#bmarrival

Riley sighed heavily before opening her eyes to look through the tinted car’s windows at Belvedere Manor, the hotel she was going to stay at for her sister’s wedding. The whole idea made Riley’s stomach twist and turn as if it was aching to break through her skin and run away. Riley wanted to run too but she was obligated by her family to stay. That reason was what always made Riley either stay or run. In a word, her family was a mess; on the outside they seemed like the perfect little group of flawlessness but Riley knew better. She watched as a multitude of people gathered their things and headed inside of the building. Riley knew that her sister was going to go all-out for her wedding but seeing it right in front of her made it seem all too real. Riley watched for a few more minutes, waiting for the moment when she would recognize someone.

The driver’s distressed voice cut through Riley’s thoughts and made her focus. She quickly thanked him before stepping out of the car and retrieving her bags from the trunk. Once the car had pulled away, Riley took a moment to look at the place she would be staying for who knows how long. It was a huge building that looked like it had been brought to life by the words of Jane Austen. The structure of it looked like it had been built by someone who had too much time on their hands. It involved a lot of unnecessary things that most likely had their own fancy words to describe them. The building seemed like it could hold an entire city of people, a thought that had Riley wondering if her sister had, in fact, invited the entire city to her wedding. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities.

The hustle of everyone around her made Riley feel uneasy and an itch started to form from the deepest parts of her. She not only wanted to run but to drown herself in her addiction. She knew in that moment that it was going to be hard to deal with this whole scenario. While a marriage is normally considered to be a happy moment, for Riley it was anything but. It was just another moment where her sister was in the spotlight and Riley sat idly on the sidelines. She sighed heavily again and joined the masses of people entering the building. The moment she walked through the door, Riley had her breath taken away. She was face to face with an elaborate staircase, each of the tiny details forming an elaborate picture of elegance. In that moment, Riley could understand why women were so enamored with romance novels, particularly ones set in the 1800s. It was simply a beautiful time era, one that seemed to be seeped in an air unlike any seen today.

After being at Belvedere Manor for awhile, one gets used to the staleness of the air and the odd creaks that go all through out the hotel. This weekend was going to be the best; not because Evelyn was excited to clean up after snooty people or because she actually had to interact with coworkers. It was going to be the best because someone actually needed the actors for once. After finishing her rounds on the third floor, she headed back down to her own room. She unlocked the door and slid in, while at the same time popping off her shoes. A few minutes alone would give her the power to get through the rest of the day. The door creaked shut behind her as she walked over to her dresser. On top sat a folded over piece of paper with her name scribbled in neat script.

             'Your character for this upcoming weekend will be:

New jobs were never fun.

For the past four years, he'd been a bag boy. He knew how to stack groceries like a fiend, but that was the extent of his skill set. He could perhaps pad his resume with meaningless buzzwords like "dedicated" and "self-motivating," but he doubted there were any number of words available that could hide out the crippling awkwardness that they would surely notice.

How he'd squeaked through the interview was a mystery. He'd been told twice to speak up, and that surely was not something they wanted to deal with in an actor of all people.

But somehow he'd gotten it. Maybe no one else had wanted the job? The manor was scary as fuck, after all, and acting out a murder in a house with so much experience in that area was definitely not for everyone.

As he approached the front doors, he felt his stomach tighten, and he imagined it was from nerves as much as the house's creepy aura. Even with the lights on it seemed to ooze death, and if he hadn't already quit his other job he'd very likely have turned around and headed home.

But no. This was his only option, and with the (relatively) sizeable paycheck that came with it, he'd be able to get out of York in no time.

If he didn't have a panic attack in the process, of course.

Once inside, he was greeted by a chipper old lady who had apparently not been affected by the manor. So maybe it's just me... he thought darkly.

He gave the lady his name, and she produced a key and exhaustive instructions that suggested the hallways were some labyrinthine nightmare he'd never be able to navigate. He forced a smile as she talked, nodded in the appropriate places, and politely declined her offer to help with his luggage. He had two bags, neither very heavy, and he doubted she'd do anything but slow him down.

His room was on the first floor, and he found it quickly enough, though when he tried to enter the lock resisted the key. He considered going back to the old lady, but she would apologize profusely and prolong the time he had to pretend to be a well-adjusted human.

With some force, he managed to get his door open, and once inside he locked it behind him.

Inhale. Exhale. Thirty more steps.

Two black suitcases were dragged behind a slim body of a young woman by her ruby-manicured hands which almost seemed to frail to carry even one of the coal-colored containers. While her shoulders did ache from the weight they bared pulling the luggage stuffed to the brim with what were believed to be "necessities," Reagan would never admit her pain aloud. She was done showing weakness, and she had been since she was a teenager. No longer was Reagan a teenager. She was a grown woman with the appearance and mind to prove it, and now the strength as she kept her chin up and pulled her suitcases behind her, her brown boots clicking as she stalked along the pathway to Belvedere Manor.

Shoulders back. Twenty more steps.

Reagan grinned at the satisfying cracks that resulted from a roll of the shoulders, popping bits of tension as they went and replacing the anxiety with excitement as the manor grew in size and stature the closer she approached. It looked more elegant by the glance, every which way bringing forth a new luxurious surprise everywhere her eyes settled. Stone statues that may as well have been imported from the greats in Rome themselves guarded sophisticated rose bushes, sprouting brilliant crimsons even through the harsh temperatures York had been suffering along with the rest of the east coast. But alas, as she grew closer, her anxiety and excitement waged war on one another, battling for control of the pounding in her chest. 

Pull yourself together! Ten more steps.

If there was one time Reagan could get a grip on herself, if she had to, it was now. She couldn't back down from the one place that had been the focal point of her dreams for years now. The Belvedere Manor in all its brilliance and grace served as the center of her thoughts, her theories, her musings, and recently, her dreams. Behind these walls, no longer was the blonde Reagan Himes; no, now she was Betty, the Midnight Club's rumor-spreading, life-ruining, sharp-tongued vixen of a cigarette girl. No one knew of her dyslexia, and as far as anyone- including herself- knew, Betty could read as good as- no, better than anyone else. A pink tongue darted out to lick red, grinning lips as an ivory hand removed itself from the black luggage's handle and rapped on the rich mahogany doors.