checkingout | a gent of good intent who's content to be ( OPEN )

Entry tags:

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.

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.

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The doctor is not amused. She's dealt with difficult patients before, though, and is unfortunately quite familiar with this particular defense mechanism.

Assuming he doesn't try to stop her, gentle fingers will continue to probe the area as she talks, leaning closer to get a clearer idea of what she's working with and just how difficult it's going to be to get him properly treated and bandaged. If she even has what she'll need to do it.]

It isn't my carpet. [Her voice is steady while she works, nothing to suggest she's any more concerned than she had been previously. The tone is still more soothing than professional.] How about we compromise? You stay alive and I'll take care of the bleeding. No dying.

[There's one bullet that's penetrated the skin. It could be removed. The other one is buried deep. It'll have to be removed and sewn up.]

I could try.

[He winces but there's no outward sign of pain, no sign of crying out.]

...Why are people being so nice to me here?

[She may have to do a little searching for supplies, but she thinks he might just survive this. Certainly, she's worked in less friendly environments with almost as few provisions. She'll manage.

At his question, she pauses, and if he doesn't stop her, she'll take a brief moment to lay a hand on his arm as she answers with a question of her own.]

Is there a reason we shouldn't be?

[The softness hasn't left her voice, and regardless of any answer he may give, she still intends to make certain he doesn't bleed to death. Which does lead to a momentary debate. She doesn't particularly like the idea of leaving him, but she'll need supplies she hasn't brought with her. And does she really want to do this with him lying on the floor in the middle of the staircase?]

[He's broken and in pain and the moment he thinks of Skye he wants to scream. He wants to grab at the carpet, rip open his wounds and bleed out right there. Finish the job he tried three goddamn times in three goddamn ways. Take out everyone except yourself Ward. Good job Ward. Good job Grant ward. I'm Agent Grant Ward and...and...

All I want to do is die.

There's no expression on his face however and her touch lingers. It tells him two things. If she were SHIELD she would not be so understanding. If she were SHIELD in any capacity she would be cold, efficient, betrayed. One man wounding an entire organization. Martyr on the damn cross thank you very much. Save his life and lock him back up.

If she were HYDRA he'd be dead.

His mouth trembles.]

No.

[He inhales.] I don't think so. I'm trying to keep talking so that I can stop focusing on the pain.

So no. Not - [This is the most he's ever talked to anyone in it feels like...years? it had to be years.] Not yet. Although I'm sure you might find a reason. [his smile is thin.] eventually.

[He moves a hand for her - an involuntary reflex. The simple truth of it is, he went through hell and decided he didn't want to die and those brief...fleeting moments of thinking about just how badly he'd screwed up weren't enough to drag him back to it.

He can't say save me.

He can try and convey it.

But a kicked animal can't ask for someone to save it without a lot of help.]

Good. I want you to keep talking.

[Reaching for that hand, she'll give it a light squeeze if he lets her, then return her attention to his side, reapplying the pressure. She's made her decision, and she'd rather not move him if it isn't absolutely necessary. Besides, he's in no condition to be of much help in that endeavor, and she doubts she'd get him far on her own. Certainly not without doing more harm than good.]

I want you to keep pressure on this. [She'll wait to make certain he's listening, that he understands. And if he doesn't make any attempt to do as she asks (orders?) she'll likely try and draw his hand there herself, placing her own on top of it for a moment until she's convinced he'll keep it there.] I'll be back.

I need you to stay focused just a little longer.

[He follows his orders to the letter. No fighting. No nothing, the words (Are you SHIELD or HYDRA?) still waiting on his lips because...because he's not sure anymore either way.]

Where are we? Is this still San Juan?

Possibly. But doubtful. I wasn't anywhere near San Juan.

[Certain now that he'll do as he's been told, she moves to stand, tone once again warm and reassuring.]

I won't be long.

[She truly hates to leave him alone; there are too many uncertainties. But she has little choice. And true to her word, she isn't gone long, returning moments later with a small medical kit, once again kneeling beside him, her entire focus on her patient.]

Let's see if we can get you sorted, shall we?

[Ward slumps a bit and swallows hard.] If you're going to hurt me or kill me ...

[He groans] screw it. I don't know anymore. Where are we then? If it's not San Juan?

[That gives her momentary pause. They don't really have time for the kind of reassurance she suspects he needs, but in the brief seconds before she once again resumes the task of trying to gently ease his hands out of the way and slowly peel back the layers of clothing so she can work, she offers what little she can.]

I only want to help. And you've given me no reason to feel otherwise.

[Gentle fingers probe his side as she tries to decide her best course of action, even as she answers his question, feeling it's probably in everyone's best interest if she keeps him distracted while she works. There's unfortunately not much she can do for the pain right now.]

I wish I had the answer to that. With all the rain we've gotten, I'm tempted to suggest London, but even London isn't this wet.

