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[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.
chuisle: (pic#7813559)
[personal profile] chuisle
One would think that after three and a half weeks, Angel's mind would've been put at ease, but it hasn't. He's still worried, still afraid that if he looks away — even for a second — she'll be gone again. Vanished, just like she did in his office. He's gotten into the habit of opening doors they haven't been through yet first, peeking through them to ensure he isn't going to lose her to another world, before he lets her pass through them.

The man has something of an obsessive personality, whether he feels like admitting it or not, and keeping a constant watch on Cordelia has become his latest obsession.

It's not that Cordelia isn't sympathetic to his worries -- she is. She gets it. Considering what happened she gets why he needs to keep an eye on her. But there's keeping an eye on her and there's following her constantly like a little puppy. Kind of adorable at first but at some point? After a few weeks? It looses some of the shine.

So after what has to be the 100th time he's paranoidly watched her go through a door Cordelia whirls around to face him, her lips pressing in annoyance.

"You don't have to keep doing that, you know? The whole following me around, making sure I don't go poof into thin air thing."

He comes to an awkward, abrupt halt, bracing his hands on the wall by the door frame to avoid crashing into her.

"I'm not doing that," he tells her, but they both know that he's doing exactly that. It's like their initial training sessions all over again; Angel trying really hard to be chivalrous without coming off as insulting or suffocating, but doing so in spite of his best attempt not to. (His Old World upbringing clashes sometimes with his New World existence — and his paranoia.)

Only this time, he won't quit following her instead of teaching her to do nothing but stave.

She gives him a look at first. One of her patented 'I don't believe a word you're saying, who are you trying to kid?' looks. "That's exactly what you're doing." It's not the first time he's been a little overbearing for the sake of trying to keep her safe. And again, it's not like she doesn't appreciate the sentiment.

But it's still frustrating. )

ooc | Cut for length. BLACK = Angel, PINK = Cordelia ([personal profile] visiongirl). Open for run-ins with either one of them!
visiongirl: ([Angel] Wish I could stay)
[personal profile] visiongirl
June 4th, 2014 | The Lobby

Cordelia arrives and runs into Angel, who's pretty sure she's a hallucination

In progress/PG
lordharry: (in everything there is hope)
[personal profile] lordharry
April 9th, 2014 | The Nexus Hotel

Hal meets a kindred spirit and uses shared experiences to try and keep him clinging onto his control.

discussion of violence
the_dawnster: winchesterway (Dawn ♦ 93)
[personal profile] the_dawnster
As if not being home wasn't bad enough, Dawn has been getting sicker and sicker by the day. She'd barely even been out of bed in a week. This morning she had rolled out of bed feeling just a little bit better after having slept for twenty-four hours straight. She had shuffled her way through a shower that only added to her feeling better. Wearing a white tank top with a purple glittered star on it and some purple pajama pants, she combed through the tangles in her hair and picked up a blow dryer to start working the heat through her hair. Today would be a straight hair sort of day, no curls because she didn't have the energy for it. As her hair dried, the steam slowly filtered away from the mirror, giving her a better image of herself in the reflection.

She dropped the blow dryer. Blinked. Looked again. Blinked again. Squinted her eyes. How could she see things behind her? Through herself? She looked behind her, just to check and make sure that she was seeing what was behind her through herself. Then she looked back to the mirror. She lifted her hand, seeing the bathroom counter through it. Her heartbeat thudded loudly in her chest. So loud that she swore she could feel it throughout her entire body inside and out.

And this is what had her barreling barefoot through the hotel hallways looking for Buffy or Angel or Peter or yes, even Faith who had no idea who she was. The ghostly see-through girl calling out as she ran from one place to another until she couldn't run anymore. "Buffy?" Each time she rounded a corner or hit a new floor or corridor of the hotel she called out. "Buffy!" She might run into people and apologize before she hurried on her way to find her sister. Or she might stop to talk if anyone wanted to.

Eventually, tired and spent, she would end up plopping down on one of the couches in the lobby, a box of kleenex beside her and a book in her lap. The couch could be seen through her and every once in awhile she lifted her hand to look through it at things, trying to gauge whether it was getting better or worse. Her eyes were puffy from crying. Her nose was red from sniffling. She was generally a train wreck of a person right now. But she figured anyone would be if they were slowly disappearing.

Mar. 27th, 2014 06:38 pm
whattingawhat: (Okay come clean)
[personal profile] whattingawhat
Buffy was looking for a door home, or a door to a magic library, or a door to Giles alive and well. If asked to pick, she'd choose door number three, but at this point she just wants answers. She's willing to hunt for them if necessary, but it would be awfully nice of those answers to come wrapped in tweed and served with a cup of tea. So, she didn't technically even like tea. That was hardly the point right now.

