sit yourself down, and meet the best inn keeper in town ( O P E N )

[checkingin]

Who: Everyone!
Where: The initial arrival rooms, the main lobby, all over the place.
When: February 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.

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 tall pull-down screen, a silent version of nosferatu 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 timey music.

along the curtained windows is another long table, with a large bowl that looked like it once would have held popcorn. but is now unfortunately empty. same for the large hot drink dispensers labeled "hot chocolate" and "coffee".

OTHER.

the ballroom and breakfast hall are currently closed, grand doors locked.

there is no main door leading to the outside, good luck trying to find one.

the door to the courtyard is locked.

ROOMS.

you've a room key with your assigned room number on it. all the new guest residences will be located on floors one & 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'd 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.

Comments

[engender]

[ Dependence or not, it's disconcerting that whoever took them dulled the both of them down. His eyes move to the nearby wall, wondering if it could be in the motel itself. The building could be made with anything. It could be another vault. Derek nods, agreeing with Scott completely. That's what it's like ] I could hear you next door. [ But, normally, there's surround sound. ]

Of course I came to help you. [ That's not something that should ever be in question and maybe Derek laces it with a little more attitude than necessary. His frustration is coming out in his tone of voice and he backs off, eyeing the suitcase before pacing away. ] I didn't get anything like that. [ He looks back at Scott. ] We should keep that out of the way. [ Locked up. Burned, even. They don't know what residual anything might still be emanating from it. ]</small. What I got feels more like a joke, now.

[64th]

[ NEVER. but he pulls away and she lets him because he just asked one of the dumbest questions she's ever heard. ]

Who is Gloss. Gloss is a who not a what. Gloss is my brother He's - [ she gestures: taller than both of them, roughly house size. ] probably dressed like me. Looks like he could break people in half. He'll be looking for me.

[pontificus]

[The words he speaks are just as foreign as the moving pictures themselves, and it comes across easily in the way she furrows her brows. She can tell he is trying, that there is still some gap in language and in culture. She has yet to exactly pick up on his nervousness, too taken with the topic at hand.]

Costumes. Is it a play then, a great work of fiction?

[That is all she connect, something to relate to her world. So then there is not some creature roaming about much like the moving picture is. It somehow captures the movements as if the play is unfolding before them. Lucrezia looks back at the screen a little, to try and see if she truly does understand it.]

[loyals]

But normally we would be able to tell it was, y'know. Us. [ Each other, whatever. This close, he recognizes Derek's scent, his heartbeat, his footsteps. They're going to have to find some way to compensate in this half strength - and it probably is half strength, too, half everything.

Frowning at the attitude, but not scolding or calling Derek on it, because this is stressful and he gets it, he draws the suitcase up to his chest. It doesn't feel like it weighs much, but it's heavier than anything. It's a kind of weight that the blood money had, something beyond physical. They need to do something with it, soon.

Scott does reach a foot out, lightly kicking Derek in the leg. A companionable gesture, a reminder. He knows. Derek has, really, always been there. ] I got eyedrops to treat red eyes, too. So someone thinks they're hilarious in two very different ways.

[engender]

We would. [ He nods. He's compensated with his abilities being sapped over the course of the last few weeks, but he'd finally risen above it, moved past it. He'd evolved. And here he is, having regressed. But, he's not the priority. They'll deal with that. They'll deal with Scott. They'll do something.

Derek acknowledges the leg tap, his expression softening again. ]

I got a dog collar. And a hat that would fit right in at a leather bar. [ Derek's life is talking about inappropriate subjects with teenagers. ] There was a triskelion etched into the tag on the collar. [ So, yep. Someone has had their fair share of fun. ]

Is there room under the bed?

[ For the mask. ]

[pontificus]

Why, fair Roma, [She answers with a genuine smile. She is yet too young to know the level of corruption and how truly jaded and screwed the city is as a result. But it is the city she grew up in, far away from the filth and the lower class. What she knows is fine marble, pretty dresses, and beautiful art.]

And you? You do not seem of the Italian families to me. Nor any kingdom I can put a finger on. [Lucrezia tries to place her. Perhaps from the Kingdom of Portugal and the Algraves. She is not fair of skin, but then her dress is nothing she truly knows. Even beyond what a peasant or street urchin would wear.]

[pontificus]

[She is expecting the same confusion she has, the same that every person she has come across has. Everyone thus far seems to be just as clueless, wandering the halls in search for something that no one is seemingly able to find. But when Thomas speaks, it is with a little more certainty, and Lucrezia has to pause. She isn't sure if he is speaking from experience or what it is.]

