Access to the stage steps was blocked off by a stanchion – Clover would always see it there whenever the stage wasn't being used in order to prevent the exact kind of thing she was just about to do. She, of course, paid no mind to it; she crawled under the velvet cord when no one was looking, then scooted up towards the closed curtains ahead, using the darkness as shelter. She grabbed the left one, and moved it aside to peek her head center-stage. It was pitch-black in there for the most part, but rays of warm ember light were pouring in from beyond both wings – they let her make out a number of darkened outlines: some toolboxes here and there, bundled-up piles of rope, a ladder that had been left set up against the scaffolding, large crates filled with what seemed to be electrical equipment... all part of what must be ongoing renovations for the pageant. Other than that, the place appeared lifeless and barren.
This didn't deter Clover, however. She quietly slipped past the curtains, looking over her shoulder to ensure nobody followed her in. She had to be careful around here, as this was a restricted area reserved exclusively to performers, club personnel, and patrons with an official backstage pass – thus, until the night of the competition itself, when she'd meet that first requirement, Clover had no clearance to be there. In fact, what she was doing right now would normally be considered a bannable offense, although that didn't concern her in the slightest: her unique rank of royal head of security granted her free rein to do pretty much anything she wanted anyway unless Julien explicitly said otherwise. If all of a sudden an employee came up and told her to leave, a simple stand-down order would be all it'd take to get rid of them – yet even with this in mind, it'd be best if she avoided such interruptions.
The two glowing dots gave just enough visibility for the bodyguard to find her way in the dark. She proceeded straight for the right wing, silently carving a path through the endless paraphernalia strewn all over the floor. A doorway opened up just ahead; she crossed it, and a new passage ushered her in. It was narrow, yet with quite a high ceiling, from which lines of gilded flower-shaped lamps dangled and burned intensely. Clover gazed to her left, where the long crossover catwalk linked both wings together. There was no one on it. Continuing onward, a steep fall led the tunnel even further underground, capped with a wooden stairwell. She paused at the landing.
The mahogany steps were well-lit, too, allowing her to see the bottom several feet down below. She tightened her bloodied fists in grim anticipation; neither she nor any of her friends had ever been to this place before, so there was no telling what could be awaiting down there. Echoes of the the rave in the main chamber still resonated faintly around the cragged walls, but even they seemed overpowered by the unearthly stillness that emanated from those lower tunnels.
Breathing slowly, Clover prepared to take the first step into the unknown... when a light metallic clank arose from somewhere behind her, halting her before her toes could even graze the wood. She instantly whirled on her heels with her fists up, locking herself into a combat stance as she squinted into the gaping blackness of the stage, as though waiting for something, or rather someone to lunge out of it and attack her.
However, no such thing happened. Clover reluctantly lowered her fists, and then turned around to begin her slow descent down the stairs. At its half-point, she stopped to glance back up at the landing – even if this place was supposed to be deserted, it would be wise of her to keep her guard up at all times.
A long corridor greeted her at the bottom – it seemed to have been originally a bare bog-standard tunnel, now repurposed into a more streamlined and advanced–looking hallway, with ample lighting and wall decorations. It also possessed oaken doors on either side, each one marked with a brass plaque that read "Dressing room," along with a corresponding designation number. All in all, there had to be in between six or eight; Clover didn't bother to count them. Just for the sake of it, though, she did try to open the last one on the left, but as expected, it was locked.
"Alright, ya lil' creep... where are you hiding?" she quietly intoned as she peered around the next corner. The corridor here swerved off in two different directions: east and west – a natural divide in the cave system. Clover would be checking out both sides eventually, but for the time being, she chose to stick to the left.
And then... there it was again. Another noise. Footsteps now, coming from directly behind her – towards her.
Tap... tap... tap... tap... tap...
The bodyguard froze with fake unawareness, not turning around, hoping to surprise whoever it was at the last possible moment.
