Chapter Text
The lone bird soars through the gloom-covered skies with its wings spread wide. The breeze flowing between each feather on its body. Free at last from its rusting shackles, albeit a far cry from home and so.. so.. so terribly lost.
A sprog left to abandonment—the clueless navigation brought by the envy of another, the true wonders of humankind inflicted amongst themselves—to fend against the hungry wolves and to scavenge for food; Unwanted crumbs tossed by the ungrateful scums of the planes of Earth. It was an unexpected diversion of life's plans, but each meticulously placed crumb before the feathered friend lead its way to his luxurious abode.
And admittedly, they deserved an applause, for having lasted this long. All alone. No home. No one.
Truly pitiful..
One could almost laugh.
The weather of New York tends to have its fair share of drollery; Once a sky so full of sunlight and chirping birds is currently the canvas of obscurity remain casted over the occupied streets. Now the rain falls, from a light mizzle to something that causes great panic to rise amongst the unprepared people with only their belongings to shield them, a futile attempt, and not in favour of the Gods. They whine and they wail in disastrous amity, chaos erupting in shoes clacking in their blind hurried hysteria. Yet only one man remained, calm and composed, as if by some chance he knew of this sudden predicament to come.
Standing under the bright flickering sign of the Baroness' awning with a closed umbrella in hand was the Doorman, dressed in a simple yet elegant show of red, black and gold. Watching as mayhem unfolds before his very eyes with the sole purpose of inviting passersby to partake in a warm hotel room, safe away from the torrential downpour befalling the dreary sidewalks. It was times like this that often brought plenty of customers to their doors—seeking shelter, willing to pay for a roof over their dainty heads to wait out the rain and warmth to subside the shuddering chill in their bones. Truly, a fluke on his part.
And by some fortune (or perhaps, knowledge that a certain individual was bound to pass by the Baroness much thanks to the unfortunate change of weather), the redhead spots a familiar face amongst the harsh winds and raindrops. One he knows he has seen in the ritual previously, a person who's caught his undying interest for better or for worse. As such, he doesn't hesitate a second to call out and stop them from fruitlessly fighting against the rain outside with all but their briefcase above their wet head. Amusing.
"The Baroness invites you! We still have a number of rooms open—it'd be much better than staying out here in the rain, I'm sure."
Devoured by not only the joyless weather but thoughts of equal gloom and misery that could compete. Pocket halts in their steps faster than their mind could comprehend and decide against. The Baroness, that ever cheery voice. Faint familiarity struck the bulb by their head in an instant into flickering light as they whipped around to face the radiance. So fast, the slither of a headache pokes through before backing off. Coming face-to-face with bright blues staring straight at them, just the very man they figured they'd see.
The frown long etched on their face only grows deeper at this chanced encounter. Surprise after surprise. Though the idea of being dried and warmed up was admittedly an enticing one, something which any other wouldn't be able to deny, heavy hesitation still weighed on their shoulders regardless. Made even heavier by their waterlogged clothes stuck to skin, an annoyance they can only bear to live with until the rain passes, unless they so decide to accept the Doorman on his tempting invitation.
In sight of honeyed sweetness, does the bird dare cave in to his whims?
Set in deep consideration, the street urchin makes a show of tilting entirely to the side to take a peek past the Doorman's stiff unmoving form, into the beaming lobby of the Hotel. It was almost as if it called out to them; A ghostly whisper to submit into the twisted fabrication of its halls, laced by the twinkle of wealth to trick the naivety of mortals, round and round it spins. Pocket lets a breath out and the rain quickly drowns out the imperceptible delirium.
"I don't think I can afford to stay here." A blatant admission of supposed rejection, the plastic smile on the freckled face reaches up to his eyes then. Humming low, sounding like he was pondering the situation over. After a still second, his gloved hands unfurl the umbrella to hold it overhead. Wordlessly stepping out into the rain, walking until eventually he was close enough to shield them from it; Just big enough for two. Smiling brightly, he replies. "Well, as I recall... We were on the same side during the ritual that occured a short while ago. As thanks, the Baroness extends a free stay for the night. What do you say? And oh, that includes all the usual amenities, room service—and free breakfast, as well."
A good offer, almost too good to be true. If this was Doorman holding out the bone, then, it might as well be made of pure gold. Honestly, he wonders if perhaps he was laying it on too thick. Pocket did seem like the type to be wary of things too generous, but he was banking on the torrent being enough of a factor to swing them towards easy acceptance anyway. In spite of better judgement. And he could tell it is as so. Their dark eyes were locked onto him with heed and curiosity, much resembling some frightened wet cat.
