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

Sep. 14th, 2014 01:58 pm
birthrightblack: (golden gown)
[personal profile] birthrightblack
August 3rd, 2014 | Regency Door

Jaenelle and Faith deal with their special abilities in a society that doesn't appreciate them.

In Progess | All Ages

Jul. 25th, 2014 07:48 pm
armedagainstlove: (bang bang)
[personal profile] armedagainstlove
an unnamed date in the future | las vegas

Inebriated beyond belief on both their parts, Athos and Faith discuss histories and stumble along Vegas where the availability of quickie marriages may prove to be a slight complication for the both of them.

MATURE

Jul. 12th, 2014 06:32 pm
whattingawhat: (I think you're adorable)
[personal profile] whattingawhat
It's an average, normal sort of day for Buffy. Late morning finds her at the gym going through what is clearly a routine for her. She starts with yoga then proceeds to pummeling a training dummy. Once she's exhausted from that, she heads back toward her room and showers.

The afternoon will find her stopping at the Bistro for a latte and a bite to eat. From there, she begins patrol, otherwise known as security and her job at the hotel. She's forgone carrying the scythe simply because it scares people and she's found little reason to need her scythe in the halls of the hotel. She saves it for suspect doors.

Overall, her manner is unhurried, content. Buffy has settled in here; Dawn is doing well and Buffy can pop through the door to her San Francisco any time she'd like. The hotel is a welcome reprieve, a little bit of welcomed boring and a fresh start all at once.
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!
centrally: ((stiles your hale problem is alarming))
[personal profile] centrally
A hotel.

It's a lot nicer than the motel Scott was just at not long ago — and how recent is evidenced in the gasoline reek still coming off his hair and clothes, since the other shirt he packed for the field trip is probably ruined with blood — but it still raises his hackles (metaphorically) and makes him feel on edge. He actually pinched himself when he first found himself here, figuring it for a weird dream; last he knew, he was drifting off to sleep on the bus, head leaning against the window, headed for home. It'd been a relief to know that Derek's probably alive, despite the ramifications for the future with the alpha pack, and it'd been a relief to leave the Glen Capri and Coach's wolfsbane-filled whistle behind. Thank God for Lydia figuring that one out, and giving all of them — Scott included — an explanation for what was going on that night.

Scott keeps to the hallways, leaving the doors alone for now. He assumes they only lead to rooms where other people, who probably have nothing to do with supernatural weirdness and shouldn't be bothered, are staying, and he's more interested in finding any of his friends. Or management, who's bound to have answers. Hell, he'd even take Ethan or the mysterious darach, since the former might be willing to help and the latter would explain why he's stuck in a fancy hotel.

He finds himself outside of the hotel gift shop, peering through the glass with a frown. Maybe someone inside could tell him the fastest way back to Beacon Hills...? And maybe he could buy a chocolate bar or something at least while he's at it, because now that he thinks about it he's pretty hungry.
chaney: (pic#7872791)
[personal profile] chaney
While finding himself inexplicably lost in the bowels of an unfamiliar hotel is par for the course at this point in his life, Derek Hale still isn't ruling out the possibility that his uncle's responsible for this, somehow. Revenge of making him wear his dead sister's claws. Peter had been right behind him as he stepped out of his loft that morning, right on his heels — and then it was like his uncle hadn't been standing behind him at all. The door he came through led to some winter wonderland, not his loft in Northern California.

He can't say how, he can't say why — he can't even say that he's surprised, because he's honestly been waiting for that other shoe to drop. It's been far too quietly lately, and quiet, no matter how wanted and desired it was, never seemed to bode well for Beacon Hills. And this wasn't Beacon Hills.

At least, he didn't think it was...?

Derek tries another door. It's the sixth one he's tried on this floor, having found nothing particularly useful behind any of the doors on the floor below. Behind this one, he finds poker tables and slot machines. Vegas was at least recognizable, but it wasn't what he was looking for.

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

He shuts that door and carries on towards the next one.
votecrowley: (a drink before smiting)
[personal profile] votecrowley
For the first time since he'd died and gone to Hell (for real, not any of those blunders that came after) no one was actively attempting to separate Crowley's head from his shoulders, and he really appreciated that. Being a demon was a dangerous existence, and it became even more so when your chosen occupation involved stepping on a lot of other demons to maintain it. It was true that as King of Hell he had more protection than most, but the amount of enemies went up exponentially with that promotion. That is to say, everyone was an enemy, and even if your employees didn't have the smarts or the guts or even the desire for the job they still got treasonous little ideas swimming around in their heads from time to time, and it was a requirement to crack them open if that was the case.

And now he had Abaddon, who was not only immortal, but incredibly irritating. He'd almost like her if it weren't for the fact she was gunning after his job, and his life.

He was aware of other universes and other worlds, not that he ever intended to go to any of them - he was fine in the one he was in, more or less. Besides, from what he understood you had to be all-powerful, like Death, or have some sort of key, like the one to Oz, to get to any one of the millions of fancy little spots in the universe worth going to. But this hotel presented itself to him, almost like a gift. Once he had ascertained that this was, truly, some sort of pocket universe existing beyond his own realm, and not some incredibly elaborate trap to kill him (so elaborate he would in fact be pretty flattered at all of that effort) he did the first thing any respectable demon would do: he looked for the bar.

