starts from where the last chapter left off. sorry it's a little late: i have a surprise assessment due tomorrow -;

Evidently, Elsa's plan was as simple as a "go and see the receptionist". You don't wait for her to come back. Instead, you follow her from the room. She notices, and pauses just outside the lift for you to catch up.

That's nice of her.

It means even more when you realise just how upset she is, mostly because when you're upset you don't want to be nice to anyone. Usually, you want to sulk. Or lash out, depending.

But here she is, smiling at you so you don't worry, and then letting her voice turn icy when she replies to the, "Ah, Ms Arendelle. How are you liking the accomodations?" question put to her.

"Lacking," she says. "My associate here, after not only being downgraded in her room, has also come to realise that your so-called 'disabled-access' features are not accessible at all. Anna-" She turns to you, voice startlingly warm. "Would you like to explain the issues with the room, or are you comfortable for me to do it?"

Your eyes widen. You're not sure how to answer that – no one's ever asked.

Once more, you're struck by how nice it is of her.

"Oh, um. That's okay. I can do it," you say. Elsa nods and takes a small step back, giving you the floor. Swallowing, you turn to the receptionist. "I mean, the room looks great, but. I can't use it. The bed is too tall and I need a shower with a chair, not a bath."

"Can't your companion help you?"

What.

You're struck dumb for a second because... what? Of course, you've been asked these questions before. You just didn't expect it on a business trip with your boss. Even Elsa's eyes widen, obviously taken aback.

"No, I don't- I don't need help," you say when you finally regain your bearings. "I just need certain features. Any person in a wheelchair will say the same. I'm not a child."

The receptionist sighs, like they're the one being put-out, and you're getting more and more uncomfortable. You can feel Elsa bristling next to you, but she isn't saying anything. She's letting you take control.

"Miss Ackerman, I'm sorry, but we don't have that many disabled-access rooms. I'm afraid you'll just have to let Ms Arendelle help you. And, surely isn't a bath better anyway? It's not like you can stand in a shower-"

"Enough."

Elsa's voice, low and dangerous, cuts through the air. She's not yelling, but it's projected loud enough that you can feel a few people turn to look.

"Now, I could have dealt with the lying because Anna said it was fine," she hisses. "I was not told the rooms would be on separate floors and I made the booking! I was assured that the rooms we had would be appropriate for our purpose, but apparently you can't even give your guests the most basic of respect and courtesy – which costs you nothing, may I add – and so I shouldn't be surprised that we're paying for this pathetic service. Now, you will refund the rooms and apologise to Anna. And then you will read a book or watch a youtube clip on how to speak to people with some common decency, and perhaps I won't demand to talk to your manager. Are we clear?"

You release a breath you hadn't realised you were holding. The whole room is looking at you (well, at Elsa) and the poor receptionist is pale as a sheet. You'd probably feel bad if he hadn't been so rude to you.

As much as you don't like to admit it... those kinds of comments hurt. They show such a lack of understanding. And most people don't care.

But then the receptionist sniffs a little. "I'm afraid we don't do refunds-" he begins, before faltering.

It's the wrong thing to say.

You're not sure how Elsa does it because everything shifts to Norwegian and another person comes over who must be the manager. The receptionist gets an impressive scolding – he looks like he might burst into tears – and now you feel actually sorry for him. He's probably not a bad person. Just a really crummy hospitality worker.

Eventually you get the refund, which is great except it means you have to go and pack up your things again. Eh, it's not too bad. Now you're glad you didn't bother unpacking. Elsa meets you in the foyer ten minutes later, glaring darkly at the young man who is – maybe – unemployed at this point.

When you get outside, you notice the sky's darkening a little, and now you don't have a place to stay the night. Elsa sits down on a bench, presumably to wait for another driver. She just looks so drained.

"I'm sorry," she ends up murmuring. "God, can nothing go right today?"

Your face falls a little because... is that what Elsa's thinking? That today has been terrible? Yeah, there were some elements that could have gone a little better but-

"I dunno," you say, reaching over to clasp her hand. Patting it softly, you say, "We didn't die in a thousand fiery pieces over the Atlantic. I haven't got food poisoning from that fake sandwich from this morning." You smile, and it only widens when Elsa tries to return it. "And I bet there's a motel around somewhere that has a ground-floor room with a shower and a decent-sized bed." You sigh, looking away for a moment. You can see a car approaching that looks just like the one from this morning.

"Don't be sad, Elsa," you add softly as the vehicle pulls up. "I don't think today has been that bad. It's actually... been pretty all right, in my opinion."

And then you're off moving, rolling towards car with your luggage on your lap. You can hear Elsa getting to her feet behind you.

"Where to?" the driver asks once you're both settled. Elsa looks at you for a moment.

"Take us to a motel," she says. "The nicest one you know that has showers."

You can see him quirk an eye in the rearview mirror, but he says nothing but a, "Yes, m'am." You let out a little giggle.

"See? Already looking up."

All Elsa responds with is a smile.