Gathering: New Guest Reception

[concierge]

The black sign positioned in front of the Dining Hall's main entrance reads:

New Guest Reception
TODAY
6 PM - 8 PM

All guests welcome

In the Dining Hall itself, the chairs have been pushed up against the walls and the long dining table turned into a buffet stocked with finger foods. At the far end of the room is a small bar serving beer, standard cocktails and non-alcoholic drinks.

Comments

[kuno_ichi]

Considering that guests of the hotel were fed for free in the Bistro everyday, April found it curious that the promise of free finger food could be enough of a draw for a party. Maybe she was underestimating the appeal of getting drunk, since she was only sixteen, had never been drunk, and had no desire to get drunk. Maybe people only needed a flimsy excuse to congregate.

Whatever the reason, there were plenty of people milling around as she peered over the buffet.

Ooo, cupcakes.

[rangerbecket]

In the past few days. Raleigh has learned a hell of a lot about this hotel. With Issac's advice, he did eventually find a door back to the Hong Kong shatteredome and realized that no time had passed at all. It's like this hotel exists only in his head and he likes to think of it as an extension of the Drift that he hasn't ever found before. He grabbed some clothes and a little cash before coming back.

Yancy could be here, in the Drift, and Raleigh isn't going to waste that chance.

When he gets back, dressed in fatigues and a t shirt, he sees there's some kind of reception going on. He snags a beer and stuffs a little sandwich in his mouth, nodding at the person next to him. "Sorry. Starving," he offers by way of apology.

[malachai]

Probably the strangest part about this place, bar none, was the room he'd been assigned. In fact, he'd stood at the threshold for a good five minutes before walking into the mirror of his bedroom in his Bourbon Street house. Then he'd spent a good half hour just walking around, touching the familiar furniture, bedspreads, the picture of his mother on the dresser.

That picture had taken him a good few hours the night before to get over.

But the promise of numbing a little of the demon's voice in his head with a beer was strong enough to get him out of the room and away from it. Besides, he was curious enough about who else was here, and Dark Hunter enough to make sure none of them were Daimons.

[legendthatwas]

This time Martha was making a cup of tea.

No, seriously. She had ended up zapping back home two days after she'd first arrived in the hotel, while getting up to go to the loo in her suite and panicking about her next shift--the door had ended up being the door to the lounge loo in the hospital, about ten minutes after she'd left it--and she had decided to take it as a transdimensional fluke, report it to UNIT and Jack, and call it a day.

But this time she'd been just getting home, and she'd been bored and lonely on the Tube home from shopping, and okay okay maybe reminiscing a little, that was allowed. And so she'd walked through the door to the kitchen to boil some water, and there she was again. She was going to have to start carrying more cash, if this was going to be a thing, and if this was going to be a thing, she was going to have to figure out what the hell it was.

In the meantime, reconnaissance was in order. And if that dovetailed nicely with a reception, so be it. At least this time she had a little more prep time for the whole thing, time for a shower and to fix her hair and change into the jeans she'd got at Fraser's that she was still carrying with; by 6:20, she was downstairs with a cosmopolitan in hand, surveying the crowd.

[weighted_reality]

It's been yet another strange day. Arthur had closed his eyes to sleep and found himself on an airplane in Los Angeles. The loaded die had been rolled, assuring him (again) of his own wakefulness. After settling in–this time not in a hotel but in an old, beloved bed and breakfast–he's once again woken up (or dreamed?) of the strange hotel.

Just as in LA, he's in a new suit, this one charcoal gray with a crisp, ivory shirt and a darker gray waistcoat lined with silk the color of old gold. Concealed in a shoulder holster is a lightweight pistol, one that's easy to disguise with rigid posture and well-tailored clothing.

With a drink in hand, he could be any number of businessmen passing through a normal hotel as he surveys the others.

Arthur just hopes he won't have to kick himself out of the dream with any inelegant methods.

[vampire_shield]

Bella stayed to the back of the reception area. It wasn't that she didn't trust herself around humans, her super self control hadn't done anything but strengthen since she'd opened her eyes to this life a few months ago. She felt the burn in her throat, yeah, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Especially if she remembered where that door was, the one that lead outside into the forest.

Or it did for her. Or something. This place was putting even her mind through a workout. One she should be grateful for since it took her mind off other things. Like the frantic search she'd been through trying to find her way back to the cottage, to Edward, to Ness. To her life.

100 doors later, and she was still out of luck.

She was here to try and see who else was on the off chance that this wasn't what it seemed, that somehow Aro had found a way past her shield. Something. Anything she could fight against.

[onamissiontocivilize]

Will feels like shit. He's been stuck here without his meds for a few days--both the crazy ones and the ulcer ones--and now he's feeling it. A beer probably isn't the best solution to this problem, but it's the only one he's got at the moment so he figures what the fuck, he'll have one or two because they're there. It'll at least make this party somewhat tolerable. He fucking hates parties, no matter where they are.

[dogchasingcars]

You haven't gotten bored with the Nexus Hotel yet, which is nice because apparently you're stuck here. Like a festering fly on a glue strip, but you haven't managed to rip your legs off in an attempt to get away...yet. You could handle the pain, though. Pain feels good.

Laughing to yourself, you skip up and down along the buffet table, occasionally leaning over to snatch up a grape and pop it in your mouth, or to -- gasp -- double-dip a chip.

You're a damned nuisance.

And a de-light.