Gretel (_gretel) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-05-29 21:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: the good place, character: gretel |
Who: Gretel and Michael
What: Strange talks
Where: The Office
When: Day one
Rating: Low
Status: Complete
She couldn't believe it...
Right there in front of her eyes, though the decor was drastically different, the office was still in the same place, behind the registry desk, and right in front of her eyes, the door was open. Gretel stared at it without moving for several seconds; she barely even remembered to breathe. More alarm bells were going off in her head since she read that young newcomer’s post, but there it was… And the alarms were still blaring.
This was the doing of the hotel, there wasn’t a scrap of doubt in her mind, but so was the wand of willow and rose quartz in her hand, left on her bed upon waking. She knew it was some kind of trap, but her feet moved toward the open door anyway.
Not having any idea of what she expected to see, somehow the image of a white haired man in a vibrant suit and thick glasses still surprised the witch when she cautiously looked around the corner into the room.
“Gretel,” Michael looked up and smiled at her fondly. “Have a seat, have a seat.” He hurried to get up and around the desk and pull out one of two chairs for her to sit.
“I'm glad you came in,” he said gently.
She didn’t immediately enter, but lingered still with one boot across the threshold on the tile of the lobby. The fact that this man knew her name wasn’t entirely surprising, but it still did unpleasant things to her insides.
“How do you know who I am?” she asked with a dubious look, hovering in the back of the office. She clearly did not trust anything in this room, let alone chairs she could suddenly be strapped to. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Michael regarded her carefully and nodded his head. He went to sit back in his seat, and continued to speak to her from her defensive position in the door frame.
“I can't imagine what this has been like for you. I mean, it's not The Bad Place, but it certainly isn't good.”
He opened up a drawer in his desk. “I have your file. I have everyone’s file. It's a part of what we do. When someone dies, their soul typically goes to The Good Place or The Bad Place. I design neighborhoods in The Good Place for worthy souls. Now, none of us knew this place was here. We still don't know how it's happened. Once Management showed itself last week we were able to intervene once the week changed over. Now, there’s a lot to be done, but I'm pretty sure when the week ends, you and your brother can go home.”
Gretel didn’t say anything for what felt like the longest time- she couldn’t. She barely felt like she was remembering to breathe.
Alarms still ringing, clanging in the background of her thoughts, the foreground was a chaotic mix of complicated things like hope and fear. Her mouth went a little dry; she had to roll her lips together before they would cooperate with speech.
“How… What all ‘needs to be done’? How do you know you can change anything?”
“Well, it's complicated but as an architect that creates places like this, I know uncreating them is certainly possible and likely the only way to stop from something like this happening again.” Michael nodded a few times. “Anyway, I've tried to make things comfortable this week, make sure everyone gets a little taste of the Good Place, and by the next change if we get this right, everyone should be right back where they're supposed to be.”
He spoke gently, perhaps even in a manner that conveyed genuine concern, but Gretel could not push all of it through her many mental filters; perhaps it was paranoia, having lived through the hotel’s antics for more than half a decade, but she was having a very difficult time not seeing him as a manifestation of the hotel itself.
He was in the management office, after all.
“I see…” she responded quietly, still not moving further in the room. “So the strange decorations… the portraits, the gifts… they’re all your doing?”
“Gifts? You mean the food? Oh yes! I was going for calm serenity but I also wanted to make sure everyone had a little piece of home with the pictures. Sadly, not everyone has loved ones back home, so some people got a picture of Doug Forcett instead.” Michael motioned to the portrait of the awkward looking man on his wall.
“What do you think?” He seemed so genuinely happy and excited.
Gretel kept running that very specific answer through her head; it meant something, the fact that he was associating what she’d said with food- she didn’t know what it meant, but the powerful wand in her belt definitely was not part of his vision of calm and serenity, though she was certain her mother would’ve argued different. To a point.
She gave the portrait of the odd looking fellow a cursory glance when she realized he was asking her a question.
“Uhm… It’s ...different.” She was careful to keep her tone as optimistic as humanly possible. Her eyes were back on him; his obvious delight felt so out of place. “I don’t suppose… I could see that file,” she asked, daring to move a little more into the room. “My file…”
“You will, Gretel,” Michael said reassuringly. “When you’re dead you’ll be able to revisit everything in your file, your life! Every kitten you ever saved, every evil witch you slayed, the weight of your actions and how they reverberated throughout the cosmos will all be there for your review. But you’re not dead yet, Gretel. You have so much more to do. You continue to make such a difference in so many lives.”
“...Right.” She said it in an accepting way, without sarcasm, but her tone was deliberately tempered. This place, his presence, had been digging under her skin like the hair of an irritating plant- not particularly painful, but with the potential for poison. Again, it could be her paranoia, but Gretel wasn’t ready to accept any of it.
She also had a strong inkling that getting on this Michael’s bad side was a stupid idea.
“Thank you… for answering my questions,” she added in the same voice, already backing toward the door.
“You’re very welcome, Gretel. It was a pleasure getting to meet you in person. I am really feeling good about this!” Michael stood to walk her to the door, but given how she entered, remained mindful and respectful of giving her space. “Any time you see my office door open, you feel free to come right on in.”
She gave him a nod and a quick, small smile. “Thanks.. I will.” She stepped back, only turning around fully when she knew he wasn’t actually following her.