Chapter Text
Hands tucked neatly behind your back, your posture straight and perfect. Check. Charjabug perched on your shoulder, buzzing a low, happy tone. Check. Collar buttoned, pants ironed in place, hat smartly stationed on your head—check, check, check.
Your coworker Randy strides toward you, his coiled hair gelled down under his hat. He sends you a tiny smile and halts on the other side of the rug. You both turn toward the reception desk in tandem, framing the long red lobby carpet like a pair of smartly-dressed pillars.
The telltale rumble of luggage rolls into your peripheral. Red alert. New arrivals.
You turn on your heel, Randy mirroring you at your side. The strangers, joyous and saddled with heavy bags, don’t even notice as you both tip your hats to them in-sync. Charjabug chimes a lilted note on your shoulder as you straighten upright, still pinching the brim of your hat.
You glance at Randy, lowering your voice to a furtive murmur. “..Is there fresh coffee in the break room today?”
Randy’s brow twitches in your peripheral. Otherwise, there's no change in his posture or expression. “..Junie checked. It’s the same coffee as yesterday. Congealed..weeks old.”
“Should we send the boss a complaint?”
Randy stiffly shakes his head, his hand tightening into the brim of his hat. “You remember what happened to Kip.”
..You do remember what happened to Kip. It’d be smart not to complain then.
“See you at lunch.” Randy nods in farewell, though he doesn’t turn to meet your eye. Instead, he spins on his heel, his shiny uniform shoes clicking on the tile as he crosses the lobby to take his spot inside his elevator.
You turn the opposite way and do the same.
The Battle Hotel, despite its strict rules and terrible coffee, isn’t the worst place to work. If anything, it exposes you to the many wild wonders of Nimbasa City, Unova.
You’ve been working this job for a while now, and you’ve had your fair share of interesting visitors. There are trainers of all ages challenging the Battle Hotel, from twelve-year-olds to seniors who need to be wheeled in and out of the elevator.
You have one of these seniors today. A man named George, who has no business being as energetic as he is. You can’t even say your regular script; he genuinely does not stop talking.
“Good morning! Lovely morning! Hello, my fine friend, you’re as lively as ever!”
You can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Despite your polished and neat appearance you have very droopy eyelids. Though George sees the world through sunlit lenses, his eyes bright as he’s wheeled over beneath the twinkling array of overhead lights.
“Hello, George,” You tip your hat, hoping to get a word in before he starts a monologue. The attendant wheeling him over nods to you, slows him to a stop, and then hurries off to do other tasks.
“My nurse helped me to the lake today! You know, back in the day, those waters used to be a lot cleaner. I used to fish for Magikarp off the docks! Never mind those ridiculous railings they put up everywhere—,”
Well, there goes your chance of getting a word in. You skip your usual greetings and stride around to the back of George’s chair. Once he waves his hand in assent, you place your hands on the handles and wheel him into your elevator.
“—When I turned eighteen, I’d caught enough Magikarp to feed a family of eight! Though it was only me and Purrloin back then..needless to say, we both gained a few pounds,”
George’s partner, Purrloin, is dozing on his lap. She sends you an uninterested sniff as you slide around George’s chair, close the brass metal gating, and push the button to the next floor.
The button lights up beneath your finger. Charjabug chirps at its familiar golden glow, and Purrloin’s ears flicker once as the elevator’s thick door slides shut. She settles on George’s lap again with a wide, humming yawn as you take your place next to the door.
All the while, George keeps talking. “Before my journey I had to fatten up! That’s what my dear ol’ Mum always said to me, since ya burn a lot of energy on the road,”
George’s monologuing needs no response—you’d tried once, but he’d barreled through your words as though you weren’t even there. He likes to fill the air with his voice, and you see no harm in it. It’s not like you’re allowed to say much beyond your usual script anyway.
You tack on an automatic, “We will now head for floor one.”
“After we’d found a way to net multiple of those fishies at once, there was no hope for ‘em! We fished ‘em all out of the water, me and my Purrloin here!”
You adjust your hat. You tuck your hands behind your back. You click your heels together. “Gooooing up!”
The elevator dips and shudders. George gestures his way through his Magikarp story. Purrloin dozes off, and Charjabug buzzes from his spot on your shoulder, chittering once then tapering off into a companionable silence.
