incurablydishonest: (m: unimpressed)
[personal profile] incurablydishonest
NYE 2015 | The Nexus & Elsewhere

In retrospect, Jordan supposed that she and Erik both ought to have known well enough by that point that when the universe gives you such a clear signal to stay in, it's wise to take heed. Being themselves, however, and possessing an innate fondness for (and superiority over) large parties, they neatly made their own beds with a bit of soda water and a hair dryer.

a horizon of painful complications
hopeagain: (focused)
[personal profile] hopeagain
1962 | Somewhere over Europe

If entering the USSR with a cache of CIA operatives had seemed convoluted, it was nothing on the exit process.

backstory | ADULT CONTENT | complete
regimes_fall: (01)
[personal profile] regimes_fall
November | A door that leads to a winter cabin

Every door at the Nexus was an unknown quantity, a potential bomb to be diffused, and it unnerved him a little how easily she could step over a threshold. Despite this, he hovered only a moment in the open doorway before stepping down himself.

Ongoing
theirlawyer: (braids)
[personal profile] theirlawyer
at least several years on

What's going to be a momentous night for potential Congressman becomes even more important thanks to a ring and a proposal.

future (au) / PG-13

Jan. 24th, 2016 01:10 pm
likepalegold: (see the light)
[personal profile] likepalegold
Once, New York had been his place of landing.

Not entirely home, because Jay Gatsby had yet to invent a home for himself without Daisy at his side and without Daisy Buchanan, no place could truly be home so much as a web of inviting glamorous aspects to draw her in. He's hard pressed to name a home for himself, but New York had come closest with its lights and the promise of a future. After the gunshot, Gatsby had given up on ever seeing it again.

That's before he arrived here at the Nexus and before the strangeness of the doors.

Now, he's standing in the midst of a snowstorm that's stripped the streets of New York City of most of its people, with Jay Gatsby standing in a nearly deserted Times Square that looks so much the same and yet as different as ever. There's no doubt in his mind that he's managed to find the future, but the sheer wondrous amazement at seeing the Collars ad lit up and glowing leaps beyond Gatsby's beliefs.

And where, he wonders, does Daisy Buchanan end up in a world like this? Where do people like her and Tom sit? He can imagine Daisy on one of the sparkling posters advertising the city's golden girls in its fabled shows. Gatsby, though, Gatsby is just a remnant of a past that no one wants to go back to.

Shivering, he turns to look for a place to purchase something to keep him warm. "Excuse me," he calls out to someone standing by a door under an awning. "Where's the nearest department store I might find?"

Jan. 24th, 2016 01:08 pm
shes_biochem: (ready for the morning)
[personal profile] shes_biochem
Washington, DC | Late 2015

Simmons breaks away from the madness of her job to enjoy dinner with someone who definitely can understand the strangeness of her life.

PG
concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
The annual Nexus New Year's Eve gala began at 8 in the evening. Too grand to be contained by the lobby or dining hall, the gardens at the front of the hotel were employed, with long strings of white lights forming a twinkling canopy from the front doors all the way to the hedge maze. The weather was temperate and calm, and the night perfectly clear.

Drinks were served at various bars set up throughout the gardens and lobby, with champagne cocktails being the specialty of the night. Wheeling through the crowd was a bartender with golden cart providing warm drinks on the go: Tom and Jerrys, rum punch, negus, and Irish coffee.

Crisply-dressed wait staff wove through the collected guests with an abundance of hors d'oeuvres for all different tastes. The Bistro remained open with a limited selection of items for those who were wanting something more substantial.

Above the front doors was hung a large, gold-rimmed clock counting down the last hours, minutes, and seconds of the current year.
matt_murdock: (076)
[personal profile] matt_murdock
Winter of 1944 | A field hospital in France

He can't remember the last time he spoke to a pretty woman.

WWII AU | ONGOING
birthrightblack: (to the side)
[personal profile] birthrightblack
Winsol has always been Jaenelle's favorite time of year and while she does not always spend as much time in the hotel as some, she usually tries to get back in time to celebrate part of the holiday with those she's come to be friends with here. It's a strange little place, a go-between not unlike Ebon Askavi or other places in her own world but strangely, none of her friends from home have ever been able to come through.

She guesses this is one of those things that are hers and hers alone. It wouldn't be the first and Jaenelle would be shocked if it were the last. To be what she is means to be singular and alone for the entirety of her life, for the good of others instead of herself. None of that mattered during Winsol, though, and Jaenelle intends to enjoy it.

Another holiday coincides with it here in the hotel, something called Christmas, and it seems to be a younger and tamer festival than she's used to. Still, some of the trappings are the same and unlike last year, Jaenelle has gotten a handle on the delicate touch needed to make the fairy lights twinkle and the boughs appear to drop snow of their own accord.

