The heavy doors swung open, and the troupe stepped into the Vacation Excavation resort lobby. The transformation from rough cave to polished luxury was immediate and jarring.
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Every surface gleamed with ivory inlay, marble columns, and gold fixtures, as if the word "ostentatious" wasn't just difficult to spell but existed solely as a compliment. The chandelier overhead dripped with crystals that had no business being in a cave, catching the light of what appeared to be imported sunshine from some enchanted source.
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To their left, a doorway opened into a vast cavern that seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness. Row upon row of lockers lined the walls, columnated and numbered, creating a labyrinth of gilded metal doors that disappeared into the gloom. Each locker bore a brass plate polished to mirror-shine, because apparently even temporary storage needed to make a statement.
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Directly ahead stood a concierge behind an ornate marble podium, her smile stretched so impossibly wide across her face it looked as though it had been applied with a trowel. Her eyes gleamed with an enthusiasm that suggested either genuine delight or a concerning amount of enchanted beverages. She wore a uniform so heavily embroidered with gold thread it probably weighed more than she did.
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"WELCOME! WELCOME TO THE VACATION EXCAVATION!" she practically sang, her arms spreading wide in greeting, revealing sleeves that jangled with decorative bracelets. "Where relaxation is EXCAVATED from the very BEDROCK of luxury! How may I make your stay absolutely SUBLIME today?"
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Tim's helmet tilted slightly, taken aback by the sheer force of cheerfulness radiating from the woman.
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Beside her stood a number of imposing Muscle Sprouts, their bulbous forms flexing rhythmically as they waited beside what appeared to be a wooden elevator. The platform was a rickety wooden cage affair, all mismatched planks and creaking rope, looking wildly out of place among the marble and gold.
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To their right sprawled the beach, or what the wealthy Tightees had decided constituted a beach. Imported sand, clearly carted in from somewhere far above ground at tremendous expense, had been spread across the cave floor in a careful simulation of seaside luxury. Lounge chairs dotted the false shore, each one upholstered in fabric that probably cost more than a Mightee's annual wage. Patrons reclined with the casual entitlement of those who'd never questioned whether beaches belonged underground, sipping drinks garnished with tiny umbrellas and fruit that definitely didn't grow in caves. Somewhere, a gramophone played what ocean sounds, though it occasionally skipped which kind of ruined the ambience.
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"Quite the setup," Matilda murmured, her eyes scanning the locker cavern with equal parts scholarly interest and barely concealed disdain.
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"It's like someone described 'holiday' to someone who'd never left a cave, and they just... did this," Eric added, gesturing at the elaborate absurdity of it all.
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"Right then," Tim said, still clutching the pen marked 2_5. "We need to work out which locker or room this belongs to."
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Socrates squeaked from inside Tim's helmet, his antennae twitching at the overwhelming sensory assault of forced luxury, fake sunshine, and the distant creak of the elevator's dodgy pulley system.
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