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

Jun. 22nd, 2016 08:11 pm
magicallystrange: (read it in a book once)
[personal profile] magicallystrange
In the end, it's Jonathan's mad attempt to bring himself closer to Arabella that foists him forward into a mad arrangement of lights, music, people! He knows that sanity lingers just out of mind and that he will have to capture it back, but once he travels once more on this strange road (through a door and not a mirror), he thinks that if he cannot bring himself to Arabella, perhaps he can bring the fairy folk to him.

Jonathan Strange will host a party so luxurious and wonderful that they have no choice but to attend.

He uses magic to deck the lobby of the hotel with shimmering lights and stars that hang upon the ceiling in constellations and patterns that cannot possibly exist. Food dots each corner, but if the eye were to catch it properly, it would be noted that it's slightly off. The drink, however, is exact in its sumptuous rich red tones and sparkling vivacious notes.

Best of all, there is the music.

Harps and lutes and violins accompany the piano and encourage those to dance. More than that, the spell that Jonathan weaves ensures that all who pass the lobby feel the need to mingle and dance, not allowing for anyone to dawdle.

Arabella will come to him now. He knows it. He must only wait.

And there will be a party to maintain until then.
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.
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?"
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."
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: (smiling at Porthos)
[personal profile] averygoodshot
Aramis had given the Queen his word: he would not go back to Paris. That he wants to is not in question. If he cannot go back (though if, he tells himself, he happens to stumble into the door to Paris, what could he possibly do but go through?), well, there is no saying he cannot still explore what the Nexus has to offer.

This is how he happens to find himself on a sun-drenched beach inhabited by scantily-clad women (and men, too, it seems) who seem to freely provide frothy, cold drinks. It's called, he learns when he asks, Risa. Where this Risa is? He has no idea. Progressively, he cares less and less.

Somewhere along the way, Aramis's heavy leather doublet is shed and he even takes off his boots, and after three of those frothy drinks, he ends up sprawled in a chaise, one foot in the sand, chin tilted up to the sun.

There may or may not be women hovering around. He doesn't touch, nor does he encourage but he does look (how can one not when there are mere scraps covering the most delicate bits?

This is quite a place he found his way to, isn't it? No adventure (at least not yet), but he raises his hand and another one of those frothy drinks appear. Indeed.

May. 27th, 2015 08:34 pm
makescrazyscience: (laugh)
[personal profile] makescrazyscience
Cosima has learned that when crazy shit comes up, she should just go with it. The latest crop of craziness has been the new weird hotel she's found herself in. Every door she's tried hasn't led her back to her apartment or UM or even Sarah's place so she doesn't know where to turn to next.

This is something that science, apparently, isn't going to be able to explain. Cosima doesn't like that. She's never done well with things that can't be teased apart and proven empirically and this hotel is one of those things.

She's putting in long days to try and figure the whole thing out but she has to have a mental break and that's led her to the bar. The last time Cosima went to a bar it was to meet some girl she met off some app and she's so not planning to do that tonight.

Tonight, she's going to drink a cosmo and relax for a little while and just people-watch.
matt_murdock: (033)
[personal profile] matt_murdock
As he sidles up to the long, polished length of the Smoking Room's bar, Matt is distinctly aware of not being remotely good enough for this particular drinking establishment. Not good in the moral sense—Although that's certainly questionable—but in terms of wealth and entitlement. The floor is marble and the chandeliers have real crystal in them. He's a long, long way from Josie's comforting stench and pock-marked tabletops.

"Scotch and water," he orders as he settles onto a stool, white cane propped against the bar beside him. He sips, wondering how much this is going to cost him, and draws in a slow breath as he listens.

Lavish as this place may be, just like the hotel around it there is more diversity within its walls than most streets in Manhattan. Some patrons lounge with privilege, but just as many are roughly raucous or scented with cheap shampoo. A few lift their glasses with calloused fingers and drink with the deep resignation of the working class. Some, he thinks, may not even be human.
tooktheblack: (Jon&Ghost)
[personal profile] tooktheblack
One of the things about being in the Nexus and on the island was that it was warm and it meant that Ghost could spend a great deal more time hunting in the brush and dirt than over a layer of pure, white snow. Ghost himself did not seem to care how much of a mess he looked and wrangling the direwolf for a bath was an exercise in futility.

