concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.

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.


Aug. 20th, 2015 03:44 am
apetrocchi: (16ish)
[personal profile] apetrocchi
Angelica had attended eight different schools in the last six years, and learned magic, ballet, invisibility, diplomacy, flying, strategy, lock-picking, and the pursuit of excellence, among other things. These were all interesting skills that she was sure would come in useful, but she would trade everything she'd learned for the sense that she'd somehow lost along the way.

The sense that there was somewhere that she belonged.

The door to Casa Petrocchi swung shut behind her, and Angelica drew a deep breath, trying not to cry. They'd given her room to her tiny cousin Isidora. They'd told her she could sleep in the guest room.

She, Angelica Petrocchi, sleep in the guest room at Casa Petrocchi?

She couldn't possibly do that. She'd rather go beg for a room at Casa Montana.

Turning back, Angelica opened the door again, only to find Casa Petrocchi gone, replaced by a generic hotel room. Maybe it was her hotel room, she knew she'd been assigned one. Maybe the hotel was trying to tell her something, just like her family was. You can't go home again?

Standing in the hallway, staring at that room, Angelica choked back a sob.
shes_biochem: (pleased)
[personal profile] shes_biochem
Simmons has managed to find the most wonderful, impossible thing.

In the midst of everything happening back home that she's not even close to ready to cope with -- whatever is happening to Skye, what did happen to Tripp -- she'd decided that she needed time before her mental shields broke down and she cracked and had a nervous breakdown fit to rival the very worst. One day had turned to two and then somehow has drawn out to just over a week, but she feels better and relaxed and now she's standing outside of a very blue, very locked, very real seeming TARDIS that just happens to be parked in the lobby of the Nexus.

"Excuse me," she asks the concierge. "When did this arrive?"

They rattle off something about how they've never noticed it and isn't it funny that they have a police box and would Simmons like security called. She shakes her head urgently and turns her attention back to the TARDIS as her childish heart sings with excitement. She tries the door another three times, opens the phone, looks for a key (or better yet, the man who owns this box), but nothing seems to be working. It almost seems like it could be a prank. Surely the Doctor couldn't be real. Surely this isn't actually happening.

She drags one of the comfortable lobby chairs over to set up shop right outside of it, chin perched on her hand as she stares up at the TARDIS and wonders whether this is another of those things where reality and fiction manage to merge and mix, creating a result that gives her this. And of course, that cowardly part of her heart can't help but wonder if she can't break in and manage to steer her and all the people she cares about away from what's been happening.

"Brave heart, Jemma," she instructs herself, a sad smile on her lips as she crosses her legs in front of the TARDIS and waits for an owner or an explanation or anything in between.

Apr. 8th, 2015 06:59 pm
aspeggysays: (gun)
[personal profile] aspeggysays
Three days after arriving at the Nexus Hotel, Peggy Carter went down to the edge of the island with a beach umbrella she'd taken from a beach in Spain, a brightly colored banner from the halls of Gondor, a broken lance picked up on the sidelines of a tourney at Camelot, a pot of paint from an elementary school in Alaska, and her most interesting acquisition, a needle gun that she'd traded for her usual sidearm on a space ship somewhere between Escobar and Beta Colony.

She fixed the pole of the umbrella firmly into the ground, attached the lance at right angles, and fixed the banner to this frame. The paint made a neat, rather small bullseye in the center of the banner, and she was ready.

Twenty paces across the smooth lawn, turn and fire. The projectile whizzed through the air, and when it hit the target, it broke open and dozens of razor sharp strands whirred and shrieked as they cut the banner of Gondor into shreds in a radius of about a foot and then disappeared into the vastness of space that surrounded the island.

Silence descended. A few streamers danced in the breeze where the bullseye had once been.

"Well," Peggy said. It wasn't often she was at a loss for words, and it only lasted for few seconds. "Why yes," she announced. "I'd trade my .45 for one of these any day."

She put the safety on with great care, re-holstered the weapon, and went to take a closer look at the damage.

