17 TSoT/MMV: Five Years Later: Thirty Shades of Tangerine
"You need to go and find yourself/You say you'd rather be alone/'Cause you think you won't find it tied to someone else…"
–Ben Platt, song "Grow As We Go"
10 am Azores/6 am EST, Five Years Later, Matilda's Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23
A smoky sunlit haze emanated throughout the ornately-styled plaster crown-molding of the Old World French apartment stairwell as she traversed the walkway upward, her curls bouncing, admiring what she imagined to be 24 karat gold paint on an intricate, gargantuan six-paneled hammered-glass window, but as of yet remained silver-gray in this monochromatic montage.
All of a sudden, she felt an unseen force—where was it from? Chasing her, pursuing her—and she understood in her instantaneous fight-or-flight response, that she had to run away, as far as her legs could possibly carry her; she heard echoes between the stairs, underneath, beneath her as she continued her pursuit of a safe haven in the veritable labyrinth she had found herself in.
As she continued racing up the stairs, she felt the ground shift beneath her feet, from stone or whatever solid material it was—into what she recognized as the same sand-colored Japanese tatami bamboo material that lined the second floor of Epicenter Pico No. 23, her childhood home in the Azores.
Upstairs, and through a landing and past one—two—then three more corridors—she perceived herself hunted by an unseen creature. She didn't want to whirl around to determine whether the being was good or evil—all she knew in her frenzied imagination was to secret herself away in the massive Parisian-style hybridized endroit meant limitless safety and security. Rounding a corner, she suddenly found herself facing a child's nursery in what appeared to be a British boarding school, a piece of paper with a green crayon-scrawl that she believed was her name. Purely on impulse, she ducked behind the bright, if not mildly outdated room, trying to shut the lightweight white door, to wall herself in for the longest of eternities.
But the door wouldn't shut—not completely—as she found herself frantically yanking the door—
Matilda awoke with a start. It was just a dream, she realized, as she heard the opening lyrics of Ben Platt's "Grow As We Go" playing on her alarm radio clock. Day 1 of the new job. Adjusting to the light streaming through her balcony window, she blinked sleepily, looking past her dark emerald-green crocheted bedcovers, her goldenrod-hued bedsheets, and myriad patterned pillows, toward her fireproof glazed wood table at the foot of her bed, her potted plants perfectly in place. Matilda's simple ivory-colored nightstands were perched on either side of her queen-sized mattress, each with its own tiny cubic lamp, its stem composed of gold-painted bronze in the shape of tropical bamboo common to the Azores; the wallpaper at the head of her bed was an enlarged photographic print of a forest she'd admired back in Seattle, where Vera Manor was situated. Her second home.
Here goes nothing, she thought to herself, as she put on the clothing she had carefully set aside for the momentous occasion. Black slacks, a maroon silk sleeveless camisole blouse to compliment her now-auburn hair, and a houndstooth grey blazer made up her chic ensemble. She dashed out her bedroom door, past the stylized recreation room hallway of polished wood, and down the wrought-iron steep circular staircase to the kitchen, where she greeted her parents, grabbed her lunch and a protein bar, and hastily bade her farewells.
10:45 am Azores/6:45 am EST, Epicenter Pico No. 23 to Purgatory Corporation
Matilda ran her finger along the sterling silver ring she wore, containing five tiny baguette-cut diamonds, side-by-side. One diamond for each member of the family. Her father Harry had channeled Jimmy's silversmithing skills and made it for her during the past summer, imbuing it with Whitelighter magic so she could instantly portal to her new job. She secretly wondered whether it could be used for arriving at locations besides work and home but hadn't had the chance to test it out.
Her father mentioned when he presented it to her the evening before, that other locations were only in "truly dire cases of emergency," and were not to be trifled with. Her younger, more impetuous self would have instantly seen that as a challenge, but in the intervening years, her temper had cooled somewhat, and she had seen enough of Camp Wanaka and the surrounding magical world to know not to go looking for danger if one could help it.
7 am, Gateway Subway Station, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Having landed in a darkened corridor of the Gateway Subway Station, Matilda, dusted herself off and proceeded to the exit. In the next minute or so, she found herself walking past Gateway Park, admiring the various forms of artwork on display, coupled with greenery, a distant metal-worn bridge, and the surrounding urbane cityscape that ran alongside the wide Monongahela River. She made a left onto Boulevard of the Allies, a sharp left onto Stanwix Street, a right onto Fourth Avenue, and suddenly found herself facing a monstrous behemoth of a building.
7:30 am, Lobby, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Workdays sure start early here, Matilda silently thought to herself as she carefully moved through the revolving doors and checked in with the front desk receptionist in the airy, glass-enclosed lobby, whose flooring was of nondescript granite. After completing the necessary signatures and display of proper identification, she was pointed in the direction of the waiting area chairs, which appeared equally unremarkable, yet rather unexpectedly comfortable. Perhaps it was due to the nature of waiting in purgatory, that people designed furniture just so, she silently mused to herself as she surveyed her surroundings.
