Apr. 12th, 2016


[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca

[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca

[Mostly narrative for those around the hotel, but can be open spam]


[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca
She hasn't felt like this in a while. This out of control, this pulled by her abilities. Not since before her sister started showing up for her back in Massachusetts. When she was trying so hard to avoid her powers completely and try to be normal. It just caused them to spiral completely out of control.

But as similar to that as this feels, it's still different. It's guided. It's directed. She knows what happens at the end of her fugue state. She's aware enough to know that even as she pads her way down the stairs, the chill down her spine grows stronger. The whispers grow louder. And the scream is already building up in her throat.

It's been a while since her last dead body. A very long time, even. Since she carried Stiles out of the tunnels and found Scott crying over her best friend's lifeless body.

All the other times, she managed to just call the police with an anonymous tip before actually stumbling upon a possible body, or, with Dahlia's help, she managed to actually help a couple of people before it was too late.

Like tonight. It's too late and she knows it. And in this place, there's no police for her to call. All she can do it scream. All she can do is warn the others that there has been a death, to mourn the life that has been taken. While selfishly hoping that it's not a familiar face that she finds staring back at her this time.

Lydia makes her way to the bottom of the stairs. Her footsteps are silent since she's wearing socks along with her pajamas and a robe. Her face is pale as she makes her way through the darkened lobby. Her hair is down, covering some of her face, which is barely visible since the only source of light is the moonlight shining in through the windows and front door.

Still, she sees it. The white, knee-high socks, the black dress, the apron. And the blood. It's glistering in the moonlight and the voices are screaming at Lydia now. So loud. This is it. It's the source. It's what she had to find. There's a knife sticking out of her chest and her lifeless, pale face is turned away from her. Her eyes are wide open and with the way she's laying down, it almost looks like she's watching the moonlight by the fireplace. Even though the fire is no longer burning.

Lydia's hands are shaking and she kneels next to her. She recognizes her, of course. She never spoke to her before, but she's seen the woman coming in and out of rooms. The maid. She never knew her name.

And now she has to scream for her. Even though she doesn't want to. Her eyes are tearing up and her heart is beating fast. She wants to reach out, to feel her pulse, to shake the other woman awake. But it's pointless. And with every passing second, the voices get louder. And it hurts. Her head feels like it's about to explode. There's a pressure building up inside, bubbling it's way up her throat. She knows she won't be able to hold back.

With a deep breath, she clutches at her ears, closing her eyes tightly before she lets it go and screams. A banshee scream. Powerful. Strong. Firm. A wail. Mourning, but also a warning for those who are still breathing. There's danger. And she can feel it. Death isn't just around the body in front of her, it's all around this room. This was a murder and the murderer is still out there.

[info]heillandi
[info]motelca

[info]heillandi
[info]motelca

Another day in the snow.


[info]heillandi
[info]motelca
Alex had been pretty quiet since his adventures in the tunnels. SPending his days out dancing across the fence, or sleeping in late. He had seemed to give up on his search for answers to who he was and what happened to his family.

He was making his way across the large courtyard with of all things a trashcan lid. As he treked across making his way to one of the hills he was humming to himself again through a cigarette. His usual cloud of smoke. He planned to sled even if it meant improvising. With nothing better to do in his mind than be a big kid.

Mar. 22nd, 2016


[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca

[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca

Private text to Scott


[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca
[A couple of hours after this.]

>> Can you come by?

[info]yourhosts
[info]motelca

[info]yourhosts
[info]motelca

[No Subject]


[info]yourhosts
[info]motelca
Everyone has had the chance to notice the strange man sitting in the booth near the back of the restaurant by now. He's never loud or disruptive, only ever has his coffee, a meal if you catch him at the right time, and his newspaper. He keeps to himself, but despite the way he seems to go out of his way not to be noticed, there's something just so very noticeable about him. He draws people's attention, even if they only cast him a glance or two during their meal. Those that can feel things beyond the normal realm might be more easily drawn to him because they can feel he's not...exactly human, although exactly what he is, isn't clear, no matter how strong their abilities to sense these things may be. He's something, but he's ever a mystery.

