ｃｈｅｃｋｉｎｇ ｉｎ? (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
checkingin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
checkingout2015-03-03 09:01 pm
checkingin) wrote in checkingout2015-03-03 09:01 pm
Entry tags:
- ! arrival,
- allison argent,
- bellamy blake,
- cassie blake,
- chris argent,
- cissie king-jones,
- clara oswald,
- clary fray,
- clint barton,
- coraline jones,
- emma swan,
- gary "eggsy" unwin,
- harry hart,
- helen magnus,
- jace herondale,
- jack harkness,
- jim kirk,
- killian jones,
- leela (doctor who: gallifrey audios),
- leo fitz,
- lucrezia borgia,
- lydia martin,
- newt,
- nogitsune (teen wolf),
- oliver queen,
- peeta mellark,
- red reddington,
- robert capa,
- skye,
- spock,
- tim drake
a gent of good intent who's content to be ( OPEN )
Who: Everyone!
Where: The initial arrival rooms, the main lobby, all over the place.
When: March 3rd
What: Welcome, newbies.
Where: The initial arrival rooms, the main lobby, all over the place.
When: March 3rd
What: Welcome, newbies.
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 a warmly crackling fireplace, to your right is a lobby desk. straight ahead are three large sets of doors, though only one of them is open to the public. 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.
terribly sorry for the inconvenience.
SCREENING ROOM.
on a long pull-down screen, a silent version of the phantom carriage 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 popcorn and a large hot drink dispenser full of hot water, but without any tea or hot chocolate packets around.
OTHER.
the ballroom is currently closed, and the grand doors locked.
there is no main door leading to the outside, good luck trying to find one.
the doors to the courtyard and breakfast hall are unlocked, but looks like you've missed the morning meal. sucks for you.
ROOMS.
EXISTING GUESTS.
you've a room key with your assigned room number on it. all the new guest residences will be located on floors three and four. 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.
it's late when the newcomers arrive, there's a good chance you'd been about to go to sleep (or just waking up, who knows, your mom's not here to tell you when to go to bed or get up). but if you're paying attention, you might hear the hustle and bustle in the lobby below; or maybe you're just drawn there because your gut told you to go join the commotion. whatever the case may be, go mingle!
Anywhere
Harry expects this to be the last instant of consciousness. He makes his peace with it remarkably quickly. Merlin has seen and heard everything that he has, which he hopes should prove enough to undo Valentine, and the rest...
The rest, he cannot abide by.
The gun fires. The world goes black. He drops - there is no pain.
Though the heavy landing when he hits the floor is uncomfortable. For a moment there are several things his senses don't acknowledge - the shift from indoor to outdoor, the carpet beneath his body, the dust kicked into the air - and he thinks that Valentine must be a terrible shot. Then the world returns to him, and he realises the scene has shifted.
For a dedicated secular humanist, it's bewildering to find that he has been neither spared nor ended but transported by a bullet to the head. However. The average person responds to extreme stress by way of the fight or flight instincts; a Kingsman develops what can be roughly called the Keep Calm And Carry On response. The aptitude toward tucking away the inexplicable and intolerable to be picked apart at leisure in a quieter moment.
He walks down the corridor, finds his suitcase, and continues onto the stairs.
Soon after his arrival he can be found in a bespoke suit and crisp white shirt. His hair is disarrayed, there's a bloodied scrape across his right cheek, his collar and cuffs are spattered with blood. He's done what he can with a pocket square (now hidden) to clean the blood off his hands, but drying red smudges remain. Most - almost all - of the blood is not his own. He moves with purpose, or at least as much purpose as he can manage given that he has little idea where he's going, towards room 210.
Later he has found his room, opened his suitcase after only a handful of attempts, and cleaned up and carefully not stopped to take stock, because he's well aware that if he loses momentum it'll be difficult to regain. When he reemerges he's in slacks, a clean white shirt and a cream cardigan, hair back in place, the scrape on his jaw carefully cleaned. He takes more time and care in exploring his new environment, in the way of a tourist exploring a stately home and determined to get his money's worth.
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[WELL.]
[Jack would like to say that he knows that backside anywhere, but it is a little dim and he might be seeing what he wants. Either way, he wanders his way towards that intriguing suit-clad backside with the full intention of giving it the grope it deserves.]
[Too bad it doesn't belong to one Ianto Jones that Jack thinks it should.]
Ianto! I would love some coffee. Think you can find some around here?
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In the halls, heading towards his room?
:|b
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[Jack Harkness stood in the middle of the lobby with an expression of mingled 'what the hell is going on' and 'well this should be fun'. The grin on his face has a rueful quality and his snort sounding of amusement as he checks his vortex manipulator only to find out that only the light and compass features were working.]
If this is someone's idea of fun...
