Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 4, around 16:50 (shortly after Diego assigns Klaus the responsibility of watching over Stan and his cleaning 'punishment').
Suggested soundtrack: Asaf Avidan / The Mojos - Reckoning Song ; Carbon based lifeforms - Supersede. TW: aftermath of the 'fight' between the Sparrows and Harlan, reference to drug and alcohol use.
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April 4 2019, 03:35 pm
What the hell just happened to me? I'm a little dazed as I finally pass through the revolving doors of the Hotel Obsidian. No, it's not because of another Kugelblitz pulse. It's because of this unexpected visit from Christopher, and the idea of perhaps taking him tonight to see Granny: almost as an act of defiance against Hargreeves and against the end of the world.
Despite this hazy state, the overwhelming smell of burning in the lobby hits me as I approach the horseshoe-shaped console of the telephone switchboard. My eyes immediately focus, as if I'm snapping back to reality, and this observation tells me a bit more about the 'altercation' that Chris mentioned.
On the side of the central hallway leading to the elevators and the grand staircase, a banner from the Mahjong tournament hosted this morning on the ground floor has clearly fallen victim to a fire. Its ashes are everywhere, and the carpet is stained in places with fluids I'd rather not try to identify. Listlessly, the old bellhop in yellow is shampooing it. And on the floor of the bar, which had been rearranged for the tournament, countless Mahjong tiles are scattered. The 'Film noir couple' has already reclaimed their spot, both being served yet another cocktail, as if they weren't even bothered by their surroundings. On the staircase, the 'Furry ladies', as I call them, are climbing up, cuddling their white cats.
Listing everything wrong with this hotel seems pointless, and almost distressing, so I clear my mind. I can't believe that Viktor could have committed a violent act, even if I've seen what he's capable of, in the FBI building, in Dallas. But he's not in the same mindset at all today. No, really, something's off, something Chris was too devastated to show me. I feel somewhat overwhelmed. Yet - suddenly, in the corner of my eye - something catches my attention.
A mustard-colored shirt with foliage patterns, pine-green pants. Trotting behind Diego's son who's pushing a small cart, Klaus is making his way into the elevator.
*Crack!*
In the blink of an eye, I'm in the elevator with them, startling young Stan, who lets out a small yelp in his cracking voice. Unbelievable. Diego managed to get himself a son without having to endure the diaper phase, sleepless nights, and constant colds. Meanwhile, I got to experience all of that shit through the ceiling, when the neighbor downstairs had her third brat.
"Oh damn", Stan says, clutching his chest against the elevator wall, as if his young heart might have given out. "You gotta warn me when you do that, Nightcrawler, you nearly scared me to death."
I raise an eyebrow. I had enough of those kinds of X-Men comparisons in middle school, thanks: I don't need him to bring back that feeling of mockery. I won't retort, it's pointless to argue with a preteen, so instead I ask:
"You got hired by Chet? Is the housekeeping staff on strike?"
Klaus sighs theatrically. He didn't even flinch at my appearance. He's been used to it for so many years, and besides, he's busy filling a small bottle with household cleaner, which I gently take from his hands and put back down.
"No, it's babysitting with community service... Diego forced me to watch over this budding troublemaker: playing housekeeper is his punishment for burning a flag. When I think of all we did - back in the day - in the arson department."
Stan grumbles as the elevator doors close and it starts moving:
"It's unfair. He's the one who made those Mazeltov cocktails, and he blames me for using them."
"It's Molotov, Stanley. And that term has a wild history involving Soviet 'lunchboxes' and some fiery Finnish sarcasm. Look it up."
Ignoring his attempt to pedagogy, I blink, trying to piece things together.
"Klaus... what exactly happened with the Sparrows..."
From the way he shakes his head, I can tell he doesn't know the details, but he looks horrified.
"I showed up after the surprise party, but..."
He sighs and counts on the fingers of his 'Goodbye' hand.
