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[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.
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[personal profile] aliencentaur
The bizarre-looking figure moved through the hallway, uncertain of where he now was. He resembles a centaur of myth, but is decidedly different at the same time. He stands on four hooved feet, the deer-like lower body rising upward in the front to a humanoid torso and head. His face has no mouth, and along with the two eyes on his face, there are two more on stalks atop his head. They swivel and turn, taking in nearly everything around him at once. His muscular tail is held high, the sharp, scythe-like blade ready to defend him should it be necessary. Blue fur covers most of his form, with patches of tan on his chest, hands and face.

Ax recognizes this as the inside of a human-made building, like a hotel, the temporary housing humans sleep in while traveling. What he cannot determine is how he got here while leaving Cassie's barn. He suspects it's the Ellimist, or perhaps Crayak; either way, he does not like it.

< Prince Jake? Cassie? Rachel? Tobias? Marco? > The thought-speech is private, as it's safer. But there is no answer. < I do not know who has caused this, but I do not like it. I demand to know what has happened! > He calls, angry. Still, no one answers him.

He continues to look and step carefully, unsure of what he is experiencing now.

Oct. 6th, 2013 09:08 pm
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[personal profile] arentyoulucky
There was no power on Earth- not the begrudging enthusiasm of their broker, not the implausible ratio of price to walking distance from the subway, not the suspicion that Abe was far unhappier with the balance of their relationship than he was letting on- that could detract from the glorious feeling of real success. Peggy knew it now, the fluttering sensation under her ribs and the tight knot of resolve in her stomach. It was a feeling that could be nearly replicated with the liberal application of anxiety and caffeine, and she was intimately familiar with that, as well, but walking the wood parquet floors and gazing out at the East river (past the FDR) from the large picture windows of what would be her Upper East Side apartment, that was success. She'd spent years carving out the things that were hers from the slab that was New York; her job, then her career; her colleagues, then her friends; her mistakes, then her relationship. This apartment would be her home. No more roommates, no more rent checks, no more Brooklyn. Peggy Olson, Copy Chief at CGC, home owner.

She smiled at her reflection, which smiled back in a sunny, washed-out sort of way, and went into the larger of the two bedrooms, the one to which the full bath was attached. She could hear Abe digging into the subject of dollars per square foot, an idea she knew he found deeply offensive alongside the overarching concept of apartment hunting. Absently twitching her grey coat out of the way, she tugged the bathroom door closed behind her, cutting off the dull reverberating sound of whatever answer the Realtor had mustered.

Cut it off quite completely, in fact, and Peggy found herself blinking in quiet surprise at a well appointed room that looked like it belonged in a hotel. She was still for a moment as the bewilderment set in, then stepped further into it as the confusion and curiosity took over.

"What," she murmured to herself, stepping around the neatly tucked in bedspread. It was like the Standard, or the Savoy. It was beautiful, modern but not flashy. It was the kind of room Ted would have booked. Which was a completely inappropriate thought to be having.

"This can't be included in the square footage," she muttered, turning over a stationary packet on the desk, eyes catching on notes other people had apparently left there. Or one person trying to come up with a shoddy and patchwork story, it looked like. Or possibly someone who was mentally imbalanced. She put the stationary down and turned to make a beeline for the door she'd come in through. The fact that she hadn't been informed the back half of the building was a hotel was completely unacceptable.

Oh, well, it would have been a lousy trek to 86th and Lexington 9 months out of the year, anyway.

The door wouldn't open.

"Oh, for- Abe? Abe." She knocked at it, impatience threatening to boil over into frustration. She stopped after a few seconds to listen for voices, the tell tale clicking of heels, the rustle of a key.

She heard nothing.

"...Unbelievable," Peggy muttered, and turned and strode to the opposite end of the hotel room that shared a door with her future goddamn Upper East Side apartment and opened the door to what she assumed would be the hallway with slightly more force than necessary. She took a moment to look it up and down, turned to note the room number, then picked a direction and walked, steps clipped and purposeful. She needed someone in a double breasted jacket and pillbox hat. She needed someone with a clip board. She needed Manhattan to have one damn apartment in it that both fit her budget and didn't have some completely deranged drawback.

"Excuse me?" she said aloud, as the hallway opened up into an expansive lounge, it looked like.

"Hello, I need someone to..." She trailed off as her attention landed on the view. There were large windows with heavy drapes, and a view. Of trees. There were many trees. Peggy knew there was a park around the Governor's mansion, but it was impossible it could be that large. She walked across heavy hardwood floors to look out the large windows at the expansive grounds and seemingly endless forest beyond, goldenrod pleats of her skirt swishing at her calves, grey coat strangely heavy and warm where it was tucked over her arm. Her reflection gazed back at her with startled doe eyes.

This was not New York. This was not New York.

"What," she said aloud, again, and to absolutely no one.


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