As you rise from the lobby, the right wall of the elevator—made of thick, paneled glass—reveals the walls slowly moving by. The elevator dings then creaks up to a stop.
The doors open to display a large, empty room and a hotel employee perched in a single chair. You reach out and open the remaining brass gating. Then you send George a nod and wait.
After George gives his assent—with gestures, because now he’s moved on to describing his experience at a water-type gym—you wheel his chair into the room.
In your peripheral, you see another large pane of glass which separates the challenge room from the hotel halls. There are a few hotel residents emerging from their doors to watch the upcoming battle.
The Battle Hotel consists of two lively components. There’s the ‘battling’ portion of the hotel, for which you work as an elevator operator. It’s used for, yes, battling. Each floor on your side houses a new challenger to face—bell-hops and attendants alike—and winning gets you up to the next floor.
Losing, well..that sends you back to the bottom.
The other section of the building houses hotel rooms. Your coworker Randy operates the elevator for that side. The hallways of the hotel are sectioned away from the battling rooms with large glass walls that can resist electricity, fire, water, hyper beams, and the stray eerie psychic pulse.
With the protective glass in place, spectators can come out of their rooms and view battles on their floors with ease. It’s not a relaxing-sounding vacation, in your well-informed opinion, but the hotel’s frequent residents are usually battle-obsessed and ready for the action.
When you return to your spot in the elevator and the doors close behind you, you can hear them cheering George on.
Speaking of George. The elevator doors slide open after a few minutes. The senior, chuckling in his wheelchair, hands you his Purrloin's ball, his smile colored with mirth. “Ah, lost again!”
You take the pokéball from his hand and slot it into the elevator’s built-in Pokécenter machine. With an electromagnetic pulse, Purrloin's ball is released into your waiting palm. You pass it back to him with what you hope is a placating smile.
“Don’t sweat it. Junie’s tough.”
“Junie’s not just tough, she’s relentless! That trainer will be the death of me! Her Croagunk just doesn’t let up, you know? Just today she—,”
You approach George and wait for him to wave his hand in approval. Once he does, still rambling about his loss, you carefully grip the handles of his chair and wheel him back into the golden-lit elevator.
“—She’d gotten Purrloin poisoned and I knew it was over. That’s my problem, you see? I give up too quick! When I was younger..”
You walk around his chair and close the brass gating. The elevator doors slowly creak shut.
“We will now head for floor zero,” You state, pressing the corresponding button, which lights up a warm yellow beneath your finger.
“..Back then I was so confident. Purrloin and I crushed our gym challenge. Or, well, just the first few gyms. Challenges worked quite differently back then! Did you know..”
You straighten upright. You tuck your hands behind your back. “Goooing down,”
You stand stiffly just outside of the elevator door. There haven’t been many challengers besides George today, so there’s not much to do but stare idly into the lobby as you wait.
Randy, on the other hand, has been absurdly busy. There are more hotel visitors than ever, likely due to the festival that’s happening downtown.
You spotted him once across the red carpeting, sweating profusely as he shoved a trolly of luggage through the narrow elevator doors. Unfortunately you were unable to assist him, as you’re not allowed to leave your designated spot while on the clock.
Right now, though, there’s a lull in the crowd. Most of your coworkers are on the upper floors, so you’ve got no one across the room to pantomime to. Your neck twinges so you roll your shoulders, carefully and subtly, since there are cameras in the lobby.
Your arms twitch but you keep them stubbornly tucked behind your back. On the clock equals perfect posture—always. After what happened to Kip, you’ve got to be careful.
Plus, Charjabug is still perched on your shoulder and you don’t want to accidentally knock him off.
Your pokémon wiggles and shifts, his eye-lights dim as he dozes off. You’d love to do the same. Instead you keep your hands folded behind your back, your heels tucked together, and your head locked straight ahead.
Your eyes begin to grow blurry until you remember to blink. Nancy, seated at the reception desk, groans with an audible yawn, her head buried in her arms. You count down until the moment she drifts off.
Then, the sound of shoes clicking on the tiles. Off the rug. Toward you.
You lift your head, the golden lights briefly streaking beneath the brim of your cap.
“Welcome to the Battle Hotel.” The practiced words spill from your mouth. “How can I assist you today..?”
You blink again.
There are two identical people standing in front of you. They’re both absurdly tall, with neat gray sideburns and even lighter eyes. With their matching uniforms—different in only color, black and white—you could almost mistake them for fellow operators.