[Instead of seeming depressed at the idea of being trapped in a creepy hotel, Jack takes a look around with an air of anticipation.]
I was in a situation like this once. It was the Dresden triplets. Damn shame they never figured out that I knew they were all double agents. Did enjoy them all trying to seduce information out of me in the meantime. My handcuffs got quite a workout. Be a wonder if they ever latched right again. Can't remember who's bedpost I left those on. Len's? No, I think it was Lisa and Liza's. Pretty sure it was theirs. Should go find out someday.
[He says to no one in particular.]
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The man standing in the lobby isn't wearing either of the faces she's looking for, but that thing around his wrist looks awfully familiar.]
Don't suppose that thing's working?
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can't get enough, sorry (not sorry)
(not sorry either)
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[This is Jim Kirk. He's a handsome fellow, smart looking, wearing some cool space age clothes that clash horribly with his hair. He's been at the hotel for about a month now, and tried every little thing he can think of to get out and failed so horribly that he's what only be described as pouting. He's moved around some of the chairs so that he can sit with his feet propped up to watch the movie. Distract himself. Old Earth things are cool, alright, they don't make it like these anymore and trying to figure out what the hell is going on is kind of fun.
Oh-- did you want any of that popcorn? That's nice. The bowl is sitting in Kirk's lap and he's definitely going to eat the whole thing if no one stops him.]
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Jim?
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the "we've been here through hell, newbies, nobody else deserves the popcorn" club
p much yeah
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Front Desk
[Hope no one was planning on banging on that service bell its hip is mostly on.]
Welcome to the Hotel California. Concierge Chris Argent isn't in right now, neither is Manager Peter Hale. Leave a message for either of them if you want with your name and room number.
[The game is old, but it's willing to give it a shot still for any of the new people it has seen and smelled arriving. Worst Hotel Boy Ever.]
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It takes a lot of effort for him not to grab the damn fox and strangle him. He might look like Stiles but Chris is no idiot and knows that's not who it is. Though how the damn Nogitsune got out is beyond him. He'd have to get a hold of Isaac and find out what the hell happened.]
Pretty damn sure I don't work in this place and neither does Peter. What the hell have you done?
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[First thing Oliver does when he finds the room with his name on it-- tear that shit apart. He's not looking for a way out, that's on his mind but his priority is to defend himself first and then search. Not the first time Oliver's been taken against his will and forced to a place he doesn't recognize. Whoever is behind this will show their face eventually, sooner or later, it'll happen and when it does-- he'll be ready.
The hotel room doesn't have everything he needs and so he sets out again. Doesn't matter that it seems to be the middle of the night, not like Oliver ever actually sleeps.
So if you see a shirtless man with a myriad of scars and tattoos over his upper body trying to pull down a curtain from the main lobby, then deal with it. It's happening. He needs the rod and he could use the material for a shirt too. If he can find a needle.]
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[He doesn't understand and he doesn't need to. All Jack feels he has to do is appreciate the expanse of bared skin offered to him and wonder what those scars would feel like under his fingers or tongue. Maybe what those tattoos mean.]
[Look, it isn't everyday he gets to see something other than Welsh skin stripped bare for his enjoyment.]
You know, if you're looking for bondage material, I would suggest the sheets torn into strips instead of those curtains. If either part has allergies, it's going to be more sneezing than fun.
[Benefit from the wisdom of Jack Harkness, people.]
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lmk if this isn't ok!!
this is so ok!! also lmk if this isnt~
you're golden!
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rooms, let me know if this is kosher, also, need this cr, amiright
so freaking kosher
great, i'll grab the hebrew national, you bring the gefiltefish
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Lobby | OTA
[ A quick cursory check reveals he still has his screwdriver and psychic paper. Not too bad he could work with what he had. He gets to his feet and brushes his waistcoat off carefully before that uncomfortable feeling he was being watched. ]
Hello? [ He calls out cautiously. ] Anyone there?
[ He gives them a few seconds to respond-if no one does he'll shuffle off into the hallway and make his way to to the lobby. What he found had him frowning rather heavily as he walked around lobby desk. ]
After spending so many years traveling through time and space I suppose it was only natural I'd come across something I'd seen before-but really? A dodgy hotel? You couldn't think of something a bit more-oh I don't know-challenging?
[ He's not talking to anyone in particular as he leans on the desk. ] Also, I'm no expert architect or anything but I was pretty sure it wasn't up to code to not have an entrance.
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Harry knows he's not being spoken to, but it's as good a way as any to alert the other man to his presence. He stands in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. In a cardigan and slacks, he's as dressed-down as he's ever likely to get; he looks like an exceptionally harmless middle-aged academic.
(Travelling through time and space?)
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if there's a problem with the hugging, please let me know and I will change it
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The Courtyard!
