all_inclusive | support group one: no one left behind

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support group one: no one left behind

When: Friday 6:00 p.m.
Where: Attic Observatory
What: Community Support Group

As Nick promised on his open advertisements, there are chairs and coffee in the Attic Observatory. There's even a table laden with what food products Nick and co could round up.

The process of setting up for a group meeting felt enough like Boulder that Nick took a short break to lean, palms first, against a wall. It was a short, easily displaced moment, and he has no intention of lingering on it.

This is about everyone, one way or another. For all the people stuck here, and everyone new, and all those in-between. Nick left the purpose of the group intentionally vague. In the future, he assumes it'll have to be narrowed down and split up for the sake of different needs, but for this first coming together of the displaced in any non-official capacity he wants it to be open for everyone. It wouldn't be right, otherwise.

So all newcomers will find Nick by the attic observatory door, nursing a cup of black coffee next to a clearly printed sign:

Hi, I'm Nick. Welcome to the first Nexus Hotel Support Group. Whatever your problem, we'll listen. Help yourself to coffee and food.

Underneath the words, Nick has drawn and crossed out a mouth and ear, leaving an arrow pointed at himself. His pad of paper and pen are obvious on his lap.

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Bella had intended on showing up at the meeting just as it was starting and find a place in the back somewhere. She was feeling a little more herself since Nick had taken her to a door that lead to a forest. He hadn't told her where it was, if he'd even known, and she didn't really care. She'd found a place to hunt and he hadn't smelled...different...so he hadn't distracted her from the hunt.

She wasn't sure if she even belonged here, but she was definitely having trouble adapting. If anything, Bella knew she could leave at her normal speed and most likely no one would even register her leaving.

Her whole body went statue still when she saw the man sitting just inside the door. She read the sign and nodded.

"Hi, Nick," she said, understanding the symbols he'd drawn and making sure she faced him as she spoke then she made her way to the back wall, away from the people starting to gather in the room.

Edited 2013-08-17 23:46 (UTC)

I consider my attendance here a favor to Nick, who has gone out of his way to help me acclimate to this place and who has been nothing but kind to me, a man who by all rights likely appears to actually be losing his mind. I am here under duress, but even I have enough manners to keep my mouth shut and my misgivings mostly to myself.

I take a cup of coffee and sit down. I don't drink from the cup, just feel its warmth between my hands. It's another way to feel alive, to remind myself that this is real. Everything else is surreal, down to the fact that the only clothes I've been able to procure are a pair of pajamas. While a step up from the clothing I arrived in, they're covered in illustrations of monkeys eating bananas. Not exactly my preferred style.

I don't intend to speak; I don't trust my own words, first off, and I'd much rather observe everyone else's contributions. Everyone here seems so friendly, though, so it's only a matter of time until someone tries to engage me in conversation.

Martha had made the coffee to the best of her ability--it was probably less than up to Jenny McLaren's needs, but it was acceptable enough. She supposed she could probably have bought some downstairs, but there were other things she needed money for.

Like clothes, seeing as she'd been here for a couple of weeks. She'd only had what she'd had on and the two t-shirts and pair of jeans she'd had with her shopping when she arrived. Another couple pairs of pants had been crucial (though they weren't exactly her style), and she wished like hell for the TARDIS' wardrobe. Or to go home, to be able to control coming back, perhaps this time with full luggage.

She waved at Nick, making sure she was in his field of vision when she did, then got herself some coffee and a day-old doughnut before settling into a chair.

Upon seeing her, the first thing the Doctor does is straighten his bowtie and make sure his fez is sitting absolutely and perfectly straight on his ... wait. Hang on. He reaches up to feel the angle of said hat to discover it's not there, which means it must have been hidden from him yet again. Amy. No, Rory. It was his turn to be in trouble, wasn't it? Still, at least his bowtie is as spiffy as ever.

How does one do this? The TARDIS had brought him here, parked him square and centre in the hall and gave him a little nudge as though it's off to school for him, sans packed lunch with jammy dodger. Now, though, he's brought nearly face to face with the glorious past and he's standing there grinning like the madman that he absolutely is. "Dr. Jones!" he calls over, elated and forgetting all about protocol and procedure and it's right up to her, shaking her hand, yes, that'll do, shaking it firmly with both of his. "Doctor Jones, pleasure to see you, wonderful to see your face," he says, ducking down slightly as he points to her with genuine delight and boyish enthusiasm. "How's Mickey, then?"

Martha had been drinking her coffee and finishing off the rather odd American-style doughnut when she heard her name called. Momentarily, there was quite a strange young man grinning like a loon at her and pumping her hand like he was a pensioner down the casino at the 20p slots.

Generally Martha took things in stride these days, all things considered, but the fact that he was going on at her like he knew her personally--except for the bit about someone named Mickey (who?)--was rather startling. And there was the fact that he was somehow not strange at the same time, which managed to be even more daunting.