Mar. 22nd, 2015 08:52 pm
on_your_right: (Sam; thinking)
[personal profile] on_your_right
It's been almost a year since Sam first showed up at the Nexus and he doesn't understand it any more now than he did then. It's occasionally entertaining, dinosaurs notwithstanding, but sometimes he wonders if he ought to be moving on and getting back to the hero business. Sure. He's no Captain America or Black Widow and he's probably only ever going to be on the JV squad of the Avengers but he's done his bit. He's gotten a taste of it and wants more.

Not a lot he can do about it, though. For the last several weeks, every door he's tried has been stuck and he can't go anywhere except within the hotel itself. It's been okay - he's had enough money and supplies to get by - but it's damned annoying. Tonight, he's decided to abandon all pretense of dealing with his problems and headed to the Smoking Room to drink and ignore everything for a little while.

As a coping mechanism, it's a shitty one, and he has enough knowledge in this arena to know it isn't a permanent solution. Still, everyone's allowed to be down for a little while and Sam thinks if he is maladjusted for a night or two, it's not going to harm anything in the grand scheme. He's going to come out all right, just like he always does, and eventually the doors are going to open again and he can get back to kicking HYDRA's ass.

JV squad or not, he thinks that the Avengers will more than likely appreciate all the help they can get, especially since SHIELD is no longer a thing.

Until then? He's going to enjoy his beer and sulk for a little while.
concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
Throughout the day on the 14th, the Nexus staff deliver single roses and accompanying notes to designated hotel guests in celebration of the Valentine's Day holiday. For some, the gesture will be a foregone conclusion; for others, it will be a surprise. For some, they might only guess at who sent them the gift in the first place.

[Comments with deliveries will follow are done. You may reply to yours with a reaction if you like!]
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.
shes_biochem: (wary)
[personal profile] shes_biochem
Zombie Road, just off Zombie Lane

Simmons finds herself in the precarious position of facing off zombies with only her mind, so it's a lucky thing Agent Romanoff is there to help her.

PG-13 for Violence

Nov. 9th, 2014 11:40 am
on_your_right: (Sam; grinning)
[personal profile] on_your_right
Sam has never been the best with idle time. He's always wanted to be on the move somehow, be that as an active duty officer or just running around the Mall and being in the hotel makes him a little stir crazy. While he's aware that the current HYDRA situation means he probably shouldn't try to go make himself a hero back home, it leaves him a little at loose ends otherwise.

So he decides to start exploring doors. Some of them are easy enough to figure out - Disneyland is always a classic. Some of them are a hell of a lot more complicated and he's not sure why he decided heading into an unknown jungle was a good idea but now he's deep in the thick of it, the canopy of trees making it where he can't get a good idea of his bearings. The door is long gone, far behind him, and ahead of him is...well shit.

"That is a dinosaur. Dinosaurs are supposed to be dead." Except, apparently, not when you choose the random jungle door and end up in Jurassic Park.

(Sam isn't going to be surprised if someone tells him that it is Jurassic Park. His life is just weird and strange enough for something like that to be an every day occurrence.)

The dinosaur in particular is a T-rex and he thinks, if he keeps very still, maybe he can get out of this one alive. Still, that being said, he wishes he had his wings and some firepower to help even up the odds.
concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
The fog had begun near the dusk hours, coating all the plants and flowers in the garden. It settled, heavy, and blanketed everything with a new cover that was only matched in mood by the graveyard that had unearthed itself from the grass and the moss. Names were etched on each gravestone, but the most unnerving part was that every few steps, if you stopped and listened very, very carefully, you might hear a knock of a human hand against hard wood. It was almost as if the dead were being called upwards.

The maze stood normal, but inside around the corners, there were things lurking and waiting.

Outside might have become frightening and gloomy, but the contrast to indoors was stark. Inside, carved pumpkins lit with candles turned the ballroom and restaurants into amber-lit abodes, costumed partygoers twirled to the music played by the band in the lobby (while the DJ had set up in the conservatory). Candy and small hors d'oeuvres circulated on the trays of immaculately clad waiters and though outside it was stormy, foggy, and spooky, inside was a delight of themed drinks, delicious food, and the manic and half-crazed mood of people in the midst of their fun.

