking you were, no offense, but I tried to leave to get help, and wound up on the fourth floor, I think? I don't know. No calls were going out...it's...not the most understandable of situations.”
He shook his head. “I’m crazy. I’m crazy and you’re just part of that. God, I… Maybe I fell. And I hit my head. And I’m in a coma. I… This can’t be real. None of this is real.” He looked up at her. “You’re a very colourful figment of my imagination. And you have very nice bubble bath.”
“I swear you aren't crazy! Or, at least, if you are, you aren't alone!” Monica said, walking in further, to sit on the edge of the tub. “You aren't in a coma. You're in a hotel that apparently moves around, or something, with other people who woke up here and didn't know what was going on. I was in Ohio, stopped for the night, and now I can't leave, and...well. You're as caught up as me.”
“That… Makes no sense,” he pointed out. He frowned to himself, then stood up and reached for a towel. What was modesty when he was insane and delusional, after all. “I should go. Thank you for the bath. It was really nice.”
“It doesn't,” she agreed. “But that's what's going on. When you figure out you're not dreaming, maybe we can have lunch or something,” she suggested, not sure what else to do. She didn't really care that he got up, naked. It certainly wasn't the first penis she'd come across. “Also, you're welcome. Oh...Adam's room...” she said, rattling off the number for him.
“Adam’s room. Right.” Which meant he had a room. He had woken up in a room. He had no idea where that may be. God, he wished he could make any of this make sense. But, he’d tried to walk out of the front door and ended up walking out of a bathroom and being threatened. “I’m… Just…” he gestured toward the door. “I’m gonna go now.”
Monica nodded. “Okay,” she said. “...do you maybe want a robe?” she asked, thinking him running around trailing bubbles in a towel might not be the way to go.
“Sure,” he said, indulgently. “Why the hell not.” He looked around and grabbed the robe that was hanging on the back of the door, wrapping it around himself over the towel. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up the bundle of his own clothes that he had left on the floor, and tucked them under his arm. “I guess I’ll, see you around?” he asked, sounding confused.
“I'll be here,” she told him. Which she hoped she wasn't, really, but it was something to say. She didn't want to contribute to more confusion. She gave him a winning smile, though, drumming that up well. “See you around,” she said with a wave.
“Sure,” Kyle said, then turned and headed out of the room. It was all too confusing. He had no idea what to think any more.