Today is no different. He's in his booth, same as always. He's always there, even if you're sure you'll be the first there because you purposely waited outside the doors to catch him walking in. He's just...there. If you come early, you might catch him eating breakfast, mostly he'll just be there reading his newspaper like always. If one is so inclined to approach him, he won't mind.

Mar. 15th, 2016


[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca

[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca

[Open Spam]


[info]fieldsmedal
[info]motelca
Since her break down with Scott, Lydia has been managing to pull herself together a little more. She's around a lot less these days still, choosing to pick up books from the library and lock herself in her room with them so she isn't around people. So she's not risking running into him. But she's doing slightly better.

It doesn't mean she's doing well, however. Every now and then, her chest gets so completely tight, she feels like her heart is being squeezed and she needs to allow herself to just feel for a while. Other times, she's mostly numb. Not completely shut down, but just enough that she manages not to feel anything.

Still, there are three people that she makes an effort to check in with: Scott is the one she talks to the most often. Followed by her sister and... Allison. Who she hasn't heard from in a few days.

Lydia checks her messages on the communicator, sighing softly as she sends a simple Allison? as a follow up then makes her way into the restaurant. She eyes the man in the corner booth for a moment, ignoring the pull to go talk to him that she feels. It seems to be getting stronger every day. And makes her way to the buffet so she can pick up something to it.

She plans on taking the food up to her room, but she does take a second to look around the restaurant as she walks, both to make sure there are no familiar faces around. And to check if she finds her elusive best friend.

Mar. 14th, 2016


[info]godutch
[info]motelca

[info]godutch
[info]motelca

[No Subject]


[info]godutch
[info]motelca
[Spam for Angie]

Dutch reclined in a chair in the lobby, studying the face of the man behind the lobby’s front desk. She had nothing but contempt for the man because, as far as she knew, he was just part of the plan to keep her cooped up in the damned hotel away from her friends and away from what she considered her duty - Saving New York City from bloodsucking scum. There wasn’t much of anything she could do about it, though, so she resorted to the one thing that always kept her calm in times of trouble - artwork. She’d found a small notepad in her room along with a pencil. That was enough for now.

She studied the untrustworthy face of the desk clerk, sketching down every detail. The likeness was amazingly lifelike and just as creepy as the real thing. She smudged the shadows with her thumb. Dutch was silent as she perfected her drawing.

“There you go. My Mona fucking Lisa is a goddamn creeper. Isn’t that perfect?” She muttered to herself.


[Spam for Scott]

Sometimes the hotel got food right and sometimes they got it utterly wrong. Dutch stared at the lobster tail on her dish. She’d never had lobster in her life. Well, that wasn’t true. She’d had lobster ravioli before, but she’d never had to dismantle a shellfish in a restaurant. Different people had different preferences and Dutch’s preferences included food that was ready to eat. Also, she’d never had the cash for a good lobster tail before. All of this was very new to her.

She made a face as she stared at the thing. “How am I supposed to manage this?

Mar. 7th, 2016


[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca

[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca

Spam » Stiles. [cw: suicide mentions]


[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca
Its been a few weeks since he had talked to Lydia and they'd both had their own respective meltdowns at each other. Hers was worse. Hers hurt so much more, made him so much angrier at Stiles. He avoided him as much as possible and had refrained from talking to him at all when he'd see him.

But eventually, it all started eating at him, from the inside out. Stiles was deciding what they wanted, what was best for them without even talking to them. He was trading Allison's life for his own, in a terrible attempt to fix what he felt was his fault. That's enough to hurt. But what made him so angry about it was how Lydia was taking it. He's seen her like this once before, and he refuses to let it happen again. Not if he can fix it.