What were you doing in San Juan?

[Perhaps she shouldn't ask. Whatever he'd been doing, it had gotten him shot. It's likely a touchy subject. But she wants to keep him focused on what she's saying rather than what she's doing, already shifting her focus toward removing the shallower of the bullets.]

Working.

[He pauses] I'm a historian. Or - well. I was.

[This is a lie. A big lie. A whopper of a lie and probably one of the worst he's told but he sticks to it. She hits a sore spot and he twitches.]

Too bad. I like London.

[He tries to breath and winces.] I still am maybe. I don't know anymore.

[She doesn't quite believe him. After all, historians aren't usually the type to get shot in the course of their work, not unless their work goes far beyond the usual. But she lets him get away with it. At the moment, his health is of far greater concern to her than his history. It's probably best to keep the conversation light.]

I can see why you would, being a historian. It's a beautiful city, full of history. [She's nearly finished with the easy part. Retrieving the second bullet is going to be far more difficult, and she knows exactly how much it's going to hurt.]

Tell me, are you as troubled by its more modern touches as I am?

[He doesn't get much warning before she sets to work on the second bullet. A small, apologetic expression crosses her features, but she isn't actually looking at him, completely focused on her task.]

[He settles back. A plausible lie.

Never mind that what comes out is the truth, lying there in her arms.] Yes.

I like older things truth be told. [His chest contorts.] tightness can't be good.

[That might have gotten a smile if she weren't so busy trying not to do more harm than good. Perhaps they should have a proper conversation once he's recovered. She wonders if he would be as fascinated by her history as Will has always been, if he knew just how long she's lived.

Despite her professional focus, she doesn't drop her half of the conversation, though the response sounds somewhat more automatic than previously.]

Something we have in common.

[Then she takes on a softer tone.]

Nearly there. Stay with me just a little longer.

[He closes his eyes.]

Survival just becomes a reflex instead of something that you really want.

[He twitches when her fingers touch him again but lays still.] Never been so surprised by that.

A body's way of fighting. It's a good sign.

[Does she really sound convinced of that? Survival is a natural instinct, one with which she's all too familiar. And while from a physical standpoint, it's certainly preferable when that instinct kicks in, she's not so certain it's a good sign for one's mental health. Perhaps under different circumstances, she might have questioned his will to survive, whether it's a product of his injuries or something deeper. But the mind has never been her particular area of expertise, and she has more important things to worry about.

It takes a few moments more before she manages to retrieve the second bullet, taking care to make certain removing it isn't causing more damage. She's had a little more experience in this than she'd like, in better and worse circumstances, and it would be truly upsetting to have gotten this far only to have her patient die due to some carelessness on her part.]

There we are.

[Now that the worst of it is over, she visibly relaxes, though she hadn't been overly tense to begin with all things considered. She'll gently clean it as best as she can, then close and bandage his side.]

I have a suitcase and a room. [He grimaces] How long am I going to be out for?

[He twitches under her movements but he's fighting the urge to sleep.] can I sleep.

[A nod.] That seems to be standard.

It's going to take a while for that to fully heal. I want to take it easy for a few weeks at least. [She doesn't tell him he's lucky, even if he is. It's something she doesn't think he wants to hear.] I think it should be safe enough. You've lost a lot of blood; I imagine you're exhausted.

I'll want to keep an eye on that, make certain it doesn't get infected.

[She'll be quite insistent about that.]

Let's get you settled. You need to rest.

You ever think about what it means to be immortal? Or to think you are, then somebody comes along and stabs you in the back...

[His eyes are wet but he's not crying (no, not that he'll admit not that anyone can see).

Even if it's true.]

I had a woman with me. She's...she's not here?

I think about it far more often than I would like. It isn't as wonderful as some might think.

[It's a soft admission, and she isn't quite sure why she answers so honestly. She isn't immortal, but in some ways she might as well be, and the question is unexpected coming from this man, a stranger she'd found bleeding on a staircase.

A part of her wants to ask who stabbed him in the back, but the more sensible side of her knows it's probably not in his best interest. What he needs currently is rest.]

I'm afraid I wouldn't know. If she didn't arrive with you, it's possible she came with the first group of arrivals, but I'd have to know who I'm looking for.

No.

[There's real terror in his voice for half a heartbeat.] I hurt her and she hurt me. We're done.

[He laughs sadly before trying to climb to his feet.] I just wanted to help her, I did, it's only fair. Only fair...

[It'll just devolve into mumbling from there]

[Well, it seems she has her answer.]

All right.

[She reaches for his arm, her touch light, and if he insists on trying to stand anyway, she'll help support him. Fortunately, she's somewhat stronger than she looks.]

We don't have to find her. But you need to be careful.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

a gent of good intent who's content to be ( OPEN )

no subject

no subject

no subject

TW: mention of suicide.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject