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[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.
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[personal profile] thefinalsolution
What is it that you break even when you name it?

Riddles, this place is full of riddles as far as the eye can see and Moriarty's eye stretches far, as far as the interminable and never-ending stream of thoughts in his mind is permitted to roam. This place is full of riddles and mazes and doors and death and oh, if that isn't a welcome home gift, then he doesn't know what is. How he came to be here, he doesn't know, but it's enough of a distraction that he finds himself staying longer than planned.

Besides, Irene will keep Sherlock occupied. It's her turn for a playdate and Moriarty will get his chance, but a consulting criminal with a thorough web need not be on demand. The more you take, the more you leave behind. Riddles! So many riddles! Why does one door lead back to London when another takes him to the chilly Arctic? Why does one door open to a world of misfit murderers (many of whom Moriarty would have liked to associate with, if not for the unfortunate need for them to play their part) and others bring him back to the hotel?

His laugh is childish and innocent, such a thrill for such an advanced mind! Riddles! It's full of riddles, he thinks, and vows to become one while he's here. No cause to spoil all his fun so soon. John Holmes, now there's a name and a clever little joke in one. Perhaps a bit too obvious, but when have ordinary people ever looked the obvious in the eye, stabbed it in its heart and said 'I know you'?

"Silence," he answers, scanning the area around him as he stands upon the precipice of a great hall, strewn with the remnants of an old party. Moriarty stands in the doorway and wonders what great festival he's missed. No time like the present to find out.

Absently, with a mind to relax his posture and his shoulders, he steps into the room and into character and sets about making himself a mark in this new world of riddles and puzzles.

Soon, he'll extend his web, but webbing will wait.
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[personal profile] concierge
A large, decorative sign situated prominantly in the lobby reads:

The Nexus Hotel
proudly presents its

Event Location
Nexus Premises
6 PM - ?

1920's themed dress recommended, but not required for all guests

The sumptuous theme of elegance that typically surrounds the Nexus Hotel is out in full force on the evening of the 31st. With efficiency and very little said, a group had entered and snapped white tablecloths on long tables in the main lobby of the hotel, turning side-rooms into similar displays of elegance. Then came the food, followed by the alcohol, and the guests were quick to follow.

Drinks were on the lawn, in the hotel, making their way into the hands of party-goers who wore shining, shimmering, jewelled gowns of all eras, but only those from the 1920’s hung on a rack in the luggage room where hotel guests entered to check in and found themselves amidst a welcoming committee like none before.

In the skies between the hotel and the stars, fireworks shot off in hourly intervals, sparkling and accompanied by a great bang that the music from the band does its’ best to drown out (to no avail). And under those shimmering lights, the party for New Years Eve roared. It was not the only party, though, as a door had been propped open that led directly to the shining lights of Las Vegas, the gleaming neon of the strip beckoning any guests daring enough to try their hand at games of chance and luck.

Nov. 11th, 2013 10:34 pm
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[personal profile] hideinplainsight
This is not how Gus Fring thought that this particular war would end.

Cut for Breaking Bad spoilers, episode 4x13 )

Gus Fring does not knock. He just enters. He has a duty to carry out. But when he steps over the threshold, the room dissolves and changes and shifts, and he is no longer where he was. Instead, he stands in the lobby of a hotel.

This is unexpected. He wracks his brain, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. He knows with precise detail all of the things he has put into his body, and he knows that not a single one could have contained a hallucinogen. His belongings have not been tampered with, he knows this for a fact -- because if they were, the perpetrator would be suffering or dead already. Such is the way one goes when attempting to harm Gus Fring.

Assessing the situation, Gus marches straight for the front desk, hoping that he will come across someone who will be able to provide him a reasonable explanation.

Whatever this is -- hallucination, stress-induced psychotic break, unanticipated drug ingestion -- he is going to reverse it.

Gus has a job to do.


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