"There are two Sparrows in the afterlife, one who apparently got kugel-atomized, another who's inconsolable... and the rest bolted, including the version of you that plugs in via USB."
"Was it Viktor?"
Klaus leans against the wall of the slowly ascending elevator, looking genuinely weary and exhausted, but he unfortunately understands why that hypothesis is the first thing to come to my mind.
"I was afraid of that too, but: no. No, it was an old man who did it. That old man who used to be a kid, before."
"What?"
This sentence might seem like mere drunken nonsense, but I know Klaus. There's always some truth in his bullshit: you just have to figure out what. Stan isn't really paying attention and starts rummaging through the various cleaning products and tools on the cart, while Klaus sways slightly from side to side with a small flail of his hand.
"Yeah, you know. That little Texan kid who wore bermuda shorts and nice shirts, freshly ironed by his mom, just to blow up haystacks because Viktor had contaminated him with his power, somehow..."
My eyes widen.
"Harlan?"
He points both index fingers at me.
"Yep, that's it, Marlon."
*Ding!*
I remain stunned as the elevator doors open on the first floor. Had Viktor never fully managed to free poor Harlan from the Marigolds that had been transferred to him? Did he use them to find us? Indeed, by now, he would already be old. I'm starting to feel terrified by the chaotic and lethal turn events are taking.
"That's awful", I say as Stan pushes the cart down the hallway, Chris's emotions coming back to me.
"It was a nightmare. Worse than a Costco meat sale on Black Friday."
I shake my head, closing my eyes.
"Okay, spare me the details, please..."
Stan doesn't seem traumatized by what he's probably seen. I wonder what this kid's life was like before he ended up here. I have serious doubts about whether he's really Lila's son. She herself still seems far too juvenile in her actions to have plausibly had all that life experience. But in the end, that's her and Diego's story: it's none of my business.
I let the kid wander off, and I grab Klaus by the arm. He seems downcast, in that restless and drunken way he gets when he's struggling to hold himself together. The last time I saw him like this was after Dave punched him. So, I ask him what probably should have been my first question:
"How did it go with your father?"
From a distance, he signals to Stan to check the list for which rooms need cleaning, then leans his head down toward me.
"He had nothing to do with our mothers' deaths. He's turned into a harmless senior citizen who reminds me of your grandmother in her bathrobe in front of her TV. A less divinely sharp version of Granny, and more doped up on opioids."
I look up slightly. I know what he's talking about, because Chris told me the same thing. The Sparrows drug Reginald Hargreeves to keep him from harming them and to control him themselves.
"Drugging Dad," he sighs. "It's both unacceptable and brilliant. I wonder how we never thought of it."
Unfortunately, the answer is clear to both him and me: they were all far too manipulated and mistreated for that. Stan rummages through the large set of keys, trying in vain to find the one for room 103. And Klaus just shrugs.
"This time, I'm sure of it, Rin: he's very different from his old self. He kind of reminded me of one of those bedraggled pigeons in Argyle Park, missing a few toes. I felt sorry for him, so I showed him an old rehab trick to stash the pills and then spit them out later. I think he loves me now."
"Klaus, are you sure suddenly cutting him off is a good idea?"
On an ethical and human level, I understand: even the most despicable bastards shouldn't be sedated by their children. But I know, unfortunately, that's not why Klaus did it.
"He was super grateful. I even got ice cream: it's such an upgrade from the cookies. And every time he compliments me... it makes me purr."
This is what I feared. If Klaus had once focused his connection and affection starvation on the illusion of reconnecting with his mother, he's now entirely shifting it onto this apparently more indolent version of his father. He'll cling to the slightest sign of interest, of validation, diving into any hope given to him. And it breaks my heart that he's trying to compensate for that past relationship, considering all the abuses his father historically put him through. My shoulders sag weakly in helplessness.
"Take care of yourself, Klaus. Really."
He sighs, because we both know he sucks at that.