He waits in the lobby for him, knowing he'll come downstairs to something eventually. And when he, does, he's going to catch him and tell him exactly how he feels about it all.


[Spam » Allison]
He hasn't done much better about Allison. Between their last encounter and everything Lydia had told him, he was a mess. He literally took to ducking around corners if he saw her. Because he keeps thinking this is her, his Allison, the one from his world, the one he lost, and he has no idea what to do with that. It was hard enough knowing in some other world, they got her back...but to think it was at the price of someone he spent most of his life calling family losing his? He's not sure he can handle that.

So, after confronting Stiles, he heads outside and he's debating a run when he sees her heading right for the door, looking an awful lot like she might have just been on a run herself. There's nothing out front to hide behind and--as he thinks it, he realizes how stupid it is anyway. He shouldn't be hiding from her anyway.

He lifts a hand in a wave, silently hoping he eventually figures out what to say once she's closed the space between them.

Mar. 2nd, 2016


[info]i_am_allison
[info]motelca

[info]i_am_allison
[info]motelca

spam for naturalemissary


[info]i_am_allison
[info]motelca
[After talking to Dahlia...and continuing to avoid Scott...Allison sits on what she knows for a few days.

When she feels like she's let her dose of revenge get nice and cold, she makes her way to Stiles' room, silently thanking Dahlia yet again for giving her the number--and, possibly, for talking Allison out of killing him.

She's not sure where it came from...but for a little bit there, the idea was seriously on the table.

She knocks at his door lightly, politely, and waits without saying a word.

When the door does open, she greets Stiles with a bright, friendly smile.

And seizes the moment to reach out quickly, with every intention of grabbing the front of his shirt so she can haul him in, nail him with a left cross, and if she's very lucky, break his nose with the surprise blow.]

Feb. 29th, 2016


[info]heillandi
[info]motelca

[info]heillandi
[info]motelca

Open Spam


[info]heillandi
[info]motelca
Alex hadn't come back to his room since Sunday, he had left in the morning as usual for a day of lounging around the hotel, except, after night fall. Alex wasn't seen. Nor all day Monday. He wouldn't answer calls, of course that was because his communicator was under his pillow in his room. The gun was accounted for to. The only thing missing was him. His zippo he was always flipping open and closed was on the fence he could often be found bouncing across on Sunday but that was the only sign of the dark haired man.

On Tuesday afternoon he just walked through the doors like he had never left, well mostly. His face was covered in blackness like charcoal smeared all over him. His shirt was ripped at the side like it had been snagged on something. He was filthy. He walked past the info desk and went right to his favorite chair in the lobby and dropped down into it. He didn't care at all that he was filthy. He just sat there wide eyed.

Feb. 15th, 2016


[info]heretoscream
[info]motelca

[info]heretoscream
[info]motelca

Public Video


[info]heretoscream
[info]motelca
I think the ghost is gone. It's quiet and everything feels...lighter.

[Spam » Allison]
After she's made her announcement and discussed it with people, she leaves her room and wanders the halls. She got used to not taking the elevator, so she takes the stairs and wanders down each level until she gets to the second floor.

She doesn't really know why she's here. She's just wandering. Or if there is a bigger purpose, she isn't aware of it yet. She's used to wandering. To following random urges like this. So, she just keeps going.

[Spam » OTA]
She still doesn't feel like being back in her room, so when she's done talking to Allison, she continues wandering around the hotel. She can be found in the lobby, by the ballroom, and outside on the front steps, staring up at the sky.

Feb. 13th, 2016


[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca

[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca

[No Subject]


[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca
[Set later the same day after this and this.]

Much emotion, many feels: A Scydia spam.Read more... )

Feb. 8th, 2016


[info]heillandi
[info]motelca

[info]heillandi
[info]motelca

The next thing you know, boy, Oh! You're prison bound.


