The shuttle in from the spaceport west of Obuda-Bekasmegyer was a scenic one, just as the woman at the travel agency had promised. Obuda, the old Celtic settlement on the Left bank of the Danube, was by far the oldest part of the city, and the trip through town and across the river provided them with a snapshot of fortresses and palaces, bridges and churches and gardens. They arrived near sunset, so they saw the city beginning to twinkle awake for the night's revelries.

The ride afforded them their first grand view of their hotel, as well, with a grand facade dating back to the eighteenth century, and gleaming like a wedding cake dripping with tiers of ornate marble icing. As the transport slowed to a stop outside the main entrance, a liveried doorman sent a pair of bellhops scuttling to help them out and assist with the baggage. "What do you think, sevgili?" Bashir murmured into Kendall's ear just before the door opened.

"Think it's shinier'n a coat 'a diamonds." She bounced out of the car before the bellhops could manage to offer assistance, planted her hands on her hips and tilted back her head to look up at the facade of the building with a thoughtful squint. "Ain't half, though." She canted a self-mocking grin his way; this was her first time outside Rhydin City, and playing it cool couldn't quite mask the fact that she was blown away.

The traffic along the sidewalk was busy for this time of night, but there was a Liszt festival in town, and that probably accounted for most of it in this district. The music school named after the composer was within walking distance. Bashir paid the driver and stepped out of the transport onto the walk beside her while the hops gathered up their cases and bags to take inside.

"The shine pales in comparison with you," he rumbled into her ear and left a kiss there in her hair before reaching for her hand. "Shall we?"

"Now yer just spreadin' sugar. 'Sokay, guess I'll keep you anyway." Kendall took his hand, didn't pick the purse of the lady who crowded too close by them, and snickered at the look on the doorman's face when they sailed in. She did have nice clothes with her in one of those bags, but for traveling she'd opted for comfortable: worn jeans, shin-kicker boots, and a huge sweater she'd lifted from his closet. Bashir looked like he fit right into the elegant surroundings. She did not and the doorman's sour surprise confirmed what she already knew.

The doorman opened the door for them, and Bashir didn't even glance at him to make note of the expression. He was too busy looking around the vast lobby. It was as if they had stepped back in time and into one of the palaces of old Hungary. The marble floor was inlaid with a spoked hub pattern radiating from the center of the space. Rows of marble arches framed the view of the lobby form the upper floors. It all fairly gleamed in gold and black. And it was busy, full of people in evening clothes going out, people returning from day trips or business, people checking in or out. Several small mountains of luggage stood in rows in front of the desk, theirs among them. He led her toward the counter and the line there.

Kendall gave the line about two seconds of scowling at the couple in front of them and the lady working behind the counter before she squeezed his hand and said, "Gonna score th' layout a little bit. Be back."

"All right. I'll be here," he nodded distractedly. In front of him, an elderly woman was having what sounded like an argument with her lapdog while they waited. A businessman in line in front of her coughed, and glanced back with undisguised irritation. Behind Bashir, a middle-aged man in a wool coat with a fur collar kept picking up and setting down a black carry-on bag. Each time they inched closer, he picked it up and repositioned it. A dozen others milled about or stood waiting for a companion.

Kendall was off, with a curl of cynical smile when she passed one older man waiting for a much younger woman who patently wasn't his daughter, and a grin at a little boy running a toy truck over and over against a harried woman's ankle. She dodged a porter with a trolley full of bags while the guy was being harangued by a lady wearing a very gaudy scarf and pulled a pickpocket in reverse, left the young man with an extra fold of bills in his back pocket (just to keep in practice, of course). It was a busy place, but she was catching the rhythm of it fast, picking up the cadence of the local language and the native way of moving. She always had been fast on picking up the physical.

While she sailed off to explore, Bashir was left to handle the check in. The man behind him was growing more and more agitated the longer they waited. Bashir glanced back at him once or twice, mainly because the fellow was keeping up a running conversation with himself, under his breath. The case went down, the case came up. The case went down. The clerk was done with the businessman, and the woman with the Pomeranian in arms was up next.

The scene that followed was pure chaos. With a yip, the fuzzy hound leapt from his mistress's arms, trailing a jewel-studded leash behind. The woman shrieked in alarm and started to follow her precious companion. The desk clerk came around to try and assist. Bashir jumped aside as the dog made a beeline past him toward the center of the lobby, falling back into a stack of luggage in the process. The cases topped off their cart, and the man in the fur collar dove to catch up his own bag just as the dog's leash twined itself between his ankles. Bashir only just managed to catch him before he fell headlong to the floor. Unseen across the atrium, Kendall dissolved into snickers at the unfolding madness.

