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[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.
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[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.
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[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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[personal profile] not_lost
Her hair smelled like old grease.

The step into the Nexus had been unexpected, the dim clatter of Charlie's diner giving abruptly away to the chill cavern of the hotel lobby. The air was scented with fresh cut flowers and floor polish, Fiona a lone miasma of fried food and cheap coffee, and she regarded the scene before her with the weary acknowledgment of the working class. To think, she had once felt like she might actually belong in a place like this, as if trying hard enough made some sort of difference.

Shoulders still slumped, post-shift and tired, she looked to her feet with an outward twist of her right ankle. The hem of her skinny jeans was rucked up, caught against the sturdy black tracker strapped around her ankle. No blinking red light, no heart-stopping beeping. She guessed the purview of the Illinois Department of Corrections didn't reach across dimensions.

Gathering herself with a pop of her spine, she made her way on silent sneakers past the front desk and to the hotel business offices to see if she still had a job.

Fifteen minutes later she was perched on a stool in the Smoking Room, one elbow braced against the polished bar top, chin cradled against her palm as she stared into a tumbler of whiskey. She needed a long, hot bath and a soft bed, but this felt more familiar. More appropriate.

Aug. 9th, 2014 05:31 pm
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[personal profile] thestarlord
Peter has always had restless feet and he thinks this is the most time he's spent in one place since he got his own ship. Even his prison stays haven't ever been long and being trapped in this hotel is starting to grate. He guesses even if he can't get back to Xandar, he can go somewhere, which is why he's decided to take the risk and explore a little bit. The worst that can happen is that he pulls open a door to someplace nasty but, then again, it's hard to be worse than some of the pits he's ended up in before.

He decides to start by exploring the grounds. There's a gym, a bar - all the typical hotel niceties that Peter never gets to experience because he's not spending his money on useless shit like that. If he wants to stay somewhere nice for a night, he usually finds himself a girl willing to let him tag along or just hustles his way in. This is something new entirely, especially since he doesn't have to pay for it. After pretty much combing the entire interior of the hotel from top to bottom, Peter decides to risk outside.

He's glad that he did. The whole place seems set on floating islands and there's nothing but space beyond. It's gorgeous. It makes him wish he had his ship so he could fly out and explore all that uncharted territory but He doesn't and he has to settle for watching it from the ground, face tipped up to see the planets and moons and stars. He knows there's other things out here, gardens and hedge mazes and shit like that but he doesn't have eyes for that. He's only got eyes for what lies beyond, for the illusion of freedom that it offers, however fleeting.

He's going to get out of here someday and he's going to explore all of that.
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[personal profile] prettygoodplan
August 8, 2014 | The Nexus Hotel

Peter thinks that if he’s going to dream about something in a coma, this isn’t what he wants it to be. He wants a nice tropical planet with a sandy beach and some hot girls and little drinks with umbrellas in them. None of this involves a mangy rodent with a gun fetish.

Complete | PG-13 for Language


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