She blinked a few times even as she shook his hand back (it was always best to be polite in this sort of situation) then said, "I'm really sorry, but have we met?"

"Yes. No," he corrects himself instantly, withdrawing his hand now that he's beginning to realize how offputting the constant shaking might be. Rather than that, he fixes the lapels of his jacket, tugging on them as he rocks from heel to ball of his toe, patent leather creaking as he does. "Technically," he amends, narrowing his eyes as he contemplates the etiquette of a situation like this. "I'm a big fan," he marvels, still grinning (because that, he can't stop). "Huge. Martha Jones, the woman who walked the world," he praises fondly.

The polite thing to do would be to wave, but Nick is a little busy being stunned. He tries to keep his mouth from falling open in surprise, because God knows he doesn't need to add looking stupid to his issues, but this woman is--

Girl, he tells himself, firmly, with an uncomfortable remembrance of Julie, and how had that turned out for him? Not well. This newcomer might be beautiful in a way reserved for glossy magazines, but Nick doesn't need to be an ass.

It was just surprising.

With a moment taken to gain composure, Nick gets up and approaches her with a smile and a piece of notepaper held out towards her.

I haven't seen you before. Good to meet you.

Nick makes the first move, after waiting at the door to greet a few more people and let Will get acclimated. He approaches Will with the look of a man biting the inside of his cheek to keep from inappropriate laughter, but the amused sympathy in his eyes is obvious--it's the humor of the displaced.

We need to get you new clothes. Nick settles down next to Will and passes him the note, raking his eyes over the cheerfully patterned pajamas. Unless you dig monkeys. How've you been?

He's glad to see Will here. After himself and Larry, he thinks Will is one of the people who needs this thing the most, even if Nick himself isn't sure what he's doing. They never tried something like this in Boulder, not formally. But Nick remembers all the quiet little groups that would form in the library or the park, clustered in people's houses. People need each other. It's a piece of knowledge he came into late in life.

Good coffee.

Nick only comes up to Martha (although he waved back) after she's done talking to that guy in the bowtie. It looks like something important, although it also made him watchful for her initial lack of recognition. Still, she's a grown woman, and she doesn't need skinny Nick Andros' back-up.

He settles down next to her and sips his coffee, then pats his stomach. It's a little over-exaggerated, but gratitude seems to actually make coffee taste better. He still has no idea what his plan is, but it helps to have people willing to help.

He likes her. It's a simple, easy thing to do. He's liked her pretty much from the start, in a lot of the ways he likes (liked) Ralph. Martha is quicker and sharper than Ralph, by miles, but--it's the way they both seem like they could work their way through things, one way or another. A steady sense of competency. Martha could have mixed up the worst coffee in the world, for all he really cares. It's not the point.

Friend of yours? He adjusts an imaginary bowtie, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, no, technically?" echoed Martha with a faintly sceptical air. She sipped her coffee, though it was still quite hot, not undrinkably so but just the other side of it. This turned out to have been a mistake, because she very nearly--not quite but it was damned close--did a cartoon-worthy spit take at his last comment.

Leaning back, she managed to swallow the liquid, then appraise the bowtie bloke from head to toe. Somewhere in the back of her mind, pieces fell into place. "You're never...Doctor?!" she said, shock merging with a bright smile that surprised even her.

It had taken Martha a little bit of adjustment to converse with Nick, but he made it seem straightforward and the process was therefore relatively easy, like translation. She grinned a little, wryly, at his gesture indicating his approval of the coffee, and rolled her eyes in a friendly way, because he was the kind of guy who'd know what she meant. "It's not that good, I definitely couldn't work at Starbucks," she said, turning to face him head on as she talks, trying to minimise her accent as much as possible, go all RP.

"Actually, yeah, he is," she continued in response to Nick's second point. "He looks different now then when I last saw him, that was all." People could look different, that was easily explainable. Regeneration, not so much.

The guy was wearing monkey pajamas, though by Martha's guess from his body language, he would have preferred something else, rather than turning up in public in sleepwear. (This was a look you saw quite a bit of in the hospital.) The monkeys were cute, though, adorable, and she knew far better than to judge people on what they were wearing.

She was a little short on talking points, admittedly, besides 'nice pajamas', so she tried something else. "The doughnuts are pretty good," she said, which was not her most eloquent idea, but whatever. "At least twelve-step meeting quality."

Bella read and looked back up at the man, smiling wide. "Thank you, it's good to meet you as well, though I'm not sure if I really need to be here."

The young woman sitting near the wall was beautiful, dangerously so--Martha's mind went to Lord of the Rings and Galadriel being beautiful and terrible at once. Even so, she had seen plenty of beautiful people before, and found that usually they didn't like to dwell on it. Those that did were, frankly, unpleasant or boring.

She smiled a little at her, waved with the hand that wasn't holding coffee, giving her plenty of personal space. "Lots more coffee if you want some," she offered.

