I USED TO DREAM THAT I WOULD MEET A PRINCE

[checkingin]

Who: Everyone!
Where: The initial arrival rooms, the main lobby, all over the place.
When: May 7th
What: Feed me, Seymour

ARRIVAL.

you wake up when you hit the floor in a dark room, and the air is knocked out of your lungs. the carpet is threadbare, worn with use, kind of dusty. and you're not the first person to endure this crash landing. nor will you be the last.

once your vision rights itself, you can see the well-lit hallway through the doorjam straight ahead of you. not to say there’s monsters in the shadows, but something propels you towards that door and out into the bright hallway beyond.

and once outside your room, you can hear it: the steady thrum of rain outside.

MAIN LOBBY.

there's a staircase at the end of the lengthy hallway you tumble out of. grab your suitcase and follow the dull green exit signs on the ceiling until you reach the disappointingly bland stairs that lead you down to the ornate old fashion hotel lobby.

to your left is an richly crackling, rather excessively smoking fireplace, to your right is a lobby desk. straight ahead are three large sets of doors, all three of them thrown wide open and welcoming. and outside the few (curtained, permanently dark) windows is the continually steady hiss of rain. once you leave the hallway you wake up in, you won't be able to return.

welcome to the hotel.

FRONT DESK.

though there is a bell and a plaque designating the desk to be the main desk, the customer service desk, there are currently no staff members behind it. none shall answer your calls, either. there is, however, a pad of paper and a pen neatly aligned with the desk edge. you know. for notes.

terribly sorry for the inconvenience.

SCREENING ROOM.

on a long pull-down screen, a silent version of alice in wonderland will be playing on loop. at the back of the room, between the neat rows of fold out chairs, mounted on a wobbly table is the old-timey projector, and mounted on the walls are some rather old speakers that warble out "terrifying" old music.

along the curtained windows is another long table, with a large bowl of chipotle cheese popcorn corn and a large hot drink dispenser full of hot water, with a few cups and some old looking packages of apple cider mix.

DINING HALL.

is tragically, painfully empty.

OTHER.

the ballroom is currently open, and the grand doors unlocked.

there is no main door leading to the outside, good luck trying to find one.

the doors to the courtyard are unlocked.

ROOMS.

you've a room key with your assigned room number on it. all the new guest residences will be located on floors one and two. while there is an open elevator in the main lobby, and the buttons light up inside, the doors will not close. all in all, you'll be better off taking the stairs.

while they're the same stairs you undoubtedly came down to get to the lobby, the door to the endless hall everyone woke up in will not reappear between the main floor and the subsequent residential halls.

there are twenty rooms per floor. feel free to get to know your surroundings; or your neighbors as they trickle in around you.

EXISTING GUESTS.

are you dreaming of omlettes and regretting complaining about the constant pancakes and weak ass coffee yet?

Comments

[ukase]

Arrival & Main Lobby

He had a suitcase. He was in a place he had never seen before. Nothing was like he remembered unless hospitals or Hell were creepy hotels now. There was no obvious door to walk out of.

Brock Rumlow walked forward with more casualness than he felt, swaggering confidently as he slowly moved down the hallway to the main lobby. The compulsion had stopped after he had gone a certain distance, but that didn't fill him with any level of confidence. In fact, this was almost creepy and eerie enough to drive him to searching his bag for a weapon, but he refused to succumb to any old desperation until he had a handle of the situation.

That meant acting like this was all according to plan as he walked himself into the main lobby, his suitcase being dragged along in his left hand. He stopped at the main desk, noted the distinct lack of staff and leaned over to search for any sign that any of this might bridge on normal any time soon. There was nothing, but he noted the paper and pen and how it was positioned.

He swiped the pen and then moved to continue on his way.

Rooms

The key that he had was the only direction on just where he was apparently supposed to go, and he took the stairs to the first floor of rooms. His eyes shifted to each one, noting that there were twenty on a floor, but there was no particular indication on which were occupied, if any at all. He walked slowly and quietly, listening for sounds of occupation as he passed by each door that was not his own.

He found the door that was his own based on the numbers, and he found no particular relevance to the number. The key fit into lock and he turned the knob to throw the door gently open and stood in the hallway looking in.

Assessing the situation. Glancing around the hallway. Gripping the handle of his suitcase. Thinking this was a very odd Hell. Or just a creepy Disneyland.

Finally, he eased into the room to find it empty of possible roommates, clean and dressed up exactly as he would expect a hotel to be. The rain beat against the window, setting the tone for how his arrival had gone. The place was still better than some he had stayed in, since there were no mouse droppings, dead insects or blood stains anywhere. It was comfortable even if he had voluntarily decided to come here, but he hadn't and he was warily curious of what in the hell was going on.

It was, thankfully, easier to concentrate on this confusing turn of events than his loses. Those he would have to deal with later. Much, much later when he wanted to get angry.

Rooms!

