Chapter Text
The final day of filming always carried a strange silence under all the noise and ruckus going about. The lights burned bright over the set, and someone was still insisting on a final group photo that nobody would look at more than twice in the future. The energy to the time spent here shifted from creation to conclusion, equipment was being packed away, and actors who had spent months on this set were ready to step out of it.
Riddle stood slightly apart from the center of it all. If anyone looked at him, they would see exactly what they expected; a professional actor at the end of yet another successful production, it was a role he perfected just as thoroughly as any character he had played on the screen. But you know what they say, roles had a way of ending a certain way. Real life did not.
There was a particular kind of emptiness that followed this long project, was it that he enjoyed these rehearsals, retakes, interviews and expectations? Or was it that Riddle had been doing this so long that he forgot how to unwind? This feeling was no stranger, it has reoccured before many times, leaving the silence that no script can prepare him for.
Though experiencing it many times, Riddle was still adjusting to it when a voice cut through his thoughts.
“Hey,”
He didn’t even need to turn around to know who that voice belongs to. Riddle glanced over just to confirm what he already knew, finding the younger actor still partially in costume and far too energetic for someone who went through the same production cycle as him. Ace stopped beside him that suggested he had been looking for him specifically.
“You’ve been off lately, are you good?”
“Off?” Riddle said slowly.
“Well, yeah.” Ace continued, gesturing vaguely at the air. “Not bad acting or anything… Just, during that interview yesterday, you were speaking like you usually do but it kinda felt like your brain clocked out early.”
“It was nothing.” Riddle said at last after a few seconds of spacing out, his voice clipped in a way that made his words sound dismissive.
“I think I’ve finally caught onto your game, y’know ‘it was nothing’ has been your answer for everything lately.”
“Well Ace Trappola, if you’re finished analyzing my mental state, I would like to get water.”
Ace stared at him as if he was waiting for the punchline, only to find none forthcoming. The quietness between them at the moment was louder than the background noise Riddle paid little attention to and was more interested in putting distance between himself and a conversation he had no desire to continue.
“Most people would’ve just said they’re fine and I’d leave them alone.” Ace said, falling into step beside him despite the rather obvious hint that his co-worker wants to be left alone. “And even if you did, that answer would sound like it came from those pamphlets you find at the hospital anyway…”
Riddle reached for one of the unopened water bottles left on a nearby table and turned it in his hand while considering whether or not the distinction was worth arguing about. It wasn’t, but that has never stopped him before. “If the pamphlet was correct, then I fail to see the issue.”
“The issue,” Ace replied, sounding increasingly exasperated when he raised his voice. “Is that you’re like... IMPOSSIBLE to have a normal conversation with.”
That accusation was hardly news, Riddle had heard variations of it for years, though it became a little inside joke for Riddle himself when people complained about his communication skills after choosing to speak in vague statements and broad assumptions. Before he could point that out, Ace seemed to reconsider the argument he had been preparing and instead let out a long sigh.
“You know what? Whatever, forget what I said.”
“For sure, that’s the most sensible proposal I’ve heard from you all month.”
“SEE? That, right there!”
Riddle twisted the cap from his bottle shut. “You continue to reference that without adequately defining it, how am I supposed to give you satisfactory answers?”
“Do you hear yourself when you talk?”
The question was ridiculous enough that it nearly earned a laugh out of him. Riddle knew Ace well enough through the little time they spent on set to recognize when he was building up to something, there was always some sort of restlessness to him and at the moment he was wearing the same expression he’d wear during times where he was trying not to reveal information too early. That more than anything made Riddle even more suspicious, what is this guy going on about?
“What do you want Ace?”
“H-huh? What makes you think it’s anything?”
“Do you take me for a fool? This maybe our first movie together but I think seven months is enough to know a little bit about you and your ways.”