'They', [She repeats, cocking her head to the side.] You know our captors?

[64th]

Okay, well, one of us doesn't know what they're talking about and it isn't me. [ this place has rules, though she doesn't know what they are yet. rules don't have to be fair and they rarely are. ] Have you seen anyone who could give us food? [ or anyone who looks like they know what's going on at all? ] I'll believe when I see it.

[taurohtar]

( ARRIVAL )

[One moment, Tauriel is traipsing through the marshes, the darkness oppressive, clouds overhead blocking the light of even the most persistent star, and then the next, there is the peculiar sensation of falling, and then she lands flat on her face on something hard and dry. For a brief, irrational moment, she feels like she has sunk into the bog — but if this were the bog, why is it so dry, so quiet, so hard — but then her senses return to her and she becomes aware of her surroundings.

This is no bog. This is a room, somewhere; there is carpet under her cheek, and she can see light spilling in from across the room.

How did she get here? Where is here? She does not understand. Her throat, dry from too many long days with nothing to drink, is unable to form even the smallest of sounds, and so she does not bother attempting to cry out for help. Who knows what kind of help such an action would elicit, in any case? No, far better to struggle painfully to her feet, her head swimming for a terrible moment, and to cautiously head for the doorway. Surely something better awaits her out there.

Nothing better awaits her out there, actually, and while Tauriel nearly trips over what appears to be a trunk of some kind, a handle attached to one side, there is nothing else in the corridor that gives her any hint as to where she might be. The trunk is useless as well, only containing her clothes, a book, and... There is a small, light plaster statue rolled up in one of her chemises, something she might not have noticed had she not been rummaging around through her clothes to find what else has been mysteriously provided for her. It is a dwarf, she thinks, reclining with a pipe in hand, a jaunty red cap perched on his head. It looks nothing like any dwarf she has ever known, and yet looking at it has a lump forming in her throat, a lump she cannot swallow for her body is too dry even to produce tears. Blinking burning eyes, she wraps the dwarf back up in her shirt and tucks it away.

Struggling to her feet once more, she picks up the trunk, and only then notices the number attached to the handle. Since there is nothing else for her to do, she goes in search of it.]

( ROOMS )

[This is such a strange building. Tauriel is not wholly ignorant of inns and what they look like, but this looks like no inn she has ever seen in all her six centuries. The walls are so straight and so flat, no deviation to be seen. Had she been at home, it might not have been so surprising, but Tauriel is not used to seeing such precision in the works of Men. And yet, for all its sharp angles and clean lines, the whole place seems...old. Forgotten, somehow.

It takes her quite some time to figure out that the number on her trunk is the number to a room, a room with her name on it, as if she is expected.

This whole experience is unsettling, but oh, that bed... It has been so long since Tauriel had a bed to lie on, she is almost tempted simply to throw herself on it and sleep the deep sleep of mortals. Her training overrides her weak will, however, and she immediately sets instead to exploring this room of hers, searching for any places an ambush might occur.]

[sheriffing]

[It takes a few extra moments for Emma to snap out of it; a few seconds of her trying to push past the shock while she reminds herself just to breathe, to move, to do something. This shouldn't be possible, it's not possible, but at least that thought propels her forwards to embrace him. She needs to touch him just to know he's really there, and her hold on him is immediately tighter than it has to be just for the sake of keeping him close.

It's not fair that this keeps happening - that they keep getting separated from their family, and they keep losing each other - but if this is going to be the thing that ends in them bringing Neal home, then for a few seconds, she's grateful for this.]

You're here. How are you here?

[Her question is soft and uncertain, filled with tears she's already fighting to keep back. He feels real enough to her, warm and solid and alive. Neal's alive. It goes against everything she knows, but it's better than what they got back home.

Neal deserves better, and Henry deserves better. If this is a second chance, Emma's going to take advantage of it. And maybe if he asks nicely, she'll let him out of the hold she has on him now.

Maybe, when she's ready. Definitely not yet.]

Are you okay?

[carjacked]

[ Her arms wrap around him tight, and if there were was any doubt in Neal's mind about whether or not this is reality, they're erased in that moment. She's there, definitely there, tangible and warm in his arms, and he won't have a leg to stand on if he decided to judge the way she holds onto him for a little too long, because he's doing the same damn thing. All the money in the world couldn't get him to let go of her, not now. Not yet. ]

I don't know, I don't-

[ He shakes his head as best he can with his chin tucked against her shoulder, cheek brushing her hair. His grip tightens for a second before he finally pulls back, but he doesn't detach completely. Can't help the way his hands hover around her shoulders, the way he holds her there, holds her out to get a look at her like he's checking her for injuries, or changes, or-

He's just so damn happy to see her. ]

Are you- where's Henry, is Henry with you? Emma, how are you here?

