#last night has been full of events! that I am still digesting. theater very good. hangin out with friends very good too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artificialqueens · 7 years

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Boston Chelsea Hotel Prologue (Trixya) - Evelyn

Hey everybody, it’s Evelyn here. Thank you so much for sticking with me until I fully translated the prologue. I worked my ass off to put this thing out today so here you have it! The prologue. Finally. Oh God, I’m loving this story. And please keep in mind English is not my first language, even if the lovely VicThirteen helped me a lot. Tysm boo!

Plot: Brian Firkus is a young make-up artist who works for a theater company in Boston, and lives at the Boston Chelsea Hotel. Everything is fine, except for his weird neighbor Katya, a mysterious girl who infests Brian’s life like a ghost. Until one day…

Prologue – Brian Firkus

I saw Katya for the first time on the 13th of April. I’ve never been a lucky person but I can say that, maybe, the sequence of unfortunate events that brought me to that hallway in the Chelsea Hotel in Boston that night of the 13th of April wasn’t that bad. If every tear, in hindsight, if every drop of blood and sweat, brought me to my actual situation, suffering was truly worth it. I don’t know why destiny chose me to live the extraordinary facts that I’ve experienced. Katya would say it’s God’s work. I don’t believe in him, in God. But I believe in myself now, and in her, who was, is, and forever will be, my rock, my dream, my inspiration. And I’ll be hers. Whoever isn’t ready to take this path with us, closes the book right away. But I beg you to stay! Let me reassure your faith. Because, even if everything seems over, and you see no escape, the light at the end of the tunnel may be you and yourself only. And so, our story begins on that 13th of April.