The party for Halloween had begun.

And there was no telling when it might ever end.
concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
Anyone who passed the billiards room in the evening was treated to the sound of light laughter, billiard balls being struck with firm confidence, and the clatter of glasses and plates. The notice had been posted only that day for the tournament, but all were welcome to join in and play, while free drinks and small morsels of food were passed around for the enjoyment of all. The two billiard tables were rarely empty, even though the prize wasn't much to speak of, but pride was always a great motivator in people's ambitions and the ability to say you'd won was always on the line.

The billiards tournament was casual and many were lingering around, watching as the players took their turns. Waiters circulated the room with their trays, and every once in a while, new competitors were welcomed into the informal billiards competition that had begun only a few hours earlier.

Everyone was welcome, though some people would be leaving the event with a loss on their backs. It was lucky, then, that there was alcohol, food, and good company to help dull the defeats.
dayswithoutincident: (pic#8132681)
[personal profile] dayswithoutincident
Manage your expectations. It's a simple enough concept, but one a lot of people struggle with, and Bruce Banner is no exception. There's a trick to it, of stepping apart from yourself and finding true objectivity, of having the strength to recognize your own weaknesses and strengths.

What Bruce hadn't realized until recently, however, was that when it came to his own life, expectations involving any degree of reasonable normalcy were so far removed that they might as well have been on another planet. Another planet in another universe, actually, but only if it was one about fifty trillion lightyears away and at least ten thousand years from producing anything resembling intelligent life.

At this point, Bruce isn't sure what reasonable expectations for the average person would even consist of, but he's pretty sure he can rule out accidentally tripping through wormholes to alternate dimensions. What he's also sure of is that it says a lot about him (and how much time he's been spending with Stark) that it hadn't shocked him much to step out of his bathroom and find himself at Pocket Universe Inn. He has colleagues who use robotic suits and giant hammers to fly; it's probably past time to redefine what 'normal' means.

Not that it didn't occur to him that he should probably be a little worried about the whole benevolent way station vibe of the place. There's apparently some kind of celestial philanthropist of unknown motive providing his room and board, but overall it's calm and quiet, and there are dozens of ways out. He hopes it doesn't come to it, but if all else fails, he can take a running leap into the abyss. It's more than he can say for where he came from.

This is his third day, and he's still deep in the thrall of new discovery, a quiet figure skirting awkwardly around other guests on his way outside. On the lawn he pauses, face upturned like a child. The view of the sky is still breathtaking, the infinite cosmos bending around their little island like a stream parting over a stone.
shes_biochem: (wary)
[personal profile] shes_biochem
Even after she had found and opened the door, it'd taken Simmons more time than she'd like to figure out what she's looking at. It speaks to how much her mind has been plagued with worry and brainstorming and countless, endless time spent devoting her energy towards healing Fitz. She'd been nose-deep in a book on her way to get something to eat when she'd opened the door and hit some sort of barrier.

Though that's not the important part.

(It's an interesting part, she's not discounting that, but it's secondary to what's before her)

Simmons presses her palm up against the strange barrier and watches the scene in front of her. It's them on the Bus. They're playing Scrabble and oh, she remembers this. She remembers how happy she'd felt at the team coming together. Without her intentions leaning towards it, her gaze turns to Ward, who is protesting one of Simmons' own plays. Her eyes turn flinty as she regards him, trying to search for cracks in the surface, as if looking back on this moment, she can try and see the snake hiding behind the man's skin all along, but there's nothing there. She's so bitter and upset because why bother saving her life if he could so easily throw it away only months later?

And why can't she go in there? Why can't she walk in like any other door and scream at the top of her lungs not to trust him. Her gaze turns to Fitz, next, so happy and untouched and unbruised and she shifts her palm over so she can lean her forehead against the strange barrier, watching wistfully and thinking that it had been so much easier than.

True, they had been in the dark, but they'd been happy, weren't they?

