Sinclair's Motel

1. Mr Bassett

Just off the motorway, surrounded by a cluster of dizzying flashing signs, sits Sinclairs Motel.

Nobody really knows how long its been here, it's almost as if the very foundations of the building stretch like roots into the soil below. Which, to be honest, is a completely probable scenario.

When you drive in, glossy eyelids closing as the caffeine that was keeping you conscious dissolves into your bloodstream, you are greeted by a car park that is overpopulated with bikes, loose tyres and cigarette butts. But don't worry, there's always one spare parking spot reserved just for you. 

Mr Bassett will likely come out of the foyer to shake your hand and help you with your luggage. A Very Loud Noise, usually a bang or a thwack will sound to your right just as Mr Bassett extends his arm to shake your hand. By the time you return your gaze to his face, his arms are by his side and you forget what even happened.

"Ah yes," he will mumble, his accent tinged with French and his scent a kind of musk- it's indescribable, but you would liken it to the smell that your great aunt always wore on her neck around winter time. "You must be our newest guest,"

"But I haven't booked a room," you mutter drunkenly.

"I am sure you phoned in this morning!" He will say, "Rita has already prepared your room."

You try and harken back to this morning, but all you can remember is road after incessant road and the traffic brought with it.

He leads you into the foyer; high ceilinged, with golden chequered floors and a dark blood ivy that scales the wall with an uncanny determination. In fact, when you squint your eyes at the purpling leaves, you could swear you saw it inch a little further upwards.

There is a pink glow emitting from behind the desk that Mr Bassett retreats to, turning the dust that swirls around him into tiny little flakes of gold that shatter on the floor.

"Your key, my dear. Second floor, the stairs are just round the back of the garden." He directs you with his arm, and you can't even see his hand, his sleeves are so long. It's only then that you notice for the first time how big his coat is. Before you can get a good look at his face, that you only now realise is glaringly blue, he turns his back to you and begins shuffling a ragtag pack of cards.

You walk through the hall to your right, as you were told to. This corridor follows the same white and gold decorative pattern as the foyer did, although the golden floor tiles are replaced with a scuffed black. As you look up, still sombre from fatigue, you realise that not only are the walls gleaming cocktail oranges and pinks, but there is no door at the end of this hall. The same ivy, now doused in forest greens, are spiralling around the walls from the doorframe that you are approaching.

You exit and it takes your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the scene in front of you. Overhead, millions and millions of string lights are littering the rooftops, stark against the sky, oozing blackness in the night.

The garden itself is wildly overgrown, dusted with red thorned flowers, crested with gilded weeds, and as you slowly turn on the spot, you see that the doorframe is crowned with an array of yellow, purple and red blooms that resemble a wedding bouquet, or the plastic flowers in plastic vases on the plastic tables in kitchen showrooms.

The splendour of the garden, however, is distracting you from the main event- a rose coloured cart billowing a pinkish steam that curls around the chimney, although it seems to be coming from the doors and windows that are thrown open in welcome. It echoes the gypsy caravans that you used to visit when you went to town fairs to get your palm read by women draped in green veils and black lace gloves.

You stood in front of the cart, mouth agape in awe, steadily inhaling the strongly perfumed vapour that coiled snakily around your fingers and shoulders and nostrils. Out of literally nowhere, a cat appeared by your feet- completely white on one side and smoggy black on the other. It purred delicately, then trotted towards a staircase a few metres away from the door you just exited. It was tiled in grainy cantaloupe and khaki, mosaics of trees ascending on the walls with you as you scaled the stairs. Dangling from the decorative trees were oranges that looked so real you were sure that they could be plucked from their branches and eaten-which is just what you did.

As you reach the top of the staircase, wearily dragging your suitcase behind you, you see a clique of what could only be described as Biker Men. They staggered above you, dressed entirely in black matte leather, thick brown beards decorating their chins, their arms embroidered with indistinguishable tattoos. You walked past hurriedly, desperate not to catch their eyes, although you do snatch a glimpse of the sunny yellow smoke that rose in curlicues about their faces from the long cigarettes they held elegantly in their fingers. As intimidating as they look, they all smile politely as you pass, and you hear them mumble about how shiny your hair looks, and nervously ponder whether they should ask you about the conditioner you use.

Just as you approach Room 205, the number written on the key you're grasping, you can hear a man and woman arguing passionately behind the door beside yours. Feeling only slightly guilty about eavesdropping, you pick up the odd phrase about how much the fish tank they recently bought is costing. Confused, you turn the key into your door, and just as you step in, ready to pass out on the plump bed you have your heart set on, you hear one last passing sentence:

"Surely a room sized aquarium would be less expensive though, Jack!"

***

... Hello!

This idea came to me from literally nowhere but I decided that nothing bad could come from writing it down, which I thoroughly enjoyed doing.

Before you ask, I'm not abandoning Adventures, just experimenting with something new. Theres certainly some other themes and characters I'm wondering about adding in if you guys would like me to continue with this story (if you do, please let me know by commenting/voting/adding to reading lists!!!)

So yeah, I really liked writing this! We shall see where it goes in the future!
Love!

-Jazzypumpkin xo

P.S. Note how I stole Skito and Reg's last names for settings/characters within the first few sentences because I'm uncreative lol.