День 1.

Гильдия «Ёжик в тумане».

Макс огляделся, будто надеясь, что кто-то выскочит из тени и шепнет: «Всё, шучу, вечер уже открыт, иди пей лимонад». Но никто не выскочил. Сотрудник по-прежнему смотрел на него с терпеливым сомнением, будто перед ним стоял не взрослый мужчина, а ребёнок, который забыл, как завязывать шнурки, хотя сто раз это делал.

Тогда Макс зацепился взглядом за потолок — там, в полумраке, висел старый зеркальный шар. Он был пыльный, будто его не включали лет десять, но в нём всё ещё пряталось столько крошечных отражений, что казалось, будто шар хранит в себе целую галактику.

— Вот, — сказал Макс, тыча пальцем вверх. — Начнём с него.

Он не знал, есть ли у шара пульт, где рубильник, да и работает ли он вообще. Но действовать надо было прямо сейчас, пока сотрудник не начал терять остатки веры в человечество. Макс бросился к диджею — тот сидел, уткнувшись в ноутбук, и, казалось, вообще не замечал, что мир вокруг слегка сошёл с ума.

— Слушай, мне нужно, чтобы этот шар закрутился. Прямо сейчас.

Диджей поднял глаза, скользнул взглядом по Максу, потом по шару, потом снова по Максу — и вдруг расплылся в улыбке.

— А, так ты тот самый «нормальный человек», о котором Антон говорил? Ну давай, попробуем.

Оказалось, шар был подключён к старой панели за стойкой диджея. Диджей щёлкнул парой тумблеров, и шар, сначала неохотно, будто ворча, потом всё быстрее и быстрее, начал вращаться. Крошечные зеркальные квадратики ожили, и по стенам, потолку, лицам гостей побежали сотни дрожащих бликов — как будто клуб накрыло волной света.

Макс стоял под шаром, чувствуя, как эти блики скользят по его лицу, и вдруг понял, что не знает, что делать дальше. Но делать ничего и не пришлось.

В ту же секунду музыка, которая до этого играла фоном — какой-то спокойный хаус, — резко оборвалась. И вместо неё из колонок полился старый, знакомый всем мотив: «Stayin’ Alive» Bee Gees. Кто-то в зале взвизгнул от восторга, кто-то засмеялся, а потом, как по команде, люди начали двигаться. Не просто танцевать, а будто включаться в какой-то общий ритм, который до этого прятался где-то под полом, под стойкой, за кулисами.
И тут Макс увидел, как первые гости — те самые постоянные посетители, которых он раньше замечал только как размытые силуэты в полутьме — начали делать одно и то же движение. Они поднимали руки, поворачивались вокруг себя, ловили блики зеркального шара и как будто «собирали» их в ладони. Это было похоже на странный ритуал: каждый будто забирал себе кусочек света, а потом отпускал его обратно в зал.

Через минуту к ним присоединились другие. Потом ещё. И вот уже весь зал двигался в этом странном, едином танце — не под музыку даже, а под свет. Зеркальный шар стал сердцем клуба: он не просто крутился, он задавал пульс.

Один из постоянных посетителей, тот самый, что раньше пожал Максу руку, подошёл к нему снова. На его лице играла широкая, почти детская улыбка.

— Знаешь, — сказал он, перекрикивая музыку, — мы годами делали это вполсилы. Просто кивали друг другу, делали пару движений, и всё. Никто не хотел выделяться. А ты… ты просто взял и включил свет на полную. И оказалось, что мы все этого ждали.

Макс хотел было сказать, что он ничего не делал, что это просто шар и старая песня, но слова застряли где-то в горле. Потому что он вдруг понял: старая традиция клуба была не в каком-то особом ритуале, не в секретном слове или жесте. Она была в том, чтобы дать людям повод собраться, почувствовать, что они — часть чего-то большего. И Макс, сам того не зная, сделал именно это.

Он стоял в центре зала, окружённый танцующими, и чувствовал, как свет скользит по его коже, как музыка проникает в грудь, и понимал: возможно, «присмотреть за клубом» — это не про контроль и отчёты. Это про то, чтобы позволить вечеру быть живым.

А где-то в кармане его пиджака тихо завибрировал телефон. Макс достал его, увидел сообщение от Антона: «Ну как там?» — и улыбнулся.