"Psst! Yo, Clo-
Suddenly, Clover whipped around fast – much faster than the time it took for the other lemur to scream in fear – and before they even knew what was happening, an earth-shattering sweeping kick yanked their legs out from under them, and they collapsed to the ground with a noisy crash.
"Ha! Gotcha, punk!" she shouted in victory, grinning smugly, "Thought you could pull that dirty move on me, huh?!"
Frank be praised, she had done it. She had caught the criminal!
Or at least, that was what she believed, in her imagination...
"Owww...! Frank dammit, Clover... This is what I get for being nice...!"
Her heart leaped to her throat when she took a closer look at the figure on the ground. It was short, black, and rather stocky, with big ears and an exceptionally bushy tail. She gasped as her eyes shot wide open, perplexed at her appalling error of judgment.
"Maurice?!" She was immediately by the royal advisor's side to help him off the floor. "What...? What are you doing here?! Oh gosh, I'm so sorry; I – I thought you were... well... y'know." With a nervous smile she began to look him over for any immediate signs of injury. "Are ya okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine – no thanks to you, though..." he replied begrudgingly, frowning and rubbing his aching back. "How many times do I have to tell you to think before you straight up annihilate someone, if you don't know who they might be, huh, girl?"
"And how many times do I have to tell you to never, ever sneak up on me?" she retorted, "I thought you'd have learned your lesson after the first couple times!"
The aye-aye rolled his eyes. "...Touché."
Grunting out, Clover turned away from him to cautiously survey the empty corridors ahead. If there was someone down here with them, they might've heard all that racket she and Maurice had just made; that only heightened her desire to get going.
"So, care to explain why you were following me?" she asked him then, keeping her voice low. "Was it to stop me? Y'know you can't."
He moved up beside her to gaze ahead as well. "Hey, slow down; I've never said anything about that. And besides, why would I? You aren't the one whose butt is on the line for breaking into forbidden territory without a search warrant. You know what'll happen if someone catches me here!"
"Then why did you come?"
Maurice scoffed at the question. "Oh please, you didn't think I was gonna buy that load of rubbish you told us back there, did you?" he stated bluntly, as Clover frowned. Seeing this, he let out a sigh, and there was a clear melancholic feel to his voice as he explained, "...Alright, listen; I don't think I need to tell you that you may be taking this whole thing a tad too far already... but if you truly think checking this place out is worth it, then I'm on board too. Finding some answers for that poor girl is the least we can do. She didn't deserve what happened to her."
His answer made Clover smile, though it was not a happy one. "Aw, how sweet of ya... but next time, warn me before you do something like this!" she added, snapping back into her frown. "Fricking hell, what's with you guys creeping up on me today?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I just figured you wouldn't want me making any noise since everything's so quiet down here! You know, so we don't scare, um... the crooks... away."
"Yeah, well, ya lucked out I didn't break your ankles..." she muttered, and then jerked her head to the right. "C'mon, you go that way while I take this one." She pointed to the left. "We'll be able to cover more ground if we split up."
He nodded, yet seemingly reluctant to move on. "Got it."
"Oh, and... please be careful," she reminded him before they separated, "We don't know what this guy, or gal, or whatever the hell they are, are capable of. They could be armed and dangerous for all we know. Anything happens, just call for me, okay?"
The royal advisor glanced up at her, then nodded once more. He had hoped they could've gone about this together, even if Clover's idea made a lot more sense. He didn't like the thought of being left alone in these desolated underground facilities with an alleged bloodthirsty felon one single bit, but despite that, he managed to work up a smile as they wished each other good luck.
"Green room, green room... down that hall..."
Maurice took his gaze off the placard on the wall and prudently followed the directions written on it. As he went around the next bend, the aye-aye couldn't help but be fascinated by the design of this entire cave. While its true size had to be unequivocally massive, he actually found it fairly easy to traverse – and caves like these weren't exactly renowned for their simplicity. He was awed to realize that every tunnel and chamber that could not serve a purpose had cleverly been walled up with thick slabs of stone, making them appear just like another part of the rockface; some of the handiwork was so seamless in fact that Maurice, at times, had to look twice to even notice it. Any drop or slight unevenness of the ground was compensated by either more mahogany steps or smooth paving, and even the air wasn't as stale, dry or musty as one would expect from a place like this, as mild drafts from inlets on some of the deeper recesses were flowing in to cool it up plentifully.
