The Great Game

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction!

I’m two doors down from Alice, and across the corridor. She heads off to her room for a bit, and I go across to explore mine.

After all the craziness of Sinclair’s ‘room’, I’m slightly apprehensive. I unlock the door and open it though, and am both relieved and disappointed when it opens onto a perfectly bland-looking hotel room. The curtains are closed, and I have no intention of opening them. Glancing around the room, there’s no obvious sign of my bag, but there are some other bits lying around. One of my old hairbrushes is on the sideboard, along with some deodorant and a couple of books. It looks like someone unpacked — except for the fact that I didn’t have any toiletries or books with me.

I glance over at the wardrobe, then go open it, expecting to find a straitjacket with a twisted smiley face painted on the chest. My first thought is that maybe the straitjacket would have been preferable. Inside are two brightly purple shirts, one with big lace at collar and cuffs, and one with huge lace. Neither has buttons. There are also several pairs of billowing… well… pantaloons, in black, blood red or dayglo green, a pair of black boots with at least an inch of heel, some reasonably sedate underwear, and a thin, light silk scarf in white.

Nice.

I close the cupboard again, and spend a few minutes going over the room. The en-suite bathroom has a shower and toilet, my toothbrush, and some other basic essentials. And seven — seven! — different flavours of mouth-wash. There’s certainly no sign of my original stuff anywhere. The two books turn out to be the collected works of Philip K. Dick, and a biography of the self-proclaimed mystic Uri Geller, and there’s a Gideon’s Bible in the draw, which I take as some sort of joke.

Muttering to myself, I set about having a shower.

It’s fantastic.

Quarter of an hour later, when I’m finally washed, brushed, and relaxed, I head back into the main room to discover that my clothes have gone. Even my damn shoe and clog. My wallet and room key are sitting on the bed, along with a couple of old boiled sweets and a small ball of lint. I open the cupboard, with a mounting sense of annoyance. My clothes aren’t in there, or in any of the draws, either.

After several minutes of bitter swearing, I give in and put on the fancy dress. The damn underwear bears the logo of exactly the sort of unhinged smiley face I was imagining earlier. Right in the middle of the crotch. It doesn’t improve my mood, but it’s still better than going commando. The shirt opens mid-way to my navel, with no fasteners, so I reluctantly knot the scarf round my neck and wear it like a demented tie.

I look like I’ve been mugged by a vengeful Mary Quant, and the purple clashes horribly with my new eyes. It’s ridiculous. Still, it does explain why I saw so many crazy outfits in reception.

I’m glaring at myself in the mirror when there’s a knock at the door. I wince, but there’s nothing to do about it. I go and open up.

It’s not Alice. It’s some little guy in a nasty brown suit, and he’s carrying three boxes. I stare at him for a moment, and he smiles at me ingratiatingly. “Delivery for this room. Courtesy of Mr. Andi.”

“Where are my damn clothes?”

His smile slips. “I’m sorry, no-one can help you with that. I have a delivery for you, from Mr. Andi.”

I sigh. “What are they?”

“It,” he says, correcting me proudly.

“It?”

“Yes.”

“There’s three of them,” I point out.

“Yes. You may pick one, or I will select one for you.”

What? More bloody stupid games. “What’s in them, then?” I don’t have much hope of a straight answer.

The guy shows the top of each package to me in turn. Each has a cut-out picture stuck to it. One shows a gun, one shows a book, and one shows a shield. Each box is the same size, with the same cheery red rapping paper and golden ribbon.

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Today’s image is Present, by Mr. Wabu