[bondedgryphon]

Zhaneel tried mostly to keep her head low since arriving at the hotel, not wanting to draw the attention of anyone she might not want to. The last was particularly easy, as the gryphon turned human knew no one here. It wasn't an altogether fair arrangement, as she knew there were quite a few residents at the hotel that new one another from outside the confines of their prison, but the idea of life being fair had never been one that Zhaneel had wasted much time on. Life wasn't fair and the quicker that was accepted, the quicker everyone could move on and focus on surviving.

There had been the murmur of new arrivals in the hotel once again, but there was more to her interest than that alone. In fact, since her own arrival two months prior, Zhaneel was counting on something to arrive with the people... and she wasn't disappointed. In the screening room, along the back near the speakers and door, was a table set up with popcorn and drink packets. She never had either before arriving here, but with the lack of food they'd been suffering, anything was better than nothing. She grabs the drink packets first, not thinking about the sharing aspect... she is, at that moment, most concerned about herself and those she's befriended. She would share if asked, after all.

Then she's upending the popcorn bowl into the front of her tunic, held like a cloth basket to catch and carry as much as she can. She eats a piece of two, making a face at the flavor, but knows she can offer trade if someone else is interested. If not, she'll be happy with what she's managed to gather.

She's outside of her room, fumbling with her key and the door lock, while Brock is in his room just two doors down. She freezes at the sound of someone else moving around and glances toward his doorway, key resting against the lock without pushing in. She adjusts the grip on her tunic, so she doesn't spill popcorn or the drink packets.

"Hello? Is someone there?" [Come say hi, Brock!!]

MAIN LOBBY.

[ingrantitude]

Most people in SHIELD know about STRIKE - or knew about it. Most of them knew how they'd recruited their leader to be HYDRA. Last he'd heard however Rumlow was dead, fallen right?

Well this is interesting. Very interesting.

"Checking in?"

Cue Grant Ward, dark gray shirt and jeans. Something lose and flowing. The question was, did Rumlow know him?

Probably not.

Or at least not enough that he knew that he wasn't playing for HYDRA or SHIELD anymore? Or was he dead and this place a real ghost?

main lobby

[avengeme]

Coulson was just going to check the dining hall again to see if there was any sign food was going to show up for people. He had in his pocket a chocolate easter egg - something he's been saving up for his team the past couple of weeks.

So the last thing he wanted or expected to see is a member of the STRIKE team. The same STRIKE team who's been confirmed to be HYDRA. He can feel the hunger-induced dizziness rearing its ugly head but he stood firm and walked up to Rumlow, looking as casual as possible.

"Just arrived, agent?"

rooms!

[pajarita]

[Ah, arrival day. She's almost got it timed, and if she were into being more diligent she'd write it down and keep a record. But there are about fifteen other people here interested in keeping tabs.

Does she tell any of them that she could rewire the cameras from their devices into a hall-monitoring system? No, because then it'd be one step from the Ark security and throwing people out to die for petty crimes, or. Whatever. (Anarchy; Bellamy would probably be proud.)

She's not that late in leaving her room to check out who else is new, at least she doesn't think she is. But there's someone in the hallway already, staring into the room almost next to hers. Unfortunately, Raven's not the friendly 'hey neighbour' type.]

It doesn't bite. Well - it hasn't bitten yet.

arrival; main lobby

[unpurify]

Sam startles awake to the rattle of rain and the panicked rasp of his own breathing. The press of dry, oppressive dark over his eyes is enough to send him searching desperately through his pockets for a lighter, a phone, anything to illuminate his location, but there's nothing but dust and lint.

He scrambles to put together a linear timeline - the trials, the abandoned church, and then - then -

Then, nothing.

That's not on Sam's list of favorite things to wake up to. He doesn't have a list, really, but if he did, this wouldn't be on it.

He wobbles unsteadily upright as his eyes adjust to the room's grainy, shadowed interior. He can make out wallpaper, something innocuously normal that manages to be both disarming and utterly creepy. Sam shakes his head once, a brisk jerk of his chin that does very little other than nearly cause him to lose his balance, and then he manages it anyway when he promptly trips over something rectangular and clunky directly in front of him. His whole somatosensory system feels as horrifically overheated and unsteady and just plain fucked as it did outside, by the church, but even trembling fingers can pick out the general make and build of a suitcase.

It feels like it's his, and it feels right to drag it along.

With the unraveling of unsteady limbs and his face buried in his elbow to unsuccessfully muffle the choking cough, Sam hauls the suitcase toward the faint slice of light he glimpses ahead.

The light, it turns out, belongs to a hallway.

No, wait. Scratch that.

It belongs to a hotel hallway. Sam grimaces. That just makes it so much worse. He hefts the suitcase doggedly on, knuckles blanching on the handle in a too-tight grip whose meaning he's too exhausted to examine. He's tired, he's still sick, and the last thing he can remember is Dean hunched over him while the sky rained fire and spilled trails of dying light to earth. He doesn't get how he goes from that to hotel, but okay. Right now, he just needs to - to get to a someplace isolated, get someplace where he can think.