“…” Ace shut his mouth and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, whatever confidence he had moments earlier appeared to be deteriorating. “Well… First of all, I don’t know why talking to you always feels like I’m being pressed for info in a court room, aaaaand second, a few of us are going somewhere tonight.”
Not a crime confession that he expected, but certainly the source of the strange behavior. Riddle leaned against the edge of the table, the invitation itself was truly unexpected. During filming, his evenings rarely belonged to anyone let alone himself. There were schedules to follow, scripts to review and places to attend. Free time was a luxury, however, now that the production was ending came the awkward transition period between projects, for short—actors realize they had lives outside of work and had no idea what to do with them.
“…And?:
Ace blinked. “And what?”
“And why are you telling me this?”
The answer seemed obvious enough to Ace and anyone else that would get asked this that he looked briefly confused when he got a ‘Q’ instead of an ‘A.’
“Eh- Because I’m inviting you?”
Both of them stared at each other, and neither appeared willing to concede first. Ace decided that Riddle, Riddle Rosehearts of all people would be interested in attending a spontaneous outing with a group of others. The thought was so fundamentally strange that Riddle admired Ace’s confidence.
“I believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else, goodbye Ace.”
“Oh come ON, you haven’t even heard me out and you’re already turning it down?”
“Well for one, you clearly aren’t telling me everything there is to know therefore I feel that I can’t trust you. You haven’t even told me where you are heading off to, it would be reckless for someone to agree on the spot don’t you think?”
“‘Cause the location isn’t important, we’re gonna have fun and relax.”
“How irresponsible… If it truly were unimportant, you would’ve told me already.”
Riddle watched the realization dawn upon his co-worker’s face a second too late, whatever he was trying to build up was doomed from the start and now they both knew that. Although, strangely enough came another realization that made Riddle pause; tomorrow, there would be no call time waiting for him, nothing waiting for him tonight even!
And perhaps that was why, when Ace inevitably asked again that Riddle didn’t reject the idea so quickly once more. His hesitation was something his co-worker just couldn’t miss, however, he had the sense not to celebrate so quickly. The younger actor seemed to ONLY realize now that pushing too hard would only guarantee rejection, an unusual sort of restraint settled over him as he waited for Riddle’s answer. Ace Trappola was definitely not a patient person by nature, his energy had always reminded Riddle of a stubborn and hard-headed little girl who was lost in a world of her own.
The comparison felt fitting as Ace stood there. And around them the noise of the set continued to be put away piece by little piece. The sudden transformation was slow and gradual that it probably only bothered a few people at hand other than Riddle while others ignored it altogether, and by each passing second the illusion of this film was unraveling itself slowly.
By tomorrow, very little would remain, or would there even be anything left at all?
Film sets had always fascinated him for that reason. He couldn’t just imagine, entire world were built then eventually destroyed, months of work, planning and craftsmanship existed only long enough to serve their purpose before disappearing into who knows where. There was something strangely melancholic about it, perhaps that was why wrap days always felt so different.
Not sad, just strange, like standing in the doorway between one place and another.
“So?...”
Riddle glanced at him. “So… what?”
“Ahem— SO are you actually considering it or what?”
There was no point in pretending he didn’t understand the question but unfortunately, admitting the fact would only encourage this guy to keep on asking questions, and he was already feeling overstimulated by his own thoughts.
Riddle settled for taking another sip of water.
“You are.”
“What an alarming conclusion, what made you think that?”
“You are!”
The sudden shout only attracted the attention of a passing crew member who only looked away upon realizing they had wandered into one of Ace and Riddle’s frequent arguments.
Riddle chose not to acknowledge it, but what was there to say? Ace’s invitation wasn’t really remarkable, cast members went out together after productions ended all the time to celebratory dinners, farewell gathers and after-parties. None of it was unusual!
What was unusual was the fact that he was genuinely considering on attending. When Riddle pressed for further details, Ace’s explanations felt more incomplete than the last.