And to make matters better for Maurice, the conveniences just kept piling up: it was obvious nobody had been down here in at least a while, as not one door he'd seen so far had been open. This made him smile and ease his gait; if he (and Clover, too, he assumed) couldn't go into any of the rooms, then it was reasonable to believe that neither could other people. Not only would this save them both even more time as they raked the place up, it also meant that their supposed target would be left out here in the open with nowhere to run or hide – and Maurice thought that whoever they were... they'd better pray Clover didn't find them first.
However, the royal advisor's peace didn't last. A little later, he came across a particular door after following a short pathway that strayed off the main course. This one read, in big, bold letters, "Archives and records – do not enter – authorized personnel only." Maurice stopped in front of it, eyeing it curiously. This had to be, without a shadow of a doubt, the single most important room of the grand nightclub, for it was where all business plans, every executive decision, and an untold plethora of diverse files were stored, among many, many others; none of them ever meant to be accessed by anyone but a few select employees – and even then, with reservations. Maurice didn't think much of it, though; after all, why would this room be any different from all the locked ones from before? It didn't make any sense to him, so he went for it.
Unhurriedly, he reached out for the doorknob. Then, he turned it... and the mechanism gave a distinctive click.
It was unlocked.
Maurice gasped and released the knob as if it had burned his hand. Why was it unlocked?!
His heart skipped a beat, and he dared not to touch the wood again; for a moment, the urge to get out of there as fast as his legs could go struck him, but he quelled it by taking a series of deep, long breaths. He then tried to rationalize an explanation for this: maybe the worker in charge of locking down the place, in a hurry or an unlucky fit of forgetfulness, had just missed this one room...
Yes. That had to be it. The door itself was in perfect condition, with no signs of forced entry; that helped calm Maurice even more as he raised his hand again to push it open. Dim golds from the hall slowly threaded in as it did, countering some of the absolute darkness inside, and Maurice felt himself shiver. It was then that he truly, truly wish Clover were here with him – she wouldn't have hesitated to march right in and face whatever dangers could be lurking in there head-on. However, the aye-aye had neither her bravery nor her fighting skills, so the farthest he was willing to venture was just below the threshold, where the light still reached him, in order to look for a light switch.
His right arm crept along the wall; soon his fingers were sliding on what he could tell was a panel of varnished wood. A second later, they found a tiny bump on it, which he flicked. The lights came on, bathing the room in cold white fluorescence. Much to Maurice's relief, there was no one there.
"Oh! It's... empty." He chuckled to himself. "Don't know why I expected anything else..."
He could've just turned the lights back off, close the door, and move on; after all, he wasn't done searching through the facilities yet, and there was nothing of value to him in this room either. All it had was a tall filing cabinet that occupied most of the wall to his right, stacks of cardboard boxes tidily arranged on shelves to his left, and a desk with a chair at the back. But then, he saw something that piqued his attention: one of the drawers on the cabinet wasn't closed properly, as if left there haphazardly after using it. Maurice, well-versed in the tedious world of paperwork, found this quite intriguing – forgetting to secure both the door and such top-secret files wasn't just sloppy work, it was downright negligence of the highest order!
Slitting his eyes, he decided to come in. He knew of the risks of meddling with club property, but this was just too odd to ignore.
The aforementioned drawer was on a row a bit taller than he was, so he picked up the chair from behind the desk, and put it in front of the cabinet so he could reach it. When his toes touched the cushion, however, his brows scrunched with bewilderment. What the...?
Just to be sure, he took his foot off, then laid both hands upon the red fabric, confirming his suspicions.
The cushion was warm. Someone must've sat on it recently.
