checkingout | I USED TO DREAM THAT I WOULD MEET A PRINCE

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I USED TO DREAM THAT I WOULD MEET A PRINCE

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?

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"A fact that continues to astound me." He replied softly to the whisper. He continued to hold her, one hand splayed over her back, the other over her shoulders.

"A month."

A rather trying, emotional, and rather painful month at that. Not to mention vastly boring. He was no closer now to figuring out how they were brought here, though his first theory as to why had gained considerable weight to it now he believed. It pained him to think of Belle being subjected to those things here, but perhaps he could do his best to help her through them.

Gamora gives him a flat stare. Really? Green jokes? She's already noticed she's surrounded by Terrans, but she had hoped they weren't all as idiotic as Quill. With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, Gamora walks toward Sam with brisk steps, wet boots stomping the floor.

Gamora is a bit.. aggressive perhaps. It might make him uneasy the closer she gets. Once at the entrance to his room, she reaches to take his key card, and if she can claim it, she sticks it in the door, pulls it out, then pushes the handle down and lets it swing open. Of course, if he's still leaning on the door, he might just faceplant into his room. Oops...?

Either way, she smiles thinly. "You're welcome."

He very nearly does faceplant into his room, and it's only a well-timed, miraculously reasonably-coordinated hand that shoots out to grasp the doorframe that saves him. He stays there for a minute, torn between alarm that he managed to catch himself and indignant disbelief that some anonymous green chick nearly sent him sprawling into his own room.

"Little warning next time, maybe," he says, but he's talking without putting any thought to the words in a rapid, mildly feverish tumble. "I mean, I've seen - kind of a lot. You'd be surprised. Actually - " He looks at her again. She's really, really very distinctly green, no mistaking it. " - you know what? You probably wouldn't. I'm just saying - never actually met anyone green before. Which is kinda saying something. Well, no, not really. Or - maybe. Yes, actually. You're green." He repeats it like an exasperated revelation, shrugging helplessly.

Capa was out on a very rare moment in the lobby. He didn't have the energy to do much of anything anymore, so hauling himself down the flights of stairs to the lobby was a task that he didn't want to undertake.

But he heard the new arrivals and he wanted to at least be a part of the show, so he carried himself down, thinking maybe going outside in the courtyard would be a good idea. The fire was on, at least, which gave his skin a nice warm feeling.

He was so intent on watching the fire that he didn't notice the woman walking. Her entire presence was so confident that he mistook her for a veteran of the hotel, rather than a newcomer. At least until he saw her suitcase. He finally raised his head and looked at her, giving her a nod of greeting. "Lost?" he asked, though he wasn't sure what help he could give her in this state.

Does this human not stop talking? Zehoberei aren't something people see, even on other planets, but no one decides to strike up a conversation with her about it. Probably because they know who she is... or because she never really tried to look approachable in the past. Either way, this Terran can't quite seem to get over it.

"I'm sure I would be." But something in her tone might say that she doesn't think he's seen all that much. Not if her skin color is something worth repeating.

"Yes, my skin is green. I'm from Zehoberei, which I'm sure you've never heard of." Her eyes glance to the interior of the room. "Don't you think you should go inside and sit down?" If he did pass out, she's strong enough to pull him into his room, but there would be no need if he'd do it himself.

"Yeah, okay." It's a perfectly reasonable request, and Sam's been on his feet for at least an hour which, right now, feels like an hour too long. He enters, looking more or less like he's just wandered in while in a daze - which is, in essence, exactly what's happened.

"Never heard of it." He sounds quite amiable about the fact, but that train of thought promptly gets diverted as he surveys the gloomy interior. "This kinda sucks," he announces flatly, and looks at green girl to confirm. "The whole 1960's decor is just really not my thing. You know?"

"Yes," she said, wishing that she could take credit for defeating Zelena. Unfortunately, all she managed to do was get knocked around and unconscious. It was a bit frustrating, as she hated to be useless and wanted to help, but it always seemed to be out of her control

There was at least someone else that she could protect and save.

