A normal trip to California

It was strange, waking up at this time of night. The foreign view out the window was illuminated by moon beams stifled by a canopy of rainclouds. Sure, getting a room near the top of the building was going to be a pain to get up and down from, but god was the view worth it. I let out a slow, extended breath as I sit myself on the windowsill, the glass cold on my shoulder as I lean up against it.

What a... strange dream. Filled with so many... colors, and noises. Normally, my dreams were pretty... nonchalant. Unmemorable, to say the least. But that one...

Fuck.

Biting my lower lip, I look down at the skirt I'd been too spent to change out of the night prior. A stiff bulge was still twitching underneath the crumpled fabric, resulting in an annoyed sigh. Why did a dumb idea like that make me feel like this?

What had that strange, bird-headed creature said to me, again?

" With but a cross of your fingers, any words you speak will become fact to the targeted listener; as if it always had been. But, no more than three sentences of new truths shall be directed at one person, lest all prior truths be broken. "

Or... something like that. Probably with fancier delivery. Actually, no... that's... that is the exact wording. But, that's so strange, I can't even... entirely remember the rest of the context of the dream; the longer my shoulder is pressed up against the glass the fuzzier the memory gets. Aside from... those words.

' A cross of your fingers... '

Pulling my gaze from the distant, mostly empty beach, I raise my hand. Spreading my fingers, I nibble on my lower lip as I examine my chipped nail polish. Slowly, with baited breathing, I move my middle finger slowly over top of my index finger and...

...

Snicker. Slipping off the windowsill, my feet thump softly against the carpeted floor. Of course, nothing happened; it was just a dumb dream after all. Stretching, as a yawn escapes me, my eyes dart to the clock on the microwave.

[ 4:30 AM ]

Walking to the island in the center of the open-plan kitchen, I let out a mildly annoyed breath. Not only was it too late to get back to sleep, it was too early for any big stores or attractions to be open. What to do, what to do...

G R U M B L E

Wincing, and moving my hand to my stomach, I find an answer. After all the excitement of getting here yesterday, along with the painfully long car ride, I guess I'd forgotten to pay attention to my stomach. With an annoyed huff, I look over at the fridge. Checking it would be pointless; unless some random person snuck in my house and restocked, it'd be as empty as it was when I'd checked it when exploring the room last night. As my eyes move back to the clock, an air of familiarity hits me as I look at the time. What was it with that...

Oh!

The memory of that little black chalkboard sign in the entrance hall comes rushing back. It was so strange seeing them announce that breakfast began at 4:30 and ended at 7:00; I must've forgotten because of how convinced I'd been that I'd be sleeping in. What is it with hotels doing things like that? Is it an attempt to conform to people's odd time zone differences, or, is it because they just want to spend less money on their mock buffets? Nonetheless, grabbing my purse from off the granite island (perhaps peninsula was a better word? It jutted out of the wall, as if to give the inhabitants of the tiny kitchen privacy, but not TOO much privacy) and make my way to the door.

Slipping into the restroom as I prepare to leave, I'm greeted with my disheveled appearance being reflected back at me. Despite the frazzled golden hair, and bags under her eyes, it was a person I'd learned to grow fond of seeing in the mirror. Sticking my tongue out at the girl, I pick up one of the hotel combs. I had brought toiletries and such, but they were in my bag and I was not awake enough to go through it. Humming as I tug the knots from my bedhead, my brain wanders back to that dream. Squinting while I strain to get the poor comb through the last stretch of my unruly blonde ocean, thoughts of what someone could do if they genuinely had powers like that begin dancing their way into my imagination.

Anything from selfish gains, to punishing assholes, to convincing the entire population to simply start working together... you could practically make yourself into a living, breathing god. Assuming you got the wording down pat, at least...

With another tiny snicker, and a little clack as the brush meets the countertop once more, I give my reflection a little wink as I leave the restroom. Slipping on the flipflops I'd removed beside the door, I'm careful to not let the door close too loudly behind me as I enter the hallway. Looking up and down the stretch of room, despite knowing how early it was it still felt odd seeing the lack of activity. Nonetheless, I make my way down the hall, before turning the corner that leads to the elevator and...

Clutching my chest, it takes me a minute to register the person waiting beside the elevator. Seeing a mess of red hair, and two arms raised in an early morning stretch, I don't know what I thought I'd seen. Shaking my head, a laugh escaping me, I can feel the tension leaving my body with an awkward breath.

"Hey?"

The stranger asks in a half-yawn, her subtle Irish accent peeking through the single word. She looks at me with an arched brow, her emerald eyes flickering over me for a brief second. I suddenly felt a lot more self conscious about my crumpled clothes, instinctively beginning to smooth out my skirt. It really didn't help she looked so good in those sweatpants...