Any thoughts he had of going up to find his room were swept away by a new passion. Gripping the suitcase like a lost child, he peeked through doors in the lobby, finding what looked like a dining hall with no food and a room with a movie playing, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted rain. He wanted outside. It was not in some desperate attempt to escape, but rather a longing for something from Earth. Something he hadn’t seen in many years.
When he found it, he wasn’t even disappointed by the lack of land. He left his suitcase at his feet and stood outside in the rain, shivering. Not even noticing that the door was still open. This was rain. It wasn’t sleet. It wasn’t snow. Granted, it was cold, but it was still rain. Capa could get no feeling of place here; the fog was too thick. The walls of the building prevented leaving, but he didn’t want to go anywhere. He was fine, just as he was. Standing in the rain and forgetting that he wasn't the only one there.
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He'd never hear the end of it when he got home.
But generally speaking, the rainy creepy courtyard wasn't exactly the most popular location, so he couldn't help noticing when someone--a new someone, judging by the suitcase and the fact that Tim had never seen him before--stepped outside into the rain. He watched him from his position upside down on top of the jungle gym for a few moments before finally dismounting.
"Hey. You know you're getting rained on, right?"
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Re: The Courtyard!
Re: The Courtyard!
Re: The Courtyard!
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[Crashing to the floor immediately disorients Newt. He remembers walking through the Flat Trans, the way the frigid cold had passed over him like wading through ice water, and then- then hitting the floor, but he has the distinct feeling he's just woken up too. Had he blacked out walking through, was that part of it? It doesn't make sense to him, but it's not technology he's familiar with either, though he thinks it must be something like the Griever hole they'd jumped through. The sensation was the same.
But that's the least of his concerns right now, he needs to find the other Gladers who'd gone through before him, and hope Thomas went through behind him. But that meant he'd be showing up after him, right? He gets to his feet, grimacing because he's landed on his bad leg all wrong with the fall, but he heads toward the door anyway, albeit a little stiffly and slower than he usually would. He pushes the door open cautiously, waiting a few moments before stepping out in the hall. Who knows what WICKED had waiting for him out there? Mostly, though, he's alarmed when he doesn't see his friends immediately.]
Minho? Tommy? [He starts calling out other names, at least seventeen more of them (all boys names, some that don't even sound like names) as he picks his way down the hallway, pushing doors open to other rooms.]
[b. lobby]
[This is a hotel, Newt somehow knows it intrinsically, though he can't remember ever being in one. But the numbers on the doors, the keycard shoved in his pocket, those tell him where he is from the hazy half-memories he has of the world. Never anything concrete, but enough to remember things that have always been. Why would they put them in a hotel? Is this where the trial was supposed to start? How do you find "open air" when you're already above ground?
Newt will approach the first person he sees, and where he'd usually be smiles and welcoming demeanor, he's annoyed and tense. He can't find his friends, and he's doing his best to just not panic outright that WICKED's split them all up.]
Hey. Care to bloody explain what's goin' on here?
b!
until he spots a familiar face talking to someone else in the lobby.
his heart jerks violently into his chest, soaring with relief as he recognizes his friend, and thomas calls out (with no reference to the fact that newt's having a conversation or anything, because this is way more important ) ] -- Newt!
[ -- and takes the last stairs three at a time in order to get to him fast enough, pushing through the crowd of people to grab his shoulders, for once, a smile on his face, and the usual barrage of questions in lieu of a hello. ] Did you just get here? Are you okay?
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a.
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b.
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b
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b! late forever i am sorry
no worries!!
<3
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Lobby; front desk; stairs.
She's not exactly firing on all cylinders captain. It was a terrible unworthy thought, especially knowing what she'd been through but each step was starting to cause pain that ran from his back to his side and down his legs. Numbness and tingling in the fingers.
He needed medical attention.
Really that was the first thing on his mind, the forefront of it. He'd been shot (he'd process that later.) So he's on his feet and moving from point A to point B walking. Uninhibited with a fine sheen of sweat across his forehead darkness soaking from his side into the rest of his shirt.
His fingers tremble. Zipping up his jacket he breathes deep. Sure. It's a hotel okay. (a hotel?) he closes his eyes and stares at the front desk, standing there under his own power and staring at it like a ghost before he takes a step forward and then another. Pamphlets, information, something has got to be available right there to tell him where the hell he is and what the hell is going on.
Never mind if he's making a mess while doing it, knocking things to the floor and watching them fall.]
stairs;
[Only so far you can go before shock sets in. That's what he knows. He's treated gunshot wounds before. It's not as bad as it could have been really. All four shots could have gone in. No. Instead just two, and one he's pretty sure he was able to dislodge. His precautions hadn't been enough - but they'd helped. He'd expected a degree of violence. He hadn't expected that...
Fine. He could weather that.
