Walking back from the lobby, somewhat on alert, with snacks in hand, is how Sable spots Gwyn. They come to a full stop for only a second, before picking up a frantic pace in his direction. ââŚWait. Wait wait wait wait wait. Are you real?? Or is three days alone here my limit before I start hallucinating?â -askroom13
Gwyn tries his best to have no expectations as he leaves his room, so that he wonât be surprised by anything. Still, he's unprepared to see anything as casual as another person wandering down the hall with snacks in towâan androgynous blond, with a patch of black at the front of their hair. Heâs not sure if itâs a good or a bad thing that they seem just as surprised to see him.
He pauses, tucking his room keys into the pocket of his slacks. He cues in on their accent (an occupational hazard), but knows it wonât help him figure out whatâs going on. âYes, Iâm real. Iâve been abducted. Are you the same, or do you mean to be here?â he asks, defaulting to what he considers best practice: answer questions, skip redundancies, move it along. His tone, though edged with anxiety, makes an effort at calm and courtesy.
He opens his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling and a mattress too pristine to be a home and thinks, tiredly, âNot again.â It takes Gwyn a tick to realise that the thought is outdated, and once he does, he bolts upright.
The walls are cloud grey (tasteful). The bedspread is green (soft). Heâs still wearing the dark slacks and vest from his last shift. Dreamless sleep falls away, its gauzy veil slitting itself open on the sharp edge of time to reveal:Â
Panic. Where is this?
Gwyn throws his legs out of bed, stumbling to his feet (bare; where are his shoes?), and for a split second, he lives in a better reality, one where heâs simply been roofied for a blackout shag rather than abducted for unknown reasonsâbut he feels too well for that, he knows, and he hasnât been to the club in weeks.
Though his heart pounds in his chest, he projects an outward, wilful calm as his gaze tracks from left to right. It's a large roomânot a suite, but large enough. The low-pile carpet, the TV, the fridge, they all mark his surroundings as a hotel. And, as far as hotel rooms go, this one is perfectly to his tastes.Â
The catch is, of course, that Gwyn canât stand hotels.Â
âIf this even really is one,â he thinks to himself as he crosses to the desk (beautiful, old wood, leagues beyond what he could afford) to examine the brochure resting on its surface.
âThe Inndefinite,â he murmurs aloud, tasting the shape of his mouth and tongue as he says it, even as his brow furrows and humour quickly withers at the pun. It brings to mind a colleague, and as Gwyn begins to read with dwindling patience for answers, he begins to calculate the likelihood of his coworker staging all of this as an elaborate, ill-advised joke.
A burst of static. Gwyn jolts, and swivels as the dim room floods with silver light.
âWelcome to The Inndefinite! Weâre so happy to have you hereââ too loud, Gwyn scrabbles for a remoteââand youâll find over the course of your time here that we have everything you need and more. Weâre sure youâre wondering about check-in. We would like you to restââ Gwyn rushes to the TV for built-in controls and finds none. He doesnât find any plugs or wires either.
What?
ââassured that check-in was completed upon waking in your room, and no further steps are necessary.â
The words register. They settle. Gwyn stares at the TV as it continues its strange, distorted speech. The discordant layers of noise seem to scrape against his nerves, and he hurries back to the abandoned brochure, scanning it, and quickly realises the TVâs recording is the same. Great. He can just listen then, and uses his newfound freedom of hands to rush to the window and throw open the curtains.Â
âŚ
Thereâs a painting in America, New York maybe, by an abstract painter. They say that the span of red across the giant canvas was so complete, so overwhelming, that it drove those who saw it to anger. Gwyn was experiencing something similar, here, with a far colder, heavier emotion.Â
He closes the curtains.
The TV is loud enough that he can hear it from a distance, so he lets it continue its spiel, paying three-quarters attentionâthere may be details in the announcement conveniently left off the brochureâas he sweeps the room for cameras, microphones, or any of his own belongings. âWe do have a few hotel rulesââ the TV is saying as he enters the bathroom.
Snapping on the light, he takes a hard look at himself in the mirror, checking for concerns he might not have felt. He only sees the same face he sees every day. Maybe a little paler, from the situation, his hair yet uncombed. He sweeps a hand through it in a halfhearted fix before clicking his tongue and turning away.Â
â1ââ He finds keys on a small cabinet by the door.
â2ââ He finds his socks in the closet, folded so neatly it feels invasive.
â3ââ He yanks on his socks and shoes, teetering between fright and fury.Â
â4ââ He finds balance, choosing a deep irritation instead.Â
â5ââ Either this is a prank or it isnât. If the former, heâll kill his colleagues and the restaurant can find a new bartender. If the latterâŚ
â6. Donât leave. Weâd hate to lose you.â
Chilling. For a moment, Gwyn wonders if the door will be locked. He had been procrastinating the test for that very reason.
Still, the TV falls silent behind him, and gut feeling says heâd be worse for stalling than not. Better to try for answers than not.
A young man from the UK of Chinese heritageâblack hair, brown eyes. Prior to checking into the hotel, he was a server at a high-end restaurant in London called âThe Brittle Bow,â though people who watched the news ten or so years ago are more likely to have heard of him from somewhere else. He's newly arrived to the Inndefinite.
He has a sleek and refined character to him. Though suave in customer service mode, he cools quickly off the clock, appearing long-suffering and irritable. He isn't as misanthropic as he seems, however, and prefers the company of others rather than his own. He proves himself surprisingly adaptable, and prefers cooperative solutions to solo acts.
(Updated 02.10.2025)
Frequently Asked Questions
âSomewhere else'?
Gwyn had his face and name revealed on national news and the social media as one of the âOlvidaxis Orphans,â a group of children who had been trafficked to various countries as pediatric test subjects for pharmaceutical drug trials. Despite it being about ten years since the exposĂŠ, the resemblance between him and the old photograph is clear.
Any relation toâ
Similarities to the names of existing public figures is 100%, purely coincidental. No relation.
