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

[youcantransform]

He gives it another longer, assessing look, since he's been invited to. Frozen and unappetising but it's protein; it's food. The next assessment is of her response and general bearing; she seems calm, nary a what the fuck is going on in the offing. Though that could just be shock causing a numbing response - and he'd hardly blame her if it was - he's not unaware that many of his fellow guests are rather more well-travelled than he is himself.

"May I first say that I'm exceptionally glad you didn't?" He lets out a short breath. "I'm afraid we're having some problems above and beyond being trapped in a hotel by entities both unseen and unknown."

Common courtesies first and then he can get the 'welcome to the hotel; it's terrible' spiel communicated. He extends a hand.

"Harry Hart. Resident for just over two months, unfortunately."

[una_persson]

Entities unseen and unknown gets a raised eyebrow. She frees up her right hand and gives him a firm handshake. "Una Persson. So tell me about these problems, Mr Hart. I gather they involve the availability of food somehow."

[youcantransform]

Needless to say, he's got nothing but admiration for a woman with an assertive handshake. She immediately strikes him as someone for whom he needs pull no punches, so he doesn't bother.

"To no small degree. Simply put, we've been trapped and tormented since arriving here, but we've also been provided for. One generous, if monotonous meal a day, storage facilities - housekeeping services," he adds, still rather incredulous about that though he's frankly pleased not to be laundering his own clothes in his bathroom sink.

"Two and a half weeks ago, that food stopped coming. We do seem to have been subsisting on what some managed to stockpile beforehand, but that won't last forever."

[una_persson]

She takes in this news calmly enough; she wonders briefly if this could be a menagerie at the End of Time—but while those people are capricious and silly, they are not cruel in this way, and even the most distracted of them would never starve the lost travellers under their care, and would have at least offered some explanation. No, this is something else,.

"Two and a half weeks," she echoes, frowning. Not good. If it goes on for much longer, people will start getting very ill, and longer than that— "That's damned unsporting of our hosts," she says, with that kind of false humour that acknowledges its own inappropriateness. "Who I gather from your earlier comments are not inclined to mix and mingle with the guests."

[youcantransform]

Unsporting to let them slowly starve. He smiles grimly. Gallows humour already; she'll fit right in. Harry doesn't often make snap judgements but he finds he likes her immediately.

"Not at all. Their presence is felt rather than observed - laundry and so forth. There's a form of intranet here where our hosts seemed to appear once, briefly, with an apology for the inconvenience." He inclines his head. "Strangely it wasn't quite so well-received as they were hoping."

[una_persson]

She snorts, darkly amused. "I see. And no one has any idea who or what they are?" She nods toward the front door, which remains untried. "And what's out there? Beyond dismal weather?"

[youcantransform]

He glances the way she nods.

"Just a courtyard, I'm afraid. Walls that resist any attempts to be climbed, and some rather decrepid children's playground equipment. There's no door leading out of the hotel proper, nor any way to retrace the steps you took to get here, as best anyone can tell. As for the identity of our captors, you're quite right. Theories abound but nothing that can be proven."

Or that would help, especially, even if they were true.

[una_persson]

"Delightful." Though her expression and tone make it pretty clear that her feelings on the matter are exactly the opposite. "Something of a human-sized Skinner box, it sounds like. Putting an artificial stress on the environment—clever touch, that." She grimaces. "Well, I suppose I ought to find somewhere to put this," the bag of chicken nuggets, "before it completely thaws and goes off, oughtn't I? Especially since people are clearly going to need it." Something occurs to her. "How many of us are there?"

[youcantransform]

"A few dozen, at least - I'm afraid there's not been much of an official headcount to speak of, and it's apparent that some residents have been disappearing without trace."

Those people, he can only hope have simply returned home to their own worlds, their own lives. He glances at the bag in her hand.

"There'll be a fridge in your room - you ought to have been provided with a key?"

[una_persson]

"It's starting to sound like a proper Hammer House of Horror episode," she said. Automatically she put her hand in her pocket and sure enough—a key. "120. Well, that's something, anyway. I don't suppose the amenities include hot plates as well?"

[youcantransform]

"Sadly, no."

Harry nods at the uncomfortably smoky but at least active fireplace.

"I'm afraid that's the only heat source we have. And not even that, until today. If I didn't know better I'd suggest our benefactors knew we'd be needing to cook today," he adds, bone-dryly.

[una_persson]

"How convenient. Well, I'd best get settled, then, and try to work out a way to see how I can help with the food situation." She sighed, squaring her shoulders. "Anything else I ought to know? The sorts of people we have here, doors that shouldn't be opened, that kind of thing?"

[youcantransform]

"If the management feel a door shouldn't be opened, they've done us the favour of making it impossible," Harry says. "As for our fellow guests, well, the crowd does skew rather young. Teenagers and early twenties for the most part, from an...extremely eclectic range of backgrounds, if I may say so."

He hesitates, then goes on with the sort of reluctance he adopted when trying to introduce the late Arthur to any artefact of pop culture introduced after the mid-1960s: "Have you much experience with time travel, parallel universes, that sort of thing?"

He knows he sounds a little like he's speaking a language he's only recently learnt and can't pretend fluency in, but there's nothing wrong with at least tacitly acknowledging when one is out of one's depth.

[una_persson]

Members of the Guild of Temporal Adventurers generally consider themselves to be sworn to secrecy, revealing themselves only when absolutely necessary; in most places, loose talk and reckless action about Time and the Multiverse can get you locked up or burned as a witch, or—worse—lead to disruptions with effects across multiple parallels. But Harry's little question suggests that Una's normal discretion on such matters is perhaps less necessary in this Skinner box of a hotel than is usually the case.

"What would you say if I did?" she says, a little smile on her lips.

[youcantransform]

"I would say that you've come here a sight better prepared than I did," Harry says with typically British self-depreciation, "and that it'll save you having to suspend a great deal of disbelief. Many of us seem to have come here, alone or with friends or acquaintances, from a...eye-opening variety of realities."

[una_persson]

"I see. Well, suffice it to say that I do have some practical experience with meta- and trans-temporal matters. Though to have a place where so many parallels collide—" She frowns. That sort of thing ought to be causing a massive chronoquake, or at least some kind of disturbance big enough for them to have picked up on already. "It's odd. Very odd, even by my admittedly generous standards." She shakes her head. "I shall have to see what I can learn. Is it very common for multiple people from the same parallel to end up here?"

It would be far too much to hope that someone from the worlds in which she normally operates was here, but she can't quell a tiny spark deep in her chest. Lord Jagged would be ideal, but she'd welcome Bastable—she'd even welcome Jerry, the wanker.

[youcantransform]

"As common as not. I'd say perhaps - half the residents are here with people they know? Myself included. But I digress."

He steps away from where he's standing roughly between her and the stairwell.

"You ought to get settled in, as you said. Though I'll be here, should you wish to talk a little more when that's done." It's a subtle thing, but he makes it clear that he would certainly care to.

[una_persson]

She smiles. "Of course. I'd be glad to. Thank you for all your help, Mr Hart—a pleasure meeting you." A perfectly timed beat, then— "Circumstances notwithstanding, of course."

[youcantransform]

It's a qualification he's given himself since arriving here, many times, and it makes him smile wryly.

"Likewise, Ms Persson."

[una_persson]

"Oh, 'Una' will do," she replies. She picks up her suitcase and nods. "Be seeing you, then," she says, and starts off toward the stairs.

[youcantransform]

"Harry, then. Be seeing you."

He inclines his head in farewell, and when she's gone he replaces himself in his chair and picks up his book.