Bella smiled and used a little of the breath she'd been holding to answer the kind woman. Even though she knew she didn't have to hide what she was here - wherever they were, it was well outside the Volturi's reach - she still used the rough voice she'd perfected around her father. Some humans were too started by her vampire one.

"Thank you. It smells wonderful, but I'm not much of a coffee drinker. Or much of a drinker at all," Bella added, not wanting to make the other woman uncomfortable if she offered her something else.

Martha nodded, though she was pretty sure coffee wasn't the hard stuff when it came to drinking. To each their own, right? "No worries," she said, and took a swallow of her own. "I just happened to make this pot, so I'm trying to push it on as many people as possible to see if I should just quit even trying. I'm used to cups of tea."

"Well, it smells wonderful, if that helps any, so I wouldn't give up the coffee making just yet." She liked the woman's accent, even though it reminded her a little of Alastair and the fact that he left them to their own fight once he realized she was making contingency plans for Ness and Jacob.

"Have you been here long?" she asked and waved a hand around the room to indicate the hotel itself. "I've met some that have been here for weeks and some just for a few days, like me."

I am secretly pleased with myself that I can manage to hold the cup of coffee without worrying that the tremble in my hands is going to spill it everywhere. It's progress, and I suppose I have to see the positive in something, given how dire the rest of the situation is.

"I've been better," I say after reading Nick's note and turning to face him. "I've also been worse, much worse," I add after considering things. All told, I think being framed for murders and incarcerated is much higher on some sort of scale of awful than just being stuck in a mysterious hotel and/or an extended delusion.

I smile wryly and cast a glance down to my clothing. "The monkeys, I could do without, but they don't sell much other than pajamas here, and I can't seem to leave." That's something that makes this place more fascinating, that some of us appear to be stuck here while others can come and go at will, and it's a fatal flaw in my grand plan to prove my innocence back home.

"Hm." I look down at the coffee in my hands, then over in the woman's direction. I try hard, so hard, to not look too close, to not determine what makes her tick before she shares it. But still. Not afraid to start conversation, but good enough to not start it out with something truthful and pointed, like you look like you've been run over by a truck. An acquired skill.

"As long as I'm not going to have to stand before everyone and admit my wrongs," I say, words punctuated with a bitter laugh.

My reaction isn't appropriate, but it's too late to take it back. I sincerely hope everyone here just blames me on the stress of being here, rather than anything else more sinister.

The very sound of his name coming from Martha Jones' lips makes him preen the likes of which he hasn't in ages. He gives his bowtie one last good pluck and adjust, making sure his hair hasn't decided to betray him by doing something ridiculous and that's it, then, now their secrets are out in the open. "Not the same as you'd remember, I'm afraid," he does admit apologetically. "Though, yes, good morning, good afternoon, and good everything. I'm the Doctor, Martha Jones. And you're as brilliant as ever, you are. Don't think I don't keep my eye on you."

Martha was trying to figure out how the coffee could smell good but not be something one wanted to drink, until she remembered how her uncle Tunde loved the smell of people making coffee but refused to drink it. Odd, but understandable--every Christmas he would eat the little coffee-flavoured cakes from Sainsburys like they were never going to be offered again.

"I've been here about a week and a half," she said. "It was weird, I was here a few days, then got shifted back home again for a week or two, then suddenly turned a corner and ended up here. I wish I could explain it."

Martha was used to people looking at her like they were trying not to be too curious. It was sort of part and parcel with the kind of travel she'd been up to, not all that long ago, and she'd had far worse leveled at her. (Particularly, to be honest, in the places and times where the locals didn't either anticipate seeing a human or were humans backwards enough that a black woman with a medical degree was like a goddamn unicorn. Those particular memories still stung.)

This man's expression wasn't like that, though, and Martha smiled a little more, noting in response, "If that's what we're doing here then I'm going to be running for the door. We'd be here all night." His laugh was just a little too bitter. Clearly there were layers under the monkey pajamas, and she was not quite able to talk herself out of her own curiosity.

Was he actually checking to make sure he was looking smart? Martha stifled her laughter, though it did emerge in her ongoing brilliant smile. "Clearly not the same as I'd remember, look at you," she pointed out, laughing. "It works, somehow, this. The bowtie, certainly." Maybe she was wanting to see what he'd do with a compliment, though she knew better than to ever expect consistent results from the Doctor.

wouldn't looking different mean something terrible had happened to him--

She quashed the thought. "Hug, for old times, then? I should have known you'd turn up here somehow, it seems like your sort of party."

"I've heard that there are doors that open for some back to where they came from, but I haven't found one like that yet." Though she tried to not show her longing to find that door out of her voice, but she was pretty sure she didn't do such a great job of it. Keeping it rough and human-sounding were more important.

"There was one that was close. I mean, it sort of smelled like home, sounded like it, too, but it wasn't. There wasn't anyone there but me and a lot of animals."

It can't hurt. Nick shrugs, then gestures at the chair next to her with raised eyebrows.

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