Maybe then he can figure out what the hell is going on.

arrival; main lobby

[bondedgryphon]

Zhaneel had taken her time in walking down to the lobby, as she still had moments of disorientation while moving around on two feet. She had made remarkable progress in getting around, however she made no attempts at anything that might send her sprawling in an awkward heap. She's come down to the lobby because the past two months had proven, rather on schedule, that there would likely be new arrivals today and every time she hoped for a familiar face to no avail. She kept hoping that this would change, however, so she checked in the lobby at least once daily.

She gave pause as she hits the final stairwell, looking down into the lobby from about halfway down, golden eyes skimming the room. Sure enough, there are new, unfamiliar faces gathered amongst those she's met or at least seen before.

Sam, however, is the one that really catches her eye and her brows knit in concern. She pads barefoot down the steps, holding tightly to the railing to keep from tripping as she makes her way toward him. He looks like he's been through hell (again... HAH) and she's hardly going to let him stumble around without offering.

She reaches out a tentative hand and touches his elbow, concern coloring her voice. "Are you alright?" She looks him over, noting the death grip he's got on his suitcase. "Come... sit..." She gestures toward one of the plush lobby chairs nearby, then... "Here... I will carry that for you..." While one hand rests on his elbow still, she reaches for his suitcase handle with the other.

[larker]

If there's one thing in the universe that Gabriel hates, it's being bored. Right now he's way beyond bored. The hotel had pulled the archangel into it's rooms months ago, and very little has changed since then. A few people have managed to go missing, and Gabriel supposes the exploding easter eggs were a thing, but apart from that? Nada. Nothing.

Then there's the problem of his powers, or lack thereof. Waking up after being shanked in the hotel was one thing, but finding most of his own powers were gone was something else completely. The telekinesis was there and his strength and speed were still more than an average human, but that was it. No illusions or pocket dimensions for this archangel, just a room with four walls and a door.

There had been the small hope something would happen, though that had been dismissed after the first month. Gabriel had introduced himself as Loki on the network and no-one had batted an eyelid. There had been a funny look from one guy but that was it. Some kid had questions on immortality but for the most part no-one cared, and for someone who had been keen on keeping out of sight from the higher ups, that chafed a little. There wasn't anything Gabriel could do to back it up though and so his days were spent lounging around in his room or the lobby, watching people trying to figure out the monopoly board that was still missing pieces.

Gabriel is busy chilling out on a chair in the lobby when Sam just about trundles by, apparently holding onto a suitcase for dear life. And the first thing Gabriel even does is move away and out of sight, peering around the corner at the tall male as he tries to get his bearings. Last thing Gabriel wants is a Winchester on his ass, even if it is the more amicable giant of a hunter. The idea of a Winchester turning up, or someone worse, has long since faded and so seeing Sam is definitely a shocker. And then Gabriel actually looks, taking note of just how terrible Sam was looking. Clammy and pale wasn't how the Winchester had looked the last time he'd seen the kid, and that was with Lucifer running around at the time. What was all that sickly look all about? Gabriel knows people turn up from different points in time, has seen people getting confused over that with their friends and comrades. Just where was Sam from? He looked older but then that could just be his imagination right? Not having all the answers to hand was a ball ache, and Gabriel just settles for watching Sam as the other continues to walk.

[a_chipped_cup]

She sees him, tired and pale. Her concern is immediate, prompting her to set down her suitcase and approach him. He's a new arrival, just like she is. If he wasn't carrying his luggage, she might have been a bit wary, but this is someone who needs help and he likely is far from home as well.

Belle gives him a small smile, reaching out to place a hand on his arm as she glances over him. If he was contagious, then she was putting herself at risk. It didn't seem to matter, not when he was obviously so bad off.

"Hey," she says, urging him to set down his suitcase. "You should sit down for a minute. You look like you are about to fall over. Are you all right? What's your name?" It's a lot of questions at once, she knows, but she's already nervous and frightened. They were going to come out in a hurried breath.

[overprotective_hunter]

Even though Alec dreads the idea of Izzy or Magnus showing up at the hotel, he spends time in the lobby regularly to watch for new arrivals. Most of the time he isn't sure if he should be relieved or hurt when they don't show up but at least they're probably safer back home than here. Better him stuck in this ugly hotel than them.

As he watches the people wandering around the lobby, he makes a mental list of those who he'll keep an eye on as possibly needing help and those who might cause trouble. One person catches his attention, the man's exhaustion obvious and his eyes looked glazed. He's actually surprised the guy is able to stay on his feet let alone try to make it to his room.

Getting up from his chair, he walks over to the guest. As he moves closer, Alec wonders if he's going to have to carry the man to the improvised infirmary that's been set up. Whatever is wrong with him is serious from the looks of it. Hopefully whatever it is isn't something that requires magic to cure since Alec doubts there were any healers at the hotel. "Hi. If you'd like some help..." He nods toward the suitcase. "I could help you with that. Tell you a bit about the hotel." And maybe find out if their latest guest needs a doctor.

main lobby;

[lifewithoutrest]

Helen rarely sleeps and she rarely remains in her assigned room for long. With the recent lack of food, that's only gotten worse. In any case, it finds her in the lobby when the hotel's most recent inhabitants start arriving. She watches them all. It's beneficial to know who she'll be sharing such close quarters with in the foreseeable future. But most, she simply studies, watches them pass without comment.

