Normally, Aleksie would have arrived at the Building to find various residents milling about the lobby. Normally, he might have noticed a Pony chatting with a Chaos god and he might have paused to listen to the heavy Slavic accent of a mechanic as he patiently explained how cookie dough does not belong in the Building's incinerator. Normally, a ginormous water bear might have bolted past him with two children riding upon its back and being chased by a real Velociraptor wearing a lab coat. Normally, it would not have been out of place to see an old cyborg reading a newspaper in a corner.
Normally. Might have. Not today.
Instead, Aleksie arrived in a wintery Bielefeld to find a cluster of workers in biohazard suits putting the finishing touches on a tent which draped the entire building. The truck parked directly outside had a magnetic sign on the side which announced it as belonging to "Blackwater Exterminators LLC. The back doors were open and the entire inside seemed packed with festively wrapped bricks or perhaps shoe boxes covered in red or green plastic wrap.
Two kindly men in gas masks stopped Aleksie at the curb. They confirmed his residency (the landlord, O.C. Demens, was very thorough) and then informed the man that the landlord was providing an all-expenses-paid trip to a tropical island while the building (and city block) was being fumigated due to a South American Viptopictithical Beetle infestation.
Don't worry, all your needs will be taken care of, they reassured Aleksie as they pushed him through the hip-high snow and towards a phone booth.
It's a holiday, mate! You'll love it. Everyone's there!They didn't give him much time to protest before they shoved him into the phone booth. It was a glass-paneled one with a pay phone that lacked a handset. They tucked something into his free hand and shut the door. It was if someone turned off the sun because Aleksie found himself crammed into a dark, confined rectangle that smelled vaguely of fruit punch. No, maybe that was coconut? Come to think of it, it smelled a hell of a lot like suntan lotion.
Aleksie would push on the phone booth door only to find it had become a curtain. He'd tumble out of an old fashioned, red and white striped
beach changing tent. Gone was the snow and blustery wind. A tropical breeze took its place and the ocean roared in the background. He was on the island, the likes of which can only be properly described
here and only if the reader takes the time to read all the bits under the pretty picture.
More importantly, that red and white striped changing tent was directly facing an odd Victorian house (and its lawn) where a cluster of people had gathered for some sort of feast. Various people (and beings) waved to Aleksie and gestured for him to enter the garden. It was only the appetizer round so his timing was perfect. Nearly all the Tenants were there and his arrival wasn't entirely out of place when compared to the usual insanity that cast its coiled tendrils on that lot.
Aleksie would also find out later that there was a small hut set up for him near all the other huts. He wouldn't need to sleep outdoors.
Further, in his hand was a slip of paper. It read: "Now Hiring: Bartender. See manager at Chaos Restaurant." This tidbit wasn't essential here on the Island but it did mean that Aleksie had guaranteed employment once the group returned to their beloved Bielefeld.
So it is. Welcome, Aleksie. Join the party.