They’re wearing big, rounded hats that they tip toward you in tandem. You hesitate.
Then the man in black opens his mouth and bellows, in the loudest voice you’ve ever heard, “HELLO THERE! I am Ingo! This is my brother, Emmet! We would like you to assist us in challenging your hotel today!”
You hear a distant clatter as Nancy startles awake, shrieks, and falls out of her chair.
“I am Emmet!” The man in white introduces. His voice isn’t quite as loud, but it’s just as boisterous. “I like winning more than anything else!”
“Char?” Charjabug warbles tiredly, unnerved by all the loud sounds. You resist the urge to reach up and give him a rub under his chin.
“..Greetings,” You focus on your script and introduce yourself. Not by name, of course, those aren’t needed here. “I will be your elevator operator today. Do you need an overview of the rules here at the Battle Hotel?”
Prompt, concise, simple. Part of you thinks there should be some sort of safety briefing, but the boss says signed contracts are enough. You hope these two men..twins, likely..signed them as they came in. Unless the doorman was busy again.
“We do not.” Emmet answers flatly. He bares a large grin that pulls tightly across his cheeks. His brother’s expression twists into the exact opposite—he’s staring at you with a grave, deepening frown.
“Understood.” Reaching behind you, you press the elevator button, which glows to life with a pulse of gentle yellow. The elevator doors ding and slide open.
You gesture inside with a sweeping arm. “Please watch your step.”
The pair file in before you. You follow behind them and move to close the metal gate, but the man in white steps in front of you, effectively stopping you in your tracks.
You stare up at him, craning your neck to meet his eye. He looms over you like a hanging specter, his glossy, light eyes capturing your small reddish reflection. He smiles at you, then raises his thin, stubby brows as though challenging you to speak.
Charjabug squeaks in alarm. You try to subtly move around him, but your strange guest looms ever-closer. Which, in this tiny, cramped elevator, is not a difficult thing to do.
You’re boxed into the corner by him—you can’t get around his broad shoulders to press the button, so the elevator is stuck on floor zero.
Emmet’s next words are not anything you’d expect.
“Your business model is verry similar to ours.”
You pause. The man’s teeth-baring expression shifts into a smile both cheery and fake—which makes you feel no better than before. His brother has a frown on his face but he looks reluctant rather than devious.
He keeps glancing between you and his brother like he wants to step in and do something. You wish he would. Emmet’s getting annoyingly close in your personal space.
The pressure makes you break character.
“I suggest you take that up with my boss,” You tell him, your eyelids drooping through a slow blink. “I’m just an elevator operator. There’s not much I can do.”
Emmet’s smile widens to the point that his lips curl into his teeth. It looks like a physically impossible expression. “What if we threaten to sue?”
You hold in a sigh as Charjabug shuffles nervously on your shoulder.
The ‘threat to sue’ is not anything new. Just last week, a Veteran Trainer went on and on about suing, howling furiously at your fellow co-workers over her Stufful’s burn, which you fixed with a Full Heal in two seconds.
Who comes to a Battle Facility thinking their pokémon won’t get banged up? She’d given Randy such a hard time for no reason, and the man’s ridiculously anxious as it is.
You’ve got no idea who these twins are, nor what their ‘business model’ is, but you could care less about what goes on in this city.
You’re barely paying attention to Emmet at this point, impatiently reaching around him to close the inner gate and stiffly pressing the button for floor one.
The action causes you to nearly collide with him, chest-to-chest with a mere inch left between you. Emmet seems to take this as a challenge, staring you right in the face.
The whites of his eyes nearly match the silvery gray around his pupils. It’s off-putting, but also striking, like a sharp diamond against a wall of quartz.
“We will now head to floor one,” you inform him in the heavy silence.
You lean back once you’ve done your job, putting as much space between yourself and this stranger as best as you can. You don’t get more than a few inches.
“If you’d like to sue..” The thing to do here: make this not your problem. “..Talk to Nancy, front desk. She’s good with numbers.”
Emmet stares at you, his smile twitching against your dismissal. He says nothing else and takes a stiff step back.
You blink languidly. “Goooing up,”
The elevator dips and rumbles. You click your heels together when the downward pressure hits you and neatly tuck your hands behind your back.
Suddenly, Emmet’s face pales. Ingo frowns solemnly and pats his shoulder. You send the pair another curious glance as the elevator begins its ascent.
