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[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.
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[personal profile] concierge
Throughout the day on the 14th, the Nexus staff deliver single roses and accompanying notes to designated hotel guests in celebration of the Valentine's Day holiday. For some, the gesture will be a foregone conclusion; for others, it will be a surprise. For some, they might only guess at who sent them the gift in the first place.


[Comments with deliveries will follow are done. You may reply to yours with a reaction if you like!]
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[personal profile] grimvisaged
Sometime in August | The Nexus

He's stopped looking for Barnes, but he cannot stay away from the man who was his best friend. The thread which connects them is an invisible but unrelenting tug at his heart.

Ongoing
prettysure: (confident)
[personal profile] prettysure
Late Fall of 7th Year | Hogwarts

The nightly rounds required of Hogwarts' Head Girl and Boy are far from the chore they might seem.

In Progress | G
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[personal profile] grimvisaged
Early May | The Nexus Gardens

"Don't call me that," he says, low but firm, and then swallows hard, jaw flexing. "I'm not him."

This is something he needs to make clear right from the start, despite the undeniable way his body reacts to this man, the way his mind leaps entirely sideways and smears warmth and happiness across his murky memories at the mere sight of him now. He hates it. He loves it. He doesn't know if he can bear it, this resilient echo of James Buchanan Barnes.

Ongoing | Spoilers for CA:TWS
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[personal profile] shes_biochem
Everything is beginning to weigh on her with the weight of the ocean's pressure.

Not the best thought, but it's the right one. Simmons still feels like she hasn't left the ocean floor, with Fitz beside her, and even though she clings to old habits, every time she looks to her side to make sure Fitz is there and alive and his heart is beating, she remembers that he's not. On unsteady feet, she finds her way to a door to the Nexus, more relieved than she's been in so very long, and she takes herself to the luxury hotel, but keeps far away from the room she's been using as a lab.

She can't look at it without thinking of everything that's happened. She can't even breathe some moments without thinking that she wouldn't even have breath, if it weren't for Fitz -- who can't even remember, who's healing, who is...

She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob that does its' level best to escape. She's not able to keep it in and when the weight of the last week (last few months) catches up to her, Simmons presses her back against the wall to keep herself upright, sliding down until she can wrap her arms around her knees and pretend, pretend, that she's not alone and that when she looks to her side, Fitz will be there, even though she knows he won't.

She can still hear her voice, hear the echo of panic in his all those months ago, and now she knows what he'd felt like when she'd jumped from the plane. It's like everything has changed and parts of her have been ripped out, only to be replaced by love and grief.

May. 5th, 2014 05:58 pm
on_your_right: (Sam; thinking)
[personal profile] on_your_right
cut for spoilers from The Winter Soldier )

He takes a landing that isn't so much graceful as functional through one of the blown-out windows of the Triskelion and starts pulling at doors, trying to find the best escape route. Since most of the good guys are technically Hydra's guys at this point, Sam's not sure who to trust. He wrenches open a utility door that looks promising; maybe it heads down an old, unused maintenance hallway and he can find a way out without tripping all the guards from here to Arlington.

The decor doesn't seem to match the door. Instead of the utilitarian metal and concrete that's the hallmark of most government buildings, this one leads to plush carpeting and warm, cheery decor. It looks like a damn vacation compared to where he just came from and Sam cranes his neck to see around the corner as best he can, hoping he doesn't get shot while he's pulling his worst Roadrunner impersonation. That would be a damn mess. Rogers would probably try to spin it during his funeral that he died a hero but he thinks at least Romanoff would be snickering in the background. Can't get anything past her. He doesn't get shot (this time) and decides that maybe it's worth the risk. The halls seem empty of personnel, friendly or not, and maybe it's a chance to get the hell out and get somewhere that he can coordinate back with his team.

He likes the sound of that, being part of a team again, and grins to himself as he carefully works his way down the hall, trying to look as nondescript as possible. That's a little hampered by the twisted, broken wing attached to his back but maybe anyone he runs into will be so damn shocked that they won't notice he's only half a bird right now. Maybe.