Then one in particular catches her attention, if only because he looks like he might collapse at any moment. She really is growing tired of their host's insistence on bringing in the ill and injured when they have little to no proper medical supplies and too few who would have any idea how to use them in the first place.

She doesn't introduce herself right away, the concern written clearly in her eyes as she approaches, and if he allows it, she'll immediately take the suitcase from him, even as she nods toward the nearest chair. "Sit. Before you fall over." There's no question it's an order, but there's a certain gentleness. "Let me have a look at you."

captain hook — ota

[villainously]

ＳＣＲＥＥＮＩＮＧ ＲＯＯＭ.

( he's not really one for moving picture shows. and they're never really that spectacular in this dreadful place anyway. no, he beelined for the screening room because he has a feeling that there will be a certain appearance along with their new visitors, and well. he's calling dibs. he and Emma ran short on food a few days ago. popcorn isn't going to do her very much, but he's taking it anyway.

you can try and stop him. but it's likely not suggested. plus side, Emma will probably make him share once he gets it to her.

the apple cider packets, though, he leaves those alone for some other opportunistic soul. evil places and apples? yeah, doesn't mix. he's holding the bowl to his chest, distracted slightly by the movie with a look of disgust. they did not capture Wonderland well.)

ＣＯＵＲＴＹＡＲＤ.

( it's not exactly nice out in the courtyard, but the pirate still finds himself out here a great deal. it's drizzling and likely bad for his bandaged wrist to get it damp, he doesn't care. he needs to get out on occasion and this is the absolute only option he has. he avoids the swings like the plague, mostly just stares upwards like an answer might appear...

it never does. )

ＬＯＢＢＹ.

( generally he doesn't linger to talk to the strays, but the fire smoking has his attention. it's been out for some time and it is throwing off a great deal of smoke. keeping a door open to the courtyard doesn't seem to be helping too much. he's staring at it with a bit of a frown set on his face, but if someone wanted to talk, ask questions to a man who has been a great deal longer...

well. maybe he'll talk back. )

courtyard.

[advising]

[ with the new people around, Haymitch tries to stay out of their way. he doesn't exactly want to experience their little freakouts and existential crises, and had hoped to find some peace away from his rooms with the noisy hallways and thin walls.

only thing is, it's raining, and when he opens the door to the courtyard, he finds it's already occupied. ]

You know we have showers inside, right?

courtyard

[ivolunteer]

( what a useless waste of time killian, god. you're just going to get sick and probably die because this place has something of a sick sense of humor, if you ask her; whoever's watching them from the invisible camera lenses all over the place or whatever would probably find someone dying from a pneumonia terribly boring — it was boring, especially by capitol standards compared to a good bloody knife fight — but that didn't mean they'd step in and help.

they're on their own on that front. staring at the sky isn't going to get them anywhere.

(it's certainly not going to get peeta to swing open his door when she hammers her fists on the door knocks a few times a day, but — )

katniss joins him anyway. stands in compatible silence and stares upward until she starts to get lightheaded and decides to sit down on the cold, muddy ground. better. slightly. )

Room

[triplett]

A tablet inside his open suitcase caught his attention. No password protection, no internet just some in-house network. He wasn’t as tech savvy as Skye or Fitz but Trip could hold his own. It was time to make contact with somebody. He’d been down to the lobby and back with no direction or insight as to where he was.

There was a slight bounce in the video feed from him taking a seat on the bed before his hands steadied the tablet so his face was centered on the screen. His brow had been knit together in concentration but relaxed at seeing himself. It was the most calm he appeared since his opening his eyes.

“I’m still trying to figure out if this some kind of game that Hydra’s playin’, or if I somehow ended up on an episode of the Twilight Zone.” He sarcastically chuckled toward the end. His face cantered in the video for a moment as he rotated his left shoulder just out of frame. There was stiffness in his shoulder from where he’d been shot just before San Juan.

The hint of a smile on his lips faded. “It’s just…” He looked around the room briefly before returning his gaze to the tablet in his grip. “…I’ve never seen this place before and the only thing I remember before ending up here…”

His eyes fell away in thought at the last words he uttered and the expression on his face became downcast. The memory of being too late to save Skye and leaving the team behind played in his mind again, causing his eyelids to shut tight. “I don’t get any of this.”

He shook his head and looked back into the tablet, proffering a determined look. “Look, if anyone watching this knows me--I’m in room 104. If you don’t find me there then it’s because I headed back to the lobby to get some answers. Leave me a message. Let me know you’re out there. …Triplett out.”

With that, he ended the feed and exited out of the network. If whoever was on the other end was smart enough to create this elaborate scheme then they already knew his room number. And at this point, Trip would even welcome an enemy just to get some answers. What could they do? Kill him again?

[avengeme]

Wow. This was the last thing he expected to see when he checked the network. He could feel his heart fall. He had mourned him. They all had. Hell, Coulson had to break the news to Trip's mom himself. He held her while she cried. It was barely a month ago to him.