Emmet rocks back and forth on his heels, folds his arms together, and then audibly swallows. You internally note how his eyes flicker to the rising number above the doors—perhaps he’s afraid of heights.
The elevator arrives with a chiming ding. You open the metal gate in tandem with the automatic elevator doors.
You give the brothers a short bow and tip your hat. “Floor one. Good luck.”
“Charja!” Chirps Charjabug on your shoulder.
The pair attempt to step into the battling room simultaneously. They have to squeeze past each other to make it out the doors, and it’s amusing enough you nearly forget how odd they acted in the elevator.
You digress. It’s time to sit back, relax, and hope the pair get taken out on the first floor.
They do not get taken out on the first floor.
Rather, the first floor gets taken out by them. In five minutes. Yes, you were counting, you’ve got nothing better to do. The brothers burst through your elevator doors, leaving a dazed-looking Junie behind.
You spot your coworker staring blankly at a scorch mark on the wall, her mouth gaping open in stunned silence.
The doors close to that look on her face. This is not the first employee the pair leave in a stupor.
They blow through the second floor. Then the third. Then the fourth. When they reach the tens you’re tempted to ask them if they’re cheating, since you can’t see their battles from inside the elevator. Accusing Emmet of cheating seems like a bad idea though.
On the twelfth floor, their battle lasts a bit longer than five minutes. It starts to creep to ten. Then eleven. Eventually you grow bored enough to pace around in the elevator even though you’re technically not supposed to.
Charjabug squeaks. You hold a hand up to your shoulder and he creeps onto it, then settles himself into the crook of your elbow so you can cradle him in your arm.
He wiggles until he gets comfortable. By force of habit, you lean forward and drop a kiss onto his soft, flat head.
Your friend croons, delighted. “Bug!”
A muffled explosion and distant shout startle you upright.
You abruptly roll back your shoulders, registering what you’ve just done. Shuddering with a sudden anxiety, you whirl around.
A security camera stares down at you with its large, dark eye. You tense. Thankfully, the red light near its orbular lense remains dim and unblinking. It seems like the janitors still haven’t replaced the batteries.
You relax with a relieved huff.
“You’ve made me such a sap,” You try to grouse, but your tone remains playful and warm. “What if there’s another hidden camera in here?”
“Bug.” Your companion buzzes.
You sigh, tapping your shiny loafer on the elevator’s tile floor. “..You’re right. If there is, we would’ve been fired a long time ago.”
The muffled sounds of battle fade away. You tuck the arm that’s not holding your pokémon behind your back, preparing yourself by staring blankly at the elevator doors.
The doors ding and slide open to reveal the brothers just..standing there.
Staring at you.
It’s unnerving, but you carefully don’t react.
Ingo looks like he wants to talk to you, his mouth parting to speak as his eyes slide over to your face, but when you catch him looking he turns his head away and pulls the brim of his hat over his eyes. Perhaps he’s hesitant to breach the stifled atmosphere his brother created.
You don’t blame him. You’re not up for talking either, other than your usual required spiel.
“Congratulations,” You tell them blandly as they finally stride through the doors. “You’ve made it to the twentieth floor,”
Emmet sends you his big, fake grin. Ingo frowns at you. Both expressions make you rightly uncomfortable.
“There’s a very special boss waiting at the top of the hundredth floor.” You recite to them.
Your eyes trace their odd uniform coats. Emmet’s white outfit is dusted in a faint layer of soot that he’s trying and failing to brush off—likely caused by the explosion you heard earlier.
“Only on the hundredth?” Booms Ingo. Charjabug startles, nearly wiggling out of your arm. You wish the man would lower his voice, if only for your sensitive friend.
To answer his question: “Yes. The boss will only see you once all other floors are complete.”
“That is a poor system,” Ingo informs you. He does not sound reprimanding, rather, genuinely concerned, the brim of his hat doing little to hide the furrowing of his brows. “It is important to give all trainers, even beginners, a chance to challenge bosses. There should be more bosses on the lower floors—perhaps a boss every tenth floor—to help keep trainers motivated.”
What he’s saying makes complete sense. You’ve seen trainers give up before your own eyes, worn out after weeks upon weeks of battling with no greater reward other than a ‘boss’ challenge that seems lightyears away. You’ve seen them put their challenges on hold and never come back.
