Room 1-414 of the Four Blocks Hotel Complex is not a glamorous place. But it is not a rundown place, either. It is an entirely average room with brown carpet, tan walls, a window that barely opens, and an AC unit. One bed, one chair, one dresser, a TV, and a small bathroom with a shower. Morning sunlight seeps past the aged blinds. It would make a comfortable studio apartment if there was one person living in it, but such is not the case for Mortimer Walters and Claribel Belle Blair.

  It is all they can afford at this moment, due to most of their possessions being destroyed in their battles against the Hobo Warrior Bunny and Ramsey. All they really have are clothes donated to them by the hospital. Which in this case is a pair of jeans and white tee shirts for both of them.

  Now Claribel is pacing in circles, carrying the hotel phone with her, it's wire stretched to its limit, and Mortimer is reclined on the bed, half watching her, half watching a rerun of Xenia: The Warrior Princess. Which, upon seeing the show he can tell Lexia Hartwick took inspiration from the Warrior 's outfit. She just needs the circular blades and she will be all set. That, and maybe put on some war paint so she looks like the raccoon playing Xenia.

  On the TV, the female raccoon playing Xenia the Warrior Princess kicks a coyote in the jaw, then dropkicks his friend off a waterfall. Mortimer stares at the screen, his head tilted slightly. Lexia definitely copied this show for her battle suit.

  Mortimer glances at Claribel. She is still pacing, and the phone cord stretched to near snapping. Her jaw is tight, and the phone is crushed in her iron grip. Her tail rattles, and she looks at the digital clock, hissing irritably.

  “Fifty-eight minutes! That’s how long I’ve been on hold!” says Claribel.

  “Just call back,” says Mortimer.

  “And lose my spot? Never!”

  Mortimer sighs and watches Xenia the Warrior Princess launch a coyote bandit into a cabbage stand and then slash another one down with her circular blade.

  Claribel’s breathing becomes sharp and shallow, her hands trembling and eyes watering.

  On TV, Xenia kicks a coyote bandit into a table, breaking it upon impact, and then dramatically turns to face the biggest bandit of them all. Then Claribel perks.

  “Hello? Yes! It’s me, Ms. Fritz Bee! Streamer ID number 8675309, password Alejandro!” says Claribel.

  Mortimer turns down the TV volume and looks at Claribel with a quirked brow. She paces again, her hair falling across her face and her cheeks wet from tears.

  “Yes… Okay, thank you…. Hi, it’s me, Ms. Fritz Bee, that’s my streamer name, I’m Ms. Fritz Bee, and my house burned down and took all of my stuff with it. I have no computer, no streaming set, no games, no Block World, nothing. I’m in a hotel wearing clothes donated to me by a hospital,” says Claribel.

  Claribel’s steps get heavier, and her tail rattles harder as she grinds her teeth, her eyes wet and burning, like Greek fire.

  “I’m telling you, it burned down! There’s nothing left of anything!” cries Claribel. She listens, pressing her balled fist against her snout, breathing getting erratic. “I know what the protocol is, but I just got out of the hospital!”

  Claribel listens again, and then punches the wall, screaming into the phone, making Mortimer jump.

  “What is difficult for you to understand that my channel is in a coma, right now! I have nothing! I don’t even have my hat!” cries Claribel, tears flowing down her cheeks from her bloodshot eyes. “My hat is gone in the fire! I’ve got nothing and you want to talk to me about- Shut your freaking mouth and listen to me or I swear to God I will find a way to your office AND FORCE FEED YOU YOUR OWN THROAT!”

  Mortimer’s eyes are wide and his ears drooped.

  “Say that word one more time… No, go on. Say ‘contract’ one more time,” says Claribel.

  Mortimer gets off the bed and grabs the phone, he and Claribel exchange hushed argumentative words as they tug the phone back and forth from each other while the person on the other end speaks. Finally, Mortimer tugs the phone away from Claribel and shoves her back to the bed. He points a finger at her, holding a stern frown, and puts the phone to his ear.

  “-I understand that you are going through a traumatic moment, but the Gaming and Streaming Services Corporation has my hands tied on the matter. If we do not have seventy two hours of heads up on change of living or conditions, there will be a channel docking and inconvenience fee,” says the nasally male on the other end.

