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

[unpurify]

For a minute Sam can't marshal any sort of concentration to respond to Gabe so he simply stares, mute and agape. Then his words register in a slow, uncertain trickle.

"The, uh, the trials," he says numbly, and it occurs to him belatedly that some contextual relevance might be helpful. "Closing the Gates of He - "

Wait, hold on. What? No. Sam gives himself a firm shake, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What are you doing here? You're dead." He's, like, at least ninety percent sure.

[bondedgryphon]

He doesn't expand on his answer and she doesn't press for it. If he wanted to say more, he'd do so in his own good time and she'd listen then. But really, Sam... Being a hunter of the supernatural wasn't any weirder than Zhaneel being a gryphon on a good day. Hell, in this creepy as fuck hotel, he'd likely find himself welcomed wholly by most (if not all) of the current residents.

"Only if it lasts much longer," she replies with honesty. No, they weren't having a good time, but enough had thought to save food aside and most were okay about sharing. It would only be bad when people ran out completely.

Another shake if the head and she brushes her hair from her eyes. "There's been no sign from anyone that might be in charge besides when food was arriving... and the Easter candy..." That felt surreal to say, even for her, and she frowns. "Though they delivered explosives as well... I'm thankful no one was hurt worse than they were." Seriously... Who disguised bombs as Easter eggs? Not cool.

She trails off, looking at him and watching as he seems to struggle to focus. She pushes to her feet, brows knit in concern and presses the back of her hand lightly to his forehead. She hisses softly in response, finding him warmer than he should be. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

She doesn't wait for a response before heading to the screening room. She comes back a minute later with a glass of water in either hand. "Drink this," she urges gently, offering him one of the glasses.

[larker]

"Dead? Eh, details."

The dead comment gets nothing more than a shrug. Being knifed with an angel blade tended to end that way, though Gabriel knows something screwed up somewhere considering he'd ended up in a hotel with more crazies than Bates Motel.

Closing the gates of what though? Gabriel knows time has passed, can see it all over Sam in the way the other looks, but if that had been about the gates of Hell then there was a big problem somewhere. Considering the whole dammed thing had been about throwing Lucifer back into his cage and so forth, there wouldn't be any need for either Winchester to be trying to close the gates. Unless it was Heaven, which in all fairness was more terrible than Hell every day of the week and the mental image of an angel invasion wasn't pretty either. It'd be dull, but also deadly efficient.

Gabriel keeps his arms folded, glaring up at Sam with a look of utmost suspicion and a hint of accusation.

"If you were about to say Heaven or Hell, I'm gonna slap the Winchester out of you."

[unpurify]

Easter candy. Explosives.

Maybe this is a fever dream.

He groans faintly and covers his eyes with a hand to ward off the pulsing headache that's begun to build behind his temples. Today is going great.

His hand drags away when Zhaneel returns, and he accepts the glass with a grateful murmur of, "thanks," and immediately downs half of it in one gulp. A thin trail of scarlet drifts ominously in the clear liquid for a minute, and Sam hastily finishes it off. Still coughing up lungs. Still looking and feeling, categorically, like utter shit. The angels fell, and he failed to close the Gates, and now he's in a crap hotel for his troubles.

"I should probably, uh." He sets the glass carefully down on the ground. "Find my room or something, huh."

[bondedgryphon]

Yep, that had probably been too much to get into just now. BUT, there was no undoing it and all she could do now was keep an eye on Sam.

She smiles stiffly at the thanks and watches as he drinks, smile faltering and slipping away entirely at the trail of blood that discoloration the glass before he finishes it. She passes him the second glass before making a small sound in the back of her throat.

"Drink that first, and then I'll help you. The elevator is far from safe and doesn't work half the time anyway, so it'll be the stairs." She reaches for his suitcase and thumbs the number tag, a breath of relief escaping in a sigh. "You're on the first floor and only a few doors away from my own... I'll make sure you get there safely."

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?

[unpurify]

Sam snorts, and it's oddly refreshing to get that snapping return to his typical sardonic baseline. Yeah, so Gabriel not being actually dead isn't really the biggest bone he has to pick at the moment. How many times has the guy - or, more appropriately archangel - faked his own death at this point?

"Does it matter?" he asks, still managing a pair of bitchily raised eyebrows despite his general lack of precise facial control. "It didn't work. Hotel California zapped me here, or whatever the fuck, before we could fix any of it."

[unpurify]

He drains the second glass as well in a protracted, relieved gulp. Water against the rawness in his throat feels absurdly good right now, but he finishes it all too soon and sets it down with the first.

"It's, uh, it's good." He shuffles to his feet hastily despite the unpleasant lurch to his stomach, and flashes her an uneven smile. "Thanks for your help, but, uh, I can figure it out."

After all, he might not yet know it, but he has an old friend to meet.