You shrug and sigh. “Again, not much I can do. You can take your complaints to the front desk—,”
“What if we talk to the Boss? On the hundredth floor.”
Emmet’s suggestion nearly startles you since he’s been silent for a while. His smile quirks over one cheek. His gaze feels a little less unsettling, though it’s no less intense than before.
“..That would be more effective,” You admit, reaching up to adjust the brim of your hat. “But are you sure you’ll be all right?”
Emmet’s grin widens. “Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sir, you’ve been growing paler each time we ascend a floor.” You raise a brow. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
Emmet does not designate you with a response. The a cold sweat on his forehead that shimmers in the golden light. Ingo gives him another placating..frown, then subtly squeezes his arm. You likely wouldn’t have noticed this if you weren’t in such a small elevator.
“Regardless.” You absentmindedly rub the top of Charjabug’s head, not taking your eyes off them. “One hundred floors is quite a feat. It normally takes trainers at least three months to complete it.”
Emmet’s grin sharpens into a baring of teeth. He adjusts his hat again. Likely a habit. “It will take us three days!”
You stare at him.
“Bug.” Says Charjabug, still cradled in your arm.
Ingo nods at his twin, frown poised with certainty. “Three days it is.”
“..Right.” You keep your voice carefully neutral.
The elevator dings. You untuck your left arm from behind your back. Charjabug buzzes from his spot in the other.
You give the twins a short bow and tip your hat. “Floor twenty-four. Good luck.”
“Charja!” Chirps Charjabug.
The repetitiveness usually gets old for most guests, but both Emmet and Ingo acknowledge your words on each new floor, usually nodding or tipping their hats in response. It’s kind of them to do.
Once the elevator doors shut behind them their battle starts in a muffled burst of flame and shouted commands. Ingo’s always the loudest, unsurprisingly, but both of their voices can be heard through the elevator doors.
You’ve been tallying up their most common moves: Ingo frequently uses Will O’ Wisp and Emmet’s tied between Thunderbolt and Aerial Ace.
Listening to the distant sounds of battle, you begin to rock in place. Your stiff, precise posture remains a permanent fixture, but alone and unsupervised in the elevator, you’re free to move as you please.
Charjabug trills happily in your arms as you shift him side to side, stepping back and forth in a slow, pacing dance.
“I hope you’re not bored,”
“Charja.”
When you turn on your heel your hat shifts out of place. You hum playfully, “Is that a no?”
“Bug,” Your pokémon assures.
You rock him back and forth, gently patting his side as your pacing turns into something resembling a spinning box-step. The speaker above you chims dull tunes, a barely-recognizable classical piece slinking through the quiet static.
You tilt your head toward Charjabug, watching reflections of warm light crease over his eyes. “Thanks for coming with me to work all the time.”
Your companion chitters humorously. “Bug,”
“Oh, did I say that yesterday?”
“Char.”
“..And the day before. Right.”
You hear a distant shout that makes you pause, followed by a sparkling crack of ice that makes your hair stand on end.
Foggy frost seeps into the crack in the doors. Charjabug, still tucked into the crook of your elbow, sends a worried glance toward the emerging chill, but you grow uninterested almost immediately.
Your eyes rise to the shiny brass ceiling, absentmindedly scanning the divots there.
Then your voice splits the silence, a murmur. “..Do you think we’ll catch the bus home today?”
The elevator doors slide open. You jolt into your usual position, quickly fixing your hat. A tingling breeze warns you of an incoming chill, so you shift to the side just as a cold blast of air bursts through.
The cloud of white haze folds through the elevator doors, then sinks into a single cold layer at your feet. Ingo and Emmet emerge from the blizzard-like fog, the latter more difficult to see because of his white attire.
Ice cracks and crunches away from the stomps of their heavy work shoes as they grumble to each other and let out loud sighs. A gloved hand folds around the edge of the door as someone pulls themselves through.
Emmet’s form follows, a smile that you now recognize as irritated on his face. He’s got ice stuck to the edge of his coat—it’s partially crystalized.
“This line is bound to be terminated.” He tells you shortly.
“Not literally.” Ingo corrects him, following close behind. One edge of his hat has been frozen solid.
You are exhausted. “..Of course.”
You are not going to catch the bus home today.
They stay until closing. You repeat your lines, you tip your hat, you stand in your permanent, back-aching posture until you start seeing streaks of the orange sunset seep through your elevator doors.
