The Grandview, Uptown, Vienda
“If you work on those papers five minutes more,” Niccolette continued, laughter bright in her voice. She turned away from the table and made her way across the hotel room, resting hands on the jacket-clad shoulders of the Mugrobi sitting at the small desk in front of the slightly-open window, “we shall miss the cocktails,” Niccolette leaned forward, her hair tumbling over her shoulder, and kissed Uzoji’s cheek. Her field tangled with his, reaching out to envelop it. She pulled back, smiling, pleased not to see a smear of red against his skin, and made as if to withdraw her field as well.
Uzoji laughed, his hand lifting from the desk to catch Niccolette’s. He rose, a sudden, smooth movement that seemed hardly to disturb the chair. “Is that so?” Uzoji grinned, and suddenly Niccolette had to catch her breath. His fingers slid up behind her ear, tangling in her hair. Niccolette let her eyes flutter shut, and leaned against her husband for a long moment.
“Clock the cocktails,” Niccolette whispered, finally.
Uzoji laughed, delightedly, his forehead resting against hers. “I did promise my brother we’d come and join them,” he said, regretfully. His field released hers, slowly, the two clouds of mona separating in the suddenly warmer air. “But – perhaps we’ll take a late dinner.” He grinned again.
Niccolette shivered. “I suppose,” she agreed, smiling. “But I shall expect that you make it up to me,” she pulled away, slowly, reluctantly, and sat back down in front of the mirror again, cleaning up the edges of lipstick smeared, now, ever so slightly, around her mouth. She fetched a lip pencil, tracing the edges back on once more, and filled them in with color. She could see Uzoji watching her, smiling, framed in the mirror behind her.
“A lovely color for you, my sun and stars,” Uzoji murmured.
“And you,” Niccolette raised an eyebrow, then smiled, taking a tissue and offering it back to him.
Uzoji laughed. He took the tissue, crossed to the bathroom, and Niccolette heard the sound of running water for a few moments. By the time he emerged, she had stood, rearranged her dress once more, and was standing by the door, hands on her hips, smiling.
“Impatient, beloved?” Uzoji asked, grinning.
Niccolette laughed, opened the door, and took herself out into the hallway, letting her husband follow behind.
The room they left behind was comfortable and spacious, with a large four-poster bed against one wall, along with the dressing table, the desk, the in-suite bathroom, and a thousand other little luxuries. All the rooms on the first floor of the Grandview were similarly well-apportioned. It was a staunch old hotel, slightly self-important, standing tall and proud at the corner of two quieter streets, although still not more than a block from the edges of Kingsway Market. It stood four stories high of gleaming yellow stonework; the lowest floor had a façade of tall rounded windows, capped with marbled arches that jutted out over the flowerbeds, speckled with columns capped with gleaming marble volutes. Light and noise both boomed out from those large windows into the night, with half-tucked back yellow curtains scarcely close to covering it. Here and there, drainpipes slid up along the side of the building; today, with no rain since the night before, they were dry enough, although this time of year it wasn’t uncommon for rain to burble through.
The upper three stories had their own rows of rounded windows marching along the sides, glimmering reflections of the low evening streetlights outside reflected back against the dark in some; others were still lit inside. If one could stand opposite and look in, there would be dozens of silhouettes, maybe more, slowly flickering away, as the galdori who stayed there moved, slowly, to begin their evenings. Make-up tables were left behind, doors shut and locked.
In many windows, too, the silhouettes in view weren’t quite Anaxi; there were a number of shaved gleaming heads, darker figures than normally were seen on the streets. Here and there were faint glimpses of the brighter colors favored by Mugrobi, whites and pale yellows and gleaming oranges, along with deep, rich purples and reds. If one watched carefully, they might even catch a glimpse of a bare arm, here or there, or the hint of a wrapped, draping fabric.
The Grandview hadn’t always been the place for Mugrobi in Vienda. The hotel had its origins, in fact, in a Bastian named Henrique Moretti, a small, sharp galdor with a penchant for economics. He had invested a considerable degree in real estate in Vienda during his lifetime, and one of his more successful ventures (in partnership with the crown, naturally) had been the founding of the Grandview. It had been one of the largest hotels in the city, back then. Its popularity had continued unchecked for many years, until the slow decay of time and Moretti’s descendents lack of interest in the property had, eventually, caught up to it.
Less than half a century ago, it had been bought by a Mugrobi, one Sapele pez Neje, who had renovated it, ruthlessly modernized it while preserving the exterior façade, and before long it had become the premier destination for Mugrobi in Vienda – even, or perhaps especially, during the Vyrdag, when diplomats descended en masse on the city.
This year was no exception, and it was predominantly musical, lilting Estuan that flowed out of the street-level windows, over flowerbeds, tinged with pleasant Mugrobi accents and the occasional faint snatches of foreign words. Behind large, frosted windows, half of the hotel seemed to be rubbing elbows and clinking glasses. As the night descended, the lights above clicked off, slowly, steadily, until only that bottom floor gleamed with light and life. The rest of the hotel seemed as if it was almost waiting – silent, still, and, perhaps, ready.