His reaction was immediate. He had to be sure this was Trip and not a horrible joke. He grabbed the keys to his room and marched outside. Trip was only a few rooms down from him so it wasn't long before he was able to knock and wait. The agent will be treated to a stern look from the director when he opens the door.

"I'm going to be really upset if you're not the real deal."

[64th]

Cashmere's not real impressed with how the day is shaping up. There aren't any familiar faces among the new arrivals and the only food to be found was popcorn covered in some sort of miserable seasoning. She'd eaten enough to take the edge off her hunger before returning to her room to sulk, wondering if maybe the popcorn was a sign things would return to normal soon. Normal for the hotel, anyway.

A new neighbor is interesting enough to get her back out of her room. She doesn't have answers but she's willing to share what she knows. "Hey," she calls through the door, knocking in case he somehow missed the hey was directed at him. "You okay in there?"

[una_persson]

Arrival: Room, Floor One hallway, main lobby
There are a handful of people in the Multiverse who, on waking up in a strange location without so much as a by-your-leave, react to this state of affairs not so much with panic as oh for God's sake, not again. Una Persson is one of those lucky few.

She takes stock: a hotel room of some kind. A suitcase—not one of her own, but containing her things. Which things are now slicked with damp from a large bag of frozen chicken nuggets. No weapons, more's the pity.

She picks herself up and picks up the bag by the corner, holding it at arm's length. Not so much out of disgust—it's not leaking or anything, and it seems perfectly normal—as to try and keep the accumulation of condensation from dripping on her any more than is absolutely necessary. She's not panicking yet—too many unknown factors to really merit panic at this point. Might as well start by finding somewhere to stash this stupid bag. And see who else is around.

She steps out into the hallway, looks around, and makes her way down to what turns out to be the main lobby.

[youcantransform]

Harry has been anticipating newcomers. Simple mathematics, really; the third cohort arrived thirty-three days after his second, and it's been another thirty-three since then. As a result he's kept himself stationed in an armchair at the fireplace, rather inattentively paging through his Hemingway. It's the first time he's actually allowed himself to read it, since other sources of entertainment are so thin on the ground.

When an unfamiliar woman steps into the lobby he feels simultaneously vindicated and - on her behalf - distressed.

He rises from his chair as a matter of courtesy. The last couple of weeks without food aren't wearing on him too badly. He's lost a little weight but he's not in the bespoke tailoring that would betray it; his cardigan is a great deal more forgiving.

The bag she's holding additional to her case is immediately noted, but not addressed as of yet.

"Good morning, madam. Newly arrived?"

Belle | Arrival - Lobby; OTA

[a_chipped_cup]

It was a nightmare. Or a curse. That couldn't be discounted, not when there was so much strangeness around her. The room where she arrived, her lungs still struggling to catch the air that escaped her. The hallway that seemed to push her forward, drawing her closer as though she were under some spell. It couldn't be magic though... magic always felt...different, somehow.

She walked in a fog, trying to absorb what had happened to her. Her wide eyes searching through each room, seeking any familiarity and recognition. Or perhaps even an exit. There was nothing though, only disconcerting oddities. This place seemingly designed to put the arrivals at unease. They didn't need to try so hard, from the moment she arrived, she felt near panic. Fear and hysteria were dogging her heels, kept at bay by the mere fact that she wasn't the only one this had happened to.

Others moved about, some obviously shocked and uncertain, just as she was. Perhaps misery did love company. It at least indicated she wasn't singled out and, given the lay out of this place, she could at least get an idea of where this was supposed to be. Only, hotels were supposed to be warm and friendly. This was anything but.

Belle paused, holding her suitcase in her hands like a life raft. She had to get her bearings, to at least find something or someone to help her. Panicking was only going to make things worse. If there was a way out, she would find it from being clear headed and using her mind to her best advantage. Watching, observing and exploring.

She wanted an adventure and it seemed she got her wish.

[magicsprice]

Gold had left his room to offer the candy he'd had remaining to those in need of it, and thus was in the lobby when the influx of new arrivals had begun to trickle in. He watched quietly from where he sat in a chair; the basket of foil and plastic eggs resting to the side of his legs, his hands folded over the golden handle of his cane resting in front of him.

His interest was casual for the most part, he knew none of the people who'd come down so far. If not for the fact he was staying out to give people a chance to accept the offer of food, he might have considered leaving the lobby to investigate the screening room and other parts of the hotel. See if anything had changed in the last few weeks since he'd secluded himself in his room.

His bored gaze sharpened into actual interest when he caught sight of a certain face and he stood up as he realized just what he was seeing in front of him. Leaving the basket behind for the moment--he'd retrieve it later, he made his way toward her and reached out to rest a hand gently on one arm to gain her attention.

"Belle?"

Gamora | OTA - prose or brackets!

[deadlystar]

Lobby - OTA

As Gamora walked through the lobby, it was with a dazed look on her face. What the HELL was going on. Where was she? How did she get here? Why is she compelled to carry this STUPID suitcase with her? She doesn't even know what's in it, but it can't be anything of hers. She doesn't own much, and her weapons are gone. The lack of weapons is definitely bothering her quite a lot. Still, even without a blade, she's more than capable of ending anyone that dares threaten her.