She's currently bewitching mistletoe to hop from door to door simply because it amuses her to see people try and avoid it but she can't quite get the spell right. It isn't exploding, which is progress, but it's hardly doing what she wants it to.

"Come on," she cajoles. "Please work?"
silenttrainbaby: (crouching)
[personal profile] silenttrainbaby
Dec. 6 | hallway and Cinna's room

Grey finds himself someplace entirely new. Luckily one thing - the most important thing - is beautifully familiar.

reunion sexy-shenanigans
aspeggysays: (to say)
[personal profile] aspeggysays
From the nexus, it looked like an adequate setting for a rest cure. A big house, surrounded by a lot of land; sunny days, clear nights. A few more amenities than Merry Olde England, which she'd also considered for the purpose, but no shelling, no gunfire, and no planes flying overhead. Peggy stepped though the doorway with little hesitation.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," someone said from down the hallway, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

Peggy flinched and froze, her thoughts immediately jumping to Steve. But the conversation continued, Steve was still dead, and Peggy was done jumping at shadows. She continued down the hall and settled into a chair in the parlor. That proved to be a mistake.

The room soon filled with young women, chattering about a Mr. Bingley. They took Peggy's presence without blinking, but oddly, insisted on calling her Lizzy. She did her best to fade into the background as the conversation circled endlessly around the question of marriage. It hit her on a raw spot, all the talk of marriage when the only man she'd ever thought about in that way was dead, but she had endured far worse. Her smile never cracked, her eyes remained dry. She found the door back to the nexus with some relief.

The next time the nexus threw her into Longbourn, they family was about to leave to attend a ball. Peggy had never been to a ball; she tagged along. She even danced a few times, but she didn't mind that it wasn't more. Afterwards, the cozy talk with Jane was a nice bonus. Peggy found she enjoyed a little sisterly gossip.

She came back a few more times after that -- to talk to Jane, she told herself. To encourage Lydia in her little rebellions against the social limits. To run interference for Mary when she wanted to play the piano. Just to get a good night's rest. It was half way between the rest cure she'd been looking for and picking at a scab. The talk of marriage, the constricted choices reminiscent of the childhood she'd fled at the first opportunity -- but the sisterly chats, the quiet nights... and the knowledge that whatever troubles any of these people had, none of them were going to die. It was more than she knew about anyone back in the War.

And then, today happened. Peggy arrived, and as usual, no one noticed that she'd been away. "Have some fish, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet said, so Peggy did. It came as a complete surprise to her when Mr. Collins, the family guest, asked to speak with her.

Five minutes later, she found herself breathing harder than usual, her voice a low growl as she threatened to gut Mr. Collins with a fish fork if he didn't learn to listen to what a woman was actually saying instead of only to what he expected to hear. She was not going to put up with this.

She stalked out without looking back, trusting Mr. Collins to come up with some explanation for the rest of the family. He didn't seem like the type who'd admit that a woman had frightened him.

Peggy took a seat in the garden, feeling pleased with herself, and just a tiny bit guilty as well. Good thing she hadn't done that to any of the more annoying men at home. But when she heard someone approaching, she turned to greet them with the dangerous smile of a woman who had just let loose, and was willing to do it again. "I think the next step in this situation is Meryton. Steal a uniform. Find a war. Want to come with me?"



[The only thing I'm taking from the miniseries "Lost in Austen" is the basic concept. Peggy knows who she is, but none of the NPCs do, they think she's Lizzy Bennet and react to her as Lizzy Bennet, don't notice any discrepancies, etc. Replace any and all Austen characters in the same way (don't feel like you have to follow the Austen plot, either), arrive as as an era-appropriate version of your character (no Austen double required), or simply have them show up as themselves, no door changes (though for the sake of not getting stuck on details, let's just say that the NPCs aren't going to freak out about them not belonging or anything, these are some really accommodating NPCs!) Just please be clear about what choice you're going for, and feel free to drop me a line if it gets complicated :)]
burn_with_us: (woods; winter)
[personal profile] burn_with_us
Just as she had last year, Katniss had taken on the task of planning a feast to give thanks for all the people who had come through the doors from Panem. There's a little crew of them now, slightly smaller than last year, but there's one important addition to that group - Cinna. Her heart is just a little lighter knowing that he's here and knowing that everyone in this place is happy and safe and well-fed is something to be thankful for.

She'd spent the wee hours of the morning hunting in one of the forests beyond the doors and came back with two wild turkeys. Cleaning and dressing them had taken most of the early morning hours and by late afternoon, she'd managed to have them roasted and golden brown. There's other things, too, cooked in the restaurant's kitchen and maybe while not as expertly done as Peeta would have, it's passable. Katniss has learned a few things in the past two years.

There's enough food for her invited guests and, should someone decide to crash the party, enough for a few uninvited guests. It's the way Katniss prefers it. She thinks part of the beauty of giving thanks for what they have is sharing it with anyone who happens along.

