The room feels modern, yet curiously cozy. The hardwood floor feels clean and smooth upon your bare feet. As you shed your belongings, you examine the furnishings.
To your right is a closed door- the bathroom, you surmise. And to your left is a closet with a sliding door.
The room proper contains a queen-sized bed, fit for one weary traveler. Its sheets are smooth, neatly concealing the presence of its former occupant. A curved bench with gray cushions to match lies snug against one of the curved walls, as though sculpted to fit. In front of it sits a round white table with a modern, clean-looking design- the complimentary desk, no doubt.
On the right-end wall sits a tiny cabinet, with a small coffee-maker and a pair of mugs sitting on top. Complimentary coffee and tea for guests, says the notecard nearby. And behind it sits a large flatscreen TV. A cardlist of amenities sits on the cabinet as well... a paid dinner, a bar, and room service are all available, for a price.
The curtains shed buttery sunlight into the room through the open window, but you choose to pull them closed.
It's been a long trip, after all.
The temperature is comfortable, and the sheets are thick and warm. The door is locked, your items are in order, and there is plenty of time.
You close your eyes, dreaming of your future adventures within this beautiful city...
The bathroom feels strangely modern, a fact that shocks you. A pair of lights illuminate your face from the mirrors. On the left end sits a perfectly clean toilet, while on the right stands a tall glass wall. You see the showerhead hanging high on the wall- a handheld model. Come to think of it, you could use a shower. It's a shame they don't offer free shampoo, body wash, and conditioner in take-home bottles anymore... but the shampoo bubbling up in your hands does smell very nice.
The sink is square, and under it sits a few hand towels. Hand towels, body towels, face towels. All the towels you could need. Perfectly white, and perfectly soft.
You take off your clothes, set new ones on the sink, enter the shower, and close the glass pane behind you.
At first, the water is so hot it scalds your skin. But as you turn the handle up and down, you get used to its temperature and force.
The force of water on your back is like a thrumming massage, scouring off all of the sweat and hardship you endured on the way here. The shampoo lathers up nicely. You find enjoyment in lathering it from root to end, almost feeling disappointment when it's time to wash it off. As the water massaged your body, it also massages your scalp, leaving it feeling squeaky clean.
The body wash smells nice. You weren't sure what the label for the scent meant, but it smells very nice. It lathers up nicely without leaving burns or marks, and offers a warm feeling when you finally wash it off.
The room is still warm when you step out of the shower and dry yourself off with the soft, plush towel. When you pull on your new clothes and step back out into your room, you feel refreshed- and satisfied, more satisfied than you've felt in years.
Dream what you wish to dream, dear visitor. They cannot enter this place.
You abstain from pilfering the rack for instant coffee and hot water. Like many hotels, this hotel offers breakfast to its guests, and surely the coffee and tea offered there would be higher quality and more refreshing besides.
You're right, of course.
You sit alone in a corner of the lavish dining room, watching various characters, from office workers in three-piece suits checking their shiny watches, to travelers carrying tote bags and sun hats, to families entertaining their young children, consume the buffet. It's typical American fare- hash browns, scrambled eggs, cereal, toast, bagels, muffins, yogurt, milk, fresh fruit, orange juice... and of course, coffee and tea.
There's nothing special or magical about the food. The fact that you're eating it at a hotel is magical enough.
You switch the channel to one showing a documentary. This one appears to be about penguins in the Antarctic.
You switch the channel to a local news channel. A reporter appears to be doing a piece on a high school football team from a nearby town.
You plug in your streaming stick. You find something nice to watch.
"Are you allergic to mango?" she asks. "I can substitute peach or pineapple."
You watch the bartender spoon some yellow-orange fruit puree into a glass, before shaking together a small amount of gin, tomato juice, and some other spices. She pours the resulting mixture on top of the puree and serves it to you with a plastic spoon-straw. From the side, the cocktail looks just like a rising yellow sun with a red sky all around.