He's found a patch of stairs to the upper rooms where he's...sitting, trying to gather himself enough to stand up and crawl to the room he found out he'd been assigned (315. room 315) but it started to hurt to breathe then his chest started to clench then he started to get sick. Slight nausea accompanied by a clenching in his chest.
He'd always gotten sick when he'd gotten anxious. Until Garrett (not John, never John if it wasn't for him, for his agenda he wouldn't be in this mess.) Garrett who had pushed him past it because it was a weakness...
Grant Ward makes a noise, part moan part growl before he leans back. One more minute to rest then he'll be back on his feet. One more minute.
Just one more minute.
Anyone who might happen to stop and investigate gets a very world weary smile (Ward's pale as a ghost and sweating like a pig).]
Thanks, I'm fine. Just - something I ate.
Stairs
(This does knock a hole in his 'curiously bland afterlife' theory, if only because it doesn't seem like someone would arrive with the same wounds that brought them here. He himself certainly doesn't have the hole in his skull he was anticipating.)
"With respect, sir, I don't believe that's true."
He's standing a few steps below him on the staircase; it places them level. He enunciates carefully:
"I think you're going into shock, and I'd like to help you. Are you bleeding?"
Re: Stairs
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a.
Re: a.
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stairs; if you're okay with that?
totally fine!
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stairs;
while waiting for a doctor to show up;
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[ She's beginning to think, somewhere between the crash landing and the waking up and finding her suitcase and stepping into the lobby, that this can't possibly be the work of something back home. Can it? Even this feels beyond the realm of anything they've ever dealt with. It seems unreal, like a dream maybe. But it doesn't feel like a dream. Maybe she's been underestimating what they've been dealing with.
She takes the time to locate her room, room 312, first. She drops her suitcase off there and searches the room, not necessarily quietly. Actually, she's being kind of loud, moving furniture and tearing the covers off the bed, pulling out drawers flipping over the mattress. She's looking for clues or a weapon, but she finds none. Looks like she'll have to use her body.
she ends up back in the lobby, and this time her search is for information. There seem to be a lot of other people here who don't know how they got here, and she listens to them talk, even if they aren't really talking to her. Eavesdropping isn't very becoming, but it's sure as hell useful. She's doing an unusually good job at keeping herself calm. Once she's back in her room and alone, she'll allow herself the opportunity to freak out. But now's not the time, so she keeps it buried.
Eventually, she finds herself at the window, peering outside. Not that it does any good. She can't seen anything out there. But she can hear the rain, and it just serves to make the situation more dreary. ]
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so he's really just spectating the new group of lost souls, not really providing much in the way of aide but it isn't really like there's much he can give them, anyway. cheers, you're trapped for the foreseeable future. hoarde your blankets if you know what is good for you. the pirate hopes to find some kind of promise in the new group that's arrived, yet they all seem as hopeless and clueless as the last set.
he's mostly minded himself, but the girl searching out the window drags his attention. ) Not much to see out there, love. Same weather for a bloody month, now. ( and he'd still rather go out and get rained on than be trapped in this place any longer, it just does not presently seem to be an option. so he thinks, when he realizes he'll soon be out in the courtyard enjoying the rain and the fog. )
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rooms;
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( he quickly grows tired of people watching, when it seems to not reveal much of anything new. they're all lost, and troubled, and confused. he's seen all this before. hell, he's been there before. he can't put their minds at ease or offer any answers, and he hasn't the patience to repeat himself over and over nor be particularly comforting to those troubled by their new situation. his mood has not been particularly bright of late. being free of Neverland doesn't chase away the scars it leaves behind, and this place brings the same demons back.
it didn't take long for him to realize that the courtyard was finally open, prowling around and hoping for new clues. he's been nearly crawling out of his skin to be trapped inside for so bloody long, but it's debatable how much relief being in the courtyard offers. the inclement weather just leaves him soggy (though, he's a pirate, he's used to a bit of rain and dreariness) and the air feels heavy, like a weight on his lungs.
he doesn't seem to be letting the absolute lack of rewarding sensation to be found in the courtyard stop him from scoping it out, though. he keeps futzing with the swing, trying to see if he can get her free. he doesn't know what good the chain would do him, but if he could get it off he'd figure something out. he's not looking for conversation, but if someone else wanted to get drizzled on and tried to start one, he'd talk back.
. . .probably. )
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The rain is familiar - he's been based in London his entire adult life, after all - but the air is dense and oppressive, without the promising static of an oncoming storm. It's not especially better than the interior, but it's different, and they say a change is as good as a rest.
He unfurls his umbrella and extends it overhead, peering up at the grey ceiling of the sky from under the black canopy. He and his company seem content to leave one another in peace for a brief while, but the part of him which resents incomplete knowledge of any given situation is always striving for improvement.
"Is it always this dreary?"