7:50 am, Lobby, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
After waiting some time (and making a trip to the restroom to check her hair and reapply an extra coat of claret-colored lipstick she borrowed from her mother), the receptionist called her over, mentioning that her boss and mentor would be arriving shortly. Did she want a cup of coffee or tea? the kind woman had asked. No thanks, Matilda had replied, still a jumble of nerves, though she remained externally impassive.
8 am, Elevator, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
The numbers ticked upward as she stood a polite distance away from her new boss, a tall, thin, aged gentleman named Nelson who appeared to be seventy. Friendly enough, Matilda deemed him, as they chatted about their respective families and career backgrounds. Apparently, he (like everyone else in these parts) came from a magical family, though he hadn't yet disclosed what his particular power was. Matilda didn't feel it polite to pry and took her social cues from him as he happily discussed how he began his career as an entry-level consultant back in 1997 during the looming Y2K crisis that was thankfully averted due to collaborative efforts of witches and warlocks alike. Man, he sounded absolutely ancient.
"You'll be paired with a mentor during your first year here," continued Nelson, as Matilda's attention span waxed and waned with the drone of his sonorous voice. "You'll like him, he's got on-the-ground experience like yourself, great with kids, creative with PR campaigns, very personable. I consider him like my own grandson," he smiled to himself.
8:10 am, 88th Floor, Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
The elevator doors slowly opened, as Matilda and Nelson stepped out onto the marble-floored hallway, bathed completely in ethereal colors of pearl and cream. Her mouth dropped open. This place is unreal, she thought to herself. She barely noticed the well-dressed, coiffed gentleman seated in the minimalist-chic waiting area in front of her, with cubic leather seating. Nor did she notice his startled expression upon viewing her crimson curls.
8:15 am, 88th Floor, Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
The dapper young man strode forward. "Meet your mentor, Wyatt Halliwell Jr.!" Nelson exclaimed jovially as Matilda stared with a frozen, horrified expression, before recovering herself momentarily. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit, she inwardly cringed. This cannot be happening right now. She had barely recognized him, with his now-cropped dark hair and formal ensemble. So much for escaping her past.
Examining the expressions of the two young adults before him, Nelson couldn't help but notice neither of them extended a hand. "Oh, don't be shy!" the older gentleman attempted to break the ice. Kids these days.
"Um—" squeaked Matilda, "we're not—"
"We've already met—" interjected Wyatt, noticing that Matilda's cheeks were starting to turn color.
"Oh, you two know each other?" Nelson was pleased to hear this, immensely oblivious to the discomfort surrounding the former lovers, Matilda in particular, whose hands were balled up in her houndstooth suit pockets, trying to resist the urge to orb away or burst into flames on the spot.
"From camp," muttered Matilda, raising her chin to make eye contact with both of the men. Play it cool, play it cool, she told herself. It's been five years, Wyatt doesn't give a flying fuck about me. Why would he? "Excuse me—" she said, barely above a whisper. "Where's your powder room?"
8:20 am, 88th Floor, Coat Closet Next to Ladies' Restroom, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Matilda reached inside her purse and speed-dialed her older-by-minutes twin brother Henry. After a couple of rings, he picked up. "Matilda," he remonstrated, "I'm in the middle of TA'ing a metaphysics philosophy class—can this wait?"
"No," she responded. "It's an emergency—"
"Who's in trouble?" she could hear him perk up. "Is it Matias? Morgana?"
"No," she shook her head, knowing full well he couldn't see her expression. "It's Wyatt."
"Wyatt who? And where are you calling from?"
"Summer Wyatt!" she hissed, cursing as her ankle tripped over what appeared to be a dusty 1980s Yellowpages phone book. Fuck. "I'm in the women's coat closet at work—"
She heard him utter an exasperated sigh on the opposite line. "Tilly, I'm in the middle of explaining Paramenides to thirty sophomores—and you called me about a fling? From a closet?"
"HERE. At WORK. Wyatt's at work. As my mentor," Matilda enunciated every word, knowing that Henry was the trusted voice of reason that could see a solution through life's most challenging problems, physical, emotional, social, or otherwise. Much like their father Harry, in fact.
"Oh." He paused, lost for words. Damn, that's an awkward situation, he thought, looking over his shoulder at his horde of students, half of whom looked hungover from the previous night's fraternity party.
"What do you mean, oh?" Matilda wasn't letting him off easily.
"Oh…shit?" Henry sympathized with the incredibly uncomfortable situation, but had no idea what he, as her brother, could do from where he was currently situated—in the back woods of Vermont.
"Don't 'oh, shit' me—what the fuck do I do now?" Matilda muttered as she stared through the keyhole into the carpeted makeup room that led further into the restroom itself. From where she was, she could see a myriad of elegant ply-tissues, makeup samples, Q-tips, sanitary napkins (the good kind), and more. Pity Wyatt being here had to ruin it all.
Henry paused for a beat. "Distance?" he proposed, after some thinking, as he continued visually monitoring his students' progress, as he saw a couple nearly nod off in their ontological studies.
"Great idea!" Matilda exclaimed, sounding relieved as her mind began to calculate her avenues and various options available. "I'll request a transfer ASAP," and with that, she hung up and exited the closet.
Henry heard the vacuous tell-tale dial tone after Matilda's rapid conversational departure. "All I want is a normal life," he muttered as he put his phone back in his pocket, speaking to no one in particular.