[info]heillandi
[info]motelca
Open; Nighttime

[ Alex was still making it a point to smoke outside. Even if there were no 'no smoking' signs around he was used to it being illegal so he didn't even try. Besides, Thomas didn't need the second hand smoke. It was on one of those late night nicotine sessions that he noticed something out in the snow. He flicked the ashes pushed his way up. Blood foot prints heading his way slowly without the snow packing down. his jaw dropped as he held the cigarette between his fingers.]

Let the Midnight Special shine a light on me. Let the Midnight Special shine a light on me. Let the Midnight Special shine a light on me [ He started to sing low as he closed his eyes the cigarette snapping between his fingers.] Let the Midnight Special shine a ever loving light on me.

[ After he sang the words he opened his eyes the bloody prints gone and the cigarette out on the snow below him as he just held the snapped filter. He stood up still staring out at the vast snow. Remembering Scott's message about monsters in the hedge. So he backed up towards the door. ] Fuck this shit!

[ He spoke as he tried to open the door finding it stuck he yanked two more times before it finally opened.] Just cold, cold doors stick all the time.

Closed to Thomas.
[ Alex made his way into the room, not caring that it was nearly 1 am. He flipped the lights on and made a b-line for the closet. His coat thrown off on the bed. Throwing open the door loud he stepped inside and yanked down the card board box he had not showed the first day, throwing it open he dumped it on the bed. The beautiful white handled pistol falling on the bed with the clip and bullets as Alex started to load the bullets. His eyes were wide and he was pale as could be even for him.

He had left around 9:30 saying he was going down to the bar. Now he looks like he's seen death itself. He hadn't loaded the clip in when he heard a scratching on the other side of the wall beside him. Wide eyed he looked at the wall. ]


Network; locked to Banshee sisters
You two okay? Something funky's going on with the wiring or something. Maybe rats who fucking knows with old buildings like this. Still, I wanted to make sure your both okay.

Feb. 6th, 2016


[info]naturalemissary
[info]motelca

[info]naturalemissary
[info]motelca

Elevator Spam for Lydia


[info]naturalemissary
[info]motelca
[By now, Stiles has explored every inch of the motel that he has access to -- multiple times. He hasn't spent a lot of time sleeping, and the fatigue from it makes him miss his Adderall. It's something he hasn't taken in almost a year and a half. In addition to keeping himself busy trying to figure out a way out of this place, the last two nights have been filled with knocking sounds, strange odors, and at a little after 4 this morning, the lights had flickered on and off in his room for about twenty minutes.

Fucking poltergeists. Little pains in his ass. Or his head, as the case may be.

His gun is tucked into his pants like it usually is when he's up and around and not in his room, and today his intent is to end the nefarious little spirit causing problems around the motel. He hops on the elevator on the seventh floor because he's not in the mood to take the stairs right now, and it descends to level four, where it pauses and he moves aside to let the next person on, too. He just isn't anticipating Lydia being the one stepping onto the elevator when the doors open.

And when he sees the dazed, distant look on her face, he pauses because he realizes what's going on. She's in a fugue-like state.]


Lydia?

Feb. 4th, 2016


[info]_girl_wonder_
[info]motelca

[info]_girl_wonder_
[info]motelca

ghosties, goblins, and other bumps in the night (Ota)


[info]_girl_wonder_
[info]motelca
Rayan had wanted to take the stairs up to her room, but wouldn't you know it for some reason the doors to the stairwell wasn't opening, which had forced her to look at the elevator a moment.  Being trapped alone in a creepy cage in an equally creepy hotel?  Not her idea of a good time even if it was for a few minutes at most. 

The lights behind her in the lobby flickered going off for a moment.  "Yeah, I think I've seen this in a movie.  I'm not going to get cut in half!"  She growled at the hotel it's self.  "Even if there are zombies!"

She felt a hand wrap around her ankle and tug, not enough to make her fall, but... She did scream, loudly, kicking her foot, which had nothing flying, though she did hear something hit the wall in front of her. 

