The hallway is a noisy din punctuated by chaotic guitar riffs.
From inside her guestroom, Regulus picks up the phone and dials the front desk.
...
Regulus: Hi, I need ... uh, need some ...
She holds the receiver between her cheek and shoulder, flipping through an emergency manual.
Regulus: Some saline solution!
Regulus: Yeah, yeah, Room 301, saline solution, and ... uh, plant nutrients.
Regulus: Yeah, that's what I said.
...
Regulus: Whew, hopefully that'll fix you up right as rhythm.
Rowdy Youngster: What are you doing, man!?
Rowdy Youngster: I told you, I don't have—mmph—!!
Regulus: What's all this then?
Regulus hurries to the doorway and peeks into the hall to spy on the commotion, but there is nothing there to see.
Regulus: Bit odd, this place.
Before she has any time to think over what she's heard, her room service arrives with APPLe's much-needed aid.
Regulus: Soak in a 0.9% saline solution for one minute.
Following a guideline far more diligently than ever before, she places her companion carefully into the salty cup.
Regulus: Is this really going to work?
She watches the clock above her, counting the seconds. One, two, three ... up to sixty.
APPLe: cough
Regulus: Mr. APPLe!
Bubbles rise up from the cup, and two hands rush in to scoop him out.
APPLe: Captain? The last thing I recall is accompanying you on our roadside trek ... Where are we now?
Regulus: Gold Dust, apparently. Though this spot doesn't seem to be marked on any map.
Regulus: Yeah. You took a header out there. Thankfully, we found ourselves a new mate.
Regulus: Glad she arrived when she did; I'd wager you were only a few minutes away from being an apple fritter.
The apple begins to compose himself once more, regaining a bit of strength from the saline solution.
Regulus: Our vacation plans may need a little tweaking, first mate.
APPLe: As always, our course is up to the sole discretion of our captain. This APPLe is with you, wherever we go.
Regulus: This town we've landed in has got some absolutely naff rules, Mr. APPLe. I've never seen a place more in need of our particular brand of rock'n'roller liberation.
Regulus: They're even putting the clamps on us arcanists!
???: Routine inspection.
???: Routine inspection. Open up.
APPLe: I don't believe it would be wise to open the door, Captain.
Regulus: Gotta hand it to them, these particular censorship stooges are quick on their feet. What I'd do for a fast boat and some open sea right about now.
APPLe: I haven't gotten our bearings yet, Captain. But I do believe we're a few leagues out from the Pacific yet.
Regulus: Too right, but we won't let that keep us down, will we? I've got an idea.
Regulus: I'm not about to let these jackboots get their way.
A sudden radiance of arcane skill shimmers, covering the two of them in light.
Enforcer I: ...?
Enforcer I: It's empty?
From his point of view, all that could be seen is a pristine, neatly arranged guest room.
A seemingly inanimate apple, albeit one adorned with a gentlemanly bow tie, lies on the pillow as if to give a touch of elegance.
Their little trick manages to fool the enforcer.
Enforcer I: But the mayor said there'd be someone here. Could they be hiding?
The enforcer makes a brief check of the room, obliviously passing by Regulus's bright optical illusion.
Enforcer I: Maybe I got the room number wrong. Or some punk kid is playing tricks on me.
...
Regulus: Phew! Wish I'd have gotten a heads-up about the brute squad.
Regulus: You do make for a convincing pillow mint, Mr. APPLe!
APPLe: cough Pretending to be an inanimate object is far from my most challenging role.
APPLe: Some might call that "method acting."
Regulus: This is turning into a proper mess. How'd the fuzz get wise to us so quick?
APPLe: Could be that your reputation precedes you, Captain.
Regulus takes note that the periodic guitar riffs that had punctuated the hotel's hallways are gone now, leaving behind only the dim cacophony of hymnals from the street.
Regulus: The rock gods above know I'm a patient woman, but I won't tell a lie, Mr. APPLe. This barmy town is really getting on my nerves.
Regulus: No rock'n'roll and no unregistered arcanists.
APPLe: It's been less than an hour, and you're already a wanted fugitive; I do believe this may be a new record, Captain.
Regulus: ...?
Regulus: Is it then? Well, that's another feather in the old cap, innit?
Regulus: Course, that does make sense.
Regulus: If our presence here's already got the "man" in a tizzy.
Regulus: Then you may just be right, Mr. APPLe. Our reputation does precede us.
APPLe: From the Plymouth Shipyards to the L.A. Docklands, tales of your rock rebellion have doubtless made waves.
Regulus: Still, I would've thought this place was a safe harbor. Why'd they let the enforcer in?
Regulus sits down on the bed, pondering aloud about the town's ordinances.
Regulus: So, all arcanists have got to register.
Regulus: And for some reason, you can't have chocolate in bed.
Regulus: Then, as if this place couldn't get more square, they ban rock music.
Regulus: Fab. Just fab. Well, there's naught but one thing to do about it. We'll need to break all those rotten rules at once.
She reaches into her bag and grabs a handful of red and green chocolates "borrowed" from the Foundation Christmas Party.
Next to appear is her record player and a few choice speakers. She checks the needle, loads her favorite vinyl, and adjusts the tonearm.
Regulus: "Hmm hmm."♪
Regulus: Last but not least ...
She "disappears" into her flickering arcane light.
Regulus: Let freedom rock!
She gives out a rebel yell—that falls neatly onto a mouthful of chocolate.
Regulus: —!?
APPLe: Captain, I do believe we've knocked out the power.
