Alice turns slowly on the spot, eyes searching every inch of the bowling alley for...well, something. A door, a way to break out. She isn't sure what to expect, honestly, and it is only because of this intense focus that she is able to notice something isn't quite right about Marshall. His chair is ornate, somehow, but still plastic-- but high-backed, obviously stuffed with the finest goose-down --but also locked into place with orange, cheap seats surrounding the ball return. All at once.

And the same goes for Marshall himself. He's Marshall-- sweet, cynical, old soul Marshall. But he's also someone else. Someone with long hair and a confused expression.

Alice isn't sure what to make of this, so she decides to ask. "Excuse me, but may I ask your name?"