Feb. 5th, 2016


[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca

[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca

Public Video


[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca
[He looks exhausted because he barely got any sleep last night for the noises he kept hearing. Some of them were definitely not even from his floor and he kind of hated that he couldn't be selective with his heightened hearing. He runs a hand down half his face.]

Did anyone else notice anything weird last night?

[Private Video » Hotel Staff]
Is there some kind of maintenance going on? I kept hearing weird banging noises last night and that sulfur smell in the restaurant is pretty overwhelming. [His voice is completely calm and neutral. He doesn't sound angry or upset at all, just a curious hotel occupant wanting some answers.]

Feb. 4th, 2016


[info]i_am_allison
[info]motelca

[info]i_am_allison
[info]motelca

[No Subject]


[info]i_am_allison
[info]motelca
[OPEN HOTEL SPAM - THURSDAY MORNING/EARLY AFTERNOON]

[Allison needed another tattoo.

It was starting not so differently from the others, only this time when the images and itches to sketch it out came to her, she knew there was something else going on. Now that she knew there were things she'd forgotten, a whole life she had no clue about, these impulses were no longer casual.

Thursday afternoon, it gets worse than its ever been, so she finally grabs the complimentary pad and pen on the desk in her room and spends hours in front of the fireplace, curled up in one of the chairs drawing. Her efforts are punctuated with gentle cursing and several wadded up sheets thrown in or at the fire, resulting in some trash scattered near her seat.

When she's done, she sits back and stares at the stylized arrowhead she's sketched out in painstaking detail: a tactical arrowhead, shaded in grey (silver, it's a silver arrowhead, she knows this somehow), and stamped with an engraving of a fleur de lis.

And she has no idea what it means.]


[ELEVATOR SPAM FOR PACKLESSALPHA (CW: possible NSFW content in comments)]

[After she's grabbed some food in the restaurant, Allison heads into the elevator to go back to her room. She feels weirdly exhausted, and she needs a nap.

She doesn't realize she's not alone until she punches the button, the doors slide shut...and she glances to her left to see an all too familiar face that's still haunting her sleep.]


Jesusfuck!...

Feb. 3rd, 2016


[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca

[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca

Private Video » Thomas


[info]packlessalpha
[info]motelca
[He's avoided doing this because...he didn't know how to do it, honestly. And he didn't want to. He didn't want to shatter some kid's world like this. But Stiles....the real Stiles had showed up nearly two weeks ago and-- okay, Scott's been avoiding him like the plague, honestly, but....he can't avoid this anymore.]

Hey... when you have a minute, I need to talk to you.

Feb. 2nd, 2016


[info]heretoscream
[info]motelca

[info]heretoscream
[info]motelca

[backdated to yesterday]


[info]heretoscream
[info]motelca
[Private Video » Lydia Martin]
Do you feel it? It's loud and cold.

[Afternoon Spam » Stiles Stilinski]
Dahlia has been Debating, with a capital D, whether or not she should talk to Stiles or not. The whole thing is Very Messy and she's not sure he, or any of the rest of the pack, needs it added to their already full plates. He needs to know. But Lydia won't like it. She'll be mad. And Dahlia's sure he'll tell her. But it's bugging her. A lot. Gnawing at her, threatening to eat her alive from the inside out if she doesn't do something about it.

She wrestles with herself over it as she eats breakfast this morning. As she walks around the hotel grounds outside--being sure to heed Scott's warning and steer clear of the maze; she feels weird vibes from it anyway. She finally decides she can't just...keep avoiding everything in her life--her new life, her second life--just because it might be hard.

So she marches upstairs to the seventh floor--the stairs take longer and she gets to avoid just a little while longer--and down the hallway to #712. The knock that comes to his door is light, but firm. Somehow conveys she means business and the seriousness of the conversation to come. Or maybe that's just in her head.

