Billie stepped out through the main entrance and gulped as much of the nippy Fleckney air as she could; lifting her face to the heavy white clouds shrouding the sky; hoping to bring relief to her tingling flushed skin on her throat and her cheeks. She might have exited his room with her head held high; but she'd started shaking long before she made it downstairs.
Had she just accepted a date invitation from an actor, a half-Holyoake, and a beefcake?! What is this 'nonsensical torrent of whimsy and persiflage' à la Scorpion and Felix?
"Morning," a squeaky voice greeted her.
Billie stared at a youngling of nebulous age and gender standing at attention next to a splitter van. The person had a mop of stylishly dishevelled curls of a stunning, robin's chest orange; coincidentally identical to that of Billie's sisters. Billie, meanwhile, was definitely more of a bullfinch, with her muddy, warmer tone.
"I'm Terry, your guide." The person rocked sideways, trying to see the door behind Billie. "Um... Has there been a delay? Ms. Bondarenko said she'd walk towards the gate; and to pick her up on our way out. But the rest should already be down, innit?"
"They're coming," Billie answered. "They must be finishing their breakfast."
"Oh, right," the one called Terry muttered. They quickly looked at their phone in a bright rainbow case, some glossy bits and bobs clinking on a chain attached to it. "We're picking up the rest of the crew in Fleckney Woulds. I wouldn't want to be late. Is– Who is here in the Hall?" they quickly corrected themselves.
Billie was rather inept in guessing people's true intentions, but even she could see that the person in front of her was interested only in one of the tour-partakers. Billie studied Terry's extra wide, khaki trousers with a pattern of tiny magenta octopuses; an oversize coat of salmon pink; a checked, yellow and blue shawl, thrown roguishly around their neck; and neon yellow bovver boots.
"Mr. Billingsley will be out soon," Billie said with a certain sense of superiority. She might have been in Terry's fanperson's shoes just recently; but Billie could officially announce that she'd been cured. "He's already had his breakfast. It's Ms. Moretti, his publicist; and Mr. Dair, that we're–"
She didn't finish her sentence, because at the sound of Dair's name, the one called Terry emitted a breathy 'oh' and clutched their phone to their chest.
"I can't believe I'm meeting him," Terry murmured, their gaze fixed on the door. "In the flesh! I mean, I've gotten his autograph and a photo with him at last year's Comic-Con, but they don't give you much time with the stars! Still, totally worth the three hundred quid!"
Billie blinked slowly, processing. The probability of Terry's interest was definitely tilting Dair's way. After all, Billingsley wasn't the one who'd played a villain in every modern cinematic franchise worthy of Internet-fuelled frenzy and overpriced convention appearances! Billie could tolerate only that much of the nonsense, so she simply scrolled through Dair's photos in one of those film databases online. There had been a lot of images of him as various monsters and, perhaps, extraterrestrials; his face covered in make-up of pretty much every colour in a crayon box; with horns, and without; his scars hidden under scales, or put on display; his body clad in mediaeval armour, or something 'spacey,' or not much at all. Again, Billie knew nothing of pop culture in toto; but even she could tell that some of these were born on pages of comic books, and some belonged in a galaxy far, far away.
"Oh my god, I'm so nervous," the guide exhaled. "At Comic-con I pretty much had a panic attack just before it was my turn. He was super chill about it, but I basically tripped and fell into his arms. God, those arms!" Terry released a shuddered breath. "He's... scorching! And he smells so good! It's his sister Paloma's brand, Myrtifolia. Vegan and sustainable, ethically produced in Tuscany. He's been their ambassador for six years now."
Listening to the guide, Billie had a moment of unpleasant self-reflection. She'd agreed to have dinner with the man; she'd spent two nights in the same bed as him; he'd introduced her to his family - and she hadn't even bothered to learn his siblings' names.
"It took me ages to save up for a bottle! I spritz it on my pillow every night before going to bed!" Terry continued.
Alright, that's officially starting to border on a Eleanor Flood behaviour.
Billie took a small cautious step away from the hyperventilating Dair aficionado.
"I can't believe I get to spend the whole day with him! In a closed space!" Terry's face was glowing. "I get to see him do things! Smile! Walk! Have you seen him walk? It's the sexiest thing in the world! And eating! That jaw! Those lips! Those teeth!" The guide pressed their hands to their cheeks, flashing the aquamarine varnish on their short nails. "Oh, bite me, daddy..."
And now we've reached the Annie Wilkes level of creepy.
"I had to bribe two of my co-workers to get this gig! I took a triple dose of melatonin last night to get even an hour of kip! I can't wait to see what he's wearing and what–"
A gurgling noise erupted out of Terry; and they wobbled, their already pale complexion gaining a bluish tinge. Billie whipped her head and braced herself.
Laura Moretti smiled widely at Terry.
"Good morning."