•••

The sky of Boston is completely obscured by a blanket of dark clouds, blocking the view of the sunset I love so much. It’s freezing cold outside but I’m comfortably sitting on the cab seat, warm, and I’m scrolling down my Twitter timeline trying to kill time and send a clear message to the driver: no chatting. It’s useless. “What a shitty weather, eh?” I roll my eyes: nothing more basic to start a forced conversation. I nod distractedly: “Yeah”. “Ah, but it’s not always like this in Boston. You’ll be fine!” “I hope so. I’ll have to stay here for a while in fact…” I say, locking my phone screen and adjusting myself on the seat. “And you live in a hotel? Man, ain’t the best choice.” “It’s not my fault, my boss sent me here… It’s better than living in the streets anyway. Or at my mom’s house, thank you”. Maybe I hit too close to home, because he doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the way. I’m not that bothered to be honest, and I end up reading the articles my iPhone news section randomly recommends me. I like being informed and I often find myself reading pages and pages of online newspapers, starting with Trump and ending on cows’ digestive systems (not that big of a difference anyway). The cab slows down, entering a square and skirting around a pretty flowerbed currently whipped by the ice cold rain that started falling about ten minutes ago. The cabbie unloads the car and leaves me alone under the awning of the hotel with a pair of suitcases, an umbrella and the change in my hand. The building is not particularly big or fancy, but it gives me a nice vibe. I sigh, hopeful, and I make my way to the revolving doors, entering the Chelsea Hotel of Boston for the first time. The hall is huge, almost empty, and I feel instantly welcomed by a warm air jet coming from above my head. The floor is white and light blue tiled, getting darker and darker as I approach the center of the room. Drop-like lamps hang from the ceiling, spreading a warm light all over. I leave my luggage next to the white wall and go to the reception area, where a guy in uniform is leafing through some papers. I clear my throat, going through my pockets as I look for my wallet. “Good evening and welcome to the Chelsea, I’m Chad Michaels. How can I help you?” “‘Evening… yeah, hm, I’m Brian. Brian Firkus, there should be a reservation under my name on behalf of the Wadley Management…”. The man’s eyes scroll down on the computer monitor, and after a few seconds he nods. “We were waiting for you, Mr. Firkus. We’re glad to have you here as our guest” he says kindly, turning away from me to take the room keys from the wooden wall behind him. I notice that almost every hook is empty, and I feel even more relieved: a good hotel is often full booked. He gives me the keys, attached to a heavy metallic rectangle with the initials BCH and the number 1580 and smiles again: “First floor… to your left you can find the lifts and your room is at the end of the hallway. You only have breakfast included, and the restaurant is open from 6 to 10 am. The reception is open 24/7 so, if you have any concerns, you can call on the hotel line. I hope you’ll enjoy our beautiful city!”. I shake Chad’s hand (he’s super charming) and go get my stuff dragging them into the lift. I get in and a minute later the doors open, showing me a glimpse of the hallway, and I’m shrouded in total silence. It’s around 8 pm so there’s no one around. Everybody’s probably at dinner or in the clubs, despite the bad weather. I’m totally exhausted. I just wanna jump into my bed and sleep for twelve hours straight. There’s nothing creepier than an empty hotel hallway, especially when it’s poorly lighted like this one. But the soft light instilles an incredible peace in me, and my shoes sink in the fuzzy moquette that softens with every step I take. I’m walking to my room now, sighing as I dip into my shoulder bag looking for the keys. I’m about to insert it in the keyhole when I hear the lock of the door next to mine springing, and I turn around to look at my neighbor. And I see her. The first thing that catches my eye is her eyelashes, big and fluffy (maybe fake? I can’t see well with this poor light…). She has full and wavy hair that hangs over her shoulders, covered by a voluminous furry coat, and she doesn’t seem to notice me at all while she closes the door. I think so because she’s so fascinating and beautiful and I’m an anonymous guy, really. She turns around to face the lift and it’s only then that she looks at me, her deep red lips curling in a mischievous smile. She brushes a lock of hair behind her bejeweled ear, revealing a knife-sharp cheekbone. It’s then that I notice two icy blue eyes like I’ve never seen. I’d bet that, in the sunlight, they would be even lighter. She blinks at me and turns around, long toned legs making their way to the lift despite the high heels. She’s as tall as me like that, and 5'8" is really something for a woman. She disappears as soon as the sliding doors close, and the last thing I glimpse are her gloved hands waving in my direction. I feel a weird tingling in my stomach, I can’t quite get it. There’s something… something different. I need to see that woman again, to know her name, there’s this incredible force that pushes me towards her. But I can’t chase her, I’m not the type. Her room is next to mine, I’m sure I will satisfy my curiosity soon. I shrug, finally entering the room, and I’m welcomed by a nice and fresh scent. I close the door behind me and instinctively let myself fall on top of the king sized bed, landing on the soft mattress. I get up on my elbows to look around, and exploring the room with my eyes I find it of a perfect size. From the entrance, to the left, there’s the bathroom and on the wall in front of it are the tv (I guess it’s 30 inches and LED), the mini bar and a big dark wooden wardrobe that will surely contain everything I’ll need. On my left, next to the French window, there’s a fine desk with a big mirror hung on top. The overall impression is really good and I smile fondly. It seems that my boss has decided to treat me well… at least for now. It’s better not to delude myself and, instead, have a nice hot bath to get rid of my moist clothes as soon as I can. After a couple of minutes I’m completely soaked into the water filled with bubbles and I take my time to think and reflect. I should be thinking about work, about what’s expecting me tomorrow, but the only thing I can focus on is my neighbor and her icy blue eyes. A weird feeling runs down my spine: the eyes should reflect our soul, and in hers I saw something different, like a sour note. No, not sour. A note out of place. Different. Something that shouldn’t be there, but I can’t wrap my mind around it. An adrenaline rush. I’m electrified, and it’s all about her and her ice cold glaze that touched me almost an hour ago. My stay here in Boston has suddenly become more interesting.