"You're going to pay," she says to the Ward in the past, who's smiling and laughing and wearing his sheep's clothing like a second skin. "And I hope I get to be a part of it."
concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
Outside of the Nexus Hotel, waiters and hotel staff had begun to set up the umbrellas and the tables in the middle of the day. Soon, it became clear that something was happening in the shadow of the Nexus. White tablecloths were draped on the tables and drinks and food were brought out with the help of several waiters and servers, staffing tables with hot and cold foods beside bartending stations. Summery drinks in bright, neon colors are laid out one by one and soon, the afternoon light casts a radiant look on the scene.

Music plays faintly in the background and a note at the front desk invites all the Nexus guests to head outside and join in on the summer party, which promises to continue going as long as there are people to stay and continue keeping the warm atmosphere rolling.

On the lawn, social games had been set out -- lawn bowling, croquet, and tables were set up with chairs for anyone who didn't quite have the will or the spirit to get into such games. Soon, a small number of people had begun to mill around, but as with all parties, there's always room for more.
shes_biochem: (not good)
[personal profile] shes_biochem

After escaping from their very-nearly-almost watery grave, Fitz awakens in the medical facility, only he's missing some things.


Jun. 1st, 2014 05:55 pm
highland_hawk: (Default)
[personal profile] highland_hawk
Erik knew that the calm wasn't going to last.

You didn't spend most of your life on the water without knowing that the flat calm was only as sure as the next cloud on the horizon. Storms came and went, ebbed and flowed. There were some you could watch approach, others that turned a clear blue sky to the dark grey of impending doom. He wouldn't trade a moment of it.

For now, though, he was going to enjoy the stars overhead, the sound of water against the hull, and the memories of watching a MacDuff put the crown on Bruce's head. Between that and reuniting Chief with his bride? It hadn't been a bad month. It wouldn't always be like this and there wouldn't always be victories. They'd started a dangerous campaign and would be fighting major and minor battles along with the overall war to clear the damned English from their lands.

Erik MacSorley knew how to take advantage of every opportunity, even when the opportunity was for nothing at all to happen.

Chuckling to himself, he decided celebrations might just be in order. Meg, he knew, would welcome him and the rest of his crew with open arms...and possibly open legs. Cheered by that, he roused himself from the deck and went towards the hatch to let the lads know of his plan. His clansmen were always more likely to step lively when they knew what the payoff was.

He wasn't two steps below decks when he realized something had happened, something even Campbell couldn't see.

He was in a castle of some sort. It had to be that because no keep was as appointed as this. The floor felt strange under his boots, the air had lost the scent of the sea, and everything about where he stood fairly screamed out wrong.

Deftly, he pulled his sword from his sheath and kept his eyes out for whatever had caused this magic.

OOC: Erik is dressed like this but with Matt Barr's face.

May. 19th, 2014 08:55 pm
iron_y: (Default)
[personal profile] iron_y
"Shit," Tony Stark muttered. He stopped pacing to glare across the long room, past dozens of rows of ficus plants, at the thread of smoke rising from one of them. It was clearly visible against the white walls.

"Jarvis, is that supposed to happen?" Tony asked.

"The plant involved is one of the controls," Jarvis said. "Nothing to worry about, sir."

"Hmmph," Tony said, and resumed pacing and glaring at random ficus plants. A ficus had been good enough for the late Maya Hansen may she rest in peace, back when she'd still been a promising scientist and not a moral quandary, but what Tony was finding was that biology was not nearly as satisfying as engineering. Plants took time to grow. Obvious inferior design, right?

If it had been Tony with the Extremis problem, this whole thing would be a lot further along, because he'd already thought of about twenty short cuts to this whole process...but it wasn't him. It was Pepper.

"If I may make a suggestion..." Jarvis said.

Tony stopped pacing again. "Jarvis, I warn you, this had better be--"

"Duck!" Jarvis said.

Tony was ducking even before he consciously registered the lack of the usual sir, a sure sign of urgency. The fire extinguishing foam from one of his stupider robots passed over his head and hit the plant right next to him just before it burst into flame.

