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

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

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.

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( ARRIVAL. )

( she wakes at the sensation of falling; lands on her bruised, sore face with a strangled yelp because she half expects to land on a knife. but there's nothing in her hand, and clarke has an open palm to press against the carpet, to slide over the rug as she attempts to push herself up onto all fours and breathe.

there's tear tracks on her face, and blood (she can't see, but that she knows is there) under her finger nails. but the pain in her chest is alleviated, if only temporarily, by the pure, driving panic the darkness in the room around her inspires. she wishes she could say this was the first time within the last week she'd woken up some place different with no explanation, and no real windows. but at least this time, when clarke propels herself towards the door neatly outlined by the chink of light, it's not locked. there's no girl in a suit, no sign of her friends, and no handy-dandy sign to announce which mountain she'd made it to. stepping into the light feels like a slap in the face; the blow which comes a second later when clarke gears up to run and her ankle catches on a rectangle on the floor and face plants again.

it's picking herself up, again, this time in the light that she catches sight of her bloody hands. and all the memories — of earth? of home? — come crashing over her like a wave of despair. and clarke sits for several long minutes, vigorously wiping her hands on her pants in an attempt to get rid of the blood, legs tangled in her suitcase and quiet tears collecting under her chin. )

( LOBBY. )

( the stairs call to her as much as they do everyone else, and clarke arrives in the main lobby with the resounding thunk of her suitcase on the stairs to announce her arrival. and for a long moment she stands and stares. because for all the confusion and displacement, this is history that she would never see on the normal, radiation ravaged face of the earth that she'd crash landed on a month ago. and it's beautiful.

but clarke has things to do, has people to find, and one glance around the grand (run down, but have you seen what their shanty camp and clothing looked like? this was nice) entry way tells her that running is going to be useless. through the one door she can see at the other end of the room, she can see another wall, and if the other people milling about happen to be hostile, she's not going to get very far.

she's clogging the door. a few more dazed bodies push out, and clarke offers muttered apologies before pulling herself over to the large armchair. another cursory glance around shows that no one is visibly fiddling with their suitcase, and she takes it upon herself to be the first (the combination is the day her father died, the day she'd been dragged to confinement) and pulls out her tablet. it's eerily like the ones they'd learned from on board the ark, and she makes quick work in sending out A QUICK MESSAGE. )

( ROOMS. )

( and later — because it doesn't feel safe, not out here in the open; because she's been fiddling with the card that'd come with her suitcase and curiosity had overcome her; because she couldn't just sit still, and couldn't quite keep her eyes dry, and because there was still blood on her hands, and blood on her shirt — clarke trudges back up the stairs.

only she's distracted, her head is clouded, and she keeps thinking she sees familiar faces in the shadows. so, not quite all... together... — she tries a couple other peoples doors.

sorry other people; chances are she's probably in your way. )

[ thomas has more or less gotten used to the fact that none of these people are his Gladers. without them, he's feeling incredibly lost and incredibly on edge, and he's spent his time in getting out of the darkness trying to arm himself, reaching for the small knife on his runners harness and holding it tight in his grip. before he has the chance to shank a shank, however, he spots a blonde girl starting to run and...promptly face planting.

that looks familiar.

though he squints out into the light (and tries to press past the feeling of unfamiliarity), thomas comes to the girl's side quickly, kneeling down to offer her a hand. he's all business mode now, too used to being kidnapped and thrown strange places. ]

Hey--you okay?

Edited 2015-02-02 16:32 (UTC)

[ of course, she could run through forests and what have you and she was just fine; barely tripping over roots, and only running into traps once or twice. but put her in a relatively flat hallway and leave it to clarke to trip over the only item on the floor. and she does so so spectacularly it's a wonder her vision's righted enough to distinguish up from down. but she zeros in on her bloody hand, which probably helps. it certainly helps narrow down her world so severely that she doesn't see the boy approach in her peripheral vision, doesn't initially notice him kneeling down next to her or offering her a hand.

but she hears him speaks and jumps. startles visibly, and whips her head around to stare at him with big, raw eyes and an open mouth.

and for a second — a second — she could swear she's looking at finn collins.

but a blink of the eye later, there's no similarities between them except that they're boys and young. and clarke's swallowing the lump in her throat and trying to quell her rising panic when it mixes with her grief and threatens to throw her into some semblance of shock. it takes a lot of work to nod, to force her head a fraction of an inch up and down. she's licking her lips and offering a quiet, rather unconvincing: )

Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.

