A Bit of Hospitality

It wasn’t on purpose, of course, but for an instant I felt a certain satisfaction as I retched on the castle’s nice, clean floor. Take that, you judgemental faery minions!

“Ugh.” the two faerie women (Aimee and Rosalie?) reluctantly helped me up and half-supported, half-dragged me to a large bathroom, which, while very luxurious, was hot and steamy. I threw up again in the toilet. While their customs and dress are very medieval, I am happy to report that their castle has excellent and functional plumbing.

“Man, I haven’t thrown up since I was in elementary school.” I murmured as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

The two women had retreated to the doorway when my second attack occurred, and held their long sleeves to their noses as they came back in.

“The soap is here. The bath is already filled, as you can see. Towels are here. Pull the chord if you need anything, or when you are finished.” Aimee told me, apparently trying hard to be professional.

“We will bring you clean clothing, but until then, use this robe.” Rosalie gestured to the thick, fluffy garment hanging on a hook.

“Thanks.” I said, and began undoing the clasp on my cloak. “Wait,” I stopped. “You won’t burn these clothes, will you?”

They eyed my filthy T-shirt, jeans, and shoes. “You want to keep them?”

“Yes. I paid money for them. Don’t throw them away, all right?”

“We’ll... have them washed, then.”

“Okay, thanks! I should be fine now.” I shut and locked the door. “Now,” I murmured to myself. “The question is to bathe before escaping, or to just escape now?”

Becoming clean again was really tempting and my stomach was now empty, but I looked around for an air vent anyway. There was one above the bathtub, against the far wall. Carefully, I stepped onto the edges of the tub and began to unscrew the corners with a dime. It was small, but I thought I could still fit inside.

“Ashlyn,” John called from the other side of the door.

I yelped and almost slipped. I braced myself against the walls, and my shoes left muddy marks on the porcelain. “Don’t come in!” I answered, even though I was still dressed.

“Please don’t try to climb up the air vent.” his voice had a long-suffering tone. “You won’t make it very far in your condition.”

It was hard to think of a response that wouldn’t implicate that this was exactly what I was trying. “Oh, that air vent! Of course I won’t do that!” I scowled.

“Nice try.”

“Were you watching me?”

“Ew, no! We could hear you talking about escaping.”

“...Oh.” So this was one of those awkward bathrooms where someone outside can hear everything going on inside-- the kind that are unfortunate for the families of those who enjoy singing and talking to themselves.

“Look, I don’t want to stand here and babysit you, so I’ll just post someone at the end of the vent if you insist on being troublesome. If you decide to be smart and cooperative, then I’ll get something for you to eat. It’s up to you.”

I looked down at the dime in my fingers, and the black dirt in the fingernails. Sighing, I said: “Fine. I’d like some unmagicked pizza and a fruit smoothie, then.” I hopped down to the floor. “And some cucumber slices.”

“I’ll bring whatever they have leftover in the kitchen.” John said dryly.

While a single bath cannot change facts or horrible feelings, the one I took helped me a great deal. All I had to do was soak in the warmth and forget. And vigorously scrub my fingernails. And wash my hair twice. The process was mercifully brain-numbing.

I was brought pajamas since it was late at night, and a “dressing gown” to wear over them, which was just a fancy bathrobe, really. Aimee and Rosalie seemed relieved after I emerged from the bathroom smelling like peaches. They led me up a few flights of stairs and into a small room with a bed and a desk, where I was told to stay until told otherwise.

True to his word, John brought me some food from the kitchen himself. He didn’t bring anything I requested except the cucumber slices, though.

“These aren’t magicked in anyway, are they?” I asked suspiciously.

“Could you really not eat them if they were?”

I stared longingly at the steaming mashed potatoes.

“Eat.” John said. “It won’t do you any harm.”

I picked up the fork slowly. “You know, I’m not sure if I should feel betrayed, or glad to see you.” I said to John.

“You can feel glad.” John said. “I brought you something for old time’s sake.” he handed me a thin, red box.

“Pocky!” I forgot about the healthy food, and happily started opening it. Pocky is a Japanese treat: biscuit sticks dipped in chocolate. They come dipped in strawberry-flavored cream too. “Wait,” I said. “Are these filled with some sort of truth serum to make me talk?”

           “No,” John corrected me. “They’re here to make you stop talking.”

            I chuckled. “A sedative, then?”

           “Just eat them.”

I obediently munched on my treat, one stick at a time. “Thank you, John.”

John paused on his way out the door. “Don’t thank me. I’m only following my orders, and I don’t know what they’ll be tomorrow.” And with that, he shut and locked the door behind him.

            I looked at the box of Pocky and smiled. It was a completely unnecessary gift. He always was a bit of a liar.