"Don't worry about me, Rinny. I've survived worse than a version of Dad who exposes us - I mean me and my intolerance — to lactose, and turns us into a major contributor to the greenhouse effect."
I shove my hands deeper into my pockets. Klaus doesn't realize that - behind the apparent harmlessness of the situation - the risk of him being thoroughly manipulated by Reginald is huge. I don't buy into the peaceful grandfather narrative at all, and for good reason: Reginald Hargreeves has just bribed the person he identified as the most experienced in substance withdrawal to handle his own.
And I find that despicable.
Because of him, Klaus grew up terrified by the large numbers of ghosts his father exposed him to in cemeteries - over and over again - without ever being given the tools to control his power. It's also because of him that Klaus felt such relief when he broke his jaw at twelve, discovering that painkillers numbed the visions and the voices. It's because of him, too, that he slipped into stronger and stronger substances right under his monocle, using the money from pawning his father's precious artifacts. And Reginald never did anything about it, other than kicking him out and cutting him off financially when the Academy dissolved, forcing Klaus to fund his habit in even sadder ways.
Hargreeves never managed what he created, and Klaus never really tried to stay clean once he left rehab, where he often found ways to get high or drunk anyway. The only times he actually got sober, he did it cold turkey - out of love and desperation, mostly - in a dangerous way that could have possibly killed him. And now, his father is taking advantage of this past to break free from the chemical control of his second batch of children?
So - no - I don't like the way Hargreeves has conveniently and opportunely gotten closer to him, baiting him with crumbs of validation and attention.
"He's a master manipulator", I simply tell him. "For you, it's just ice cream and farts, but he might be thinking three steps ahead."
Stan finally finds the right key, letting out a small victorious cry, and Klaus leaves me behind to join him, waving his hands dramatically in the air. I hate it when he ignores what I say, but I know that right now I'm clashing too much with his desires and hopes. And, as usual, he avoids it with a backflip of humor and absurdity.
"Or - maybe - he really is just an old man in a bathrobe, socially awkward, mistreated by his children, emotionally and sexually frustrated, with only one TV channel to watch. Rin-rin, seriously. If manipulating someone with ice cream worked, I'd be more worried about Ben & Jerry's than him."
I run my hand over my forehead. Sometimes, Klaus remains like a keyless door: I reach the limit of what I can do without forcing him, so I tell him:
"I just don't want you to end up an emotional wreck."
I can tell that, in some ways, it's already too late, as he picks up the little improvised flask filled with cleaning alcohol and adds:
"Don't worry. I'm the Michael Scofield of emotional escape."
I know that's not true, even though he always manages to appear publicly 'dysfunctionally functional', in a way that everyone assumes is just his normal state. But he won't listen to me any further, and he walks into the room that Stan just opened. Tiny, with a single bed framed by teal-blue wallpaper, it's been occupied since yesterday - like a few others - by participants in the Mahjong tournament.
That event was very strange, by the way. Because it happened right after I'd expressed my surprise to Klaus that none of the hotel rooms were occupied... and also because the tournament was called 'Mahjong Monday'... when we are definitely Thursday. It was as if the hotel itself had clumsily responded to my doubts, only serving to reinforce my suspicions. Those poor Mahjong players paid the price: they all seem to have fled after the altercation with the Sparrows, leaving behind abandoned rooms and coats. I glance around at the few belongings still here and let out a long sigh.
"I give up. I'm going to... try to find myself a new room."
Klaus wobbles as he turns around.
"Oh, that's right. You can't stand taxidermy anymore."
I blink. The truth is, I haven't returned to the White Buffalo suite since I realized that the motif of my tattoo decorated the pachinko machine. I can't sleep there anymore, and my back still aches from crashing onto the bar last night, next to Lila. I'd rather go in search of another room, even if it's less luxurious, where I might have a chance to feel okay: at least until the end of the world. I would have liked to pay for it myself, but the fact is, it was either that or my tattoo. I place a hand on the doorframe and glance at Stan, who is more interested in the contents of the forgotten handbag than in disinfecting the surfaces.