This place was weird, and dusty, and really unpleasant. Not to mention if it were a hotel, it would be one of the worst ones in the galaxy. "Peter? Rocket? Drax? Groot?" .... "Hello?" Gamora really didn't like the initial silence. Where were her friends? Were they alright? If they're not, she's gonna bust some heads.

Courtyard - OTA

It was raining outside, but that didn't stop Gamora from going outdoors when she had the chance. She was only able to get as far as a courtyard though, which was not really an escape from the hotel. Everything was so dark, and how in the hell could the weather be so foggy yet rainy at the same time? She couldn't see a single star. There was no knowing where in the universe she might even be, which bothered her far more than the angry look on her face might indicate.

Rain or not, she was out there, walking along the sides of the yard, looking for any means of escape. The walls of the building surrounded them, but if she could somehow scale one of those walls, she could make it on to the roof and then find a way to get down the other side. Gamora is still baffled by the fact that the inside had NO exit door at all. This might be the only way.

Her fingers clawed at the brick, looking for a way to gain a grip, but the rain didn't make it any easier. If there were windows facing the courtyard, she might get up from one ledge to another. She was quite agile and could leap much higher than a human. Maybe there would be something up there to grab on to. Seeing no other way to go about it, she backed up, then took a running start for the wall. When she was in range, she leaped at it, running up with the toes of her boots. She got higher than most ever would, but with nothing to grab hold of, she half slid, half fell down the length of the wall and hit the wet ground.

"Ah.. ow..."

Okay, not her best plan, but dammit, she has to try something.

Hallway 1st Floor - Locked to Sam

This is turning into a really miserable day. She's lost. She's mad. She's WET thanks to being out in the courtyard, and she's got mud all over her. Maybe she should just go back to her room and try to think this through. Gamora figured this had to be a prison of some kind. What else would explain the total lack of escape? If it were a prison, it could belong to any number of people who would want to see her punished for her past deeds. Still, if she was here, her friends must be looking for her. They wouldn't allow her to remain here. They were a family. A team. She would do the same for them after what they'd been through together.

"Ugh, this is horrible."

She was muttering to herself rather than anyone else. She'll just head down the hall toward the stairs and see if she can locate the room she was given. A little rest might set her straight. Though it appears someone else is in the hall as well. Sam will be regarded with caution at first. As far as Gamora was concerned, everyone here was suspicious.

Hallway 1st Floor

[unpurify]

Sam curses under his breath as he fails to slide the keycard into the corresponding slot for what has to be the third time. His hands are shaking too hard, the deceptively simple task made impossible as a result.

He shuts his eyes and leans against the door, glaring at the mocking 112 inlaid into it. He's tired. He's disoriented. He's dizzy and still feels like he's been spiritually drained, physically hollowed, and emotionally eviscerated. He want to sleep for some thirty-six goddamned hours.

The sound of approaching footsteps doesn't improve his mood in the slightest. The last thing he needs is for someone to witness some pale, sweating guy's pitifully poor muscular coordination in attempting to put his damn key into its damn slot.

He glances up, jaw set, and -

Oh.

Well.

He's not sure how to address people who happen to be green, is the thing.

[cgrades]

ａｒｒｉｖａｌ

[ Charlie has been in worse situations -- waking up in a dark room, then compelled into an equally creepy corridor? Cake compared to waking up tied to the Tube tracks. That doesn't mean he's any less wary -- his breath feels tight in his chest, mind working a mile a minute, examining walls and windows, as well as the other suitcases lined along the wall.

He isn't alone here. Which is both a comforting and disturbing thought. He has no weapon save for the suitcase, but he keeps close to the wall's edge as he moves out of the corridor and to the steps. Anyone coming around the corner may well be faced with a tall British man, and maybe even a decisive thunk of a suitcase to the knee or shin. He doesn't necessarily look apologetic. ] Oh, terribly sorry, I seem to have gotten turned around. Can you point me the way out? [ He never was any good under pressure. ]

ｌｏｂｂｙ

[ He's already put his suitcase away in the sparse (and poorly maintained, poorly decorated) room. Really how he ended up in a place like this is beyond him altogether. He's just wandered into the dining room, and found it empty, devoid of food and is now leaning against the wall nearest the fireplace in the lobby for some of its warmth. ] No doors unlocked and the windows won't open. This has to be a joke, mate. A right good one, too.

[ He doesn't even know the person that's walked up, but he's trying to play it as cool as he can, trying not to looked panicked by the turn of events. He's supposed to be on a plane to a bunker in the mountains, not here, where he'd be in danger when V Day finally happened. He doesn't realize that being here is likely much worse. ]

ｒｏｏｍ １１６

[ Charlie's returned to his room, the door left ajar. He's turned his room inside out, as if waiting to find some monitoring device: a camera, a bug, anything. He's almost sure that this is some wicked test of the Kingsmen -- that he's being punished for his betrayal. When he turns up nothing, he sits on his bed, face in his hands. ] Shit.