  “Hi, this is Mr. Fritz Bee, Ms. Fritz Bee’s soon to be husband. To whom am I speaking with?” says Mortimer.

  Claribel’s wet eyes widen and her serpentine body stiffens.

  “Barry. Ms. Fritz Bee’s agent for Gaming and Streaming Services Corporation. This line is supposed to be secured and-”

  “Barry, shut it for a second. Are you aware that by national law, every contract has to have an Act of God clause in said contracts? In fact, I’m actually looking at a copy of her contract right now…” Mortimer ruffles a hotel brochure near the phone. “Chapter seven, subsection seven of the contract is the Act of God clause: In the event either party is unable to perform its obligations under this Agreement due to Acts of God, including, but not limited to, natural disasters, war, or other events beyond its control, such party shall not be liable for any damages resulting from such failure to perform. And I see my fiancé’s signature as well as yours, Barry…” Mortimer squints his eyes at the brochure. “What is that? Matilda?”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Mathida,” grumbles Barry on the other end.

  “Okay, so you and my fiancé agreed on the Act of God premise of the contract, which covers house fires. So, you are going to put her channel on benign hiatus with no forced throttling, no financial penalties, no penalties of any kind or I will go down there and make your life hell.”

  “How are you going to do that? Fly across the country and kick my ass?”

  “No. I’m going to fly across the country and put my business law degree to good use.”

  Silence.

  “Barry? You there?” says Mortimer.

  “Claribel Belle Blair, aka Ms. Fritz Bee, will have her channel put on benign hiatus. Confirmation number is 9035768.”

  Mortimer scratches the number on the desk with his claw. “Excellent, Barry. I’m going to hang up now.”

  And hang up he does. With the phone back where it belongs, Mortimer turns to Claribel and points at her with his palms, lips in a tight line and eyes wide. Claribel, in return, quietly stares at him, her eyes still wide.

  “How… did you know what the contract said?” asks Claribel.

  “When we first met, I saw it lying on your desk, so I read and memorized your contract,” says Mortimer.

  “Does that mean you also knew…?”

  “No, I actually thought his signature said Merry Matilda. His handwriting suck.”

  “And the law degree…?”

  “Not official. I read law books at the library whenever my mom and dad got drunk and beat each other. Unfortunately, law school was too expensive, so I went to magic school instead.”

  Claribel wipes her cheeks with the back of her palm. “Can I… Can I punch out Barry?”

  “If you can get a plane ticket and track him down, sure, but we got more important things to worry about besides punching an annoying guy. Mama Bear is going to be gunning for us, we have almost no money, and we need to find a way out of the country.”

  Claribel nods. “We also need to get my hat back.”

  Mortimer sighs. “Claribel, I hate to be that guy, but your hat is most likely burnt to a crisp.”

  “It’s not burnt to a crisp, it’s just lost!”

  “In an underground factory that caught on fire and collapsed on itself.”

  “My parents gave me that hat!” says Claribel, pointing at herself and glaring at Mortimer. “And if the hat is burned to a crisp then it deserves a funeral! If it is not, then it needs to be on my head! I need my hat! I need better clothes! I need…”

  Claribel hunches over and grips her hair, shuddering.

  “I need out of this life,” whimpers Claribel.

  Mortimer’s expression softens, and he sits next to her on the bed, rubbing her shoulder.

  “Hey, it’ll be alright. We’ll get out of here. Start over somewhere else, outside of the country, far from Mama Bear, the Hobo, and that crazy hare and eagle guy,” says Mortimer.

  “With my hat,” adds Claribel, her head still down.

  “With a hat.”

  “My hat.”

  “Claribel, your hat-”

  Claribel snatches Mortimer’s shoulders and screams in his face, “I NEED MY HAT!”

  “Okay!” snaps Mortimer. "He pries Claribel’s hands off his shoulders. “Okay, I will get your hat. And while I get a hat, we can get some clothes.”

  “With what money?”

  Mortimer thinks for a moment and then grins. “I have an idea…”

  *****

  Mortimer steps through the Bliss Town Mall entrance, and Claribel follows him inside. Music plays through the speakers, echoing over the lightly populated structure. Every nearby shopper takes a moment to stare at the odd pair as they walk past stores and kiosks. Claribel is wearing a towel over her head to cover her hair, and Mortimer is scanning the area as he walks, eyes and ears diligently absorbing information.