He once read an interview with a sociologist who claimed that Englishmen talk about the weather as a kind of social grooming activity, merely to test the waters for other conversation. He can't say he disagrees.
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b) lobby
b
[ Skye pushes away from the doorway of the screening room, approaching him with measured caution. She by no means is under the impression that she's met every individual trapped here, but by now, she'd guessed they all at least knew where they were.
Her eyes flicker over towards the stairwell, skating up it as if she expects that dark passageway to reappear. It doesn't, of course, and her eyes are back on Haymitch a moment later. ] Are you … Did you just get here?
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b
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b - because I need this like burning
yessss
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b omg <3
yaaay <3
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a
hahahahaha i am so excited for this
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[ He'd found the suitcase with his name and room number on it, a part of him sure this is what Alexander went through. Then again, at another point he's pretty damn sure that he didn't. After all, he'd felt like he'd been hit by a truck or worse.
Opening the suitcase he finds everything that he needs, almost everything. Clothing, a usb drive (which he pockets), two sets of keys which he leaves in the suitcase and some manual on training dogs. He knows for a fact that's not his.
His eyes scan every inch of the room to see if there's weapons or anything that would come in handy, but there isn't. So instead of waiting he turns and heads out of the doorway to the seemingly endless hallway, with other rooms not far from his own.]
[main lobby]
[Once he's found his room he heads down the stairs and into the main lobby. His eyes scan the place noting the doors and the hiss of rain. However, he's not worried about trying the doors. Not just yet at any rate. What he does want to do is find out who's behind all of this.
Maybe his sister did find a way to screw with a person's memories or with their perception of where they were at. However, he's not so sure about that. Kate isn't that damn smart.]
Anyone know anything about where we are?
[After all, he's got a feeling that he's not alone in this place.]
lobby
[ Bellamy approaches from Chris' side, shaking his head and glancing around the lobby as if he's just completed a similar scan of the place. Early twenties—too young to be this cynical and gruff. He carries himself like a soldier, shoulders broad and straight, held slightly forward like a rifle belongs in his hands, but instead they're just impotently clenching and releasing at his side. ]
I've never seen anything like it.
[ Civilization. Real civilization. It's not like the Ark or Mount Weather. This is what humanity used to look like before they'd been forced into space. And somehow, that's more unsettling than anything else. ]
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hallway
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lobby
Re: lobby
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main lobby, sir, let me know if this works
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hallway / lobby / courtyard, ota
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((It sounds like a warning, but really, Kaoru's just worried about his clothes getting rained on. This is expensive material he's wearing, after all, and with only five outfits as his options, he doesn't like getting them messy.))
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9 million years late w/ tullys — i'm in it for the hugs tbh
what is tullys tho
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[ Be calm. Panic is counterproductive. But the truth is panic is the logical response. He has been up and down these corridors three times and tried every door that does not lead to someone's private quarters. Most are locked. It is an enclosed space, he memorises the length and width of every corridor, the smell of the specific wood used for the doors and walls. There is no way out. He'd be curious (an inter-dimensional nexus? how fascinating) if he wasn't annoyed, keeping that tamped under a calm, placid exterior. Kirk's own duration of stay had not assuaged it any - the agitation shows only in the slight twitch of his fingers as he picks up and examines every item that's not nailed down, replacing it with care and moving on to the next one at speed. ]
→ courtyard
[ It offers some respite from the busy morning he's had, and he's content to stand absolutely still, focusing on a distant point. There's no incense that came with him - this is the most conducive quiet environment to attempt balance. ]
→ main lobby
[ He's absolutely certain there was a hallway here where he woke up initially, except the door seems to have mysteriously vanished. As it's ludicrous for it to have been imagined (the dust and friction from the carpet were wholly real to his sharper senses), it must have been sealed off. He takes to tapping the panels, moving in a straight line down the wall, listening closely for one that rings false. It's here; he knows it is, and he intends to find it. ]
Courtyard
[Jack lingers in the doorway, just under the shield that keeps the falling rain away.]
Although what, I'm not sure. I've heard mention doors lock and don't open for a few weeks. Seems a shame to plant something no one will enjoy.
[He smiles thinly. Gardens aren't his thing even if he enjoys them.]
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Main Lobby
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→ courtyard
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[ Cage is slow to waking, dragging his fingertips over the rough, dirty texture of the carpet as he pushes himself off the floor. He doesn't think for a second that he's been captured. Not by the grounders, or the people from the Ark — if they'd gotten to him, he would be dead. He also hopes he would've seen them coming, all things considered.
He takes his time leaving that dark hall, too, eyes narrowing against the bright light as he nearly trips over the suitcase. After a brief pause to unclasp the hinges and take a look inside, he picks it up and follows the arrows, stepping down the last flight of stairs and into the lobby a few minutes later.
