Intermission: The Psychiatric Conference, Part 1

Author's Note: This is Part 1 of a crossover with the Domestic Affairs branch, which Mothneb and I have been planning. All 3 parts are ready and are split across our two branches. It starts in this branch, with Part 2 being in his, and Part 3 being back in mine. There will be outgoing links to both branches at the end. We hope you enjoy it!

The beach was empty in the way it always was after lunch—no birds yet, no women, no laughter, just the midday hush and the complicated scrape of salt wind along the shore. Marissa had jogged alone, her sneakers leaving perfect impressions in the damp sand, each step an act of both faith and futility, since the next low wave erased every trace of her passage. She missed the exercise, but this morning, she had focused on Myra. She needed to clear her head to be at her best when she’d pick up the new arrival again, later.

She wore her running kit, though she was not running now, just walking, making a slow, purposeful circuit of the property perimeter. She carried a water bottle, just in case. As it often happened of late, her thoughts shifted to Andy. Myra’s presence had certainly rattled him, particularly after Riley, and between that, and sharing his burden with everyone, she could not blame him for seeking solitude at times. Today he was with Emily, and if there was one person who could cheer him up after yesterday’s emotional ordeal, it was Emily. Marissa idly wondered if Arabella had planned it.

She reached the water’s edge and watched as a new tide erased her previous steps. The symbolism was almost offensive in its obviousness. She ignored it and moved on, tracing the arc of the bay until she reached the rocks at the northern boundary. Here, the sand was coarser and less welcoming, the shells sharper, the possibility of splinters or cuts elevated. She liked it better; discomfort was easier to catalog, easier to reason about. The rules were clearer.

She squatted down, running a hand along the edge of a tidal pool. A swarm of tiny white crabs ran away from where her hand passed, and she watched them scamper into the water. She stood, brushing the sand from her hands, and resumed her walk. Every fifty meters, she paused, looked up and down the beach, then continued. The quiet of the beach was something she cherished, here. Even back in the Hotel, she could never be fully alone with her thoughts. There was always someone else, making demands of her time, even simply with their presence when she wanted to be alone.

The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of eucalyptus and a distant, metallic whiff of the hotel’s outdoor heaters. She turned her head, watching the thin line where the beach met the manicured edge of the property. That was where she saw the first sign of life—a faint movement, upright and deliberate, not the stoop or shamble of another early riser but the straight-backed stride of someone with nothing to hide. Marissa stopped, squinting against the glare, and saw that it was Arabella.

The Host was dressed for neither sport nor spectacle—a simple cream shift dress, sandals laced up her calves, and a blue-green scarf tossed carelessly over one shoulder. She moved like she was gliding, the way only women who have spent a lifetime on high heels can, and even the sand seemed to defer to her presence, flattening underfoot in anticipation. As she drew closer, Arabella offered a small, wry smile, as if to acknowledge the inherent weirdness of their meeting.

"Marissa," she said. Her voice was low. "Isn't it too hot for you to run?"

"Didn't have time, earlier," Marissa replied, refusing to be first to look away. She searched Arabella's face for tells—fatigue, amusement, calculation—but found only a professional patience, the kind reserved for clients who have yet to realize what they truly want.

Arabella stopped a few feet away, heels sinking slightly into the sand. "You're thinking of Andy." Not a question.

Marissa thought about denying it, but whether the Host could read her thoughts or not, what was the point? Defiance? She was well past that. And after the conversation she had had with Andy at The 88 Club, after his song, and the exchange of words, it wasn’t difficult to imagine what was on her mind, mind reader or not.

"I am." Marissa admitted.

Arabella nodded. “Understandable,” she said with a faint smile. “He bears a heavy burden. He is lucky to have you to help him. He cares for you, you know. More than you think, even after that conversation."

Marissa felt the heat rise in her chest, an involuntary response to the way Arabella's voice lingered on each syllable. She decided not to answer, choosing instead to study the ocean, the movement of the waves, the way her footprints—already, even now—were vanishing beneath the retreating tide. Then she said, “If you’re here to deliver a plot twist, do it. I’m tired of guessing.” She tried to keep the tremor from her voice, but the surf was loud and the Host was listening.

