They close the 80 meter gap between their landing point and their destination point fairly quickly.
Manus is the first to notice this, being ahead of the two would be daters and not entirely focused elsewhere. The clean, smooth stone of the building’s unpainted face is one of the first things he truly sees about it; and that, along with the lack of cracks or peels in the black lacquered foundation, makes him perk up considerably during their trek up the small but slightly steep hill the west side of the town sits upon.
It appears as though, for the most part, Olecastle’s Hotel is as new as the pamphlet says it is.
Baring in mind that the informational piece is a few years old (as was much of the brochures Hagen brought), the place looks very well kept for a five or so year old renovation. The slabs of stone encasing the first floor’s face is a clean, slate gray: matte but not rough to the eye or touch and lacking in significant debris.
Above it, on the roof, is a similar tiling—as though one or the other were picked to match.
A canopy hangs out over a series of bay windows sported by the front wall nearer to them as they approach. It’s weighed down and obscured by a pile of fluffy snow but the fringe is not; it appears to be a dark blue.
The same dark blue of the paint adorning the bay window’s frame.
But only the bay window’s frame. On the second floor, there’s a series of windows with white frames matching the white painted concrete of the second floor’s walls (which the trio finds an… interesting choice: why not have it all slate gray stone?). The window sills of these windows, of which there are three standing over the bay windows and three more standing over the front entrance, match the slate gray stone walls.
And upon these window sills are wrought iron bars—for safety, they assume—painted in dark blue.
(Like the canopy…)
It’s a bit of a strange choice, favoring fashion over function in Jarl’s opinion; but, then again, the sill is solid so why NOT add a coat of paint? The miniature fence won’t suffer a loss of function, then.
Who knows: maybe they were even smart about it and the paint is actually waterproof.
Regardless, their destination’s overall aesthetic seems to be a combination of royal blue and slate gray. “Smart,” Manus idly comments as they pause under the canopy to peer into the seven large bay windows, “Because the slate gray matches the commonly overcast sky but pops a bit more than the surrounding buildings; and when you add the boldness of the blue paint, the hotel really stands out in the street.
“Especially,” he continues, starting back towards the front entrance which is tucked away underneath and behind a grand entry archway, “When you add their choice in signage.”
He indicates the lettering he’s referring to as they approach the archway. Ordinarily, Jarl wouldn’t really care for these kinds of details—they’re a bit too out of his depth as a carpenter who focuses more on the build rather than the look—but, in this case (and due to how Manus explained his thoughts on it), he can agree.
Above the entry arch, both on the first floor and farther above it on the second floor (just under the roof), spans the golden title signs of the building, each letter highlighted eye-catchingly by the faint afternoon sun that peers through the slowly thinning clouds (because the thick ones have gone south with the monster of a storm they left behind in Castlegodry) hanging ominously in the water-blue sky above them.
The lettering reads: Ye Ole Castle House Hotel.
~
Directly below the first floor’s House Hotel is a woman calmly sweeping away snow.
She’s dressed in a thick overcoat with a scarf covering her golden hair. There’s indents on her nose’s bridge, implying she wears glasses, but no spectacles to match them are on her face. She hums as she sweeps, clearing away the snow from a wooden sign half her height (the chalkboard body of which lists their prices) and the cobblestone sidewalk they’re all standing on.
It takes her a moment to notice them.
When she does, her smile is kind.
~
“‘Allo; velcome!”
Jarl smiles slightly at the somewhat familiar sound of a German accent. The voice is all wrong, sure, but still.
He tries not to let the reminder of what they will soon have to tell Hagen dampen the comfort he now feels.
(He still has to tell them ALL what Oak said is
haunted by the series of aghasting architecture they passed.)
“Dankeschön,” the holy man returns with a slight nod, enjoying the way the woman smiles in delight at him for speaking in her language. Hagen never enjoyed it, hating the reminder that he wasn’t actually Irish, but Jarl was always happy to learn a word or two from his parents whom very much missed their homeland (Germany was just not HAGEN’S homeland—which his parents respected very much). “I’m Jarl. This is Manus and Áesta. We’re looking for a room. Do you work here, by any chance?”
The woman’s eyes follow the priest’s gestures as he points at himself and then his friends behind him.
She then grins and nods, “Ja, ja; come viz’ me!”
~
“Ich am Britta!”
The group of three follows Britta into the hotel with ease. Thanks to both the woman and the archway, there’s hardly any snow piled up at the entrance and very little caked into the little mat by the door or covering the slate grey floor. A long black rug covers the slightly raised area behind the reception counter (which they can see due to the angle it’s at in comparison to the entryway) which is as gray as the floor—but this allows it to stand out very well against the dark royal blue of the walls.
Apparently, the colors outside are very much part of their brand.
The choice in the interior colors, however, offers a very cozy feeling to the space. Even as the blue ceiling alludes strongly to the night sky (which makes the floor seem even more like storm clouds that outside did), the building’s reception area reminds Jarl of a warm fleece blanket or a starless summer night.
Idly, he wonders if they’ll ever paint in stars—the ceiling would look great with them.
“Nice to meet you Britta~” Manus practically purrs as he glides across the floor. He grins flirtatiously at her, causing the woman to blush and giggle behind her hand (and Jarl to roll his eyes at the magician’s antics), before leaning against the receptionist’s somewhat cluttered counter. Between the pamphlets laid out against the white countertop, the little bell for guests to jingle if no one is there, and the open sign-in book, there’s hardly any room for the older man to put his elbow, never mind his entire arm—but he manages it.
And, somehow, his outfit is still whiter than the counter’s top.
(Jarl thinks it’s some kind of spell he uses—it must be.)
“Would you mind checking us into a room with two beds?” The mage smiles sweetly when Britta blushes even more, embarrassed curiosity blooming on her face. “We’re on a budget, you see~”
“O-oh!”
“Mhm.” Manus glances at Áesta, who’s just settled beside him, and Jarl, who took his time looking around, before grinning deviously, “And these two~” He points at them, ignoring Jarl’s alarmed face (but probably finding encouragement in Áesta’s amused one), “Are always up for sharing a bed~”
“Shut it!!!”
Manus laughs and bolts to the other side of the room as a mortified Jarl tries to cover his tattling mouth. Áesta just grins and shrugs at the blushing woman, “Earl’s practical an’ Ah’m a snuggler.”
“Ah!” Britta smiles as she recovers from her embarrassed shock, “Me too!”
Jarl just groans as Manus sneaks his way back into their gossip ring.
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