Which admittedly was, cute.
Their neck cranes up to better meet the Doorman's eyes, that cheery smile contrasting greatly to their own expression in the expanse of a shared quietude between the two, safe from the unrelenting pitter-patter surrounding the two. Cogs and bolts struggled to turn in synchronisation, unable to see past the wall of lies and purpose no matter how hard they squinted their eyes at. Nevertheless, the temptation was growing, urging them to take a bite out of it if they so dared.
And maybe they could take the bait...
They could..
Shoulders relaxing from its tensed state while lowering the glistening briefcase still unnecessarily held above their head, Pocket finally gives a small nod. "If what you say is true." A short pause then an eventual sigh, "I'll stay until the rain passes."
The first crumb.
"Wonderful!" The Doorman's already wide smile somehow grows impossibly wider, highlighting the apples of his freckled cheeks into a near uncanny display of immense delight. The word came out so quickly as well, as if he was just waiting with simmering anticipation for their inevitable admission. These things were odd individually, not enough to claim something strange altogether. At least, not right now, not yet.
One thing's for sure however. His increasing cheeriness only proves to further dampens Pocket's own despair. Whom, though, is eternally grateful for such consideration of compassion unbefitting for a wondering street urchin as themself—doesn't erase the words of fabrication and deception that plagues the world in their book.
The bird strays from its flock. Untrusting of their concerns, faces of intimacy now naught but a scribbled mess of lies.. lies.. lies. It knows better now. Or does it?
"Come along then, after we get you your key, I can take you to your room right away." Bright ocean hues dart down to their only bit of luggage; The briefcase. He's sharp to notice the tight grip with which it was held. Showing it was doubtful that Pocket would let him take it if he offered, let alone a small graze to its exterior. Best not to ruffle the bird's feathers now.
"Sounds good." A murmur. slippery grip tightening around the handle, they take the first step forward after the Doorman's lead. The pool of water beneath them rippling with every stride they took. It doesn't take more than six steps to reach the decorated double doors of the hotel, where he closed the umbrella and leaves it outside. After which, he of course, opens the door for his newest guest. Allowing Pocket to step inside the warmly lit and relatively empty reception of the Baroness whom immediately shudders from the light air conditioning coming from above— which, on top of the harsh breeze having already torment them enough from the outside, though... The Doorman makes a look of slight disdain as they dripped all over the doormat.
No matter.
"Right this way. I'll give you your room key." Said with noticeably less exuberance than earlier—only momentarily—he schools his expression to be of that iconic service smile once again, even as they leave wet muddied footsteps and cause a puddle to form in the short time he had to take to produce a room key for them from behind the polished marble counter. And if they had noticed the brief switch in tone, they fortunately chooses not to comment on it. A good decision. Instead, waiting patiently and quietly like any well-mannered guest should be. Which would come as a shock with the number of those who do not, in fact, act like civilised citizens. A shame really.
"What about.. my clothes?" A prick of hesitation laced in their tone, feeling as though they were asking the obvious. But the Doorman pays it no mind and provides an answer just as easily as everything else to which they'd nod occasionally to, a pleasant show of listening. "The Baroness provides free laundry services as part of your stay, so just leave your clothes on the provided hamper in your room and we'll come by to collect it. Naturally, we will return them washed and folded before checkout tomorrow." Informing them, he hands over the key...
Room 134.
His lanky legs brings him back over from behind the counter to where they still stood, key now in their grasp which they were staring at. Some part of Pocket felt strangely wrong, for something as ordinary as holding onto a clean key with a hand stained with dirt and rainwater, like in some way, it was deemed a sin, that they were undeserving to taint the purity of this lifeless object with the mere touch of their fingers. Letting out a breath they've been holding for a few ticks of time, their attention snaps up to the Doorman who had turned sharply with a moment's glance as if to coax them to follow.
Which they do without much thought.
The hallway they walked down was filled with numbered rooms on each side, symmetrical and decorated with a multitude of embellishments for the sake of making the design seem less dull to the eyes and tastes of the rich. A closer inspection would yield the sight of no dust, no trash—utterly spotless with not even a thread out of place, something partly thanks to the man in front of them. And for some reason, Pocket felt throttled the further they traversed the row of identical doors.