•••

I’m zapping through the tv channels, still wrapped in my bathrobe, while outside the rain has stopped and the night of Boston has become silent. It’s 11 pm and I should be unpacking (although I haven’t brought that much with me here, I plan on buying everything I’ll need. New life, new clothes!) and finally going to bed, but my will to do anything is completely gone and I decide to enjoy these last minutes of vacation before getting to know my new colleagues tomorrow morning. I would pay to not meet anyone, but unfortunately that’s impossible. I basically ran away from Milwaukee, my hometown, because I was sick of that scene; I was completely done. And my mother couldn’t help me that much, money wise. Since she left that bastard of my stepfather, we aren’t very rich. He was an infamous person, the worst I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing, but he supported us financially. Sometimes I still blame myself for what happened to us, it’s hard to accept someone else’s fault. I’ve always had the bad tendency to take responsibility for everything, and having an abusive, violent and intolerant stepfather around hasn’t helped that much. Even now, at 27, I can’t really be fair with my opinions or be respected as I would deserve to be. I often find myself wanting to do something and then ending up not doing it because of fear of others’ judgment. Letting go of years of insults and accusations grown in my brain like parasite plants is a real challenge that I know I can win, I just have to find the strength to fight. I get up sighing, turning the tv down and shuffling my feet as I approach my suitcases abandoned at the entrance, kneeling down to open them. I’m taking out the first pair of jeans when I hear quick steps out in the hallway, and the panting voices of two or three people. I hear them getting nearer and nearer, and then they stop right next to me. The door of the room 1582. The woman’s room. Why do these guys have the keys to her room? What do they want? Maybe she’s been robbed… but I shake my head a moment after: no, impossible. Chad, the receptionist, would have seen them. I’m sure he knows the face of every single client. And these people knew where they were going. It seems I won’t be getting the answers I crave, for now. I have to talk to that woman as soon as I can. Before her, no woman got my attention like that. No woman had shaken me like that. I smile bitterly while I think that maybe, if I had met my neighbor before, I wouldn’t have to get through everything I’ve lived. Maybe my stepfather would have stopped calling me names when I was a kid. I try to restrain those dark thoughts and I go back to the unpacking, because I suddenly wanna go to bed as soon as possible. In less than fifteen minutes I hear some strange noises coming from the 1582, as if there was a fight going on. I hear the bed squeaking when something heavy falls on top of the mattress. And then I’m blushing, suddenly aware of what’s about to happen, and I try to hear something more while my thoughts are absolutely confused. And, in the meanwhile, where the hell is that woman? The moaning I hear doesn’t seem feminine, but I could be wrong: I’m well aware that I’ve heard a woman’s moans like three times in my entire life and between me and the other room there’s always a concrete wall. Although the thick wall seems thin as paper and I lean on it lightly, as if I was scared to break through. I’m out of place. I’m superfluous. I shouldn’t be here. I depart from the wall, sitting on my bed, while my ears are full of the squeaking of the mattress and the heavy panting. What if every night is gonna be like this? I think, slightly worried. But no, it’s completely impossible, and I laugh nervously while I wear a comfy pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. I won’t think about it anymore. I go under the blankets, looking at my phone one last time to distract myself from the noises that keep reaching me from the other room: hot, wet against my ear, as if they were right next to me. I look at the phone clock: a couple of minutes before midnight. Here I am, I think, crossing my fingers, finally in Boston, and for now everybody seems to have fun except me. You have to stay positive, Brian, at least now, to stop thinking that everything’s gonna fuck up. You have a job, you sleep in a bed three times more comfortable than yours, they pay you a decent amount of money. And it’s all because you’re talented. Because you have something that others don’t have. Okay, you don’t believe how lucky you are to be here, but everything’s real for fuck’s sake. You’re in Boston, you’re miles and miles away from home, he’s not gonna find you here. You’re never gonna see him again. It’s been twelve years, Brian. Twelve. Relax. I breathe deeply, relaxing as I learned to. It’s really quite simple: I tighten every muscle in my body for a couple of seconds and then I let go, inert, as if I was a puppet with no ropes. With this easy technique I can always let go of tension and I feel better right after. I lay on my side, sinking my head in the scented pillow, and I turn off the lights. I’m so tired I can barely think, but when I close my eyes I see a thin silhouette wrapped in a furry coat, a pair of long legs and red lips. I fall asleep with the passion of those two lovers echoing into my ears and I’m sure, to my regret, I’m dreaming of her.

#trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #trixya #hotel!au #smut #genderbend #angst #tw abusive relationship #evelyn #rpdr fanfiction #submission #boston chelsea hotel #m/f au

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badabing-gabagool · 5 years

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When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie...

Hello from the fast train to Florence! The last few days have been so wonderful, and delicious! Here’s the rundown-

Wednesday I woke up in Bologna, and ventured out to find the canals that still exist here. That brought me up by the university district, which was full of students, and cute, colorful alleyways. Did you know Bologna has canals? They’re not used like they are in Venice, and are mostly covered up, but there are still portions you can see through a “hidden window”. Next stop was the Asinelli Tower, to climb all 498 steps to the top. What a beautiful day it was! Bologna is nicknamed La Rossa for a reason- terra-cotta roofs as far as you could see. Climbing down 498 tiny wooden steps was much more tedious than going up them, and I was about ready for lunch when I reached the bottom. I headed across town towards a restaurant a friend had recommended, and on the way, stopped in a vintage shop to check out a jacket (that I wound up buying). I made friends with the owner, and he ended up taking me out for lunch and drinks. He got to practice his English, I got to hangout with a local, and eat amazing tagliatelle. We parted ways after, and I headed back to my Airbnb to collect my things, and go to the airport to get my rental car. It was a mess getting there, a mess when I got there, but I did get the car, and was finally reunited with Barbara! Barbara and I became friends 3 years ago, when we were partnered up at Seabeck DeafBlind Retreat. We quickly realized we were soul sisters, and since then have taken a cruise together, hung out in LA, and partied again in Seattle. We headed to her house in Modena, and I quickly got used to driving in Italy.

