Ellohay, eoplespay!! isthay ntroiay isay inay igpay atinlay. Ethay anslationtray isay atay ethay ottombay.
Isclaimerday: iay on'tday wnoay lexaay ideray. *adsay acefay*
Alex stared out of the window of the airplane. The fluffy clouds rolled by as if they had not a care in the world… unlike Tom and himself. Alex was altogether too worried when they went through customs at the airport, as he had kept reminding himself. When they had stepped onto the plane, Tom had commented he looked like a wooden board, his shoulders up and his face alert. He knew how it felt to not know who was working for whoever happened to be the bad guy at the time, but this time, MI6 wasn't on his side. If he messed up and got himself killed, no one except Tom would know or even particularly care. Not that MI6 had ever been much help, he reassured himself, smiling slightly.
Alex turned his attention back to the inside of the plane, where he observed Tom stuffing his face with packets of airplane peanuts. He noticed Alex watching and grinned sheepishly, his cheeks packed with the nuts. Alex shook his head. It was amazing that anyone could have conceived Tom as capable of murder. He shuddered at the thought of how close he had come to death by his best friend.
He took a sip of water to cleanse himself of his dark thoughts. It had a metallic aftertaste to it, as if it had been run from a tap. Alex made a face. Was there any good food on this plane? He severely doubted it.
An hour later, Tom and Alex were sitting outside an airport in New York City without a clue of where to go next. Tom hailed a taxi and asked the driver if he knew any good hotels. He shrugged and suggested a place called "The Sunshine Motel". He drove them to the motel and then sped off, as if worried that they would complain about the hotel choice.
Alex thought that the "Sunshine Motel" could aptly be described as a hole in the wall. The sign hung crooked on the scuffed up door, its neon lights dull. It wasn't just the poor surroundings that gave Alex the creeps. It was the feeling that permeated the air, a feeling of hopelessness. Alex got the feeling that this was where people went when they had nowhere else to go. This was the kind of place where people came when they had completely given up. He smiled grimly. They would fit right in here.
They entered the grimy motel to see a male bartender wiping the lonely bar with a dirty dishrag. Alex wasn't sure if the towel was cleaning the table, or making it filthier than it already was. He looked up when he heard the bells on the door tinkle as they came in.
"Goo' mornin'," he said, as if he had never told a bigger lie. He gave them a halfhearted smile, revealing teeth that resembled crumbling tombstones on rotten gums. They stared at eachother for a minute until he finally said "Well, I suppose I'll have to check you in. What name is your reservation under?"
Alex and Tom looked at eachother for a minute.
"Ummmm, well, um, you see, we don't have a reservation, but if you have a room open, we can pay you up front with cash." Tom held out about fifty American dollars to the man.
"I'll check if we have a room open." he opened a door a few feet behind him and yelled into it.
"Hey you! Martha, we have a room open?"
A stressed female voiced called back.
"Yeah, Room numbah too-welve." (A.N. two-welve = 12-she has a strong accent. ;])
The man turned back towards Alex and Tom and said, "My associate informs me that room number twelve is open. Follow me." He walked to the door he had just yelled into a moment ago, held it open, and gestured impatiently for them to go through. He led them down a few halls, took a right and opened a door to a small dingy room. There were two scruffy mattresses with springs hanging out of them and a thin sheet on each that looked like it might have once been a sack that held potatoes. Alex thought he saw a large spider scuttle over the side of the bed, followed by a cockroach, and shivered. There was no way he was going to sleep in the bed tonight. A small bedside table with an electric lamp on it was between the two beds. On the lampshade there was a stain that Alex dearly hoped was barbecue sauce. The man with the cracked teeth gave them one more craggy smile, then left. Alex and Tom dumped the stuff that was now their only possessions on the bed. (A.N. They took it from the trailer.) Just as Tom was about to say something, the lamp flickered, then went out, plunging the room into darkness.
"Home sweet home," murmured Alex.
Waiting for eight, yes that's right eight reviews until I update.
(From top intro) Translation: Hello, peoples!! This intro is in pig latin. The translation is at the bottom.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider. *sad face*