«Вечер только начинается», — напечатал он и, не дожидаясь ответа, положил телефон обратно. Потому что сейчас, в этом море света и движения, слова были лишними.

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Код - 465561   Алия, всем рада!   

Guild Quest.  Day 1.  Club 69 - Nothing Complicated
Guild:   Double D’s

🍸🪩 CLUB 69: NOTHING COMPLICATED
DAY 1 — "I'LL JUST LOOK AFTER THE CLUB"

📍 Club 69 — 9:00 PM

🍸😎 When Max met Anton for the first time in eighteen years, neither recognized the other immediately. Once upon a time, they'd shared a school desk, copied each other's tests, and sworn they'd never lose touch. Life, demonstrating its usual contempt for youthful promises, had other ideas. But a chance encounter in a cafe led to dinner, several evenings of conversation, and the comfortable discovery that eighteen years hadn't changed their friendship very much. So when Anton, now the owner of Club 69, called asking for a small favor, Max agreed. "Just look after the place for one evening," Anton explained. "The staff knows everything. You'll have practically nothing to do." Max was a calm, sensitive, dependable fellow with an excellent sense of humor. Unfortunately, his knowledge of nightclub management was approximately equal to his knowledge of alpaca breeding. Nevertheless, at 8:57 PM, he stood confidently inside Club 69, surveying the glittering dance floor, glowing cocktail bar, and huge mirrored disco ball. At 9:18, he would begin reconsidering the meaning of the word 'practically'. By 9:43, he would be reconsidering several other things, including the wisdom of trusting old school friends.

🪩✨ Meanwhile, the Explorers Guild had arrived for what we'd optimistically described as "a relaxing evening out." Julie had our visit, and all seven of us had dressed accordingly. LaLa shimmered in purple, DeNae sparkled in copper, Oksana looked spectacular in emerald green, Mad was dazzling in red, and Julie and Tara had apparently entered into a competition involving blue sequins and the laws of physics. I wore a black-and-gold jacket that made me look like a retired Las Vegas magician who'd recently inherited a casino. "You look magnificent!" Julie declared. "I look expensive," I replied. "There's a difference." Tara, already consulting her Handy Dandy Notebook, announced that she'd prepared a list of potential nightclub hazards. "Where on earth were you keeping THAT?" Mad asked, staring at the notebook and Tara's rather minimal evening attire. "Guild secret," Tara replied solemnly. DeNae glanced towards the dance floor. "Can we please have one evening without discovering a cursed artifact?" "Certainly," said Oksana. "Unless it's a particularly interesting one." LaLa raised her cocktail. "To absolutely nothing going wrong!" We should have recognized that toast as a warning.

🍹🎶 For twenty glorious minutes, everything proceeded beautifully. The bartender mixed drinks, the music throbbed, employees hurried about looking professionally indispensable, and Max sent Anton a reassuring message: "Don't worry. Everything is under control." History would later identify this as the first major mistake of the evening. Moments afterward, a nervous employee approached. "Sir, it's time to start." "Begin what?" Max asked. "The opening ceremony." "Naturally. And what does that involve?" The employee looked horrified. Apparently, Club 69 had maintained a complicated opening tradition for decades, involving ceremonial music, the presentation of a mysterious pink bar stool, and a formal declaration by the owner. Unfortunately, nobody could explain the details because everyone assumed Anton already do so. Max examined the stool, a spectacular creation with a bright pink cushion, chrome pedestal, and suspiciously elaborate swivel mechanism. "Right," he announced. "We'll crown someone." The employee blinked. "Crown someone?" "King or Queen of Club 69. The chair chooses." "But sir—" "Trust me. I'm in charge." Across the room, I heard these words and immediately recognized the unmistakable sound of a man approaching disaster at considerable speed.

👑🪑 Five minutes later, Max stood under the disco ball, microphone in hand, announcing Club 69's first-ever ROYAL ROTATING CORONATION! His theory was simple: volunteers would sit on the ceremonial stool, which would rotate while the music played. When the music stopped, whoever faced the huge illuminated heart above the bar would become royalty for the evening. Unfortunately, Max had not realized that the stool was mounted on a motorized display platform normally used for promotional performances. When the bartender enthusiastically activated the controls, the stool began spinning like an overcaffeinated washing machine. Its first occupant, a distinguished gentleman wearing a velvet dinner jacket, completed six revolutions before announcing that he could see Wednesday from here. The second contestant lost a shoe. The third was LaLa, who managed three rotations before shouting, "I DEMAND A RECOUNT!" Julie was laughing so hard she could barely stand. "This is wonderful!" she gasped. Mad grabbed a cocktail shaker and began providing percussion. DeNae began organizing contestants into orderly lines, while Oksana convinced the DJ to accompany each rotation with increasingly dramatic royal fanfares. Tara was furiously recording everything. "This violates at least seventeen principles of safe seating!" she announced. "Make that eighteen!" I called as the stool unexpectedly accelerated.