When everyone is gathered, she taps her glass lightly and makes an impromptu (and awkward) speech.

"So, I'm thankful you're all here. I'm thankful another year has passed and we're safe and sound and well-fed. Please enjoy."

With that, she slinks back into her seat.
aguacateatlaw: (002)
[personal profile] aguacateatlaw
Foggy had presumed that this particular hallucination was simply the result of too little sleep and too much stress so after repeatedly trying to put the whole thing to bed for the past several days, he resigned himself to the fact that either A) he had actually gone insane, which would affect his ability to practice law to some great extent or B) The Nexus was a real place, removed from New York and Hell's Kitchen and anything familiar.

Foggy had never particularly been enamored of insanity as a legal construct but contemplating it as an actual medical condition was a hell of a lot more frightening. He decided the cure for said insanity was going to be to drink, a lot, and had taken himself down to the Smoking Room to do that exact thing. It wasn't his usual place, no, but since that was currently unavailable to him, he needed to take advantage of the next best thing.

It really had to be stress. He was carrying as many secrets as a parish priest the week before Easter and there was a reason he'd never been interested in being a priest. While being an attorney meant carrying a number of secrets, there were ways to divulge those secrets through discovery and arguments and to purge one's self of that burden. Hell, as an attorney, he could confess to his priest and be covered both ethically and legally. But being a priest, or, apparently, Matt Murdock's best friend, meant carrying secrets he couldn't tell to anyone. It meant carrying things he'd never share with another soul.

"Keep 'em coming. Just leave the bottle, actually," Foggy said, plunking some cash down on the bar in front of him. "Might as well just finish it, at this point."
mlle_belle: (curious: by ?)
[personal profile] mlle_belle
JULY | THE NEXUS LIBRARY

It's not a normal every-day thing to meet someone with the same name as you and a history that gets very close, but neither Belle are used to being normal.

no warnings apply
afeastofstarlight: (contemplate)
[personal profile] afeastofstarlight
She had found a door, finally, which made her heart sing, her blood stir in her veins. However high the ceilings may be in her room, however expansive the hotel grounds, they were still too contained, small. She was used to endless horizons and unknown territory, and the hotel was somewhat suffocating in that regard.

But this, here. A small door that she had seemed to just notice (or had it appeared once her longing became strong enough?) down the hall from her quarters, which she had to duck slightly in order to walk through. It had been carved from apple wood, with designs of flowers and fruit curling around the door handle. Once through, aware of the fickle nature of the Nexus, she had propped the door open with a large rock.

She had appeared out of the side of a rocky hillside, a natural formation which in her own land would have been used as some sort of watchtower or signal top. All around Tauriel was spring. Flowers were beginning to grow through the damp grass, and the air smelt fresh and warm. After a few trips through the door Tauriel felt comfortable enough to visit it often, with only her daggers and no other weapon.

This time, it was night. She found a spot on the boulders she could comfortably half sit, half lay upon, and she looked up at a glowing profusion of stars she did not recognize. She ached at their familiarity all the same, though; them and the heavy moon hanging low in the sky. There was more than enough starlight and moonlight to see by and, humming a soft melody to herself, she began to slowly braid her hair.
designerebel: (cinna § 65)
[personal profile] designerebel
For the first few days Cinna stays in his room. He's suffered a loss so great that it's painful beyond the telling of it. Who can speak those words? Cinna cannot, in spite of his usual eloquence. He's had to relive his own demise right up to his death. In a sense, it leaves him numb. But a man like Cinna cannot stay that way forever. He has to feel. He has to exist. He is not an ungrateful man when he is given something so great that it's very near inexplicable. He should be dead. His life, this life in The Nexus, is a miraculous thing - the impossible made possible. He will not squander the gift that has been given to him.

He dresses well in spite of the ache in his bruised muscles as he does so. Cinna doesn't like looking anything but well put together. By his fourth day the wounds on his body have scabbed over. The bruises have turned deep purple and yellow. He doesn't try to cover them up with makeup. There is no sense in that and he knows they'll be gone soon enough. He does don some of his token golden eyeliner. It makes him feel more human. It makes him feel more like himself, tiny gold lines outlined and embellished in black that serve him as well as the greatest suit of armor ever made. He is alive. He exists. He is a fighter in his own right even without conventional weapons. He is Cinna.

He understands The Nexus somewhat in thanks to his time in another very different place although similar in mechanics. Also, in thanks to the kindness of a man he is still indebted to who had helped him understand what was happening when he'd only first arrived a few days ago. He understands that it is a hub of some sort. He also understands that he cannot go home. That is a fate of his own design that he doesn't want to live through again.

