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[irondruid]

( Cut for light spoilers up to Tricked. )

I never thought about travelling the Old Ways to get away (too much attention), and I picked our location because it was as far from the old ways as you could possibly get.

Which doesn't explain why I've ended up in some sort of art gallery.

My sandals squeak on the polished floor as I spin around and open the door I just came through. No cabin, no woods, no Granuaile or Oberon -- this is not good. At all. I didn't go and fake my death to ensure our safety just to get lost right before I could even start training Granuaile.

I activate my faerie specs charm -- it allows me to view auras and enchantments in the magical realm, very neat and kind of cool, if I do say so myself -- and I see nothing I recognize. Magic has a certain kind of aura about it, one that I can pick out and read as easily as Dr. Seuss after two thousand years of working with it. The fact that I've never seen this sort of aura before scares me.

With the faerie specs charm still going, I walk toward the big double doors that seem to spill out into a much larger room and hey, look at that.

"Welcome to Hotel California. Such a lovely place," I say to myself, taking it all in.

It's gorgeous, I'll give it that. But I've always been wary of pretty things when there's magic of this magnitude involved. Especially magic I don't recognize. Who has enough power to transport someone from the middle of nowhere to a hotel like this? Probably a god. And why? Well, there's a long list of reasons why any god would do it, that's a silly question to ask.

I'm just going to cross my fingers and hope it's not Odin.

"Excuse me," I say, trying to to catch the attention of a passing bell hop. "What's the name of this hotel?"

The look he shoots my way makes me turn off the charm and look down at myself. Oh, yeah. T-shirt, pants, sandals, and sword hanging off my back - I'm probably not the sort of clientele this hotel sees.

[OOC: Please skim this! Especially the bit about tattoos.]

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[iwillnotsettledown]

August 2nd, 2013 | Nexus Hotel

Will and MacKenzie come from two separate places in Manhattan but both end up in the same doorway. Much frustration ensues.

In Progress|Teen

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[prayimdead]

"Just ain't us, man."

Daryl's own words ring in his ears as he watches Rick walk off to talk to Merle. He doesn't agree with Rick's decision to go through with it, giving Michonne over to that jackass Governor, but he can still respect it. Survival is something Daryl understands. It's a bitch, and you don't gotta like it. Survival forces people to do things that cross the line of decency, and turning over a woman to certain death sure as hell ain't decent. It isn't them, isn't their group, but Daryl knows that Rick is just doing what he's gotta do for the greater good.

Giving Hershel a shrug, Daryl pushes off of the wall he'd leaned himself against. Maybe he'll go check on L'il Ass Kicker before getting his gear. A slight smile tugs at one corner of his mouth at the thought of her. Judith, so tiny and perfect. He won't admit it to anyone, but that baby gives him hope that maybe the entire world ain't gone to shit after all.

"Later." Nodding at Hershel, Daryl reaches a hand out to the heavy, barred prison door and pushes slightly.

Preoccupied with deciding which knife to take along with his crossbow, he doesn't notice initially that suddenly he is no longer in the prison until he realizes that his footfalls sound different. They aren't echoing; they sound muffled, barely perceptible instead.

Puzzled, Daryl looks down to see that he is standing on some sort of large, decorative Oriental carpet. Mouth setting in a thin line, he lifts his gaze, eyes sweeping across a strange, large library that certainly isn't part of the prison.

"What the hell," he mutters. "Didn't fall in no rabbit hole, so where the hell am I?" Instinctively, he begins looking around for things he can use for makeshift weapons. Never can tell when you'll run into a walker, after all.