She received no answer from the petrified redhead. A high-pitched sound originating in the guide's half-open mouth could knock down a bat mid-flight.
"Morning."
Dair's velvet baritone, however, had a devastating effect on the person's physical stability. They trembled, wavered, and made a bizarre whole-body wiggling movement like a highly incompetent Morris dancer.
"Oh god..." they rasped out. "Oh god... You're... you!"
Dair chuckled. "Last I checked, yes." He glanced at Billie.
"Eric!" Laura exclaimed, pointing at the guide - and Dair lunged forward and caught them just before they hit the ground.
"C-cavolo!"
Dair tried to prop the redhead up; but they kept slumping, their dangly limbs listless, short coarse pants falling from their lips.
"It's OK, b-bub," Dair murmured, supporting the person and leading them to the van. "Let's s-sit down. Nice and easy, alright?"
The driver jumped out of the vehicle and quickly opened a door for them. Dair carefully deposited the limp youth on a side seat. Dair and Laura leaned to the person, exchanging worried looks.
"Did they say anything?" Laura asked Billie. "Low blood sugar, maybe?"
"Sh-should we call 999?" Dair asked.
"No, no, please, it's alright," they protested weakly. Their eyes opened, and they winced away with a mewl. Apparently Dair's prominent nose was too close to their comfort. "I'll be alright. Just need a jiffy..."
"How many fingers am I showing?" the publicist asked, waving her hand in front of the redhead's face.
It properly appeared that she was flipping them a bird; but Terry clearly couldn't care less: they were once again gaping at Dair.
"How are you f-feeling?" the actor asked softly. "W-would you like some water?"
Terry gave out a tiny pip sound.
"W-would you like us to call someone?" Dair continued.
Another strangled yip followed.
"Or d-do you want to step inside for a moment?"
The redhead frantically shook their head - and to Billie's shock, they gave her a begging look and then pointed at Dair with their eyes. Billie would rather give up reading for a fortnight than to get involved in this conundrum; but the guide was rather pitiful.
"Um, Eric–" Billie's voice cracked. Dair immediately turned to her. "Could you–"
Billie wasn't sure how to phrase it, so she simply beckoned him with her hand. Dair grudgingly moved away from the van and walked up to her. Meanwhile, Laura took over the resuscitation attempts.
"W-what's up?" Dair asked.
"Just give them a bit of space, alright?" Billie said, acutely unsure of how to act. "You're– you're making them uncomfortable."
He frowned. "Why w-would I make them uncomfortable?"
Dair glanced at the van over his shoulder, and Billie heard a distressed whine, clearly coming from the tour guide.
"Well, they're apparently–"
"What's going on?" Bondarenko's sharp voice made everyone jolt. The Russian strode from around the van and surveyed the scene. "Why aren't we moving? Even I can't smoke for that long. Actually, I ran out. We need to find a gas station or something. Or is everyone here way too healthy for that? I suggest we solve this quickly."
"Our guide isn't feeling that well," Laura said. "Would you like to call your boss?" she asked Terry. "You should probably go home, we can drop you off somewhere." The publicist's efficient problem-solving mode kicked in right away. "Just arrange a different employee to take over for today. I can call them if you give me the number."
"No, no... I can– I can get up," Terry mumbled pleadingly, caught a glimpse of Dair, and disintegrated into a heap of knitwear and bony extremities.
"Yeah, totally," Laura said sarcastically. "Alright, you!" She addressed the driver. "Load them inside. Call your supervisor, ask for their emergency contact. Julia, get in the van. You and I are driving to town. We'll deal with–" She nodded towards the guide. "Then if there's another guide, we'll pick up everyone in the B&B and come back for Eric and Billie. And yes," she interrupted Bondarenko who was going to complain. "We'll get you your smokes on the way."
"What about me?" Billingsley sounded deeply displeased.
How long has he been impersonating Banquo?!
Judging by an array of guilty expressions, Billie wasn't the one who'd forgotten about the man's existence. The publicist seemed intent on ignoring him.
"Stay, Archie," Bondarenko threw to him, distracted by trying to open a gum bottle she'd fished out of her bottomless tote. "We'll come back for you if the tour is still happening."
Dair stepped to the director, took the bottle out of her hands, and deftly removed the plastic ribbon from its neck. She curtly nodded to him, stuffed a handful of white 'cushions' into her mouth, and started climbing into the van.
"May I have a piece of gum, please?" Terry whimpered in the background.
"Take the whole thing," Bondarenko dismissed and shoved the container into the person's hands.
They held it up like their own personal Holy Chalice.
The van door banged closed; and the last thing Billie saw was Terry's face pressed against the window, their nose squashed on one side, longing in their eyes.
Dair picked up Billie's hand and tugged her towards the door.
Billingsley bristled and called after them, "Eric, Ms. Harewicke and I have a chapter to review and–"
"Nope."
Billie had nothing to do but to obediently move her feet and follow Dair inside.