So, there is a group from the cast that had plans for the evening, several people had reserved seats somewhere in the city and extra spots became available. Somehow through a chain of event that sounded rather suspicious the longer Ace ran his mouth, those seats had eventually found their way to him and another cast member, Deuce Spade.
“A group of the other actresses were the ones who invited us, they said they’ve been ‘dying to go here’ and needed a few more bodies to tag along with them.”
…
“Oh come on that is not what I meant!”
For a moment, Riddle almost felt bad. Keyword, almost. The actresses themselves weren’t the issue, they were colleagues he barely talked to, he worked alongside them for months without incident. The issue was that Ace having an unparalleled ability to make ordinary situations sound questionable.
“Rosehearts-san, I swear I’m not that type of guy… I was just explaining the situation!”
“Poorly…”
From Ace’s description, nobody was really concerned about publicity, which likely meant the venue was private enough to avoid attention, and that detail interested Riddle more than he could admit.
Privacy had become difficult to fine, success carried many advantages and disadvantages. Anonymity was rarely one of these advantages.
His thoughts drifted back to the interviews that had occupied the last several weeks of filming and by the end of all the endless questions, speculation regarding his future projects, personal life and goals, Riddle begun feeling less like a person on screen and more like a walking script himself.
“I personally wanted to invite you because I noticed you’ve looked miserable lately, maybe just a bad day—or not.”
Ace’s words landed with such bluntness to even catch Riddle off guard for a moment. “Not all the time, just… I don’t know, like you’re somewhere else.”
“For the last time, I am fine.”
“Maybe. But if you’re not, sitting alone moping about whatever you have up in your head probably isn’t helping.”
The simplicity of that statement annoyed him, maybe because it wasn’t entirely wrong, he really did feel miserable, he’s rich, successful and well liked. Why does he feel so blue?
Across the room, someone finally succeeded in gathering the remaining cast together for a final photograph, a cheer rose shortly after followed by the sound of multiple people talking over one another.
Don’t these people know they would all go their separate ways? Tomorrow, the project would be over, tomorrow his schedule would be empty for the first time in months.
“Fine.”
Ace lit up in excitement, getting up from his seat with the energy of a happy little girl. “Great! You have my number, I’ll text you the details and don’t forget, get there at ten-thirty sharp!”
-- --- ... - .-. --- / .-.. --- ..- -. --. .
The problem came when Riddle discovered shortly after arriving home that he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to wear.
The issue wasn’t that he didn’t have any clothes for this occasion, quite the opposite. Hanging neatly inside his wardrobe were shirts, sweaters, jackets and trousers arranged with the same meticulous organization applied to every other thing in his home. Looking at them now, he was forced to confront the embarrassing truth; Riddle has never actually learned how to dress himself.
Growing up, his mother had chosen nearly everything he did and wore, what was appropriate and what made him look presentable. And by the time he entered the entertainment industry, those responsibilities simply transferred to different people like stylists or his manager.
Someone always knew what he should wear, and that someone usually was not him.
Riddle reached for a navy button-up before returning the shirt to its place. Was that too formal? Another piece of clothing reminded him unpleasantly of a magazine interview he did several months prior, and because of that connection, it was rejected immediately on principle.
A poofy jacket was considered for a few seconds after Riddle checked his weather app until he imagined arriving overdressed and discarded the idea. One shirt made him looked too professional for a night out, another one just looked sloppy. The third outfit he tried on looked okay, until Riddle convinced himself it made him look like an accountant. Not that there was anything wrong about accountants… He simply did not wish to resemble one!
The fact he was spending THIS much time evaluating his person for an outing he didn't even wanted to attend was beginning to irritate him.
With a long, drawn out sigh, Riddle stepped back and looked at his wardrobe as a whole. Perhaps… That was the problem? He was treating the decision like it was something important like a premiere or a public appearance. Tonight was none of those things, just a normal evening out!
Ordinary people managed these things every weekend without minutes of strategic planning, right?