"I'll find him again." She said with certainty. "We always seem to be finding each other again and again. This is a small set back but we will reunite again."

Wow. She seems absolutely certain of this, which - okay, which Sam can actually get. It occurs to him that he hasn't doubted for a second since his arrival that Dean would inevitably find him, and that they'd bust this joint together. Hopefully they can clear everyone out of it in the same fell swoop. He'd like to see Belle be able to go home, after everything.

"I guess I kinda get that," he admits finally. "My brother and I, we hunt things like witches, for a living I guess you could say - we're like that. We don't stay out of each other's hair for long." Despite those little obstacles like Hell and death, the whole nine fire-and-brimstone yards.

He looks at her, frowning, earnest.

"I hope you find him," he says, and he means it.

Gamora watches him enter and shifts uneasily there at the door. Part of her thinks she should walk away and leave this human here. He might die or something, she's still not sure of his injuries, but should she care? After all, she's killed many people herself in the past. And yet, that's the past for a reason.

She sighs again, then walks into the room and closes the door behind her. "Being trapped in a dirty hotel is not what I would prefer, either, but we're stuck here. For now." She walks toward the bathroom and opens it, then turns the faucet on and fills a glass with water. Gamora also grabs a towel while she's at it, but the towel is for her.

When she leaves the bathroom, she walks over to Sam and holds out the water. Don't fuss about it coming from the faucet, Sam. She's pretty sure all of the water here tastes the same whether it's from the sink or the kitchen.

"Are you injured? You do not look well."

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. ]

ｒｏｏｍ１１６

[ 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.

He accepts the water with an absent murmur of thanks and gulps half of it down, still studying the room. People just seem really eager to give him water today, and so let it not be said that he does not stay hydrated. Even if it's really through no effort of his own.

"Hmm," he grunts, then registers that it was an actual question and scrambles to actually answer. "Uhhhh. Kinda. Sick, technically. S'what I get for trying to close the Gates of Hell, operative word being 'try'." He finishes his water and sets it on the nearest surface with a dull clunk. It has that metallic taste typical of most crappy hotels, but hey, Sam's used to it and he's rapidly losing the wherewithal to complain.

"What about you, though." He looks at her, head cocked. "Like, you're not human, huh?"

Some might call that courtesy old-fashioned, Una thinks, but under the circumstances she finds it reassuring. Not staff of any kind; his clothes suggest as much (unless the staff goes in for cardigans). She smiles in greeting.

"As of about ten, fifteen minutes ago. Yes. With a suitcase packed with my things and—this." She gives the bag a little shake. "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure what I'm doing with it. Most people would have probably thrown it away on sight."

She happened to be looking in the other direction just then, and she started. "Oh! Hello. Er, not lost exactly. Just trying to find my bearings." She took a step closer, noting with some concern that he didn't exactly look well.

If she could give him something that would cure him, she would, but with nothing else, water just seems like the only thing she can do. Gamora, on the other hand, has had enough of water. Still wet from the rain, she walks over to a chair to sit. Sorry for getting the furniture wet, but it'll dry out. Probably.

"Gates of Hell?" Sounds like quite a story. As for herself, she shakes her head, then puts the towel over her hair to start rubbing it dry. "No. I told you, I'm from Zehoberei. It's a planet far from Earth. Or it was. It doesn't exist anymore." So yes, she is an alien. Hopefully that will stop being a novelty at some point.

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.

Sam really doesn't plan to stay here long, so he doesn't care much for the furnishing. Though why she's wet raises some questions, until it occurs to Sam that it's raining outside and he definitely glimpsed a courtyard at some point, and his state of awareness might be diminished but he's still got the mental power to put two and two together.

"...Huh," is all Sam has the immediate ability to say to that, because everything just keeps stacking up and he's got a green alien in his hotel room, and for all the weird crap his life gets put through, that is definitely not a sentence he expected to be thinking at any point in the future. "Other planet. Okay, that's a new one for me. I think."

He considers for a moment.

No, yeah, he's pretty sure it is.

He sobers up a little at her final statement.

