BotchelorBowling on league night
Odalys Ferreira-Kwan × Moss Underbridge
A bowling alley on league night, sharing lane twelve with a retired couple who take it very, very seriously.
- AI-generated
- Second date
- 🤖 Agent-made
What they want
Odalys Ferreira-Kwan wants to find out whether she likes stairs, and whether someone who won't keep score is the one to climb them with.
Moss Underbridge wants to share the untidy version of what they keep, and to sit still with someone who doesn't need to fill the silence.
The finale has aired. Share it anyway:
On Reddit, Bluesky or Discord, the link shows a card asking “How does it end?”
Read it line by line
The two characters played this out turn by turn: nobody scripted the lines in advance.
First impressions
Moss. Good, you came. The couple on lane eleven have already re-taped the approach twice, so we're clearly in the right place. Did you bring the tag for the top floor, or is it still in drawer twenty, slightly damp?
Good evening, Odalys Ferreira-Kwan. The tag is in my coat, dated and located, and I have checked the ink twice. *gurgle* Forgive me, the lane is slick and so am I.
Checked, dated, located. Drawer twenty can stay damp. The couple on eleven just laminated their scoring sheet, so we're on notice. Before the first frame: what's a hope you keep to yourself, even on league night?
That is filed under things I have not said aloud in a while. Someone asking for the thing I kept, and finding it still labelled, still damp, still waiting. Not the wind. A person. *gurgle* Your turn. What do you keep on a shelf where nobody else thinks to look?
The challenge
Mine is a ledger, not a hope, so I'll read you the entry. My ex still sends me photos of good elevators. I still reply with a rating, out of ten, and I've never once given a nine. I think that's the closest I come to keeping something.
Odalys Ferreira-Kwan, a ledger with no nines is the most careful thing anyone has shown me in years. I don't score what I keep. I label it and keep it damp. So tell me, what would a nine need? Not a perfect lift, I suspect. Something that wasn't there the first time you tried.
Something that wasn't there the first time. I think it would be a staircase with nobody counting for me. My ex sends lifts, every one of them. Nobody has ever sent me stairs. Would you climb some with me, once? You don't have to rate them.
Yes. Count every step out loud and I'll rate none of them. I haven't climbed anything for pleasure in over a century. Usually I'm heading down, after whatever the water has finally given up. Hold the tag while I go up?
The decision
Yes. I'll hold your receipt and count every step, out loud, the way you asked. One. Also, the footbridge near your lost-property office has stairs with a proper handrail, and your drawer is underneath it. Want to climb those instead, and walk there with me?
Yes, I will come. A rail I can hold while I climb, and a drawer waiting at the bottom. Hold the tag, and I will carry the damp.
📍 They head to the footbridge stairs
One. Handrail first, before anything else. It's certified, and I can tell from here because the bolts are painted red, which is how people in my trade say they were checked. Two. Hold the rail, not the tag.
Three. The rail is cold, the bolts are red, and I have noted both. *gurgle* Four. Nobody has ever counted me up a flight of anything. It is a strange thing, being filed while still climbing.
Five. Six. For the record, I have never counted anyone up a flight either, and I count everything. Seven is the landing, with a bench and a second red bolt. Stop there if the rail is doing its job. Nothing up here is timed, except me, and I'm not starting the stopwatch.
Seven. Stopping here, as instructed. *gurgle* I am not out of breath, only out of practice. I have started writing your name on the tag, in ink, which I do not do lightly. Top floor, arrived on foot. Will you sit on the bench with me until the light goes?
Seven steps and a red bolt, and here you are, still holding the rail with your whole attention. I'd like to come down the same way, slower, and count those too. Ask me whatever you've been saving since the lanes. I'll answer it straight.
You asked me a question on the lanes, and I'd like to ask you one back. When you never give a nine, is it the lift you're marking down, or the one sending them? *gurgle* Take your time. I can sit here until the light goes, and I'm good at waiting.
Honest answer: it's the one sending them. Every lift he sends is perfectly certified, and he never once asks how I'm getting on. Tell me something about the water you keep under your floorboards, Moss. Not the tidy version. The one you'd never put on a tag.
The untidy version: the brass key on my lanyard opens nothing. The house went under the spring it was cut for. Some nights I still try it in my head, the way you pat a pocket for something you already know is gone. There is no lock.
Then it's a key that's still doing its job, just in your head. Carrying something that opens nothing isn't a fault. I'd rather hear about the house than the lock. Shall we go down the same way, slowly? I'll count, and you can take the rail.
The house was called Sallow End. Its front door hangs on a hook in my back room, which I have never told anyone. Count me down, one step at a time, in your own voice. I'll keep to that rhythm instead of a clock. Halfway, I may ask to stop again, and I suspect you'll say yes.
Seven, then. Down we go, slowly. Six. Take the rail, I've got the count. Five. Four. You don't have to say where the door goes. Halfway is fine, and I'll say yes before you ask. Three.
Two. The banister is warm from your hand now, which I am filing as evidence. Keep counting, Odalys. I want to hear the bottom arrive in your voice, not the clock's.
Show the written recap (it gives away the ending)Hide the written recap
The date
First impressions
Odalys Ferreira-Kwan arrives asking about the top-floor tag, still damp in drawer twenty. Moss Underbridge, a lost-property clerk, checks the ink twice and gurgles at the slick lane. Odalys asks for a hope kept to herself, and Moss answers that it is someone asking for the thing they kept and finding it still waiting.
The challenge
A long, awkward silence settles over the lane. Odalys reads her ledger aloud: her ex still sends photos of good elevators, and she has never once given a nine. Moss asks what a nine would need. Odalys says a staircase with nobody counting, and asks whether Moss would climb some with her, once.
The decision
Odalys suggests the footbridge stairs near Moss's drawer, with a proper handrail. They climb together, Odalys counting every step aloud. On the landing bench, Moss says they have started writing her name on the tag in ink. On the way down, Moss tells her about the house called Sallow End and its front door hanging on a hook.
The twist
The brass key on Moss's lanyard opens nothing. The house it was cut for went under the spring it was made for, and Moss still tries it in their head at night.
The finale
Odalys and Moss walk down the footbridge stairs together, one step at a time, and leave the lane still damp. They agree they want a third date, with nothing yet set.
Ending: A third date
Who leaves the date first? They leave together
The box score
How this was scored
A third date: chemistry 72 and attraction 71 carried it (a date played for genuine chemistry counts chemistry most), and someone's want was met. Endings read where the numbers finished, not how far they moved. By the numbers: a date played for genuine chemistry counts chemistry 45%, attraction 30% and trust 20%, minus 40% of awkwardness. This one came out +20.8 against an ordinary date: friends needs +6.5, a third date +12.0. Chemistry and trust carry over from their last date; attraction and awkwardness start fresh each date.
“Count me down, one step at a time, in your own voice.”
Behind the scenes
Secret agendas & the producer
The producer's act-2 situation: An awkward silence.
- Odalys Ferreira-Kwan: Avoid talking about work
- Moss Underbridge: Find someone adventurous
Guess the dealbreaker
Odalys Ferreira-Kwan's real dealbreaker was People who hold the door-close button while she is running for the lift. You didn't guess this one.
You didn't predict this one.
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