Suddenly on edge, the black lemur cast a drawn glance at the doorway – and saw nothing but vacant walls staring back. Heard nothing but roaring silence. He waited till he was sure it was safe to climb on the chair, whereupon he fully opened the drawer, peeking out of the corner of his eye every so often as he looked into the rows and rows of folders contained therein. Right off the bat, he noticed one of the slots used to sort and hold them in place was empty.
"Hmmm... that doesn't look right..." he whispered as he began to skim through them. Whichever priceless corporate secrets these folders hid was of no interest to the king's advisor; he only wanted to know what particular field was inscribed in their documents.
He quickly obtained the answer: the beauty pageant. Every folder in the drawer was related in some way to it, sorted alphabetically by categories. The empty slot was from the "I" section – "Inscriptions & Profiles." Since Maurice couldn't find the missing piece anywhere, he deduced that it had to be the sign-up sheet – the very same one Clover and all the other challengers had written their names on two nights ago – along with more files of similar bracket.
Puzzled, he slid the drawer shut (correctly this time), jumped off the chair to return it to its previous spot, and then closed the door before leaving the archives behind.
"Just what is going on here...?" he began thinking out loud as he carried on down the hallway, "Where could they have taken that folder? And for what? That list shouldn't be of much use anymore, now that everything's been set for a couple days... unless..."
His pace came to a grinding halt, comprehension slowly digging into his bones. Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock, and he uprooted himself and continued walking at an increased pace, skipping every remaining door in his way. He was now heading straight for his original objective: the green room. With guidance from the wall placards, he was able to find it easily. Its door was located inside a small antechamber that followed a left turn from a preceding corridor; a dead end. There were no more paths to take beyond this point, so the aye-aye managed a little smile – all he had to do now was try out the handle on that door over there and (presuming everything on Clover's end had gone alright as well), then they could finally get out of these gods-forsaken tunnels. A few shots of whiskey to talk things over would definitely do him some good.
Therefore, he hurried up to the green room full of zest... yet right as he went for the knob, something stopped him dead in his tracks. He glanced around the chamber; for a moment, he believed his hearing had to be deceiving him.
But, as he found out when he pressed an ear against the oak, it wasn't.
"Ha ha ha...! My, you're such a kidder! I can only imagine what it must be like to oversee such a prestigious event; I wouldn't even know what to do with myself!"
"Oh well, he he, there's definitely harder jobs out there... but this one does have its pros. For starters, I can have all the free wine I want!"
"Ha ha ha ha, indeed! And let's not forget this one as well..."
"Huh? Er, yes, o – of course! Just give me a second to fish it all out. Aaand... there. Your pen and paperwork. Feel free to take all the time you need; I'm not going anywhere."
"Hmmm... I'll take you up on that, stud."
"Oh, and please, do be subtle about it; I'm kinda putting my neck on the chopping block by letting you do this without the others' consent. Actually, I'm not even sure we should be doing it without getting word from the hospital first."
"Well, yeah, that'd be lovely... though I'm afraid I have to insist. As I told you, I'm a very busy woman with an even busier schedule, so I cannot afford to wait any longer. Surely a nice gentleman such as you can understand that..."
Choking back a horrified gasp, Maurice tore himself away from the door.
By the gods!
Clover found herself facing yet another inaccessible room. Groaning in annoyance, she let go of the handle and tried the opposite door, only to get the exact same result. There was no good guess as to how many doors like this she must've already passed – these halls were all so much alike, it felt as though she were walking in circles. Now she was beginning to think about how much of a pointless waste of time coming down here had been.
Regardless, she didn't want to stay here a minute more than she had to, partly because of the futility of her actions, but mostly because she was worried about Maurice. It had been a while since they'd parted ways... On second thought, she probably shouldn't have left him alone, with no means of defending himself, or at the very least, a way to stay in touch. Not long ago, she'd found a storeroom which could have held something useful for both, but lamentably, it also had been locked – much like everything else here, it would seem.