Arabella shifted, just enough to close the gap between them. "Do you remember Dr. Maeve Petrov?" she asked, her tone casual yet deliberate.

Marissa's composure broke for a split second. Her hands clenched, then unclenched. "She was my mentor. My lifeline. Why?"

"She’s received your letters, you know." Arabella said, and the words landed like a defibrillator. "Apparently, she mentioned you to Genet—her Host—several times. Asked if there was any way to see you."

For a moment, Marissa forgot to breathe. "She asked about me?"

Arabella nodded. "Just as you've asked about her. Genet and I compared notes. It's unusual, but when two contestants from different seasons both express the same wish..." She shrugged one elegant shoulder. "We found a way to accommodate it."

Marissa turned, staring at Arabella as if the woman had just conjured a ghost. “Why now?” Her voice was a filament, stretched to breaking.

“Because our seasons are lined up properly right now,” Arabella said simply. “And because this is a rare gift, Marissa.”

Marissa was trembling, and she hated herself for it. “When?” she asked, her voice gone clinical, as if she were scheduling a consult for a patient instead of herself.

Arabella smiled, just barely. “Now,” she said. “If you’re ready.”

Marissa looked down at her hands. They were steady, but the inside of her head was a hurricane. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” Arabella smiled. “You will be under Genet’s jurisdiction while there, but Hosts are not allowed to harm Contestants from other seasons, and Genet is one of the best ones anyway. She and I have known each other for a very, very long time. I trust her implicitly, or I would not allow this. You will have as much time as Genet is willing to afford Maeve. Afterward, you’ll return here.” She said it like a lawyer reciting a clause. “You understand.”

Marissa nodded. “I understand.”

Arabella rose in a single, elegant motion, then offered a hand. Marissa hesitated only a heartbeat before taking it. The Host’s grip was warm and dry. There was nothing inhuman about her, except the way she made everything seem inevitable.

They walked up the beach in silence, cresting the dunes until the Hotel’s silhouette loomed behind them, glass catching the direct light of midday. Marissa half-expected Arabella to whisk her into an elevator, or teleport her with a dramatic gesture. Instead, Arabella stopped on a small outcropping, where the wind was sharp enough to sting, and drew a neat rectangle in the air with her finger.

The portal appeared with no sound, just a shimmer—a gentle warping of reality, as if someone had turned the opacity down on the world beyond it. On the other side was a carpeted hallway, a simple Welcome hanging on the opposite wall. The air that bled through carried the smell of herbs and wine and salt.

“Genet will bring you back when you’re done,” Arabella said. “She’s trustworthy. One of the good ones.”

Marissa looked at the portal, then at Arabella. “What if I want to stay?”

Arabella’s expression didn’t change, but her voice was softer than Marissa had ever heard it. “You won’t. Not yet. But when you do, you’ll know.”

Marissa squared her shoulders, then stepped through.

For a split second, she was nowhere—weightless, suspended between the cold of the beach and the warmth of the hallway. Then she was inside, the world rearranging itself around her, the sound of the surf gone, replaced by a quiet encouragement. We’ve been waiting for you. It felt like it was trying to tell her.

“I’m surprised that you were able to arrange this for me this quickly.” Maeve commented. She’d come up after lunch as requested.

“I was getting worried it wasn’t possible.” Genet smiled as she explained. “Their world moves so much faster than ours, it’s been almost three weeks for her since you sent that letter back. One of my great-nephews helped anchor us for a moment.”

The two of them were waiting in Genet’s apartment, when a gentle knocking came from one of the doors. Genet hopped up and opened it wide, ushering in their guest for the day. “Come on in. We’re so glad to have you! Do you have any questions? Is there anything I can get you?”

