The Quimby Hotel

━ 09: Old Habits Never Die

The second floor. The Quimby siblings stood in a rough imitation of a circle, facing each other. Rome, being the oldest, assumed authority in this situation, everyone waiting to follow his instruction. He folded his arms and scratched the closely-shaved stubble on his chin. "So. How do we plan to do this?"

"We could make it a game," Vienna suggested with a sparkle in her eyes that, for just a split second, made them seem less endlessly black.

It was a given, really. There was no question of how they would do it. They were the Quimbys. They twisted anything and everything into a race. Paris, the little one, clapped his hands.

"Normal rules?"

"What are the rules?" Cairo asked skeptically.

"There aren't any," replied Shanghai with a wicked smile.

Berlin nudged HQ's shoulder, a wordless question, and she nodded to the others. "So who wins, whoever cleans the most rooms or whoever finishes the fastest?"

"Too hard to keep track of rooms," Rome decided. "We'll work until there are no rooms left. It'll be a first-finisher race."

Everyone shot each other ravenous looks. Cairo wanted to groan aloud but restrained himself. Rome dropped to one knee, one hand pressed to the floor and the other holding up his watch.

"Ready? Three. Two. One."

Involuntarily, Cairo inhaled a sharp breath. Old habits.

"Go."

Everyone took off like bottle rockets. Cairo shoved past Shanghai and Berlin to be the first to get to the nearest supply closet, but not before Berlin pulled a lever on the wall, setting off a mechanical system that caused the tile beneath his feet to suddenly drop, getting his shoe caught in the rat trap below. "Berlin!" he growled, but the quietest of his brothers had already streaked ahead. His brain had already flipped to competitive mode, despite his personal contempt for these ridiculous games. There was no turning back once a race had begun.

He yanked his foot free, already having lost considerable time, and made a mad dash for the cleaning supplies. After some rifling and rearranging things, he found his old, trusty mop and bucket. Thank the Lord no one had thrown out his babies.

Hearing thundering footsteps, he knew some of his younger siblings would be heading upstairs, trying to get ahead. He elected to remain where he was, diving into the nearest empty guest room and tearing off the bed linens. "WHO HAS THE ROOM KEYS?" someone hollered from down the hall, followed by cackling that had to be Tokyo's. Cairo smirked slightly, spinning in his fingers one of the hotel skeleton keys he'd snatched from Shanghai's drawers. Vehement swearing and shouting at each other commenced in a back-and-forth game of verbal tug-of-war, Cairo listening to it all while humming to himself and neatening the pillows on the bed. He changed the sheets swiftly and smoothly, having the advantage, in this particular game, of having done this his entire life.

The mop splashed onto the floor, everything else around him falling away as Cairo sank into the familiar feeling of spraying, scrubbing, and folding. He had the whole room done in no time, looking like new. He checked the nearest wall clock to determine his record. Six minutes. He could do better than that.

The next room held a guest taking a nap in their bed, so he quietly shut the door and moved on, vowing to knock before entering from then forward. After rolling up the rug and successfully mopping the whole hallway, he headed into another vacant room, jolting when he noticed HQ already here and hastily dusting lamps and baseboards. She shot him a quick glance and a determined grin and began to dust faster. Cairo deposited the mop at the door and spun to the closet, grabbing new bedclothing and stripping the mattress. Rome quickly joined them.