"Dammit..." she mumbled, trying the next door in line. She was, unsurprisingly, not successful. She looked back the way she had come, then at the rest of the hallway that was yet to be cleared, and sighed grimly. She didn't want to give in just yet, but this foul feeling eating away at her insides was becoming unbearable. What if Maurice had already encountered the attacker? Was there even one here at all?
She hadn't made up her mind about what to do, when all of a sudden, a distant noise reverberated around the walls behind her: a voice, steered on by footsteps. Whomever they belonged to, they were obviously in quite the hurry.
"Clover! Clover, where are you?"
It was Maurice – he sounded deeply stressed, yet refrained, as though he wanted to shout but couldn't out of fear of being heard. Alarmed, Clover immediately left the hall she was in and followed the aye-aye's voice to locate him. "Maurice!" she called back, breaking into a frantic sprint, "Maurice, I'm over here! I'm coming!"
When her stout friend rounded the corner mere moments later, sweating and huffing and puffing, he gave her no time to ask him what was going on – he just threw himself into her arms before he gripped her by the wrists and wouldn't let go, babbling wildly.
"Goodness, Clover, you – you're not gonna believe this! You were right! Oh gods, you were right all along! We're not alone in here!"
"What?!" She blinked at him, eyes bulging. "Ho – hold up, mate; calm down! What happened?! Did someone hurt you?"
The aye-aye rapidly shook his head. "No, no, no! I – I'm fine! I just need to... catch my breath." He dug his hand into the thick patch of white fur on his chest, his face red from the strain. When he was sound enough to stop panting, Clover squatted down to his shorter height.
"Okay, now tell me, nice and slow: what did ya see?" she inquired.
"Man, I... I didn't see anything; I just heard it!" he replied slowly, "In the green room, voices, two of them – a guy and a girl – and they somehow know about the bathroom incident! Obviously, I didn't stick around long enough to find out who they were, but I'd bet my whole damn career they're up to no good!" Clover was staring at him like she couldn't believe her ears. "Yeah, and get this: I went into the archives before that 'cause they were open for some reason, and there was this – this folder with all the pageant candidates missing! ...But I think I know where it is."
At his words, dark shadows danced across the bodyguard's face, causing Maurice to release his grip on her. "...A... girl...?" She couldn't pronounce a word more; her voice had stalled in her throat, and it became a little harder to breathe. Suddenly, all she could hear was her own heartbeat pulsing in her temples like the ferocious reveille of a war drum. Her anguished gaze fell to the floor.
"...Hey, don't get too ahead of yourself," Maurice said then – he could tell what was going on through her head at the moment. "We can't know for sure it's her until we get there – so until we do, we're gonna keep an open mind and a leveled head, alright?"
She only nodded, as though she'd barely heard him. Smiling sympathetically, he raised her chin on his gentle fingers. "Come on, let me hear you say it."
"...Alright." Her voice came out low and strangled as she looked at him. "Show me."
"...Well, there you go, Miss – you're now part of the official Club Xanadu Beauty Pageant. Congratulations!" the man behind the door declared, ignorant of the other lemurs' presence on the other side. A chink of glasses rang out afterwards. "I really hope you'll find your time with us to your liking... even if we had to meet under such sad circumstances. I mean, this just happened so... out of nowhere, you know? And it's a shame, 'cause I personally thought Miss..." He paused for a bit, and shuffling papers were heard. "Um, what was her name again...? Oh, yeah – Gracie – had potential. She was such a cutie-pie – and so kind and witty, too, when me and the boys talked to her the night of the inscriptions. She must be feeling so bad right now..."
"I know it's hard, dear, but you gotta look on the bright side: that open spot had to be taken at some point anyway, and I know you'd just hate to see it go to waste, wouldn't you?" the second voice, the female one, spoke – Clover, in her eagerness to learn whom it belonged to, put her ear up to the door so fast she almost crashed into it.
"Shhh! Careful!" Maurice whispered.
