[b]Orange:[/b]

You would think Mr Motet might be annoyed about this, but no. The bags under his eyes crinkle as he smiles, and look much smaller for it. Quaff this kind nepenthe, someone else has accepted responsibility for this problem, and it is no longer just mine to figure out and deal with. 

The luggage cart is around the desk in [i]seconds[/i]. Take her away, take her away. 

Crystal has ensured your room would be the 11th room of the 11th floor. Two bedrooms with king-sized beds, full length walk-in wardrobes, and a kitchenette and pair of ensuites that will be nice for your guests to use instead I’m sure. That doesn’t say much about it, though. 

Most hotels kind of compress down into looking the same on the inside, once you get past the themed exteriors, but the Castle knows what it’s about and it doesn’t fuck around. 

Take the long cabinet-table as you come in, the one every hotel has against the wall that they put a gigantic TV on, the one where all the remote controls for everything and the room service menu and a bunch of brochures gets put, the one that is like twice as long as any cabinet you could buy at any furniture store but the same width. 

This one’s made of carved ivory. Someone figured out if you can grow synthetic ivory in large blocks, then there isn’t really a limit to what you can carve. The result, distinctly 1800s luxury furniture that’s only possible with 2080s technology. It looks gorgeous, and antique, and the manufacturing process behind it isn’t old enough to go to college yet.

Everything in this room is like that, a vision of a fairytale princess’s rooms made possible. Bulk-batch synthetic gems in the silver living room chandelier, royal purple carpeting and baroque couches as soft as clouds. 

It’s better to dump Eli in the bathtub, though, now that Mr Motet has her delivered with you. Eli hasn’t woken up yet and hypothermia might actually be a problem now that they’re out of the warm water of the fountain. It feels like the QR code hoodie alone has soaked up half the hotel fountain and brought it with you. 

What are you going to do about that, actually? They’re soaked through, and none of the dumped clothes you saw that were dry were theirs. 

[b]It's ya OSHA crew:[/b]

When Leather hits ‘stop’ on the stopwatch, it’s 2:15 seconds. A trained and practiced firefighter should be looking to do it in 1:45, but with practice and some coaching Red could probably cut that down to 1:30. If Blue and Pink could figure out how to tailor the bulky coat and protective clothing for her down to her form, she could maybe make it to just 1:00. 

Without the equipment, Red and Leather both made it in under 10. 

In the demonstration area, Leather takes the fireaxe and starts addressing Blue’s thoughts about astrodemolition by pointing out that if you’re in the building, it’s to save other people still in there. So how do you cut through debris without knowing if it’s become load bearing or not? What do you do? 

This is all stuff November mostly knows, with a few minor twists they haven’t had to deal with before. Sure, they’ve had to deal with collateral damage when planning stuff like the Pump explosion but-

Leather stops mid swing of cutting through a man-sized jenga tower made of scorched foundation pieces, part of his demonstration on how sometimes you can take a clean swing and nothing goes down, and other times the whole heap comes on top of you. It’s a fantastic visual demonstration, very fun. The titanium head of the axe clinks against the concrete floor where he drops it, and he holds a hand over where his eyes must be. 

He’s staring at White.

“Hold up.” He says. “I can’t believe it, Is that Crimson Tower in my audience? Ma’am, it is an [i]honour[/i] to have you here, I am kicking myself for not recognizing you sooner.”

[b]Snake:[/b]

This is the best thing you could have done. 

The first thing that happens is the face changes. With recognition of the old prank means having to wear the face of the person she was when she did it - the one that most recognizes you, the one most familiar to you. This face is projected as black, featureless void. No stars or face project from the kite-shield shape. 

She panics, at first. Fight or flight kicks in and it looks like she’s ready to run, to see if she can’t leap out the rose window high above like a grasshopper and get out of here as fast as she can. But that passes in a moment. 

Then she’s using that great staff to hook Green first, then Pink, then Yellow and hug each of them tight, holding them like a barrel under a different arm. “Excuse me.” She says apologetically to the audience, as she starts to carry you all to a quieter part of the exhibition hall. Her voice is more human and practiced now than it used to be, still a little awkward. It sounds bit Bengali, older, more responsible. It’s a voice like chocolate-covered fruits and slivered almonds, sweet with a darker, earthier melody to it. 

She curls the fingers of one of her remaining free hands around her face again and changes her mask to something bright green and wide-smiling. “I’m just Monk now. I doubt [i]you [/i]go by the name I remember?” she teases. “And you should know better than to just call it out like that!” 

It’s possible, if not [i]probable,[/i] that servitude to Ms Everest was not the worst situation your siblings had to deal with. Dad can’t find most of them, and as you’ve thought, Crystal would have mentioned if she knew who she was hiring.