all_inclusive | Entries tagged with !open

Who: Peggy Carter

Where: Hotel Lobby

Open to: All

Warnings: Severe injury

When Peggy awakens with a gasp, she runs her hand over the nearest cushion, straining to remember just how it is she got here. It's a haze, in her mind, of events that blur together whether from the pain, the zero matter, or simply the adrenaline of it all. She recalls heading to Violet's in order to patch up the wound, but that been before Daniel had opened the door and she'd walked right on through to a strange room that bore no resemblance to that of Violet's home.

She'd managed to get to one of the cushioned seats, collapsing while trying to get out a ragged cry for help. She must have passed out, then, because she's still there and the blood is still sluggish. Pressing a hand to the rebar wound through her torso, she tries to sit up and fails wonderfully in that.

Peggy is sweating, breathing hard, and she sees blurry visions of people who are milling around. It's as if they're worried that they might make things worse, though someone says that they're looking for a doctor or a nurse to help. She lets out a pained tremble of breath and steels herself, trying not to feel like she's managed to find herself in a strange alternate world when a manager comes up to tell her that she has a device and would she like to make a call on the network to ask for help.

"I need someone," she gets out, words guttural and sharp, "to help stop the bleeding."

"Ma'am, that's...yes," the bellhop stammers and heads off, hopefully to finally call a doctor. She doesn't want to be overly dramatic, but there's a part of her mind that can't help but start to wander off towards the worst case scenario, whispering to her about what might happen if she isn't seen to soon. She'll cope with whatever odd little disaster she's found this time, but first, staying alive gets priority.

concierge

Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.

averygoodshot

( cut for spoilers for the end of the series )

the_dawnster

It's been awhile since Dawn has been in the hotel. She's been home, living her life, growing up. She's had two birthdays since she was last here. She's fought a few big bad's and helped save the world at least two more times. That's the thing with apocalypses in her world, they always come in the plural rather than the singular. One ends and another begins. And you can never quite see them coming until you're smack dab in the middle of one. Sometimes evil is stealthy like that.

Thwarting the destruction of the world is what got her lost in an alternate dimension in the first place. Then, as she used her key power to punch her way between worlds, she unlocked the door to the hotel and can't seem to step back out of it.

Of course, her first order of business is to check for Buffy. Some things never change. Her attachment to her sister is one of those things. No matter how old she is, no matter how many years of college she completes, she'll always be Buffy's little sister. She's accepted that. She's grown to love that. Which is why she's sad to find that Buffy isn't here anymore. She remembers her time here from before. Buffy had been here then. Now Dawn's alone.

After a quick shower and change of clothes in the room that she used to share with her sister, she makes her way downstairs to the cafe to grab some food (she's starving, okay?) and then to the library where she used to work beforehand because books make almost all things better. Maybe she can get her job back. She does get her job back. Then she checks out a book.

She makes her way out into the gardens and sits in the grass. She opens her book and gets lost in another world.

Occasionally, one might find her concentrating very, very hard, trying to get her key power to work, trying to see a thinning of the veils between dimensions and punch her way through it. There are no portals here, not that she can see, not like what she could see in the other hell-ish dimensions. She's as stuck as anyone.

Yeah, reading is good.

designerebel

[ OPTION ONE ]

Ask and you shall receive. It's been months ago that Cinna has requested an area to work in. The hotel has given him a space on the first floor near the cafe. Supplies have been gathered and the space redone to accommodate Cinna and his craft. That's right, there's officially a clothier's shop in the hotel. Cinna is indeed in his element.

Upon first entry to the shop it looks very unassuming and casual. There's the mixed aroma of freshly brewed tea and coffee as well as some pastries brought over from the cafe. The front half of the shop holds everyday clothes that seem to be the norm of what most of the people in the hotel wear, things like tees and sweaters and jeans and shorts. In the middle of the shop there's a round dark mahogany table with three high-backed plush armchairs around it. The armchairs are cushioned black with golden embellishments. Toward the back is where Cinna's influence shows through more prominently; clothing, both everyday and formal with unique and futuristic flares and touches. It's Couture at its finest. There are tall, large mirrors in the back as well as dressing rooms.

It should also be noted that as he has befriended both Milady and Aramis, there is attire befitting both men and women from their time period in Paris. Beautiful gowns and carefully stitched shirtsleeves and doublets. Cinna is always accommodating and will take special orders all day every day.

Outside of the space is a bracket with a swinging sign placard bearing the shop's name in an elegant golden script: Design by Cinna.