Marissa stopped for a moment, her eyes taking in the woman who must be Maeve’s Host. There was something about her that felt… powerful, more akin perhaps to Anna’s presence, even during an informal event such as the beach party, than to Arabella’s more restrained nature.

“Thank you,” Marissa said, her training - and the experiences of the last several weeks - quickly helping her recover from the strange feeling she had about this woman. “I’m grateful you could find the opportunity to help with this, and that you were willing to make the effort. I understand many Hosts wouldn’t be so… amenable.” She smiled, adjusting her glasses, and her eyes scanned the room until she saw Maeve, standing a few steps behind.

Her mentor had changed, but this was, after all, the Harem Hotel. Marissa didn’t mind, and she knew she had some changes of her own that would come as quite a shock to her mentor. “Maeve,” she said, her eyes glistening, “it’s really you! God, it’s so good to see you!” She looked at Genet, seeking permission to step past her and hug her friend and mentor.

The Host smiled, reading her guest’s desire to reconnect. “Of course, go to her. I’m glad to have you, any friend of hers is a friend of mine.” She put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, as if to guide her forward to her own therapist.

“Thank you,” Marissa replied sincerely, “Arabella speaks highly of you, and I can see why.” She walked up to Maeve, arms open, ready to hug her. She felt vaguely self-conscious in her running kit, highly underdressed for the occasion, and was very aware of her perpetually erect nipples protruding through the blue top.

Maeve immediately accepted, slightly more tactile than Marissa remembered. The two women’s hug lasted longer than either of them were used to, the older woman uninclined to let her mentee go. Finally loosening her grip, she asked Genet: “Thank you, again. Do you mind if we have some privacy?”

“Sure, I’ll get out of your hair then. I really should get back to the workout to see if anything happens that I need to give points for. If you want a quiet place to talk, the library might be good to take advantage of. If either of you need anything, just let me know. Have fun!”

And just like that, the two were guided out into the Dining Hall as suddenly as Genet had started the meeting, the manic host leaving them to their own devices.

“Your Host is… impressive,” Marissa commented as Genet left. “There is a woman, a… sister to our own Host, who gives off the same… presence, for lack of a better word.” She shook her head. “But that’s neither here nor there. How are you? I could not believe Scarlet’s letter, when she mentioned your name. I’m still trying to figure out how unlikely it is, that both of us would end up on this show at the same time.” She paused. “Well, if that’s what is happening. Time seems to be a fluid concept for at least some of these Hosts.”

“Genet’s mentioned that before,” Maeve nodded. “She explained on the day of our challenge that time was being pretzeled to allow people to communicate with us. She said it’d been… weeks since our letters for you?”

Marissa blinked, then nodded. “Yes. I wrote to you about how Andy gamed the first challenge, and that was about five weeks ago. We went through the second challenge two weeks ago, and completed the third challenge two days ago. We’re now in the fourth round.” She took a deep breath. “To tell you the truth, last week felt like a whirlwind. We had a new Contestant who had history with Andy, but thankfully, that seems to have been solved. The newest one may be the hardest one, though. I’ll spare you the details, but she’s poised to be… a challenge, emotionally, and not just for Andy. I wonder how well he is holding up.”

“Do you trust her, Arabella?”

Marissa hesitated, surprised by the question, then slowly nodded. “I think I do, strangely enough. She’s a Host and she runs a game that is based on **** people from their lives and forever bonding them to a man or a woman who equally does not want to be there, and she assigns transformations that change our bodies, minds and realities, but if you look at the person underneath… She could have stopped Andy from gaming that challenge. Or she could have punished him. She could have picked any of us - all of us - to be eliminated. But she didn’t. She rewarded Andy for what he did. She has a strange relationship with him, not at all what you would expect under the circumstances. Not romantic, but something… intimate, nonetheless. But yes, I trust her, and Claire - that’s one of the other Contestants on our show, with whom I have become friends - she’s watched other seasons, and tells me we could have been far more unlucky with our Host.”