🎺💃 Then things became truly magnificent. Someone suggested that royalty should be selected by applause rather than direction. Someone else proposed competing kingdoms. Within minutes, the bar declared independence from the dance floor, the dance floor elected its own queen, and a group of enthusiastic regulars had formed the Sovereign Republic of the Cocktail Lounge. The bartender began serving drinks named after newly crowned monarchs. A particularly stern Snatchin face-controller, stationed near the entrance in a black business suit, attempted to restore order by demanding proper identification from everyone claiming noble titles. "I am the Duchess of Daiquiris!" Julie proclaimed. "Documentation?" demanded the Snatchin. "I have a tiara!" Tara volunteered. "That's not documentation," he replied. "It's better than documentation," I informed him. "It's hereditary evidence." Even Max was laughing now. When the pink stool finally chose DeNae, who had just sat down to retrieve someone's abandoned handbag, the whole club erupted in applause. "LONG LIVE QUEEN DENAE!" shouted Mad. DeNae rose, straightened her dress, and announced her first royal decree: "Everyone gets a drink, nobody gets injured, and somebody PLEASE unplug that chair!" The crowd roared its approval.

🍸🌟 At 9:43 PM, Max found himself shaking hands with an elderly regular who had been visiting Club 69 since its earliest days. "Magnificent!" the gentleman declared. "Anton finally had the courage to change the tradition!" Max considered asking what the original tradition had involved, but decided ignorance was rapidly becoming one of his greatest professional assets. The bartender handed him a complimentary cocktail. "Best opening we've had in years, boss." Across the room, our Guild had established diplomatic relations between the competing kingdoms, although Tara was still investigating the chair's electrical wiring and Julie was negotiating a permanent title for herself. I approached Max and raised my glass. "Congratulations. You've accomplished something remarkable." "What's that?" he asked. "You've managed to turn a nightclub into a constitutional monarchy in less than half an hour." Max smiled wearily. "Is that bad?" I glanced at DeNae, now being presented with a crown fashioned from cocktail umbrellas, while the Snatchin demanded to inspect her royal credentials. "Not at all," I assured him. "But I wouldn't tell Anton just yet." Max looked around at the laughing guests, the overflowing bar, and the dance floor now celebrating its newly discovered independence. For the first time that evening, he relaxed. After all, how much stranger could things possibly become? Somewhere behind us, the Snatchin face-controller adjusted his tie, consulted a mysterious little ledger, and smiled a smile that suggested he knew the answer.📌 FOUND: The Pink Bar Chair — "Evening at the Bar" Collection
The traditional ceremonial bar stool had become the centerpiece of Club 69's wildly successful Royal Rotating Coronation. A simple misunderstanding has transformed an old-fashioned opening ritual into a spectacular celebration of improvised royalty, competing kingdoms, and questionable seating arrangements.

🪩 THE OPENING — THE INVITATION THAT WAS OUT OF THIS WORLD 💜

An innocent invitation. A mysterious nightclub. And one little detail nobody thought to mention.

It began, as most of our questionable decisions do, with a perfectly reasonable invitation.

Which should have been our first warning.

Our friend Max had recently reconnected with Anton, an old schoolmate he hadn't seen in eighteen years. Apparently, Anton had become quite successful in the nightclub business.

And apparently, he needed a favor.

"Just watch the place for one evening," Anton had told him.

One evening.

Nothing complicated.

Famous last words.

Anton had some urgent behind-the-scenes business to attend to, so Max had been entrusted with a mysterious new nightclub in Mystery Manor Village.

CLUB 69.

Naturally, Max invited us.

Naturally, I accepted before finding out anything else.

Naturally, DeNae demanded details.

"What's the dress code?" she asked.

"Disco fabulous!" I announced.

"That's not a dress code. That's a warning."

I ignored her.