[ Because if this is, you know, the afterlife- hell, even if it's not, what the hell's going on? ]

[1_truth]

No. [ He admits casually, though perhaps a smidge of irritation in his voice. 'Doesn't know what he's talking about' he didn't solve over seven hundred cases by not knowing what he was talking about. ]

But I've also only seen One or two rooms in this place. Odds are there's a kitchen somewhere.

[villainously]

[ well whoever that somebody is, it isn't him. he hasn't even heard of a Gloss before, but if he had to guess, probably a fairy. and honestly this girl doesn't look like a fairy and they tend to stick amongst their own, so he's back to not knowing what the hell is going on, which is pretty consistent of late.

she doesn't move back and he doesn't bother to. the pirate has never been too careful about personal space. if she's trying to intimidate him it isn't working, but he's at least wary. everyone is on their guard, including him, and it doesn't always bring out the best in people.

she asks him questions (well, more like makes demands for information) like he has some sort of clue. he frowns, never fond of being ordered, yet he answers anyway. ] Surely you recognize me. [ everyone in Storybrooke knows Captain Hook, after all, even with an extra hand. ] Just arrived, same as everyone else it seems. And if there's someone, haven't found them yet.

[villainously]

[ for fucks sake. it seems like whenever he wants to be alone, people find him even on accident. it's all to easy to be annoyed, thanks to the lovely gift from the crocodile, and his hand tenses, open and closed. he doesn't recognize the man that nearly swung into his room, and narrows eyes at him for a moment, but forces the overreaction down. ]

Right. [ he needs a drink. christ he needs a drink. at least his flask is still tucked in his pocket, and he fishes it out. ] If you were hoping for an exit, it isn't here. [ the room reflects that he's torn it apart looking. seems to just be a normal, dull hotel room. ]

[carjacked]

[ His brow wrinkles a little at the duh in her tone, because he may not be as apt as his father or her at the whole magic thing, but even he knows magic has limits. It can't raise the dead, otherwise half the people who went bad never would've gone bad in the first place. It can't bring him back any more than it can take Regina over to the afterlife.

Well, apart from by outright killing her or something. Either way, he's not going to bring that up. No sense arguing it and striking up her temper on him.

It doesn't explain why she can't seem to use her magic, though, not that Neal's complaining. Nothing personal, he's just not a fan. He shrugs unhelpfully. ]

Considering I haven't actually been keepin' tabs on your vital signs, I don't know. Couldn't tell you. All I know is I was dying, then I fell through a ceiling upstairs.

[ Dying is a mild word for feeling yourself literally die, but whatever. Nobody likes a downer, right? ]

There's no paperwork, no staff, no exit. Beyond that...

[wickedlyable]

rooms.

((Johanna isn't much for socializing. Especially not in this situation. After stumbling across the suitcase, she heads to the room number on it immediately, opening the door and looking around inside curiously. The tablet immediately gets thrown under the bed - she's not dumb, god - and it takes a moment before she opens the suitcase.

She'd been more curious about the place than angry initially. Upon seeing what's inside her case, her blood boils. That dress... In a quick motion, she pushes the suitcase off the bed with a guttural yell, watching as the few clothes spill out over the floor.

It's him. He's sent her here. He's got something planned; and he thinks she'd be fooled? Thinks that she'd assume she could escape?)) I'm not stupid, Snow. ((She mutters to herself, and at the same moment, she realizes that this room could be monitored.

Anyone passing by in the hallway will hear loud swearing, coupled with suspicious thumps that sound like someone is moving the furniture around in the rooms. In her fury, she's not quite remembered to close the door fully, so anyone could walk right in - if they wanted to.))

main lobby.

((After a few hours, she's calmed down enough to come down to the main lobby. She's tied the ratty sheet around her torso, and it covers enough. Whatever. In the situation, she can't bring herself to care overmuch about how she appears - after all, she's bruised and battered, and her hair is more than half-gone. There wasn't much vanity in Johanna to start with, and now, what concern she did have with her appearance was gone.