  The mall’s food court is straight ahead, its tables organized in squares and benches bolted to the brown and white tiles. Everything is coated in a vague stickiness. The air is heavy with the smell of fryer oil, various ingredients of meats and vegetables, and sweets. Voices from employees and customers mingle, and Mortimer stops at the edge to look around.

  Then he grins upon spotting his target.

  Jayson Hopper is slouched on a bench, and Lexia Hartwick sits beside him, shoulders hunched, one big paw cupping a strawberry milkshake, her gaze locked on the swirling pink inside her cup. Jayson is wearing a “new” set of old blue clothes, but his burnt jacket and drabby scarf remain the same, and Lexia is wearing jeans and a tank top with her boots, fully displaying her impressive muscular arms.

  “Bingo times two,” says Mortimer. He grabs Claribel’s hand and drags her with him. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Mortimer quickly approaches the pair and stops in front of them, giving them a toothy grin.

  “How do you do, fellow shoppers,” says Mortimer.

  Jayson and Lexia stare at Mortimer, completely silent and not meeting his smile, and Claribel’s tail rattles nervously.

  “What are you doing?” whispers Claribel.

  “Working,” says Mortimer. Then to Jayson and Lexia, “Fancy seeing you two here.”

  “Why?” asks Lexia.

  “Well, for starters, he has no money,” says Mortimer, pointing at Jayson. Then he points at Lexia, “And as for you, I know you have money, but you’re usually doing something. I guess today was my lucky day! Anyway, I need your help buying clothes for my dear, sweet, Claribel.”

  Mortimer tugs Claribel in front of him and puts his hands on her shoulder, smiling at Lexia.

  “And Jayson, since you’re here and are basically a cockroach, can you help me find Claribel’s hat in the factory you blew up?” says Mortimer.

  Silence.

  Mortimer holds his smile, Claribel flashes a nervous one, and Jayson and Lexia exchange confused looks while Lexia sips her milkshake again. A few seconds later, Lexia pulls her milkshake straw out with a pop.

  “What happened to all your money?” asks Lexia.

  “Funny story, when our safehouse burned down and collapsed in the hole, it took all of our stuff with it, which included a lot of our money. Which we spent the rest on for a week’s stay at the Four Blocks Hotel Complex,” says Mortimer.

  Claribel elbows him. “Don’t tell them that!”

  “What? We’re at a truce, now… Anyway, can you two be pals and help us out?”

  Lexia stares at Mortimer.

  He stares right back.

  Claribel’s towel slips off her hair, but her hands are too shaky to fix it, so it just hangs around her neck, and her red slit eyes dart between them.

  Jayson stares ahead, his blue eyes hollow and unblinking.

  Lexia slowly straightens, putting her milkshake down. “You want me to buy you clothes?”

  “Multiple outfits, actually. We’re technically starting over, so something that doesn’t smell like a hospital would be nice,” says Mortimer. “We’ll pay you back when we get a new set of income.”

  Claribel nods her head quickly, and Lexia leans back, crossing her arms.

  “What’s in it for me?” asks Lexia.

  “We’ll help,” says Jayson, his voice dim.

  Lexia snaps her eyes to him, ears perked. “What?”

  “We’ll help,” repeats Jayson. “Mortimer helped me kill Ramsey, so I’m repaying him by helping him find Claribel’s hat. And you should help Claribel because she needs it.”

  “I would have liked to make a decision for myself.”

  “Fine. Make a decision, then. I’m still going to help Mortimer. And if Claribel doesn’t have new clothes when I get back, then I’ll find a way to get her clothes. I can’t guarantee their condition, though.”

  Lexia grits her teeth, growling irritably. “Of course you’re going to try to out shine me. But joke’s on you. I’m going to outshine you so much I’ll be a supernova of goodness!”

  Lexia leaps to her feet, grabs Claribel’s wrist and tugs her away from Mortimer. “Come on, Claribel! We’re going to make Jayson look like a loser!”

  “But he’s getting my hat…” says Claribel, stumbling after Lexia.

  “Just shut up and be a team player.”

  Mortimer and Jayson watch Lexia and Claribel speed walk away from them, and when they are out of sight, Mortimer turns to Jayson and smiles.

  “So… adventure time?” says Mortimer.