By sunset, our entire guild had assembled outside the most extraordinary building the village had ever seen.

A spectacular black-and-chrome nightclub rose between two ancient Victorian buildings, its entrance framed by glowing purple neon, enormous mirrored spheres, and a shimmering silver sign:

CLUB 69 — THE NIGHT IS JUST BEGINNING

I adjusted my jeweled tinfoil tiara.

"ALIENS."

John sighed.

"It's a nightclub, Tara."

"That's exactly what they WANT you to think."

Julie studied the entrance with her usual thoughtful expression.

"Interesting. There aren't any delivery entrances. And I don't see where the building's ventilation system could be."

"Thank you, Julie! EVIDENCE!"

"I said interesting. Not extraterrestrial."

Lala appeared in a gorgeous disco dress.

"If this place doesn't serve decent cocktails, I'm reporting it to the intergalactic authorities."

Mad, dazzling in ocean teal-blue and champagne gold, admired the lighting.

"Oh, this is GORGEOUS! Look at the reflections! Look at the atmosphere!"

Rowan, our outrageously handsome sparkle goblin, emerged from behind a mirrored column wearing a disco suit that appeared to have been personally attacked by a glitter factory.

"DO YOU LIKE IT?" he asked.

"Rowan," DeNae said slowly, "are those actual stars floating around your shoulders?"

"Only the little ones!"

Oksana arrived last, wearing an exquisite feathered evening gown.

She carried a small silver envelope.

And she was smiling.

Not her normal smile.

Her I know something you don't know smile.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Oksana. What do you know?"

"Enjoy the evening, dear."

"THAT IS NOT AN ANSWER."

She kissed my cheek and walked inside.

Max greeted us at the entrance wearing the expression of a man who believed his biggest problem tonight would be deciding which music to play.

"Welcome, everyone! Anton says everything is ready. The staff knows what to do. I just have to supervise."

John nodded approvingly.

"Sounds straightforward."

I looked at John.

Then at Max.

Then at the enormous silver doors.

"Has anyone ever noticed that every time someone says 'straightforward' around us, somebody almost dies, gets cursed, or ends up on another planet?"

DeNae handed me a little bag of snacks.

"Eat something."

"YOU'RE DEFLECTING."

Inside, the club was magnificent.

A sweeping illuminated dance floor. Crystal bars. Mirrored ceilings. Towering disco balls. Velvet lounges.

But something bothered me.

Behind the main bar was an enormous circular door.

No handle.

No hinges.

Just a glowing number.

69.

I reached for my Handy Dandy Journal.

And the number briefly changed into a constellation.

Then vanished.

I blinked.

Ohhhhh.

This was going to be GOOD.

📖 FROM TARA'S HANDY DANDY JOURNAL

Dear Journal,

Tonight's investigation concerns Club 69.

Initial findings:

1. The building doesn't appear to have normal ventilation.
2. There is a mysterious glowing door.
3. Oksana is being suspiciously Oksana.
4. Rowan is shedding enough glitter to create a second galaxy.
5. John thinks everything is normal.

Clearly, John is wrong.

Current theory: ALIENS.

I have absolutely no proof.

Yet.

Love,
Tara 👑💜

✨ TOMORROW: EPISODE 1 — THE SHAKER THAT SHOOK TWO WORLDS 🛸

🍹 EPISODE 1 — THE SHAKER THAT SHOOK TWO WORLDS 🛸

Today's discovery: THE SHAKER

For the first twenty minutes, Club 69 was absolutely delightful.

The music was fantastic.

The cocktails were gorgeous.

And Max was looking increasingly pleased with himself.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," he announced.

And then somebody handed him a silver cocktail shaker.

"Time for the opening ceremony, sir."

Max blinked.

"The what?"

"The opening ceremony."

"What am I supposed to do?"

The bartender smiled.

"Just shake it three times and say the traditional words."

"What words?"

Unfortunately, nobody seemed to agree on that particular detail.

Max looked at the shaker.

Then at us.

Then at the rapidly growing crowd.

"Well," he announced, "LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!"

He shook the shaker.

ONCE.

The music stopped.

TWICE.

The lights turned brilliant red.

THREE TIMES.

The enormous circular door behind the bar began to glow.

SIXTY-NINE.

I screamed.

"THE ALIENS HAVE ANSWERED!"

DeNae grabbed my arm.