[Late night spam » OTA]
Dahlia is somewhere between the spaces of awake and asleep when she hears a low, deep moan followed by a higher-pitched ting! ting! ting! like someone banging a stick against a steel pipe. But it's not outside, it's not in the world that she's hearing these things, but in her head. Loud, like drums banging and wind howling inside her head. Except it's not drums or wind, it's...

She throws the sheets back and doesn't bother changing from her nightgown--compliments of the staff upon arrival, part of the few sets of clothes they offered since they didn't exactly have their own wardrobes here--or putting on shoes as she walks out of the room. The door to #730 is left wide open, with no signs of struggle or Dahlia inside the room at all.

If someone comes across her, they'll find her wandering mindlessly with a very blank look on her face--recognizable by pack as a fugue state. She can be found in the stairwell on any floor from the 7th down, in the lobby, the library and headed toward a door that leads down to the basement. Whether she actually makes it into the basement depends on when someone finds her and pulls her out of that state.

If she makes it in, she'll slowly make her way down the stairs. She doesn't notice the stairs are damp under her bare feet, but once she's downstairs, she goes to the far wall and just stand, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. If someone finds her down here and cares to notice, there are old, faded initials carved into the wall near where she's looking.

Jan. 26th, 2016


[info]reyofsunshine
[info]motelca

[info]reyofsunshine
[info]motelca

i'm a phoenix in the water a fish that's learned to fly (ota)


[info]reyofsunshine
[info]motelca
It could have been worse. Rey didn't like thinking that--it seemed like an open invitation, it felt like she was all but begging for things to get worse--but it really could have been much worse. Being stuck somewhere was nothing new to Rey, though in the past it had been mostly her own choice to stay in one place, waiting for something to happen that never would. She didn't like being trapped, of course, did anyone like being trapped?

Still, it could've been worse. She had a place to sleep (which usually meant the floor of her room; the bed was so just too soft, but it was a warm room and a sturdy roof over her head) and best of all, she was fed. Every day. Several times a day. And it was given to her without her having to spend hours risking life and limb for scraps of twisted metal to trade for it, and usually it was more than a few mouthfuls.

Yes, the restaurant was Rey's favorite place, without question, but often it presented a dilemma: she didn't know what a lot of things on the menu even were. Often, her method of choosing something to eat was to close her eyes and jab at an option with her finger. So far it yielded some interesting results. One day she was given a platter full of what had once been the spiny legs of a crab (whatever that was). It had taken her hours of fighting the carapaces open to crack through the shells and strip out the meat inside of them; by the time she was done she felt like she'd waged a very small war. Then, there was the bowl of some pearly white grains and vegetables in a wonderfully fragrant sauce--that hadn't been particularly strange as far as the food itself, but instead of a fork or spoon she was given two sticks and her requests for any sort of cutlery had been ignored (to be fair, that hadn't presented nearly as much of a problem as the crab's legs, since she'd just tipped the bowl up and used the sticks to shovel the grains into her mouth, and while that had earned her some odd looks from fellow diners at least that day Rey had left the restaurant happily full and without nicks and scratches on her fingertips and knuckles).

Today's experiment was burnt cream, and it was without question her most favorite yet. After her first bite she'd had to work hard to pace herself and not stab through the hard bit on the top to just scoop it all out in big spoonfuls. It might have been the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted, so she took her time with it, small bite after small bite.

[info]godutch
[info]motelca

[info]godutch
[info]motelca

Public Video


[info]godutch
[info]motelca
[Dutch appears on the screen. In the background is her very nice, very comfortable hotel room that she absolutely loathes. She's chewing on her thumbnail in silence for a few seconds before she decides to speak.]

Right, so... We're all trapped here. Anyone got any ideas on how to get out?

Oh...

[She sighs as something dawns on her.]

I'm Dutch, by the way. Might as well introduce myself as long as I'm stuck.