After a bit more digging, Riddle set his eye on a dark sweater tucked near the center of the wardrobe. When paired with trousers, it looked neither overly formal or embarrassingly casual.
A rare victory!
Riddle quickly unhooked the sweater from the hanger it was hung onto and placed it on his bed before he could reconsider… then came a new thought, it was more of a possibility than a thought.
Ace insisted that the venue was private enough to avoid unwanted attention, but this guy DID have a concerning relationship with telling the truth on the front.
If this place was genuinely as secluded as promised, a disguise would be unnecessary. If it wasn’t, a hat was unlikely going to save him.
And so, satisfied with that logic, Riddle chose to forget about the hat.
With that particular matter settled, or more accurately, abandoned. Riddle turned his attention back to the outfit laid across his bed. The final decision felt less satisfying now that he locked it in.
A vibration from his phone interrupted his thoughts, and once picking it up, the device barely left his hand before he recognized the sender.
Ace.
Riddle unlocked the screen and found himself confronted by several messages of Ace reminding him about their meeting.
Ace Trappola
> I forgot to send over the address, sorry
> Mostro Lounge, 850 Coral Street, Octavinelle District
> The reservation’s under Ms. Stella’s name, just tell them you’re with us.
Riddle stared at the screen for a few moments before locking it and setting the phone aside.
The mystery destination now had both a name and an address, though neither offered much insight into what sort of establishment he would be walking into later that evening.
The Mostro Lounge.
At the very least, it existed. Riddle had half expected Ace to reveal that no actual planning had taken place and that everyone would be wandering around the city searching for somewhere with available seating.
Back to his clothes, the sweater remained his strongest contender, though seeing it laid out now inspired far less confidence than it had earlier.
The simplicity that had originally appealed to him suddenly felt questionable. Perhaps too simple but then again, attempting to compensate for that concern would almost certainly result in something worse. For someone capable of memorizing pages of dialogue overnight, making up your mind about clothes should not have felt this complicated!
Yet, several minutes later, he found himself standing in front of the mirror wearing the same outfit he selected. When the clock finally informed him it was time to leave, Riddle found himself oddly relieved. He slipped his phone into his pocket, collected his bag, and gave the apartment one final glance before heading for the door.
The cool evening air greeted him the moment he stepped outside. It only took a few minutes as a taxi pulled to the curb. The driver confirmed the destination, Riddle answered with a nod and settled into the back seat as the vehicle moved onward.
Coral Street.
The name lingered somewhere in the back of his mind as the taxi carried him steadily toward a destination he knew almost nothing about.
Should he be expecting something? Or not?
The farther the taxi traveled from his apartment that was located in a city called the Shaftlands in Pomefiore district, the more the city felt like it was transforming beyond the taxi’s window. Light became more abundant and colorful, what once was the glow of streetlamp and storefronts gave way to towering advertisements, illuminated signs and digital displays large enough to be seen from the highway.
Riddle rested his chin against his hand, watching the lights blur together as the taxi continued further down the road.
“Octavinelle District really doesn’t sleep,” he murmured, the comment slipped out before he could stop it.
The observation wasn’t even exaggerated. Even from a distance, the place looked alive, the streets glowed under the neon and shifting displays—the effect was almost overwhelming.
As a child, he had heard enough opinions about Octavinelle District to last a lifetime. His mother had never thought highly of it, and often said it was too flashy, too full of self-indulgent people, and with a strawberry on top of that tart, too distracting.
A place designed to tempt people into wasting their time and money on things that held little real value.
Riddle studied the lights for a moment longer, perhaps mother wasn’t entirely wrong. Octavinelle District was undeniably excessive, but the more he got closer and the city stretched out before him, Riddle Rosehearts found himself struggling to dislike it.
Some of the buildings curved that resembled an ocean wave, blue and teal lights were all that filled his vision with decorative displays on giant screens that moved in fluid motions that reminded him of schools of fish.