The point was that she was worried. She was worried about Dawn, worried that Faith didn't remember her, worried that Faith hadn't simply incurred brain damage somewhere along the way. She was worried that somehow in destroying the seed of magic, she'd hurt Dawn.

There might be a frantic tone to the way she was flinging open doors, leaning in, fingers wrapped around the door frames then flinging herself back into the hallway and tugging the door shut behind her. There was certainly a methodical bent to it.

Honestly, she could use a break. Please distract her before she started punching doors.

Mar. 15th, 2014 10:41 am
vampire_shield: (Default)
[personal profile] vampire_shield
The problem with being a vampire, Bella thought as she surveyed the two uprooted trees and pile of kindling at her feet, was that there wasn't ever a break. Maybe the pent up anger, frustration and sadness wouldn't have been as intense if she could have just slept. Just a few hours away from it to reboot or reset herself.

She remembered Carlisle telling her once that vampires felt things more completely, that just as their vision and hearing and speed were enhanced, their emotions were, too. Considering the state she was in now, even days after meeting Adrian, she was pretty sure she knew why. There was no relief from it, just day after day, night after night of dwelling on it.

Today she'd decided to go to her forest, to run, to hunt. To see if she could find something to distract her expanded mind, to get away from seeing that face across the hotel and experiencing the same dashed hope that this time it wasn't someone else.

The run had helped a little, pummeling a few trees to kindling had, too.

But even now as she walked back to her room with twigs in her hair, she knew it probably wouldn't last.
themadmanwithabox: (pause)
[personal profile] themadmanwithabox
There's a doorway to New York City standing before the Doctor.

It's a recognizable sight that anyone would know from the gleaming lights of the skyline in the background and the Empire State Building in the glory of its construction looms above it all, though the Doctor can't move his eyes. He knows this city and he knows the year. He knows that this is New York City in the 1930's and he knows that Amy and Rory are there. If he walks through that door, he will see them again. Even this hotel with its infinite possibilities and all its doors can't bring him back to them.

He can walk through that door, but there's one large problem standing in his way.

"Don't move," he says to whomever has come up next to him. He can feel their presence with the breath in his general area, he can tell that he isn't alone given the way the hairs on his arms have begun to stand up on end. The Doctor stares before him, but avoids looking at the eyes because he's been in this situation before and he knows what looking in its eyes will do. "Don't blink," he breathes out.

He has to close this door. He has to close this door and leave the possibility of Amy and Rory behind. It's far too dangerous. There's no telling if he could even get back if he managed to get past the Weeping Angel, who guards the door, only offering the scantest bit of space to move past. If he gets past that Weeping Angel guarding New York City, he can find them and he can...he can, do what? He can warn them? He can try and tell them to get out of that graveyard before Rory looks at the gravestone?

Time can be rewritten, Amy's voice whispers in his mind with all its temptations and all its promises. I know it can. Can he do that? Can he walk through this door and risk unleashing a lethal enemy on the hotel behind him? All for the sake of companions he had thought lost. High upon a cloud, he had mourned them until a remnant of the future past had brought him down, but now he's faced with something far more difficult.

He can get them back.

But people will likely die in the process. If he goes through that door, that Weeping Angel will come in and it won't stop. He doesn't blink, not for a moment, but his vision clouds as he stares at the creature that had taken them away from him, at the monster who stands between them. What does he do? What does the Doctor do?

Mar. 4th, 2014 07:46 pm
chuisle: (Default)
[personal profile] chuisle
"Uh, Nina?"

This wasn't right. He knew the hotel — his hotel — like the back of his hand. He could walk the corridors blindfolded, even those in parts of the building that they had barely inhabited before the great move to the Law Offices of Wolfram & Hart. And while the Hyperion had managed to avoid sustaining heavy damage or infestation like a majority of the buildings in Los Angeles, hell wasn't nearly this well-kempt. Especially not where his former mailing address was concerned. The carpets were vacuumed, the floors had carpets, mirrors and glass polished to a glare-free shine...

Not only did he appear to be in the wrong hotel, but the wrong dimension, and that was a problem. A big one.

This was the last thing he needed, whether it be an actual case of dimensional displacement or some trick the Senior Partners were pulling on him in retaliation for overthrowing the Lords. Not that they needed an excuse to meddle in his life. They were the masterminds behind his newfound liveliness in spite of what the heavy glamour that hid his humanity from everyone had to say about him. Angel was alive, but it was important that everyone still believed he was a vampire.

It's like he told Wes; there's only one way to get out of hell. Act like nothing's changed.

Which was why he stared at what he could see of the buffet table across the way, but made no move to approach it. Eating actual food in public? Dead giveaway. (No pun intended.)

He should probably find shoes. Somehow, walking out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants had topped his list of poorly thought out life choices this morning.


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