Jon had managed to corner him in his hotel bathroom and get him in the tub but before he could finish rinsing the soap from Ghost's matted, tangled fur, the direwolf burst through the open bathroom door and tore out, crashing into furniture along the way. Jon thought it would be prudent to keep him corralled in the hotel room itself except a poor, unsuspecting housekeeper opened the door and the wolf barreled out into the corridor, sensing freedom.

"You bastard!" Jon shouted after him, tearing out of his hotel room shirtless and in bare feet in hopes that he would catch Ghost before he got too far away. "You'll come back here or you'll regret it!"

Jon knew that if Ghost truly wanted to get away, he would. A direwolf was a wild animal, no matter how tame he might think Ghost was on a regular basis, and there was always the chance he would turn wild and run off. Still, he hoped the friendship they'd forged and the journeys they'd been on together would make Ghost...somewhat value his opinion on things.

"Ghost!"

[[Ghost won't hurt your pup but he is a wolf the size of a pony so he's not exactly small.]]
only_hope: ([Girl] Smile)
[personal profile] only_hope
Obi-Wan was not the sort of man to shirk from something he was frightened of but this latest development was vexing and troubling to him. Upon encountering the door that, apparently, changed his gender he had tried on several occasions (under a cloak, mind) to change it back. His new form wasn't exactly displeasing in any way but it wasn't his and therefore it was a problem that had to be addressed.

Or, barring that, one to drown in alcohol until he was so drunk that he could forget about it. Since the former hadn't worked and he didn't have enough access to scientific equipment to work on changing his current nature, alcohol was simply going to have to numb his brain until he could find the strength to face his current situation.

He guessed the one saving grace of Jedi garb was the fact that it was intentionally gender neutral. Aside from size, his robes and tunics were exactly the same as those that would have been provided to a female knight and he felt like he would simply dress in them until the situation corrected itself; Obi-Wan was not keen on the idea of having to seek out a dress to wear while temporarily in possession of breasts.

He tried to think about how Qui-Gon would approach this situation through the living Force but everything was coming up blank. "Qui-Gon probably would have laughed and found someone to spend the day with," he muttered, staring at his woefully-empty glass. He lifted it to get the bartender to pour him another and pulled his cloak around him a little tighter, hoping to avoid notice.

Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure that this was the most productive course of action.
notgivingyourmoneyback: Harvey having a drink, looking over his shoulder ([neu] having a drink)
[personal profile] notgivingyourmoneyback
He's gotten used to being in this place. Oh, it took a long time, but he got there. Though, he's not sure he can rightly say exactly how long he's been here.

Though, he has experienced quite a bit. A couple costume parties, a super power that he didn't want - the man who is anti-feelings does not want the power of 'empathy'. It didn't make him understand feelings any better. Mostly, it made him feel like Mike - his associate back home. There was an almost-run-in with dinosaurs - narrowly avoided - and a high school prom. He's still not sure how he got talked into that one.

So, after that excitement, he's taking a few minutes to hang out in the bar and have a drink. Or two. Maybe more. Talk to some people. Enjoy a little downtime, as it were. Possibly even figure out if he likes it here or not.

Or, if anyone knows how he can get back home.

Apr. 6th, 2015 10:29 pm
boldly_going: (Default)
[personal profile] boldly_going
"Mr. Sulu, take us out."

Sulu confirms his order and Jim decides that as much as he likes the Captain's chair, he needs to spend some time in the Captain's quarters for a while. It's been a whirlwind over the last year or so - the revelation that a high-ranking Admiral in Starfleet is a traitor and the destruction of a large swath of San Francisco would qualify as eventful in anyone's book, even his. Still, it set the pace for something grander, something with a bit more ambition and Jim had jumped at the chance to take the Enterprise on an extended, five-year mission.

The chance to chart uncharted portions of the galaxy and expand the Federation's presence throughout known and unknown space? The chance to potentially make first contact with species that had recently acquired warp technology? Jim is neither scientist nor diplomat but he thinks the beauty of being captain is that he can be a little of both. He's still a wide-eyed little boy sometimes when it comes to Starfleet and he thinks it's fitting that he was born in space; there's no place else he feels at home. There's no place on Earth that feels like home to him but on a starship with the engine purring beneath him and his boots on the bridge? That's home.