You don’t get to take a break, either, not when there are passengers in the elevator. You stare at the metal doors—opening and closing, opening and closing—with drooping eyes, wishing the hundredth floor would come sooner.
The day wears on. Both twins show no signs of stopping.
Until, blissfully, finally, the pre-recorded ding of a bell sounds from the tiny speaker above your head.
You hold back a sigh as the boys return triumphantly from the thirtieth floor. As they step back into the elevator, you make a big show of checking your watch.
“Closing?” Ingo asks, peering at the time over your shoulder. He retains a respectful distance, his arms folded neatly behind his back. “I see. We have only made it to the thirtieth floor, but I suppose that is ample progress for today. Emmet, we will have to arrive earlier tomorrow, especially if we want to reach our destination in three days.”
“It’s because this elevator is slow.” Emmet states firmly, pacing about. He can’t seem to keep still. “We beat each floor faster than it can move. It’s impossible to reach greater heights like this.”
He turns to you—you’re still staring dully at your watch. “Can you make it go any faster?”
You lower your arm and tuck it back behind your back, blinking at him slowly. Perfect posture. Still on the clock. “..Trust me. I would if I could.”
Emmet sighs, adjusting his hat. He runs his hand along the brim of it, back and forth, back and forth.
“Operator 09,” A scratchy voice sizzles out of the walkie-talkie on your belt, making Emmet pause in place. “Please return to floor zero.”
You suck in a large, slow breath and sigh. Loudly. Much louder than you meant to. Ingo and Emmet glance at you, appearing concerned, and you send them a mental apology.
You stride toward the brass gate and pull it shut. Under the panel of buttons, a large, wooden crank rests, its crimson rubber handle sticking out amongst the elevator’s warm lights and mahogany wood.
You brace both hands against its handle, straining, then slowly push it forward until it gains momentum. After you revolve it once around, the gears shift and it clicks into place with a clunking ker-chank.
You pull back with a huff. “We will now head for floor zero,”
You press the corresponding button, which lights up a warm yellow. Charjabug wraps himself firmly onto your shoulder. You step backward closer to the metal railings lining the walls.
“..What does that do?” Ingo asks wearily, still staring at the crank. Emmet watches the way your pokémon braces himself with nervous eyes.
You click your heels together. Straighten up. Tuck your hands behind your back.
“Goooing down.”
The elevator drops.
Emmet lets out a high-pitched scream, throwing his arms around his brother and latching on for dear life. Ingo falls backward and grabs onto one of the elevator’s inside railings, white-knuckled and pale faced as he lets out a bellowing shout of alarm.
You try to raise your voice above the chaos, but it’s difficult to hear you because Emmet’s still shrieking at the top of his lungs. “Please try to stay calm. We are returning to floor zero.”
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PLACE?!” Emmet yells. He doesn’t sound very stern with half of his face buried in his brother’s shoulder.
Ingo makes another loud noise of distress, his coat fluttering up and around him like a pair of desperately flapping wings.
“Emmet, calm—,”
“—off the rails, we need to shut it down—,”
The two shout over each other, gripping at each other’s coats, until Emmet glances frantically behind him at the elevator’s glass wall. The floors are a blur, zipping and rushing by in a waterfall of dark color.
Emmet quickly goes green in the face.
“Bug,” Buzzes Charjabug sadly.
“I apologize for the rough ride,” You state, standing stiff and straight. You hold down your hat; it’s starting to float off of your head. “This is all according to procedure.”
“The procedures need to be changed!” Booms Ingo, shaking. His legs tremble as he tries to brace himself against the tug of gravity. He’s not letting go of the railing. Emmet’s vice grip around him only tightens.
You watch the numbers above the elevator door drop—five, four, three, two—you subtly widen your stance. “Please brace for impact.”
Emmet locks up. “Wh—what?!”
The elevator jolts, and, as though landing on a set of springs, bounces upward with a shuddering buh-thump! Ingo and Emmet let out panicked, warbled shouts as the elevator buoys upward and then settles to a complete stop.
The panel over the doors flickers and displays a bold zero. The elevator doors squeak open with a chiming ding, revealing the gentle, melodious music in the hotel lobby.
Oh—Canon in D Minor. This is one of your favorites.
You reach to pull open the brass gate. There are a few people milling about, but many of your coworkers have clocked off. You don’t even see Randy anymore.