Scanning the lobby as she enters takes only a few moments. Plenty of idiots clustered around at the main desk, the front door, the windows. No one's coming to save you, she thinks, rolling her eyes, but she doesn't vocalize her thoughts just yet. For all that she's brutally honest, she knows when not to make enemies. She needs to play friendly until she can figure out more about this place.

Her thoughts on the other people stuck here, however, are suddenly interrupted by a glimpse she catches out of the corner of her eye. She blurts out, without a moment's thought--)) Don't try to open the window, you complete moron.

((Ah, playing friendly. It was a nice dream while it lasted.))

[oceanborne]

[ The hug is definitely not what she'd expect from Cashmere, but complaining is the last thing on Annie's mind. She clings to Cashmere for as long as the hug lasts, desperate as much for the affection and familiarity as she is for the reassurance that she isn't entirely alone here. She's with another victor now, a better one than she ever was, and figuring this place out doesn't seem quite as daunting now that she isn't alone.

What is she wearing? A very good question, and Annie plucks awkwardly at a fold of the sheet she's managed to secure around herself with a few torn strips from the bottom and a bit of knot work. ] The very latest in Capitol couture, of course. Direct from the president's hidden prisons.

[ But they can discuss her fashion choices later, and she shrugs dismissively. ] Have you found anyone else yet? Gloss or Finnick or... [ Yeah, never mind. Those two are the only ones that matter right now, and maybe Cashmere's had better luck in finding them than Annie has. ]

rooms

[64th]

[ after tearing apart her own room, Cashmere's grown curious about the rest of the hotel. she's finally changed out of her unitard, swapping it for the distinctly District One clothing from her suitcase. so far she doesn't recognize anyone but Annie, but she's good with faces and names so she's made a few passes through both halls trying to memorize who goes where. the shouting and general uproar from Johanna's room draws her attention because obviously someone has gone totally insane and that's worth noting.

no - not just anyone. the voice is familiar. Cashmere thinks no way and gives the door a careless shove. it swings into the wall with a thud. ]

You have got to be fucking kidding me. [ if it wasn't for the voice and her own familiarity with how Johanna carries herself, she'd never recognize the woman in front of her. ] You look like shit.

[wickedlyable]

((Johanna's about to yell at whoever it is to leave, when she sees exactly who it is. For a moment, though she isn't proud of it, all she can do is stare. Cashmere-- alive. But she was certain she had killed her. Yes, she could remember the way in which she'd thrown her axe, the look on Cashmere's face as she had fallen... but here she was.

She laughs hollowly, putting a hand over her eyes for a second before looking again. Yup, still there. She must be going crazy. Her mind must be playing tricks on her. Or maybe this was some girl who looked a lot like Cashmere, who Snow had sent as a new form of torture.)) What the fuck are you doing here, bitch? ((She asks, running a hand over her fuzzy, unevenly shaved hair.)) Was killing you once not enough?

[oceanborne]

I'm fine, yeah. It's nothing.

[ What's a little fall compared to everything she endured in the Capitol, right? Annie reaches up for the offered hand and hauls herself to her feet in one smooth motion, but she can't quite stifle the pained hiss when she's on her feet. She can, however, refuse to acknowledge it and that's just what she does, curling her arms in front of herself and listening to his explanation with a guardedly curious expression.

...Well, she's less curious about his explanation than she is about how he sounds. ] Where were you, before you were here? What district are you from?

[sheriffing]

[If the injury check wasn't complete bullshit, he'd find that she's completely unharmed. Falling into a random hotel room isn't her idea of a good time, but it was harmless and surprisingly unprompted. Emma doesn't know who would do this, because it's not all bad, at least not right now. They've fought their way out of scarier places than a beat-up hotel. This is actually closer to what they're used to than the person pulling the strings could ever realize.

Or maybe they do realize it. There's no one popping up to reveal their insidious plans - that makes it hard for either of them to know for sure.]

...I got thrown into a room on the second floor. There are others here, but I haven't run into anyone from Storybrooke yet.

[He's the first, so what does that mean? She lifts her shoulders as if to point out that his guess is as good as hers. Guessing is just about all they can do right now. And yeah, Emma feels a little better when he doesn't entirely let go. If he's not going to, she doesn't have to. She doesn't want to, either, so her hands rest flat against his back and she stays close, looking Neal over to see that he's exactly the way she remembers him.

Pretty good for a dead guy.]

If Henry is here, we'll find him. We'll figure this out.