It's bizarrely familiar. No light from the windows, a persistent sense of claustrophobia. Cage wanders up to the desk and eyes the bell for a second before glancing to the next person who passes, expression somewhere between bemused and annoyed. ]
Is this supposed to be a joke?
b | courtyard
[ It's been a long time since Cage has seen a door that wasn't six inches thick and made of steel, lined with locks. The sound of rain falling against the walls of the building is alien, too, and it doesn't even cross his mind to leave the suitcase safely indoors as he steps out into the dimly lit courtyard.
He glances up, apparently unbothered by the rain on his face — and after a second, he actually smiles, a little rusty and unpracticed. When he hears someone approaching, he's quick to turn his attention towards them, one hand lifting to sweep back damp hair. ]
Nice weather we're having.
[ Wry, a little flat, same as his expression now that he's wiped that smile off his face. ]
a.
And then this guy says something weird, and she can't just ignore it.)) What the hell is your sense of humor? What's funny about being brought to some weird hotel?
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Having grabbed up his suitcase, having a look inside, finding he's unarmed and with no phone to contact Cooper and the others, Ressler is heading down to the lobby. First things first. If he felt like he was in any immediate danger, beyond the apparent kidnapping, he'd be more cautious, but right now it's obvious there are more people here in the same situation and he wants to get some damn answers.
He won't find any down at the lobby at the front desk. No one there, like there isn't even supposed to be. With his suitcase still in tow, mostly because there are things in there he could use at some point, considering there is no door to get out, from what he's seen, he'll need all he can get.
First person he manages to stop or get close enough to to talk with, he'll see if they have any idea what's going on. Even in the slightest.
"You know who's running this place? How you got here?" That's what bothers him the most, he can't even really remember what was going on before he ended up here.
Rooms:
320 is the room the key unlocks and Ressler will go in with some hesitation. The suitcase goes on the bed and once the door is closed he'll just be having a look around. He's assuming from the get go that they're all be watched. Cameras must be every where, hidden. So there must be some in here too. He does a thorough sweep, but finds nothing, which only frustrates him more.
Going to his apparent bed, he sits, going through the suitcase again. Clothes, they seem like his own clothes, or some very very close to what he'd wear. Plus his FBI badge, which he'll think about keeping on him, but puts back in the case. He then finds the bottle of pain meds and feels his stomach twist, but he can't help but stare at it before shoving it back under the clothes. Just gonna close the suitcase and push it away.
What the hell is he supposed to do?
Not sit around doing nothing, that's for sure. Guess it's time to head back out into the hallway, have a talk with anyone out there.
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"You remember nothing?"
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get at me
( stairs. )
( lobby. )
( outside room 405. )
( make your own adventure. )
lobby
Which is why she approaches, figuring he might need someone to tell him that they've already been over this place with a fine-tooth comb and come up empty.]
Last I checked, the curtains and the carpet weren't behind any of this.
[And side-eying the other captives definitely makes him look suspicious, but that's something he should already know.]
( outside room 405 )
stairs
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getting at you
mwah
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All Places
This was not Gallifrey.
And then she was sliding and moving and-- It was not right for something to be flinging her around like a child's plaything. The hallway was bright and she brought a hand up for a moment to shield her eyes and reached for her knife only to find it missing. So were her Janis thorns. This was unpleasant, but she would do her best to fend whatever creatures this place would send her.
☛ A
She turned the key over in her hand; 407 it read, scowling at it before she moved out the door and nearly fell over the luggage. Leela stood staring down at the handle with her name on it: Leela, just that. Just her name stamped as if she was expected.
Luggage. A room key. It meant someone wanted her to stay in the place. Perhaps that meant that Narvin was here as well, or Romana. She caught no familiar scents, nothing to suggest otherwise. It remained to be seen. It was true, she could have been interecepted, these things happened. And if it was a hostile thing, she would kill it or demand her answers.
Leela kicked the case as if it were to blame.
"The dead do not have suit-cases," she said, folding her arms.
☛ B
After she had found this room of hers, Leela prowled, circling floor by floor, moving and mapping her new surroundings. It was easy to see there were no doors leading out. It made her uneasy, wary, cagey, and many other words that bit and snarled. There were others here, she knew them by their evidences. Things out of place, a chair pushed to one side, she moved in their spaces, learning, listening. Everything about this place felt wrong like the way the fine hairs on the back of her neck raised as if in protest, and definitely in warning.
She expected danger, almost wanted it so she could fight something. Turning the corner, she flinched as she nearly collided with a body. Another occupant, surely. Her hands went out to steady them as much as herself, her reddish brown hair flying, as she found purchase. If she were lucky, it would not become a tangle of limbs...or a face full of punches, or something equally unpleasant.
B!
He needed to get out.
