no subject

[birthrightblack]

Jaenelle has been fighting for days. The safframate coursing through her veins can only be worked out through sex or bloodletting and she's fairly certain she would much rather hunt a tiger with her bare hands than let any man within six feet of her. It's fading now, leaving behind a bone-deep malaise that leaves her so tired that all she wants is good food and sleep. She doesn't feel like she's being rubbed raw any more and she feels almost human enough to venture back into her cabin.

Jaenelle pulls open the door, a smile touching her lips as she thinks about all the delicious things she's going to make Lucivar cook for her (she'd tried cooking once and blew up the entire kitchen at SaDiablo Hall. She's been banned since then) but when she steps through the door and opens her eyes, it isn't her cabin that she sees. Oh no.

Jaenelle had done this as a child. Without an understanding of basic Craft and a reservoir of power too deep to be controlled, she'd often disappeared and reappeared somewhere else without much thought. After she'd gotten a little older, Jaenelle had learned how to deliberately go somewhere but this seems like a hearkening back to her younger days. It appears to be an inn of some sort, with people milling around, and Jaenelle is suddenly aware that her clothes are torn and her palms are bloodstained. She self-consciously brushes a hand over her hair, hoping to tame it a little, and tries to force herself to be a little more human and polite than she particularly wants to be at the moment.

Like as not, this inn is still in some part of Kaeleer. As a child, she'd been asked not to travel around Terreille and she'd kept to that. This place seems too warm to be Hell so it must still be Kaeleer, which means she's only a thought away from home if she needs to get away. She doesn't think that is going to be an issue; the staff here seem warm and friendly even if they are landen and don't wear jewels. She senses some power here, great power, but it isn't anything like the power she's used to.

"Maybe there's other ways of doing magic than using jewels," Jaenelle says, half to herself. If that's the case, she can't wait to tell the Coven about this place and help probe the mysteries of it with them. She thinks that would be an excellent way to spend a day or two. She strides up to the desk clerk, announces herself, and walks away with a key and a room assignment.

"Now, it's time to eat," she says, descending upon the buffet with great gusto. It's been days since she's had a real meal and there is going to be nothing standing in the way of her and breakfast right now.

[Find Jaenelle at the desk or eating at the buffet.]

i got infinite ammunition

[barton_me]

Roughly three hours ago, Clint had been skillfully monkeying his way down the side of a building, the grips sewn in the palms of his gloves helping him to twist and turn his way through a fire escape that had, long ago, become nothing more than a tilting mass of rusted metal leaning haphazardly against a wall of brick. Roughly three hours ago, he'd been burning with a purpose, the heady sensation of a job completed but with the bitter caution of knowing he was not yet out of danger. Landing silently on his feet in the alleyway, he had kept to the shadows. Three blocks over he heard sirens, but of course it was too late.

The room he had torched had been filled with hardware containing information on several SHIELD operatives, including their alternate identities. It had already been copied, placed under safe keeping, but the originals had to be wiped clean. When it came to fires, Clint often volunteered; too often when the spark was set by a rookie it spread and harmed civilians. Besides, there was really no place quite like southeast Asia to disappear to for a bit when you wanted to clear your head of things.

At the next building down, at the opposite end of the alley, he had made quick work of the lock. But upon going through he was not in an abandoned service hallway for an insurance firm. Even if there hadn't been windows full of sunlight when he knew it had to be the dead of night, the very air told him that he had experienced something very, very odd.

It took some time to ascertain he had not had a stroke, was not going insane, and really was in what appeared to be a pretty nice hotel, far nicer than the ones he usually stayed in. Dimensional doorways weren't completely out of his grasp, of course, but the ones he knew about required a bit more pomp, circumstance, and energy fields than the single, quiet door he had walked through.

Since a few tries had told him that returning was not an option, he ended up going immediately into what he called 'airport mode' - when waiting for a flight, train, or similar, it was always best to procure three things: book, coffee, and a sandwich. Even if you didn't even want those items. So there he was in the Bistro, a third of the way through a book he had found in the gift shop, wondering how long it was going to take before he could either a) get back home or b) panic. At least his gear was more or less subtle, and he had his compound bow and quiver on the floor and tucked along the side of his leg, mostly out of sight.