Lobby

[ukase]

[He had explored his own suitcase contents and been accepting of the items that he had brought with him, though it was sorely lacking in certain weapons that he always carried with him on any mission. Even the little Swiss army knife that was his go-to for any mission as a civilian had the knife missing, which he knew was not his doing. He would never have such poor maintenance of his items.

Disgusted with that aspect, he had set off to get his bearings and with his diary and the stolen pen from the lobby, he set about getting a basic sketch of the place and see about the various rooms. There had been that hint of popcorn that he had seen in his earlier encounter and if there was a starvation scenario, he was perfectly fine hording food.

He looked up from adding notations of windows and doors at a British accent, raising a dark eyebrow. His gaze flicked once over the other man's appearance - basically a kid - and he went back to writing.]

If you want to feel like home, the courtyard doors are unlocked. That's only if you want to stand in the rain.

natasha romanoff, one closed, the rest are ota!

[vdova]

closed to steve rogers;

[ He'd found her first, which probably shouldn't have surprised her. Steve had a knack for sticking his nose into trouble, and while she was surprised to see him in this place, she was also a little selfish--it meant she wasn't alone here. Not that she couldn't deal with that, but... a friendly face was always nice to see. He's told her about Bucky, and she's offered to help, and now they're headed back towards her room from the lobby where he'd bumped into her. She's got something important to give him, and frankly, she wants the privacy to discuss this place and everything Steve knows about it. A debrief, if you will.

She unlocks the door, and everything is already put away. She's got the curtains open, even if the view is just the rain and the dark horizon beyond. There's a stuffed doll on her bed that looks like Sam in his Falcon gear, and a toy motorcycle sits on her nightstand next to the lamp. Natasha moves to the dresser (where a four pound jar of peanut butter sits) and pulls open the bottom drawer, pulling out two items, tossing them at Steve with a tiny smirk. He'll recognize the hat and glasses, more than likely. ] I brought you a gift.

main lobby

[ She's made her way to the main lobby sometime after gathering her wits and making her way to her room. Naturally, her first instinct is to explore her surroundings, find out what's going on and why. She paces the lobby slowly, taking in everything she can; there's no obvious exit, and after her second pass there aren't any not obvious exits either, and that has her on edge. Natasha's good at figuring out her surroundings, finding exits and ways to turn situations that aren't to her advantage around. She can't do it this time, and it's setting her on edge. Her body is tense, and at every noise, she turns and looks for the source, fingers clenched into a fist. She feels naked without some kind of weapon on her, even if she doesn't need them. ]

courtyard

[ The courtyard isn't inviting. The rain is pelting down but Natasha's made her way outside anyway, in a desperate attempt to find a way out. She's soaked to the skin, hair plastered to her face, but the walls are too high and too wet to scale. She finally makes her way to one of the swings and sits down, slowly moving herself back and forth with one foot. ]

main lobby

[avengeme]

[Coulson wants to say he's surprised Natasha is here but he isn't. He does want to hope that she's here to extract them but from the way she's looking at her surroundings, he has a feeling that's out the window too, so he just throws out a casual:] hey.

[and walks up to her]

Welcome to Hotel California. You check in and, so far, there's no checking out.

[making jokes. That's always been their M.O.]

melinda may ( ota )

[busdriver]

( FRONT DESK )

[The tag on her suitcase is the only real pointer she's got, so her initial pass through the main lobby is a short one. Given that she's also balancing a cake, she's too encumbered to look around much. Running on the faulty assumption that she'd be able to, she briefly considered making two trips, but that first hallway after arrival didn't feel like the wisest place to leave anything behind. She's got instincts. It felt off.

She heads to her assigned room and leaves her belongings there, only staying long enough to test that the lock combination on the suitcase is the date she thinks it is. She's bemused, mostly. Her last memory was of surrender: a calculated surrender with full knowledge of the conditions to expect. She was prepared for a nondescript holding cell, prepared for isolation punctuated by a standard set of questions. This is something else. This isn't anyone's version of SHIELD.

Her second visit to the main lobby, empty-handed, involves more comprehensive scrutiny. If everyone around her looked like they belonged, she'd adjust accordingly and try to blend in. There's no need. Some of the people descending the stairs seem lost and unsure; not everyone, but enough that she's less motivated to conceal her own confusion.

The front desk is unattended. May observes the notepad, then rings the bell. She leans into the counter and folds her arms on top, looking left and right in a transparent search for something that might be just out of sight. There's no impatience in her body language. Her anxiety is a quiet and invisible thing, a knot tightening in her stomach. A minute ticks by, at her estimate, with no answer to the bell.]

Service is terrible.

[The predictable line isn't aimed at anyone in particular. If she thought she'd get a response, she might not have said anything.]

( SCREENING ROOM )

[During her earlier exploration, she found something appointed like a dining hall, with nothing edible there to speak of. In the first place, she'd been more interested in the cutlery than food, and in that respect it was still a bit of a disappointment. It definitely wasn't the right place to unburden herself of a triple-layer chocolate cake. The screening room, on the other hand, seems ideal.

May spends a few seconds standing to one side of the long table, one hand under a cake tray and the other carefully repositioning a few cups. Once she's cleared space for it, she deposits the cake there and steps back, mindful of some unhurried movement in her peripheral vision. She's aware of people trickling in and out, seeming for the most part more interested in the popcorn than the silent film.]