"TARA!"

"What?!"

"THAT IS NOT HOW COCKTAIL SHAKERS WORK!"

Before I could explain my perfectly reasonable scientific observations, the club doors opened.

And in walked the most spectacularly dressed man in the building.

A tailored, futuristic black suit. Subtle silver accents. Polished black boots. And the unmistakable expression of a man who knew considerably more than everyone else.

ELON MUSK.

Lala nearly dropped her drink.

"Well. THAT wasn't on the cocktail menu."

Elon surveyed the room.

Then he grinned.

"Welcome to the 69 Million Miles Club!"

I froze.

"Wait."

He raised one hand toward the glowing portal.

"LET'S GO!"

The floor vibrated.

The disco balls spun backward.

A breathtaking tunnel of stars opened around us.

Max clutched the shaker.

"WHAT DID I DO?!"

John grabbed the nearest railing.

"This is physically impossible!"

"JOHN!" I shouted. "WE ARE LITERALLY DOING IT!"

DeNae grabbed the snack bag.

Julie calmly secured her handbag.

Mad pressed both hands against the glass.

"THE LIGHTING! OH MY GOODNESS, THE LIGHTING!"

Rowan began laughing hysterically as his glitter transformed into thousands of tiny shooting stars.

Oksana merely adjusted her feathers.

"I did tell everyone to enjoy the evening."

And suddenly—

WHOOSH!

The stars disappeared.

The music returned.

And beyond the panoramic glass walls of the nightclub stretched an extraordinary alien landscape.

Crimson mountains.

Vast copper deserts.

Ancient red canyons.

And above them, a velvet-black sky ablaze with stars.

MARS.

We were on MARS.

I turned slowly toward John.

He stared silently through the glass.

"Well?" I asked.

"Don't."

"JUST SAY IT."

"Tara."

"ALIENS, JOHN! ALIENS!"

Elon laughed.

"Club 69 isn't just a nightclub. It's a private interplanetary destination. The portal connects Mystery Manor Village to our Martian location, roughly 69 million miles away for tonight's journey."

Max looked faint.

"Anton told me to watch a nightclub!"

"And he's my right-hand man," Elon explained. "He's handling the portal operations and other things behind the scenes. Very important work."

Max stared at the shaker.

"So I'm not supposed to be in charge of SPACE?"

"You're doing great," Elon assured him.

Which was not particularly reassuring.

Then the curtains opened.

And we saw the guests.

Beautiful Martians with delicate rose-red skin danced among astonishing extraterrestrial beings in shimmering fabrics.

There were elegant silver-skinned visitors, luminous blue creatures, and beings whose skin sparkled like entire constellations.

A tall Martian bartender offered us a tray of glowing cocktails.

"Welcome to Mars."

Lala accepted one.

"Took you long enough."

And just like that, our ordinary night out became the most extraordinary disco party in the solar system.

📖 TARA'S HANDY DANDY JOURNAL — DAY 1

Dear Journal,

I. WAS. RIGHT.

ALIENS.

SPACE.

MARS.

AN ACTUAL PORTAL.

And ELON MUSK!

I would like it officially documented that John owes me approximately eighteen years' worth of apologies.

Also, Max accidentally transported an entire nightclub to Mars with a cocktail shaker.

I'm nominating him for Employee of the Galaxy.

DeNae says I need to remain calm.

I AM CALM.

THIS IS MY CALM SPACE VOICE.

Love from approximately 69 million miles away,
Tara 👑💜

✨ NEXT: EPISODE 2 — THE MIRROR BALL OF A THOUSAND STARS 🪩

Отредактировано Tara 031cde (Сегодня 05:12:17)

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Tara 🇺🇸 031cde
Guild: Double D’s

🪩 THE OPENING — ONE NIGHT OFF. THAT WAS THE PLAN. 💚

A lovely evening with friends. A glamorous nightclub. And absolutely no reason to pack emergency supplies.

I should have known better.

Really.

After all these years of traveling with my little sister Tara, I should have recognized the warning signs.

A mysterious invitation.

An unusually enthusiastic Tara.

And Oksana smiling like a woman who already knew how the evening would end.

But when our friend Max invited us to the grand opening of Club 69 in Mystery Manor Village, I thought perhaps—just perhaps—we could enjoy one perfectly normal evening.

No curses.

No monsters.

No ancient prophecies.

No portals.

