My Night at the Rookery's

A Story by suuyuwriteyunu

A journal entry of a young lady and her first night and experience at the Rookery's. FICTIONAL!!!

3.7.2024

It was almost ten, and I was tired arriving at the Rookery with my luggages and bags. The wind was cold and it snuck up the sleeves of my jacket, and I shivered despite it being summer. I walked down the stone path and into the brick alley, where I found the hotel standing there, as if waiting for my arrival. My mum and siblings had already gone on ahead into the building, and it was just me and my dad now, who trekked behind me silently. I came upon the small brick stairs and stared at the wooden door. A mix of exhaustion and revelation bottled up in my throat.

I pushed on the door.

It wouldn’t budge, so I tried again.

“Just, wait a second!” a voice called out from inside, a slight snip at the end of each word. Whether it was my exhaustion or confusion that marked her as unfriendly, I couldn’t tell, but I scorned at the door as the locks started clicking and unclicking themselves. The very same not-unfriendly-but-not-friendly-either woman spoke again, “Push it now.”

To put it simply, the door was heavy. Probably made from true oak, or something along those lines---I do not know of tree names nor am I an expert on bark weights. I had to push it with my side to enter.

My feet were greeted with stone brick tiles and my eyes the luxury of seeing antique fashion. Candelabras and carpeted floors, the dark wood of each wall, and all the old books that lined the shelves. The rooms were lit only by the light from some roman lamps that were cluttered all around the space in an organised, lived-in fashion. A blonde woman with sharp features (thin lips and high cheekbones)---I realise now she was that friendly-unfriendly woman from earlier---greeted us briefly and went back to discussing things with my mum.

“I’ve booked the rooms,” my mum said. “The Rook’s Nest and William’s Suite.”

The unfriendly-friendly lady stared me down with her eagle eyes. It may have been just me, but I caught a slight accusatory tone in her words. “Two?” she asked. “But how many of you are there?”

I returned her with an equally annoyed look. She seemed to pay no mind and went back to my mum, who started explaining to her the details of her booking, and her previous conversation with James the hotel manager. I couldn’t stand seeing her face, and was out of there the next second, off to explore the Rookery without anyone’s permission.

[Granted, this passage is quite dispirited, for in actuality, she’s a really nice person. I’m just too quick to judge, and the part that made me realise simply hasn’t come yet.]

The Rookery had a total of three common rooms that I explored: the bar/living, the drawing room, and the library. Can you tell that the latter was my favourite? There were even more antique objects inside, and I even found the commoner’s court records that dated back to the 1700s (they had a good five-six books on it, and when you opened them, you could find transcripts of every single trial that occurred during the years of 1794-1795). The most interesting thing was that I found a total of two books I wish to purchase after my stay at the Rookery: The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens, and A Cherry Tree by Amy Le Feuvre. I started reading them and they hooked me right from the first page.

Okay, back to the story:

I was back in the hallway where the stone brick floor first greeted my feet when I heard the laugh of the unmistakable unfriendly-friendly lady. She was laughing with my mum, and for a second I was confused, but it piqued my curiosity. I snuck a peek at the reception room and it brought a smile to my face because it was then that I realised she didn’t hate us from the get-go, and was just confused. (Plus, her sharp face did not help with my judgement, for she looked rather scornful and judgemental). Plot twist: I was the judgemental one. The warm yellow lights in the room seemed to brighten along with my mood, and also my vision, for this was when I first spotted a tall, strong-looking fellow standing in the corner as he smiled gently at my family. I may have stared at him for a couple seconds too long, I must admit, but he truly was one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen; him being a black British man was not helping my case one bit, either, for those and Latino boys may be completely my type.

Anywho, the fine looking man was named Aaron, and the now truly kind, laughing sharp blonde lady (whose name I learned much later) was called Alexandra. I’d prefer she be called Lily, though, since her cold demeanour would be contrasting with her sweet name. But alas, she is not simply a character whose name I can change with a swish of my pen, for she is human and she is real, and she is just as perfect the way she is.

Nevertheless, Aaron showed us to the rooms I’ve just recently explored---once more with my family this time---in which I met a black cat lounging in the drawing room and asked Alexandra whose cat it belongs to. She replied that it was hers (this was the first and last time I got to speak to Alex. “Alex” was what they called her at the Rookery), and the cat ran away upon seeing my family. It didn’t want me to touch it nor pet it until late evening the next day, when we came back to check out from the hotel for…well, not for good, because surely I will miss that place---I already do, honest. Well, the black cat was sitting on the carpeted corridor before the drawing room and the basement washroom, and when I sat down to stroke it, it didn’t flinch away and so I sat there with it, gently patting its long, black fur (it was so soft I first thought I was touching cotton!).

In the mornings it wasn’t Alexandra and Aaron who were at the front test. It was James and another guy (the guy who had given me Alex’s name). James was incredibly friendly from the get-go, and there was also another blonde guy who stood in for Aaron’s shift. Blondie was the morning shift and Aaron night. Both were equally fine, but I would say Aaron was much more charming (though I may be biased, for I’ve only ever conversed with Aaron before, and that was about four times more than Blondie, whom I’d had only one singular conversation with). Blondie was the one who saw me petting Alex’s cat in the doorway. Before this, he paid no mind to me, really. Maybe he thought I was a mean girl or something, I’ll never know, but for the most part, he had given me such a gentleman-like smile then that I couldn’t help smiling back.

Okay, back to the past now, at night when Aaron and Alex were there.

Aaron’s laugh. It was so hearty and loving and deep when I told him a joke just to see him smile. It’s really incredibly funny how I only find interest in guys I’ll see for one day and never again. It’s cool, though. It’s something more to fantasise about. Aaron helped us carry all six bags up five flights of stairs, and he didn’t even ask for help. I couldn’t let him do it alone so I went out and took a luggage in when he wasn’t looking, and he told me “Thank you”. How sweet. I love how he just accepted my help without protest.

It may seem like I like him through these words I’ve inscribed onto my page, but really, he was such an interesting character, and so my type, but also inevitably too old for me so I won’t try to feel anything more than intrigue.

Of course, the interior design of the Rookery far exceeded my expectations and my stay there was pleasurable and too short-lived. I’ve only managed to converse with Alex once and I regret not speaking to her more. Still, they may all only view me as an annoying little child, so it may be best to just leave the past as it is.

I personally think that they should specialise in their tea; it was incredibly smooth to the tongue and the richness in which the flavour beholds is just far beyond human comprehension. (Yes, I am being dramatic, but I’m enjoying the prose so why not).

Above all, it was such a warm night at the Rookery’s. I even drew the map of Faeland and studied antique fonts late into the night. It simply was an experience I can never really fully recreate with my words, and it was fantastically magical in the most beautiful way possible. Thank you.

Rika