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

Arrival!

[jarnsida]

( If she is more outdated than the panelling upon the walls, then he is surely comparable to an ancient foundation which has long since crumbled to a pile of dust. The manner of his arrival is equally jarring, for the air has been smacked clean out of his lungs, leaving him on all fours upon the floor, chest heaving as he fights to regain the oxygen he has lost. And on top of that, the sheer bulk of him colliding with the used, unkempt carpeting kicks up more than enough dust to make him sneeze. Loudly.

He gains his feet quickly, turning around swiftly in confusion. Where are his weapons? His parents, little brothers and stepmother? Any sign of his village is gone, as not even the blood of King Horik or his people can be found. Björn has surely been knocked unconscious without having realized it, or taken hostage by remnants of Horik's forces. Who else would be behind it? Where else would he be? How else would he be here and not with his family, where he belongs?

Eyes narrowing, Björn releases a low growl. No. He trusts nothing, either. This is no realm of the Gods. Not even Hel. All the questions he has seem unanswerable, and yet he knows one thing: whomever has brought him here will pay.

Such is his goal as he shoves forward at the door, and then kicks it open. Who cares about knobs when one is irate? Not Björn. However, the sting of his ire lessens when he takes in the hall, and all the other confused souls within. I am not the only one. It could be one of Loki's tricks. He shouldn't trust anything. Yet the confusion in the eyes of one woman in particular strikes him as terribly real, and he finds himself moved to help her, to take on the role of protector where she has none to champion her. Moving forward, he bows to her simply, and smiles at her when she addresses him.

Right away, he is impressed: she speaks the tongue of his people. Or so he interprets it to his ears, anyway. ) I'm afraid I can't, lady. But I can help you.

Perhaps together we can discover where we are, and who has brought us here. They will pay for this.

[pontificus]

[He is not what she is expecting. His dress and demeanor is intimidating, the anger radiating from him. But she can imagine his reaction being something akin to how Cesare would feel, being trapped in such a place. This man does not have her brother's grace, though the way he addresses her is civil and gallant.

His look is northern, but not from a place she could pinpoint offhand. His clothes speak of cold though, something Lucrezia does not know from the warmth of Italy. Her demeanor eases when he seems to offer his aid.]

Would I have the name of my protector then? [She eyes him, knowing he cannot be too much older than her.] Perhaps we can find them together.

[jarnsida]

( He'd not been born to high status, and it is rather obvious. Though his upbringing has provided him with no grace, but his manners are still fine-enough, thanks to his mother. For which he thanks Thor, Odin, and maybe even his lucky stars as he sets his anger aside long enough to smile at this highborn lady who would give him the time of day.

His father may be King now, but it is all very much something to which he will need to become accustomed. )

Björn, my lady. Björn Ironside. ( A year or two at most likely separate them. ) And yours?

I would like that. Here. ( He holds out his arm, like he's learned a proper gentleman ought to do. )

[pontificus]

[It is his manners that endear him to her, that regardless of his apparent class, that he is offering to help. Lucrezia cannot help the smile then, and she takes the proffered arm that he extends to her. She tucks it to her chest as she begins to walk.]

Lucrezia Borgia. It is a pleasure, Björn Ironside. [It is not entirely easy to get her mouth to make such a noise, but she mimics him as best as she can. Walking arm and arm with him, she must crane her head to look up at him. He has a great size difference on him, but it makes her feel safe in a way. He is truly noble, and it is not hard to be attracted in someway to that. Especially the amount of attention he is giving her. Lucrezia soaks it in.]

Is it a correct speculation to guess you are from the north?

[jarnsida]

( Oh no. There is no possible way that he'll be able to pronounce her name, as pretty as it sounds. The syllables roll off her tongue like music, and he has no hope in Hel of echoing that. Björn ducks his head, acutely aware of the height difference between them, and leads her into a room full of tables and chairs. Not a single bench in sight.