"Good job, but next time--" Tony started to say.

But the damn plant burst into flame anyway, and the foam went everywhere, and the overhead sprinklers made an ominous noise.

"No, wait for it," Tony muttered. The plant next to the flaming plant was still stable, and as long as...

"Oops," Tony said as another plant -- on the far side of the room, no less! -- started smoking. "That shouldn't have happened. Jarvis--"

"Activating sprinklers," Jarvis said.

"Shit," Tony said as a whole row of plants along the far wall burst into flame too. "Shit shit..." Blinking against smoke and hunching against the spray, he ran to the nearest door and wrenched it open. "Shit," he said to the quiet of the hallway, and then pulled out his tablet.

"Better fireproof partitions," Tony muttered, scribbling down notes as fast as he could think. Water dripped onto his tablet, but that was okay, it was waterproof. "And more testing, lots more testing with heat, and...chemical stimuli, and...magnetic fields, how about a focused electromagnetic field?" He felt a weird sort of relief at having something to do, even if it was something he should have thought of before the big fire took out at least half of his work. "And Jarvis, don't tell Pepper about this, okay?"

There was no response. "Jarvis?" He looked around, and realized that he didn't recognize the hallway where he was standing.
shes_biochem: (not good)
[personal profile] shes_biochem
Everything is beginning to weigh on her with the weight of the ocean's pressure.

Not the best thought, but it's the right one. Simmons still feels like she hasn't left the ocean floor, with Fitz beside her, and even though she clings to old habits, every time she looks to her side to make sure Fitz is there and alive and his heart is beating, she remembers that he's not. On unsteady feet, she finds her way to a door to the Nexus, more relieved than she's been in so very long, and she takes herself to the luxury hotel, but keeps far away from the room she's been using as a lab.

She can't look at it without thinking of everything that's happened. She can't even breathe some moments without thinking that she wouldn't even have breath, if it weren't for Fitz -- who can't even remember, who's healing, who is...

She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob that does its' level best to escape. She's not able to keep it in and when the weight of the last week (last few months) catches up to her, Simmons presses her back against the wall to keep herself upright, sliding down until she can wrap her arms around her knees and pretend, pretend, that she's not alone and that when she looks to her side, Fitz will be there, even though she knows he won't.

She can still hear her voice, hear the echo of panic in his all those months ago, and now she knows what he'd felt like when she'd jumped from the plane. It's like everything has changed and parts of her have been ripped out, only to be replaced by love and grief.

May. 5th, 2014 05:58 pm
on_your_right: (Sam; thinking)
[personal profile] on_your_right
cut for spoilers from The Winter Soldier )

He takes a landing that isn't so much graceful as functional through one of the blown-out windows of the Triskelion and starts pulling at doors, trying to find the best escape route. Since most of the good guys are technically Hydra's guys at this point, Sam's not sure who to trust. He wrenches open a utility door that looks promising; maybe it heads down an old, unused maintenance hallway and he can find a way out without tripping all the guards from here to Arlington.

The decor doesn't seem to match the door. Instead of the utilitarian metal and concrete that's the hallmark of most government buildings, this one leads to plush carpeting and warm, cheery decor. It looks like a damn vacation compared to where he just came from and Sam cranes his neck to see around the corner as best he can, hoping he doesn't get shot while he's pulling his worst Roadrunner impersonation. That would be a damn mess. Rogers would probably try to spin it during his funeral that he died a hero but he thinks at least Romanoff would be snickering in the background. Can't get anything past her. He doesn't get shot (this time) and decides that maybe it's worth the risk. The halls seem empty of personnel, friendly or not, and maybe it's a chance to get the hell out and get somewhere that he can coordinate back with his team.

He likes the sound of that, being part of a team again, and grins to himself as he carefully works his way down the hall, trying to look as nondescript as possible. That's a little hampered by the twisted, broken wing attached to his back but maybe anyone he runs into will be so damn shocked that they won't notice he's only half a bird right now. Maybe.


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