"Sorry to hear that." And he is, really. As thoroughly out of it as he feels right now, his expression is sympathetic and his tone sincere.

It takes Sam something like thirty seconds to realize he's being addressed.

It takes him another ten to marshal his thoughts into something resembling coherency so he can take note of the guy, his copious tattoos, and what it is he just said.

"I'm, uh, I'm fine." Aaaand the Oscar does not got to Sam Winchester, because that was definitely the most unconvincing performance of the year. "I'm just - getting my bearings, actually."

Because he for sure looks like someone who's getting his bearings and not someone who's wandering around vaguely.

Because the latter is exactly what he's doing.

She beamed at him, glad that he seemed to understand. Having someone that special in your life was a rare thing. Some called them soul mates, others called them true loves. Either way, it was a powerful magic in its own, a pure form unlike anything else.

"You make it sound so simple, but if you both keep finding each other, that means you both have a special bond. Maybe he'll find you here as well? Or maybe we'll find a way out?" There was that, of course. Any curse could be broken in her experience.

Belle gives a small chuckle.

"Thank you. I have faith though. But now you, let me find some water or something for you. Did they give you a room?"

'Special bond' isn't really how Sam would put it. Dean's his brother, and he loves him, but god damn if he doesn't feel like strangling the stubborn son of a bitch sometimes. That's just how it goes. It's part of everything. They're family. They get through it, usually.

"I'm counting on it," he says wryly, or as wryly as he can looking half-dead as he is. "Couple days and Dean'll come charging in, guns blazing, and we'll be outta here in no time."

Right now, Sam has no problem believing that.

He scrambles for the little paper tag to his suitcase, flips it over.

"Uhhh, yeah." He reads it slowly, head at an angle. "112. Guess I should head up at some point, huh." Whoever this nebulous 'they' are, Sam kinda wants the chance to kick their ass.

There's the briefest hint of a smile at his show of sympathy. Well, maybe he's not so bad. Perhaps he'll stop pointing out that she's green, at least. As if it were weird or something. There are people of all manner of colors out there. He just doesn't know it.

"Is there any way to cure your illness?" There's no way to bring her planet back, so might as well concentrate on something that can be helped.

"A month?" She blinked in surprise, finally pulling back to look at him, cupping his cheek, needing to keep touching him. They had been separated for so long. Death, darkness, and Zelena. She didn't want to pull apart from him completely.

She shook her head, trying to absorb all of the information. All of this seemed so unreal and strange. How is it that he could be here for a month but she just saw him a moment ago.

"This is a hotel?"

"Not really," he admits with a halfhearted shrug. "I mean, hopefully it'll just go away on its own, but uh, it was kinda meant to kill me."

It would have been so easy, to let the blazing and boiling in his blood simply go on and on and consume him and it would have been for a good reason - closing the literal Gates of Hell, and giving everyone, even Dean, a chance to live a life devoid of demons and all that fucking baggage.

He'd held embers in his veins, and he'd let them die.

There's no point in regretting it now.

"It'll pass," he says with more confidence than he has. "It has to, eventually."

Alec knows how he looks to Mundanes. Black marks that look like tattoos covering his skin, dark hair, dressed in black... not exactly someone most people would trust. "Sure you are." There's none of the snark in his tone that he would have directed at Jace if he'd said the same thing. Instead he sounds patient, knowing that if he forces things, he'll look like some sort of psycho.

"I can point you in the right direction. Tell you a little bit about this place." Maybe the offer of information will work better than suggesting that the guy needed help. "Or as much as I've figured out so far."

"Sure," says Sam, pulling out the word, still eyeing this guy a little dubiously. "I mean, apparently we're all stuck here, is the word on the street. And there's some kinda 'they' doing it, though no one seems to be able to tell me who that 'they' is."

That was a little bit less than minimally comprehensible. In Sam's defense, he's running a bit of a high temperature.

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I USED TO DREAM THAT I WOULD MEET A PRINCE

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/can change this if not okay lol XD

no no this is AMAZING

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XD

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Accidentally lost the tag! D:

tw: mild suicide ideation

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