[carjacked]

[ It's not bullshit, and while he doesn't find any injuries, he is momentarily taken aback by the outfit she's got on. It's gorgeous, yeah, it's stunning, but it's definitely not what he's used to seeing on her. Which is... so not relevant to, you know, the whole falling from the ceiling weird magical hotel back from the dead thing, but it's something he can't help but notice.

Pretty good for a dead guy's nothing to freaking gorgeous for a chick who doesn't really do formal.

But again. You know. Not relevant. Bigger things to talk about.

Finally, like he's afraid too much contact will drive her away, his hands drop from her arms and he raises one to scratch at the back of his neck. ]

I have.

[ A beat, and he backpedals. ]

Not the way out thing, no, still no luck with that, but you're not the first familiar face runnin' around.

[ He nods his head toward the lobby vaguely. ]

Regina's here, too. Seems just as confused as we are.

[ ...and slightly angrier, but you know, it's not like she got to bump into the love of her life again right off the bat. ]

[larker]

Front Desk

[Gabriel has had enough of dingy hotels and motels for several lifetimes, and the idea that he's woken up in one isn't funny even to him. The last thing he remembered getting the wrong end of the blade from Lucifer and then landing on his face in a dark room. So much for some kind of angelic afterlife, catching a break doesn't seem on the cards. A quick look around in the lobby is in order, Gabriel shoving hands in his pockets as he casually saunters around and looking at ease to the rest of the world.

Alternative reality? Real or created? As someone who spent most of his time creating little pockets of his own realities Gabriel is very impressed. Even he can't tell what's going on here really and that alone is disturbing enough. The archangel can hear the rain outside and feel the warmth from the fireplace as he walks past, and the whole thing is feeling more real than it ought to for a fake place.

Well, there was only one way to figure this shit out. Gabriel strolls on over to the front desk, leaning against it with a grin as he presses the bell not once, not twice, but constantly with two second intervals. Ding, ding, ding...]

Hello? Anyone? I wanna make a complaint, you left the mints off my pillows...

[mygame]

Front Desk

[It isn't often that the Nogitsune finds itself glut with food. One or two people, yes, especially if it has managed to make a move in whatever game it was playing. But this? It can't remember the last time it was summoned to something like this. But was it summoned? The box that had held it should have stopped such a thing. An accidental release maybe? Did the wolves find themselves in need of it? Had Stiles done something to make it return?]

[These weren't thoughts that the Nogitsune ponders on for long. No matter what brought it, it was here. Even if it didn't know where here was precisely. These weren't important questions to it. Few things are on the whole. Fear and strife presses in on it from all sides, wisps of it lingering in the air. Each breath in fed it better. Just why so many people were off-kilter and frightened is about the only question that stays with the creature.]

[Stiles had watched enough movies that it can proceed without much concern. After all, it is a predator, isn't it?]

[When it reaches the front desk, it leaps up onto it for a better look. Others had been here, not that the Nogitsune's sense of smell is sharp enough to define a specific who. Curiosity drives it to poke around, sort through what other vandals (or perhaps fellow prisoners it wonders) have before it. A pen and one of the service bells are pocketed before it settles down behind the desk.]

[As if it belongs there. What? This could be fun for it. Welcome to Hotel Nogitsune. Where all directions, advice and explanations were given out by a fox that was out to cause chaos.]


In Your Room, Inspecting Your Stuff

[So, the other places were dull, nothing much to find there. That left the other rooms such as where it had began this adventure.]

[It starts on the first floor, trying doors to see if they open and then wandering in. Thoughts of danger don't really enter its mind. Knowing the layout of its new den is more important. Soon enough, the Nogitsune is sure that it will need boltholes to flee to. Places to hide. Humans took offense so easily. A few tricks, a game or three and what? They were ready to revolt. Humans.]

[Wolves too, while it is at giving out dark thoughts.]

[Spotting a new door cracked open, the Nogitsune nudges it and peeks in. Occupied or empty, something is better than the empty hall.]

[Besides, they might have something interesting to steal.]

[64th]

Your door was open so I thought I'd join the party. [ Cashmere's already sour expression darkens. at least now she's mad about something other than the hotel from hell. Johanna's from home, even if she is one of Cashmere's least favorite people to have ever graced the Capitol. which is saying a lot. her hands go to her hips, and she decides to stay in the doorway, well out of reach of Johanna's swinging distance - and hopefully throwing distance. ]

Sorry to shatter your pathetic little drug-induced fantasy. [ how else could anyone explain this frightening thin, bruised, bald woman? ] I'm alive and well. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You're the one who looks dead.