But he is admittedly not as focused on that yet as he perhaps ought to be. ) The pleasure is mine, my lady.

( Because there is a perceptive girl on his arm, and he is too busy turning to her with an amused half-smile. He nods once, eyes alight with curiosity. )

It is. My father is King of the Danes. ( He tilts his head, considering. ) And where might you be from?

[pontificus]

[The attention he gives her is the kind she thrives off of, knowing full well why, and being all the more flattered for it. The way he addresses her has her nose crinkling, giving her a look as if she is on the edge of laughing. Lucrezia's cheeks are naturally rosy as her attention stays equally focused on him. She feels a surge of pride when he confirms that he is from the north.]

Then you are a prince. You must forgive my rudeness then, [She dips low in a curtsy with her hand gentle on his.] Your Highness.

[When he asks, she straightens again and tucks back a lock of hair.] Rome, in the south. My father is the Holy Roman Pope of the Catholic Church.

[jarnsida]

( Now it is Björn's turn to wrinkle his nose, looking entirely the barely nineteen years of his youth. The corners of his mouth lift up, and suddenly he is smiling at her. )

You couldn't have known. Besides, that is only a recent development. In the beginning, we were farmers. Then my father won a duel and became an Earl. Another, and he became King.

( He is proud of this, that much is apparent. But it is all incredibly new, and her fine manners are lost on him in part. Tilting his head, he asks: ) Why do you do that?

( Ah, so he's right, too! His triumph lights up his eyes, and he grins. ) So you are Christian! A Saxon priest is all-but part of my family. He told my sister and I much about his God.

Would you speak of your land with me? I would like to hear more.

[pontificus]

He must be a strong man. I can see where you get it from, [She flatters with a look in her eyes, tilting her chin down to look up at him. He is certainly tall and broad, and she feels safer beside him.]

It is a curtsy, Your Highness. I do it as a sign of respect, acknowledging your power. Do not the northmen bow to their kings?

[His excitement makes her smile, watching him in wonder. So he knows some of her culture whereas she knows very little of his. It is outside the domain of her father, and many would look down on him, calling him a heathen. But his title speaks more, and he is too kind to write off. It is not in her nature anyway.]

A priest. He is governed by a bishop, and then a cardinal, and then my father, [She explains.] My brother is a cardinal as well.

[She steps in time with him as they begin to walk no where in particular, already captivated with one another.] As you wish. What would you like to know?

[jarnsida]

He is, in battle as well as wit. ( Flattery will get her everywhere. He grins. ) Thank you. Though I think I will not have his wisdom for a long time. And is your mother as resourceful as you are, my lady?

( Ah, so that's what it is. The corners of his mouth twitch upward in amusement. ) Yes. But Northwomen don't. Not even the slaves.

There is no need for you to bow to me. We are equal here, aren't we? ( Something he kind of likes, actually. So he has run with that. )

Not anymore, I think. He is making a life for himself, and learning how to fight. Changed his clothes. I wonder sometimes if he has accepted our gods, or still loves his own. My father says that if one listens to the stories Athelstan tells from his holy book that there are many similarities between them.

( So she has at last one sibling, whom is a priest of sorts, if an extremely high-ranked one. Unsurprising, but also interesting! )

Is your god one of love and compassion only, or are there other sides to him? I admit, I am curious to know if my father may be right.

[pontificus]

My mother is far smarter than the credit she is given, though I give credit to my father's mistress. Guilia Farnese and I are dear friends. My mother is humble, gracious, and steadfast where Guilia has all the grace and slyness of a fox. [She lifts her chin proudly, giving a wide grin.]

I bow to you to show you my respect, and I give it freely. It does not make me less of a noblewoman. [It is the station she salutes, and not his gender. Though it is certainly harder to gain power in Rome.]

There is much writ about our God. "Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love." And yet, "Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." There is the tales of Noah, Sodom and Gamora.