Just good music, good friends, and a few drinks.

Apparently, that was asking too much.

Max explained that he'd recently reconnected with his old school friend Anton after eighteen years apart.

Anton was involved in running a new nightclub and needed someone trustworthy to oversee things for one evening while he handled some important business.

Max had agreed.

"It's simple," he told us. "The staff knows everything. I just have to watch the place."

I looked at Tara.

Tara looked at me.

We both knew the exact moment the universe began laughing.

Still, I decided to enjoy myself.

I wore a beautiful emerald-green disco gown, swept my dark-blonde hair into soft waves, and selected my most comfortable dancing shoes.

Practicality does not mean a woman cannot look fabulous.

Julie arrived looking elegant as ever.

Lala appeared in a dress that practically demanded a cocktail.

Mad was breathtaking in ocean teal-blue and champagne gold.

John looked remarkably handsome in his white Saturday Night Fever disco suit.

And Tara?

Tara was wearing a magnificent purple suit and a jeweled tinfoil tiara.

A TINFOIL TIARA.

To a nightclub.

"Tara, why are you wearing that?"

"Because they're listening."

"Who?"

She looked around suspiciously.

"THEM."

I took a slow breath.

"Of course."

Rowan arrived next, his beautiful suit decorated with tiny shimmering stars.

He was wearing a sparkling disco suit that left a trail of glitter with every step.

"DeNae! Look! I enchanted my shoes!"

He tapped one foot.

A miniature rainbow exploded.

I stared.

"Are those going to do that ALL NIGHT?"

"Only when I'm excited!"

Wonderful.

Oksana arrived in an exquisite feathered gown, carrying a silver clutch and wearing her familiar mysterious smile.

I knew that smile.

"Oksana. Is there anything I should know?"

She gently squeezed my hand.

"Perhaps bring a few extra snacks, dear."

I froze.

"HOW MANY EXTRA SNACKS?"

But she was already walking toward the entrance.

So naturally, I returned to my bag.

I added two packages of crackers.

Three protein bars.

A small emergency sewing kit.

Bottled water.

And a packet of tissues.

Tara watched me.

"Why are you packing like we're going on an expedition?"

"Because I've met you."

Inside Club 69, everything was spectacular.

Brilliant mirrored walls.

A glittering dance floor.

An enormous silver disco ball.

Velvet lounges and crystal chandeliers.

A huge panoramic window displayed a breathtaking starry sky.

Strange, considering the club was in the middle of Mystery Manor Village.

But I was determined to enjoy my evening.

Lala ordered cocktails.

Mad admired the lighting.

John began discussing sound-system engineering with an employee.

Julie studied a peculiar silver doorway.

And Tara began whispering about extraterrestrials.

Naturally.

Max greeted us with a proud smile.

"Welcome! Everything is completely under control."

I looked at the enormous circular door behind the bar.

A glowing number 69 pulsed in its center.

Then I looked at Oksana.

She winked.

Oh, dear Lord.

I ordered another drink.

📗 DENAE'S PRIVATE JOURNAL — THE INVITATION

Dear Journal,

Tonight we are attending a glamorous new nightclub.

My goals are simple:

Enjoy the music.
Dance with my friends.
Have a lovely cocktail.
Keep Tara from touching anything mysterious.
Keep Rowan from setting anything on fire.
And get everyone home at a reasonable hour.

I have brought snacks.

I have brought tissues.

I have brought sensible shoes.

Surely nothing can go wrong.

Although Oksana has been smiling far too much.

And I have learned that whenever Tara wears her jeweled tinfoil tiara, I should probably bring a passport.

Love,
DeNae 💚

✨ NEXT: EPISODE 1 — THE COCKTAIL THAT REQUIRED A PASSPORT 🍹

🍹 EPISODE 1 — THE COCKTAIL THAT REQUIRED A PASSPORT 🛸

Today's discovery: THE SHAKER

I was exactly halfway through my first cocktail when the entire evening went sideways.

Max had been given a silver shaker by the bartender.

Apparently, Club 69 had a traditional opening ceremony.

Unfortunately, no one had bothered to explain it to the man running the place.

"Just shake it three times," someone told him.

Max shrugged.

"How difficult can that be?"

I immediately put my glass down.

There are phrases that should never be spoken around our guild.

That was one of them.

Max shook the shaker.

ONCE.

The music stopped.