It just feels right to be captain again and he's glad that his demotion was only a temporary one. He's glad to be in the chair again and he thinks this time, he's going to respect it the way he didn't before. Being captain means holding the lives of your crew in your hands and knowing that you have the power to determine their life or death based on your decisions. One wrong move could be detrimental not only to oneself but to everyone else on board. It's weighty and meaningful and something that Jim thinks he never truly understood until just recently. It's one thing to cheat the Kobayashi Maru just to say he beat the test. It's quite another to actually live it and he understands the point of the test now - and the point in it being a no-win scenario.

(He is never, ever going to admit that to Spock.)

He presses the button to enter his quarters and steps through the door once it automatically slides open. It's automatic to start dictating into his captain's log now and while it's not something that he'd ever thought about before, keeping a journal, it's nice to have a few minutes to unwind each day by putting his thoughts down. Maybe that's how captain's logs started out to begin with.

"Captain's log, star...wait a minute." His quarters just...aren't there. In their place is what looks like a hotel or a resort and the plush surroundings are utterly foreign after spending so much time amongst the utilitarian and spartan surroundings of the Enterprise. Federation starships are all sleek and modern, nothing like this. And certainly not in his captain's quarters.

"What...what the hell is this?"
aspecialkindofwoman: (hair up)
[personal profile] aspecialkindofwoman
April 2 | The halls

Milady arrives to the hotel and immediately finds the first and last person she's looking for.

No warning | Rated U for unrequited and unresolved | ongoing


~~
April 6 - Open

One of the things that has kept the woman known as Milady de Winter alive in all she's been through: she is resilient and she is tough and she is opportunistic. She has learned what she thinks there is to learn about this place and eyed a few doors, but she hasn't tried any yet. This isn't cowardice; it's canniness. She needs to know what she's doing. So this is how she comes to wander through the shop then making her way to the Smoking room. She's looking at everything and everyone; the clothing some wear here is ... intriguing. She's tempted to take some; it would be easy enough. But in the meantime, she walks, hip swinging, offering a smile at the men that she thinks could benefit her, while sizing up the women. She'll have a drink or maybe more, seeing who might be buying.
concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
A large sign placed prominently in the Nexus lobby reads:

The Nexus Hotel
proudly presents the
MARDI GRAS MASQUERADE BALL

Event Location
Nexus Dining Hall
8 PM - 2 AM

Masquerade dress recommended, but not required for all guests


The Dining Hall's central table and chairs had been removed to create a dance floor wide enough to accommodate fanciful masquerade costumes. On one end had been placed a long bar providing free drinks, and on the other a small chamber orchestra providing the music for dancing. The entire room was bedecked in gold bunting and twinkling candlelight, and masks were available for those guests who hadn't brought their own.

Feb. 8th, 2015 07:11 pm
sawny: (Default)
[personal profile] sawny
They say that some men are born to battle, are born with black powder on their hands and the keen edge of sword an extension of their bodies. It makes their hearts beat faster and their blood run hot and drives them to madness that can only be slaked on a field against a foe.

Jamie isn't one of those. Oh, aye, he's good at it - damned good at it, which has saved him more than once. But he's no one of those that likes it and the last thing he wants is to be fighting a losing war alongside the fool pretender, the Bonnie Prince, when he could be safely wrapped up with his wife in a crofter's house somewhere.

It's a simple life he wants and yet he seems thrust into this one instead, this destiny that's only going to end in bloodshed on a field in April. It's only October now, so he's got some months to spare but it's not long enough. He means to delay his inevitable death if he can, more for Claire than for himself.

It's to that end that Jamie goes about stealing the wheels and pins off all of Cope's cannons in hopes he won't be able to mount a defense. The English have them outgunned, to be sure, but without ordnance and muskets, the Highlanders know the land and know every hill and burn. They'll have the advantage once the firepower's gone. At least, that's what Jamie hopes.

He means to make his way back to camp to show Claire his prize, to give her all the cotter pins off the English cannons and show her that he's found a way to rout the English at least this once but he gets twisted in the dark. When he pushes back the flap of the tent to greet her, it's a richly-appointed corridor he sees, not the smiling face of his wife.

"Och, aye, what's this, then?" He's covered in soot from head to toe and with his hair long and his kilt and plaid askew, he looks for all the world an outlaw. He is, actually, if the broadsheets are to be believed and he thinks he ought to be every inch a braw Scottish brigand if he means to escape the English yet again.