"Well... yeah." The male voice chuckled, seemingly persuaded. "I guess she'd be happy to know her role's being filled by someone as interesting and reputable and, dare I say... attractive as you, Miss Beverly. I know I would."
Clover, bemused, glanced down at Maurice. "'Beverly?' That name sound familiar to ya?"
He thought it out for a moment, then shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."
"Oh ho ho, what a charmer you are!" the woman cackled, "But come on, I think we're way past formalities now, aren't we? We're practically best friends already – just call me 'Bev' from now on."
Clover glowered at the voices. The male one she recognized with no issue: it was high-pitched and soft-spoken, laced with a certain bashfulness. The female one, however, was a lot harder to pin down, although it relieved her tremendously that it didn't match Crimson's in nearly any way. It had no accent that she could tell, and it was higher and not as sultry as her twin's, yet still had a discernible element of sensuality to it. Overall, there was something about it; something foreign, yet oddly familiar, like the distant call of a long-lost memory, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
From the baffled look on his face, Maurice seemed to share her opinions, too. "Wait a second. That guy... Is that... Willie?" he asked her, his right temple glued to the door.
"It must be; I don't know any other man who sounds that effeminate besides Mort," she muttered, "And he obviously ain't the one we're looking for."
"...So are Willie and that woman in cahoots or something? But why? What on earth is going on here, Clover?"
"No idea, but that lil' pipsqueak and his new girlfriend better have a good explanation for all this," she growled quietly. Maurice gulped; the killer glare she gave the door could've burned holes through steel.
"Oh, and before I forget – here, take this," the golden bamboo lemur proceeded, "It's a brochure for the contest; they give one to each participant. Read it, and you'll know everything there is to know... but, uh, to give you a quick heads-up now so you don't go in blind – it'll be held this Saturday at 9:00 PM, although I'd recommend you arrive about an hour or so earlier, 'cause we'll be hosting a little party before the opening ceremony and stuff. It's not much; just you girls, us members of the board, the MC and her co-host, and a bunch of VIPs, but it'll be fun. Er, companions are permitted too, in case you wanna bring someone along. You know, a family member, a close friend, a mentor who might've helped you, a lover..."
"Lover, huh?" The mysterious woman giggled. "Maybe there's something we can do about that!"
"Er, what? Oh, no, no, no! I didn't mean it that way! It was only a – a suggestion," he countered timidly.
She chuckled in amusement. "No sweat, honey; I can tell when a boy fancies me hard. You haven't taken your eyes off me the whole time we've been here, he he..."
"I haven't? I'm sorry; it's just that-
"Hey, ain't no shame in it! Matter of fact, I do like you too. You're much nicer than most of the guys I've been with."
"Re – really?"
"Yeah. They were alright, I guess, but they didn't have what it takes to keep a girl of my stature hooked for very long. You, on the other hand... you're something else. Kind, funny, understanding, a good listener... You don't find that very often – which is why I'm actually really looking forward to seeing you again this Saturday. I'm sure we'll have one hell of a good time, you and I..." she purred flirtatiously, succeeded by another sharp chink. "Well then, it's been a great pleasure doing business with you, sweetie. I wish I could stay, but it's getting late, and I've got sooo many errands to run I don't even know where to begin!" she exclaimed. "Thank you so much for your help!"
"You're... you're welcome." Now there was a slight cadence of disappointment in Willie's voice, which he masked as he added, "I just hope you'll have enough time to put something together before the big night, because let me warn you, Bev: as much as I bet you'd make one damn fine beauty queen, you're up against some pretty stiff competition, ha ha ha!"
She gave a conceited laugh. "Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it? Besides... I've got means to make things go my way. Believe me."
"Oh, I do! By the way, you sure you don't wanna spare five more minutes to finish the wine?" he asked quite brazenly.
"...Well..." She was speaking so softly now, Maurice and Clover had to strain their ears to catch what she was saying. "Actually, there is one more thing I'd like to do before I go. Get up and come over here, please."
"Uhhh, here?"
"Perfect."