TWICE.

The lights flashed crimson.

THREE TIMES.

The enormous silver door behind the bar began to glow.

I looked at Tara.

She was practically vibrating.

"ALIENS!" she shouted.

"TARA, PLEASE."

And then Elon Musk walked through the nightclub entrance.

Wearing an absolutely spectacular futuristic black suit.

Lala nearly choked on her drink.

"Well, hello, Mr. Fancy Pants."

Elon smiled.

"Welcome to the 69 Million Miles Club!"

I frowned.

"Sixty-nine million WHAT?"

"Miles," he replied.

"Approximately the distance for tonight's destination."

I stared.

"Destination?"

He pointed toward the glowing portal.

"Let's go!"

Before I could ask another question, the entire building began to shimmer.

The floor vibrated.

The walls disappeared.

And an immense tunnel of stars opened around us.

John grabbed a railing.

Julie clutched her handbag.

Mad rushed toward the window.

Lala grabbed her cocktail.

Tara screamed with delight.

And I—

I grabbed my emergency snack bag.

Because somebody in this group had to be sensible.

"EVERYBODY HOLD ONTO SOMETHING!" I shouted.

Rowan was floating three feet above the floor, laughing.

"I LOVE THIS!"

"ROWAN! GET DOWN!"

"I CAN'T! GRAVITY IS BEING RUDE!"

The stars stretched into brilliant streams of light.

A magnificent red planet appeared ahead.

And suddenly—

WHOOSH!

We stopped.

Outside the panoramic windows lay a breathtaking landscape of crimson mountains, golden deserts, and ancient Martian canyons.

Above us, the sky glowed with extraordinary celestial beauty.

I stared.

Then turned very slowly toward Tara.

She was smiling so hard I thought her face might break.

"Don't," I warned.

"DeNae..."

"Don't you dare."

"WE'RE ON MARS!"

"I CAN SEE THAT!"

"ALIIIIIIENS!"

I closed my eyes.

"Of course we're on Mars."

Elon explained that the club had two locations connected by a magical portal.

The earthly entrance was in Mystery Manor Village.

The actual destination was Mars.

Anton, Elon's trusted right-hand man, had been working behind the scenes to prepare the interplanetary portal and ensure our return journey.

Max looked horrified.

"Anton said I was watching a NIGHTCLUB!"

Elon grinned.

"You are."

"ON ANOTHER PLANET!"

"Technically, yes."

I took a very deep breath.

Then asked the only important question.

"Does the bar serve food?"

Elon looked surprised.

Then laughed.

"Of course!"

"Excellent. Because if you're taking my friends sixty-nine million miles away from home, somebody had better feed them."

The bartender introduced himself as Rhex.

He looked almost human, except for his beautiful light-red Martian skin and luminous copper eyes.

"Welcome to Mars, my lady."

He offered me a glowing green cocktail.

I examined it suspiciously.

"What's in it?"

"Starlight nectar, Martian citrus, and crystallized moonflower."

"Is it safe for humans?"

"Absolutely."

"Has anyone from Earth actually DRUNK it?"

He hesitated.

"Not yet."

I handed it back.

"I'll have something bottled, thank you."

Rhex burst out laughing.

"I like you, Earth woman."

"That's because I ask sensible questions."

He leaned closer.

"Then perhaps you can answer one for me. Why does your friend have kitchen foil on her head?"

I looked across the club.

Tara was waving her tiara at a group of rose-skinned Martians.

I sighed.

"That is going to require a very long explanation."

And just like that, I made my first Martian friend.

📗 DENAE'S PRIVATE JOURNAL — DAY 1

Dear Journal,

We are on Mars.

MARS.

I packed crackers for a night out and somehow ended up sixty-nine million miles from home.

Max accidentally activated an interplanetary portal with a cocktail shaker.

Elon Musk apparently owns a nightclub on another planet.

John is having a scientific crisis.

Tara is having the best night of her life.

Rowan is shedding glitter in zero gravity.

And I've made friends with a very handsome Martian bartender named Rhex.

He seems charming.

He also thinks my sister is wearing aluminum kitchen equipment on her head.

For once, I had no argument.

Love,
DeNae 💚

✨ NEXT: EPISODE 2 — THE DISCO BALL AND THE MARTIAN WHO COULD DANCE 🪩

Отредактировано DeNae (Сегодня 06:34:17)

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