Foston Slacks - Time's Flies

16

Schadenfreude. That was the name of the hotel and Clara wondered if it was a joke of some kind. She didn't get it, if it was. The luxurious dressing gown, however, she did get. So thick, so soft, so snugglable. She didn't even know if snugglable was even a word, but it felt like the best description for the dressing gown. She snuggled into it and didn't expect to remove it. Ever. That's how snugglable it was.

The room was pleasant. Very pleasant. The shower hit all the right spots, several times, for at least half-an-hour and held a consistent temperature without having to fiddle with mix ratio, just to get it right, only for it to change to freezing cold, or skin blisteringly hot without warning. No. This shower worked. And, somehow, it had even washed out the hairspray.

She'd already tried the bed and found it so comfortable, she felt like it had a whole bunch of soft arms attached that could cuddle her to sleep, but she didn't want to fall asleep yet. She wanted to try some of the gadgets. Like the Auto-Laundry. She'd placed her filthy clothes in there and, within seconds, the clothes had been cleaned, pressed and repaired. Even the tights. She tried placing the black sneaker with the yellowing white bits into the Auto-Laundry, but when it banged and hissed and spat out the sneaker (no cleaner, un-repaired and still smelling of rotten cheese) she realised some things were impossible to clean.

Next on the list was the Relax-o-matic. A machine so well named, it should win an award and gave the shower head a run for its money in the 'Clara's Awards For Most Wow Thing Ever'. It was a pity, she thought, that all this was only a literary invention of an epic procrastinator. If any of this was available in the real world, she'd never leave her flat, or be able to walk properly ever again.

She felt the pop-up tennis court was amazing and, playing against a one-armed robot (the arm actually a tennis racquet) in her plush Hotel Schadenfreude dressing gown would go down as one of the most surreal things that had ever happened to her in a hotel. Yes, even more surreal than that time with Rebecca, in Milton Keynes. The night with Koi pond. Oh! What a night!

After losing the match, three sets to love (and she felt sure the robot cheated), she settled down at the bedside table, finding a pen and sheets of paper. She wondered if she should write this all down. Make a record of all the insane things she had encountered since that day in the street when a lemur ran towards her. How long ago was that, now? Four, five days? A week? Forever ago?

She picked up the pen, then slammed it down again. It occurred to her that if she got to the part in The Corridor, she'd be writing a story, within a story, that could very well end up being a story, within a story, within a story. That sounded far too close to headache territory and Foston wasn't here to badly explain things. He never explained anything in a way she could really understand, but hearing him drone on seemed to have a relaxing effect. Like listening to a classical music enthusiast go on about that time that composer went to a bar and missed the entire Napoleonic Wars because he was so lost in his music. That kind of effect. She felt sleepy just thinking about it.

"Writing a letter?" She shrieked as the voice spoke in her ear.

Foston had entered, without knocking, walked up to her, silently, and, somehow, seemed to think whispering in her ear like some kind of perverted conversationalist would be a great idea. On a scale of great ideas, this was up there with the one where they wanted to build a dam and drain the Mediterranean.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?" She gripped her dressing gown tight and hoped he didn't notice the Relax-o-matic looking a little dishevelled.

"I have!" He sat on her bed and bounced up and down a few times. Then he lifted the sheets, bent almost double and looked under the bed, giving out a surprised 'Oh-ho!' before dropping the sheets back down.

"I could have been naked!" By now she'd almost wrapped the dressing gown around her twice.

"Eew! I would have been sick! Do you know how ugly naked humans look to lemurs?" He really did look disgusted. She shook her head at his question. "Let me give you an idea, have you ever seen a bear without fur?"

"No. Is it ugly?" She tried to imagine a bear without fur.

"Ugly? They're terrifying!"

"Are you saying naked humans look like terrifying shaved bears to you?"

"No, you look like plucked chickens but with more wobbly bits and sticky out bits." He pushed her out of the way and grabbed the pen, a sheet of paper and started doodling. "Don't ever shave a bear, though, it really annoys them."

"Why are you in my room, Foston?" She stood, walking over to the statue of David.

"Oh, I just thought I'd remind you to not forget breakfast. It's compulsory." He finished his doodle and tossed the paper and pen over his shoulder. Standing, he offered his hand to shake. "Whatever you do, don't answer the door for room service."

"Why?" She looked at the door, not knowing what to expect.

"Because it's not what you think it is." With that, he turned and headed back to the connecting door that Clara had completely failed to notice.

Once he left, she locked the connecting door. The last thing she needed was a talkative lemur appearing in her room in the middle of the night. Especially if she decided to put the Relax-o-matic through its paces again.

To be safe, she moved one of the twelve chairs and braced it against the door handle. Then she put another one in front of that. Just to be certain. Now that he had gone though, she wondered what she could do. She felt sleepy, but wasn't certain if she would sleep. It was one of those times where she could barely keep her eyes open, but knew that the moment her head hit the pillow, her mind would switch into overdrive.

She'd had those kind of nights before and the last thing she needed was to have the Birdie Song running around her head for hours. Or to run through all the times she'd had awful encounters with people and failed to have the right cutting remark to throw at them at the time, but could think of a million and one when she needed to sleep. Those kind of nights were the worst.

She sat on the bed and stared at the door. If room service wasn't what she thought it was, what was it. Some kind of sexual thing? In a place made from the imagination of some twisted author, it could be anything. Shaved bears, for instance. Or possibly a vampire. They were all the rage for authors at one point. Or something equally strange. Or terrifying. Or it could just be room service and Foston only said it to mess with her head.

Speaking of her head, she needed to find a brush, or something. Now that her hair had stopped being as indestructible as titanium, she needed to keep it that way. She searched through the drawers and found a leaflet for something called a 'Hairtron 2000'. That sounded amazing. Following the instructions, she found a button within the bathroom and pressed it.

A panel slid back. A salon seat and one of those big hairdryers, similar to the sleep devices on the Kapakapururu planet, slid out. A dial on the hairdryer gave a number of options; Everyday, Formal, Business, and Fabulous. Of course, she had to choose 'Fabulous'.

Later, admiring her hair in the mirror, all glitter, subtle shades of colour gradations and in a bouffant style that would put 60's starlets to shame, with tiny curls and intricate weaves that made her giddy just looking at it. Her hair had never looked so good. Tomorrow, she'd use the 'Everyday' setting, but, for now, she merely admired the crazy, wonderful, 'Fabulous' style and wondered just how hard it would be to sleep with it like that.

Now she felt tired enough to sleep. The right kind of tired. She jumped upon the ridiculously comfortable bed, still in the dressing gown that she really didn't want to ever take off, and pulled the sheets back, ready to slip inside and fall into some sweet dream. Not a nightmare. Definitely not a nightmare. Especially a nightmare about a shaved vampire bear offering 'room service'. Definitely not.

She saw the piece of paper that Foston had doodled upon and picked it, and the pen, up to put on the table. She looked at it.

It was a picture of a shaved bear and it was terrifying! Suddenly she didn't fancy sleeping at all.