Riddle has only visited the coast a handful of times in his life, and even so, this place managed to evoke the same feeling.
He couldn’t deny it now, for all its excess, Octavinelle District possessed a beauty entirely its own.
Once they finally reached the city, merging into the heart of Octavinelle District, the taxi suddenly came to a stop. At first Riddle assumed there was some sort of accident by how sudden the stop was. But instead, he discovered the culprit were simply people, what looked like an endless line of people crossing intersections that forced vehicles to stop every few blocks as crowds poured through in every direction.
Normally, any sort of delay would have irritated him but tonight, he found that he didn't particularly mind. The slower pace gave him more time to observe.
There came luxury boutiques occupying entire corners of city blocks, then further in were entertainment venues down the sidewalk.
The taxi rolled forward once more as the traffic light shifted green, then halted once more at his awaited destination. The Mostro Lounge dominated its section of Coral Street. Even among the spectacle of Octavinelle District, it stood apart. Up close it seemed to be designed to draw the eye upward with its extravagantness!
The interior of the lounge proved no less extravagant than its exterior. Every surface seemed to catch and reflect the night lights differently, creating the impression of sunlight filtering through water. The oceanic influence presented in the whole district had followed him inside, it almost felt like Octavinelle was under water, literally.
No sooner had Riddle stepped into the lobby that a man approached him, the employee wore a white tuxedo jacket over a lavender dress shirt, a black cummerbund wrapped tightly around his waist, matching white trousers and a fedora that pair up with his jacket to complete his uniform, giving him a polished appearance that was strange for an ordinary restaurant. Or maybe it was like this because this was a luxury venue?
“Good evening, welcome to the Mostro Lounge.” The employee greeted accompanied with a smile and a slight bow.
Riddle was about to return the gesture before the employee took and gave a quick peck on Riddle’s gloved hand, then after he asked for his reservation information and identification.
The actor stopped dead in his tracks at the gesture, what the hell was that? Is that normal for restaurants in Octavinelle?!
Riddle forced himself to let it slide, thinking that was just how this place operates before providing his name and reservation information. Within moments, the employee was leading him into the lounge. The farther they walked, the more peculiar the seating arrangements looked. Most restaurants (Or restaurants Riddle has gone to) mostly had a group of people wait before seating them so they could all dine together, but it seems the Mostro Lounge preferred the opposite…
Nearly every table accommodated only two people at best, or three people at its maximum. Some guests sat alone, while others appeared to be having quiet conversations with members of the staff dressed in the same distinctive uniform.
How… curious?
The employee stopped near a section towards the center of the floor, and after a while of looking around, Riddle spotted his colleagues. Ace and Deuce were seated a bit further in a small round table with a curtain, and so were some familiar faces from the production similarly seated in the same way.
The employee, noticing Riddle’s staring followed his line of sight before asking. “Is there something wrong?”
“N-no, I apologize. I was just under the impression this reservation was for a group.”
“Ah, it is. If it wasn’t what you were expecting, you have my apology, this is simply how the Mostro Lounge operates to keep things intimate.”
What a wonderfully unhelpful explaination!
Wait, intimate?
Riddle considered pressing on before deciding not to. Judging by this employee’s expression, he was either incapable of elaborating or unwilling to.
Riddle looked back towards Ace’s table, where he just noticed Ace was staring right back at him before turning away. Riddle made a mental note to question him later. For now, there was little point in making a fuss over seating arrangements everyone else already accepted.
The employee guided him to a nearby table positioned a short distance from the others that was close enough that he could see the rest of his party, and far enough that he was seated alone.
Seriously, what an odd arrangement, not necessarily unpleasant, just odd.
As he took his seat, Riddle glanced once more around the lounge and its unusually attentive staff. Whatever the Mostro Lounge was trying to be, it was certainly unlike any restaurant he had ever visited before.