They do not belong here, no longer. Everything screamed of undying perfection and that's a far cry from who they are now, even then. An imposter in the guise of pursuing heir in the act of retaliation for the wrongdoing befalling them years back.
Suffocating, the halls felt like it was twisting and bending at the force of some unknown entity, it pulses like the innards of a creature. Threatening to swallow them whole—
"And please feel free to use the provided sleepwear and towels. We hope your stay will be a comfortable one! It is what we aim to strive here at the Baroness."
Pulled right out of those dark grasps, Pocket blinks. Finally, they halt in front of a door alike the many ones they've just walked past. Gold numbers displayed on the front, just above the peephole. The Doorman steps aside and waits expectantly for Pocket to use the key who's staring at him like a lost soul. No sooner does clarity rushes back to them like a wave, their hand raising up with a slip of the key to still moist fingertips. A push—a turn and a gentle click, the door unlocks smoothly.
Lips pressed together dryly, Pocket pushes the door and lets it swing open; Greeting them was a warm light, not bright enough to be blinding, but just enough to illuminate the room in soft brilliance that felt like home. Accentuating the intricate designs of furniture scattered around in a precise way—a room only a guest could easily find more to appreciate once they step foot in—the fancy rug, the sizable space, and especially plush looking bed. This room was far and away from the fanciest, but it was still held to equally high standards as any other, befitting of a hotel of such high regards in the books.
Pocket was, simply to say, speechless from astonishment. They knew to expect a view of lavish luxury and yet for some reason, it still stuns them a tad from where they stood frozen. And the Doorman couldn't help the look of pride that paints across his face, always proud to show off exactly why the Baroness was still one of the best in the Cursed Apple. (Even if some reviews were to claim otherwise... Tsk, tasteless critics. An inevitable encounter. A mind to give, if he could. But there were expectations to uphold.) I digress.
"Is the room to your liking? If not, we can switch it out for something different. But if this is satisfactory. Please, do inform me if you need anything else. I am at your beck and call, no matter the reason, no matter the hour." The words that spilt out like the smooth glide of a river sounded almost faintly robotical, definitely rehearsed. Nonetheless, it's something that Pocket stirs past from easily. "Uh... No—yes, this is fine." More than fine is what they wished to say. In fact the moment they finally take the first step into the room, they halt. The sudden rush of realisation hitting them. Their drenched form.. The quick rhythmic trickle of droplets hitting the dry floor below soon to form another one of their many puddles around.
An unspoken hesitation hangs in the air, and they feel almost bad for ruining such an unsullied state.
Quick to notice such, the Doorman provides an attempt at reassurance. Really, Pocket's consideration for the state of the place would have been touching, were he actually human. Still, he has the sense to be appreciative in spite of that. "No need to worry, I'll clean up the mess. A little water and dirt isn't too bad, by the time you finish cleaning yourself up, it'll be spotless once again. I assure you."
Eyes casted down. Drip.. drip.. drip.. They eventually tear their eyes up from the floor to meet the redhead. "Thank you again.."
It seemed like they had more to say though the remainder of their words have been caught by the forming lump in their throat. Humming, the Doorman clasps his arms behind his arched back. "You're much welcome, I shall take my leave for now. I shall stop by at a later time to clean up the mess, for now, do make yourself comfortable." With that and a polite bow, the Doorman makes his way down the hall, letting the distance consumes his form whole. Leaving Pocket alone to their own thoughts.
They threaten to consume that of their own kind in its attempt to abscond away from such animalistic rancour. Again and again, a never-ending flight for survival.
It's best not to dilly-dally any further. A wash was in dire need and after that, a good night's sleep calls. One that they will most likely not get the joy of experiencing for days to come just as prior to this. Exhaling, Pocket finally turns to close the door behind them before setting their briefcase down by the intricately carved wardrobe. At last, they're able to release the tension pulsing through their body a slight more now that they're completely alone, no danger, no need to be on such high alert. The little creatures in their briefcase begins to thrash and croak—muffled by its confine—in shared agreement. In a way, they knew. And Pocket never fails to find contentment in knowing such a fact.
Allowing a small smile to grace their lips after hours long of frowning, they are set in motion, heading straight to the bathroom matching the same opulence as with everything in the walls of this hotel. This anomalous hotel....
It sets to eat them whole, eyes always watching, ears always listening.
Yet naivety catches up eventually, breaking through the wired defences like a slice of cake.
No amount of caution can prevent the need for normality and luxury that the Baroness provides.
Poor Pocket.. Oh, what have you gotten yourself into this time.