Galen Hotel

Nostalgic Visitors

So I don't know how to explain what this is but basically, I view my mind in a very odd way when it comes to my writing and. . .I don't know, I'm trying to write a bunch of different novels to one day be published and so I haven't written anything for wattpad in a while, and this seemed like a fun, low pressure way to do it. So, summary of this. . .thing. . .

In my head we have the vessel, the building, if you will (that's me, Cloudy) the receptionist, Laura, the Writer, Jodi, and the brain, Mari, who's like the manager/logistics of my mental hotel thing as well as the omniscient narrator.

(To be clear, I, Cloudy, write everything I post or think of, Jodi is that "writer's voice" in my head. Dw I'm not a fraud)

So we have our group of different aspects of me when it comes to the writing process and, of course, the guests are my many, many characters and even some characters I didn't create but am still connected to.

I'm aiming for this to be a comedic "coraline" situation. Nothing makes sense, but if you go with it. . .maybe it'll be fun to explore?

Also, FYI, Galen means crazy in Swedish (according to google, at least) so that's why I chose the title. Hope you enjoy this 🙃

Laura takes a sip of her rose tea from today's daily mug– she has a collection at home and chooses a different one daily. Today's is a white speckled one that has I'M THE SHIT written on the side of the mug. There are numerous versions of this phrase on her cups.

She sighs in contentment at the silence she has found herself in. The Galen Hotel lobby is usually bursting with a steady flow of guests. Though the decor would suggest otherwise. Laura frowns as she looks around at the dirty yellow tile flooring, dark, murky brown wallpaper and old bronze lights that cloak the room in a warm golden glow. Leather seats and couches litter the perimeter, and geometric art pieces framed in dark oak separate the depressing scene.

She often wonders why I, Mari, the brain, have decorated the space like this. To be honest, I just don't have the finances to fix it up.

Laura swallows her sip of tea, setting her mug down to her left on the dark oak top of her receptionist's desk. It has beige siding, which pisses both of us off to know end, since there is no other item in the room of that color.

Laura looks at her watch, a finger pressing her light wooden framed glasses into her skin to keep them from sliding down her narrow nose. I must quickly say, Laura has incredible fashion, though it could just be that I'm a sucker for period pieces. You see, Laura is from 1970's Chicago. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair has a muted yellow scarf that has orange and navy flowers in it as a headband, the same fabric is used for her blouse, which is more like a cropped cardigan she tied above her belly button to make a deep V-neck. Her denim bell bottoms hang over her hips and three chunky beaded necklaces in earthy tones hand from her neck.

Anyway, the watch. Laura looks down at her watch, frowning. It's been thirty-seven seconds since someone has entered the lobby. Though Laura is my darling black cat, needs-no-one, stand-offish loner of a friend, she fights back a drop of worry.

Maybe Mari finally is giving me a break, she thinks, her full lips turning up into a smile. Maybe I can go add some organic skimmed almond milk into my– oh, look, the chimes chiming.

Indeed just as Laura shifts, getting ready to hop off her dated, western style wooden barstool, the chime sings and the white double doors open. Both Laura and I quickly mask our surprise as our new quests enter the hotel.

It's been months since Jodi invited the Cullens over, but here are the recluse Shakespearean wanna-be's themselves walking up to the counter. Isabella Cullen– Bella– smiles warmly. "Hello, Laura. How have you been?" She asks in her smooth, high cadence voice.

"Marlin is doing well, if that's what you mean." Laura responds, referring ot her cat. Edward Cullen stiffens slightly. He's never liked Laura. Or me. Or this place. Or what he does here.

Edward never likes anything, ever the emo boy.

Though I suppose it is fair, in this case. He gets a lot of heartbreak he can't take in these, the poor softie. Jodi and I think Bella enjoys it, and that's why he still does this. It doesn't hurt that Jodi always promises him a happily ever after with his Bella.

"What plot?" Laura prompts, hands poised over the keyboard to her laptop. She wonders, yet again, why she's working here as a receptionist when I know and watch everything that happens here. She has not yet realized that her 'secret admirer' is me. Such a pity.

"The siren one." Bella's voice becomes timid, as if such words should never be said. Jodi takes a lot of artistic liberties with these two. The writer must be bored for this scene to play out.

Laura clicks the necessary buttons and watches in fascination. She always loves seeing the transformation. Edward's features soften, becoming human, his flesh becoming soft. His amber eyes turn pale green, and his fancy clothes turn into those of a working man in the 1920's, designer jeans becoming trousers, his button down turning into a more soiled one with a vest over it.

Bella's canines lengthen, her long brown locks swooping up into a loose chignon. Her simple outfit turns into a box-y dress with gold beading, her sneakers turning into dancing shoes. Her lips become coated in lipstick and her eyes gleam in a red a few shades darker.

The two walk to the door that leads to their "plot", if you can call such a slimsy scene that, and their memories slip away. They are no longer Edward and Bella, but rather "Edward" and "Bella".

The door opens and leads them to a cobblestone alley late into the night in a city. The sounds of a gentlemans club echoes from a nearby building, the stench of alcohol permeating the air. Edward, a working man helping out his family by working in a factory, watches, heartbroken, as he sees Bella wrapped up in a random man. They've flirted and gotten to know each other well enough for him to fancy her, but he does not know what she is.

Bella, in her gorgeous set up, places a pale hand on the back of the man's neck, her lips gently caressing his skin as she goes to his pulse. She looks up, contacts off, red eyes pulsing to her victims heartbeat, and sees Edward. She feels a tinge of sadness, but it's overrun by her bloodlust.

She opens her mouth, her fangs gleaming in the moonlight. The moment freezes there, and I can tell Jodi is admiring the drama of it all. After a minute, the scene resumes and Bella bites down, sinking her teeth into the man's skin.

The scene goes to black. That was all Jodi had come up with some random day, and she has not had the will to continue it into a story. A pity, since it probably would have been a good one.

The canon Bella and Edward step out of the room, amber eyed and graceful in all their vegetarian vampire glory. I click my tongue. Stephenie Meyer has always been a bit too vanilla for me.

"Hope you had a nice visit. See you soon." Laura, now with a magazine in her hands, says the rehearsed words as a clearly enchanted Bella and disgruntled Edward leave the hotel. When they are in a plot, all of their feelings are real, as they are living in the realm Jodi created, but they also still remember the scenes once they leave the room.

I imagine some of them lead to a lot of awkward moments on the way home. Though, to be fair, they collaborate with Jodi.

As the door closes Laura and I slouch, enjoying the five second rest we get.

1,160 words! Pretty good, if I say so myself! For those who are wondering, yes, I did make up that scene months ago, and I never made it a full plot, though I love thinking of it during car rides. I hope this was entertaining, if not memorable. And if anyone had prompts for this, that would be great, though my track record shows I get readers and (besides you, Ari, love you) no comments.

Have a nice day!

-Cloudy