"Good luck with that punishment."
Klaus gives me a little 'Goodbye' wave with his left hand while shamelessly flopping onto the bed that isn't his.
"The preteen will do the actual work: I'm just here to supervise and throw in some witty comments. And I'm sure I can teach him a few clever tricks... after all, I'm officially his uncle now."
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03:55 pm
Wandering alone in the hotel almost feels good. In the silence. A new wave of Kugelblitz has passed, resonating deep within my bones, and I've just waited, like someone clinging to a dike to let the wave pass. The conversation with Klaus has left me feeling powerless, and I feel tossed around in a tremendous Hargreevism, like the ones that always precede the end of times. A bit worn out, I step out through the door of a room that's too big, with oppressive decor. Honestly, I can't wait to find a new place to crash.
Far - far away - from all things Hargreeves, Harlan, or White Buffalo.
I wander a bit longer on this floor, and I definitely don't like the layout of the rooms or the wallpaper. I can tell it wasn't Iggy who decorated them, even though his taste isn't really my own either. I check out another room, practically without a window. Then another, which is too noisy because it's near the ventilation room, I think.
So I take the elevator again and mechanically press the button for the top floor, just below the rooftop terrace where Klaus has come to drink many times during the wild parties of the past. A floor with few rooms and a couple of private lounges, according to the information plaque in the lobby. A floor where I had no reason to go.
*Ding!*
The elevator doesn't open onto a hallway, but onto a simple landing where the sharp, indescribable smell hits me immediately. The carpet is the same as that on the ground floor, with its large stylized stars harmonizing with the brown and gold wallpaper. The few lamps that illuminate the area are simple bluish glass spheres, arranged in groups of three.
I look to my right, then to my left. There's only one door: directly in front of me. I approach it. It doesn't open with a key, but with a small device on the side, that I guess is some sort of biometric scanner.
"Holy shit," I murmur, wondering where I've just stepped into.
This technology has nothing to do with the rest of the building, which is rather retro, even downright vintage. I look around again, my fingers tightening around the handle of my small bag, which hangs from my arm.
There's nothing special about the energy of this place. It's nothing like the strange impression I had in the White Buffalo suite. No vibrations, no unsettling energy buzz trying to keep me awake. Yet, I feel a strange sense that behind this door lies one of the Hotel Obsidian's best-kept secrets.
*Ding!*
Behind me, the second elevator arrives, and I jump, swiftly turning invisible and intangible: not out of reflex, but out of necessity. Someone is coming. I press myself against the wall to my right, more stealthy than anyone could possibly be, and I widen my eyes.
Unaware of my presence, in a slow, nonchalant gait, his long feather swaying behind him from his black hat... Iggy steps out of the elevator and crosses the landing.
If I were tangible, I would surely let out a gasp of surprise as I watch him lean toward the device, then straighten up as the door unlocks. It opens, releasing another wave of the sharp smell.
He walks into the dimly lit hallway that opens up ahead, removing his hat and tucking it under his arm.
He brings his free hand to the back of his head.
And just before the door shuts, in a way that I could have never - never - anticipated... I see him lift the back of his scalp... and begin to remove his skin.
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Notes:
You'll have understood: we are on the brink of some revelations about the 'residents' of Hotel Obsidian... but you might have already guessed what they are.
It isn't easy for Rin to watch Klaus being manipulated by Hargreeves, as he is desperately seeking some form of relationship and validation from him. At times, she reaches the limits of what she can do for him.
Did you notice the glitch regarding the 'Mahjong Monday' in the show, as named on the flags in the lobby? We know for certain that the return of the Umbrellas in 2019 occurs on April 2nd: a Tuesday. And by definition... two days after... is a Thursday.
Any comment will make my day!