Apr. 29th, 2014 08:42 pm
thelostprince: ({fem} 004)
[personal profile] thelostprince
Still a woman, and Loki was doing his best not to worry about it. It certainly did offer an interesting spin on things, though, especially when it came to him going out and about in the hotel. When it came to attractiveness Loki had very little opinion, one way or another, regarding his own face. But as a woman he could easily see that he was attractive, at least to a certain type of person, that person being himself. It brought a strange sort of confidence to someone who was already confident, but not in the ways he was aware of.

So in that regard, he had decided, for a moment, to flaunt it. The dress he wore was a weave of green and black, off one shoulder and cut just above the knee, revealing more pale, creamy skin than he ever had as a man. A good section of calves was revealed, as well, topped in heeled, laced ankle boots. Style from different worlds was never something he had much difficulty in grasping, though certainly he had a tendency to stop once he had found something suitable and wearable. This had a distinct brush of Ruby's influence, though mostly he had simply followed the direction she had pointed him in.

While some of his peers from Asgard were more interested in keeping their body tuned, Loki preferred to keep his mind sharp first of all. He was sitting on a bench in one of the hotel's gardens, which he understood had an 'oriental' theme according to Midgard, and beside him there was a stack of books. The topics were all in relation to one another - they were extensive histories of different continents on a certain planet, covering everything from its societies to geological movements from fresh Stone Age to dirty, polluted end. One, however, described the pattern of movement of that planet within a certain solar system. Whoever could have written these documents, he did not know, for it was information that could be compiled only by a strange, vast mind. Yet Loki had read it all, and now he was translating it.

The original text was a very dead language, and he was carefully and calmly inscribing it using pen and notebook into the alphabet of Midgard. He didn't know of anyone who would like to read it, but it was something to do, kept his mind active. Translations were always interesting - though Loki read, wrote and spoke many languages, there were always words that fell into and out of use, or had no counterpart. In that he was entertained.
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[personal profile] bornagoddess
EARLY APRIL | THE HOTEL GROUNDS

Wearing her armor's metal plates and metal weapons Sif clashes violently into Erik Lehnsherr, a man who can manipulate metal with his mind. Neither one is in good spirits.

ONGOING|some violence



APRIL 11 | THE HOTEL GYM/HALLS

001: At the gym Sif sends a punching bag flying, narrowly missing Captain America's head. He is impressed, they bond over shields.
002: Later that day Sif meets Joan Watson (not the Son of Wat) during her search for the door back home

001 (ongoing|all ages) | 002 (ongoing|all ages)




APRIL 19-20 (after midnight) | THE HOTEL BAR[SEX SWITCH]

001: Sif stumbles out of her room looking like a man, meets Loki (who now looks like a woman) clad only in a fluffy short bathrobe. It's awkward.
002: Later that same night, Ruby comes tell drunken Dude!Sif that her robe is very nearly open, and offers to get the poor Sif some pants.

001 (complete|all ages) | 002 (ongoing|all ages)
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[personal profile] captain_rogers
While the thought of Bucky and the continued fruitlessness of his search for the man weighed heavy on him, there was little different in the routine Steve had taken up in being reintroduced to the hotel. Rising at dawn for a quick, but calorie-laden breakfast, the usual morning run out on the grounds for endurance, time in the gym for strength and flexibility, followed by the insistent growl of his stomach that demanded he rush through his shower before heading back to the Bistro for a second breakfast. All simple, already familiar, and done before nine in the morning.

What was neither simple nor familiar was what happened when he stepped out of the shower with no thought other than that he needed to towel off and dress before he could go out and public to sate the near constant hunger in his belly. He dried his hair with a quick scrub of a towel, wrapped the towel around his hips and padded through the door between bathroom and bedroom with every intention of following exactly that plan. He did not, however, intend on stumbling, thrown suddenly off balance by the length of his legs and the width of his hips and the entirely unfamiliar balance of his body.

He crashed unceremoniously to his hands and knees, shaking his head against the disorientation only to find a cloud of blonde hair in his face. Even as he swept it back with a pass of his hand, wondering at the length of that hair as it fell long past his shoulders, he found himself staring at the delicate and most assuredly feminine hands he held out before him.