You sip the tomato juice part of the cocktail. It's kind of salty and bitter. You dig your straw further in and slurp up the puree, which is much sweeter by comparison.
"The False Sunrise," the bartender says, with a smile. "Don't try to mix it all together. Enjoy the sweetness for what it is, before the bitterness kicks in. Some drinks are better left unmixed."
"I'll match your energy." The bartender smiles. "You ready for this?"
The bartender pulls three bottles from the shelf- lime juice, a bright blue liquid called curacao, and vodka. She makes a show of mixing the cocktail, before suddenly pulling out a second cocktail shaker and doing the same thing with lemon juice, a green liquid, and more vodka. She layers both of them carefully within the glass before topping it with a tiny gummy bear on a toothpick.
"A vision of a world where things are a little more exciting, the pleasures a little more chemical, and the drugs a little harder. The Injection," she says. "So? How is it?"
You take a long sip. The strong, fruity flavors overwhelm your mouth almost immediately. By the time you've swallowed, your mouth tastes like nothing but watermelon and lime.
You motion for some water.
The bartender laughs. "Right away. And don't eat the gummy till after you're done drinking, okay? That's the best part."
"Expensive, huh?" The bartender smiles. "I'll need to ask for payment up front, but I've got something you might enjoy."
After you slide her an exorbiant amount of money, she gets to work.
The bartender pulls out a small glass. From the top shelf, she retrieves a bottle near full of clear liquid. She fills the glass, adds a mint garnish, and places the glass in front of you.
"This is cactus wine," she says. "They don't make many bottles of this stuff. And frankly, it's strong, but the rarity is what makes it so intriguing."
You sip the cactus wine. Yes, there's a strange tang in there. It's indescribably strange, like the difference between tea and kombucha. Honestly, not your first choice.
Still, when you set it down, you feel something strange. Maturity, maybe? Only someone old and accomplished- or stupid and swimming in cash- would fork over that much for a little sip of strange-tasting alcohol.
"The last customer that ordered this did it to celebrate a promotion." The bartender winks. "It's that kind of drink. A celebration of life, success, and a successful life."
"I know something you might like." The bartender begins to pull ingredients out of the shelves. She turns on a portable stove and begins to boil water while preparing several different spices. You watch her carefully mix precise blends of several different herbs- fresh, not dried- with a glass of rum and shake them in a cocktail shaker, while boiling loose-leaf tea. She strains them both out and, with her teapot in one hand and the open cocktail shaker in the other, mixes in a honey-lined glass before your very eyes.
The drink she finally presents to you sits in a brown mug. You can see some grit from the spices or the tea floating near the bottom. Apprehensive, you take a sip.
The moment the drink hits your throat, you feel a burn. You swallow it down quickly. It was spicy and flavorful all at once, like drinking a mouthful of red pepper flakes. Very earthy red pepper flakes.
"Like it?" she asks. "It's called the Hermit's Cure-All. This is a hard version. They'd bring honey and herbs out to the mountains to brew this special tea. And when you drink it, you can practically hear the bards singing in your ears and the wolves howling and the crows calling... " She gives a happy sigh. "If that's the sort of world you grew up in, maybe it tastes like home."
"I see." The bartender gives a wink as she gets to work. She pours several ingredients- a clear syrup, a golden syrup, and red wine- into a shaker, and shakes it over the course of thirty seconds. She carefully pours the mixture into a wineglass, and then adds a spoon of honey.
It looks like wine. Wine? Or blood? You're not quite sure, but you take a sip all the same.
It's strong, very strong. And very fruity and flavorful as well. Somehow, you can imagine yourself sipping this at a more expensive hotel- at least two more stars than this one. For just a moment, you're the trophy spouse of a rich, handsome entrepreneur- the kind of entrepreneur who always has time for the ones they love.
"It's my own spin on a local specialty," she says. "But I think you'd rather have something a little more homegrown."