Dressed in his normal "uniform," Capa stuffed his key in his pocket, held onto his tablet, and headed out of his room, not worried about privacy. Privacy was something he left back on Earth. While he sought out solace, he could never really guarantee it.
He was about to reach the stairs, though, when he felt another body pass close to him. He tensed and froze, even as he felt hands against his skin. That was the sensation that caused him to flinch, though, and he pulled away, darting away from the dangerous top step. "Oh...shit...you okay?"
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The situation of waking up in a strange room after being seemingly dumped there wasn't particularly unusual for Reddington. But, he supposed that was the case for anyone who'd been whisked off to three government black sites in fewer than as many years. What was strange was the fact that he has luggage, a suitcase that was most definitely not his own. The contents looked like they belonged to him, and he decided as he closed the case that he'd look at the contents later. It was more important to find out what the hell was going on.
So, he did what any self respecting person would do, drop his bag in the room he was conveniently given, tuck his amber colored glasses into his inside pocket, straighten his suit, and head down to the lobby. Someone there should know what was going on.
Once there, he noticed there was no staff, that was interesting, and mildly disconcerting. He'd deal with figuring that out later.
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At least for the moment. He wants to point right at Reddington and seethe as he accusingly says 'You' at him, but that wouldn't get them any where, so he'll refrain from pointing actual fingers for now. Instead he heads right over to him, looking very much not impressed by what's going on.
"What the hell is going on?" No 'hi' or 'hello'. No 'how are you doing, Reddington?', just getting right to business. Clearly this is Reddington's fault. Right?
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Anywhere.
He hates to admit it, but he can honestly claim that being unexpectedly yanked from his couch and thrown into a dusty room where unseen forces compel him to leave, followed by disappearing hallways, are the least unusual things to happen to him in recent times, and even though he appears as composed and as focused as ever when on the job, that doesn't mean he's not holding down a full-on panic attack beneath his cool exterior.
He wanders, cautiously, trying to keep the sounds of footfalls to a minimum, and constantly ready to be plunged into battle, though he's not sure what his odds are without anything in the way of weapons, even after sifting through the contents of the suitcase he drops off at the assigned room - 401 - humouring those who dared to touch his stuff. But, hey, there is a nifty pair of sunglasses in there that he knows have never been in his possession before.
Exploring the entire hotel, or what he has access to, Clint can be found anywhere within reach, and although he's got the look of a man who means business, he doesn't make a habit of kicking ass and taking names without good cause, so feel free to approach him. ]
no subject
But if Coulson were here, he'd be saying the same thing Harkness is: use their skills. They need all the help they can get. The harder they work together, the better chance they have.
Get burned right, though, and any stove looks like the deepest pit of hell. She can't shake the feeling that it'd be the perfect chance for whoever's watching to slip in their extra observer.
With all these and more plaguing her, she goes right past him on the stairs—and that's when she stops, atop the staircase, to do a double-take. Her brow furrows, and she glances around as if to check if anyone else noticed, then opts to retrace her steps and stalk him back to the screening room. She leans in the doorway as he pokes around. ]
New movie every month.
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Places full with life.
[ The whole experience is disorientating, throwing him off his game, and usually it takes a lot more to achieve it. Still, he manages to leave the hallway, pick up the suitcase with his name on it, and make it to the lobby, driven by the sudden realisation that he might not be the only one this has happened to, and if it's not, if one of his family members are here - if she is here - then he needs to find them.
He's feeling more like his normal self by the time he steps off the last stair, even with all senses on full alert, but that's due to the bad vibes this place is giving off and the fact all of his weapons aren't where he left them, which, is to say, tucked into every piece of his attire that he can manage. If he crosses paths with a demon, he doesn't fancy his chances.
He takes in the area, taking note of the doors, but not quite ready to try any of them yet, not until he knows there's no one he needs to track down and take with him. So, instead, he takes a moment to try and absorb everything that's happened and figure out some kind of plan that goes beyond standing around awkwardly, holding a suitcase. And then he guesses that's as good of a place as any to start, especially if there's anything sharp and pointing inside. But there isn't. What little he owns does appear to be inside, though, clothes and the odd signs of belonging to a Shadowhunter, and-- ]
By the Angel! [ He removes a package of jerky and tosses it without really looking where he's aiming it towards, and talks aloud, seemingly to know one, and, well, he doesn't know if there's anyone there to listen, but he doesn't care; it's been a long year. ] Duck, really? If this is an attempt at humour, you're falling short. Even when dead and processed, I still have the urge to stab it.
[ ROOMS: LEVEL FOUR ]
[ After witnessing someone else having a fight with the elevator, Jace skips this step and heads straight for the stairs, climbing to the forth floor and sliding the key into room 402. He turns the handle, but stands back after pushing it open; he listens, not hearing anything coming from the darkness within, and takes hold of his witchlight stone, taking comfort in something familiar and functional. It lights the are enough for him to see there's nothing inside to worry about, but there is a bed and somewhere to store his belongings, not that he plans on staying.