[ yeah, no. thomas recognizes that when he sees it: it's the same way he acts when something bad happens. the same way he compartmentalized teresa going missing. the same way he felt sitting on the bus on the way to the school, chuck's blood on his hands and his face and

thomas blinks to try and keep from thinking of that too much--gotta keep moving gotta keep thinking--and drops down to his knee instead of in a crouch, careful to look her over. despite the blood, she's probably not hurt, and thomas sticks a hand in his harness and comes out with a piece of fabric from the back of it--that's replaceable. ] Here. Clean it off.

[ he remembers the hot shower he took at the school, the first one he felt like he'd ever had--and that he'd stayed in it for hours. crying. shaking. punching the wall. any number of things, anything that forced him to feel instead of just go numb. ] Don't feel bad, when I came out of mine, I pointed a knife at someone. [ there's a little wan humor to his voice, sort of faint. ]

Can you stand?

( the blood is fresh. a majority of it comes off her hands with relative ease, but it's still under her nails and all over her sleeve and where she'd touched her shirt before he'd offered her the rag. it was a lucky thing the carpet was a relatively deep red, but the faintest smear of blood is visible regardless, setting in the carpet and staining the fibers. she'd held finn while he'd bled out, waited until it was far too late for any grounder healer to save him, until he was unconscious and couldn't feel the comfort she'd tried to pass to him in his final moments. she can still feel him, and taking in just how saturated her clothes are isn't helping. are they still wearable? on the ground when you've got no spares, yes. she'll still wear them, but every smudge and stain is going to remind her of what she'd just done. forever.

clarke's so deeply engrossed in her head, in her own misery, that she visibly snaps out of it when he speaks to her; jerks her head up and stares at the boy — boy, teenager, young enough to be one of the 100, but not one of her people — with wide eyes and parted lips. she stares at him for a long while, processing. but eventually pulls her mouth together and presses them into a thin, white line, as if sinking her teeth into her lip would help with the composure she's really not feeling right now. )

Yeah. Yeah, I can stand.

( what she'd really like to do is sit here and wallow for a little bit, maybe go back into the dark room and find a dark wash room. but she hasn't got time for that, not when she has things to do, things to figure out, and people to find. so this is clarke scrambling to her feet and cautiously putting a few more inches of space between herself and the boy who'd offered her the rag. which, oh — is now ruined. )

...do you want this back?

[ while Derek hasn't resigned himself to his fate yet, he's at least accepted the circumstances enough to retrieve the suitcase with his name on it and inspect his room. especially with what he's heard others may have gotten. following the stairs back up, it's not hard to find the suitcase left behind, it's right up ahead, but there does seem to be a blonde girl (are her hands bloody?) fiddling with what he thinks is his door - or, at least the door in front of his suitcase ]

I'd ask if you're okay, but that's not a fair question for any of us right now. [ the answer is all too obvious. ] Are you bleeding?

[ it seems less insulting then 'is that your blood' he knows from experience, he should be able to smell her blood, even her frantic fear. maybe nervousness. but this is just derek reading her body language.

they can get back to this being probably his room after he decides she's fit for - well - for being anywhere ]

( he's right, it's not a fair question. clarke's eyes are red and raw, lips chapped from how hard she'd been gnawing at them in an attempt to bite back more tears. and after that monumental fallout in the lobby below with some of the friends she'd so desperately sought upon first arriving here, she's about as far away from okay as one can be.

and can't bring herself to look at him longer than a few seconds before refocusing on frustratingly trying to insert her keycard into the lock. )

No. It's not my blood.

( and she'd really like to get in her damn room to shower it off, hotels had showers right? even if they didn't have doors? )

Let me try.

[ he can only watch her practically shake for so long, before he comes forward, holding his hand out. the least he can do is open the door for her. or, find her door. he's pretty sure the door in front of her is his. ]

I can open a door.

( go back in time? fix the past? atone for her sins? successfully wash all the blood off her hands? not so much. but listen, stranger she can open a damn door —

...or could. if it was her door. because tossing her hair in utter frustration when the door again refuses to budge, she catches sight of the small, (previously, once upon a time, before they got old) shiny numbers on the door. it wasn't like she hadn't seen them before, they were kind of obvious, but this time it truly registers that they're not 202, and her face burns. fingers fumble and she drops her card on the carpeted floor to the side of her feet. crap.

and with a quiet, very put upon sigh: ) I'm sorry.