The large, open room is a breath of fresh air—you're excited to stand in an area larger than six-by-six feet for the first time in seven hours.
You turn toward your passengers, give them a short bow, and tip your hat. “Floor zero. Thank you for staying with us today.”
Ingo and Emmet are staring at you blankly, the latter still wrapped around his brother like a Serviper. Both are paler than you thought humanly possible.
“Ah.” You straighten up, concerned. “..Are you alright?”
Ingo stubbornly does not let go of the railing, his dilated eyes blown wide. “Please..explain to me why that just happened.”
“It is according to procedure.” You tuck your hands behind your back, reciting elevator operator rule number twenty-two. “‘Once challengers are past floor ten, in order to return to floor zero in a prompt manner, the dropping mechanism must be used.’”
Ingo stares at you. “You are required to use the dropping mechanism to return to the lobby if you are past floor ten.”
“Yes.” You state, blinking slowly. Charjabug hiccups on your shoulder.
“I do not understand,” Ingo says distantly. “Why is there a dropping mechanism?”
“In order to..return to floor zero in a prompt manner.”
Silence. The gentle, looping classical in the lobby has a familiar, pleasant rhythm. You refrain from rocking in place.
“..I thought you said this elevator couldn’t go any faster,” Emmet warbles, his voice colored with disbelief. His eyes are slightly watery.
An answer comes to you, practiced and flat. “The dropping mechanism does not work going up.”
“Why is there a dropping mechanism,” Ingo emphasizes.
You do not have an answer for him. You turn on your heel and stride out of the elevator doors.
“Hey!” Emmet calls. You hear some stumbled shuffling as he untangles himself from his brother, then the quick clicking of their shoes as they follow out behind you.
You stop short on the edge of the red carpeting. Randy, your counterpart, isn’t here, but this is your only other allotted position. It feels strange to not have someone mirroring you on the other side of the bright red rug.
“Apologies.” The word bursts from your mouth when the twins catch up. “I am instructed not to warn passengers about the drop.”
Emmet grins at you, the expression tight and upset. “You are instructed to do verrry idiotic things.”
..Okay, that was a little rude. You’re just doing your job. You hold back a sigh and glance toward Nancy at the front desk who is..dozing. Again.
You can’t feel anything but sympathy for her. From your understanding, she's on the clock practically from dawn until dusk.
Now that you think about it, why are the regulations so strict here? Nancy’s always exhausted because she’s the only secretary. This hotel is ridiculously understaffed, but the Boss seems more concerned over employee etiquette than employee workload.
And, you haven't thought about this before, but—why is there a dropping mechanism? Is it..unsafe?
It’s getting increasingly difficult for you to want to keep this job. Would working at a convenience store be better? They’d at least have drinkable coffee..
“Emmet, it’s getting late.” Ingo announces, pulling you from your thoughts. He turns to you and tips his hat with a curved edge to his frown. “Thank you for your assistance today! We have had many fruitful and exciting battles, and your battle facility has aided us in reaching new, unfound destinations! However, we must depart for tonight!”
You nod stiffly. “Of course. Thank you for visiting.”
Ingo steps closer, staring down at you. You hold back a flinch at the sudden proximity. He tips his hat again, though not at you—at Charjabug, perched on your shoulder.
“Thank you as well, little passenger!” He exclaims. “Have a good night!”
“Bug!” Chirps Charjabug, wiggling.
You stare at the man, stunned. He steps back and turns around in short order, throwing out one arm and pointing rigidly toward the revolving lobby doors.
“Then—!” He sucks in a huge, whooshing breath then bellows, “ALL ABOARD!”
Another clatter as Nancy snorts awake and falls out of her chair.
You spot Emmet approaching from the corner of your eye. He’s composed himself since the elevator, but there’s still a bit of sweat beading above his brow.
His eyes shift to your face and stay there, searing into you.
“I am Emmet.” He repeats, his voice mild yet serious. “My brother and I embarked on a new track today. It is my dream to see exciting and intense battles all over the world, but this place requires further examination.”
You pause. His grin twitches and falls slightly.
“..We will be back.” He tips his hat, and, with a simmering smile, turns on his heel. He immediately matches pace with his brother as they speed-walk away.
Charjabug hiccups nervously on your shoulder. You stare at Emmet’s retreating back.
That sounded..eerily like a threat.