With no weapons in the suitcase, and nothing to fight that he can see, he leaves the case on the bed and exits, wandering the corridor and the one below where others do the same, hoping to figure this place out, eyes always searching, as if for someone he knows. ]
[ CHOOSE LOCATION ]
[ After getting over the initial impact of the hotel, Jace is calmer, though not relaxed, as he wanders around, checking out this room and that, and maybe he tries the exits more than once or twice; he's never been one to give up, not when others are involved, at least. ]
screaming // lol staircase // LOL DUCK JERKY..
so after she knocks herself to the ground on top of him and starts to profusely and repeatedly apologize to the stranger, she actually opens her eyes to be aware, and then it's not a stranger at all. her eyes go wide and she searches his face for a second, looking confused beyond any reason. ) Jace!
( FAR BE IT FROM HER TO DO ANYTHING TO ASK IF HE'S OKAY AFTER THIS CALAMITY, INSTEAD OF JUST THROWING HER ARMS AROUND HIS NECK AND HUGGING REALLY HARD. ) Thank god.
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...aroooound
[After the initial shock of ending up in SUPER CREEPY HOTEL LAND, Coraline has decided she wants answers. So she makes her way to the front desk where, by all rights, there should be people to answer questions. To be fair, her hotel experience is limited, but that's the way it should be, that's what all the books and movies say, there should be someone behind the desk to help.
So she rings the bell and calls out.]
Hello? He-lloooooo?
[When no one is forthcoming, she frowns, crosses her arms, and finally climbs up over the desk to explore behind it. She's always wanted to do this.]
[ OTHER ]
[Coraline is nothing if not curious. So as soon as she's done looking around the front desk and the lobby, she'll be dropping her stuff off in her room on the fourth floor and then looking around every inch she can manage to stick her nose in.]
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And he's seen some younger people, but the girl rummaging behind the desk can't be older than sixteen.
He clears his throat quietly.
"I'm afraid the hotel doesn't seem to be staffed."
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Front Desk
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other;
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cassie blake ; open.
room 406 & fourth floor.
no subject
But while Jake has come up just as empty in searching his own room, he hasn't taken to slamming shit around just yet—unless you count the cheap Wal-Mart Halloween costume-in-a-bag depicting the traditional image of a female witch on the front. Yeah, it was a girl's costume, and the fact that it had been left for him was straight up hilarious. He watches it bounce harmlessly off of the far wall that he tosses it toward because it's a fucking costume in a bag. It's not going to do much damage here (unless you count the emotional damage that Jake is suffering as a result of someone playing with his emotions).
From the sounds of someone slamming shit around in the next room though, he wasn't the only one who was being jerked around. Being that Jake has nothing better to do than to
pick a fight withinvestigate whoever was making the racket, he heads on over and peeks through the opened door to spot a familiar blonde crouching in the middle of the room. Hey, it could have been worse. It could have been Adam.]Well howdy, neighbor. [What, did you actually expect him to be serious rn.] I think it's safe to rule out this being some random coincidence.
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stefan salvatore | open
Front Lobby.
lobby.
As for the new hostages... She'll answer questions, should she be approached, but mostly she keeps to herself and continues reading all there is to read. She's meant to be helping Deputy Parrish figure out what he is. She might as well do some research while she hasn't got anything but time. She tries not to waste too much of it away from her best friend, because every moment is precious... But, Allison's busy. Sleeping, probably. It's late. So she's not feeling too guilty about it.
Most of the new arrivals come and go without incident. But the relative peace and quiet pseudo-casual atmosphere of the lobby are interrupted rather violently by someone who looks to be about her age. She pauses her reading, tucking the cord of a necklace between pages to save her place, and watches. He seems angrier than most. Much, much angrier. She's seen rage like that before. Irrational, rash... Could he be a werewolf? Newly bitten, maybe...
Lydia rises to her feet as she watches him. She needs to approach with caution, because he's going completely fucking berserk. He's clearly got enough strength to be dangerous. But he can't continue to be allowed to rampage through the lobby, and it seems like there's not really anything anyone else is doing that makes him stop. She gathers her courage and takes a deep breath, then starts toward him. When she calls out, her voice is forceful enough to get someone's attention but gentle enough not to seem threatening. Or, at least, she hopes. If he listens closely enough he may be able to tell that her heart rate is increased. You scary, Stefan. )
Um -- Exc--you should probably -- ( she thinks better of just saying 'excuse me', or something else complacent and indifferent sounding. he's on a rampage. lame?? ) You're wasting your time. They're not going to break, no matter what you do.
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arrival
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