A man who had been standing near the circle of couches in the center of the lobby strode toward the scene. The fellow Bashir was trying to steady mumbled something as he looked up and pushed him away, grabbed his bag, and cut a diagonal path across the lobby for a set of side doors.

Kendall's amusement fizzled. That was odd, the way the man ran, and the other who'd been standing at the center chose that moment to leave. It stood out, because they were moving in straight lines while the rest of the room swirled and bounced in chaos. She headed back toward Bashir with a swivel of attention to follow the man who'd bolted for the door.

A doorman caught the dog before he made his escape.

The frazzled desk clerk returned without the woman and beckoned to Bashir. The line had just gotten shorter.

When Kendall finally slid up beside Bashir, she tucked her hand into his back pocket. "Graceful, ainchu?"

"Like a dancer, habibti." He smiled down at her, chagrined, and signed the registry receipt that the desk clerk slid across the counter to him. He returned that, and the clerk gave him two room keys and returned his cred chit. "702," he said, handing Kendall one of the keys. The suites on the top floor were supposed to be fabulous.

The clerk rang the bell on the counter in age-old tradition, and a pair of bellhops emerged from an alcove behind the counter to help them up to their suite with the bags. "This way, if you please," one of them said in passably-good English.

Kendall made the key vanish, grinned at the bellhop when he spoke, and put her arm in Bashir's to follow as regally as any wealthy noble-born. He covered her hand with one of his and escorted her up to their suite.

There were eight large suites on the seventh floor - two to a side that framed the open atrium. Each suite had two bedrooms, a sitting room, dining room and two baths. The master bath was all marble, glass and chrome, with a huge tub, long double vanity, stool and bidet ranged around a semi-circular walk in shower. "There are two bedrooms," he told her as he folded out a bill to tip the bellhop. "Pick which one you want us to use."

She had to tear herself away from poking about in the bathroom to investigate the bedrooms. It didn't take long to make up her mind; she gave a quick look at the brown one, peered into the other, and stopped dead in her tracks. A grin spread out wide and she planted her fists on her hips, staring at the chandelier. It was blown glass, spidery and ornate, and vividly red. "This'un. And I'm gonna work out a way t' lift th' light from in here."

He directed the luggage that way with a jerk of his chin to the bellhop and went to join her in the doorway to admire the room. His hand found its way around her waist. The bellboy placed the bags near the closet and let himself out.

"Here. Take a picture with my phone. We can ask Ducii to track down a manufacturer." Sliding a hand into his pocket to get the comm out, Bashir frowned. "What's this?"

Along with the phone, he drew what he thought was a plastic coin from the pocket of his coat. It was round and flat - almost half a centimeter thick and about four centimeters in diameter. The edge was ridged and as he opened his palm to expose it, was a bright blue with an orange and white border. "Tropicana" it read across the face. "500 Forints."

"But then it wouldn't be this light." She answered his comment about the manufacturer before she glanced down at the chit of plastic in his hand and frowned. "Looks like them chips they keep in casinos, don't it' Only they ain't usually leave th' game floor, what I heard. Bad lift if you get one, 'cause it ain't worth anything outta th' place."

"I can't imagine where it came from." He eyed it, puzzled, before offering it to her. "Maybe it'll be our good luck token while we're here."

Her eyes narrowed like she had a suspicion, but she shrugged and went to bounce testingly on the bed. "Square. I'm starvin' - what?s fer dinner?"

"Well, we can order room service, or we can go to the cafe in the lobby, or the restaurant and bar on the second floor. Or ....we can ask the concierge for a suggestion and venture out. What sounds good to you?"

"Out. Ain't no point in comin' to Budapest an' staying in the hotel all weekend." She bounced back up to her feet, tilted her head. "Think I'm good like this or you want me t' hunt up somethin' a little more out-an'-about?"

"Let's both change, then see what they recommend downstairs for Hungarian food. Might as well really experience the city, no?" He toed off his casual loafers and gave the chandelier the eye again. It was bright, but, he had to admit, pretty interesting.

(Based on live play between Bashir Ergin and Kendall Bree, with thanks)