“That’s good to hear, that it’s someone like her if you have to be there. Genet has her faults, but she seems to want the best for us. The trouble is that she seems to think differently from most people. She doesn’t have the same sense of ethics we do, and I think her magical ability to see good things blinds her sometimes to the full picture.”

Marissa nodded. “I can understand that. Arabella… she’s dropped hints that she was made, not born. During the first round of the show, we weren’t sure what to think of her.” She hesitated. “We found a note from a woman named Sarah, who had been a contestant in a previous season, describing how her Master, ‘Greg’, had been corrupted.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I don’t know what happened to her or to the others in her season. But… after seeing how she handled the first three challenges, especially when she could have eliminated one of us and chose to spare her instead… or when she used her veto in the second challenge to save Norah… No, I can’t imagine her being cruel. Not thinking along the same lines as a mortal woman, however… yes, that I can see.”

Maeve changed the topic. “You’ve certainly changed. Do you feel alright?”

“I have, and I do,” Marissa replied, fully aware of how her voice’s newly acquired sultry quality must be affecting Maeve, although she wondered if the effect would be as pronounced as it was for the Contestants on her season. “There have been… changes, of course, and adjustments, but in general, my transformations have been of little relevance compared to those of some of my companions.” She briefly described Emi’s six-armed presence, Dawn’s new bunny ears, Claire’s feline attributes, Erin’s enforced nudity and transformation into a plant, Myra’s fox ears and tail. She wondered if anyone in Maeve’s group of contestants had experienced anything that outlandish.

“The library she mentioned is right down here, I’ll lead the way. My patient’s closest friend and I made it together, she based the aesthetic off of somewhere at her college when she was younger. I think you’ll like it.” She led her mentee down the path past the Dining Hall, the short trip through the forest taking only a few minutes.

Marissa’s lips curled up into a self-conscious smile. “Probably a better use of Bonus Points than I did, recreating the jazz club I would sometimes visit back in Scarsdale. I’m sure I will love it.” She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at her mentor to her side, as they walked, as if to reassure herself that it wasn’t a dream.

Noticing Marissa’s concern, Maeve took the other woman’s hand. She led her into the library, and the buzz of the forest gave way to the magically enforced quiet of the brick building. “I found a nice sitting area over in the mythology section Genet added herself.” She explained, leading them both to where three overstuffed armchairs and a coffee table waited.

Marissa looked around the library, eyes wide behind her glasses. “This is beautiful, Maeve. It’s… I’d love to spend some time in a place like this.” Her cheeks turned faintly pink. “We have a library in the resort, but since it came with the hotel, a lot of the books aren’t… the original versions.” She smiled, taking one of the armchairs. “How are you? How are you dealing with your changes? I know only a few things about your season, this Richard who is the Master, and the other contestants in your group.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry, I do not even know what round you are at, right now.”

“It’s the third day of the second round here. I have two more days until my “date” with Richard.” Maeve answered, trying to make clear what she thought of her upcoming day with him. “I’ve been doing my best to ignore my transformations, although this round’s have been making themselves more conspicuous.”

Marissa nodded. “I understand that. Mine have thus far been manageable,” she said, gesturing to her rebel nipples, “although this last one has created some… difficulties.” She paused, studying Maeve briefly. “Do you… feel anything, when I speak? My last transformation is supposed to make my voice cause… arousal… the more I speak.”

Maeve frowned. “I’m sorry, that sounds like it would be difficult to manage, especially for someone like us where you’ve been trying to help with everyone's problems. I’ve noticed nothing like that. Either Genet is suppressing it, which is possible but not something I think would occur to her, or it’s not supposed to affect me. Either way, you can talk as much as you want with me.”

Marissa smiled gratefully. “I’m glad. I did not relish the idea of imposing that on you. And yes, it is… challenging. The only saving grace, I believe, is that at least in our season, transformations seem to… settle down in the days after they are assigned, if they can do so as a matter of degree. Or perhaps we just become more used to them. My ASMR transformation is still active, but it no longer triggers arousal as quickly in the other women as it did when I just received it.”