[larker]

Did it matter? Not really in the long run. Gabriel suspects time isn't running correctly outside of the hotel. That was how it went when he made mini pocket dimensions, and this one didn't feel different from that. At the same time though he can't speak for whoever made the hotel, so his suspicions are just that for now.

"Nu uh. Don't you roll over and deny me some gossip. I've been here months, kiddo, months and if you think you can just strut in here looking like hell kicked your ass twice and not say anything then you've got another thing coming." Gabriel sighs, scratching the back of his head idly and grimacing; his stomach has decided to chime in on the conversation with a low grumble. The hotel's starvation tactics were definitely a thing right now, even for Gabriel and he's definitely finding Sam a useful distraction.

"There's not even television. Just a network that people post to and they're all boring. There hasn't even been a decent argument let alone a fight. They'll be sitting in circles singing kum ba yah next."

[unpurify]

"What, you want the whole story of what's went down since you kicked it?" It makes it a bit easier, however completely unintimidating Sam must look right now, that he at least still looms over the guy. It's subtly victorious, in kind of a weird, childish way. Whatever.

He eyes Gabriel uncertainly. He's been here for months? Even with his seriously powerful reality-warping mojo, it's been months? How does that even work?

"Fine." He sets his suitcase down with a thump and crosses his arms. "Gates of Hell. Three trials. Whole spell, demon tablet deal." He rakes a hand through his hair, shrugging, exasperated. "We didn't complete them, so you can rest easy, I guess, or whatever it is - you do," he finishes on a rather more unsteady note.

[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.

[larker]

Gates of Hell, demon tablets, trials. It sounded like complete and utter lunacy. What in the hell were the Winchesters doing messing around with things like that? Even Gabriel knows you don't go poking tablets like that, it's like shoving a fork in a plug socket and hoping it kills you quickly and doesn't take the building down too. Tablets were one of few things that the archangel can't read and Gabriel just can't hide the shock from his face at first, schooling it into a small frown and ignoring the fact that Sam is trying to loom over him. His vessel might be short but Gabriel knows he could still throw the kid around if he had to.

"Don't get snippy with me, Winchester. You're the one fucking around with stone tablets. Didn't your dad ever tell you not to mess with that kind of crap? Considering where I 'left' you guys, there wasn't any reason for you to even be thinking of them." Gabriel pauses, jamming his hands in the pockets of his jacket and shrugging. "Actually you know what, I don't care. I mean at the end of the day you're the one standing there looking like shit, I just hang around and do whatever it is I do." Alright, so Gabriel's nose is definitely out of joint as he realizes there's a small chance his own sacrifice didn't amount to much in the end, if anything.

Gabriel takes a moment to roll his shoulders, cracking his neck as he mentally pulls himself out of it. Shit didn't work, big deal right? At least it'd been the right thing to do in the end.

"What happened to Luci?"

[unpurify]

"Lucifer?" That feels like years ago. Because it was years ago. It's jarring, to realize that Gabe's been here for months but for Sam it's been -

Fuck, no. He's not thinking about this right now. His head is already pounding, thanks, and he doesn't need to add shitty temporal sequencing to the list of problems he already has. If he weren't so goddamn tired he'd feel much more up to engage in that snappy verbal repartee Gabriel seems to prefer, but right now he just needs to figure out how the hell any of this is possible.

"He's gone - in the Cage, like you said. Horsemen rings opened it, I said yes, I jumped in, and, you know." He makes a vaguely downward motion with one hand and shrugs loosely, head going to one side. "But it's been - it's been years since any of that."

[larker]

"Amazing isn't it? That this place manages to snag people from all over the place, including times. That is a special brand of power right there. I'll make it easy for you, Samsquatch. No-one knows who's done it or why. No ransom notes or anything. Just a somewhat comfortable bed in a run down motel with no exit."

The rest of it can wait, Gabriel isn't going to go into detail on how they seem to be intent on killing their guests off slowly through starvation, or how they held an easter egg hunt and made some of the eggs into shrapnel bombs so that no-one knew until they exploded. That's overkill on the information payload, and from the looks of the younger Winchester he's a few minutes overdue on passing out. Timelines are a hard thing to wrap a mind around anyway. The fact the Sam mentions he jumped right into Hell doesn't go unnoticed either. They could have just shoved Nick in there and it would have worked. Something else had come up that no-one had foreseen, or some bullshit. Prophecies had a habit of changing themselves for self fulfillment.

"Good to know Luci got shoved away then. Let me tell you, last time I was stuck in a hotel it didn't work out so hot for me. C'mon, I'll at least make sure you get up those stairs. I don't want you falling over and squashing some poor bastard under that freakishly giant frame of yours. Don't get used to this though, I'm just way too bored and this is entertaining."

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.

[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.