Cinna can almost always be found at the mahogany table in the center of the shop, sitting in one of the chairs with material draped over his lap and needle and thread in hand. He'll welcome anyone to his new shop. Please feel free to stop by!

[ OPTION TWO ]

Oftentimes Cinna can be found in the conservatory, sitting among the plant life and sketching new designs. It's peaceful in there. He'll greet and chit chat with most anyone who happens upon him.

However, one day he opens a door that he thinks goes to his hotel room but finds himself in the outdoors instead. The environment is boisterous and loud, crowds walking through fairways and strange music in the air. The sky is blue overhead, with the occasional cloud here and there. There are shops and tents and big contraptions with some kind of transport on them that has people screaming as they zip over rails.

Cinna, coming from Panem, has never seen anything like it. A man comes by and offers him a stick with a ball of pink cotton on top of it. What is it? He sees someone else with something similar eating the cotton. So he pinches some off and puts it in his mouth. The sugary sweetness surprisingly melts in his mouth.

Certainly, a place such as this can't be anything bad, right? Cinna is off to explore the amusement park.

magicallystrange

In the end, it's Jonathan's mad attempt to bring himself closer to Arabella that foists him forward into a mad arrangement of lights, music, people! He knows that sanity lingers just out of mind and that he will have to capture it back, but once he travels once more on this strange road (through a door and not a mirror), he thinks that if he cannot bring himself to Arabella, perhaps he can bring the fairy folk to him.

Jonathan Strange will host a party so luxurious and wonderful that they have no choice but to attend.

He uses magic to deck the lobby of the hotel with shimmering lights and stars that hang upon the ceiling in constellations and patterns that cannot possibly exist. Food dots each corner, but if the eye were to catch it properly, it would be noted that it's slightly off. The drink, however, is exact in its sumptuous rich red tones and sparkling vivacious notes.

Best of all, there is the music.

Harps and lutes and violins accompany the piano and encourage those to dance. More than that, the spell that Jonathan weaves ensures that all who pass the lobby feel the need to mingle and dance, not allowing for anyone to dawdle.

Arabella will come to him now. He knows it. He must only wait.

And there will be a party to maintain until then.

aspecialkindofwoman

There are many descriptors that can be applied to Milady deWinter. Perhaps the most important is the term survivor.

She will always do what she needs to do to survive. She's not surprised that things turned out how they did. Not really. She has learned to expect the worst.

But here she is back in this place. This strange, modern place where she can, if she wants, be anything she wants to be. Milady supposes now is the time to figure that out. Surely, it's only a matter of time before Athos lives through what she has. Will he still want her?

Someone will. Surely.

She sits at the hotel bar, draining one glass of sharp, bitter alcohol and signalling for another, her skirt - the finest Parisian silk - covering the barstool, the curve of her shoulder gleaming in the low light.

elektric

If there's one thing they do well in strange parallel functions of the universe, it's milkshakes.

Elektra's taken to enjoying herself at the little restaurant at the end of the universe (not that she knows that's where she is, but it's a safe assumption) and it gives her a chance to get a feel for the lay of the land. It's odd, not being pushed towards an end goal and without a clear purpose in mind, but at the same time, it's daring and freeing and almost like she gets to start over.

That doesn't mean, of course, that all the old impulses are gone. She dreams about them and on the bad mornings, she finds herself a door that leads somewhere where she can exercise her demons, so to speak. She can't imagine that Matthew would approve, but it's hardly like the conquesting armies she'd joined had protested when more blood spilled for their cause.

And there's always the chocolate milkshakes to come back to. She's enjoying one now when she notices the dabs of dried blood on her palm, dipping her napkin into the water to dab it away when a shadow looms over her and alerts her of company she's known has been coming since they first started in her direction.

"Good," she says warmly, even though she knows it's not a waiter. She holds up her empty glass and gives her new friend a leonine smile. "I was just about ready for a refill."

praiseandglory

When Porthos stepped into their tent and found himself in a strange, yet familiar hallway, he knew exactly where he was. On either side of the hallway were doors - to rooms, suites, and many more strange places beside. The noises of the camp were gone, but the smell remained, on him, of gunpowder and blood, soot and grime. His usually elegant clothes had seen better days, his now longer hair was tied back and mostly hidden under a kerchief that might have once been white. His pistol was empty and he needed to clean his sword - Treville's sword.

The battlefield was now miles and years away, for all that it was also, somehow, right on the other side of a door. And, in his current mood, that made his blood boil as surely as Spanish insults.