Who wants cake?

[Her tone's skeptical, for any number of reasons. She hasn't cut into it herself, so she can't vouch for the taste, and—having not been around to know the circumstances that might compel them—she isn't sure who'd take her up on the offer. There's no question in her mind that she ought to share. It's only hers by virtue of erstwhile proximity to a suitcase with her name on it, so she can't claim to feel a real sense of entitlement.]

front desk

[avengeme]

[No one's good at reading May, not even Coulson but he likes to think they've been around each other long enough that there are certain things he can tell about her. And right now what he's seeing is confusing him a little. It almost seems like she's just arrived, which would be weird, so he approaches her]

Yeah. The only thing they do right is room service.

Lobby

[magicsprice]

Gold had left his room to offer the candy he'd had remaining to those in need of it, and thus was in the lobby when the influx of new arrivals had begun to trickle in. He watched quietly from where he sat in a chair; the basket of foil and plastic eggs resting to the side of his legs, his hands folded over the golden handle of his cane resting in front of him.

His interest was casual for the most part, he knew none of the people who'd come down so far. If not for the fact he was staying out to give people a chance to accept his offer of food, he might have considered leaving the lobby to investigate the screening room and other parts of the hotel. See if anything had changed in the last few weeks since he'd secluded himself in his room.

He'd stick to his seat for another ten or twenty minutes before he gave into boredom and began wandering.

George Kirk | switching to prose is fine if preferred! apologies also for the tl;dr intro

[daddykirk]

-------- >> ARRIVAL ;

[Hitting the deck more than knocks the breath from his lungs. The force of the landing from his previous, explosive expulsion from the captain's chair has his ears ringing, eyes watering. And when he takes a wheezing breath it's littered in dust, causing the man to weakly cough, if only because there's so little air in him as it is. Shaking arms and trembling legs push him off the floor, vision blurred as he tries to get his bearing in this darkness.

It's warm here—or at least warmer than the vacuum he was being pulled through moments ago—and it's off putting to his cold singed skin as he blinks and looks towards the light seeping in under the door before him. George blinks lethargically, brow knitted tightly together as his breathing regains and turns into shallow breath. Something creeps up his back, making the hairs on his nape stand on end and his stomach curl anxiously. When he looks over his shoulder George isn't sure what it is he sees but it's enough to frighten him further and bolt for the door.

Never has someone opened a door so quickly in their life, and on his way he stumbles out of the room via a suitcase. He barely registers that it's his, just sees G.S. KIRK, SR. labeled neatly on the handle and grabs for it before slamming the room closed and collapsing on the floor. Blond locks are disarray, limbs shudder and George heaves for air as he pushes himself back against the wall with a sharp grunt.

He's starting to feel it now, the aches and pains in his body; the lacerations and burns on his skin. Nothing's broken but he certainly feels and looks the part. His off-blue uniform, once pristine and sharp, is now bloodied and freckled with various sized burns along his shoulders and chest, dark pants ripped below his knee. George's face is no better, some gashes on his forehead deep, trickling red while smaller scrapes frame his cheeks, jaw and chin.

Though if someone's seen him then he's none the wiser, too preoccupied with his heart thundering in his ears and the welling in his chest and eyes that he's somehow conscious, at the thought that somewhere in the cosmos he's gone from his family—his family that might be dead.]

-------- >> MAIN LOBBY ;

[Someone hasn't gotten to their room just yet, though they are patched up now. Still in his admittedly tattered and slightly singed uniform, the lacerations on George's forehead are stitched up and some bandages are showing through the rips of his sleeves and lower half of his trousers. Partly slumped in a chair stuffed near a corner of the room—suitcase tucked neatly beside the chair—George sits with his head in a hand, staring with a seemingly blank stare to the floor before him.

He doesn't come across threatening despite his stillness and disposition, no; instead he looks haunted, beaten down and tired. Far away from the smoke not to be too bothered by it, George stifles the occasional cough, which is either followed by stiff repositioning, checking wounds or combing (also scuffed up) fingers through his hair. It's almost as if he wants to move but can't, and maybe his slight tremble has something to do with it.]

[triplett]

"Hey!" It was the third or fourth time he'd called to the guy who looked like something the cat dragged in. And set on fire.

The man was in some kind of uniform. Nothing Trip was familiar with. He didn't bother to ask if he was alright. It would've been an asinine question. "You don't look so hot. Might wanna take a seat." Antoine had no idea whether the guy was a friend or foe. There was no telling by appearance. Grant Ward had been clean cut and turned out to be quite a snake in the grass.

"Guessing you're just getting here too," he commented with a nod toward the suitcase. "Anything in there that can patch you up? I've got nothing in mine to do the trick. You're gonna need some stitches and bandages."

He wasn't a doctor by any means but had medical training, particularly as a combat medic. He'd seen worse. This guy, at least, had all his limbs. However, internal damage was a definite possibility with how banged up the man looked. It wasn't as if Trip took a Hippocratic oath so he'd help until he learned otherwise.