Steve looked down at his body as he knelt on the floor, only to just as suddenly jerk his head back up as he flushed red with embarrassment, pulling at the towel around his (too round) hips until it covered him more...more, just more. He didn't want to think of what or how it covered him. There he scrambled for his clothes, hurriedly trying to find something of the too large, wrongly fitted things that could fit over the shape of this too body. A shirt that fell to the top of his thighs and swamped him, a pair of boxers rolled at the waist to fit less precariously, a leather jacket he zipped up over the unfamiliar terrain of his chest, and Steve rushed out the door in the hopes of finding someone he knew or someone who could fix...whatever this was.
regimes_fall: (sad)
[personal profile] regimes_fall
Early April| Hotel Lobby/Restaurant

Natasha is feeling exposed upon her return to the hotel, and discovers Cap is in residence with her.

Warning: Spoilers for Captain America: TWS
captain_rogers: (023)
[personal profile] captain_rogers
How many hours he had spent exploring the halls and grounds of the Nexus Hotel, Steve was pretty certain he'd lost track. It surprised him to find that he was not climbing the proverbial (or literal) walls with so much time without a mission, although that might have been largely in part to do with Bucky's presence and what he recognized as a half-masochistic desire to take all the time he could with the other man without spilling the beans. Since their days in the orphanage and their meeting in one of the many Brooklyn back alleys he'd been getting beat up in, all until the war, there hadn't been a day he hadn't been sure what Bucky was up to or where Bucky was.

The war had changed that in ways Steve had never anticipated. What had come after had only driven him further apart from those nostalgia-colored memories of a childhood that was, in retrospect, far from grand.

Despite his promise to his friend that he could hitch a ride back with him, if only he could find his door, Steve had avoided much of investigating the many doors of the hotel as he worked out whether or not such a thing were even possible. That he actually wished for a moment that Stark was there to babble at him in his science-speak about dimensions or temporal paradox or whatever else might have been on the menu was a fact he thought he'd best keep to himself. Best forget entirely before he had to think on that for too long.

Instead he had toured the art gallery more than a dozen times, poked around the library, devoted early mornings and late nights when he was unable to sleep in the basement gym. In between times he unnerved the staff at the bistro with the amount of food he could pack away in a sitting, and how many times a day he could come back for a refill and still have that vaguely hungry feeling gnawing at his belly. Just then, with something unsettling and all too vague itching at the back of his neck and weighing at his shoulders, he buried himself in the cheap sketchbook and pencil he'd picked up in the hotel shop, sitting with his back against the wall of the lobby as he idly sketched bits and pieces of the people who passed through on their way to one place or another.
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[personal profile] captain_rogers
There was a second - just a second there in the midst of shaking his head in an attempt to lose some of the sand that had been whipped up into his face by the harsh wind of a Kansas summer - where Steve stood entirely unaware of the shift of the world around him. In expecting the change in temperature, the shelter from the wind and the dust, he had not immediately thought that he walked through the door not of the run down diner just west of Ellis but into another world entirely.

Busy with the task of clearing his eyes of that sudden burst of sand and grit, the door slipped from his hand to close heavily behind him.

He did not think immediately of its consequences, not as he allowed the pleasant drag of a long ride to settle into the shrug of his shoulders and the feel of his back and arms as he shifted the helmet he carried under one arm. The long weeks on the road had not so much bred an easiness in him as it allowed him room to breathe, to think, to be able to look at the world as had been built around his sleeping body as being anything other than a discomfort or intrusion. It had not, unfortunately, kept him from understanding, as he gave one last rub of a hand over his eyes to open them and blink at the surroundings he found himself in, that he was not in the diner he'd spotted just off the road.

There were, for one, no green vinyl booths that had looked shabby even through a dusty window. No checkered flooring. No beleaguered heavy-set woman with a red-painted scowl or scuffed from the road customers. All this was obvious for the fact that he stood on the polished wooden floor of a grand lobby that put everything but Stark Towers to shame.

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