Suddenly, Willie let out a startled yelp, and then... nothing. Only empty, smothering silence. The king's co-workers glared at each other with worry, but right when they were about to call his name, another sound came – a wet, tender smack, like that of lips separating.
"Holy-!" The judge's voice returned, sounding as shocked as it was out of breath. "Bev! What – what are you-
"Shhh. Just a little something to remember me by. If I win this contest, I promise I'll reward you with something much, much better..."
An aghast Maurice perked his eyebrows. "Sweet baby Frank... are we still sure that chick's not your sister?" he murmured to Clover.
"She can be the bloody Tooth Fairy for all I care – I am done with this garbage!" she hissed furiously, "Get ready, mate, we're going in!"
He nodded obediently, bracing himself. He didn't know what kind of sick, twisted game Willie was playing here, but that man had absolutely no right to do any of the things he had just done. Somebody had to stop him. Together, they counted down from three – when they reached zero, Clover's hand shot for the doorknob. However (perhaps to not much surprise), it hardly moved an inch, revealing that the door had been locked from the inside. With a labored groan, Clover tried to force it open, turning the knob as far as it would go and leaning her entire body in to apply more strength, but all that did was risk damage to the mechanism, so she abandoned the idea.
"What the-?!" Willie shouted, scared by the noise. The realization that he'd been caught red-handed seemed to dawn on him almost instantly. "Oh no! Not now! Oh please, not now!"
"Willie!" the orange lemur barked, loud and fierce enough to let him know she wasn't playing around, "It's us, Clover and Maurice! Open up; we know you're in there!" She pounded on the door. "C'mon, I swear we just wanna talk!" Not obtaining a response, she did it again, even harder. "Hello?! Answer me, dammit!"
But he could not. Fear had obviously gripped him like a cruel vise – he squealed out as if he'd been pricked with a needle and apparently tripped on something from the jolt, as a jarring clash of wood and glassware resounded throughout the room, and then he began to snivel and mewl to himself about his misfortunes like an immature child.
"Oh no! Oh gods! Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods! Not her – anyone but her!" they heard him cry to the other person, "What...? You've heard of her? Well, then you'll know how terrible an idea it is to make her mad! Oh, I knew I shouldn't have listened to you – you business types are nothing but trouble! What do I do, what do I do?!"
"Start by opening this door and maybe I won't get any madder!" the bodyguard demanded, "And who's that girl in there with you?!"
"Uhhh, she's... she's nobody – just an old friend of mine who came to visit! She, uh, lives in the mainland so I don't get to see her very often! But, um, don't worry, she was just leaving!"
"Oh, is that so?" Maurice contradicted, "That's funny, 'cause if memory serves me right, there are no lemurs in the mainland, genius! So do tell us... why are you lying?"
"Man, not you too... Gah, I'm so boned!" he kept whining, completely ignoring the question. He was so skittish and easy to frighten on an average day, that now that he was cornered, he sounded on the verge of having a full-on panic attack. "Er – Bev!" He turned all his attention to the mysterious woman then. "You gotta help me out here, please! Tell them what you've told me – I'm sure they'll understand this isn't what it looks like! Please, I don't wanna get fired, I love this job! Come on, say something!"
And that she did.
"It's okay, Clover; Willie here doesn't mean any harm," she purred suddenly, "He's just a bit... overzealous. Ask him to do anything and he'll run through hell and back to please you, no questions asked. Such an adorable cinnamon roll he is... Hee hee, I could just eat him up!" Her tone was impossibly calm, as if none of this mattered to her in the slightest. "Now, why don't you and your pal stop sticking your noses where they don't belong and leave us alone, huh? We'd like to finish our wine in peace, if you don't mind." Chuckling, she added, "Actually, I'd tell you to get yourself some at the bar too – you know, for the nerves – but what's the point? You'd just end up making a mess of it like you did your last drink..."
This drove all ire from the bodyguard's face. She and Maurice looked at each other – and now, the one frowning was him.