"Not again!" he yelled, and punched the nearest wall with a gloved hand. He winced at the pain, but there was a dent in the wall now, and that felt slightly better.

farmboyjedi

I gather it might be a good idea to introduce myself since I'm new here. I am Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. I'm still rather overwhelmed and a little confused by this place, but it's good to meet the others who are here. Hopefully we'll get along all right.

aguacateatlaw

Foggy had come to the hotel a handful of times over the last few months but this particular stint was problematic because he was stuck. While he liked the free mini-vacations, being away from his work and his clients for this long was a little grating and he was starting to get stir crazy.

There wasn't much need for an attorney in the hotel, considering there weren't many people with legal troubles and, well, he was only familiar with the law in the US and particularly in New York but there was always room for another cook. Foggy was actually a decent cook because he'd paid attention when his mom made things and then had a streak in college when he wanted to impress a girl and watched any and everything he could find on the Food Network. The girl hadn't worked out but the recipes had stuck around which is why he found himself in the hotel kitchen taking over for a suddenly sick chef.

He had always had a soft spot for Mexican food and while his spin on it probably wasn't as good as it could be, he put a lot of heart into it. It wasn't hard to whip up quesadillas, a nice cheese dip and some homemade salsas and guacamole and Foggy was in a really good mood once everything started heating up on the grill and putting a pleasant, comforting aroma in the air. It was like home in more ways than one and he was hoping that Matt would be around to enjoy.

Once he'd finished up cooking, he went back out into the dining room proper for two purposes: one, to eat his creation and two, to take additional orders.

"Anyone want any of these delicious quesadillas? I've also got a tamale recipe if you ask me really, really nicely."

As long as they didn't do it in Spanish. He might be able to cook from the menu but he still didn't speak the language more than a few things here and there.

Damn his decision to take Punjabi.

burn_with_us

Running, running, running.

Katniss hasn't slept in days. The nightmares come and go but since Peeta left, she hasn't had the long stretches of relief that she'd had with him. The nightmares always come back. This run is particularly bad, as she hasn't slept more than a few hours in the last week. Her eyes are red-rimmed from tears and exhaustion and deep bruises beneath them show just how hard this has been on her. She's been trying to keep moving, to push herself to physical exhaustion so that the sleep she gets is dreamless. It doesn't work as well as she wants it to.

She's afraid of the doors but it isn't something she ever wants to admit out loud. She knows there's ones she can trust, ones that lead to safe places, but what if the doors change and she winds up in the Arena again? What if she winds up in the Capitol, instead, or in bombed out 12? The 12 of her dreams is never the one where she hunted with Gale or traded at The Hob. It's always the firebombed 12, the one where the walkways are paved with the bones of the people she couldn't save and where the air is scented with ashes and white roses.

Are we in the clear yet?

Today, she's working in the restaurant, bussing tables and taking orders and trying to keep afloat. Her mind is too tired to do the mental gymnastics her job requires and she drops two whole trays of glasses before the middle of her shift, glass slicing her palms as she picks it up. Still, she can't go to sleep. Sleep is where Snow can get her, where the mutts are after her, where the faces of all the people she's failed swim in front of her and scream at her in the harsh, metallic voices of jabberjays.

The buzz of the people dining starts to sound like Prim, like Peeta, like Rue. She can't take it any longer. Katniss runs, runs far back into a storage closet at the other end of the restaurant and hides. It's not her closet in 13 and it doesn't have piles and piles of smooth graphite pencils for her to break but it's good enough. It's quiet and it's dark and it's far away from everyone else.

[Feel free to have seen Katniss drop the glasses or if you're a canonmate, to know she's been having a hard time lately.]

concierge

From grand galas to informal gatherings, parties of one sort or another were not an unusual occurrence at the Nexus Hotel. Today was no different, a low-key affair erected in the rotunda of the Italian gardens with the aspiration that tea sandwiches and mimosas would facilitate mingling of the hotel's ever-shifting population.

What was unusual, however, was the inclusion of a wayward, bipedal lizard courtesy of a door standing open on the hotel's facade. Green, spry, perhaps five feet long and roughly as tall as a man, this new guest featured a curved, hard plate across his (or her) forehead that was perhaps indicative of the stubborn nature lurking beneath -- Perhaps because the foliage was so tasty, this little dinosaur resisted all attempts by the staff to corral it back to its home. It would run away from ropes and outstretched arms, knocking over bottles of champagne and destroying the decor before settling several feet away to chomp on some accommodating flowers.

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