Sitting at the counter and armed with three fingers of scotch (not Craig; that's the only reason he knew he had not stumbled accidentally into a deserted, angel-less Heaven (though that would also have been nice, and endlessly amusing, because)) Crowley turned to the nearest living, breathing, upright creation, which presumably was also equipped with a brain and the faculties for speech. "And how long have you been here, then?" he asked, bluntly. He could be a very charming, subtle creature when he wanted to, but that usually wasn't as fun.

Mar. 5th, 2014 01:01 pm
hylianqueen: (thinking)
[personal profile] hylianqueen
It had been a gambit to reveal herself to Link and Zelda had thought at the time it’d been a wise one; the Hero of Time deserved to know of her deception and her aid as he cleansed Hyrule of Ganondorf’s poison and she knew he’d be tight lipped about her whereabouts.  What she did not consider, however, was that Ganondorf had eyes and ears in even the most sacred of places and the ambush at the Temple of Time hadn’t been a possibility Zelda had considered.

For a woman with a vast intellect, sometimes she could be quite dense.  His laugh froze her to the very marrow of her bones, leaving her stock still and afraid to change forms lest he use the opportunity to injure Link or, worse, recover the Triforce of Wisdom for his own vile purposes.  She could not let the Triforce fall to him no matter what and if that meant keeping the form she’d been born to, so be it.

The restraints were something of a bit of irony; rosy colored crystals conjured by Ganondorf himself that wouldn’t have been out of place in one of Zelda’s own spells, coupled with a vacuum inside that seemed to draw from emotion and not the air.  It stifled her, but only to make her hopeless, and Zelda thought idly that perhaps that was worse.  Should she die in his clutches a valiant death, railing against the dark and all he stood for, she’d die a martyr.  Should she die a quiet death having given up on the world as a whole, nobody would mourn that at all.  After all, Hyrule had no queen, not any longer, and had not for some time.  Ganondorf was actually quite clever in that macabre little respect.

For all that he’d paralyzed her above the battleground he’d chosen to launch his final assault (her own palace, no less. Such nerve he had!), he couldn’t force her to watch.  Zelda let her eyes drift shut, the magical meditation she’d perfected when in the body of Sheik flowing into something more mundane and born of exhaustion in the body of Zelda.  She imagined some place far away, a vista untouched by the wicked king and his armies.

She pressed against the crystal that held her trapped, focusing all her will upon it and was pleasantly surprised when it seemed to give way and she fell to the ground. It was less than graceful, to be sure, but she was free. Of course, freedom meant very little at this juncture; she was still within the belly of the beast and there was no real way out. On a lark, she scrambled toward a forgotten door that led from the Temple back toward a graveyard long left untended. There was a path beneath one of the royal tombs that led straight to the palace, a path that Zelda hadn’t taken since she was a young girl. Pray that it is unblocked, she thought to herself, scrambling as fast as she could. If she were free, perhaps she could launch an offensive and aid Link.

Once she stepped through the door, however, she was not in the graveyard behind the Temple of Time. There were no royal tombs or broken down headstones, merely the carpeted corridor of some other building. What did this mean? How could a familiar path that she’d taken time and time again as a young girl change so much in seven years? While she’d half expected it to be blocked, she hadn’t expected it to lead somewhere else entirely!

There were people milling about these halls, seemingly going about the normal business of a day and Zelda could not comprehend that. It had been a long time since the Castle Town had actual citizens in it; much of Hyrule’s society had moved up into the hills and away from the conquered palace and Ganondorf’s influence. Zelda schooled her features into something approaching calm even though her heart still beat rapidly with the thrill of her escape.

“Excuse me,” she said, catching the attention of the closest person. “I seem to have taken a wrong turn. Can you tell me where I am, precisely? It’s a little embarrassing but sometimes when I have restless sleep, I tend to wander the halls a little.”

Hopefully it was a lie that would pass muster. Not often did Zelda fall asleep fully clothed in a gown worthy of the Hylian court but perhaps just for a moment this person could believe she had laid down for a short nap and been plagued with sleepwalking. It was a common enough affliction and one she herself had suffered as a child. It would not do to reveal just how truly disoriented she was at the moment.

The best way to sell a lie, after all, was to wrap it in the truth.

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.

Mar. 3rd, 2014 10:00 pm
slutbomb: (doubtful][well not really though)
[personal profile] slutbomb
Too good to be true, that's what this place is.

Or that's what Faith decides on her third pass through its halls. Through the lavish reception area, past that long as hell dining room table, and then the stocked buffet table -- Faith had stuck to the walls and the shadows, playing recon for almost an hour.

"Swear to god I'm not making a twins joke..." She mutters to herself as she steps out in full view, choosing to invite whatever trouble might come her way. Sure, maybe she'll sample some of the food just sitting out for the taking. Peek into some rooms, maybe try to find the head. She'll wind up at the bar, though, asking if the tender accepts euros. Long day like this one means she's definitely going to need a drink.

Or ten. Then she can figure out if this is a vacation on a platter or some kind of wacko fever dream she's got to fight her way out of.

Mar. 2nd, 2014 01:02 am
buryyouwithmysound: (We'll go to very distant lands)
[personal profile] buryyouwithmysound
So this is way unexpected, but it's not like it's the first time Marceline's run into a strange interdimensional portal. It's definitely the first time she found one in her fridge, but that's life.

And hey, there's no sunlight, so why worry about all that junk? Nah. Marceline's just gonna float through the hallways and explore, because she's just chill like that, as most Vampire Queens are. She's even got a box of strawberries that she's eating one by one, poking a fang into one and sucking out all the red color. She's even being nice and putting the lifeless gray ones back in the box.

"Man this place is so weird," she says, floating two feet off the ground as she explores.

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