"How does she...?" he murmured. When she shrugged and said she didn't know, he turned to the door again and rapped on it with his spread-open palm. "Hey, listen here, lady; I don't know who you are or why you've been spying on us, but this little game of yours is over! We have reason to believe you had something to do with that recent mess in the bathrooms upstairs – which I'll remind you would be a very serious crime – so unless you wanna rot in a moldy prison cell for the next half-decade, you will open this door immediately!"
Clover beamed with pride at the words of her friend. For such a typically tolerant and tranquil soul, seeing him exercise his authority this strictly was almost unreal.
"Blah-blah-blah! Do what you will, buddy; you don't scare me. Hell, you can even bring your dumb pushover excuse for a king to see what he thinks if you want; I don't care!"
"How dare you?!" Angered by the woman's disparaging comment, Maurice seized the doorknob in both of his hands, then rammed his right shoulder into the wood a few times, though nothing came of it except him hurting himself. "Ow, dammit!" he moaned, clutching the sore spot as he held gazes with Clover, who was trembling and fuming with incendiary rage. "It won't budge; the wood's too strong! We're never opening this thing without the key."
"Yeah, and guess who has it..." she hissed. Now she knew it. She knew that voice. She hopelessly wanted to keep herself cool-headed, lest she lose control again, but her patience had reached its limit. "Argh, to hell with this!" she screamed, "Maurice, go back to the main floor and warn King Julien of what's going on here! Hurry! I'll deal with our guests in the meantime!"
The advisor nodded, shaken by the murderous look on her face. "O – okay! Don't do anything too crazy!" he cautioned her before running off, while Clover cracked her knuckles. If those two weren't going to comply, she'd just have to do things her own way...
She brough her fist down on the hardwood, hard enough to splinter it. "Willie! Listen here, you bumbling buffoon: I'm only gonna give ya one more chance to come clean! You've got five stinking seconds to let me in that room, or I swear I'm gonna bust in myself and kick your sorry arse to kingdom come!"
"Wow, she sounds serious... You should do what she says before she loses it..." the other girl calmly reflected. "No? Oh well. Your funeral." With wicked delight, she said to Clover, "He still doesn't wanna do it; I think he's too afraid of you! Heh, you should see his face right now – poor guy looks like he's about to wet himself!"
"SHUT UP!" Clover bellowed at the top of her lungs. "Ya wankers don't wanna listen?! Fine – you asked for it!"
She really didn't want to do this, but she was too far gone in her wrath to care about alternatives now. She stepped back from the door, aiming for its weakest point: right above the lock. Then, with a furious cry, she unleashed a frontal push kick with her right leg – an attack that bore so much speed and power, that the heavy oak virtually stood no chance. The door was breached instantly, colliding against the wall of the green room with a gigantic bang as a hazel cloud of dust and shredded bits from the jamb showered the air. When this debris settled, Clover stormed in.
She found herself inside a large chamber, readapted into a sumptuous lounge for performers to relax between shows. It was presided by an enormous wool rug on its center, over which sat a coffee table surrounded by a lavish array of armchairs and sofas, each made of some of the finest woods and velvets in Madagascar. Willie had curled up inside one of these, and he, unable to meet the bodyguard's frenzied gaze, was covering his face in his hands. The lost folder Maurice had told her about lay next to him on the cushion. A little further away, overturned on the otherwise-spotless carpeting, was an end table and a broken wine bottle. Down by the corner, the room had its very own bar, not huge by any measure, but nonetheless supplied with all the beverages one could dream of. Ornamental items, such as colorful oil paintings, stills of the nightlife scene, Ankara tapestries displaying gorgeously complex patterns, and traditional tribal masks hung on all four walls.
And yet, none of this intrinsic beauty could distract Clover from the despicable image of the woman who stood at the other end of the room, staring up into one of the tapestries with pretended admiration, and a near-empty glass of wine in her hand. She took one last sip of the ruby-red drink, then turned around to face Clover – and at that moment, it seemed as though the world itself came to a complete standstill.
"Well, hello there, Clover. Long time no see..."