[unpurify]

Oh, Sam remembers too well the last time they got stuck in a hotel. Granted, so he'll begrudgingly admit that he and Dean still owe the archangel for getting them out of that one. And for giving them the vital clue that actually would stop the Apocalypse.

So on top of hotels, they're dealing with warping in space and time, and not even Archangel Gabriel is apparently equipped to deal with it. That leaves Sam with less-than-optimistic chances of getting out of here right away so he can fix what he and Dean - and, probably, Cas - just irreparably broke.

"Gee," he says, the word a slow, skeptical pull, "thanks."

First step's always the hardest. Sam sets his jaw and doesn't bother to wait for any kind of angelic escort, but simply snatches the handle of his suitcase with more dexterity than he feels he can adequately be displaying at this point, and starts hauling ass upstairs. The other hand grabs at the wall for support at once because it needs to, because that sudden maneuver nearly sent him pitching onto the floor.

[unpurify]

Someone touches his arm and he flinches inadvertently, shaking his head in a tiny, realigning movement that doesn't particularly succeed in re-orienting him at all. He doesn't recognize her, and he doesn't really get why she's talking to him since, well, he looks like shit.

"I'm fine," he rasps out, entirely unconvincingly, but she succeeds in getting him to set down the suitcase since that uneven balance was throwing him off. "I mean - I will be." Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. "Uh - Sam." He squints, head to an angle. "Who, uh, did you wake up here too?"

[bondedgryphon]

He finishes the second glass of water as quickly as the first, but seems in no frame of mind to either sit around and catch his breath, or accept her hand to his room. Her brows furrow, but she nods, pushing to her own feet as he does the same.

She reaches a hand to help steady him should he need it, and searches his face. Zhaneel being Zhaneel can't help but wonder what she's done to upset him (beyond telling him where he is and all). It's not the way a normal person thinks, but it's the way she's been made to think for the entirety of her life because, well... it was often the case (or so she was always led to believe; the girl had some shitty peers.)

"Oh... Of course... If you have need of anything, there is a tablet in your room that you can use for communication... I don't think you will have half the problems with it that I did..." He appeared to be from a more advanced world than her own, like many of the hotel residents.

"I'm in room 117 if you've need of anything..."

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?

[unpurify]

There's an appeal in being able to figure this out on his own, take some structured assessment of what he's got and what he needs and how he can get back to Dean, and he can't do any of it if he doesn't retreat to someplace secluded and quiet that will help him think through the dull ringing in his ears.

"Thank you," he repeats, slow and earnest. "I'll let you know. I just gotta - work through this, you know, gimme some time to, to process."

[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?"

[larker]

"Well let's just say I'm closest to you, and it wouldn't end very well for you if you tried to flatten me." Truth, Gabriel did not intend to die for a Winchester again, albeit in a roundabout way. The archangel watches shrewdly as Sam grabs his suitcase and takes the stairs. There's a wobble there and Gabriel's hands are going up, but it seems Sam has found the wall again to help him stay upright. Typical Winchester, wouldn't ask for help even if they were set on fire and burning. And so Gabriel simply follows, hands in pockets and looking to the world as if there was nothing abnormal about this whatsoever.

"So you didn't say exactly what was wrong with you. What is that, man flu? Hunter flu? Or did you go sticking your head in something you shouldn't have?" It's easy to tell how bored Gabriel must have been considering he's following and asking questions like it was no big deal. Normally the archangel was the one who was hard to pin down, but today it seems like the being is just simply relieved that there's someone around to talk at. Sam gets bonus points for being someone who would get the references, as there is nothing worse than making a great comment and getting a blank stare for it.

[unpurify]

"I told you," Sam grits out between clenched teeth. First floor is nowhere near as bad as it could have been, but he's still holding onto that irrational, burning resentment for all things hotel-related. It's helping him deal. "Trials to close the Gates of Hell. This was one of the - side-effects, I guess, I dunno. Not really your average bug." Because that's pretty consistent with Winchester-level luck.

Far from a blank stare, he shoots Gabriel a pointed, sidelong glower. "Don't suppose you could use any of that angel juice and help with that, huh?"

[larker]

"Nice, you're allergic to Hell. Well done." Gabriel can't help the grin that time, not bothering to keep the amusement about of his voice when he says it. Anyone that close to hell would have more than what Sam is, and Gabriel knows the Winchester should count his dammed lucky stars or whatever it is hunters use to bless themselves with. Was it Diana? Gabriel really couldn't remember or be bothered to.

Oh. Now angel juice was a whole problem Gabriel doesn't want to touch right now. It's a long conversation and in all fairness he simply just doesn't want to admit it either, especially to Sam. They may have parted on okayish terms but Gabriel knows that he's screwed the Winchesters over properly before now, and no way will he point out he has weak spots now.

"I could. But why should I? You'll get better on your own in a day or two, considering it a lesson learned for touching shit you shouldn't have."