"What devilry is this?" There's a door behind him, pushed shut, and when he tries it, it won't open.

Damn.
themadmanwithabox: (don't play games)
[personal profile] themadmanwithabox
The door is open.

He's been airing out the TARDIS ever since his little run in with the sprites from Gallavespia Five, who have an awful tendency to absorb the odours of anywhere they travel and being that they had just wandered into a sulphurus pit before the Doctor had rescued them from their plight, well then, the TARDIS is certainly due for an airing. He's steered her for the Nexus, thinking that there's no better place than a pocket bubble universe to do a bit of spring cleaning.

(Which, he does mean literally in some cases because with the infinite possibilities of the TARDIS, he has accumulated an actual room of springs and really, he ought to just get rid of them, but nostalgia, eh?)

Coughing as he unearths from the library, the Doctor waves a rag in front of his face to shed the last of that awful smell, noticing a strange shadow by the front of the doors. At least, he does hope it's a person and not just a shadow, or Neverland has been getting loose all over again and he has told Peter that he simply can't let his shadow whisk about willy-nilly. There are rules, after all (even if the Doctor has never followed them in his life).

Cleaning off a few of his tools and setting them on the TARDIS console, he wanders towards the stairs, bounding down them with a clunk-thomp-crash when his boots hit the grated landing and he claps his hands together with excitement.

"I'd offer you the full tour," he informs his visitor, who is just out of sight, "but it can take several hundred millenia."

Dec. 27th, 2014 10:49 am
iron_y: (Default)
[personal profile] iron_y
(OOC Note: I'm providing three different starters here because I've got a lot of ideas about what Tony is doing and I'd rather write a variety of circumstances and moods, etc. Just pick any one of them to reply to. Like an ordinary open post, any scenes that happen on this post, no matter which starter they start from, will proceed in parallel.)


#1, in which Tony Stark is still not a soldier, no matter what Nick Fury gets him into. )

#2, in which Tony Stark brings the party (and Howard Stark leaves the legacy). )

#3, in which Tony Stark has grease on his forehead and mice in his pockets. Live mice. )
of_mirkwood: (Arrow - color)
[personal profile] of_mirkwood
spoilers for battle of the five armies )

Legolas pushed his way through the thick forest until he came upon an old door of dwarven design, one with letters illuminated by the moonlight. These old dwarven doors often had tricks to them and while the design was that of Durin, the letters illuminated were Elvish. A curious puzzle indeed.

"Speak 'Friend' and enter," Legolas said, puzzling at it. He thought for a long moment before remembering that old puzzle, the one that had stumped Gandalf but been easy for a halfling.

"Mellon," he said softly, stepping through the door and back into the Nexus once more.
prettygoodplan: (pic#8142306)
[personal profile] prettygoodplan
Hunting down slimeballs generally ain't a job you can do and stay local. You wanna make the big money, you gotta be willin' to travel halfway across the damned universe and back, and you gotta be willin' to put yourself in the middle of a lotta different kinds of people. Slimebag people, but you know. Culturally different.

They got festivals on almost every planet out there, and unless they're givin' away free booze, there ain't nothin' Rocket likes about 'em. Even the free booze ones usually have a catch, and he don't understand why people want to be around each other on purpose anyway. If he could have a festival, it would be a festival of one.

...okay, maybe two. But that's it, and he don't mean Quill.

This Terran holiday shit's got to be the most annoying of the whole lot, though, with it's frickin' twinkle lights and trees in the middle of the room for no good damned reason. 'Supposed to be all about love and cheer and all that bullshit, but he ain't feelin' any goodwill from any of the humans who've yelped just at the sight of him.

Like they ain't never seen somebody looked any different from them before.

He don't like the hotel in the first place, but it won't let him back home yet, and even his room is filled with spangles and fake snow. (Who the hell wants real snow, much less fake snow?) In his attempt to find someplace a little less annoying, he's found himself down in the basement, sitting alone in a row of cushy chairs with very low expectations for whatever he's about to watch. If it's got anything to do with that fat guy in the red suit, he's bailing.

But oh, it ends up being so much better than that.

"Aw, what! Just take 'em out!" he's yelling now, on the edge of his seat and motioning angrily at the screen. "You gotta machine gun!"

[Watching Die Hard, best of all holiday movies.]

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