Driving in Italy- same as New York or LA. Fast, aggressive, not many people use blinkers, no one cares about other cars or pedestrians, keep moving, and if you hesitate, you will be cut off or honked at. Always grateful I learned to drive in that, as it makes driving in other places much easier. I will say though, I really enjoy the nice driver I’ve become since moving to Portland, and I look forward to getting back and being kind to my fellow drivers.

We got back to Barbara’s house in Modena, and spent the night drinking wine, and catching up. The next morning, we headed to her new house that she’ll be moving into shortly, to check in on the painter. Her condo is great! And she’s painting each room a different bright color! (Told you we’re soul sisters) We grabbed lunch near her house after, and I had the best pizza I’ve had thus far- buffalo mozzarella, basil, prosciutto, and sun dried tomatoes. In Italy, it is normal for one person to eat a whole pizza to themselves! So that’s exactly what I did. Ate the whole damn thing. Afterwards we headed to the Ferrari museum, which I was reluctant to go to because I don’t give a fuck about cars, but Barbara said we should check it out. As expected, we both didn’t give a fuck, and were in and out within 15 minutes. She said the bigger museum was cooler, so we agreed to try again the next day. We then headed into central Modena, and oh my goodness is it beautiful. We snacked on street chestnuts, and cheered on college graduates celebrating in the street. Barbara is a terrific tour guide, and taught me a lot about the history of the city, and what the different buildings are. Here is what I learned-

The patron saint of Modena is San Geminiano. He died in 1100, and they have his body chilling in a stone coffin in the cathedral. 31 January is the day they celebrate him every year, so that week the take the lid off and you can stare at his dead preserved body. The Duamo of Modena (the cathedral) was built in 1111, and is now a UNESCO site. The municipal building and clock tower were built in 1300, and are still in operation. In February, different cities have a carnival, in which they wear region specific outfits and celebrate with regional foods. Pavarotti is from Modena, and many streets, bars, and theaters are named after him.

We got dinner at a place downtown, and holy. shit. We had tortellini in brodo (broth) and it was AMAZING. And then we had steak. Covered in balsamic vinegar. Made here in Modena. AND I AM CHANGED. It was the best most amazing steak I’ve ever had, and now I am ruined forever.

Yesterday we headed out to Barbara’s uncle’s balsamic vinegar company. It was started by her great great grandfather, and has been passed down each generation, now to Franco, her uncle. Her very cute cousin Francisco (who will one day operate it), gave us a tour, and explained the manufacturing process. I’ll make a separate post about that, because it’s lots of info and super fascinating!

We headed to lunch next, where we doubled down on our Italian and get pizza with pasta on it. And got a dessert pizza covered in Nutella. Because why not? We then checked out the other Ferrari museum (spoiler- still boring), and then went to see where the old Deaf residential school of Modena was housed, and where the current Deaf Club is housed. The Deaf Club of Modena has 300 members! We ended the night we traditional Modena food- gnocco fritto (delicious puffy bread) filled with prosciutto and different meats, and tigella, a flat roll that you fill with lard, cheese, or jams. We stayed up most of the night chatting, and had a bittersweet goodbye this morning. No worries, we are already making plans for our next reunion :)

This morning, after leaving Modena, I headed to Eataly, the giant food “amusement park”. I have been wanting to go here forever and it did not disappoint. It is a HUGE property, full of restaurants, bars, and shops, all focused on Italian food. Everything sold there is produced on site, so they have a big ass farm, cows, goats, pigs, chickens, and also a cheese making factory, brewery, winery, salami factory, chocolate factory, coffee roaster shop, candy making factory, rice processor, and more than I’m missing. This place is so big, you can rent bikes or electric scooters to get around it. They offer tours, classes, and food related events! I was on cloud 9, walking around with the stupidest smile on. I watched them make fresh mozzarella, and then ate a whole ball of it. I had a calzone filled with prosciutto and cheese, and a few pastries. The place is incredible. I can’t wait to come back with more time so I can digest, and then eat more. But alas, I had to drop of my rental car, and get my butt to Florence. So here I am, on my way to see my wonderful friend Val, training through the beautiful countryside. Italy is gorgeous. Every inch is quaint, and colorful, and exudes old magic. I am so happy to be here.

Cin cin! 🍻

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