The concierge wearily eyes a red puddle on the counter from Barnaby’s luggage as the new roommates move to the elevator.
A pull of the brass ring, a stretching of a somehow luxurious red rope, the sound of a jungly happy bell sounds from somewhere beyond the elevator doors. After a moment of the odd sounds of pottery being aggressively thrown in a kitchen sink, the chrome doors open, and two people covered entirely from head to too in overlapping plate steel walk out. They are having a hushed echoing conversation and exit the hotel. You can see inside the elevator now and a small mandrill wearing a red jacket is standing near the most complex controls you’ve ever seen; levers, buttons, ropes, and a gyroscope, all unlabeled, cover one of the side walls.
The elevator operator smiles at you and sniffs the air.