It is now, four days later, that he decides to get out and explore this, The Nexus, as Aramis had called it. He can be found anywhere really, moving with an elegance and grace that is intrinsic to him, looking in rooms and shops, outside and inside. Not only does he want to become acquainted with his new home, but he's in search of food and the familiarity of a needle and thread in his hands if he can find it. That's all he needs, really. For now.
averygoodshot: (Fem Aramis)
[personal profile] averygoodshot
Aramis keenly remembers teasing Porthos when he had stepped through the door and become a woman. He had teased d'Artagnan and even Athos.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He had not intended to do anything, really. He spent a good deal of his time praying, a good deal of time trying to atone for his sins.

Instead, this is what happens.

Much as his friends had, he has hitched his clothing tighter so that it may not fall down, and has fashioned something of a harness for ... well, for his new developments, as it were. He knows he could seek out Constance or even, if he was desperate, Milady, but he is not that desperate. He simply makes do and tells himself that God has a reason for everything.

He has always appreciated women and so maybe this is to test that? Who knows. Aramis does not question, at least not much. He is aware, though, that he looks a little foolish, his hair tied up, his clothing, baggy on him as a man, is like a series of large sacks on him, his boots far too big as he makes his way down the hallways. He smiles, though, not having a hat to tip, as he greets people. He knows he's not the only one who's suffered thusly. That's something anyway.
speedy_queen: (Default)
[personal profile] speedy_queen
Thea hasn't been spending that much time in the hotel lately. She's been mostly back home, suiting up, and nothing seems to be getting done. No matter what she does, the ghosts keep coming and she hasn't been able to eradicate the threats creeping on her city and her life. It's keeping her awake all day and all night.

The only thing that ever seems to ease it is getting high and under Oliver's thumb and being treating as the junior member of the team doesn't mean she gets a lot of chances to be able to fuck off and just get away from it. That's changing today. She can go back through to the hotel and score something from Olaf and just blank out for a little while.

When she goes through the door, she heads straight to the bar. Olaf is usually around and if not, she can get drunk on her way to oblivion.

"Keep 'em coming. I've got plenty to pay for it."

Sep. 14th, 2015 09:48 pm
leftwithmybones: (!switch stern)
[personal profile] leftwithmybones
It's a bit like hiding in plain sight, but hell, when McCoy had quickly realized that walking through a particular door switched around his anatomy, he'd gone through a few steps:

1) Freak out and doubt the possibilities (at least outside of something like a strange alien planet or a beaming issue gone wrong

2) Realize that the door stayed put and he could easily switch back to normal

and then, finally:

3) Figure out that Jim's here and by hiding out in this strange new body, he can actually figure out what Jim's been up to without getting in his face and demanding the answers

And so that's where he is right now, sipping on a drink in the lobby and keeping an eye out for Jim coming back from one of the wild, mad doors around here, getting himself into more stupid trouble. On a little piece of paper in front of him, McCoy's been writing down all the ways he's seen Jim turn up, as if from a mission, and he's getting ready to come back as himself and ream Jim a new one for getting himself into so much idiotic trouble, but that can come later.

Because right now, he's on the lookout for the next item on his list.

Sep. 6th, 2015 02:05 pm
quantum_meruit: (bored)
[personal profile] quantum_meruit
The days keep passing without much meaning. Laurel knows that it's not as if she can actually escape the way she'd like, but lounging around the hotel had gotten old two months ago and time keeps creeping on. No matter what she tries, she can't get back home. She can go anywhere else in the world -- Paris, a spaceship, and even back in time -- but getting back to school is apparently too much to ask.

Then again, given the events back home, maybe that's for the best. The problem is that she's warring with boredom. She could go explore the doors, but it seems like a bad idea in case she gets stuck and has no way back. She's not sure she wants to ask Connor to become her exploration buddy, seeing as it would feel a lot like imposing.

That's what'd led her to try and look locally. It's been a while since she had a job for money's sake, though. Usually, her family just pays for what she needs. This time, it's not about the money, though, so much as the need to occupy her time. Of course, her actual skill-set isn't really coming in handy. It's not like they really need a counsel at the hotel and if they did, she's pretty sure her law student experience is going to get her the job.

Which is why Laurel's taken to lingering at the front desk today, pestering the concierge throughout the last few hours when he's free. "What about something like a personal shopper? Only for the doors?" she suggests, but the concierge gives her a confused look, which is becoming par for the course when it comes to the strange things.

"What about waitressing?"

Laurel gives a quiet scoff. "I'm pretty sure people don't want me for a waitress. I'd be terrible." Maybe the bar, though? Pouring drinks couldn't be that hard. She sighs and leans back against the desk, staring out at people wandering in and out of the hotel, wishing that one of them could help her. "I just need a job," she says, frustrated. "And it'd be nice if I didn't completely suck at it," she adds, because spending her time constantly hating the work doesn't really solve her problems either.

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