[ he lets her have her moment, he believes she's capable of opening any door she wants. she freezes, probably seeing that it's his door. it matches the key in his hand. the key drops and derek crouches down, retrieving it for her. ] It was an honest mistake. [ he feels for her, this woman he's never met. waking up here couldn't have helped. ] I know you can open a door, but would you like me to come with you, to yours?

( she lets him retrieve her key card, reasoning with herself that she's sore and tired and might just sit in front of his door if he were to let her. but no, she's got it in her to find her real room and collapse in private, and plucks the flimsy plastic key from his hand with numb fingers. )

No, it's okay. It was 20-something — ( which is embarrassing, wow, she's even on the wrong floor ) — so I'll probably have a lot better luck if I were to go upstairs.

202. [ he'd glanced when he'd picked it up ] Then I'm helping you upstairs.

[ he's not asking. derek sets the suitcase addressed to him in front of the door, intent on leaving it there. he'll be back for it. ]

I can open a door and walk up stairs by myself, ( she promises him wearily, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. )

I'm just having a... really bad day.

I'm not saying you can't. [ how are you more stubborn than he is? ]

You're not alone in that. We all woke up here. [ some bloodier than others. and yes, derek had a day. he'd died. ]

( waking up in strange hotels was just the icing on the cake for the very awful day that is clarke griffin's. but she's not after pity, despite the ease with which people are pouring it all over her, and she's not about to try to one up everyone's misfortune by throwing a grumpy yeah, but i killed my boyfriend before i came here at him. that'd probably give several wrong impressions.

so she just nods her head and tries to make a very hasty retreat before he can offer additional assistance she doesn't need (but could probably use). )

Again, sorry to disturb you.

(no subject)

engender - 2015-02-09 20:51 (UTC) - Expand

[Cute blonde trying to break into his room? That's not what he was expecting when he goes to investigate what sounds like someone fiddling with the lock to his room. Supposedly his room. The keycard had his name on it and the suitcase had his things but this is not the Enterprise.

Clearly.

Any thought of hitting on her goes out of his head when he takes more than two seconds to look at her, sees that she's crying or has been recently and there's blood on her shirt and shit. What the hell is going on here?]

You alright?

( was she alright? if she had been before, after a practically nuclear fallout in the lobby with the only friend she had — had had, probably past tense by now — here, she certainly wasn't now. clarke'll probably be crying on and off again for a few more hours, but for now her face is (mostly) dry. and while she looks incredibly put upon and sad, she has the good grace to look embarrassed on top of it.

she looks from the key card in her (less bloody, but still unwashed, bloody, and grimy) hand and to the face of the man whose room she had been attempting to break into. )

Oh, I'm — sorry, I wasn't paying attention.

Yeah, I gathered that.

[Jim's not a total lady killing asshole. He knows how to reign it in when someone is clearly upset, like he naturally just shuts that part of his personality down. Even though crying women make him uncomfortable as fuck.]

But that doesn't really answer my question either.

( she doesn't really want to look at him — that's her running trend her first day here, eye contact is hard, eye contact is bad — but she forces herself to sniff up the snot in her nose and slowly raises her head. clarke lets her gaze focus somewhere around his mouth, and she gives the tiniest shake of her head. )

No, I'm not.

( but if she takes deep enough breathes to alleviate the tightness in her chest, she can almost believe — )

But I will be. ( maybe. )

Edited (the maybe is important okok) 2015-02-07 10:10 (UTC)

[He'll take the little victories whenever he can get them. Looking at his face is one of those.]

Anything I can do for you right now?

( not really no but actually... ! )

If you could pretend I didn't just try to break into your room, that'd be great of you.

( it's not her first rooming mishap, but at least this time she's just two doors off instead of an entire FLOOR. )

[He actually laughs at that. Not at her, no he's not that mean.]

I won't tell a soul, scout's honor. It'll be out little secret.

Thank you, ( she sighs, somewhat relieved. though really, who was going to make fun of her for having a really bad first day in the hotel? and who did she owe an explanation to besides maybe raven, who'd proved unwilling to listen to her. she probably doesn't need his promises and won't value them tomorrow.

but for now they allow her an easy out of this conversation, and clarke dips her head. )

I'm sure I'll see you around. ( clarke gestures noncommittally over to her left, because yup, sure enough, that's her room there. )

[He looks where she gestures and then graces her with a soft smile.]

See you around then, neighbor. Knock next time before you try to break in.

( he smiles, she tries to smile, and ultimately fails but at least she tried and at least she now she can in good conscious turn her back on him. it's a quick retreat, but you best believe clarke is going to spend the next few hours puzzling over why everyone is being so damn nice here. )

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

( open )

arrival \o\

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